The room was filled with bright, white light when Billy woke up the next morning. He stretched out a hand wanting to touch Machiavelli but, groping around, found that the other side of the bed was abandoned and that he was quite alone. A sense of panic briefly filled Billy's head. 'Was it real?' he wondered wildly, sitting up abruptly. "Mac?" he called quietly, hoping that maybe he had just gone down the hall. There wasn't any answer and he couldn't hear anyone moving around nearby.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, getting out of bed. He was a little surprised to find himself completely undressed, but then the events of the previous night flooded back and he laughed with a little bit of relief. His happiness was short lived however- 'why had Niccolo left? Was he ashamed of what had happened?' He thought that the Italian immortal had been enjoying himself, but what if he had reconsidered things now that they had injected a physical aspect into their relationship? Dressing quickly, Billy mused over these things, feeling that he had pushed them forward too fast. He should have taken things slow…

The house was remarkably quiet, he noticed, as he made his way down the hallway of the second floor. Pausing midway through the passage, he turned on his heel and made his way up the stairs instead to the top floor. The door to his old bedroom- Scatty's room now- was open, revealing an empty room. No redhead, he thought, wondering where everyone had gone.

The study door was closed however. He glanced at his watch- mid morning- and decided to knock lightly. "Come in," he heard Perenelle call.

He eased his way through, sticking his head through the door. "Hi, Mrs. Flamel," he said apologetically. "I didn't know you were still in bed, I'll just go." But he hadn't even moved before she called him back, inviting him to take a seat at the desk.

He entered reluctantly, feeling somehow that invading Perenelle's privacy was rather like stepping onto the other side of the counter at the bank- it shouldn't be allowed. The Frenchwoman looked remarkably less put together than usual, her hair streaming down over her shoulders and her pajamas rumpled. "Wondering where everyone is?" she asked, reaching for a hairbrush on the side table and beginning to work her hair into order.

He nodded mutely. "Ah, well, the three of them went for a walk. The dog, he was barking quite loudly this morning. I'm surprised it didn't wake you. They left about a half hour ago."

"Mac took a dog for a walk," Billy said quickly, pure relief hitting him now. "And- and the others," he added, not wanting to seem too keen on the Italian immortal. "I wondered where he went."

"Well, now you know," she said, smiling at him. Getting out of bed, she stretched gracefully. "Did you have fun last night?"

Images of what he had done to the warlock last night flashed through his mind. He was confused- 'how could she know about that?' he wondered- but then he realized that she was talking about before they'd gone upstairs, when they were all playing games. "Y-yeah. One of my best birthdays, I have to admit."

"Good. You deserve a lifetime of happy birthdays," she said, looking at him fondly.

He gave her a shy smile. Perenelle reminded him of some of the school teachers who had flitted through his childhood. A bit stern yes, but loving all the same. "Did you like bowling?" he asked her, taking the brush back from her. He set it on the desk behind him.

"I did. Even if I felt like I was going to fall the whole time."

"Have you fallen before? When you bowl, I mean. That's usually why people get nervous of something."

She laughed a little, looking at him with her flecked brown eyes. "I fell one time when Nicholas brought me bowling, but that was many years ago, so I don't know if that was really it. We've gone bowling several times since and I've never fallen in between now and then. I don't know," she said frankly. Picking up a housecoat, she donned it and held out a hand for him. "Let's go have some breakfast, you and I."

"When you say a long time ago, how long do you mean?" he asked her curiously, guiding her down the stairs. He liked talking to her; talking in general had always made him feel better. And he liked the mental image of the Flamels, so impervious in nature, on a silly little date at a bowling alley.

"Oh, gosh," she said, thinking it over. "It was a little after the war of 1812."

"What?" he shouted, laughing. "That was before I was even born. They had bowling back then? I mean, Mac told me that he like bocci ball, but I didn't know they had bowling in America back then… That was fifty years before I was born…"

"Well, as Niccolo has probably told you, bowling has existed throughout different cultures for centuries. We used to play it in the alley, near where I lived when I was a child…" He waited, but she didn't continue the thought. Instead, she moved forward with the conversation. "I think bowling came to American in the late 18th century. They mentioned it in Rip Van Winkle- it's bowling that wakes him up- and that was published in what, 1819?" She squinted as though seeing something far in the distance. "Yes, right around then anyways."

He made her breakfast, listening as she told him about other funny little facts, things that he thought had been more recent. Not all of what she said was really surprising, when he thought about it. He'd known about sewing machines and pasteurization and dynamite, just from his rudimentary self-guided education. On the other hand, he was startled when she told him that the first dishwasher had been invented in 1850. "But we didn't have electricity," he blurted out. "That's not very convenient, is it?"

She laughed. "None of the early versions of it were particularly useful. Especially since you turned them by hand. We were hardly better off… It was a woman, Josephine Cochran, who made the first practical dishwasher."

"Women are just better," he laughed. "More insightful." And before he could help it- "I miss my mother, Perenelle."

She looked up from the newspaper she'd been skimming. "I'm sorry we couldn't have found her." He waved her off. "I know the odds were slim," she said, "but I really did."

"I didn't think we were going to find her," he admitted. "I knew in my heart that she wouldn't be there."

"Where do you think she is?" Perenelle asked, looking at him intently.

He shifted under her gaze. Yes, it was definitely a school marm kind of look she'd mastered. "I don't know exactly. I think she's either in Kansas or New Mexico. She was happy in Kansas, I think, but that's where she started to get really sick. And she was sick in New Mexico, but that's where we finally settled."

"I think we should try again, to find her. I was thinking maybe we could start at the end of the week," she told him.

He hesitated. "I don't want you sick on my account," he told her earnestly. "You still look pale. You need to rest."

Now she was the one who waved aside his remark. "I need to go out and get some sun, is all," she said in a brisk tone, sounding like her usual stubborn self. "Nicholas and I are going to go on a walk this afternoon. I have to get our Christmas shopping started. Now that the stories are less crazy than they were on Friday…"

"What would you like for Christmas?" he asked her, intrigued. He was always curious as to what other immortals desired. Given their long lifespans, they were usually able to acquire most things they wanted on their own. He was hoping for an idea of what to get his Italian friend. "A book?"

She laughed. "Yes, sometimes, but I like other things. New clothes, for instance." Clothes, he mused. Yeah, Mac likes clothes, but he wouldn't like my taste in them… Maybe Perenelle would help him pick out something though. She was stylish. "What else?" he prompted her. It took her a few more minutes of pondering. "Jewelry. And trips. Sometimes he writes me poetry." She looked like she felt she'd said too much. She took another sip of her coffee.

"Hm…" He still had no idea of what to give the Italian immortal. It occurred to him that the tactician was financially much better off than he was. They heard a key turning in the lock and he leaned forward, peeping down the hall.

They came in with a gust of cold air. Scatty and Nick first, with the husky, and then, at last he saw Machiavelli. The tall immortal looked more handsome than ever. He looked down the hallway at Niccolo with a little apprehension on his face, but the tactician smiled as he made his way towards him. He felt the traces of doubt slip away as quickly as they'd come; he beamed.

"I didn't want to wake you up this morning," Niccolo explained, taking a seat beside him. "You looked very peaceful. And we'd all been up pretty late the night before."

"I was tired," he agreed. "But I thought I was going crazy, this morning… Everyone was gone."

"Ah, sorry about that. We actually weren't planning on taking such a long walk. The Pup is popular with the ladies." Yawning, he stole the Kid's coffee mug. "Right, Scatty?" he asked, as she took the seat across from them.

"Yeah, he hams it up as much as the real Billy does. So, did Machiavelli give you your birthday spanks?" Scatty asked him, interestedly.

"No, I forgot," Machiavelli said, giving the American immortal his beverage back. "Bend over, William, we have quite a few to catch up on. You're how old now, exactly?"

"I'm a hundred and forty-six… and don't tease me like that," he added, blushing furiously.

"Well, I wouldn't give you a hundred and forty-six spanks," the tactician said. "You wouldn't be able to walk afterwards… Of course, many people are unable to walk, at least for a little while afterwards, once I'm done with them. For one reason or another," he added with a mischievous smile. He'd pitched his voice low so that the Flamels, over by the sideboard, couldn't hear. But Scatty gave them a searching look. They both returned their most innocent looking smiles, Billy resting an arm on Machiavelli's shoulder.

~MB~

They didn't get a chance to talk to Scatty alone over the next two days. It seemed like as soon as one of them had gotten her aside, the other was called into the company of the other immortals, as though some invisible force was determined to keep them held in secret.

"You know who we should go see?" Machiavelli asked Billy over Sunday night's dinner. The Kid looked up, a bit of bread suspended in midair. He quirked his eyebrow and asked who. "I was thinking that we should go see Jill again. We were going to see her before we left for Indiana, but we never did. We should go now, before you leave for Kansas."

Billy dipped the bread in his soup and chewed it thoughtfully. "You're coming to Kansas with me, aren't you?" Machiavelli nodded; so did Billy. "Sure. We should make plans. Want to come with us Scatty?" he asked, looking over at her.

She looked surprised. "Me? I guess so, kid. But what about-?"

Nicholas caught her look. "I was planning on bringing Perenelle out on a date tomorrow night. We're going to see the symphony."

Billy tapped Scatty on the arm. "I think you'll like Jill. I didn't think I would at first, but I did." He smiled at her. "And who wouldn't like you?"

"Jill's a sweet girl," Machiavelli agreed.

"Do I seem like the type who likes sweet girls?" Scatty asked archly.

Billy laughed. "Give her a chance. I think you'll find that she can hold her own in a conversation."

Machiavelli made the call following dinner. Jill sounded surprised- perhaps she had thought they'd forgotten her- but she also sounded quite happy to hear from him. They made plans for the next night, deciding that they would come over to her apartment. He thought that the addition of Scatty to their group had made her a little nervous, but he had faith that the Shadow would be able to be kind to her, even gentle. He'd seen her do it with him, and with Billy.

The next night, they headed out after darkness had fallen. Scatty had claimed the backseat without complaint. She gave them until they'd reached the end of their street before she asked her question. "Why have you two been so weird the past few days?" she asked, poking her head into the front seat and looking expectantly from the Italian immortal to the American.

They glanced at each other. Billy raised his eyebrows and gestured at the wheel as if to say that he couldn't be the one to tell her because he was piloting the car. Machiavelli felt that this was grossly unfair; it wasn't like the outlaw was using his mouth to steer the wheel- though he imagined that Billy had tried this at some point- but gave up and turned around in his seat. "Don't be mad. We've been wanting to tell you for days now…"

"Are you two-?" She gave them another glance over before focusing on the tactician.

He waited for her to finish her sentence but she didn't. He realized a second later that of course she wouldn't say the rest of it- if they weren't dating she'd be giving away their secret. He felt a rush of affection for her. "We're- we've decided to date each other," he said awkwardly, grinning like a teenager.

"You've decided to what-?" She looked like she had several things she wanted to say, all at once. Opening and closing her mouth, she took a deep breath. "Oh, you just casually started dating? When?"

"Only last week," Machiavelli said quickly. "When we went for that walk on Thanksgiving Day, Billy told me that he…"

"I told him that I was in love with him," Billy interjected. "Cause I thought I might as well risk it. I was going to ask you what I should do but then I thought, just get it done, before I lost my nerve, you know? And I knew that you thought I should tell him because we've talked about it before." He said this all very quickly, in one breath.

"You really did tell him, didn't you?" she said, sounding delighted. "I'm actually impressed, Billy," Scatty told him. "And now does this mean he knows how you've felt about him all along?" she asked, glancing over at Machiavelli.

"No, I told him I wasn't interested at all, but we decided to move forward anyways with the dating thing," he said, but quietly. She hit him on the arm, but Billy was laughing. He couldn't help but grin at her. "Of course I told him that I loved him back. He'd already taken the dangerous step, hadn't he?"

"Aw, but I think that was the perfect thing for both of you," she said quite seriously. "Cause it gave Billy control and you security. It's nice. Wow, guys." She sat back in her seat, thinking about it. "I'm really very happy for you. Really, I am."

"I'm happy too," Machiavelli admitted, reaching out to touch Billy's arm. "It was a surprise for me, believe me."

Scatty made a motion with her hand. "No, it's not really a surprise. I knew it was just a matter of time before you two figured it out… So wait, have you kissed yet? Are you having sex?"

Machiavelli made an odd coughing noise. "You can't just ask people that," he argued with her, covering his face slightly behind his hand.

"We're messing around," Billy chimed in happily. "He really is big, Scatty. Well, you are." He said, catching the horrified expression on Machiavelli's face. "Oh, you don't want to tell her about the touching thing? She can probably guess. We share a bed." He looked in the mirror again. "He's my Italian Stallion, Scatty!"

Machiavelli smacked him on the arm and he yipped a little, laughing uproariously. Scatty giggled uncharacteristically at the look on Machiavelli's face. "We're here!"

"Cheer up," she told the Italian, climbing out after him. "He's excited by your physique."

"Yes, well, good…" he mumbled, still feeling rather shy about all this. "Doesn't mean he needs to spread it around to everyone on the planet," he called ahead to the American.

Billy walked backwards, smiling at him. "I had to tell Scatty. I can't tell anyone else. And I've got to brag, Mac, cause that's just in my nature."

Machiavelli scoffed, but there was a smile on his lips as they walked up to the door. "We kissed under a lamppost," he told Scatty. "Snow was falling."

She shook her head, still smiling at him. "You two aren't going to end up being one of those cutsie couples are you?"

"We're going to be the cutest couple you ever did see," Billy told her, pummeling the button next to 2B. "Hello!" he said, when she answered. "It's Billy! Remember me?" ("Of course she remembers you," Machiavelli said). Billy ignored this. Getting buzzed up, they made their way into the building and up a flight of stairs before knocking on the door to the left. They heard a rustling noise, a small crash, and muffled swears before the door opened.

"Hi," Jill said, excitedly. "Come in. Don't mind the cat." She kept pushing back an all-black cat with her foot. "This is Mister."

"Look at you. Cutie," Billy gushed, picking up the cat. "Is there a Missus?"

"Actually, we call her Ma'am." She pointed at a second black cat, this one with a white sock, a purple collar, and a bemused expression upon her face. "Mister and Ma'am. I've always taken in black cats. I have a soft spot for them…"

"So precious," Billy cooed, looking at the cat in his arms. The cat was laying like a baby, casually licking a back paw as though he'd always known the Kid. Scatty, standing next to Machiavelli in the doorway, coughed. Billy looked up, as if surprised there were other people with him. "Oh, Jill, this is our friend Scathach. Call her Scatty."

"Oh, hi," Jill said, her voice a little higher than usual. She came rushing over, stepping over a stack of books that had spilled out across the floor. "Nice to meet you. I dropped the books when I was going to the door. Probably shouldn't stack them there. Scathach, huh?" She rubbed her stomach awkwardly. "Like the Scottish warrior?"

The red head blinked. "You know about Scottish legendry? That's kind of obscure history."

"I'm kind of an obscure person," she laughed. "Hey," she said suddenly, looking between Billy and Machiavelli. "Something's different between you two. Are you-?"

Machiavelli's face relaxed into a smile. "We are."

She lit up, glowing as though she was the one who'd finally found love. "Aw, that's wonderful guys. You're going to be so happy together."