Adult men should not share beds with people they are not romantically inclined towards, Machiavelli thought the next morning. Fred and he had maintained careful distances throughout the night, tacitly agreeing that they would never make eye contact nor would they face each other.

He woke up cold, accustomed by now to waking with Billy's arm thrown around his middle, the warmth rolling off the American immortal in waves. He missed the way that Billy would form to his body, his head in the crook of Machiavelli's neck. He…

He had to get up, he decided. He was dangerously close to being aroused, which was not what he wanted when he was in bed with an immortal he only had just come to know. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he blinked in the dim lighting. 'Where's my bag?' he wondered blearily. He gave it up as a bad job. Creeping out into the living room, he shut the door behind him carefully. The whole suite was quiet. It was only seven in the morning, but Black Hawk was already gone.

Making his way across the room, Machiavelli contemplated the outlaw, not sure if he should wake him or not. Billy looked ridiculously comfortable, wrapped rather like a burrito in a mass of blankets. His hair stuck up in all directions, going straight in the back and then kicking out as some kind of ridiculous reverse duck's ass.

"Billy," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the foldout bed. "Caro."

Reflexively, the outlaw curled up more on his side, yawned, and woke up. He looked bemused, then glancing up, saw Machiavelli and beamed. "Hey," he whispered.

"Buongiorno," Niccolo murmured. "Sleep well?"

"Mmhm… Get in bed with me."

"No," Machiavelli laughed. "How would I explain that, if someone else comes in?"

Billy blinked up at him. Looking doleful, for a minute Machiavelli wondered if the outlaw would throw caution to the wind and invite him in. The Kid sighed. "When we get home, I'm going to have some fun with you," he said at last.

Part of Machiavelli was disappointed and part- the more rational part- knew that these things couldn't be rushed. "I'm looking forward to it." He leaned forward. "Give me a kiss? Before everyone else gets up?"

"My breath stinks."

"Doesn't matter."

"Okay." Reaching up, Billy ran his fingers through Niccolo's hair, captured Machiavelli's lips in a tender kiss, and pulled him closer. Bracing himself on the bed, Machiavelli opened his lips more, inviting the younger man to take a more intimate approach. Billy's tongue touched his teeth just slightly, then getting bolder, entered his mouth. He captured it between his lips, sucking it lightly, before moving his head so that he was tilting it the other way…

A sudden jingle of keys from outside their door startled them. Jumping to his feet, Machiavelli moved over to the little kitchenette and tried to compose himself. Billy rolled onto his side, looking over at the door with a rather mournful expression. Pulling the blankets up around him, the Kid grimaced at his tall boyfriend. Machiavelli shook his head back, snagged the newspaper on the table and opened it to a random page.

"Hey," Black Hawk called, coming in and seeing the Italian immortal. "That key doesn't fit in the lock the right way. Had to really jiggle it to get it to open." Coming around the corner, he leaned over Billy. "Is he awake yet?"

"I think he was beginning to stir," Machiavelli said, not looking up from the article he'd been reading on the rising costs associated with global warming. It was just scientific enough to curb his horniness that had been brought on strong by their recent activities. He folded the paper. "Where did you go?"

"I wanted to get the lay of the land." Before Machiavelli could register what he was doing, Black Hawk bent down and shook Billy lightly. "Come on Kid, up and at them. I know you're awake."

"Ohhh," Billy moaned miserably. "Why wake me?" he rasped.

"We've got to get to work, kiddo. Come on, I'm sure Machiavelli will make you breakfast if you're nice to him. Maybe he'll make me breakfast too?"

"Why do I have to make breakfast?" Machiavelli asked, getting off of his stool despite his protests.

"You're the dad in the group."

Niccolo peered across the kitchen island at him. "You've had kids too."

"Ah, yes, but you still have a bit of the dad thing about you. Whereas me, I'm pure fun."

The Italian immortal squinted a little, not sure if he was being insulted or not. He got the package of eggs Black Hawk had picked up last night out of the refrigerator and put them on the counter.

"I bet you were a good dad," Billy told Machiavelli, taking his abandoned chair and leaning on the island. Niccolo cocked his head in surprise. "Yep," the outlaw slurred. "Good man, good dad. I wish I knew where my dad was. He's with my mom apparently."

"What about me, Bill? Think I was a good dad?"

"I'm sure you were a very fun dad," Billy said agreeably. He leaned on Black Hawk's shoulder and slumped against him, already falling asleep again. Machiavelli watched them surreptitiously. The Native American immortal always surprised him. Again, he'd assumed the other American immortal would avoid Billy's affections; instead, he wrapped a protective arm around Billy's shoulders…

Perenelle and Fred were the last among them to get up. Machiavelli headed into their bedroom to change as soon as the Chickasaw cowboy came out, feeling self conscious in his pajamas which were really just one of Billy's old shirts and a pair of flannel pants Scatty had gotten for him. He'd tried his best not to wear them so far, preferring his button down night clothes, but now had to concede that they were very comfortable. Still, thinking about flannel sleep pants reminded him somehow of Billy and, 'and I need to stay focused,' he thought to himself.

Remembering Billy's advice from the previous night, he dressed as casually as he could bring himself to- a blazer over a button down shirt tucked into jeans.

They split into groups after breakfast, each of them trying to canvas the city in their own way. Machiavelli went with Billy; he let the outlaw lead the way. "It's very different," the Kid observed, looking a little lost and downtrodden as they made their way down the road away from their hotel. He looked so sad, in fact, that Machiavelli struggled for a minute to resist the urge to hold Billy to him and cover him with kisses. He really couldn't stand to see the younger immortal sad. "We might find some landmarks after all. We'll keep an eye out for them."

"Sure," Billy agreed, but he sounded doubtful. "I thought that some things would stay the same, somehow, or that I'd just know it because I lived here so long… guess that was pretty stupid."

"It's not stupid. I'm still shocked when I go back to Florence and everything's changed. And that's Florence, which is much more regulated on what can be changed. That's why I don't go home very often," he confided to the outlaw.

"Well, even if I don't figure out where my old home was, at least we'll have had this time together."

Glancing around them, Machiavelli grabbed Billy's hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "I can't believe I have to tell you to be more positive," he joked.

"I'm a little nervous to find my father," the Kid confessed. "Do you really think that he's with her? My mother? Cause I want to see her so much, but I don't know him. What if-?"

"What if what?" Niccolo asked patiently, taking another street at random.

"What if he doesn't like me? Or if I don't like him?"

"William. It's impossible not to like you. I tried to suppress my feelings for you, didn't I? That didn't work too well, now did it?" Billy had to grin a little. "Exactly. So now, you said you remembered her living on North Main Street?"

"Yeah… yeah. We lived a couple of blocks away from the bend in the river." They stopped to find directions on Billy's phone. "It was in Kansas that my mother started calling me Henry instead of William."

"Did she call you William? I thought she called you Billy?"

"Sometimes," Billy shrugged. "But then my stepfather came to live near us and having two Williams, she decided to change it up a bit. I was very upset at the time… I figured I had the name first. So, I didn't see why I had to change mine and not the other way around."

"That seems reasonable," Machiavelli said, smiling in the sunlight.

"It was here that we ended up finally moving in with my stepfather. Here in Wichita," Billy clarified. "We lived originally above the laundry where she worked. The air was always really thick. It would make her cough. Then we moved into his house… he lived about six or seven miles away. But even that would have been absorbed by all this industrial growth…"

"Who thought Wichita would be so populous?" the Italian agreed. A woman passing them on the sidewalk scowled at him and he felt the most fleeting sense of guilt, but then Billy laughed a little and he forgot about the woman entirely. Forgot about everyone else, actually, even their given task for the moment. He would have walked anywhere with the outlaw, who had grabbed his hand absently.

They ended up walking the length of the road twice. Billy looked over all the buildings, as if expecting to see the little tenement that he'd been a boy in spring up among the commercial complexes and tall apartment buildings. Machiavelli developed a slight limp the second time down the road; it hadn't been that long since their little trip to the backwoods of Indiana and he had muscles in his legs screaming at him in protest.

"I think it was here, Mac," Billy said finally, stopping at a house which was small and slightly forlorn. "It's hard to say. The road wasn't so wide back then… But… maybe?" He looked back at the Italian. "Are you alright? What's wrong with your leg?"

"Ah, I'm just a little out of shape, apparently," Machiavelli said, trying to play it off, but the outlaw saw right through him.

"Hey, querido, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing, really. So, what's our next step?"

"Our next step is we get you back to the hotel," the Kid said immediately. "Come on," he said over Machiavelli's protests. "We don't know for sure that this is the place. We're not going to barge into some place without being sure."

"I guess so, but are you sure Billy? Cause it looks worse than it is."

"Of course I'm sure. Besides, what would we see without Perenelle. I wish I could help you, Mac."

"We'll just walk slowly. I think if I sit for a while, I'll be back to normal by tonight." He let the outlaw slip an arm around his waist though, knowing that there were a lot of people down here that might be offended by two men touching each other in public, but not caring.

"I'll make you lunch," Billy decided as they went. "We've been out here quite some time. I wonder if the others have made any progress?"

Their motel was six blocks down and ten blocks to the east. Machiavelli was rather relieved that they had decided to stop for the time being. He wanted nothing more than to take off his shoes right now.

"Wonder if anyone is here," Billy said curiously, when they finally got to their suite. Niccolo shrugged and shuffled over to the couch, which they'd folded up for the day. He flopped down, letting out a little moan. The American immortal checked all the bedrooms before sitting in front of him Indian style. "Can't risk anything too provocative," he explained, "but I'll give you a foot rub."

"That would be nice," Machiavelli said, watching Billy unlace his shoes. He'd forgotten that Billy was quite a good masseur. Starting with his right foot, the Kid applied just enough pressure to take away the aching feeling.

"This reminds me of when I was lost in that canyon," the outlaw commented. "My feet ached after that."

"Except that was like a thousand times worse," the tactician protested. "Your shoes didn't fit right, wasn't that the case? And you were wandering around for a long time. I'm just out of shape apparently."

"You're not out of shape, Mac. You're fit as a fiddle." Leaning forward, Billy kissed his knee. "I love you, Mac."

"Si, ti amo."

Black Hawk came back just as Billy was finishing with Machiavelli's left foot. "Lazing around?" he drawled.

"Billy made us walk the entire length of the city twice," Niccolo complained.

"Trying to torture our Italian friend?" Black Hawk asked Billy, flopping down next to said Italian immortal and grinning at the youngest immortal.

"I didn't realize you were in such bad condition," the Kid protested, looking up at his boyfriend with such an earnest expression that Machiavelli didn't have the heart to tease him even slightly.

"I know. Are you still thinking of making lunch?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll go get us something. We don't have a lot in the fridge… Want something Black Hawk?"

"Yeah, anything at this point, Bill."

Machiavelli listened to the Kid's steps retreating down the hallway. "What have you been doing today?" he asked mildly, looking over at his companion.

Black Hawk stretched, yawned, and adjusted himself unabashedly. "When I was touring with Germain, I'd heard tell that a friend of Billy's and mine was living nearby. So I went to find him. He's living in the northern part of town. Took all morning to find him- he likes to keep to himself- but he said that he'd come visit in a day or so."

"Would I know him?"

"I'm sure you've heard of Langston."

"Langston Hughes? The poet?"

"That's the one." Black Hawk nodded. "He'll come through. Like most everyone who meets Billy, he adored him."

Billy came back with wraps from across the street. The three men stayed relatively to themselves as they ate. After lunch, they broke up again. Billy insisted that Machiavelli rest in the suite for the afternoon. He was planning on bringing Black Hawk back to the house they'd marked before. "I'll swing back here and get you for dinner, Mac," he promised. "We're going to meet the others at some restaurant."

"Really, William, I think I'm fine to go with you." But Billy shook his head. "Okay, okay," he grumbled. "I'll be waiting here for you."

"I'll come get you about six or six thirty," Billy promised.

So Machiavelli spent the day sitting in front of the Kid's laptop- they never had fixed his, he mentally sighed- and looked up whatever information he could get from the internet about his boyfriend. It was a very strange feeling, finding out stuff about the man he loved like this. He felt that for the most part, Billy would obviously be the better source for information, but on the other hand… perhaps historians would have found out something about his early life that the American immortal might have forgotten.

All in all, he didn't learn very much, at least not new information. Some sites he went on expounded upon falsehoods that made his blood boil. Some websites talked about Billy's legendary temper. He couldn't imagine his even keeled boyfriend murdering 21 people, especially for pleasure.

Still, most websites were fan sites. He wondered if Billy knew that so many people idolized him. He had to laugh a little. There certainly weren't any Machiavelli fan websites, he felt quite sure of that…

He had gotten so engrossed in his search for information that when the real Billy the Kid burst into their living room, he jumped violently. "What's the matter?" he demanded, feeling ridiculous.

"Aw, honey, I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that I'm later than I said I'd be. I thought I was keeping you waiting! What are you looking at? Porn?"

"Of course not! I was doing some research for you," Machiavelli protested. He put a hand over his heart, feeling the beating slowing down again. "I lost track of time…"

"You're the best, Mac. I love you." Billy gave him a quick kiss, then pulled him to his feet. "Come on, though! We're going to be late for meeting the others. How's your leg?"

"It's… it's better, I guess. I've been sitting for hours. It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Good, good," the outlaw said distractedly. Grabbing his hand, he pulled him over to the elevator. "We're just eating at the restaurant down the block. You won't have to walk much anyways."

"Did you find out anything?"

"We think the house might be uninhabited." Billy hesitated. "We might sneak in. I don't know. We'll have to see what the others are thinking…"

"I was looking at some maps of Wichita from the 19th century. I'll have to show you after dinner…"

"Yeah, definitely… Hey, have you ever read Mario Benedetti?" Billy asked, walking along beside him and bumping shoulders with him. "He's not very well known to English speakers, though he wrote in twenty different languages- can you imagine that, Mac- but in Spanish, he's a very important poet."

"I must admit my Spanish has always been rather rusty," Machiavelli commented. Billy pointed out the restaurant they'd be eating at. They made their way past the lobby and saw the others at a big booth in the back corner. Joining the others, they were momentarily sidetracked from their conversation.

"We ordered for you," Black Hawk told them idly, moving over so that Billy could squeeze in next to him.

"What did we get?" the Kid asked, distracted.

"We got you a burger and for Niccolo, a steak, medium rare," Perenelle commented, sipping her glass of wine.

"Ah, you know us well." Billy grinned happily at the table, lightly beating out a rhythm on the table.

"So did you figure out anything today?" Fred asked, looking around Black Hawk.

"I figured out that Wichita has really grown since I lived here," Billy said, sounding a little unhappy but also resigned. "I was looking for where I used to live, but the topography has changed."

"We think we found some old maps that might help," Fred said, leaning on the table and indicating himself and Perenelle. "We stopped by the Wichita historical society."

"We probably should have just done that right away," Machiavelli murmured, but only Perenelle heard him.

"I thought I'd be able to see it still, the way things were," Billy said dully.

Wanting to cheer Billy up, or at least distract him, Machiavelli changed the subject. "Why were you asking me about Mario Benedetti?"

"Ah, I was reading some of his poetry at lunch," the Kid said quietly, a lot shier now. "I came across one I thought you'd like. I wrote it down… uh…" He patted his pockets, looking for the poem. "Here!"

He handed it across to Machiavelli, watching him as he read it. Machiavelli tried his best to read the Spanish: "Pero tú, por favor, no te vayas." He looked up trying to translate it based on the similarities between Italian and Spanish. "But you…"

"But you, please, don't go," Billy said quietly.

Machiavelli smiled, tucking the little poem into his pocket. He felt warm all over and tried to contain his excitement. He looked over to where Black Hawk and Fred had been arguing over the basketball game playing on the television behind him. Black Hawk caught his eye and then looked over at Billy. "Hey, kid, why do you look so down? You think you were going to figure out everything the first day?"

"No, but…"

"I've got plans for us tonight that will cheer you up. You should come too, Nick!"

Machiavelli blinked. Nobody had ever dared call him Nick before. Before he could figure out what to say, Billy cut in. "Am I going to like these plans?"

Black Hawk threw an easy arm over Billy's shoulder. "Course you will!" Ruffling the outlaw's hair, he planted a kiss on the side of his head and let him go.

"Are we all going?"

"Not me or Perenelle," Fred demurred.

Billy reached across the table for the Frenchwoman. "Am I going to like these plans?"

"I can't say."

"Can't say cause you don't know that I will like them or because Black Hawk is holding something over your head?" Billy said, somewhat more accusatively than was needed, Machiavelli felt. The Italian was sure that this was another of Black Hawk's harebrained schemes but knew that they would end up having fun in the end.

"A little of both," she said, looking over to Black Hawk.

"You're going to like it," he insisted.

"We'll go," Machiavelli decided for both him and Billy. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it will take your mind off today," he said magnanimously, smiling at the outlaw. And Billy couldn't argue with that.