AN: So Machiavelli's been having a rough week. I think I'll give him a break in this one, if only a small break… Hope everyone's still enjoying this. Let me know your comments and suggestions!
"Come on, Niccolò, let's take off together," Billy said, coming into the Italian's bedroom when the sun was just barely over the horizon.
"Where are we going?" Machiavelli slurred, rolling onto his back.
"I don't know," Billy said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He patted Machiavelli's side and then rubbed his stomach. "But you and I haven't had any time alone in a while. I think it would do us some good."
The Italian groaned and covered his eyes. His fingers traced over Billy's delicate hands and with a start, he realized what he was doing. Just as suddenly, he dropped his hand away. "I don't know…"
"Come on, Mr. Machiavelli," Billy urged, leaning over the Italian. "Please?"
Machiavelli felt a fluttery feeling growing in his stomach. Against his better judgment, he agreed. "Okay."
"Great!" Billy exclaimed, smiling wide at the teen. With a pang, the Italian realized that he hadn't seen the American smile in a couple of days. He followed Billy over to the closet, watching the outlaw pull a pair of jeans out. "Are these too short on you now?" the outlaw asked thoughtfully, holding them up against Machiavelli.
"I think so," Machiavelli murmured, trying not to respond to how close Billy was to him. He pushed the American's hands away slightly and swallowed thickly. "I think a lot of my clothes are getting too small," he said, moving past Billy to look into the closet himself. "How cold is it out?"
"It's a bit brisk out there," Billy called over his shoulder. The American flopped on the twin bed, curling into the blankets. "What's wrong? Nothing warmer in there?"
"I think this is my best option," Machiavelli said, holding up a pair of shorts.
Billy pushed himself up on his elbows. "I think those will still be too small for you, Niccolò. Here," he swung his legs off of the bed again, "I've got some pants in my closet that are too small for me. They'll probably fit you."
Machiavelli continued to search his closet for clothes. He found a long sleeve shirt, mostly red, with a gray stripe through the middle and tossed it on his bed. He quickly stripped off his night shirt and scrambled into the other shirt, feeling the early morning chill. "Can we get me some more clothes today?" he asked the outlaw as soon as the other man came back in.
"Course," Billy said, handing him a worn pair of jeans. He held up an older pair of boots. "I brought these along too, cause I don't think your sneakers are going to fit for much longer." He patted Machiavelli on the shoulders, staring into the Italian's gray eyes for a second longer than was normal. "You're getting big again, Mac. You're growing up fast."
"I think that now my body is about 13 years old," Machiavelli said, ducking his head. He tugged on the jeans. The denim felt soft and pooled slightly at his ankles, obviously still a bit too long. He had to roll the legs up several times before he felt comfortable to walk in them. "We don't celebrate my birthdays as much now as we did last month," he said carefully. He looked at Billy through his fringe.
"It's not personal, I promise," Billy said, heading for downstairs. The Italian scurried behind him, thumping down the stairs. The American immortal grabbed his coat. "It's just that it was much more obvious when you were 'younger,'" he traced the word in the air with his fingers. "You were changing a lot quicker. Now you just get grumpier."
"I'm not grumpy right now," Machiavelli was quick to defend himself. He pulled Billy's boots on. They fit surprisingly well considering how the jeans had fit, but then he supposed that his feet were significantly larger than Billy's were when they were both adults.
Billy pulled him to his feet. "No, darling, you're pretty amiable at this hour. Otherwise, I think you would have kneed me in the groin just now for calling you that."
"I'm not that bad," Machiavelli mumbled. He climbed in next to Billy and looked at the American with a pleading expression on his face, silently begging the other immortal to agree with him.
"No, you're not," Billy said, wrapping an arm around him. He pulled the teenager close and kissed his temple with a soft tenderness that belied his rough exterior. "Right now, you're just perfect."
The Kid turned the car on with a twist of his wrist. The engine came alive with a dull roar. Billy drummed his hands on the wheel and grinned at the boy on his right. "Come on, kid, we'll stop and get you some more clothes since you're outgrowing everything so quickly."
"Can I get a suit?" Machiavelli asked hopefully.
"Ahem, no."
Machiavelli beamed at the American. "What are we going to do after we go shopping?"
"What do you want to do?" Billy asked, briefly taking his eyes off the road to look at the tactician. He focused on the road again as they approached a curve in the road.
"Can we stop at the bookstore?" Machiavelli wondered, recalling his previous intentions.
"Sure," Billy agreed easily. They lapsed into relative silence for a while. The American went up a ways on the highway to a smaller town. He waited outside the changing room while Machiavelli tried on various articles of clothing. The sleepy eyed clerk stared at them slightly as they worked their way through a small mountain of clothing.
"Are we going to get some clothes for me to grow into?" Machiavelli asked finally, tucking in his shirt as he came out with the last pair of pants. He shook his head and placed the pants in the basket to be shelved.
Billy shook his head. He gathered up the various articles of clothing which had stood up to Machiavelli's critical eye. "You're growing so fast there's no point in trying to be proactive. What with the weather turning so quickly and such… there's no point really." He smiled at the cashier. She didn't smile back, but handed him his receipt with a frown.
"She was really grumpy," Machiavelli said as soon as they got out of the store.
"You're one to talk these days," Billy laughed. He dumped the bags of clothing in the trunk of the car and thus missed the hurt look on the Italian's face. By the time the outlaw looked up again, Machiavelli had schooled his face into a carefully neutral expression.
Billy whistled loudly and ambled over, jumping back up onto the curb with a happy skip. "Come on, kid, there must be a bookstore around here somewhere."
"You don't know?" the Italian asked disbelievingly. Billy glanced back at him and he forced his mask back on. "I mean, how are we going to find it?"
"All little towns have some sort of bookstore," Billy explained. He rested a hand on the Italian's shoulder and guided him down the road. "I've been all over America and that always hold true. It's just a matter of finding it. Why?" he asked suddenly stopping. "Are you tired?"
Machiavelli shook his head. "Just wondering."
"See, here we go," Billy said happily moments later. He pulled the Italian immortal behind him until they were both standing in front of a brick mill building. Bright colored banners came off of the sides, depicting well known novels. "It's even better than I thought it might be."
Machiavelli followed the outlaw into the bookstore. The shop was crowded, with tables of books overflowing. He felt that if he wasn't careful he might send the entire shop tumbling to the ground. Carefully he edged between narrow bookshelves and tables, following the American to the back of the store. "Are you going to get some books?"
Billy turned at the end of the aisle and looked in both directions. He flashed a grin at the teenager. "Of course. I want to get a book on auto mechanics."
"So do I."
Billy quirked an eyebrow at that. "Going to follow in your old man's footsteps, huh?" He ribbed gently. A passing woman glanced at him. "Well, alright then. We'll find some car books. But I also have a list of books for people your age." After looking around, he mimed quotation marks in the air. "Why don't you start looking at the car books? I'll look for the books on my list."
"Okay," Machiavelli said, kneeling in the auto aisle. He pulled a heavy tome off the shelf. Billy walked off towards the children's and teens' section.
Soon, the Italian was surrounded by several stacks of books. He was totally immersed in a book specifically on Thunderbirds when the outlaw came back. Billy dropped down beside him, setting a stack of books to his right. "Find anything good?" Billy asked, turning the book in the Italian's hands so that he could see the cover. "I have that book," he said without waiting for a reply.
"I like it," Machiavelli said shyly. "I also thought this one was good," he added, rummaging through a pile of books. He came up with a slim volume. Billy leafed through it and nodded. He moved the volume to his pile of books. "Help me put these books away, Billy?"
"Sure," Billy agreed easily. He began shoving books back onto the shelf. "Are there any other books you want to look for?" he asked, glancing at the spine of one of the books. Machiavelli shook his head. "Okay," he said, climbing to his feet. "Let me just stop by the poetry section and then we can head out."
"Do you like poetry?" Machiavelli asked in surprise.
"I like Langston Hughes," Billy answered carelessly, scooping up his stack of books. "And Robert Frost too, come to think of it." He helped pull the tactician up. "Are you sure there's nothing you want from the children's section?"
"I wouldn't know what to look for," Machiavelli answered honestly.
Billy waved his hand. "I didn't either, so I looked up books for your age group. The ones I grabbed looked good. And then I got some classics, like the Hobbit. Everyone should read that at least once." He pulled a book from the shelf and slipped it on the top of his stack.
"We look like crazy book people," the Italian observed. He laughed slightly. "Billy, I'm glad you brought me on this trip."
"I'm glad you came, Mac- Niccolò," Billy corrected himself quickly. He paid for their books and drew the Italian to his side.
Machiavelli glanced up at the American. "What are we going to do now?" His stomach rumbled and he flushed. "Can we get something to eat?"
Billy nodded. He strode down the sidewalk, heading towards the deli. Machiavelli had to jog to keep up. "Let's get some sandwiches," Billy said, entering the shop. "Then we can have a picnic. I know a place."
"You always know a place," Machiavelli said half admiringly, half disbelievingly. But he followed the American immortal into the shop anyways.