Billy shook his head, watching the Italian. He turned to his companions. "Yesterday, I couldn't get him out of bed. Today he's up at the ass crack of dawn."

"Is everything alright?" Scatty asked carefully, looking at the outlaw. "You just seem… a bit grumpy today."

Billy waved a hand carelessly. "Sorry," he apologized. "We just had a bit of a disagreement this morning. We'll work through it." He leaned his head out the back door and called for the Italian, summoning him to breakfast. The two women were about to pursue the conversation further, but Billy ducked into fridge, searching for something and adamantly refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

"Are you sure that I'm going to like this place?" Nicholas asked the two women, redirecting the conversation away from Machiavelli who seemed to be causing Billy some great amount of grief at the moment.

"Where are you going?" Billy asked, looking over the fridge's door. He pulled the carton of milk out and sat back down at the table.

"We're going to the bookshop you told us about," Scatty answered for the Frenchman. "Perenelle and I decided that Nicholas needs a little more stimulation in his life. So we're going to have him apply for a job there." She jerked her head at Nicholas.

The Frenchman looked at Billy. "They didn't give me much choice in the matter," he said very quietly. Billy grinned, but his smile slid off his face when Machiavelli sat at the end of the table farthest from him and pulled the cereal box closer to him.

"What are you doing today?" Perenelle asked Billy. She looked briefly over at Machiavelli who was slumped over a plate heaped with food and then back at the American.

"I'm bringing Mac in for a doctor's appointment today," Billy said rather quietly.

Machiavelli straightened up immediately. "Excuse me, you're bringing me where?"

Billy's face hardened slightly. "Doctor's office. I was worried about you all of yesterday. And you're going to be a teenager for the next month and a half. I want to get you inoculated."

"I'm not going," the Italian teenager stated flatly. He stuck his chin out defiantly. The outlaw and the tactician stared at each other from opposite ends of the table, twin frowns etched upon their faces.

Nicholas stood up quickly. "I'm all done. I'm going to get ready to go. Are you coming?" he asked the women. Perenelle followed her husband's lead and tactfully got up from the table. Scatty paused a moment before reluctantly pushing away from her bowl of fruit.

Billy waited for the others to vacate the room before he spoke again. He took several deep breaths, presumably to contain his frustration. "You're going, Mac. I'm not entertaining any arguments on the matter. There's a lot that could go wrong with you while your body's like this and I'm not going to take any chances."

"What could possibly go wrong with my body?" Machiavelli shot back at him, glaring with obvious hostility.

Billy threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know, Mac. But you go through really quick, really weird changes and I want to make sure everything's working alright in there. And it wouldn't hurt you at all to get some shots. We're heading into fall." He pushed back his chair and took his dishes to the sink.

Machiavelli pounded the table with his fist. "I'm still an adult, Bil-ly." He winced as his voice cracked.

Billy very tactfully ignored the change in octave. "I know you are, Mac," he said, "and I'm not trying to embarrass you, but I think you should get some shots from the doctor. They have vaccinations now. Why not use them?"

Machiavelli lowered his voice. "I lived in a world where a toothache could kill you and survived. I think I'll be fine here."

"You're not acting reasonable," Billy said loudly. The American's temper was starting to build. "My mother died because there were no vaccinations to save her. You're the one who always said 'immortal, not invulnerable'!"

Machiavelli was fully aware that he was acting unreasonably, but felt pushed into a corner and decided to fight back. "It's all well and good to get some vaccinations," he shot back, "but it's not going to end there, is it? Next you'll want a full examination."

"I already told you that there was going to be one," Billy told him, clearing the table. "This isn't negotiable, Mac. I've made the appointment and we're going to be leaving in ten minutes, so get yourself ready." Machiavelli seethed silently at the table. "Honestly, Mac, it's not going to be that bad."

"Don't call me Mac! You're not getting the exam done. And I don't want some strange guy poking around at my genitals," Machiavelli hissed back.

"It's not some strange guy," Billy hissed himself, mimicking the Italian. "It's a doctor and unless you've got rainbow colored genitalia, there's nothing there that he hasn't seen before." He gesticulated wildly. "I'm trying to give you some leeway. Eventually you're going to start having sex again and I want you to be as safe as possible when you do. And as long as you're living in my house, under my roof..." The American turned away suddenly, dropping his head into his hands. "My god, I've become my mother."

"Even if I was a child- which I'm not- you're not my father and you can't tell me what I have to do," the Italian said firmly. He gestured wildly. "I'm not having sex with anyone. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't knowing that I had five hundred years on them."

"I know, I know," Billy moaned, keeping his head in his hands. He shook his head from side to side. "I wish you were a little boy again."

Machiavelli wasn't willing to give in. "There's a way around all of this trouble. Don't make me go," he said spiritedly.

The outlaw pulled on his boots. "Get in the car, Niccolò," he said very tiredly. "If I have to tell you again, I'm going to give you a spanking." The outlaw waited on the porch as the Italian came over slowly.

"Billy, please don't make me go," Machiavelli whimpered. "It's embarrassing. All of this is embarrassing."

"It's not going to be as bad as you're making it out to be, Mac," Billy replied, handing him a jacket. "Millions of children go through these checkups every day. Their parents do it to them cause they love them." He pulled open the door, pushed Georgette back with his foot, and exited the cabin. Machiavelli glumly followed him.

~MB~

"Here, Niccolò," Billy said, handing him a cup. "The nurse wants you to fill this."

"With what?" Machiavelli hissed, taking the cup. Billy gave him an 'oh come on' look and jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. The Italian huffed and trudged over to the bathroom where he paused to give Billy one more dark look. Billy was wholly unaffected by the whole display, going back to filling out the intake forms.

Several minutes later, Machiavelli came back with the cup. He gave it to Billy who passed it through to the receptionist. The Italian refused to make eye contact with either individual and sat down on the other side of the room, hiding his face behind a National Geographic magazine. There was an article on Nero, but Machiavelli couldn't focus on it. "And you think this isn't embarrassing," he whispered to the outlaw when he came to sit down as well.

"Alright, peeing in a cup isn't glorious," Billy said, opening his book. "But there are worse things in life that you could have to do."

"Yeah, like what's coming up," Machiavelli said moodily. Billy didn't comment, just opened his book. He could just make out the title of the book- The Love Charm of Bombs. Weird title, he thought to himself. If he wasn't so irked by the American, he would have asked him more about what he was reading. Instead, he looked around the waiting room.

A toddler was pushing a big dump truck around the room. Machiavelli watched the boy carefully keep the vehicle running parallel to the lines on the carpet. A quick glance around the room and he had figured out which woman was the boy's mother. Though she was talking to another woman, she apparently was keeping close track of the toddler because she was quick to respond when the boy pushed his truck into a little girl and they both fell over.

"You used to do that," Billy commented. "I can't tell you how many times you ran into me with that car of yours."

"He's cute," the Italian acknowledged. He was half tempted to apologize to Billy, but asked him a different question instead. "Did I- I mean, was I cute when I was younger? I don't remember it now for some reason."

Billy glanced up. "Oh, you were very cute when you were a toddler. I guess you don't remember cause you were so little then." He threw an arm around the teenager's shoulders. "You don't play with your car anymore," he added, sounding a little sad.

"I'm too big now."

"I know. Soon you'll be wanting to play with real cars," Billy said, going back to his book. He looked up again though. "You used to dance on my toes too," he added and Machiavelli scoffed. Billy shook his head, but he was smiling. "I knew I was going to love you forever. I just didn't see you turning into this teenager."

Machiavelli opened his mouth, but was cut off. The receptionist called over to them. "Mr. Bonney, we're ready for Niccolò now."

"Your pediatrician's name is Dr. Carver," Billy told him, pushing him to his feet. "Not much of a bedside manner, from what I've heard, but a decent guy."

"You're not coming in?" Machiavelli asked in surprise. He looked back at Billy.

Billy shook his head. "Give you some privacy, kid. I'll be right here if you need me." He waved the Italian away, which Machiavelli did with great reluctance.

"Hello, Niccolò," Dr. Carver said briskly. "You can step right this way. We'll be done your examination in next to no time."

Machiavelli glanced back at Billy. Mad as he had been at Billy for scheduling this appointment, now that it was time for him to step down the hallway, he wanted the outlaw with him. "Can B- my father come with me?" he implored.

"Of course," the doctor agreed easily. Already the man was scanning the intake forms. "It's probably best as there seems to be some blanks that need to be filled in. Go grab him."

Machiavelli scurried back to where Billy sat. The American didn't say anything, just cocked his head slightly and waited. "Could you- could you come with me?" he asked, turning pink.

Billy stuck his book into his armpit and stood up. "Sure," he agreed, grabbing his jacket. The American immortal ambled behind the teenager as they were led into a small room. Billy sat in a vinyl chair in the corner and propped his book on his knee, but kept a certain amount of his attention on the doctor.

Machiavelli didn't recognize the cartoon characters on the walls, but they seemed to be everywhere. He looked around and hesitated in the center of the room, not sure if he should sit on the examination table or stand still. Dr. Carver solved this conundrum for him by directing him over to a set of scales by the wall. Here, the doctor recorded his height and weight. After that, the doctor allowed him to sit on the exam table. The paper crinkled under him as the Italian sat down.

"Well, my boy, you're taller and lighter than most," the doctor said, making some notes on the teenager's file. "At ninety pounds, you could actually stand to gain some more weight." Machiavelli wasn't sure if he was supposed to comment on this, but a moment later, the doctor stuck a tongue depressor in his mouth and told him. "Say 'aw'."

"He's always been tall and skinny," Billy commented from the corner.

"And does he have a good appetite?"

"Usually, but these past few days, I think he's had a cold perhaps. He hasn't eaten much," Billy said uneasily. "But Niccolò knows himself, he can tell you."

Machiavelli felt a wave of gratitude pass over him. He had been wondering if the two men were going to ignore him through the entire investigation.

After checking his throat, the doctor continued through a slew of activities. He felt the Italian's throat (for what, Machiavelli couldn't imagine), listened to his breathing, checked his reflexes (a useless test, the Italian thought), and checked the curvature of his spine. The teenager began to wonder if the doctor was getting paid per test when the man checked his pulse, blood pressure, and cholesterol levels and completely tuned out when they began taking a detailed history of his eating, sleeping, and exercise habits.

"Are you afraid of shots?" Dr. Carver finally asked, setting down his pen at last. He peered at the Italian over his spectacles expectantly. Machiavelli shook his head. "Good," the doctor said, turning around to prepare some syringes.

"Why is that good?" Machiavelli mouthed to Billy. The American shrugged.

"Okay, Niccolò, since you have so many holes in your record, I'm afraid we're just going to have to catch you up on all your vaccinations." The doctor drew different clear liquids into several syringes, setting them on the little table next to where Machiavelli sat.

"Are there many?" Machiavelli asked nervously.

"A fair few," Dr. Carver said. "I'll be giving you one for mumps, measles, rubella, diphtheria, polio, and then HPV if your father sees fit to do so."

"Why do I get a choice on the last one?" Billy asked anxiously.

"HPV was originally only given to girls, but a lot of doctors suggest now that it be given to both boys and girls. Helps to prevent sexual diseases." The doctor shrugged. "I don't force boys to take it."

"Well, you can give it to him, just to be safe," Billy said decisively.

"Alright." The doctor began to inject the vaccines. He pinched the skin on the Italian's arm slightly and slid the needle in. Machiavelli had to admit that despite the man's lack of a bedside manner, he was good at giving shots. He hardly felt anything for the first five shots. Dr. Carver cleared his throat, before holding up the last syringe. "The last one goes in your behind, I'm afraid."

Machiavelli looked up in horror.

Dr. Carver kept going. He seemed entirely immune to any of Machiavelli's moods. "You might as well do away with your trousers anyways. I'll be giving you your testicular exam right after this."

Billy stood up rather quickly. "He's a bit of a private person. Do you want me to step out, Nicky?"

Machiavelli struggled with that one. While he found this whole experience rather humiliating, he found, to his surprise, that he didn't want the American to leave him. It wasn't that he thought Dr. Carver was going to do anything wrong so much as… well, he couldn't explain it. Feeling like he was going to regret this, he shook his head.

Billy looked surprised, but sat back down.

Machiavelli winced at the cold feeling the gloves were giving him and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was plastered smooth which gave him nothing to look at. He chanced a look over at Billy. The American immortal gave him a slight smile and unfurled his fingers at him. He waved back and rolled his eyes.

Finally, the doctor told him he could get dressed again. Machiavelli hoped this meant the exam was done and started to hop down from the table, but the doctor stopped him with a 'not so fast'. The Italian immortal was subjected to another ten very bad minutes of conversation surrounding puberty, wet dreams, and erections, all of which the Italian denied going through. He had a feeling both men knew he was lying, but they let him off the hook.

When he was finally cleared to go, Billy hung back for a moment to talk to the pediatrician. Machiavelli had already done up his jacket by the time, Billy came out. "Well, was it as awful as you thought it would be?" the American asked him.

"It was pretty bad," Machiavelli said.

Billy laughed. "I know, kid. Come on, I'll bring you out to lunch." He opened the Italian's door for him.

~MB~

Billy leaned against the frame of the Italian's bedroom door that night but made no attempt to come into the room. "I'm just coming to say goodnight," he said when Machiavelli looked up. The Italian nodded, avoiding the American's eyes. He struggled to create a false facade, but something must have shown in his face. Billy asked carefully, "Is there something wrong, Mac?"

"Nothing's wrong," he snapped. "And don't call me that. You know I hate it." He regretted what he said instantly, but was too stubborn to apologize.

Billy's eyes flashed dark blue, but the American brushed it off. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Sorry." He flicked the light switch down. "Goodnight." He left, pulling the door shut behind him.