"Black Hawk, tell him this is a bad idea," Billy complained to the Native American over breakfast. He pointed to Machiavelli who had settled in between Scathach and Perenelle at the table. "This kid wants to name the puppy after me."
"Why would I tell him it's a bad idea, when I think it's a great idea?" Black Hawk's face was crinkled in amusement. He held out his hand across the table. Machiavelli grabbed it to shake. "I heartily approve," he told the boy, nodding sagely.
Billy protested. "It is not a great idea! It'll be confusing as all hell."
"Why? Do you respond to commands to sit and fetch?" Scathach asked him innocently. He huffed at her. Perenelle turned away, covering her mouth slightly.
"Didn't you name your dog after you?" Machiavelli asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, I was named after the dog," Billy retorted. He stamped his foot. "I mean, I got the name after the dog had it. I mean..." He looked at Black Hawk who laughed harder. He pointed at the man, calling, "You're supposed to be on my side, Slim Jim."
Black Hawk slung an arm around his shoulder. "Normally I am, Fido. But I like the Italian too." He got up and scrapped his dish down before putting it in the sink. He walked into the living room area. They could hear him whistling. Scathach and Perenelle finished soon after.
Machiavelli called the puppy over to him. "Come on Billy, I'll give you a bowl of water." The dog pounced after him.
Billy looked at Nicholas, who alone had remained quiet through the entire conversation. "How do you like that? I buy the kid a puppy and this is how he thanks me."
"Don't try to fight it. It's bigger than both of us," Nicholas advised mildly. Glancing over his shoulder, the small man got to his feet and opened the closet door behind them, rummaging through.
"What are you looking for?" Billy asked curiously, leaning over the older man's shoulder.
"A bucket and a mop," Nicholas answered, handing Billy the mop. He pointed in the vicinity of the back hallway just as Machiavelli ran up to them.
"Billy peed all over the floor," he told them, tugging on the American's shirt. "Come quick." He dashed back to hallway. The two immortals could hear him scolding the puppy. "Bad Billy, you don't pee on the floor."
"Oh, it starts," the Kid groaned, grabbing the bucket. He motioned the Italian away. "I'll clean up, you go outside and play. And take Kujo with you."
Black Hawk held the door open for the Italian. "Come on kid, we can show your friend the newest Billy."
Nicholas and Perenelle watched the two dash away. Machiavelli ran beside the puppy, obviously delighted with the feeling of the wildflowers hitting his legs. Black Hawk followed swiftly behind him, moving with an easy grace that looked odd for such a muscled man. The Flamels turned back to the American.
"Should have put his nose in it like my mother used to do with the Kid," Billy mumbled, mopping the floor clean. "And don't even start," he cut off Scathach, waving the mop at her. She smiled mischievously. He threw the water from the bucket out the back door.
"Billy," Nicholas called. "Niccolò's going to be gone all day. Do you want me to teach you some alchemy now? We never got a chance to before you took him on the trip."
Billy straightened. "That's right, I did ask you to teach me. I'd forgotten that." He smiled so that his prominent front teeth were showing. He rubbed his hands together. "Let's surprise Mac."
~MB~
Billy came into the kitchen late that night to find Machiavelli sitting at the table reading. "What are you doing up so late?" he yawned.
"I think Billy's lonely," Machiavelli answered, pointing to the crate where the puppy was sleeping. "So I'm keeping him company for a little bit."
"Want some ice cream?" Billy asked, scratching at his midriff. The boy nodded eagerly. "What's going in your book so far?" the American call out as he dug through the freezer.
"Felicity's sad because her mom's planning on leaving again..."
Billy hmmed, setting the carton down on the counter to thaw. "Moving around is hard when you're a kid," he allowed. "I went from New York to Indiana to Kansas to New Mexico before I was a teenager."
"Wasn't that difficult?" Machiavelli asked, looking up at the outlaw. He fiddled with the gold pendant.
"Not so much for me," Billy hedged. The American paused what he was doing. "I didn't like moving around so much, but I could deal with it. I made friends wherever we went. But Josie had a rough time of it. He didn't have my easy charm." Billy grinned without a trace of humility. "Poor Josie, I tried to be his friend, but after our mother died we were put in separate homes and I hardly ever saw him after that."
"Billy?" Machiavelli asked. The puppy looked up from his place by the stove. "Not you," he told him, patting the dog's ears absentmindedly.
"What's up, Mac?" Billy picked up the Husky, looked into his eyes, and kissed him on the snout. "Go pee on Black Hawk," he commanded. Billy the Puppy just tilted his head. Billy gave it up as a bad job and put him back on the ground. Machiavelli watched the exchange. "You had a question?" Billy asked the Italian.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I was wondering where you lived now. Here in the cabin?" He got out two bowls.
Billy took the carton of ice cream off the counter. He shook his head. "I have places like this all over the country. Whenever I get tired of one place, I move out again."
"You just move around all the time?" Machiavelli couldn't imagine it. He had stayed in the same country for hundreds of years, never straying farther than he had to. He couldn't imagine moving around in such a way.
Billy shrugged. "I stay in places for as long as I can, but eventually people start getting suspicious and I have to go again." He handed the Italian his bowl of ice cream and tossed in a spoon. The spoon clanged on the edges.
"But you didn't like moving around when you were a kid. Why do it as an adult? There are other ways around it."
Billy pulled a face. "Part of moving around was to keep people from getting suspicious, but part of moving around was to keep from getting lonely."
"Lonely?" Machiavelli couldn't imagine Billy being lonely. If words floated above people's shoulders, Billy's words would have been danger, adventure, excitement, but never lonely.
Billy averted his gaze. "You know, I lived in once place I really enjoyed, nearly fifty years ago. I had never imagined I'd end up in New England, let alone New Hampshire, but I set up a place there and ended up staying. It was beautiful there, all forests, you think, but you go around a bend in the road or over a hill and suddenly you're in the middle of some farmer's field."
Machiavelli noticed a certain reverence in Billy's blue eyes. "Why'd you leave if you liked it so much?" he whispered.
The look shifted in Billy's eyes, turning them flint-like. "Got close to a neighboring family," he said. "They'd have me over for holidays and functions, the like. The head of the house, the matriarch was an Irish woman like my mother. They used to joke with me, ask me when I was going to settle down." He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "They had a daughter, Erin. I think they thought I'd marry her. But I knew that wouldn't be fair to her all. So I left one day, didn't tell anyone, just left."
"Have you ever gone back there?" Machiavelli wondered out loud. He searched Billy's face in earnest, looking for the answer.
Billy grunted. "A couple of times to see how they were making it. I'd leave money if it seemed like they were having a hard time of it. But I never let them see me." He paused. "I still own that place. Maybe I could bring you up there some time." He glanced at Machiavelli through the fringe of his hair.
Machiavelli nodded. "I'd like that he," he said softly. He pushed his book closer to the American. "Will you read to me now?"
Billy nodded, glancing at the cover again, and cracked open the book. "Where were you?" he asked, tracing a finger down the page. Machiavelli pointed halfway down the page. "Alright," Billy mumbled. He cleared his throat and began. Unconsciously, the Italian leaned in closer to watch his progress in the book.