Machiavelli pushed into Billy's room later that night, not bothering to knock. "Hey, Billy, I... Billy?"
With the low lighting of the hallway behind him, Machiavelli could just make out Billy lying in bed, in a rather, ah, compromising position. At the sound of the Italian's voice, however, Billy shot up and grabbed the pillow behind him, throwing it in his lap. "Mac?" Billy's voice sounded a few degrees huskier than it normally did. He cleared his throat and raked a hand across the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. "What's- what's up?" he groaned.
Machiavelli had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from smiling. "I just- no, you know what, it can wait. I'll wait. I'll go back to my room." He couldn't help myself and turned back for a moment. "It looks like you were almost done anyways."
"I wasn't doing anything!"
This time the Italian did laugh. "I'm still a grown man. I know what you were doing. And seeing as it is the first night in a couple of weeks that you've had the room to yourself, I guess I should have expected this..."
Billy motioned towards the door. "I can't have this conversation with you when you look like that. Go to your room! I'll be there in a minute!" He slumped backwards on the bed and the Italian thought it wise to leave promptly.
A minute later, Billy came into the boy's room, fully dressed. Machiavelli instantly noticed that the American wasn't looking him into the eye and there was a definite pinkness to his face. "I didn't figure you to be a blusher, Billy," he jibed amicably.
Billy's flush deepened, if anything. "Yeah, well, I didn't figure on you coming in at this hour." He sat on the edge of Machiavelli's bed but stood up just as quickly as if he had been scalded. "What'd you need, Niccolò?"
Machiavelli smiled at the rare usage of his first name, but blushed a little himself now. "I've been waiting for you to tuck me in... You always come in eventually." He shrugged somewhat helplessly. "I was wondering if I could give you a kiss."
The American sat on the edge of the bed. "Oh, yeah Mac. I just got to talking down there for so long and I thought you'd asleep by now."
Machiavelli shrugged shyly. He wrapped his arm around Billy's shoulder and paused a moment before tenderly kissing the outlaw's temple. "Goodnight Billy," he whispered.
Billy helped him lie back. "Night, Mac. I'm sorry I forgot about you."
"It's okay. Now you can go back to what you were doing," Machiavelli giggled. He heard Billy moan miserably before the American turned off the light entirely.
~MB~
Machiavelli came down the next morning to find the kitchen table completely full. He yawned. "I see space at the table is prime real estate today," he quipped.
"Here, kid," Scathach said. "We could probably push over a little."
"That's okay. I'll just sit here." The Italian settled onto Billy's lap before the outlaw could object.
"Um, Mac, I-"
"Did you have a good night's sleep?" Machiavelli asked him happily. "Cause you seem a little bit grumpy."
"I'm not grumpy."
Scathach studied Billy. "You do seem a bit crotchety," she said, grinning wickedly.
"I don't know why he'd be grumpy," Black Hawk called from his place by Germain. "We finally have our own bedrooms, again."
"I don't want to talk about it," Billy mumbled. His ears turned slightly pink. "What are we doing today?" he asked, changing the topic.
"Are we going paintballing today?" the Italian asked excitedly. He leaned forward to look at the Fire Master, pushing down on Billy's knees.
"No, not today, I'm afraid," Francis said. He winked at the boy. "I have a plan."
"His big plan is to put you guys in a hot air balloon," Joan explained.
Perenelle leaned towards Scathach. "I know you don't like being up in the air, so you and I are going elsewhere." She touched the Warrior's hand lightly.
"This was excellent, Perenelle," Germain said, not paying attention. He pushed back from the table. "Of course, we wouldn't want you doing anything you don't want to do," the Frenchman agreed. "Black Hawk's going to drive beneath us and pick us up in the end. You could go with him."
Billy tapped the table with his spoon, banging out a syncopated tune. "I like balloon rides," he said.
"As do I," Nicholas agreed.
They all looked over at Machiavelli. The Italian had dug into Billy's bowl of cereal and wasn't really paying attention, only looking up when he noticed the conversation had lulled. "I've never been in a balloon before," he admitted through a mouthful of cereal. "But I think it'll be fine."
~MB~
"Is that really a hot air balloon?" Machiavelli asked, looking up at Joan. "It looks like a castle."
"It is a castle," Joan replied. "Francis tends to go over the top. When he found an air balloon in the shape of the Chateau d'Azay-Le-Rideau, he had to buy it. Cover your ears now, he's going to start blowing it up," she said, motioning to the noise cancelling headphones around his neck.
"Okay." Machiavelli snapped them in place. He watched as Francis and Nicholas set up a gas powered fan, the balloon slowly inflating before them. The noise was incredible- even with the headphones, the Italian could hear the roar of the fan. Right before the balloon was fully blown up, the two Frenchmen turned off the fan and Germain began shooting flames into the balloon.
Machiavelli felt a sharp jab in the shoulders. 'Time to get in,' Billy mouthed to the Italian. 'Take off the headphones,' he motioned. Fear blossomed in Machiavelli's chest for the first time.
"Don't worry, Mac," Billy soothed. "It's a little scary the first time you go up, but then it's a lot of fun." He swung the young tactician into the basket of the balloon and gave Joan a hand getting in. Finally, he pulled himself over the edge.
"All in?" Germain asked. "Good. Let's go then." The flame in his hand leapt higher, crackling merrily. Machiavelli gasped as the balloon began to rise. He felt a swooping sensation, watching the ground slip away from them.
"Scared?" Nicholas asked. He nudged the boy.
"A bit," Machiavelli admitted. He glanced behind him at Germain, who was setting up the propane burner. "But don't tell anybody," he whispered. "I'll get used to it."
Joan overheard them talking. "The trick is to not look down if you're frightened. Look over there," she pointed, "see the trees? Focus on them."
Germain had finished setting up the flame. He reached up and turned the flame low so that they maintained their height. "Did you know, the first air balloons to be successfully flown were launched from Paris in 1783? I was on one of the first rides; that was truly terrifying." He smiled kindly at Machiavelli. "I assure you, my friend, we are quite safe. But should you feel scared, we can always go lower."
"Or stop altogether," Billy chimed in, looking down at the rolling fields below them.
"Or stop," Germain agreed.
Machiavelli leaned over the railing, keeping a hand on Billy's arm. "I'm okay now," he assured the others. "You like flying, huh?" he asked Nicholas, noting the new animation in the man's expression.
"I love flying," Nicholas corrected quietly. "It's one of my favorite things to do. I didn't think I'd get to experience it so soon though," he said, smiling brightly.
Germain was delighted. "I remembered you liked it," he told his old master.
The Italian looked over at Billy. "And you've been up in an air balloon?"
Billy nodded, wrapping an arm around Machiavelli. "My first time up in one was in 1903. Black Hawk went with me."
"Was it fun?" Joan asked.
"I loved it, but Black Hawk ended up throwing up over the edge. He hasn't tried again since."
Machiavelli laughed. He felt better knowing the burly Native American didn't like the ride much either. The wind blew in his face and he smiled; things weren't really that bad up here. But he was sure to keep a firm grasp on Billy's hand at all times.