Machiavelli woke up mid-morning to a silent cabin. He wandered around the downstairs, wondering where the other immortals were. Finally, he padded back upstairs and pushed into Billy's room. He found the American sacked out in bed. He tugged the blankets up around Billy and wandered back out. The Italian paused briefly at the Flamels' room and then peeked around the door. The French couple were asleep as well, he noted, catching the way Nicholas embraced his wife even in their sleep. He smiled and closed the door as quietly as he could.

Thumping back down the stairs, he stopped in the living room to scratch Georgette behind the ears. He then grabbed Billy's leash and clipped it on. The husky yipped loudly, excited to be let out. Machiavelli froze, sure that they had woken the immortals upstairs, but after a moment there was no sound and he relaxed. "Come on," he told the dog and pushed open the screen door.

Machiavelli squinted in the early morning light. Billy the Pup tugged at his end of the leash, impatient to begin his adventure. The Italian loitered in the yard, afraid to off without Billy's permission. He smiled, hearing a door slam. Looking up, he caught eyes with Joan of Arc. "Good morning," he greeted her courteously.

"Hello, angel," she greeted, coming down the steps to walk beside the Italian. "Wondering where everybody is?" Beside her, Machiavelli nodded. "They all stayed up late last night. Francis and Billy kept playing the piano- I thought for sure they were going to wake you up. Did they?"

Machiavelli shook his head. "I was very tired yesterday." The Pup yanked on his leash, whining pitifully. Machiavelli unclipped his leash at last and the dog bounded off. The Italian looked up at Joan. "Why are you awake now?"

Joan ducked her head. "I'm afraid I hardly sleep now a days. We don't need sleep, thankfully. I get nightmares," she admitted.

"Oh," Machiavelli didn't know what to say. He was far more comfortable with discovering people's secrets through his own trickery. It made him uncomfortable that Joan would divulge such a thing with her own free will. He whistled for the dog. "Where are we going?"

"I think I'm going to walk to town," Joan said. "Want to come with me?"

"Are we going to walk there?" Machiavelli asked in surprise. "That's like a mile!"

Joan laughed. It was a pretty tinkling sound, like wedding bells. "Old age is making you lazy," she said. "When I led armies, we walked for miles a day."

Machiavelli unconsciously straightened his legs out, making it look like he was goose stepping. "You must have been popular," he mumbled. Joan only laughed more. "What are we going to do today?"

"Francis and Billy think that now that we have a piano, we should have a dance. I see another late night in our future." She nudged Machiavelli on the shoulder. "While we're in town, we can pick up supplies for a party."

~MB~

Machiavelli ducked through the immortals and found Billy dancing with Scathach by the front windows. He watched the American dip Scatty back and grinned. He leaned against the fireplace, looking around the room. The small room seemed to buzz with energy and Machiavelli was reminded of countless dances he had attended through his immortal years. "Hey," he said to Joan and Germain as they swung by.

"Having fun?" Germain questioned, as the music ended and they came to a halt. Machiavelli nodded. "Here, why don't you break in?" The Frenchman pushed Machiavelli over to where Scathach and Billy were standing.

"Can I break in?" he asked dutifully.

Scathach grinned. "Sure," she said. "He's yours." And she followed Joan and Germain as they left. Machiavelli protested mildly, then turned to face the American.

"I guess I'm your new partner."

"Come on, I'm going to teach you a new dance," Billy said happily. "It's called the jitterbug and it was popular among the young crowds in the 1920s. They didn't have it in Italy?"

"Oh, I don't know," Machiavelli whispered. "I haven't danced with anyone in about four, five hundred years. I especially wouldn't have touched some schoolboy dance."

"You should have," Billy laughed. He dragged the Italian out into the middle of the living room. He waggled his eyebrows. "It's a lot of fun. Come on, there's no thinking to it." The American wasn't lying. Not only was the dance horrendously unstructured, it didn't match the dance music that was playing at all. Billy seemed unfazed by that fact.

Machiavelli was sure they looked like a pair of fools but after a moment he didn't really care. He decided to ham it up, kicking his feet high and alternating steps. He actually squealed with delight when Billy tossed him up in the air and spun him around.

All the other immortals began to give the pair a wide berth.

Machiavelli was all out of breath by the time they stopped dancing. "I think I'm going to sit down now," he told Billy. The American agreed easily, pushing him in the direction of Scathach and Joan on the couch. "Jitterbugging is hard," he told them, squeezing in between the two young women.

"I know," Scathach agreed. "I've danced it before, but I've never watched it. It looks absolutely insane from the spectators' point of view."

"But it looks like you were having a lot of fun," Joan added

All three of them watched as Billy and Germain began to do some half assed salsa. Machiavelli couldn't help but giggle as they watched Billy dip the Frenchman backwards. "This is positively grotesque," he commented.

As the song ended, Scathach stood up. "I think I'm going to go break up the loving spoonful over there."

"You should dance too," the Italian informed the Maid of Orleans suddenly. "We have so few women, they are very precious. Although why your husband is letting Scathach lead is beyond me..."

"How can you tell who's leading?" Joan asked. "They're moving so quickly."

"It the hands." Machiavelli pointed. "They should be the opposite of what they are now. Although, knowing what I do about Scathach, and your husband," he said, glancing her way, "maybe the hands are where they should be."

Joan laughed. "I never expected to be talking to you about dancing," she confided.

Machiavelli was surprised. "I've always liked dancing. I've spent about half of my immortal life as a patron of the arts. Although I haven't actually danced in many years."

"Why not?"

"I got used to dancing with my wife. It seemed wrong to dance without her." He glanced around the room, noting that Billy had paused over by where Black Hawk was to talk. "You probably already know that I was not a good husband. There's a lot of things I did behind my wife's back that were wrong."

Joan shrugged. She looked around the room. "I've heard you liked the presence of women in your time," she allowed.

Machiavelli laughed. "That's one way of putting it. But I never danced with them, nor did I tell them I loved them. I never promised a future with them. I'm not saying that what I did wasn't wrong..."

"No," Joan agreed. "But you've become a better person, I think." She paused. "You dance with Billy?" It was half a question, half a statement.

"Billy's infectious," the Italian replied. He smiled. "He makes me feel like I'm a new person. He makes all the old hurts fall away."

Joan frowned slightly. "Is it true that you were tortured?" she asked the boy softly, touching his cheek. "This morning when we talked, you got a look in your eye. You have nightmares about it too. I can tell."

Machiavelli straightened his shirt. "Yes," he whispered. "Only I'm not sure that Billy knows about it and I don't want him to find out if he doesn't know already."

"But I do know," Billy said from behind the Italian. The boy jumped. "I read it in that book about you." He jammed his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet slightly. "But I skipped it," he confessed. "I couldn't stand to read about it."

Joan got to her feet. "I think that I'm going to go steal my husband back now," she told the two men, patting Machiavelli on the shoulder as she left.

Machiavelli looked up at Billy. "I promise that I'll tell you about it someday but not today." He smiled gently. "I'm having a lot of fun tonight."

"I'm glad." Billy smiled so that his eyes lit up. He pulled Machiavelli to his feet. "Let's dance again. You know, my mother and I used to go to bailes before she got really sick. I loved it." He spun the Italian in a wide circle. "I love you."