"And what are you two doing?" Nicholas asked, wandering into the room. "I thought you'd all be heading for the airport by now? Now Perry's just gotten in the shower."
"Ah, the flight was delayed by a couple of hours. We were waiting to leave but then this movie came on," Machiavelli explained. Billy and he had been holding hands, but now as the Frenchman joined them, they moved apart, making room between us. He glanced at his watch. "We've been watching it for about an hour," he told the outlaw. "How'd that happen?"
Billy glanced at his own watch. "Well, the others all went other places. We might as well wait for them. Besides, I like this movie." He brightened. "Maybe we'll get to see all of it, after all."
Nicholas took a seat between the two of them. "What is this? Mannequin?"
Billy nodded, a tiny smile on his face. Niccolo looked over at the other European immortal. "It's a very strange movie."
The Frenchman nodded and shrugged, smiling as well. "It was the eighties…"
"Back on," Billy told them, the last of the commercial's fading. Both of the older immortals were quiet as the show started again, though Machiavelli was wondering where this plot- or lack there of- could possibly go.
"Of course, the real problem is that there are too many commercials," Billy commented minutes later as they came to another break. "This is crazy…"
"You don't have this on DVD?"
Billy scratched at his face. "I do. But that would require me to get up and find it…" He flashed a smile at the others. Machiavelli shook his head at the Kid, who curled on his side, one eye watching the screen for the show to come back on.
Another thirty minutes passed before the two Native American immortals came back. By this point, they'd been joined by Perenelle, Scatty, and Billie so that the room was busting at the seams and Machiavelli now found himself across the room from his boyfriend, a fact that made him rather unhappy.
"You sure you don't want to come with us?" he whispered to Scatty as they finally began to prepare for leaving.
"Nah, with all these men? You'll be fine, Niccolo. Why are you worried?"
"I'm just nervous I guess."
"What, cause they are mostly his friends? They like you too."
"I know. It's just that we're going to be sneaking around cause we can't tell anyone…"
"Work on him," she advised. "Billy loves you so much. He just needs to get over a few fears himself, or whatever his hang up is. He'll come around…" Patting him on the behind, she pushed him towards the door. He passed Nicholas and Perenelle and made his way down the stairs.
They were taking Black Hawk's Jeep to the airport. "I'll sit on the hump," Billy offered, boosting Machiavelli up. He followed the Italian immortal into the backseat, sitting thigh to thigh to give Fred room to join them. They called out goodbyes to Nicholas and the girls.
"Nice arrangement, huh?" Billy whispered to Niccolo as they trundled away.
"I miss your driving already," Machiavelli replied out of the corner of his mouth, speaking so low that the Kid had to cock his head to hear.
"What are you two whispering back there?" Black Hawk asked curiously, glancing at them through his rear view mirror.
"I was just trying to make a bet with Mac on whether we'd live to see the airport," Billy said in an innocent sort of voice.
"Don't make me kick you out on the interstate," Black Hawk shot back. They continued to bicker back and forth as they made their way to the airport.
The only good thing about this whole trip so far, Machiavelli reflected, was that they were so packed into the back of Back Hawk's Jeep that nobody questioned how close they were sitting to each other. Shifting his coat in his arms so that it covered all his and some of Billy's lap, Machiavelli slipped a hand over the other man's leg until he felt a hard warmth. Underneath jacket, Billy grabbed his hand; for a moment, Machiavelli thought that the outlaw wanted him to stop, but no, Billy was guiding his movements. This distraction in place, they were almost disappointed when they finally reached the parking lot they needed to park in.
This time Machiavelli was the first out of the car and he reached back to help Billy. The outlaw jumped down and stumbled, catching himself on Machiavelli's shoulders. "Foot's asleep," he said loudly, but there was a brightness in his eyes and a certain stiff way in which he moved that made Machiavelli feel quite good about himself.
Even for having waited at home a long time, they were still there well before their plane was due to take off. The others drifted off towards the various stores and kiosks located in the cavernous airport, but Machiavelli made his way over to the seats in front of their terminal, with Billy picking his way behind him. Sitting beside him, the outlaw rested his head on Niccolo's shoulder.
Niccolo glanced around to see where the others were, making sure they were out of sight, then kissed the outlaw's temple. A middle aged woman with streaks of gray hair gave them a second glance as she passed by them, then averted her eyes as if she'd seen something shameful or at the very least, private. Machiavelli ignored her. "Tired, honey?" he asked quietly.
"Mm. I was awake for a while last night. Couldn't sleep…"
"You should have woken me up," Machiavelli chastised.
"Mmpfh," Billy slurred sleepily. He rubbed his forehead against the side of Machiavelli's head. "I couldn't do that… I wanted you to get your sleep, querido," he mumbled. Groaning, he slipped down in his seat and sat up again. "These seats aren't incredibly comfortable, are they?"
"What were you thinking about?"
Billy considered the matter. His fingers crept over Machiavelli's, his hands small in comparison to the Italian's, so that he was really holding only three of the tactician's fingers with all of his. "I was just thinking about finding my mother. We're going to be running around and there's no guarantee we'll find anything."
"We might not," Machiavelli allowed, "but at least we'll know."
"Maybe we should look for your wife instead," Billy said suddenly.
Jerking his head up, Niccolo looked at him in surprise. "No, caro, we're going to find your mother. Besides…" he hesitated, looking guilty. "I love my wife… But I don't know how to talk to her about this yet. You know?" he asked nervously.
The Kid made a whinnying kind of laugh. "I mean, look at me, Mac. I can't even tell Black Hawk. Who am I to give you a hard time?"
They were quiet, looking out at the airport around them. Planes were constantly landing, people disembarking, and moving in clotted groups. In line with the direction they were facing, a soldier was greeted by a little contingent of people waving flags. An elderly woman with close cropped gray hair was greeted and rapidly disappeared under three small girls.
"This reminds me of the day we first met," Billy said sleepily, laying his head on Machiavelli's shoulder. "When you first came over?"
"I was so surprised you knew who I was write away," Machiavelli said, watching the other passengers mill around. He looked over at his companion. "You had that damn picture of me." He scowled.
"Wish I'd kept it now," Billy said thoughtfully. "I suppose you destroyed it."
"I was planning on it. Then we went to Alcatraz. So yeah, it's pretty much gone now." He glanced over at the outlaw. "Sorry, caro."
Billy grinned. "You're not the least bit sorry."
"No, I can't say that I am."
"Let me take other pictures of you," the outlaw whispered in his ear and Machiavelli felt goosebumps settle over him. Something of what he was thinking must have lingered on his features; with a sly grin, the Kid laughed. "I wasn't thinking of that kind of picture," he said, "but I certainly wouldn't say no to that either…"
Machiavelli blushed crimson. "I- I don't-," he stammered.
He was saved the trouble of answering by the arrival of Fred. Niccolo seized upon his company with almost indecent gratitude, questioning him about what he'd bought and what stores he'd gone into. The tactician was aware of Billy's thoughtful silence throughout the conversation.
They were forced to split up again when they got on the plane itself. Perenelle and Fred took two seats up by the front, while the other three headed for the back of the cabin. Black Hawk sat between them; for a minute, it looked like Billy was going to object to this seating arrangement, but he contained himself. In fact, by the time they'd taken flight, he had succumbed to the very real exhaustion that he'd been fighting all day. He curled into Black Hawk's side, snoring slightly and drooling on the Native American immortal's shoulder. Machiavelli was surprised that Black Hawk didn't object, but Black Hawk just patted the younger immortal's hand and talked with him for some time about the Chicago's World Fair that the three of them had unwittingly all gone to.
~MB~
Billy slept through the entire flight down. "Why is he so tired?" Black Hawk had asked Machiavelli about an hour in.
Machiavelli had looked up from his book. "Maybe he's nervous about looking for his mother?" he suggested, not wanting to let on that he already knew why the Kid was so tired. Leaning forward, he looked the outlaw over. Billy looked rather careworn, he thought critically. Reaching over Black Hawk, he brushed the hair out of Billy's face, smoothing it over.
"You do love him, don't you?" Black Hawk asked, and Machiavelli froze. "So do I. Billy's a good guy, isn't he?"
"Of course he is," Niccolo agreed, his heart slowing down again a little. For a second, he thought Black Hawk had guessed their secret. "I've never met anyone like him," he added, hoping that this was something one might say about their friend. He couldn't quite be sure. He hadn't had a lot of friends in the past couple of hundred years. Feeling nervous, he opened his book again.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Black Hawk asked, so unexpectedly that Niccolo dropped his book.
Glancing over at him, Machiavelli nodded, too surprised to say anything at first. "Sure. Not great friends, like you and Billy, but we… we get along and we both care for," he jerked his thumb at the Kid. "The baby," Black Hawk joked. "Exactly," Machiavelli agreed.
"Well, I was just wondering. I think I put you off sometimes."
Niccolo was quiet, mulling things over. "Sometimes I don't know what to expect with you. It's not that I dislike you though."
"Think about how sad Billy would be if we didn't get along."
Machiavelli laughed. "He would never let that happen."
They were reluctant to wake Billy up when they finally reached their destination. Black Hawk half joked that they should carry the American immortal out, but Machiavelli nixed even the slightest suggestion of that. The way they would look notwithstanding, they had too much luggage to entertain the notion. Leaning over Black Hawk, he lightly prodded the outlaw in the stomach. "Billy," he whispered. "Billy!"
Billy woke up with a small snort, looking around dazedly. He assessed the situation with remarkable haste. Reaching up, he grabbed his seat belt and did it up. "Are we there now?" he asked groggily.
"Yeah, kid. You slept the whole way down."
The outlaw yawned. "I was sluh-sluh-sleepy," he protested, leaning back and closing his eyes. He continued the conversation without reopening them. "Are we going to eat?"
"We'll get you something. You slept through the meal."
They picked him up a fast food meal at the airport, but he had to eat in the terminal of the bus depot nearby as they were still quite a bit away from where they should be. The upshot was that when they boarded the Greyhound, they were all able to sit together again. The downside is that this leg of the journey was still going to take a couple of hours.
Billy picked a seat beside Machiavelli this time, unabashedly leaning on his shoulder as they set out. Niccolo was hesitant to do anything at first, but gradually began to rub the outlaw's shoulder. He was glad for the close contact; he'd been afraid that they'd never be able to sit next to each other in public or be affectionate without it seeming strange.
It was almost midnight by the time they reached Wichita. Machiavelli saw Billy leaning forward and frowning as he looked around. "It's much bigger here than it was when I was a kid," he said forlornly.
"You just need a good night's sleep," Fred told him. "You'll feel better about things in the morning."
"Maybe…"
They rented a suite at the hotel down the road from the bus depot where they disembarked. It had two private bedrooms and a couch that folded out. "Billy and I can kip on the couch," Black Hawk said upon entering the suite. "We're not very private people." Throwing an arm around the outlaw's shoulder, he roughed up his hair.
"Ah, but…" Billy said softly, but his protests trailed away to nothing. He shrugged helplessly at the Italian. Machiavelli patted him on the shoulder. "I guess that's fine," Billy allowed.
Feeling stiff and curiously flat from their day of traveling, Machiavelli decided to take a shower before retiring for the night. He'd been in the shower maybe five minutes when he heard knocking on the door. "Mac?" It's Billy. Can I come in? I have to pee…"
"Sure," he called, projecting his voice over the sound of the running water.
Billy came into the room and put the seat up- Machiavelli heard the clang of the plastic hitting the bowl- but then Billy came over to where the shower was. "Knock knock," he called softly.
Pulling the shower curtain back, Machiavelli leaned against the wall. "I thought you had to pee?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nah, I just wanted to come do this for the night." Without much warning, Billy stole a kiss from him. Despite the steam rising all around him, Machiavelli shivered. "Love you," Billy whispered. "Wish the sleeping arrangement was a little different…"
"I think this arrangement was actually Black Hawk trying to be nice to me."
"Maybe… I've got to go though- they're going to get suspicious if I'm in here, long." He lingered though, not wanting to go.
"Come here," the Italian coaxed. Pushing his sopping bangs out of the way, he tilted his head as invitingly as he could. Billy grinned and stepped closer again. "Ti amo, caro. Now get out of here."
"Right," the American immortal said dazedly. He half turned, a goofy smile back on his face. "What am I supposed to tell them?"
"Tell them you were brushing your teeth."
"See, that's why I date you. You're so much smarter than me." Chuckling, Billy pulled the shower curtain closed again. Machiavelli heard him flush the toilet and then the door opened and closed. Smiling to himself, he reached for the soap.
