If Machiavelli thought that Sophie distrusted him, it was nothing to how she treated Nicholas Flamel. He privately thought that this was rather unfair; as they had all found out, they were each fated to fulfill the role set out for them long before they were born and the Alchemyst was merely the unfortunate messenger through all of this. Still, he wasn't prepared to interfere on Nick's behalf- Nick was an adult and would sort it out in his own time.
Scatty, on the other hand, was not prepared to sit idly by and let the tension diffuse on its own. Her fondness for the silver auraed immortal was not enough to outdo her affection for the older French immortal, it would seem, and so it seemed inevitable that on the second night they were all together, the tension bubbled into actual conversation, headed chiefly by the Shadow.
"We're not really necessary here," Billy whispered to the tactician, shrinking away from the conversation unfolding around them. "Grab your jacket. I'll call Black Hawk and he can pick us up."
Hearing the voices begin to amplify in the dining room, they decided to wait for the Native American immortal on their front steps. Machiavelli wasn't even sure if any of them noticed Billy trying to tell them where they were going, but with half a shrug the outlaw led both of them out the door.
"It's fricking cold out here," he complained to Machiavelli, turning up the collars of his coat to block out more of the wind. "You know what I don't understand? Smokers," he continued immediately. "It's a stupid habit in the best of times, but when it's ten degrees out and you have to go outside? No thanks."
"I wonder how smoking would affect us immortals?" the tactician mused, agreeing with Billy, though his thoughts were mainly on how cold it was out on their stoop. He got to his feet, the cold of the stone steps being too much for him. Stamping his feet, he paced in front of the American immortal, mostly to keep feeling in his feet. "We wouldn't necessarily get lung cancer- most major ailments we can deflect after all- but we'd get some of the other side effects I suppose, the yellowing of our teeth, the coughing, and so on…"
"What do you think they're talking about in there?"
"Don't know… kind of wish we had stayed inside though," Machiavelli mused, glancing behind him. "Then we would have known… and been warm…" But he came and sat beside Billy on the top step.
"Sorry," Billy apologized hastily. "I just get nervous when people fight. I panicked."
"Well, I'm sure Scatty will inform us on what we missed. And I'll thaw too, eventually…"
"Want to put my jacket on over yours?" Billy offered, starting to slip his off.
Machiavelli stopped him. "Of course not, you'll freeze."
"I'm always warmer than you are," the Kid said cheerfully. He draped an arm around the Italian's shoulder. "I talked to Black Hawk. He should be by, any second now. Don't you worry, we'll warm you up again in a jiffy."
"Am I a bad person for being glad that Sophie dislikes Nick even more than me?" Machiavelli asked, gazing at the hotel down the block. Rooms flashed at different colors depending on what their occupants were doing; he could tell that there were a lot of people watching television by the faint bluish glow it gave the room, for instance.
Billy looked down the street after him. "Nah, I don't think so. I mean, yes, kind of, Mac," he said comfortably, laughing a little. "But no worse than the rest of us. It's not very pleasant being disliked by anyone."
"I heard her saying that we were an odd pair, the other day," Machiavelli admitted.
"We're not an odd pair. We're an excellent pair. I've never had a better friend."
Machiavelli glanced at him quickly. "You can't mean that."
"Why not?"
"Because you've had many friends in your life time. You knew them longer."
"I've loved many of my friends and that doesn't mean a damn thing," the Kid said quietly. "There's never been anyone who makes me want to be better than I am, the way you do. And I share more with you than I can with others. Black Hawk, for instance. He's my best friend, but I don't- don't," he fumbled for the word. "I can't share with him, the things I share with you."
"You know that we forgot to talk last night," Machiavelli said to Billy.
The Kid ducked his head. "We were having fun and I figured it didn't really matter that much. I can't believe you beat Perenelle at Scrabble…Not that I don't think you're good at Scrabble, it's just that they own a fucking bookstore and well, English isn't your first language…"
"You're just trying to change the subject now that your week has run out…"
"Would I do that?"
"Yes, you would."
"Oh, well, maybe I would. But there's Black Hawk," Billy said, pointing unnecessarily as the moss green vehicle skidded into view and pulled up on the curb in front of their apartment; Machiavelli very unwillingly dropped the subject. Ever since he'd talked to Scatty, his curiosity had increased manifold and he trusted her when she said he'd be happy with what the American immortal had to say. Waiting was driving him nuts.
Black Hawk watched them as they came down the steps. He opened the passenger door, ducking through the jeep, and waited, glancing at the road occasionally. "Hey," Billy said, climbing into the backseat automatically. He pulled the seat back so that Machiavelli could get in.
"Hey," Black Hawk said back, revving the engine a little. "So you seriously got kicked out of your own house?"
"We didn't get kicked out per se," the Kid disagreed. "I just offered them the privacy of having the entire house."
"So you got kicked out?"
Machiavelli interrupted their bickering. "So where are we going?"
"Glad you asked chief," Black Hawk said, flashing his teeth in the Italian's direction. "We're going to finally go out like you suggested. A night on the town." In the backseat, Billy groaned audibly. Black Hawk waved his hand at the outlaw. "What's wrong with you, old man?"
"I don't want to go a bar tonight. Can't we catch a movie or go bowling or just stop at a diner or something?"
"Nope."
"Aw, come on. I accommodate you all the time."
"I like bowling," Machiavelli interjected, hoping to help the outlaw.
Black Hawk braked much too late; they were all thrown forward a little and behind them a man beeped his horn angrily. The Native American flipped him off and kept going. "You can bowl? Do you go in a three-piece suit?"
"We've had this conversation before, I told you this. It's like bocci ball."
"I recall no such conversation."
"I think you were telling me that," Billy piped up from the back seat. He turned to Black Hawk, leaning forward. "So we're going bowling," he asked hopefully.
"Sure. After we go to a bar."
"What? No, come on Black Hawk, please."
Even Machiavelli's interest was piqued by Billy's desperate pleas against Black Hawk's set plans. He felt that the American immortal was going about it the wrong way- the Native American was only going to be more adamant with his continued non-compliance, but Billy always seemed to operate from the wrongful assumption that people would do what you wanted if you were just honest about how it made you feel.
"How long do we have to be at this bar, exactly?" he asked, hoping to find a suitable compromise.
"How about, until one of you gets a lady?"
"Oh, absolutely not, no. How much time do we have to spend in the bar?" Machiavelli interjected.
"Not very confident tonight, are you?"
"I do not want to constantly pick up women. I'm still a married man and I made a vow to- you're not even listening to me, are you?" They'd pulled up to a bar called Rumors and Black Hawk made to get out, when Billy pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. They wrestled over the seat, Machiavelli leaning as far away as he could.
"Alright, listen to me," Billy squeaked, being held in a massive chokehold by the larger man. "I'm staying here one hour and then you better be ready to go cause otherwise I'm walking home." He was released from the other man's hold, falling roughly against the seat. "Psycho," he shot at Black Hawk, cursing and muttering vague threats as he got out of the car behind Machiavelli.
"I agreed to your one hour rule, calm down."
"It'll be okay, Billy," Machiavelli murmured, reaching out to fix the outlaw's shirt.
Billy was still fuming when they were let into the club and Machiavelli was beginning to wonder if that was the Kid's plan all along- to get thrown out by some cautious bouncer. Inside, the outlaw stalked off to a dark corner. "I'll go with him. You probably shouldn't come over for at least fifteen minutes," Machiavelli told the other man who shrugged and disappeared in the other direction.
He came to sit beside the outlaw, who'd already ordered a drink and was now moodily staring into it. All at once, he downed it, pulling a face. "He always has to have his way," Billy said angrily.
"Yes, but we knew that beforehand." Machiavelli flagged down a waitress and ordered two beers. "I didn't want to come either, but we appease Black Hawk and then we get to go bowling. Don't you want to see me bowl?"
Billy almost smiled but didn't at the last minute. "I just think it's ridiculous that we came here when both of us didn't want to," he argued, indicating the two of them.
"Ah, well. I think Black Hawk wants to have fun with his friends at a bar. I'm not sure moving in with Billie was everything he hoped for."
"It's not my fault he keeps making the same stupid mistake." He took a swig from his beer and coughed. "Damn it! And it'd be one thing if he wanted to just hang out, but he's trying to bully both of us into picking up some girl, you know that don't you?"
"Of course, I do. I'm not deaf or dumb, William."
Billy deflated. "Sorry, that's not what I meant."
"I know that. Anyways, I'm just saying that Black Hawk's life isn't going exactly as he planned either. And he's your best friend so try to cut him some slacks."
"Slack, Mac."
"Just seeing if you were paying attention," Machiavelli said smoothly, happy that Billy's anger was beginning to ebb away. He wasn't sure why the Kid's anger had sparked so suddenly; Black Hawk really wasn't acting at all differently from every other interaction he'd had with the Native American.
Billy still seemed to be thinking about something, but when he spoke, he just said, "You know, you do have a pretty good grasp on English idioms considering it isn't your first language." And Machiavelli was sure that wasn't what was on the Kid's mind at all.
"Thank you. I thought I did pretty well learning English, considering it was my fifth language…" Leaning on his hand, he raised his eyebrows at the outlaw, who looked at him and snorted.
"I bet I can guess the first four… Hm, well Italian, obviously. Then- Spanish?"
"I learned French before Spanish, actually."
"Okay. And the fourth… German?"
"My German is only passable," Machiavelli confessed. "And I learned German after English."
"Okay, not German." Billy tapped his fingers on the table. "I can't imagine. Russian?" Machiavelli laughed. "Swahili? Pig Latin?"
"You guessed pig Latin before actual Latin?"
"I forgot about actual Latin," Billy confessed. Machiavelli laughed.
"Well, Latin is actually the second language I learned- my father insisted. So it goes Italian, Latin, French, Spanish, English, then German, and very little Russian. No Swahili yet, I'm afraid."
"Do you think I overreacted with Black Hawk?"
Machiavelli shrugged. "He should take your feelings more into account."
"He never does."
The Italian didn't want Billy too angry at his best friend. This close to Thanksgiving, he was afraid that one or both of them would say something they regretted. "He takes your feelings into account when it really counts, it's just that he can be kind of a jerk when he thinks it doesn't matter. You have to talk to him."
"I don't want to talk to him right now," Billy said moodily, looking out into the smoky darkness.
"Ah, well that's unfortunate."
"Why?"
"Cause I just waved him over." Billy gave the Italian immortal an almost reproachful look, but sighed.
"What have you been doing?" he asked Black Hawk, still sounding very grumpy. "You haven't been trying to find women for us, have you?"
"No, of course not."
Billy perked up. "You really haven't?"
"Nah, I'm not that indifferent to what you say." Black Hawk eased his bulk into the booth beside Machiavelli, trapping the Italian between the two hot headed American immortals. Billy visibly relaxed; on his other side, Machiavelli noticed a confused look pass over the other immortal's face. "So what are we going to do?"
Billy sat up in his seat. "There's a pool table open," he said, sliding out of the seat and ducking across the room before they even knew what was happening.
"Guess we're playing pool," Black Hawk mumbled. "Hey," he added, grabbing Machiavelli by the shoulder. "What's up with him?"
"I can't really say for sure. He's been acting funny all week." On the pretense of ordering another round of drinks, they stopped by the bar. Black Hawk held up three fingers to the bartender before opening his wallet.
"He was actually angry. I haven't seen him angry in a while," the bulky man said.
Machiavelli was silent. He wasn't going to be the one to tell Black Hawk that he needed to start listening to his friend more. There wasn't that level of history between them wasn't there. "Maybe you should ask him about it some time?" he offered instead.
When they came over to the pool table, Billy had already started. He collected up the balls from the pockets again, fitting them into the triangle. "When's the last time you played, Mac?"
"I've never played pool," Machiavelli confessed. "I could just watch."
"Nah, no way. We'll teach you," Black Hawk told him, taking a stick off the rack. "I'll be on my own team- you go with Billy."
"You're right handed, aren't you?" Billy asked, handing Machiavelli a stick. "Here, stand like this. And you put your hands here." Putting a hand on the Italian's side, he maneuvered the other immortal into place. "Okay, now you draw back like this to give it some power."
Machiavelli was finding it very hard to concentrate with Billy standing this close behind him. He nearly scratched the felt of the table, apologizing profusely. He stepped away, not wanting to do something stupid in front of the outlaw.
Billy blinked. It was like he had just realized how close they were standing. Machiavelli couldn't tell what was going through his head, but Billy gave him a little apologetic smile. "Sorry. But anyways, try to hit the cue ball," he suggested, rolling the white ball over.
Black Hawk was watching them. Machiavelli sighed a little. He didn't like to make a fool of himself in front of the Native American… He hit the cue ball, but it had little power behind it- the ball went forward a foot and tapered to a halt.
"Try putting your weight more on this foot," Black Hawk suggested, finally coming around to stand with them.
"And use these fingers to steady your shot," Billy added, leaning over the table to pluck up the white ball once more. He set it down in front of the Italian immortal. "Okay, try again," he said, laying a hand on Machiavelli's shoulder. "You'll do fine."
"You went farther this time," Black Hawk agreed, leaning on the table. He cocked an eyebrow at Billy. "Want to start?"
"Sure. You'll pick it up as we go," the Kid assured Machiavelli. Rolling the cue ball onto the tiny circle of metal, he waited for Black Hawk to take the triangle off the balls on the other end. Machiavelli was a bit confused to see the American immortal holding the pool stick the opposite way from how he'd shown him just minutes before, but Billy seemed comfortable the way he was.
Billy broke, causing the balls to spin dizzily away from the center of the table. Two balls went in- a stripe and a solid. "We'll be solids," he told Black Hawk, taking aim again. "You keep shooting until you miss," he told Machiavelli. "Let's play easy rules with him."
"Fine. So no penalties for scratching and no calling of the 8 ball…"
The outlaw got three balls in before missing. Black Hawk seemed almost disinterested, stepping forward to take his turn. He loftily took aim, getting two balls in with a single shot. Machiavelli made a face; they were both far out of his range.
"Okay, now, Mac," Billy said, dancing around to where the Italian stood, unsure where to aim. "How about you aim for the three?" he suggested, pointing it out to Machiavelli. "You're going to want to aim at it like this," he demonstrated, "and put a little oomph into it, okay? You can make this shot."
Machiavelli didn't even hit the cue ball this time; his stick swiped at the air to the right of the ball. He looked up at the Kid, but Billy gave him an encouraging smile and told him to try again. He just barely tapped the three ball this time, but Billy grabbed him by the shoulders shaking him with excitement.
"We should take pity on him," Black Hawk told Billy after their fifth game. Machiavelli had got two ball in altogether and was showing little improvement. Billy was unaffected, but his two best friends were starting to get beat. "Okay, big guy, show us your mad skills at bowling."
"It's literally been a couple hundred years, so don't get your hopes too high…"
"Nah, I think you're going to be great!" Billy chimed in, following them out.
Black Hawk snorted. "You're going to be the only guy there in a suit," he told the Italian, beginning to back out of the parking lot.
"Wherever we go, I'm always the only guy there in a suit," he said smoothly.
"What's the holdup?" Billy asked, sticking his head into the front of the jeep to look over Black Hawk's shoulder.
"The place Scatty and I went bowling at just closed fifteen minutes ago. That one's closed, that one's closed…" He scrolled through his screen. "It's past eleven… and it's a Monday night. We might have to postpone bowling…"
"That's alright. I'll try to live with the disappointment." Machiavelli swatted at Billy when he tried to change the radio station- they were in the middle of song he liked.
"We're near a street vendor though. I want to get a taco," Black Hawk decided.
"It's nearly midnight," Machiavelli protested.
"Perfect time for a taco. We won't be long."
Machiavelli was sure that they weren't going to find Black Hawk's street vendor, but sure enough, there was a taco stand which actually had a line of people waiting for it. "This is everything that's bad with America."
"This is everything that's good with America," Black Hawk told him, grinning. "I'll be back," he told them, parking the car. Billy nodded, coughing into his shoulder, then coughed again. He kept repeating this unproductive cough, obviously trying to stifle it and not succeeding.
"Are you alright, William?" Machiavelli asked, turning to look at him.
"Mm, just started coughing all of a sudden. Maybe it's the change in temperature?"
"Maybe. But it's been warm in here. Why don't you crack the window a bit?" Machiavelli suggested. "It's pretty stale in here." Billy reached through to do what he suggested and his coughing subsided. They sat in the car, neither of them talking. "Billy, you promised you'd tell me what was bothering you."
The Kid drummed his fingers nervously on the seat. "Can I have an extension?" he joked miserably.
"No. You already had one. Just tell me what's up."
"It's cold here," he said instead. Reaching forward, he closed the window again. "I'll talk to you, I swear. But… when we get home, where it's warm, okay?"
"No, tell me now," Machiavelli insisted. "Black Hawk might be out there for a bit, we can talk."
"Okay. Okay…" Billy licked his lips, looking nervous. He started to say something and then faltered. Machiavelli cocked his head, trying to make out the bits of words the American had just said, but Billy seemed to try a different approach. After some consideration, he said, "I think I'm in love with someone, but I don't think they love me back. And I would love to love them, you know?"
The Italian immortal felt his insides dissolve. It wasn't what he'd expected, but was instead what he had feared. He regretted pushing the Kid to speak; he would have liked the extra time of not knowing. "I do know," he agreed, feeling his head reel. And after a pause, "Is it someone I know?"
"Yes," the Kid whispered. "You know them pretty well."
Scatty? Machiavelli thought again, rather dizzily. He coughed slightly. "Who? No, you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to… But why don't you talk to that person? Have you?"
"No. Afraid they don't feel the same way," Billy mumbled. He changed the radio station, seeming to need something to do with his hands. Machiavelli let him this time. "Mac, have you ever been in love? Besides your wife, I mean?"
"Yes," he said softly. "I've been very much in love." A painful thought process was forming in his mind… He made a decision.
"And what happened?" Billy's eyes searched out his gray ones.
"Nothing. I didn't do anything about it. So they never knew." Billy deserves someone who is good for him. That's not me, necessarily. "You shouldn't make my mistake. Go after them."
"What if they don't love me back?"
"If they're really important to you, they'll love you no matter what. It might not be the way you want, but they'll always love you," he said kindly.
"Huh. Mac, I-," he started, but he was interrupted.
"Well, that's all settled. So you want to go anywhere else?" Black Hawk asked, getting in the car. "I think there's a bowling alley on the north end that's still open for a while…"
"Uh, you know what, Black Hawk, I think I'm feeling a bit tired all of a sudden," Machiavelli said quietly. "Would it be alright, if you just dropped me off at home?"
Black Hawk looked over at him, studying his face. "Yeah, you know what you don't look so good all of a sudden." He surprised the Italian immortal by touching his forehead, and rather gently at that. "Well, you don't have a fever, but if you're not feeling well… we'll call it a night." Moving around bulkily, he fastened his seat belt and turned on the car.
~MB~
"Billy…" Black Hawk called after him. The outlaw turned back, halfway up the steps. Black Hawk jerked his head over and Billy reluctantly came back down. They heard Machiavelli unlock the door and slip in. Shivering, the Kid got into the passenger seat. "I heard you talking to Machiavelli tonight- I could hear through the window, don't give me that look- you've got your eye on someone. That's why you didn't want to meet any girls tonight."
The Kid flushed. "It's not what you think."
Black Hawk half laughed. "You should have told me. We tell each other things like this."
Billy half hoped for a moment that Black Hawk knew the truth. It would make this disaster of a night even a little bit better. Machiavelli looked so… sad, when I was talking to him. "I messed up. I should have told…"
"It's Scatty, isn't it?" Black Hawk interrupted. "You're in love with her?" He drew his dark eyebrows together.
The outlaw felt a wave of disappointment flood through him. "Scatty's like my sister…" He swallowed, feeling like he was going to cry, and bit his tongue to gain some control. For a minute there, he'd been prepared to tell Black Hawk that he was in love with Niccolo. For a moment, he thought that Black Hawk had accepted immediately what he had denied in himself. But Black Hawk still thought that it was a girl… And that made sense, but he'd really been hoping there that he'd have his best friend to talk to.
He realized that Black Hawk was still talking to him. "What'd you say?" he asked, breaking in.
"I said that Machiavelli was worried about you. You've been acting funny all week, he says." Black Hawk patted his arm, turning the engine to the jeep back on. "This is good," he said, obviously finished with the conversation. "You have your lady- whoever she is- and Machiavelli's going out on his date eventually."
"I'd forgotten about that…"
"Ah well, good night, handsome. Good luck with your love troubles," he added, laughing. Billy didn't laugh slipping out of the passenger seat again. He waved before heading inside.
