At first Machiavelli played with the toys to humor Billy, but after a while he found that there was something oddly satisfying in cocking shut the Nerf gun and shooting a distant target, such as Nicholas Flamel who sat across from him at the dinner table. Nicholas took his shooting surprisingly well, perhaps because the Italian immortal's shot had hit Black Hawk instead. After that incident, Billy had promised to teach Machiavelli how to shoot and aim the gun properly, a skill the Italian surprisingly lacked considering his age and experiences. But then again Machiavelli had always been content to provide the plans for attack and wait, inconspicuous, in the background for others to initiate such plans.

The difficulty in using the Nerf gun appeared to be a loss of ammunition. Within a day of Billy and Machiavelli's shopping trip, the foam bullets were either lost, damaged, or, in some cases, hidden by the other immortals. Billy shrugged and said that this was always the case with guns and that they'd have to buy more bullets next time they were in town.

The loss of the Nerf gun's use didn't bother the Italian too much at any rate. The Italian immortal was particularly fond of his model car, which was quickly becoming a favorite of his. The young boy liked to push the car around the cottage, often holding it with both of his hands and becoming so intent on pushing the car that he ran right into objects: for instance, the walls, Billy, the couch, Billy, the bathtub and Billy were some of the frequent obstacles the Italian hit. Machiavelli couldn't deny that he was having fun.

~MB~

"Billy," Machiavelli tugged at the American's jeans. "Billy," he tried again.

The Kid had been sleeping on the front porch of the seaside cottage they were staying at. He had fallen asleep watching the little boy push around his red model car. Billy had bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. For an old Italian diplomat, Machiavelli seemed perfectly content to play with his toy.

Now he blinked blearily. He groaned, rubbing the small of his back. He cocked his eyebrow at Machiavelli. "What's up, Mac?" he asked.

The little boy grinned hopefully at Billy. "Want to play a game?"

"Sure," the outlaw agreed easily. "What do you want to play?"

The Italian immortal smiled but scuffed his toe on the ground. He tilted his head and said, "Want to play cowboy?" He smiled sheepishly at Billy and Billy laughed.

"All right. We can be cowboys."

Machiavelli's smile widened. He patted Billy's face and said, "Cowboy. Only one," he corrected. He continued, "I'll be the cowboy."

"I don't get to be the cowboy?" Billy asked bewildered. "I don't know," the American said slowly, "I'm always the cowboy. What am I going to be if I'm not the cowboy?"

Machiavelli positively beamed. "The horse."

Billy initially was going to protest, but he came up with a better plan. "All right," he agreed. "Any good cowboy does need to know how to ride a horse." He lifted Machiavelli onto his shoulders and jumped down the steps. Machiavelli clung to his head and giggled. "Of course," he continued. "Sometimes the horse can be difficult." And he bucked his shoulders.

Machiavelli shrieked as he was jiggled and dipped. Billy ran like a madman down the shoreline, sometimes cantering, sometimes prancing. Once, Billy gave a fairly undignified neigh and skipped sideways. Machiavelli's giggles grew louder when Billy attempted to run into the ocean and he tugged firmly on the American's left ear, urging him as it was to move away from the water. Billy finally sank to the ground, worn out. The Italian slipped off his back and embraced Billy from behind. He stuck his head next to the outlaw's and gave him a sloppy open mouthed kiss on his cheek.

Billy yawned. All the roughhousing had taken the wind out of him. He elaborately laid backwards, effectively pinning the boy to the ground. "Oh yeah, Mac," he muttered. "This is the life."

Machiavelli crawled out from beneath Billy's lanky form. He laid in the beach grass beside the outlaw. "Was it fun being an outlaw, Billy?"

The American rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "Sometimes," he smiled at the boy. "Not the last couple of years so much, but when the getting was good, it was a lot of fun."

Machiavelli turned over on his side so that he was facing Billy. "Can you teach me how to have fun Billy?"