Machiavelli popped up by Scatty, leaning over the back of the couch to look at her laptop. He leaned over her shoulder, his cheek brushing against hers. She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?" he asked innocently, indicating the picture on the website before them.

Scatty huffed at him, but turned the laptop slightly so that he could see the laptop straight on. "Apparently, it's Billy."

"What?" Machiavelli climbed over the back of the couch and wedged himself between Scatty and Perenelle. "I thought there was only one picture of him." He studied the picture before him. The boy in the picture did resemble Billy, but the Italian had a hard time picturing Billy ever being quite that young. Especially, the shy, neatly dressed boy in the picture.

Perenelle leaned slightly on the Italian, looking at the picture herself. "He does have Billy's ears and facial structure. But I guess we won't know until we ask Billy himself." She carefully settled her arm around the Italian's shoulders. Machiavelli leaned in to the touch.

"Where is Billy?" he asked her curiously. The American had told Machiavelli he would bring him to the stables this afternoon and then had promptly disappeared again. He felt his stomach grumble as it neared lunchtime.

Perenelle toyed with his hair. "I believe he is looking for something in the attic. He asked to keep you down here for the time being." She looked over at her husband. "You should go fetch him," she said. "It's nearly lunchtime."

"I could go get him," Machiavelli said, attempting innocence. It didn't work. Perenelle shook her head, Nicholas started for the stairs, and Scatty actually scoffed at him. He shrugged. "What's he looking for?" he whispered in Scatty's ear. "Come on, you can tell me."

"Bug off," she said, but without malice. Machiavelli giggled slightly and abruptly leaned closer to her and kissed her cheek. "What was that for?" Scatty hissed, turning almost as red as her hair.

Machiavelli shrugged, nonplussed. He didn't quite know why he had done it either, except that he felt a sudden surge of affection for the Shadow. "Thought it might work," he said cheekily. He lifted his chin. "I am irresistible." Scatty pinched her nose and shook her head, but Perenelle laughed from the Italian's other side. He grinned up at the older Frenchwoman, feeling pleasantly light at the moment.

~MB~

Following lunch, that pleasant feeling had almost entirely gone away. Machiavelli scrambled out of the car and followed Billy over to the stable, reluctant to ride again but unwilling to be left behind either. "I don't know, Billy," he said nervously. "Not everyone was meant to ride a horse. And in this day in age, I just think that..."

Billy kissed him on the side of the face, effectively cutting him off. "Listen, Mac, I know you're nervous after last time but things are going to be fine. I should have put you back on the horse right away." He finished tightening the saddle onto the horse, a bay mare, and led them both into the coral.

"Would that have made things better? Would things have seemed less scary now?" Machiavelli asked somewhat frantically. "Please, Billy, don't put me back on the horse."

Billy leaned down a bit so that he could look the Italian square in the eye. Machiavelli wanted to look away, unnerved by the interaction, but Billy gently held his face where it was. "Are you really that nervous?" The Italian jerked his head noncommittally. Billy straightened up again. "It's not going to be so bad, Mac," he assured him. He tugged the Italian to the side. "Listen, sweetheart, I'll never make you do something dangerous. But I think it's important that you face your fears. Give it a try. For me?"

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed, reluctance clear. "But you promised you'd sit behind me."

"Sure." Billy hefted him onto the horse. Machiavelli swallowed hard and hung on tight to the horn of the saddle. Billy swung himself up onto the saddle. "Well, this is cozy," he said happily. He pulled Machiavelli in close to his torso, his arms protectively encircling the boy. The two were now close enough that the Italian could feel Billy squeeze the sides of the horse with his thighs lightly. He swallowed as the horse began to walk forward.

Machiavelli didn't know where to put his hands. He rested them on the saddle, then decided he wanted something more solid and grabbed at Billy's arms. He sharply inhaled and moved his head a fraction to look back at the American immortal. "Billy-?"

Billy switched the reins to one hand. "Put them here," he said, guiding Machiavelli's hands to the reins. He covered Machiavelli's hands with his own, the callouses of his hand rubbing at the Italian's knuckles. He kept up a steady stream of encouragement. "There you go. See, you're fine. We won't go any faster than this." The outlaw's confidence hung in the air around them.

Machiavelli could feel is breathing finally beginning to steady. It was s till a strange feeling, balancing on the horse's back. He wasn't completely ready to give up on his fears though, feeling the pinpricks of goosebumps creeping up his arms. "What if the horse panics again?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. His voice quivered.

"We're going to be fine," Billy said, repeating his familiar mantra. "I can handle it." He reached forward and slapped the horse's neck. "She's a good horse, not going to do anything. And we're only going to go around the pasture once."

Machiavelli half turned to look at the American before he remembered where he was and straightened quickly. "We're only going around once?"

"Sure," Billy said amiably. "I'm going to ease you into it. Horse riding should be fun, not stressful." They rounded the last corner and Billy stopped the horse. He pushed off and touched down lightly. "I'll bring you around again tomorrow morning, if you want," he told the Italian, helping Machiavelli dismount.

"What are we going to do now?" Machiavelli asked curiously as they led the horse back to the barn. He began to brush down the horse, leaving Billy to do some of the heavier tasks.

"Well, after we're done here, I wanted to go to the bookstore. So I can drop you off at home or you can come with me."

"I'll come with you," Machiavelli said at once. "I need some new books. I've read everything on the shelf in my room." He placed the stable supplies back in their spot. "You haven't read to me in a while," he remarked. "Why not?"

Billy made a face. "I thought you might feel you were too old to be read to now."

"No, I like you reading to me," Machiavelli said shyly. He shuffled his feet on the hay strewn floor. "My papa used to read to me too. Of course I found out later that most of the stories he read to me were actually based on real things," he commented as they walked back to the car. He climbed in to the passenger seat. "That was both exciting and terrifying and somewhat disappointing, if you know what I mean.

"Ah, you mean like how it's kind of disappointing that they've probably found Jack the Ripper's true identity," Billy theorized. He glanced at the Italian as he started the car up. "You were alive when he was killing. What was that like?"

"Frightening. Those were dark times." Machiavelli shivered slightly before he continued. "But not nearly as frightening for me as it would have been for others. Even if I had been mortal at the time, I wasn't a woman or a prostitute so I just had to worry about the normal dangers of walking in London after dark."

"Well, let's agree not to get any books on Jack the Ripper for our little read alouds," Billy said, turning onto the main road.