Machiavelli tugged on Scathach's arm. "We're going down to the park. Want to come?" He looked hopefully at her, giving her puppy eyes. The Italian immortal seemed to exert a weird pull over the other immortals in this form, influencing them to do things they wouldn't otherwise do. The only one who seemed outside of this influence was Black Hawk.

The Warrior looked up. "Who else is going? Just you and Billy?"

"And Billy," Machiavelli added promptly.

"He means the hound," Billy explained, walking by. He drew the boy closer to him, looking him carefully in his gray eyes. "Mac, don't you think we should change the dog's name, before he gets too attached to it? And I spend the rest of my life playing second fiddle to a pooch?"

"I guess it's a little confusing having two Billys," Machiavelli allowed.

"Confusing! It's been driving me nuts," Billy said. "I told you it was madness."

"Okay, well what are we going to call him?" Machiavelli asked looking at the puppy. The husky looked up at them, cocking his head. "We could call him Einstein. He looks intelligent."

Scathach shook her head, sitting down beside Billy. "No more people names. If we're going to give him a different name, I don't want to mix it up with any of the people I've met over the years."

"Okay." Machiavelli ticked the options off on his fingers. "There's Lupo, Drago, Gaio, or Icarus..."

"Icarus would be a cool name," Billy interrupted.

Scathach nodded. "Icarus," she called, snapping her fingers. The dog just looked at her.

"Come on, Icarus. Come here," Machiavelli called. The dog laid down and Billy groaned. He pantomimed playing a fiddle and threw his hands up in the air. Machiavelli patted him on the arm. "We'll figure out something." He turned back to Scathach. "So are you coming with us?"

Scatty sighed and nodded.

~MB~

Machiavelli fell backwards into the air, pulled back to the ground from where he had rested in the heavens. He swung backwards, hit his limit, and felt Billy push him forward with a mighty shove.

"Billy," Machiavelli called in between pushes. "Do I look older?" He whooped when Billy gave him an extra strong push.

"Yeah, a little bit older," Billy admitted. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to say to John yet?"

The Italian hesitated. "I think I'm just going to wait until he brings it up and play it by ear," he said finally.

"You, play things by ear?" Billy drawled, giving him a final push before he leaned against the side of the swing set. "You've been spending too much time with me."

"You bet," Machiavelli laughed, pumping his legs to get himself higher.

"Are you nervous?" Billy asked. Machiavelli nodded, swinging past him. "Well, good luck, cause here he comes," Billy told him. He waved his hat at the boy and waved it in mock salute. John ran over.

"Hi!" Machiavelli yelled down. He let go off the swing entirely, waving his hands frantically before grabbing back on.

Billy clutched his chest. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he told the Italian. He started the little boy off on the swing, pulling him back and giving him a firm push. "How are things John?"

"Fine," he called back, leaning backward to look at the American and sat up quickly. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Billy drawled. "I like you, John; you're a good boy. You deserve a good life." The boy flushed happily, but refused to look at either of them, looking instead at the blue skies. Billy stepped away from the two, and untied the dog's leash. "I'm going walk The Pup," he called, moving away from the swings.

"Why does he call your dog 'The Pup'?" John asked his friend curiously.

Machiavelli stopped pumping for a minute so that the other boy could catch up. "Well, he doesn't like to call him Billy, because I named the dog after him. So he's decided to call him Pup, Billy the Pup. Tells them apart, see?"

"Billy the Pup, like Billy the Kid?" John called.

The Italian nearly fell out of his swing. He schooled his expression carefully. "Who's Billy the Kid? Some thug?"

John twisted a little on his swing, which caused it to go off track. "No, he's an outlaw," he defended.

"What's the difference?"

"Well," John thought carefully before he spoke again. "A thug doesn't get in trouble with the law but is bad, an outlaw gets in trouble with the law but most people think their good."

"You think he's a good guy, huh?" Machiavelli asked with a faint smile.

"I think he's a great guy," John yelled, jumping off of his swing and landing in the sand.

Both boys watched as Billy ran by, chasing the ball that Billy had thrown. Moments later, the human Billy ran after the dog. "Talking about me?" he asked as he jogged by. John laughed and Machiavelli fell out of his swing. The tall boy stood up, carefully brushing the sand off his shorts.

"What'll we do?" the Italian asked the boy.

"Want to go play with the Pup?" John asked. He looked over at Billy and the husky, then back at Machiavelli.

Machiavelli smoothed over the expression on his face. "We could play with the dog," he said carefully, "but let's go over by the river first. We should talk."

"Okay," John said happily, missing the look on the other boy's face. "I'll race you!" And he ran off.

Machiavelli followed him unhappily, certain that this was going to end well. He cocked his head as they leaned against the railing. "Do you believe in magic?" he asked.

John looked at him strangely. "I guess so. Why are you asking?" He frowned. "Have you gotten taller?" he asked.

"I have," Machiavelli acknowledged. "But it's only fair, seeing as today is kind of my birthday."

John was confused. "I thought it was your birthday that day that I first met you? You got that gold pendant from Billy."

"Remember when you said that Billy and I seem a bit odd?" Machiavelli's voice was soft and gentle. He pushed on through the younger boy's bashful protests. "We are odd," he laughed.

"Who are you?" John whispered.

He paused, reading the language of John's face. The boy looked half scared, half excited. He decided he'd better do it completely, if he was going to do it at all. "My name is Niccolò Machiavelli and I'm 545 years old."

"You're pulling my leg," John said weakly. "You couldn't possibly be that old. You're a kid like me."

"Well, I'm stuck in my younger body right now, which is why Billy takes care of me, but I age a year every week." The Italian took it as a good sign that John hadn't started running yet, but felt compelled to ask if was all right.

John nodded mutely. He said nothing.

Machiavelli pointed to the American playing fetch with the husky. "Ask Billy to tell you what's going on. He'll tell you the same thing." He lowered his voice. "I know this is a lot. And I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to get away from us. But we are trying to help you." He got to his feet.

John tilted his head. "Us?" he asked. "There are more of you?" Machiavelli looked over at Billy. John's eyes widened. "Billy?"

"And the others." Machiavelli supplied.

"I think I should go home now," John said faintly.

"Okay," the Italian said, jamming his hands into his pockets. He watched the boy run off. He turned to see Billy watching the boy go too. Billy looked over at him and waved slightly. The Italian began to pick his way towards the American, petting the dog's head as it trotted beside him.

Billy touched him lightly on the shoulder. "It's a lot to take in," he soothed. "Let's give him some time."