The next morning, Billy was sitting alone by the pool. He heard a loud noise coming from the motel but dismissed it until the Italian showed up by his side.

"Billy?" Machiavelli whimpered. He tugged at the man's shirt sleeve.

The outlaw looked up from his newspaper. "Mac? What's wrong kid?" He felt a wave of concern wash over him and he reached out to touch the little boy, uncertain if Machiavelli was going to let him touch him. Even though the immortal was stuck in a little boy's body, it seemed like he was unwilling to be treated as such. "What's the matter?"

"I fell," Machiavelli warbled. He blinked through his tears. "I hit my head. It hurts." Billy pulled the Italian into his lap and inspected the back of his head. There was a bruise already beginning to form there. The American winced in sympathy.

"You've got quite the goose egg forming, Mac." Billy pulled a paisley handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped down the Italian's face. "I'm sorry, kid."

"It's okay," Machiavelli said, trying and failing to get his breathing under control. The Italian was getting progressively more upset and the fact that he was getting upset was upsetting him further. He struggled to maintain control, but lost it a little when Billy kissed him softly. "I don't know why I'm upset," he wailed.

"Shh, Mac.!" Billy hissed quickly. He looked around and softened his tone. "You're going to bring the others in here," the American soothed. He rocked the Italian in his arms. "You're upset because you're hurt. That's okay. I can understand that."

Machiavelli shamelessly turned into the American's hug. He hung on Billy's neck, feeling the warmth of the other man seep from Billy's torso into his own. The pain dulled in the back of his head and a feeling of peace settled on him. Because the other man wasn't objecting, Machiavelli decided to stay in that position. "When are we moving to the cottage?"

"This afternoon," Billy said carelessly. He hoisted the Italian up a little further on his torso, so that the Italian's forehead was resting on his shoulder. "Are you comfortable like this?"

"Uh-huh."

Billy turned the pages of the newspaper on the table in front of them. Occasionally, he would kiss the Italian's forehead. "You know, Mac, I kind of like you being little."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. I've always wanted a family." Billy gently traced a line on the boy's knee. "I always thought it would be nice to have someone love you unconditionally."

~MB~

"Okay, Mac, let's show you around," Billy said, helping Machiavelli out of the backseat of the Thunderbird. He boosted the little boy onto his shoulders and walked up onto the front porch. "It's a bit small, I'm told…"

"You weren't kidding," Machiavelli said drily as they entered the cottage. For a moment, he sounded exactly like his adult self, which sounded strange coming from his child's body.

"Ah, it's cozy," Billy laughed. He led them through the combined living room and kitchen and up the stairs. "So, we put the Flamels together obviously. And then, this room is Black Hawk's and mine. And here's yours." He opened the door to the room in the back of the cottage.

Machiavelli's room was small, but neat. A bed with a quilt was tucked under the sloped roof of the room. Billy set the boy down on the ground again. Right away, he ran over to the window. He could just barely see over the ledge. Looking back at Billy, he smiled. "We're right on the ocean."

"You like it?" Billy asked. He set the Italian's suitcase down by the closet. Machiavelli nodded. Climbing up carefully on the heat register, he could see a little more of the beach below them. "There's people walking down there." He watched them with interest.

"Want to take a walk too?"

Machiavelli spun around and dropped off of the register. "Could we take a walk?" he asked earnestly. He grabbed Billy's jeans. "Please?"

Billy stroked the top of Machiavelli's head absently. "Course. Where do you want to walk?"

"Down there!" The Italian shouted excitedly. He seemed a little surprised at his own sudden burst of enthusiasm and glanced up at the outlaw shyly. His eyes glittered with excitement however, remembering his father bringing him to see the sea a long time ago when he had actually been a little boy. It was a memory he had completely forgotten about until this moment.

Billy led him back down the staircase, keeping a tight grip on his hand the entire way down. The stairs did seem fairly steep, but Machiavelli was impatient to get out on the sands.

"My father brought me to see the ocean once when I was little," he told the American. "We went to the mare ligure, which is… the Ligurian Sea in English." For a moment he had forgotten his English.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" Billy asked. He glanced up at Billy, wishing he was a lot taller again. Because Billy hadn't say anything about it, he clung to the American's calloused hand, sometimes swinging a little. "Were you close with your father?"

"Uh huh," Machiavelli gushed enthusiastically. "I loved my papa." He picked up a shell and gave it to Billy. "Here. For you!" And he temporarily got distracted by a tidal pool.

Billy was a little surprised, not only by Machiavelli's rapidly shifting focus, but also by the sudden gift; he slipped the shell into his pocket. "Thanks," he said. "What was your father's name?" he asked, following the toddler over a large rock.

"Bernardo di Niccolò dei Machiavelli."

Billy whistled. "Long name. So your father had part of your name in his?"

"No, I had part of his name in mine," Machiavelli corrected automatically. He scooped up some of the water, letting it trickle out of his hands again. "My name is Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli. You get the second part of your name from your father when you're a boy."

Billy had to think about what he was being told. "So your father's father was also Niccolò then?" Machiavelli nodded vigorously. Billy sat down beside him, stretching his legs out. "Were you named after him?"

"It used to be customary to name your first son after his paternal grandfather, so yes. That's why my first son's name was Bernardo.

"Wouldn't every other name be the same on your family tree?"

Machiavelli shook his head, obviously happy to continue this discussion. It had been a long time since he had spoken to anybody about something from his past. He enjoyed the fact that Billy was paying attention to him and only him. "It depends on where your father is born in terms of order. My father and I were both the first sons to be born in our families, but your second son is named after the maternal grandfather, and any of your other children after that can be named anything…"