Machiavelli ended up coming back with a black suit that was minimally tailored (for your sake, he told Billy) to his body. He looked absolutely radiant done up in what he deemed 'real clothes' for once. The ride back in the open convertible had only worked in his favor, giving him a windswept look that the older immortal had not believed himself capable of carrying out.

"Hey!" he cried happily upon coming back to the cabin. Billy was sitting on the porch swing with Nicholas. The Italian immortal leaned on the balustrade of the porch, smiling up at them. "We found the perfect suit."

"Look at you," Billy said. His eyes crinkled. "Except for the hair and the fact that you're still kind of short-"

"-Taller than you."

"You look like you did when you got off that plane when we first met," Billy finished.

Machiavelli thumped up the stairs. "I guess I do, don't I?" He was still beaming.

The girls pushed past them on porch. "Dinner's almost ready," Billy told them. "I even set the table." Their small talk was interrupted by the sound of a beeper going off. The outlaw cocked his head. "See, what did I tell you?"

"How did you know when to make dinner?" Machiavelli asked, following closely behind him.

"Perenelle called me on the way back."

"Do you really think it looks good?" he asked the American immortal, sitting beside him

"Yeah. Of course. I just think you're a bit crazy thinking I'll be wearing that when you grow out of it."

"Why? You'd look good in it," Scatty teased. "We picked it out so that it would look good on both of you."

Perenelle nodded, smiling. "In fact," she said, passing the carrots along, "we thought you might model it for us."

Billy shook his head, actually blushing. "I'm no model."

"Please, Billy?" Machiavelli begged.

"Ha!" Billy pointed at the Italian immortal. Machiavelli looked confused; he quirked his face at the American, not understanding the other man's reaction. Billy looked triumphant. "You've outgrown your puppy eyes. Your era of control over me is done!"

"I suppose so," the Italian sighed. He looked wistful. "I guess soon, you won't love me anymore. But I did like being with you this summer, even if it was all pretend…" He glanced at Billy, arranging his features into a look of total devastation.

"That's not fair, Mac," Billy protested. "Hey, stop looking sad." He elbowed Machiavelli lightly. The Italian continued to look a little morose. "Okay, fine, you win. You will always win. I'll try the suit on."

Machiavelli brightened considerably considering just moments before he had looked like he was on the edge. "Great! We'll do it after dinner."

Billy grumbled a little, bent over his shepherd's pie. Machiavelli put down his fork so that he could grab the American immortal's hand. Billy looked up at him. "You tricked me," he mumbled.

"I did," Machiavelli agreed mildly. He smiled fleetingly at the table around him, letting the conversations wash over him. Moments like this brought him back to those years before when he had been surrounded by his family. He'd never imagined he would recapture that feeling so late in the game.

When Billy put the last mouthful of food in his mouth, Machiavelli, who had clearly been waiting, pushed away from the table. "Time to switch," he said brightly. He pulled the American immortal towards the stairs.

"Alright, okay, I'm coming." Billy climbed the stairs slower than the European immortal. "I can't believe I agreed to this," he said, pulling his t-shirt off. He put a clean undershirt on and waited for his shirt back. Machiavelli threw it over from his room.

"You're going to look handsome."

"Just to be sure, you did put some underwear on in between this morning and now, didn't you?" Billy asked, pulling his wallet out of his pants.

"Course." But Billy didn't really have to worry anyways, the Italian had pulled on a pair of sweats before walking the rest of the suit over to him.

"Good." Billy gathered the pants and then jumped in, both feet first.

"Is that how you always put pants on?" Machiavelli asked with interest, leaning on the door frame. Billy shrugged and nodded, tucking the shirt in. "Don't forget the vest. And you should put on black socks."

"Why? We're not actually going anywhere." But Billy pulled out a pair of black socks, with gold toes regardless, and hunted around under his bed for his dress shoes. While he was doing that, Machiavelli looked at the ties in Billy's closest. He clucked. "What's the matter, Nicky? You don't like my ties," Billy called over.

"Nicky?" Machiavelli wrinkled his nose. "No, you need some new ties. I'm going to get you some." He selected one that he found the least offensive, dark blue and narrow. "Here," he said, climbing onto the American's bed, so that he was standing behind him. He did up the tie with quick practiced motions. Turning the other immortal, he tucked it in to the vest, suddenly surprised at how intimate the moment had become without him intending it to happen. He cleared his throat. "Here, put your jacket on. I'll tell them you're coming down now."

"Okay."

Machiavelli thumped downstairs, realizing that he would have to be more careful now that he was older. He found the other three immortals sitting around the living room. "He's almost ready," he announced, settling in next to Scatty on the loveseat.

"Should we put some music on for him?" Scatty asked, grinning so that her pointed teeth showed. "Anybody have a copy of the Stripper hanging around?"

Nicholas gave her a light smack on the arm. "Let's not torture him."

"You were always a good man, Nick," Billy said, padding down the stairs. He shook his head, a small smile tugging on his lips as he walked over. "Scatty, you're dead to me."

But he couldn't help laughing with the others.

~MB~

Luckily for Machiavelli, one of the chores Billy had performed was taking the footboard off of his bed. The American immortal had also pushed an ottoman at the end of the bed, meaning that the Italian slept well that night, stretched out to his full length.

Still, he was a fairly light sleeper, so when the Kid woke up early the next morning, he woke up too. He could hear the soft sounds of Billy's feet on the stairs, the excited yipping of the husky, and the rattle of the pet food as their dishes were filled. He decided to get up too.

By the time he was dressed, Billy had apparently gone through his morning routine, because he heard the soft rattle of the front door shutting. Pulling on his shoes, he followed him out into the dappled autumn sunlight.

Billy grabbed a bucket from the tool shed and ducked around the side of the cabin to where a pump stuck out of the stone foundation. After a few initial pumps, the faucet spit out brownish water which began to run clear. He dumped the bucket under the pump and filled it to the top before he got the sense that he was being watched. He glanced up and jumped slightly when he found Machiavelli standing not very far away.

Water sloshed from the bucket, but Billy didn't pay much mind. He put a hand on his heart. "Jeez, Mac, you startled me."

"Sorry," Machiavelli said shyly. He swung around the post of the front porch. "What are you doing?"

"I was going to wash the car," Billy answered, picking up the bucket again. They walked over together to the dusty red Thunderbird. The American immortal glanced sideways at his Italian friend. "You're out of your suit, I see. I thought you were wearing that for the rest of your life," he teased.

"Yeah, we'll there's no point wearing it out here," Machiavelli acknowledged. "But Scatty and the Flamels are going out to dinner tonight. They told me last night while we were waiting for you to come down. I thought we could eat together," he said shyly.

"And you'll wear your suit then?" Billy smiled. "Sure, I'll bite. But what am I going to wear?" he asked, faking a worried tone.

Machiavelli was bursting to tell him he could wear his birthday suit, but remembered the strained intimacy of the other night and changed directions. "Wear the blazer that you wore when we went to that Italian restaurant. You looked nice then. Handsome."

Billy ducked his head. Machiavelli felt, rather than saw his pleasure. "Aw, shucks, mummy, I'm blushing," the outlaw quipped. He reached over and placed a heavy hand on the Italian's shoulder. "Shouldn't you be inside? You're going to get sick out here."

"I feel okay," Machiavelli said, following the American immortal over to the car. "Can't I help you?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know," Billy said thoughtfully. He glanced at the Italian, assessing him with a critical eye. "You still look peaky sometimes. I don't want to make you any worse." He bent over the bucket, dumping detergent in the water and swirled the water until the water became soapy.

"I'm just tired from the car ride yesterday. They make me tired," Machiavelli defended himself.

Billy didn't answer, but he looked up again and sighed. "Alright, I suppose so. But you start feeling bad, we're going inside."

"Seems fair," Machiavelli said happily. He was touched, but slightly impatient with Billy's mollycoddling. It had been over a week now since he had been sick and overall he was feeling normal. He altered the direction of the conversation. "How do you wash a car?"

Billy pulled a package of sponges from the backseat of the car. "Just wipe everything done with the soapy water. And try not to get the water on the inside of the car. It's not good for the leather."

"Okay," the Italian reached in the bucket and got a shock. He jerked his hand out again- the water was freezing. He hoped that Billy hadn't seen, but there was no such luck.

"Here, Mac, let me get it out," Billy said soothingly, pulling out the sponge and wringing it out. "The water from the pump is always freezing like this. It runs from the sheetrock below."

"I just wasn't expecting it to be that cold," Machiavelli mumbled.

"I probably should have warned you."

Billy scooped out another sponge and began to lather the hood of the car. He leaned onto the car, widening his stance to reach the middle of the hood. "I'm looking forward to you being older again, Mac," the outlaw mumbled.

Machiavelli stiffened slightly and ducked his head. The American's words hurt him. "Yes, I know I wasn't very good for a while." He angled his face away from the American and scrubbed the door determinedly.

"Aw, Mac, that's not what I meant at all," Billy said, straightening up. He came around the front fender and dropped to the ground beside the Italian. He settled on his haunches and swiped down the car with his sponge with long movements.

"I'm sorry, though," the Italian said, turning a dark shade of pink. "I was a real jerk."

"Yeah, a little bit," Billy agreed. "But I don't think we have to focus on it. I just meant that seeing you like you were…" He trailed off.

"Don't you like having me as a kid?" Machiavelli asked seriously. His dark eyes watched Billy's face carefully, his task forgotten.

"Course I do!" And he meant it too, that much was obvious.

The American strained to reach the back bumper, floundered for a moment, and gave it up as a bad job. He pushed himself up off of the ground, his worn boots pushing up small puffs of dust. Machiavelli pulled himself up as well and followed Billy to where the young immortal was wiping down the license plate.

"So why are you looking forward to me being an adult then?" Machiavelli asked suddenly, sounding confused. He wiped at the back hood of the car, but could only reach half of the hood.

Billy laughed. "Then you'll be tall enough to get the middle of the hood when we wash the car together. At my height, we're both useless."

"Are we going to be washing the car together when I'm an adult?" Machiavelli wondered out loud. "We never actually talked about how long we're going to live together. You stopped the conversation, remember?"

The outlaw accidentally dropped his sponge on the ground. He picked it up and tossed it in the bucket. Suds flew into the air. "You can stay with me for as long as you want. Life was lonely before I met you. If you get tired of it, you won't have to anymore."

"What if I want to stay with you for a long time?" the Italian asked carefully.

"Then you stay with me until you don't want to anymore," Billy repeated. "Of course, I can understand that you might not want to be with me once you have a chance for freedom, but I figure…"

"No, I want to!"

Billy's face broke into a smile. "Then it's settled. You're stuck with me!" He grabbed the Italian around the waist and lifted him in a tight circle. Machiavelli was surprised that Billy could still lift him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm happy with you."

Billy pushed some hair out of the Italian's face. "You know, you're getting bigger kid. I don't have to stoop anymore to look in your eyes. I kind of miss that."

"You just said you wanted me to be an adult a minute ago."

Billy tossed the dirty water out. He laughed a little. "I don't know. I'm confused too." He pecked the Italian on the cheek. "Thanks for the help."