AN: I might leave a story for over two years, but I never abandon it completely. Any interest in this story still?
Machiavelli would never be like Billy, so decisive or quick to act. Give him a problem and he would ponder it as he was able to, come up with solutions, think about the consequences of those solutions, tweak some variables, and then run through it again with fresh eyes. He couldn't help himself, he approached nearly every aspect of life in this way. But Billy, oh god, Billy, once he had an idea in his head, he jumped in feet first. The tactician loved him for it, but it scared him. Could he keep up with Billy long term? Would Billy get tired of his cautious ways?
Billy, it turned out, had contacted the necessary utility companies up in NH and was now prepared to bring Machiavelli up there, post haste. Even the other immortals had seemed surprised at the rashness of the decision, but the Kid had put his heart into it and he won them over to his side by sheer sincerity.
Over dinner, the night before, he had asked Machiavelli slyly if he would go up with him, perhaps continue their road trip for a little longer. "We could get the house ready for everyone to be there for Christmas, Mac!" And how could he say no?
They played games together that night, and he did feel that he would miss having all of them around him, but he knew he wanted time alone with Billy, something he had not been able to adequate get, not with the brownstone packed to the rafters with immortals. They played late into the night and then he and Billy had packed as much as they could before falling asleep that night. Before he knew it, Billy was jostling him awake, looking like he had gotten much more than the five hours of sleep the Italian knew he had gotten.
Machiavelli had been glad to finally get out of the brownstone and onto the road, but now, hours into the trip up, he wished they had thought to check the weather forecast before they had left. It seemed immeasurably foolish to him that it hadn't occurred they might get a snowstorm, in the middle of December, especially when they were traveling northward.
Billy didn't seem to mind the snow, even as it piled up around them. He had the windshield wipers going at full speed and it still wasn't enough to keep the front dash clear, yet the outlaw was singing along to the musical songs on the radio as though they were driving under clear blue skies.
Every once in a while, Machiavelli distinctly felt the car slide a little. He glanced over at his companion every time, but Billy just adjusted in the opposite direction and smiled at him without a lot of fanfare. They had been on the road for almost five hours, the snow had started two hours ago, and showed no signs of stopping.
"Billy, how often do you drive in the snow in this car?" Machiavelli asked finally, gripping the door.
"Every once in a while, though sometimes when I'm in a cold part of the country in the winter, I'll rent a different car for those months to save my baby. Why, you nervous?"
"No, I'm relaxed as can be. Of course, I'm nervous!"
Billy huffed a laugh. "I'm not even going that fast, sweetums."
"I know. I know. It's just that I'm not used to driving in so much snow."
"Look, we're in New Hampshire," Billy added fifteen minutes later, pointing to a sign reading 'Bienvenue' on the side of the road. Reaching over, he squeezed Niccolo's shoulder. "What do you think?"
Machiavelli gazed out at the scenery flashing by them. Snow clung to the trees around them, making each branch- each twig even- stand out in sharp contrast, somehow drawing attention even in a field of white. Every now and then the greenery of fir trees broke through the tangle of gray and white. "It's pretty," he decided.
The snow was letting up enough that he could relax a little. On either side of the road, massive formations of granite were beginning to populate the view, interrupted by forests and fields at syncopated intervals. Everything was covered in snow; it reminded Niccolo of a poem he'd read in Billy's Robert Frost collection- such heaps of broken glass to sweep away/ you'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
"Do you think the house will need a lot of work?"
Billy considered the matter. "It might. It should be shut up pretty tight, all things considered- I sealed it specifically with my aura last time I left. So it should just be dusty…"
Machiavelli adjusted the volume on the music down more so he could hear the outlaw better as they talked. "Don't you seal all your properties when you leave them for a while?"
Billy shrugged. "Not all of them cause I cycle through them on a pretty regular basis all things considered. Or I let my buddies stay at them as they work. But nobody comes up here."
"Why not?"
"Mostly cause it's out of the way…" Machiavelli wondered if there was something Billy wasn't saying specifically, but before he could ask anything more, the outlaw said, "We're almost there." He pointed out a sign which marked their destination in five miles.
Machiavelli breathed a sigh of relief when they finally turned into a driveway, though his elation was somewhat dimmed by the trouble Billy was having getting it up the slight incline. He didn't say anything, feeling that Billy needed to concentrate.
"Hang on, Mac, I've got this," Billy mumbled. He let his aura spill out through his hands, covering the car. With a slight push of the gas, he managed to pull the car all the way up to where the ground leveled off. "See? Easy peasy, Macaroni."
The Italian got out of his side of the car on weak legs. "Easy?" he croaked. "The only reason we got up that last hill was because we had momentum from sliding down the one before it."
He turned to survey the house they'd pulled up to, leaning against the car. A circular driveway led past a line of trees up to a very old, but beautiful house. It was much bigger than he'd imagined it being. They hadn't been able to see it from the road, a copse of trees blocking it from sight.
"Like it?" Billy looked more at him than the house. Machiavelli could feel the first threads of anxiety rising off of the outlaw. This was important to him.
He nodded. "I do. It's not at all what I expected." And it wasn't. The drive curved up to the front of the house, which had a large all season porch which swung around the left side of the house from where he was facing it. The porch was made from intricate stonework, the house was of white shingled siding with many windows and a balcony on what looked to be the third floor. Altogether, the house formed an impressive silhouette against the white winter sky. "How'd you end up owning this Billy?"
"I got it very cheap actually. It was an inn many years ago, but someone was murdered in one of the second-floor bedrooms and nobody had wanted to buy it afterwards."
"Are you serious?"
"Would it bother you if I was?"
"No, I don't think I'd actually believe you."
Billy laughed at that, the sound muffled amongst all the snow. "Come on, stand up Mac. If you're like me, you're half frozen right now. I can tell you all the ghost stories before the fireplace."
He got to his feet at last, glad to finally leave the car. "I thought we'd never get here," Machiavelli admitted. He followed Billy up the front steps and followed him around the house, noticing that the porch seemed to go around three quarters of the house. "I could have taken a bag," he said, watching Billy carry the majority of the suitcases along before him.
Billy waved him off. "This is no big deal, Mac."
He managed to get the key Billy had handed him into the lock at last, opening the door into a mudroom, where he promptly sat down again.
"What's the matter, they never had snow in Paris?" Billy asked. He knelt in front of the Italian, loosening the man's boot laces before pulling the boots off entirely. Getting up, he toed off his own boots, before hanging up his coat.
"Snowfall was a bit of a rarity in Paris. I believe the record is 40 cm of snow in one day." Machiavelli made no movement to take off his winter gear, letting the outlaw undo the buttons of his wool trench coat.
"And how much is that in something I would understand?"
"Maybe 15 inches," Machiavelli replied, the conversions becoming easier in his head with the increased regularity of their necessity.
"15 inches is a lot."
"That was pretty atypical."
Billy swung open the door leading into the house. "On another occasion, when we're not both half frozen, I'll be sure to carry you across the threshold, my good sir. But not today, perhaps, if that's okay?"
"I'll forgive you this time." Machiavelli stretched his legs, feeling the stiffness in them. "Mostly because I thought we'd never make it here in one piece."
Billy kissed him, pulling him through a kitchen and past the front hall to the living room. Machiavelli barely had time to see the house around them, so enthusiastic was Billy to get them into a warmer part of the house. "Of course, we were always going to make it home. I was more worried about my baby than us." (-"That's what worries me," Machiavelli said-) Billy ignored that and pulled a sheet off of a sofa.
"Sit down, Mac, I'll bring in our bags and then I'll get you warm. Sound good?"
