"Are you comfortable?" she asked him, leaning into his side when a young man with tattoos on the side of his face leered at her as he passed. He took the seat in front of theirs and turned in his seat to look at her again. She made a face, irritated.

He glanced over at what had caught her attention. "I might be more comfortable in the middle seat," he told her, getting up. They switched seats.

"I wasn't afraid of him," she said quietly in his ear. "I can take care of myself."

He took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "I know," he replied, just as softly. "But there's no need to borrow trouble." He shifted his legs a little. "These seats aren't really made for someone of my stature, I'd say."

"Wouldn't know. I'm short." She swung her legs back and forth, proving her point.

"These two cities are farther apart than I imagined they'd be," he added, scrolling through his phone. He sat up, looking toward the front of the bus. "Where is Billy?"

Scatty pressed up to the glass. "There he is," she pointed out, spotting him in the crowd.

"He'd better hurry up. He's going to miss the train," Machiavelli said worriedly. They both watched the Kid. "Doesn't seem to be hurrying, does he? Come on," he begged under his breath.

"Here he is, he's finally getting on."

Billy came up the steps. Milling behind an older woman that he'd been chatting with, he looked around. Machiavelli waved to him and, catching the movement, the American immortal broke into a smile. He waved back.

Halfway down the aisle, he stopped to help her put her bags on the overhead compartment. He had to bend far down to hear what the woman was saying in his ear, but his grin spoke volumes. Machiavelli shook his head; Billy made friends wherever he went, it would seem. Finally, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, got a laugh from the woman, and made his way to where they were waiting for him.

Billy edged his way in front of them to the window seat. "What's up?" he asked, seeing them both look up at him. He struggled out of his jacket, folding it over his arm before sitting down at last. Moments later the train began to move, pulling out of Grand Central station.

"Do I have competition?" Machiavelli murmured in his ear, leaning over under the pretext of watching the white stone masonry fade away behind them. He let his aura sweep out and surround them; for a moment, they were surrounded by a pearly white transparent bubble, then it solidified into an invisible barrier. He thought that an observant five-year-old might have noticed, but otherwise his action went unnoticed. He felt less like a target though, having put up some form of protection.

Billy chuckled. "I love old ladies- not the cranky ones, though- they're the sweetest things imaginable." He wrapped an arm around the Italian's shoulders. "No competition though. I'm always going to love you best of all."

"The love of your life and I were taking bets on if you'd make it here in time," Scatty said sardonically, leaning around Machiavelli to see Billy. Like Machiavelli, she seemed a bit wary of traveling in this very public manner. While she was talking, she kept an eye on the aisle.

"Oh, yeah? Were you for or against?" the Kid asked Niccolo, his blue eyes crinkled in merriment. They had to stop talking to listen to the announcements being made as the train slowly began picking up speed now that they had cleared the city limits.

"Against," Machiavelli commented and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "You lost me five dollars," he told Billy sulkily.

The outlaw faked a gasp and sat up in his own seat. "Mac, how could you?" He clutched his chest as though it hurt, but Machiavelli could see the way Billy glanced over at him to see if he was amused; the tactician was, though he tried to hide his smile with a stern look.

"Easily," the Italian said drily, handing a five-dollar bill to Scatty who snapped it between her fingers and stuffed it in her bra. "You weren't exactly rushing to get on. I didn't even know where you were until about a minute ago."

"I was getting you something," Billy enticed.

"What is it?"

"Give me a kiss."

"How do I know it's worth a kiss?" Machiavelli asked shrewdly. Billy laughed. "I just don't want my affection to ruin my objectivity. Would Scatty kiss you to get this item?"

Scatty hadn't been paying attention, but she looked up now. "Say what now?"

Billy leaned out now "Want a kiss, Scatty?" he teased.

"No."

"I'm a good kisser," he enticed. "I am, aren't I?" he asked worriedly, looking over at the Italian immortal.

"Eh."

"What do you mean, eh?" Billy looked outraged. Next to them, Scatty laughed. "I'm the best kisser."

"I've had better…"

"No, don't say that," Billy begged, looking faintly worried now, and Machiavelli felt bad.

"I'm only teasing, William. Give me a kiss."

"No."

"Come on," Machiavelli wheedled. He couldn't tell if the outlaw was actually upset or if he was just giving him a hard time in return for the Italian's teasing. "Show me what you got me."

"Mm mm."

"Mm hm. Billy, you're an excellent kisser."

Billy crossed his arms. "You're just putting me on." But a small grin was digging into the side of his mouth, making it twitch, and when he looked out the window, Niccolo knew he had won him over.

"No, I'm not," Machiavelli smiled, "I love you. Give me a kiss?" he asked, tapping his thin lips. The outlaw pecked him on the lips, still looking a little affronted.

"Ooh, that was magical," Scatty observed from her seat.

Machiavelli was beaming though- he'd missed Billy's playful banter these past few days. He wrapped his arms around the American immortal, feeling that same surge of affection he always did whenever he touched Billy. "Did I earn whatever you got me?"

"Yeah, you always do. It's nothing really." Digging through the pockets of his coat, he pulled out a copy of La Settimana Enigmistica.

"Where'd you find a copy of this?" Machiavelli asked, leafing through the puzzle book.

"They sell them at a magazine stand down the road from the station. I was kind of surprised though, it's not like there's a large Italian population in New York, at least in comparison to any other ethnicity group, but I guess cause it's the city. You like it?"

"Yeah, I like the magazine. Thanks…"

"Did you like the show?" Billy asked Scatty, leaning forward to see her too.

"I did," she admitted. "It was sad though, you didn't say it was going to be that sad…"

"I didn't know anything about it before we bought the tickets."

They'd gone up to New York for the day, the three of them, to see Dear Evan Hansen playing on Broadway. Billy had described it as a fun way to spend the day, but he had cried his eyes out through at least half the show and they'd waited in the theater while all the other patrons had cycled out so that the outlaw could get a grip on himself. Next time, Machiavelli told himself, he was going to choose which show they went to see and they were going to carefully research it.

The landscape was dark around them, street lights passing by in orange streaks. The train rocked gently back and forth; Machiavelli kept Scatty's hand loosely in his grasp as they went. He was glad she had come with them- perhaps out of respect for the limited time the two men had alone together, she'd initially objected to her part in the trip. But she had been a lot of fun to be with as they'd moved through the city. Unsuspecting men had tried to hit on her all day as they made their way along the sidewalks and they'd gotten their asses handed back to them by the spunky European immortal.

She surprised him by resting her head on his shoulder now, holding his hand with both of hers now. "Tired?" he asked her.

"Just resting," she told him. He could smell her shampoo, she was so close.

"I'm glad you came," he told her. She didn't say anything, but she tapped his hand with her thumb.

"Mac, you were talking about going up to my New Hampshire house." He nodded, surprised Billy was bringing it up now. A few days had passed since they'd mentioned it last and he hadn't want to push the subject. "When did you want to go up?"

"Did you want to go up? We can stay in Philadelphia if you don't want to."

"Nah, it'd be nice to be up there again. I haven't been up in decades."

"Well then," Machiavelli said slowly, carefully thinking it over in his head. "We should probably go up soon. I imagine the house would need to be prepared a bit, especially if it's been that long since you've been there…"

"Are we all going up at once?" Billy asked.

"Are you crazy?" Scatty said from Machiavelli's other side. "You never get a chance to be by yourselves in our apartment. Go up early, for Christ's sake."

"You want to?" Billy asked, leaning heavily on Machiavelli's right side.

"If you want to," he said, feeling a bit wrongfooted.

"I do, I do. Sorry Mac, I'm just a bit nervous about going back up, is all. Of course, I want to spend time with you."

"Why are you nervous?"

Billy shook his head. "Don't know exactly. Guess it's just been a long time…"

Machiavelli wondered what Billy wasn't telling him. He wondered how much Billy had been in love with this girl, Erin, how things might have turned out if she had been immortal or him, mortal. He didn't like to think of it, but his pragmatic mind wouldn't let him push it off to the darker recesses of his mind, not until he understood it. He didn't like this semi-obsessive part of himself that hung onto problems like a dog with a bone.

"Mac?" Billy was tapping his hand. "You're off in your own head, Mac. I was just asking you when you'd like to go? I need a day or so to call up and get the utilities turned on- we could go after that. Want to?"

"Yes. Yes, sorry. I'd like that."