The next night, Machiavelli and Billy decided to drive into town to get dinner.

"Where did Scathach and Black Hawk go?" Machiavelli asked, fiddling with the car radio. He found an opera station and left it on, turning it down low so they could talk.

"What makes you think I know?" Billy asked, carefully avoiding the other immortal's eyes, which wasn't hard as he was driving in the dark.

The Italian looked at him suspiciously, but carried on the conversation. "Anyways, this is the first time I've ever seen you wear anything besides jeans and a t-shirt," Machiavelli said looking over at the American. "Actually, it's the first time I've seen you with your shirt tucked in either."

Billy flashed a smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm still wearing my jeans. Anyways, you told me you wanted me to look nice." Billy was dressed in a white button down shirt with a black blazer. He had even somehow matched a tie to his light blue eyes.

"Yeah, but when I told you that, I was just hoping you'd comb your hair," Machiavelli told him.

Billy looked vaguely insulted. "You mean I could have just ran a brush through my hair and you would have been satisfied? Why'd I dig out my old blazer?" He pulled into a spot on Main Street. "Don't get out, I'll come get you," he told the Italian, reaching into the backseat for the umbrella. He ran around the front of the car and opened Machiavelli's door.

Machiavelli took his hand and let Billy help him step out of the car. "I'm glad Scathach got this suit for me," he said happily. "I know I'll outgrow it in a week, but I love wearing suits." He followed Billy into the small Italian restaurant.

"Oh, aren't you cute?" The hostess greeted them at the front. She led them to a small table by the fireplace. "Why are boys so dressed up?"

Billy was pushing Machiavelli in front of him. He kept his hands on the Italian's shoulders, keeping him close. "My son and I went to a show right before this and now we're having a bit of a date," he explained. He pulled out a seat for the seven year old and pushed him in.

"Oh, you're sweet." The hostess patted Machiavelli's head. "Your son is absolutely precious," she told Billy, taking their orders and leaving them alone. Machiavelli looked a little embarrassed by all the attention he was receiving.

Billy grinned at Machiavelli. "You do look cute," he teased gently, "especially in your suit."

"You're not too bad yourself," Machiavelli mumbled. "Hey Billy, do you think I'm cute enough to get that puppy?" he asked hopefully. "The husky?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mac, we're already pretty cramped in the cabin with so many of us. I don't think we should bring a puppy into the mix, especially when we don't know where we'll be next month..."

"Well that's true," Machiavelli said sadly. His lower lip stuck out slightly. "I just liked the puppy, that's all, but I'll still love you..."

Billy groaned. "Oh, Mac, you're not playing fair at all."

Machiavelli nodded. "I know. But I want the hound." Machiavelli was in his element now. He wheedled happily, truly more intent on bugging the American than getting the puppy. In between pleas, he stole bites of Billy's dish and stuffed pieces of his own in his mouth. He continued, "Besides, it's my money. You wouldn't spend a dime."

Both men stopped talking when the waitress came over with their orders. Billy smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the Italian. "Which one of us would do the dog walking and the feeding and the poop scooping?"

Machiavelli knew he had him now. He pointed to himself. "I will," he said emphatically. "I really do love you," he told the American, twirling his spaghetti around his fork.

Billy stole one of his breadsticks. He ducked his head. "I love you too," he said softly, "but you don't play fair." He looked around the restaurant. The rain must have been keeping people away or they would never had been as secluded as they were. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "We do have to talk about something though."

"That thing you and Nick went off to talk about the other day?" Machiavelli speared one of the American's tortellini.

Billy was surprised. "How'd you know about that you? You were asleep."

"Not completely." The Italian smiled apologetically.

"Oh, well." Billy scratched at the back of his head, thinking carefully about what he was going to say next. "Nicholas would be able to tell you about this better, but they've elected me to break the news. The Flamels told me they've been looking into your situation in the Codex, you know, that book they tote around. I don't really know how to say this, but..."

"Am I going to die?" Machiavelli asked him. He was suddenly suspicious. "Is that why you agreed to get me the dog?"

Billy laughed gently and grabbed his fist. "Of course you're not going to die. And I never said yes to the dog," he added as a secondary thought. Machiavelli made a face, but Billy ignored it. "In fact, you might not have to age back to where you were at all."

Machiavelli narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about? Billy, I don't understand."

Billy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Like I said, Nick would explain it better, but basically there's a spell in the Codex that could freeze you at a certain age and you wouldn't have to age all the way back if you didn't want to."

Machiavelli chewed on the breadstick he had stolen back. "So if I chose to stay at an age that wasn't my original age, would I be stuck at that age forever?"

"No, just for a year. The spell has to be renewed annually, so you'd have to keep renewing it every year. Otherwise, you'd eventually age back to how old you were before all of this started."

"Ah, yes, medieval." Machiavelli sat back in his chair, stuffed. He was struck by curiosity. "What age would you keep me at? As a kid?" He was almost surprised when Billy shook his head. "I thought you liked having me as a kid."

"I do." Billy coughed. "I do. It's been wonderful having a kid, I never thought I'd have another chance to raise a kid. But it doesn't really matter what I think, does it? Once you're an adult again, you won't need me taking care of you?"

"Oh," Machiavelli hadn't considered that. "But I like living with you," he admitted.

"I like living with you too," Billy agreed. "I also like you being older than me."

Machiavelli cocked his head. "Why?"

"Um..." Billy wrinkled his nose, then pushed back his seat and tossed some money on the table to cover the bill. "It's hard to explain," he told the Italian, leading him out into the night. "Rain's stopped," he muttered, looking up at the sky. "Let's head back."

"How old is too old?" Machiavelli wondered as they got into the car. Billy seemed to think that was a rhetorical question, because he didn't answer. He tugged on the American's sleeve. "Billy, how old can I get before I'm too old for you?"

"How old?" Billy sounded surprised. "I don't care what age you are, Mac. I thought you were great when we first met and I think you're great now."

"Oh, come on now, you liked it when I was old and white haired?" Machiavelli looked at Billy, then quickly looked out the window again. "You really want to spend the rest of your days with an old man?"

The American tilted his head to the side. "Yes."

Machiavelli felt a warm fluttery feeling in his chest. He looked toward the cabin as they pulled up. "Scathach and Black Hawk are back," he told him, pointing to the Jeep. "Do you hear barking?" he asked as they walked up the front steps. He stopped at the front door and looked at Billy. "Wait a minute, where did they go?"

"Never mind that." Billy pulled open the door. An excited ball of fur came running out, yipping at their feet. Machiavelli's face lit up, grabbing the tan husky around its waist. He laughed when it licked his face and looked up at Billy. The American was watching him with a small smile. "What are you planning on naming the puppy?" Billy asked him.