"Are you disappointed?" Machiavelli asked.

Billy slumped over in his seat a little. "A bit," he allowed. He shifted.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Mm… Not yet."

Machiavelli let it pass, deciding he wouldn't let too much time pass before he got to the heart of the matter with Billy. For now, though, he changed subjects. "Are you comfortable enough? I could switch with you."

The American immortal snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't fit in this seat any better." They'd drawn the short straw when it came to seat selection. Machiavelli felt though that even between the two of them, Billy had gotten the worst deal.

Perenelle was up in first class with Black Hawk. Curious passengers had given them edgy looks the entire time they'd been waiting for the plane to load, not really sure why this older white woman would be accompanied by the bulky Native American.

Fred was in the middle, reading a book and seeming unperturbed by the mother with a crying child to his left and the obese man on his left.

Consequently, they had been left to jam themselves into two seats at the very back of the plane, which was not how Machiavelli preferred to fly. But he was trying to make the most of it since Billy's mood seemed to be crashing down now that they'd said goodbye to Langston. They had at least saved themselves from having a third person near them by grabbing the seats on the left. Billy had offered to take the farthest seat in to save Niccolo's long legs, but he didn't look especially comfortable right now.

The outlaw waited for the stewardess to return to the front before sliding his hand onto Machiavelli's thigh. The tactician sighed a little, throwing his coat over his lap to provide a modicum of privacy. "We're in public," he reminded the American immortal in a low murmur.

Billy grinned. "I know. But we're in the back." He paused. "Want me to stop? I wasn't going to do anything really racy anyways."

"No, just don't do any more than what you're doing right now, got it? Swear to me, Billy."

"We've got the bathroom right there. It's an overnight flight…"

"No, absolutely not."

"Alright. Well, hold my hand then. I love holding your hand, you know."

Niccolo grinned. "Do you really?" he asked, intertwining his fingers with the American immortal's.

"Mm…" He had to take that for agreement because Billy was falling asleep already. They had dimmed the lights in the cabin; many people in fact had already taken out blankets or travel pillows. Seeing no one looking in their direction, he kissed Billy on the temple.

They got home around two in the morning. At the first landing, Machiavelli and Billy broke off from the others; Fred was spending the night until they could drive him back out to the reservation.

They tried to be quiet coming into the room, but it was pointless- Scatty was awake, stretched out on their bed in fact, reading a book. "You're back earlier than I thought you would," she said, making no attempt to move or get up.

"There weren't many delays for once," Machiavelli told her.

Billy flopped facedown on the bed. They both stared at him. He, in turn, ignored them. "Oh, bed. My own bed. I'll never leave you again." They heard him whisper, "I missed you."

"What?" Scatty said loudly. "Did you say you missed me? Me, the person in the room you haven't seen in a week?"

"Yes," he agreed, but his voice was muffled from where he refused to get up.

"I missed you, Scatty," Machiavelli told her.

"Thank you," she said pointedly, bumping up against the taller immortal. "It's been very quiet without all of you here."

"Well I hope you missed me cause with the way he's stretched out," he smacked Billy on the ass, "we might have to share the futon."

"No, no…" Billy rolled over, very slowly. "Sleep with me…"

"Is he talking to you or to me?" Scatty whispered to Niccolo.

"I don't know but if he doesn't keep it down, people are going to get the wrong idea."

Billy grinned sleepily, his eyes shut. "No, they'll get the right idea. The exact right idea. And let them. I love Mac, right Mac?" The outlaw propped himself up, grinning at the two European immortals.

"You two get really close, bunking together on the road?"

"Please, we were inappropriately close even before we went traveling…"

"What do you mean inappropriately close?" Billy interrupted. "We have an entirely appropriate relationship, in my humble opinion. Two amigos. And we didn't sleep together on the trip. I mean-…"

"He shared a couch with Black Hawk," Machiavelli explained, cutting across Billy's babbling.

"And did you find any clues?"

The Kid's grin faded a little. "Nah, nothing. We're going to try New Mexico next, but…we probably won't find anything there either."

"Don't say that," she chided. She got off the bed, stretching. "You're going to find her. Don't make me get all sentimental." She jabbed at his sides, making him squirm. "Give me a smile. Where's that 100 watt smile you're always charming everyone with?"

"Stop tickling me. I'm smiling, aren't I?" he gasped, rolling onto his sides. She climbed on top of him, making him twist and turn.

Machiavelli was glad to see Billy laughing again; the outlaw had been quite quiet in the past few days. It wasn't like him at all. But Scatty had a special talent for making Billy laugh. They were almost like siblings in a way, he thought.

Billy rolled over and pushed Scatty back onto the bed, throwing his weight on her so that she couldn't tickle him anymore. "Help me, Mac."

Gingerly lying down- his legs were still sore from being cramped in that little plane seat for hours- he lay on Scatty's other side. She'd given up on throwing the outlaw off, though they all knew she could have easily overtaken both of them if she had half a mind to do so. Machiavelli hesitantly wrapped his arm around her waist, kissing her on the cheek.

"I did miss you Scatty."

"I know." She shifted. "I should get up before both of you fall asleep on me and I get trapped."

"And that would be wrong because…?" Billy asked enticingly.

"Because- are you two wearing the same cologne?" she asked suddenly.

Billy rolled away. "Okay, okay, I'll get up." She got up too but squinted at the outlaw suspiciously. He ignored this. "You still haven't told me what you want for Christmas," he told her, pulling off his sweatshirt and exposing his stomach temporarily. He pulled the t-shirt down absently and slipped out of his pants. His phone and wallet, he took out of the pockets and put on his bedside table.

"I'll have to think about it…"

"Mm, well think fast," he joked. "We're in December now… Mac, you going to sleep like that?"

"Maybe," Machiavelli mumbled, dozing slightly now.

"You've come a long way, querido. I remember when you wouldn't even crease your pants the wrong way."

Machiavelli snorted. "I'm pretty sure my suit can't get any more rumpled than it already is right now. That plan trip." He fancied that Billy blushed a little, but it was dark in the corners of the room and he couldn't quite tell.

The outlaw surprised him by pulling him up to a sitting position. "Get up scruffy. You're not you if you're disheveled. You run the risk of being me in that case."

~MB~

Though at first being back in their Philadelphia brownstone seemed to have cheered Billy up, it soon became apparent to Machiavelli that the outlaw was experiencing a lingering sadness from their last couple of trips. While Billy worked very hard to keep up an appearance of general cheerfulness, there were moments when the Kid was out of the spotlight where Niccolo glimpsed a troubled expression upon the younger immortal's face.

He wanted to confront Billy about it- felt that he had to, in fact- but they did not have very many chances to talk alone. Back in their brownstone, they had the company of half a dozen other individuals to contend with, especially as Billie came frequently to "visit" Black Hawk, visits that came at all hours of the day or night.

And that was another pressing thought that kept whirling through Niccolo's mind. Given a taste of what could be by their few scattered encounters, he wanted to do more with Billy, experience more… but this hardly seemed like the time, if Billy was glum…

"Are we decorating for Christmas?" Scatty asked at dinner, the first night they were back.

Billy seemed to snap out of his reverie for a moment. "Yeah. Uh, yeah, we should…" He looked around the room like he was just seeing it. "I forgot we're coming up on the holiday. We need a tree at the very least…"

But despite what he said, Billy didn't show a lot of enthusiasm for following through on that thought. He claimed to be busy the next day when they suggested going out as a group, seeming to be fairly distracted, to the point where they decided to leave him be for the time being.

Machiavelli wasn't content to let him be though. Billy had been an electric ball of energy through Halloween, Thanksgiving, and the numerous birthdays that had piled up in the past six months. It wasn't like him to let Christmas of all holidays pass by. He felt more and more fretful with each passing day that Billy stayed shut up in his own little world.

It felt selfish of him too, to worry about sex and Christmas decorations when Billy was clearly struggling. He didn't understand why Billy wasn't confiding in him. Part of him worried about this, knowing that he was probably over thinking the situation, but unable to help himself from wondering if he was a bad boyfriend, if too much time had passed between him having relationships...

Finally, he saw his chance to pull the American immortal aside one morning two days after they'd come back. He pulled Billy into the pantry, sitting him down on a crate and pulling the cord to turn on the bare bulb light fixture.

Billy cocked his head at the Italian immortal. "Something on your mind, Mac?"

"Something on yours?" Machiavelli asked instead. "You've been quiet."

The Kid cracked a smile. "Most people wouldn't think that was a problem, in fact, given my normal propensities to talk…"

"Billy," Machiavelli broke in. "We have maybe two minutes before someone notices we're gone. Tell me what's wrong."

The outlaw's mouth twitched. He half shrugged and reached out a hand to touch the tactician's waist. "I've been a bit down lately," he admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ah, it's Christmastime, Mac, I don't want to be a spoilsport. I'm just in a funny mood, I'm not like myself lately. I'll snap out of it. This happens every once in a while." He grinned up at the Italian.

Machiavelli was unconvinced. "You always have to tell me when you're upset, even when you think it's a bad time. My job is to take care of you."

He got a smile from the Kid. "That's my job, isn't it? You're mine now."

"Ideally, we'd both look out for each other, that's kind of the point of a relationship," Niccolo remarked sardonically. "Right now, I don't need taking care of though, do I? Let's focus on you."

"I'll try to come to you more often, Mac," Billy told him earnestly. "It's just not my first instinct. I've been alone a lot of my life, see, so I'm terrible at this."

"I know, I know, and I'm probably the world's biggest hypocrite, but I can't stand to see you unhappy. Tu sei il mio Tesoro."

"Mm," Billy sighed, leaning his head into Machiavelli's abdomen. He let the outlaw rest his head there, pushing the outlaw's light brown curls out of his face. "I'm just bummed that we haven't found her yet. I pushed away how much I've missed her, you know. But it all comes back…"

"I miss my children," Machiavelli offered. "It doesn't go away. There's really no good applicable experiences to draw from either, are there? Most people don't live as long as we have."

"Do you really think we'll ever find her?" Billy asked, his voice muffled.

"I do. I really do. I would never lie to you, Billy, that I promise."

There was a knock on the pantry door. Billy just had time to lift his head slightly when Scatty pulled the door open. "Doing it in the pantry now?" she asked, an eyebrow arched.

Billy laughed a little and kissed Machiavelli's stomach, pulling him into a hug. "I'll have you know we were having a tender little conversation before you came barging in."

"You asking him why he's been such a Debbie downer lately?" Scatty asked over his head.

"In more eloquent words than that, but yes," Machiavelli said smoothly.

Billy looked from one to the other. "Does everyone know?" he complained loudly. "I've been keeping it to myself."

"I don't think the others are really aware yet, though you might want to spend less time crying in pantries if you don't want to get a reputation."

"I have not been crying in the pantry," he protested, standing up a little. Given that he was only marginally taller than Scatty, this didn't have much effect, but he did let go of Machiavelli. "I'll have you know that Mac was the one who pulled me into the pantry- trying to take advantage of me, I suspect," he added, giving the Italian a sly smile.

"It would be the one place we wouldn't get caught in," Machiavelli told him, brushing imaginary lint off the lapel of his suit. "With this house of people…"

"Nah, Scatty just proved that wrong. We're going to have to find another place." Billy shook his head as if getting rid of something. "I'm going to go Christmas shopping, I think. I haven't figured out what to get you yet." He hesitated, glancing over at Scatty nervously. All at once he seemed to gather his confidence. "I love you." He leaned in and kissed Machiavelli on the lips, surprising the Italian with the sheer ferocity of the kiss. "Bye, Scatty," he added, kissing her cheek as he went past. "I'll be back in a bit!"

"Is he okay?" Scatty asked once he had left.

Machiavelli considered the question. "Hopefully he'll be better now. But he's feeling a bit down about his mother."

"He should be happy," she said. She nudged him. "He's got you, hasn't he? And he was afraid you'd never love him…"

Machiavelli did smile at that. "It was a mutual feeling. But you can still feel sad sometimes, even at the happiest points of your life. Part of retaining your humanity, I suspect."

"I know," she grumbled. "I just want him to be happy. Doesn't he deserve it, more than either you or me?" She followed him up the stairs.

"He does. I don't know everything about him, of course. But he's one of the best people I know. There isn't anything I could find out about him that would change that."

"We should figure out something to do for him," she told him, as they got to the first floor. "Give him a great Christmas."

"Talking about Billy?"

Machiavelli sat down next to Black Hawk. "Yeah, we want to do something nice for him. When you think about it, he's really the glue that's holding us together…"

Black Hawk jiggled his leg up and down, looking thoughtful. "I could get behind doing something for the Kid. We'll figure something out."

Glancing out the window, Machiavelli wondered what that could be. He wasn't prone to overt gestures and at any rate, he and Billy were trying to keep their relationship under wraps for the time being…. And that made him think. He had a feeling he knew what would cheer Billy up, but it was a gamble…

He wondered again how Black Hawk would feel, knowing what he was up to with the outlaw. It seemed improbable to him that the Native American would feel any different about his best friend just because he was bisexual, but he knew Billy was worried and Billy knew Black Hawk better than he did… he sighed minutely, feeling like he was traveling in circles and getting nowhere.

Looking out the window again, he smiled a little. "It's beginning to snow."