AN: Not sure why the text is always messed up, but hope this fixes it. As the story comes to a close, I'm looking for some suggestions on the more adult things Machiavelli and Billy can do once they're both legally adults. Is everyone still enjoying the story? Let me know your comments and suggestions! Thanks!

~MB~

"Okay, Mac, I think the best thing to do is just to dive in," Billy said, edging closer to the end of the dock. "If we really think about it we might realize the water's way too cold and not do it."

"Billy, now that we're out here, I'm thinking this might have been a bad idea," Machiavelli said, wrapping his arms around himself. He stuck his hands in his armpits. "Maybe we should just go inside, you could make us some tea, and I'll wrap myself in the blanket on the couch. How about that?" He looked at Billy hopefully.

"Nope, I think we should just dive in. I'll go first." Billy backed up almost the whole length of the dock and leaped off the end. Machiavelli tried to push himself back before- but, too late- the American immortal hit the water. An enormous splash of water drenched the Italian. Seconds later, Billy surfaced again. "It's freezing in here!"

"It's freezing out here," Niccolò called back, jumping from foot to foot. Giving it up as a lost cause, he sat at the edge of dock and slipped in.

His heart leapt into his throat. The water was practically icy. He closed the distance between Billy and him in two swift waterlogged movements. He wrapped his arms around Billy's torso, desperate for some of the warmth that the American usually possessed. "It's like the Titanic out here."

"Um, Mac," Billy said shakily. He gently pushed the Italian away from him. "Maybe it's for the best that we don't swim so close to each other. Not when it's this cold."

"Right, sorry." Machiavelli dogpaddled out a little ways. "And that was just because it was cold," he called over his shoulder. "Really, really cold. I'm sorry I grabbed you."

"It's okay," the American said, looking bemused. He swam some laps. "It's not so bad, now that we're used to it, right?" He floated some and looked at Machiavelli winningly. "Right?"

"No, it's cold."

"You're right, it's fucking cold," Billy said, heading for shore. He pulled himself up on the dock and helped give Machiavelli a boost. "Well, we gave it a shot. It's just not summer anymore."

"Technically, it's still summer for another week," Niccolò said thoughtfully. He saw the expression on Billy's face. "Okay, but it was too cold," he agreed. They walked all the way up to the cabin, the long grass trailing behind them.

"We gave it a shot, that's all that matters," Billy said cheerfully. He held the door open for the other immortal and followed him up the stairs. Grabbing two towels from the bathroom, he tossed one to the Italian and proceeded into his room. "What are we going to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Stay warm!"

Billy laughed. Climbing out of his swim shorts, he quickly toweled off and wandered over to his bureau. He pulled a pair of sweat pants out, then a pair of shorts and socks which he threw on the bed. Thinking about it, he also pulled a sweatshirt out of his closet which had the old Adidas logo on it in faded printing. He scrambled into his clothes and crossed the room to shut his window. "It's getting colder in here, too," he called. "Hey, where'd you go?" He asked poking his head into the Italian's bedroom.

"I'm down here!" Machiavelli called from the living room.

Billy came down the stairs. "Did I really take that long? Hey, Scatty," he greeted her happily as he walked into the kitchen. He took the lid off of the pan on the stove. "Wow, you even started the water without me." He got a trio of mugs down from the cabinet as he waited for the water to boil. "Okay, people, we've got a couple of hours before the Flamels come home. Tell me something I don't know."

"Jean-Jacques Rousseau was obsessed with being spanked," Scatty said cheerfully.

Both the men craned to look at her. She nodded happily. Billy took a careful sip from his mug, almost put the cup down and then turned the mug around in his hands instead. He paused, unsure how to proceed. "Scatty, how do you know this?"

"He used to chase women around with his pants pulled down, trying to get them to spank him," Scatty said nonchalantly. "He tried with me once." She took a sip. "Didn't end well for him."

Billy punched Machiavelli on the shoulder as he passed them. "And we thought we were bad."

"I met Rousseau one time," Machiavelli said, sounding scandalized. "I thought he was a bit chauvinistic, but this…" He coughed slightly and took a sip from the mug Billy offered him.

"I know very little about Rousseau," Billy admitted openly.

Niccolò made a face. "He was a famous writer and philosopher, but not a very good human being, even to judge against me. He wrote books about how to raise children, but ultimately sent all five of his children to orphanages. I had no respect for him."

"That's cause you were a good father."

"Not a great father, but better than him, at least," he finally conceded.

Scatty patted the Italian on the back. "I bet you like being spanked, don't you big guy?" Machiavelli sputtered, getting hot water in his nose and spitting a copious amount of it on the coffee table. He shook his head frantically, turning a delicate shade of pink.

"Uh uh. No. None of that," he protested sharply.

"I think you protest a little too much," Scatty jibed happily. "I think you really like it." Machiavelli shook his head, mouthing wordlessly at her.

"Well, that's not really what I expected to hear. None of that. But definitely something I didn't know," Billy concluded. He stretched out on the couch opposite the Shadow and Machiavelli and stretched so that his joints popped and cracked. He grinned at the Shadow in the soft fading light. "You going to miss us Scatty?"

"No."

The Kid laughed at her sharp response. "You will. Won't she, Mac?" Niccolò nodded seriously. He reached a hand out of his blanket to grab her hand. "I'm going to miss you," he said sincerely. "Me, too. I'll miss you loads," Billy chimed in. He rolled over on his stomach and took a sip from his hot chocolate.

"Oh, stop," Scatty protested. "It's not like we're never going to see each other again."

Machiavelli pushed up in his seat where he'd been slouching. A new thought had just struck him. "Billy? How are the Flamels going to go to work if we're taking the car?"

"Oh," Billy groaned. "I didn't think of that." He sat up and pushed at his forehead. He squinted and rocked his head around. Machiavelli and Scatty watched him expectantly. "I guess," Billy hesitated, weighing his words, "we could go lease a car for them. You know how to drive a little," he said to Scatty. "You can drive it back from the dealership."

"Are we going now?" Scatty sighed. She got to her feet. "Alright, I'll put my shoes on. Come on, kid."

"Oh, but I'm comfy," Machiavelli complained. He snuggled in deeper to the blanket and blinked owlishly at the two American immortals. They looked down at him and he untucked his chin. "Okay, I'll put real pants on," he allowed. "But if I have to get dressed, so do you."

"I was just going to go like this," Billy said, scooping up his keys. He deflated under the Italian's stern look. "But I'll put on jeans. I love them."

Both the other immortals were in the Thunderbird by the time that Billy came out. He slid in behind the wheel and pulled around. He whistled cheerfully. "What kind of car do you think we should get them?" he called over the sound of the wind.

"Well, it's just going to be the three of us," Scatty called from the back seat. "So we just need something small. How about a Fit?"

Billy made a face. "Honda's aren't American made."

"Is that important?" Machiavelli cut in.

"Of course," Billy yelped at the same time that Scatty shook her head at him. "You've got to support your local economy," the Kid defended himself. "We could get them a Ford Fiesta. That's small and fuel efficient."

"Billy," Scatty sighed. "I don't really care what kind of car you get. Just as long as it has wheels and moves."

"How about an Fiat 124?" Machiavelli chimed in. Scatty looked nonplussed, but both Billy and the Italian looked at each other and chuckled. "See, the Fiat 124 rusted through every time it rained…" he tried to explain, his voice trailing off. "You don't care about any of this, do you?"

"Nah." Scatty leaned back in her seat.

"Here's the place," Billy chimed in. He swung in to a spot by the building. They all got out of the car, the American in the lead. The other two leaned back as Billy flagged down a salesperson.

Moments later, they watched, a little stunned, as Billy somehow ran circles around the salesman. He not only cut the monthly payment by forty percent, but he upgraded the car they were aiming for. Machiavelli's mouth formed a small o as they watched with increasing disbelief.

Finally, Billy strolled over. He handed the keys to Scatty with a grin and a wink. "I've a lot of experience with car salesmen, having put together a lot of cars in my time," he said as explanation to the looks on their faces.

"Ah," Scatty said, snagging the keys. "Well, that explains it. I'll meet you at the cabin, boys."

"It's lucky you've known that guy who runs the auto dealership," Machiavelli said, watching Scatty climb into the little car. "Otherwise, I don't think we'd have been able to get a car right away. Especially paying in cash like we do. That kind of sticks out."

"True," Billy sighed. "So, what are we doing tonight?"

"Besides dinner? I don't know, I guess we could watch a movie," Machiavelli said hesitantly. "Hey, Billy?" The American looked over at him before focusing on the road again. "Are you nervous about the thing with Perenelle? What she might say?"

Billy coughed. "A bit, yeah."

Machiavelli waited, but that was all the American apparently had to say. "You can't give me a little more to work with?"

The Kid looked over at him. "I'm afraid she won't be able to do it for us and I'll never get to see my mother again. And I'm afraid that it'll be too sad to say to goodbye to her again," he admitted after a moment's hesitation.

They didn't speak again until Billy pulled the car into the cabin's carport. Scatty pulled in next to them. "It was lucky we had the car today, come to think of it," Billy called to her as they were all getting out of the car. He accidentally walked into the rail of the porch and groaned, rubbing at his stomach. "Ouch. Normally, the Flamels drive it in."

"Why'd we have it, then?"

"Well, I thought we might need to pick some things up for dinner, but we've got everything." Billy looked at his watch, still massaging his belly. "I should go pick them up in about a half hour."

~MB~

"So do you like working at the bookstore?" Billy asked the Flamels, buttering a roll.

Nicholas nodded. "The original owners have completely withdrawn from the business now, so it's just Perenelle and me now, just like it used to be. I think we've always been happiest working at our bookshops," he said, smiling at his wife.

She smiled back. "By the way, Billy, we found that book you were looking for. I left it on the coffee table."

"You found Steven King's Just After Midnight," Billy exclaimed. "Great!"

Machiavelli stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth. He elbowed the American immortal, not so gently. Ask them, he implored. Billy winced, rubbing ribs. I will, he mouthed back.

The two Flamels were talking to Scatty about the new car in the driveway. Billy let the Shadow describe the various features without breaking in. He made a motion to the Italian to eat his white gravy mashed potatoes.

"Hey, Perenelle," Billy broke in finally when there was a lull in the conversation. The Frenchwoman made eye contact with him, focusing all of her attention on him. He gulped. Giving a small smile, he started. "Well, Mac and I were thinking- and obviously, this isn't the best time, of course- but, well…"

"Nicely done," Machiavelli told him, patting his hand. The Italian leaned forward. "We were wondering how your gift with ghosts worked exactly."

Perenelle blinked in rare surprise. "Why?"

Billy fiddled with his fork. "We were wondering if you could contact specific people, or if was just kind of, well, random."

She leaned back, thinking about it carefully. "I suppose to some extent I can choose who I want to interact with. It's just a matter of focusing. But I usually can only access spirits wherever they're resting."

"So, like, where they were buried?" Billy asked curiously.

Perenelle shrugged, tiny frown lines forming between her eyebrows. "Sometimes, but not always. For instance, de Ayala wasn't buried on Alcatraz, but he loved it so much that his spirit went back there after he died. So in some cases, it appears to be wherever the person was most content."

"Interesting," Machiavelli said, shoving food in his mouth.

The Frenchwoman looked at the two of them shrewdly. "Who were you thinking of contacting?" Scatty and Nicholas kept quiet, watching the three of them interact.

The Kid hesitated. "His wife," he said, indicating his young companion. "And my mother." He coughed. "I understand that this is all very difficult and if it's something that you can't do it's fine, but… Ah, forget it."

Perenelle put a hand up, stopping him. "I'm not turning you down, I just need to know if this is something I could do." She clasped Billy's hand, rubbing the top of his hand softly. "You've been thinking about this for some time. Why didn't you mention it before now?"

Billy shrugged. "We're on the run. Obviously there are greater concerns right now. Not getting caught. Keeping Mac safe." Next to him, the Italian looked over at him. "So, we kind of pushed it back a bit. But now that we're leaving, I wanted to ask you before we're separated."

Perenelle glanced at her husband. "Well, I can't promise that I can bring them to you unless we can find them, but if I can, I will."

"Good, well, right now it's in our best interest to stay under the radar," Billy said. "Otherwise, our masters will find us." He indicated Machiavelli and himself. He smiled. "I think I finally learned my lesson after all my years of being an outlaw. That means staying away from known places."

"That's right, you weren't very good at that, where you?" Machiavelli asked, tapping his wrist. "Isn't that how they caught you originally? You kept going back to Fort Sumter."

"Well, to be fair, Paulita Maxwell was pregnant with my last daughter there. I had to take care of her," Billy defended himself quietly.

"Well, anyways, we're just asking if you would consider doing it some time," Niccolò ended. His gray eyes searched the Frenchwoman's face. There was an unreadable glint to her eyes that he wondered after.

Perenelle blinked, then smiled. "Well, when the time is right, I will certainly try."

"Thanks." Next to him, Machiavelli mirrored his gratitude.

Scatty had been whispering something in Nicholas' ear. As their conversation came to an end, she leaned away from him. "Well, dinner was good, Billy. Even if I didn't have the meat."

Billy smiled. "Who's going to do the cooking when I'm gone?"

"Probably me," Nicholas indicated.

The Kid looked over at Machiavelli. "Did you like it?" The European immortal nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Good. I also made brownies. They have dark chocolate in them," Billy said happily. "We can have them with ice cream."

"Oh," Machiavelli groaned. "You're going to make us all fat," he said, struggling to his feet. He helped Scatty up and they headed for the living room.

Billy caught him around the waist on his way over. He squeezed the Italian's thin hip. "Yeah, you be fat."

"I have a frame that I want to maintain," Machiavelli said defensively, settling next to Scatty on the love seat. He cuddled next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"What are we watching?" Nicholas asked, sitting on the couch.

"The Sixth Sense," Billy called from the kitchen. He came in with Perenelle, carrying two bowls in his hands, and cradling a third in the crook of his arm. "Great movie. Have you ever seen it?" he asked Machiavelli in an undertone. The Italian shook his head, reaching for the bowl with the biggest brownie in it. "Ah, then I'll keep quiet."