They'd hoped they would find something, had in fact found more than they had expected, and yet, Machiavelli reflected, none of them had expected it to be this. Scatty threw Billy concerned glances as he drove them home, but seemed to be reluctant to broach the subject first. Machiavelli too, was keenly aware of the stiffness in the Kid's posture, the way he said nothing as they sped on towards their motel rooms.

Perenelle, however, was not nearly as attuned to Billy, especially now as she seemed to have completely exhausted herself. Machiavelli had the suspicion that her aura had been used up significantly over the previous two nights and that it would be awhile before they could make another attempt in a different location. At any rate, they seemed to have successfully proven that the spirit of Billy's mother was not here in Indiana.

Machiavelli helped the Frenchwoman into her room, but Billy only gave a slight nod and some murmured words of thanks before he proceeded up the stairs to their room. Niccolo watched the slight frame of the youngest immortal disappear around a corner. He too, gave a cursory if slightly more attentive goodbye before leaving the two females.

By the time Machiavelli let himself into their room, Billy was flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch. Machiavelli had tried finding something the night before, but hadn't found anything that appealed to him and had since given up, but the American seemed determined to find something to watch now. He didn't look tired; he looked determined.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked the Kid.

The outlaw hesitated. "Not just yet," he said finally, still searching through the stations.

"Okay, caro. When you feel up to it." He dug through his bag for the book he'd packed- Oil, by Upton Sinclair- and settled on the couch. Reading his book, Machiavelli wasn't really paying much attention until certain noises caught his attention. "Is that…?" he trailed off, looking up.

"It is," Billy agreed, leaning forward as though to get a better look. "I would have thought that they'd have blocked this channel," he added vaguely, gaping at the television.

"Or at least, charged us extra to access this," Machiavelli murmured, watching two women pour oil on a man, who was lying face down.

"That's a lot of oil," Billy interrupted. "He's going to slide right off that fucking bed if they try to do anything…" Machiavelli gave him an incredulous look. "Well, he is," the Kid said defensively. And then a pause. "I'll find something else to watch…"

"That's up to you to decide. I'm taking a shower. I feel completely chilled down to the bone…" Tossing down his book, he fumbled around for his bag. "Personally, I don't want to be outside again for a long while."

"Yeah," Billy agreed, stretching in a rather catlike way. He slid down on the bed even more, stretching out his arms and legs in all directions. Machiavelli noticed that the Kid hadn't switched the channel yet and seemed to be watching the television with visible interest.

"Should I go ask for another room, William?" Machiavelli asked archly, taking out a pair of pajama bottoms and one of the sweatshirts he'd pilfered from the American immortal.

"What? Oh, cause of the… no, no, I'll find something else, just got to grab the remote," Billy said hastily, pulling himself across the bed on his stomach and consequently ruffling the bedspread.

"Oh, do what you will," Niccolo told him, gathering his change of clothes in his arms. Passing the other man, he spanked him on the ass, making Billy laugh slightly nervously and flip over. Gazing up at the other man, Billy stretched out his limbs, starfishing for something to do, apparently.

Muttering a retreat, Machiavelli made his way into the bathroom and leaned against the door, feeling that he'd made it away just in time. Close proximity with Billy combined with porn seemed to pose a serious threat to his resolve. Beginning to undress, he thought of the way Billy's legs had fallen open and he groaned, hurriedly turning on the shower to cover any residual noises coming from their bedroom as much as the noises that he couldn't help making now.

Dumping his slightly damp clothing into the hamper, he climbed in to the shower. He'd intended on taking a quick cold shower, but… running his fingers over the part of his leg which joined to his torso, he found he had different ideas of how he wanted to spend his time…

He was half disappointed, and a little surprised too, to find that when he got out of the shower a half hour later- the hot water had run out- the American immortal still had the television on the same channel. He'd hoped that he'd given them both sufficient time to work out their bodily pleasures, but... "Lose the remote?" he asked archly, raising an eyebrow as he shuffled past the bed.

Billy had the look of someone who was half asleep, half awake. He gave himself a little shake and looked up with a crooked smile fixed upon his features. "It's free porn, Mac, how could I turn down free porn? I think, that as a man, I'm morally obligated to consume a certain percentage…"

Niccolo, thinking of how he'd spent the last twenty-nine minutes, bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing. He picked up his book again instead, unable to look at the Kid, who'd hooked his fingers just slightly inside the elastic of his briefs. He tried too, to not pay attention to the noticeable bulge tenting the other man's underpants, but felt himself drawn like a moth to the flame, and almost against his will, he glanced up at the other immortal.

"What's the matter?" Billy asked, looking suddenly embarrassed, as he realized that he'd been at the center of the Italian's attention. He tilted his head, perhaps to decide if he'd done anything embarrassing while being watched.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about you," Machiavelli said softly.

"Thinking about how good looking I am?" Billy asked playfully. The Kid rolled onto his back, splaying out a leg suggestively.

For his part, the Italian immortal had to laugh. He shrugged. "I forget sometimes that there's so much around you, so much of… the legend, Billy the Kid. That you're not just my goofy friend."

"I'm just me," Billy said earnestly. "I'm nothing like the legend, afraid to say."

Machiavelli smiled at him, patting him on the head before getting up off the bed again. "I don't know if I'd go that far," he said gently. "Legends aren't without some basis of fact. The legend around you gets some of the bits of it- your compassion, your passion, your easy going nature… it just doesn't get all of it."

"To be fair, most of the historians who write about me aren't madly in love with me," Billy joked, grinning up at him. He waggled his eyebrows playfully at the word 'most', sweeping a hand through his hair so that it stuck up ridiculously.

Machiavelli scoffed and combed down his light brown bangs again, smoothing them off to the side. "I'm in love with you?" he asked, a jolt of excitement spreading through him despite his better instincts and he was careful to look dubious.

The Kid, on his part, looked momentarily pompous. "Everyone's in love with me. Do you mind if I keep watching this though?" Billy asked recklessly, gesturing to the television and leaning back to look over at the Italian immortal, his eyes bright and flashing.

Machiavelli himself was having trouble focusing on his book with the noises coming from the television, but also couldn't help watching it himself. "Sure, go ahead," he agreed mildly, tearing his eyes away finally to look back at the American. He held up his book. "I'm going to keep trying to read though."

"I'll turn it down," the Kid said hastily, dialing back on the volume until all that could be heard was the occasional squeak of the mattress and the breathy moans of the very buxom blonde who dominated the screen. Slouching down on the bed, he yanked the blankets up, having the decency at least to cover himself up.

In the next half hour, Machiavelli got maybe half way down the page he'd been working on. His concentration was further interrupted when he noticed that Billy's right hand was underneath the covers. The scathing review of the oil industry in the early twentieth century could hardly compete with his thoughts about what that hand might be doing.

Giving up entirely as the clock crept closer to three in the morning, he tossed the book on his bedside table- Billy gave a violent jump, surprised- and turned off his bedside lamp too so that the only lights in their room were the flashing colors coming off of the television and the dull bulb flickering on the Kid's side of the bed. He got up from the couch, wincing a little- his back ached from the uncomfortable springs- and he moved towards the bed, turning back the covers.

"Want me to turn it off?" Billy asked immediately.

"No," the tactician said shortly, throwing his pillow up against the headboard and sitting next to the American immortal. "You might as well turn it up."

"Did it distract you from your book?" Billy asked regretfully, nevertheless turning up the volume as indicated. "Sorry about that."

"Let's just say the two couldn't compete," Niccolo said drily. "Catch me up on the plot of this episode?" he added, giving the outlaw a sarcastic smile.

"Well, when last we left our protagonist," the Kid instantly quipped back, a smile digging at the corner of his lips, "she was just about to receive a college education…"

Machiavelli snorted loudly, rolling his eyes and muttered under his breath. He couldn't believe that they were sitting next to each other, watching a pornography- it was a little different from that time in the middle of the night when he'd found the Kid on the couch downstairs. They were sitting together, in bed now, and there was very little between the two of them… His mind wandered…

"I'll turn this off," Billy broke into his thoughts. "We'll need to be getting some sleep after all," he said loudly, scooting down in bed. "I want to head for home soon, next day or so. We have to get back for Thanksgiving. I promised Billie that we'd have a good meal this year."

"Right," Machiavelli agreed vaguely, angry at himself for being disappointed. "Yes, let me get comfortable in bed though, first, alright?" He sighed, settling down himself. "Why?" he asked suddenly, opening his eyes again. "Was there a time you had a bad meal?"

Billy snorted again. Machiavelli was glad that he was happier tonight than he had been the night before. "There was one Thanksgiving that went horribly wrong," he admitted, half murmuring into his pillow. "I'd agreed to make the meal myself, that was a mistake…"

"I'll help you cook this year," he offered. "I like cooking."

"Good," the other man said sleepily. "We'll have half a chance of a decent meal."

"When was this disastrous meal?"

"Back in 1963… You know Mac," Billy said after a few minutes. "I've been thinking of something lately." He glanced over sideways and seemed relieved to find that Machiavelli was focusing his attention on him. "It's been on my mind for a couple of weeks…"

"Oh, yeah?" Machiavelli asked mildly. "Thinking about that girl that you're in love with?"

"What girl?" the Kid asked, confused. "Oh, no, forget about what I said about that. That didn't go the way I'd- No, I was thinking about, well, the album you found last month."

The Italian immortal took a minute to respond. He hadn't figured on Billy ever mentioning that again and was rather surprised that he had, and voluntarily too. "I remember," he said cautiously. "What about it?"

"What'd you think when you found it?"

"What did I think?" he repeated blankly.

"Mac, quit repeating everything I say. I'm trying to have a conversation with you." He fumbled around for the light switch and, finding it, turned off the light so that with a little pop the entire room went dark.

"It was a bit of a shock," Machiavelli said finally.

"But Scatty said it made you sad. And I was remembering how funny you acted right after." Billy licked his lips nervously. "Why?"

"Why…?" The Italian immortal felt like his brain was malfunctioning. "I don't know. Why are we talking about this now William?" It's been over a month," he pointed out feebly.

"I've been thinking about it cause… cause I don't like you dating Jill- no, I know you're not really- but it makes me feel… funny. Do you know? And then I got to thinking that maybe that's why you didn't like finding the album. Cause maybe we have similar feelings…"

"I thought there was an awful lot of women in there," Machiavelli confessed, slowly processing the conversation.

"Well, I don't know about an awful lot," Billy said in surprise. "There was a fair few, I guess."

Part of what had bothered Machiavelli about the photo album was the number of girls in it. "What's a fair few to you, then?", he asked, scoffing. He'd counted fifteen girls in total, some with pages upon pages of pictures.

"I did tell you I was a member of the free love movement for a while there," Billy reminded him. "I've cooled down since."

"Billy? Can I ask you a question about the album?" Machiavelli felt that while they were on the subject, probably for the first and only time, he'd better clear up as many questions as he could.

The Kid nodded slightly, a crimson blush still spread across his cheeks. "Sure…?" He flicked through the album.

"Are there more albums like the one we're talking about?" Machiavelli, trying and failing to sound disinterested.

"No, just the one."

"Really?" Machiavelli lowered his voice. "Why make only one?'

Billy paused, making a face. "It was the sixties. I had just turned a hundred… and was having kind of the opposite of a midlife crisis… like it was a 'you-lived-too-long' crisis. The last girl in the album… She was a bit of a wake-up call. I wasn't prepared to get too deeply involved with anyone at that point."

Machiavelli felt like a load was lifted off him. Momentarily. He beamed at the Kid who grinned back at him. The outlaw bobbed his head back and forth, thinking about it. "We should be able to talk about things when we have to," he agreed at last. "We're like best friends."

"I thought Black Hawk was your best friend."

"Black Hawk and I are great friends," Billy agreed. "But I don't always confide in him about my feelings, the way I can with you."

Machiavelli felt his stomach lurch a little, feeling that he should just walk away. Not say anything. Let things remain the way they'd been for months now; protect his friendship and learn to get over the outlaw with time. He was surprised when Billy squeezed his hand. Closing his eyes, he knew in that moment that no matter what, he had fallen too deeply in love with the American to ever feel any other way.

Billy was still talking to him. "Make me a promise." He waited; Machiavelli nodded. "Promise me, we'll always be friends."

"Course we will," Machiavelli said, again sitting up in bed. He studied Billy, looking a little concerned at this point. "Really Billy, is something the matter?"

Billy held out a hand, wagging a finger slowly. "Yes. I just realized something at the beginning of the month. And," he hesitated. "One of these days I'd like to discuss it with you, properly. I'm just afraid of what will happen when I say it."

"You shouldn't ever be afraid to say anything to me," the Italian said sofly.

"I'll keep that in mind. But really, Mac, I think I'm just in a funny mood. Don't mind me."

"Are you thinking about your father?" Machiavelli asked, having to bring it up again despite his best efforts.

"A little," Billy admitted finally. "But it's weird… I never knew my father. I don't know him. So, I don't… I would have rather found my momma, to be honest."

They were quiet again for a few minutes, so quiet that Machiavelli was beginning to wonder if the outlaw had fallen asleep on him after all. He gave a little start when the Kid spoke again. "Mr. Machiavelli?"

Niccolo smiled softly, his forehead creasing. "Yes, Mr. Bonney?"

Billy laughed. "Making fun of me, Mac? I had a question."

"Only a little bit… what did you want to ask?"

The Kid ruffled his hair. "Nothing, never mind."

Machiavelli's flint gray eyes pierced the outlaw's, making him squirm, but holding his gaze. "What did you want to ask?"

"Do you think I'm lovable?"

The Italian blinked. He'd expected something with a little more gravity. "Of course you are, Billy. But that's not your real question, is it?"

"No… Well, I guess I'm just asking… do you love me?"

"Of course." Machiavelli ran his knuckles over the Kid's arm.

"But I mean… not just like you love Scatty or Perenelle. More than that." Sitting up again, he knelt beside Niccolo. "Do you really love me?"

Machiavelli couldn't figure out what the best way to respond would be; confused by the whirl of emotions that had come out of this night, he found that he didn't know what Billy's motives would be. He tried to redirect, in favor of giving himself more time to think. "What did you mean before? You're not in love with that girl anymore? The one you told me about…"

"I was never in love with any girl," Billy said softly and miserably. "That came out the wrong way."

Niccolo felt like there were fireworks going off in the pit of his stomach. There was a swooping sensation that reminded him of their flying lessons, back in Minnesota. "How'd you mean it?"

Billy was entirely silent. Machiavelli had the sense that if he could just keep quiet, the uncomfortable silence would be so unbearable for the American immortal that he would keep talking and Machiavelli could learn more about what the Kid thought. Still, the silence was double edged. "Would it make you happy?" he whispered. "If I said I did?"

Billy nodded. "Yes it would."

"I do love you more than anybody else. You were the first person to believe in me again. You make me better."

Billy curled up by his side, thinking things over. "Not just saying this cause you think I'm sad tonight, are you?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"No, you wouldn't," the Kid agreed. "Niccolo…"

"Try getting some sleep now," Machiavelli suggested. "You haven't had much chance to rest for days now." He could tell the younger immortal was beginning to fall asleep. He was exhausted too, but pure excitement kept him up. Billy wants me to love him, wants me to love him more than the others. That must mean something…