Machiavelli was actually the first to wake up the next morning, a true testament to how tired his American friend must have been, since the Italian could not remember waking up before him for a long time. He moved his legs experimentally, thinking about how they'd started in a motel room and now here they were again.

In time, curiosity overcame him. Billy and he hadn't shared a bedroom since he'd been very small and now he wanted to see what Billy looked like when he slept. He eased out from under the covers and sat on the edge of Billy's bed. He winced a little when the bedsprings groaned under his weight, sure that the outlaw would wake up, but his companion just flipped over on his back and continued to snore softly.

Machiavelli smiled a little. Billy always looked young, but when he was asleep, he looked even younger. There was something in his boyish face that made him seem more vulnerable when he slept. Without thinking about it, he reached out a hand and tenderly cupped the American's face.

Billy mumbled incoherently and Machiavelli let go. Getting up, he yanked the blankets free from where they'd been twisted around his legs and he settled the covers over his companion once more. He crept over to the window and pulled the curtain aside just slightly. A solitary beam of light stole into the room. It was at moments like this, when the world was very quiet that he got to thinking of his children. They lingered on the corners of his mind as he gathered a fresh change of clothes and shut himself in the bathroom.

Climbing into the shower, it took him a moment to get used to how the hot water had to be set, but once it was on, he just stood there, letting the hot water run on his back and steam fill the room.

Finally, he figured he'd better clean up a little. He bent down, reaching out of the shower to grab the caddy he'd pulled into the room with him. He snagged the first bottle he touched, trying not to get water all over the floor and ended up with Billy's shampoo. This gave him some pause, but after a moment's hesitation, he just went with it. His slight anality forced him to use the corresponding conditioner.

He thought that by the time he got out of the shower, Billy would have been up and about, but coming out of the room, he saw the outlaw still in bed. At least, he's awake, he thought. "Good morning. Come stai?"

Billy made a snuffling noise as he rolled over. "Does that mean, how are you? I'm okay." He wrapped himself more snuggly in the blankets. "What time is it?" he asked thickly.

"Noon."

Billy shot up. "It's noon?" he asked, sounding a little panicked.

Machiavelli shoved him back down. "No," he said laughing. "I just wanted to get you back, is all." And he grinned with mischief at the American who scowled a little, but closed his eyes again.

"I should get up," Billy groaned. Machiavelli nodded, tugging on his arm lightly. The outlaw sat up again, slowly this time. His nose twitched. "Isn't that my shampoo?" he asked sleepily. Machiavelli acknowledged it with another slight nod. "Mm, I smell good," Billy said, getting up at last. He headed for the bathroom.

"Taking a shower?" Machiavelli asked.

"A leak," Billy called through the half open door. "But then I guess I should take a shower. Why, you think I smell?"

"No. But I do think you should shave!" he called back, standing outside the doorway. "You're getting scruffy!" Billy mumbled something back that the Italian couldn't make out. "I'm going to get us something to eat."

Billy poked around the door. He was stripped to his waist, his face half covered in lather. "I said I'd get you some food, honey. I'm not going to be long."

Machiavelli's stomach rumbled. He looked at Billy suspiciously. "How long do you think you're going to be?"

Billy rubbed his chin, causing the shaving cream to smear and Machiavelli to laugh. "Hmm, well, I won't be in there a half hour like you were."

Half an hour and some snide remarks later, they found themselves at a local diner. The shower had seemed to wake Billy up only partially. It wasn't until their chunky waitress had dropped off a mug of coffee that he really began to talk. Machiavelli made a mental note that if he ever wanted to keep Billy quiet, he should withhold the coffee.

Niccolò himself felt much happier once he had his breakfast plate in front of him. He cut his fried eggs and toast up into small bites and mixed them together. He slapped Billy's hand when the American tried to take a piece of bacon off his plate. Billy flagged down their waitress. "Oh, Sandy, do you think I could have a side of bacon?" Machiavelli perked up. "Two sides of bacon?"

Sandy seemed unimpressed by their considerable appetites. She scribbled their order on her pad and wandered off before Billy could ask for another cup of coffee. He grimaced at her behind her back. "That's coming out of her tip," he said sulkily. Machiavelli consoled him by handing him the piece of bacon he had been trying to grab before. "Thanks. Want a sausage?" He speared one on his fork and held it out to the teen.

Machiavelli took the whole fork from him. At the man's glance, he tossed his own fork over. "So where are we heading now?"

"We're going to swing up to the house in Thief River Falls I told you about. I think we can stay there for a day or so, probably leave on Thursday morning. From there, we'll get to Philadelphia by Friday, barring any major tragedies." He pulled a map out of his back pocket and showed the Italian immortal where they were at the moment. Trailing his finger across the map, he showed him where they were going. He tapped his finger a little lower than the city where they were staying. "This is where the airplane fields are."

They would have continued to chat for a while longer but as soon as they were done their food, Sandy began to herd them out of their booth. "That woman doesn't exactly make a body feel welcome," Billy said testily as they walked down the road to their motel again.

Machiavelli concealed a snicker. "Harsh words from the man that still left her a tip."

Billy looked pained. "My mother taught me to treat women with respect. Any woman. Even that-," but he wasn't able to complete the thought. Machiavelli nodded. His Italian upbringing had left a similar mark on him.

"Still, the American custom of tipping has never made sense to me. You've already paid for your meal, now you have to pay more." As they made sure they had rounded up all of their belongings, Machiavelli quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I think the reasoning behind it is that your waiter will be nicer and work harder if their pay depends on it." Billy grabbed their shower bag from the bathroom and put it together with the other bag.

"I think your reasoning failed this time, Billy."

"Yeah, well," Billy trailed off, rubbing the back of his hair. "I was going to buy sandwiches for lunch from her. I didn't do that, did I? We'll get something to eat somewhere else."

~MB~

After about two hours of driving, Billy pulled off the road into an abandoned parking lot. Machiavelli looked over at him. "What are you doing?" he asked, his Italian accent slipping out in his curiosity.

Billy got out of the car, stretching his limbs out. "Mm, I'm tired of driving." Machiavelli got out too, figuring that he was just taking a break. He looked over at Billy when the outlaw snapped at him. "You're going to drive."

"What?"

The Kid reached into the car and pushed the seat back all the way. "I told you I'd teach you how to drive. No better time than now." He patted the seat. "No need to be afraid. We're just going to get you comfortable."

Machiavelli made a face, leaning slightly to the left. "Billy, I'm a disaster with driving. And this is your baby. What if I wreck it?"

"You're not going to wreck it," Billy said patiently. That's what you think. He tugged Machiavelli by the sleeve, until he was standing next to the driver's side. Machiavelli reluctantly sat behind the wheel. Billy leaned over him. "Alright, we need to get the seat in the right place. This foot," he plucked at the left pant leg, "should be comfortably against this foot rest, here. But it's not, so we have to move the seat a little." So saying, he reached between the Italian's legs (Machiavelli groaned internally), and pushed the seat forward marginally. "Can you press the brake and gas pedals alright?"

Machiavelli tried with his feet. He nodded, so Billy jogged around the front of the car to the passenger side of the car. Getting in, he showed the Italian how to fix the mirrors so that he could see out of them. "All this, just to take a break? Is it worth it?" he joked.

"Completely," Billy said happily. "Besides if you get good at it, you can do some of the driving."

"But we're not going on the highway now, are we?" Machiavelli asked frantically.

Billy shook his head. "We'll just drive around the parking lot a little," he said reassuringly. "Right now the car is in park. We're going to be moving, so now you should shift it into drive," the Kid said.

"How does one do that?" Machiavelli asked, looking at the numerous dials and levers in front of him.

"Pull the clutch in, use your toe to select a gear, feather the clutch out while applying the throttle," Billy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He met Machiavelli's disbelieving look. "Oh, sorry. Here, first you do this. Now you're going to press that. And now just move this back out again," he demonstrated.

Machiavelli jumped in his seat when the car suddenly lurched forward. Billy gripped his neck. "Careful, no need to panic," he said. The Italian was surprised that he still sounded so cheerful. "You just need to put a little pressure on the gas pedal, not much, maybe a little less than that. Let's just get you used to moving the car."

"You want me to turn here?" Machiavelli asked, taking very deep breaths considering he was inching along at about three miles per hour.

"Driving makes you nervous, huh?" Billy asked, grabbing the wheel to help guide him. Niccolò nodded. "Why?" the outlaw asked with frank curiosity. "Driving's fun. Gives you freedom."

"It's just something I'm very bad at," Machiavelli said tightly, turning around the next corner. He oversteered onto the wrong side of the road and attempted to correct. He ended up going over some of the parking spaces and in his nervousness, slammed on the brakes.

Billy massaged the place where the seat belt had just cut into him. "You actually weren't doing too awful before you panicked. There are no cars in this parking lot, so I don't really care where you go. Just stay on the pavement."

"Okay," Machiavelli said. He attempted to make the car go, pressing down on the gas. The car revved but didn't move.

"You've got it in park now, actually. I thought you did that on purpose actually. I was impressed." Billy smiled at him.

"How'd I put it in park?"

"Well, you moved this," Billy said, pointing out what he had done. "Here, let's put it in drive again." He demonstrated the same procedure as before. "You know, Mac, if you don't want to learn to drive, that's fine too. I'll drive you anywhere you want to go. I just don't want you limiting yourself."

"I might get it," Machiavelli said cautiously. He turned the car very slowly around. "Or I might never. I've tried to learn multiple times. I just never get the hang of it."

"Well, everyone needs something to be bad at," Billy said, sounding totally serious. "I'm bad at a lot of things. You want me to take over driving again?" Machiavelli nodded, stepping on the brake again, but lightly this time.