Billy woke early the next morning, before Machiavelli had stirred even. Getting out of bed, he pulled the blankets up more securely around the other man, still feeling awful about the way that last night had turned out. Though he knew it was wrong- misguided, in fact- part of him felt angry with the others, with Sophie for fighting, and Black Hawk for forcing him to go into that bar, and…
Mostly himself, he had to admit, dressing quickly in the monochrome light coming through the window. Looking in the mirror hanging from their closet door, he had to fight the urge to yell at his reflection. How was he going to explain this to Machiavelli? It hadn't gone at all as he'd hoped…
The Shadow was downstairs when he finally came down and, seeing her, the Kid made a beeline towards her. "Scatty, I think I messed up last night," Billy whispered, looking around to see if any of the others were around. Nobody else was up yet.
"I already heard about it," she said sharply.
He flinched, wilting away from her side. He tried to explain himself. "It seemed like a good idea at the time… I just wanted him to realize himself, to guess. I couldn't say it myself," he pleaded. "I wanted to! But… the conversation began to go a different direction and I couldn't get it back to the right spot before Black Hawk came… and now Machiavelli's not looking at me."
She took a deep breath of air, obviously trying to contain her frustration before she spoke. He waited, looking a little nervous. "Why? Why couldn't you just tell him that you- love- him?" she asked, punctuating each word with a jab to his chest.
"I was going to, I was really," he said hastily, watching her eyes flash. "But…"
"But what?"
"But it sounded so stupid in my head. I didn't think he could love someone like me, that way."
"I told him that he'd like to hear what you had to say because I honestly believed that it would make him happy and then you go and take the coward's route out of it," she hissed at him. She counted to ten, taking a few more breaths. "What did Niccolo say?" she asked at last.
"He said that I should go after the person I love," he said excitedly. Then he deflated a little. "He got really quiet though, after we talked. And then when I went to bed last night, he was already asleep and I didn't get to tell him… Do you think he guesses what I was going to say? And he's avoiding me because he doesn't want to hear it?"
"No," she said immediately. "I think that's the farthest thing from his mind, what you really meant, and you have no one to blame but yourself."
Feeling deeply ashamed, he hung his head a little. "I should go away and leave the two of you to deal with your own mess," Scatty told him fiercely, giving him such a look that he felt the back of his neck prickle.
"No, no, Scatty, honey, don't do that," he begged. "You can't leave us yet; we've got a serious problem."
"I'll say," she snarled. "You're both crazy."
He felt close to tears again; things were falling apart. She must have seen the stricken look on his face because she sighed and, stepping closer to him, wrapped her arms around his neck. "Billy, it's not the end of the world. You just need to find a way in again. We really should have discussed what you were going to say, I guess…"
"You forgot you were dealing with the biggest dummy this side of the Atlantic," he said into her shoulder.
"That's not true," she murmured, patting him awkwardly on the top of the head. "You're not that dumb. You just lost your head a little last night…"
"I just wanted to get a little reassurance before I said something completely out of left field," he mumbled. "I didn't think it would go so badly… Honestly…"
"Here's Niccolo," she said, listening to the soft steps coming downstairs. "Hey, Niccolo, sleep well?" she asked.
He looks tired, Billy thought to himself. Machiavelli sat on Billy's other side. "Okay," he agreed, his voice a bit hoarse. The Italian immortal reached for the toast in the middle of the table.
"Any plans for today?" she asked him.
"I called up Jillian this morning. I rescheduled our dinner for tonight."
"Did you still want me to come with you?" Billy asked timidly. He wasn't sure how Machiavelli would react.
The tactician looked up and making eye contact for the first time since last night, he smiled faintly. The Kid relaxed, feeling a warmth spread over him. "Of course, if you still want to come. Scatty, do you want to come too?"
"I think I'm going to try to get the Flamels to take me out somewhere tonight. Sophie too," she added.
Machiavelli lowered his voice significantly. "Where is our newest immortal?" he asked quietly.
"She's up with Nicholas in the study. Got up when I did. Showing him some tricks she's learned since we last saw her."
~MB~
Machiavelli thought he should make it up to Jill, his unexpected canceling of their plans from last week, but didn't really know Philadelphia enough to come up with a place on his own. It was Billy who somewhat reluctantly told him about a 'hidden' club in Center City, which had hosted a live jazz band and dance hall since the twenties. Billy went so far as to dig out his blazer and a button down shirt, but came down dressed in jeans and his cowboy boots too, as if clinging to some of his normal shlubbiness.
They went by Jill's house to pick her up, Billy driving; he waited, leaning against the car, when Machiavelli ran in to get her. Machiavelli could hear the Kid twirling his keys repeatedly; 'New nervous habit?' he wondered, hunting through the listing of apartments for Jill's name and finally found it under 4C. He buzzed it.
Speaking of nervous… he could tell Jill was nervous about meeting Billy from the way she half stepped behind him when they came down the steps. "This is my friend Billy, Jill. Jill's the one who helped me out when Black Hawk brought me to that bar the other week," he added unnecessarily, introducing her to the outlaw.
"Not to be confused with the Jill who did everything she could to screw with him," she joked lightly and Machiavelli laughed a little, but Billy only dipped his head and moved around the car. Jill gave Machiavelli a nervous look; he looked after the American immortal in surprise. Billy was the last person he would ever expect to act unfriendly.
"I'll sit in the backseat, you can sit in the passenger side," he told her, touching her wrist before climbing into the back.
"Niccolo tells me you're an excellent piano player," she said to Billy, but more timidly than before.
"I'm not that great…"
"That's not true," Machiavelli interrupted. "You spent the whole summer playing for me."
"I'm nothing special," Billy insisted and they frowned at each other through the rear view mirror.
Jill gave a quick glance between the two of them, and seemed to reach her own conclusion. "Well, maybe you did talk him up too much," she said to Machiavelli, turning in her seat and laughing a little. "I'm beginning to doubt that lassoing story…"
"I assure you that was true," he told her smoothly.
They continued to banter while waiting for a table at the restaurant. Billy didn't add much to the conversation and Machiavelli was beginning to wonder why he'd agreed on coming if he was going to be such a limp noodle. Jill was trying hard to include the Kid in the conversation, but he wasn't making much of an effort himself to keep it going. Machiavelli was almost relieved when Billy got up to get a drink.
"So this is the guy that you're in love with?" she whispered, both of them watching Billy walk away.
"He is indeed. I'm not sure why he's acting so funny tonight, though. He's normally much friendlier," Machiavelli told her, frowning.
"Yeah, he doesn't seem to like me very much, does he?" she laughed, patting his arm. She didn't seem to mind and Niccolo had the nagging suspicion that she knew something he didn't know, but he didn't know what that could be. He, after all, had known Billy for months now, where as she had just met him.
"But it's not you, it's got to be something else…"
"Perhaps he's just jealous of me because you have to split your attention," she suggested, looking out at the dance floor.
"No, something's been bothering him all week," Machiavelli argued vaguely. "And then last night… I'm sorry, do you want to dance? I should have asked you."
"It's okay, I don't really know how to dance. I always make a fool of myself." She smiled at him.
"That's always my argument too," he said distractedly. He shook his head, focusing on her. "How have things been? You know, there's still a lot I don't know about you, considering the fact that we've been seriously 'dating'." He mimed quotation marks around the last words.
She smiled. "Things are normal. The kids at the drop-in, they have their ups and down- I'm a homeless youth outreach worker, didn't I tell you that?" she explained, seeing his look of confusion. "Well, I avoided mentioning it at the birthday dinner, so that would explain it. My parents think that I've made a mistake," she explained, "in entering the social work field. It doesn't pay a lot and they believe that people who live in poverty are to blame themselves…"
"There are a lot of people in this country who seem to agree with that," he said, with a shake of his head.
"They're mostly the older people though," she said earnestly. "Younger generations tend to be more humane to those less fortunate- even young conservatives. And we have to focus on our youth. Nobody takes any efforts to ending youth homelessness right now because they are hidden- invisible, really- but our homeless youth today turn into our chronic homeless tomorrow."
"Chronic homeless are people who are out on the streets for a long time?"
She nodded, slipping into a jargon that was obviously very familiar to her. "Chronic homeless individuals are the ones most likely to die on the streets if they are not helped. I can't believe that some people are okay with anyone dying out there- it's so cold tonight."
They both looked up, hearing Billy coming back. "Did you get lost?" Machiavelli asked, touching the Kid's hand. He tried to sound joking, but he felt nervous somehow. "Why are your hands so cold?"
"I stepped outside for a minute," he said evasively. "What are you guys talking about?"
"Homelessness."
"Depressing topic," he said thickly.
Jill shrugged. "Homelessness is obviously very bad, but advocating for the homeless is actually very fulfilling. I feel like a warrior sometimes." She smiled at him. "You shouldn't go outside without your coat, you know. It's too cold, you'll get sick."
He managed a smile. He started to say something, but bit his tongue instead. Wanting to fill the sudden silence, Machiavelli told him, "Jill's an outreach work for homeless youth." Tugging on his hand, he pulled Billy down into the last chair at their table.
"Are there a lot of kids out there?" Billy asked gravely.
"Over two thousand in Philadelphia."
He coughed, choking on his drink. "What? That's terrible."
"Most are in emergency shelters, but there are some that we know are in their cars or abandoned buildings. And these numbers don't even count children who are what we call 'doubled up'- staying at someone else's house temporarily. Those kids aren't considered homeless because they have a place to stay at night, but these situations are hardly permanent- they're usually very tenuous at best."
Billy had a lot of questions- Machiavelli relaxed for the first time that night, feeling that the outlaw had gotten over his frostiness in the wake of his horror. The tactician himself felt a bit sick, listening to Jill talk about the difficulties and stigmas homeless individuals faced.
"Wait, so why don't they fund more programs targeting youth, then?" Billy asked, breaking into Machiavelli's train of thought.
"Youth numbers are always underreported. They don't want to be found because if they are, they are likely to be put in the foster system or get their parents in trouble with DCYF. Very few kids want that…"
"Huh," Billy said. Then, seeming to have heard too much to handle anymore, he asked, "Do you want to get up? We could dance," he suggested, looking to Machiavelli, perhaps for permission.
"Well, I don't know," she stuttered, but he was already on his feet.
Machiavelli tried to help her out. "She doesn't know how to dance, Billy."
"I can teach you. I taught Mac." He pulled her just onto the edge of the dance floor, showing her where to put her hands. All of his animosity from before had vanished; he was slow, patient. Machiavelli took his drink, watching the two of them together. For the hundredth time since their conversation last night, he wondered who it was Billy was in love with. He hoped she was a nice and that she loved the Kid back.
He heard Jill laugh and he smiled. Whatever Billy was saying to her, she apparently thought it was quite funny. An ever widening circle around them was forming as people moved away from them in alarm- they'd given up on dancing like normal people and now the Kid seemed to be showing her some kind of high stepping waltz fusion dance.
"Maybe it's not so bad that he doesn't love me," Machiavelli muttered quietly to himself. He saw Billy look over at him, ten feet away and he froze- he'd forgotten that with their heightened senses there was the chance of the Kid overhearing him. He gave a little wave and a shrug, smiling at him, Billy looked back down at Jill.
Machiavelli sighed, deflating once more. He had sick feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he thought about Billy with someone else. It felt like his insides had knotted up on themselves.
Their meal finally came and he got up to get them, but Jill must have seen the waiter come over because she led the outlaw off the dance floor, pink in the face and breathless with unlaughed laughter. "He's as funny as you told me he was," she told Machiavelli, her face all aglow.
"He can be," Machiavelli agreed mildly, remembering the earlier half of the night.
Billy half looked over at him, sensing the implications of the tactician's coolness. "I'm sorry I was so brusque before," he apologized, looking over the table at her. "I just… I was just thinking about something which makes me sad and you happened to come in in the middle of it all."
She nodded. "It's fine. Really," she added cause both men still looked indecisive. "I know what it's like to be absentminded. I'm kind of glad that you cancelled the other day," she confided to the Italian immortal. "I wasn't myself. It wouldn't have been enjoyable. I was in a horrible mood."
"I'm not sure that I believe that," he told her lightly. "I have never seen you in a bad mood."
"Oh, I'm terrible when I'm in a bad mood," she assured him. Leaning on her hand, she laughed a little. "I'm the meanest person ever…"
"Why were you upset?" Billy asked her. But she wouldn't tell them.
Hours later, they dropped her off at her apartment again. Billy came to the door with Machiavelli this time, making sure she got into the building safely. They left the little front door alcove, their breath forming before them in frosty puffs. "I want to find her someone to date," Billy asserted, waiting for some cars to pass so he could get in.
"Why?"
"I think she's lonely."
"I don't know. She's driven, she has friends."
"But maybe she'd be happier if she wasn't alone," he postulated, looking behind him to back up.
Machiavelli twisted around too to look back at the street. "There's nobody coming now. And I think that there are a lot of people who live alone who don't need or want anyone to be romantically involved with."
"But doesn't she seem a bit lonely to you?"
"I suppose… It's probably hard on her. It sounds like a lot of her friends are getting married and having children at this point."
"I'm just surprised that she hasn't already met someone herself- she's a nice girl."
"Well…"
"Well, what?" Billy looked over at him.
"Nothing, nothing."
"No, there was something."
He sighed. "I can't tell you, it's really her decision to share with others… But I know why she's having trouble finding a partner."
Billy looked like he still had some questions but he let it go, respecting the Italian's opinion even if he didn't understand it. Abruptly, he asked, "Are you still coming with me tomorrow?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"I thought maybe I upset you last night," Billy mumbled. "Mac… Do you think you'll ever want to date someone again?"
"No," Machiavelli said at once, thinking about how much he'd fallen in love with the Kid and how much it hurt to find out that it couldn't be. "I loved my wife," he said, remembering Marietta and feeling a different kind of ache in his heart. "And I promised her I wouldn't fall in love again. I think I'm destined to be alone."
Billy was so quiet in his seat that Machiavelli actually looked over to see if he was alright. "William?"
"Just thinking some more," the Kid said, catching his glance. "We're… we're leaving early tomorrow. I think I'm going to go to bed pretty early tonight."
"I probably won't be long after you," Machiavelli agreed. Reaching over, he fiddled with the radio, turning it up to fill the sudden silence that had blossomed between them.
