Billy came down the next morning to find a morose Machiavelli pressed up against the window, watching the rain pour down. The water fell from the heavens in thick sheets, although that could possibly be an illusion conjured the branches of the trees which stretched above their remote cabin.

"Good thing we put the car under the carport, huh Mac?" Billy patted the Italian's head.

"Yeah."

Billy fell haphazardly into the arm chair by the window. "I can't help but notice you seem a bit down, sweets," he observed gently.

Machiavelli couldn't help but whine. "We're going to be stuck inside all day." He blinked, not accustomed to hearing his voice sound like that.

Billy pulled a face thinking. "Not necessarily," he said at last. "It's good weather to run around in the rain."

"Run around in the rain?"

"You know, Mac, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a mirror. Quit repeating everything I say back to me. I know what I said." He looked out the window. "You never played in the rain, as a kid?" he asked suddenly. "Hmm. It didn't rain much back in New Mexico, but when it did Josie and I spent hours out there."

"No," Machiavelli said surprised. "We're weren't a very affluent branch of the family, but we had our dignity to preserve." He paused, then asked hesitantly, "Won't we get dirty, Billy?"

Billy was already pulling off his boots. "That's the fun of it. Come out with me, Mac. Everyone should play in the rain once in their life," he begged.

Machiavelli hesitated a moment longer before he toed off his shoes and followed the outlaw out in the rain. He jumped to one side the moment his feet touched bare ground. For summer, it was shockingly cold, as well as wet, squishy, and muddy. Billy ran away from him and the front porch into the rain and held his arms out, his face turned upward to the sky above. Machiavelli squelched his way through the mud to stand by his side.

Unexpectedly, the American grabbed him under the armpits and swung him around in a circle. He lost his footing and they both crashed down into the mud.

Machiavelli held up a handful of mud thoughtfully, then decisively flung it at the American, who quickly retaliated. Soon, the two were engaged in a mud flinging war, though the rain washed away any traces of evidence.

~MB~

By late afternoon, the two immortals were drenched to the skin and quite chilled. Billy finally prevailed upon Machiavelli to come in, quipping Machiavelli's own catchphrase 'immortal, not invulnerable'. Billy pulled one of his patterned bandanas out of his coat and used it to wipe the Italian's face dry before limping (the mud war had turned nasty) into the living room to build up a fire.

Machiavelli proceeded up the stairs to shower and change, but paused halfway up to look over at Billy, who stood before the fire, his clothes clinging to his skin. The Italian shook his head a bit and climbed the rest of the way up. By the time he was out of the shower, the outlaw had changed into flannel pants and a faded t-shirt, and was stretched out on the couch, which he had obviously pulled closer to the fire. The European grimaced a fraction, seeing Billy reading the Machiavelli biography.

Climbing onto the other end of the couch, he asked curiously "What's that book saying about me now?"

Billy squinted. "It's talking about dragging some dead guy's body through the streets of Florence," he marveled disbelievingly.

"Oh, Jacopo Pazzi," Machiavelli recognized what Billy was talking about instantly. "He was political opponent of the Medici family, executed for killing one of the princes. His body was dug up several times and eventually stripped naked by some village children and dragged through the streets by the hangman's noose he had been buried with." He said all of this matter-of-factly, as if it was a common occurrence.

"And I thought life was tough in the West," the American mumbled.

"Anyways, Billy, put that book away. It makes me all self-conscious when you read that in front of me."

Billy looked up again. "Oh, sure, Mac." He set the book aside. "Want me to read you a book, Mac? I've got something here... somewhere..." He pawed through a whole stack of books and finally pulled out a copy of Treasure Island that looked like an original copy. He looked almost shyly at Machiavelli. "What do you think, old man?"

Machiavelli nodded happily and climbed into Billy's lap. Billy shifted slightly and opened the book. In a strong, clear voice, he read out "Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end..."