Hello! Sorry this comes rather late, I just started a new job in addition to a part time position I was already doing (so I'm a bit of a busy lady these days). I hope that you enjoy this chapter and also look forward to any suggestions you might have about next chapter, which is going to be a lot of driving otherwise, lol. I mean, that was cool in Manos the Hands of Fate, but only cause we got to make fun of it...

~MB~

Both immortals slept in the next morning. It was almost eleven before Machiavelli awoke, only somewhat aware of a pleasant tight feeling in his lower abdomen. Only after he got up to relieve himself, did he become fully aware of his situation below. Sticking his head out of his door, he ascertained that the coast was clear, before shuffling down the hall to the bathroom.

He bounced somewhat impatiently on the soles of his feet as he gave several long, concerted strokes, alternating hands in his impatience. "Come on," he mumbled distractedly. At the last moment, he dove for the box of tissues.

Otherwise completing his business, he fixed his pants, washed his hands, and wandered into the other room to prowl. This house didn't seem nearly as lived in as the cabin back in Montana. There were very few personal touches to be seen.

He moved into the kitchen area. There was a low wall in between the living room and the kitchen, demarcating the different spaces. He was pouring himself some cereal when Billy came in.

"Good morning," the Kid yawned, squeezing into the nook beside Machiavelli. He invaded the teen's space slightly when he leaned over, scratching at his rear. "How'd you sleep?" Billy asked through another yawn. He pecked the Italian on his cheek, out of habit, more than anything else.

"I slept well. You?"

"Great. Hey, did you know that this guy," he tapped the cereal box, "Dr. Kellogg himself, spent a lot of time and money trying to get people to stop masturbating?"

Machiavelli accidentally spat out part of his breakfast. "Excuse me, what?"

Billy looked pleased to have something new to tell the Italian. "He was the major proponent behind all boys getting circumcisions. He thought that boys wouldn't want to touch themselves as much."

"Didn't work, did it?" Machiavelli asked archly, thinking about his own morning routine.

"Yeah. Aren't you glad we made the cut?" Billy asked thickly, speaking around a mouthful of Apple Jacks. He grinned happily at the Italian and waggled his eyebrows. "Get it, huh? Cause neither of us are, you know…" he trailed off at the look on Machiavelli's face.

"Hmm," was the only response that he got back.

~MB~

That afternoon, the outlaw drove both of them down to the airfields. Machiavelli became increasingly silent as they neared their destination, and Billy in turn, filled the silence with chatter. "Did you know that this kind of flying, called barnstorming, it was became popular in the 1920s and that Charles Lindbergh started out doing this? I went down to see the planes with Black Hawk back when this first started. It was impressive, you wouldn't believe it."

The Italian nodded noncommittally, still refusing to vocalize anything that he was thinking. "I was very nervous the first time I went out," Billy added, turning down the off ramp.

Machiavelli tore his eyes off the road. "Were you?" he asked gratefully. He knew that truthfully the thrill seeking immortal must not have been nearly as worried as he was right now, but he appreciated Billy's efforts.

"We're here."

Machiavelli had been expecting something a little more impressive than what Billy drove up to that afternoon. The building they parked next to looked like an oversized auto-mechanic shop. "Is there anybody here?" he asked Billy, following the Kid into one of the side doors.

"Of course, I made a reservation. Come over here," he said rounding a corner. "Hello!"

A pilot came down from where he was working on the wing of an antique plane. A second aircraft was situated next to it. "You must be the Bonney's," he called down, extending a hand when he came before them.

Billy shook it. "We are," he agreed, teeth flashing as he smiled. "This is my cousin, Nick."

"First time out?" the pilot queried after shaking Machiavelli's hand too. "My name's Steve, by the way."

"Not mine, no. But it is Nicky's first time up," Billy explained. He tossed an arm around his companion's shoulders and squeezed slightly.

Steve wiped his hands on a rag and led them to the other plane. "I'll be careful," he promised. "Here, the two of you sit in front. I'll be behind you here."

Machiavelli was reluctant, so Billy got in first, ducked under the aileron, and held a hand out for him. "Nervous?" he asked quietly. He harnessed him in, careful to tighten the straps.

"I'm always nervous before these things," Machiavelli answered out of the corner of his mouth. "And why are we the Bonney's all the time?" Why can't we be the Machiavelli's?"

"Well, Mac, I didn't know you wanted me to take your last name," Billy joked back. He glanced behind them. "Steve's coming. Be normal." That caused the Italian to grouse a little, but he bit back his protests.

Steve propped himself up next to them, checking their fastenings. "So you wanted me to do all the tricks? Or are you going to take the wheel? Some of the people I take out operate the plane for up to 90% of the ride."

Billy looked over at Machiavelli, who gave a very slight shake of his head. "Nah, Nicky would feel better with you behind the wheel."

"Okay." He patted the teenager on the shoulder. "Hey, if you get scared and want me to take the plane down, raise your left hand, okay? We'll be on the ground again in a jiffy." He got down and slid into his place in the seat behind them.

Machiavelli clenched a little when he heard the engine turn on. The whole plane roared into life. He grabbed Billy's hand as the plane turned towards the open doorway of the garage, unashamedly intertwining his fingers with the American's.

"You okay?" Billy asked, squeezing his hand.

Machiavelli nodded. "Okay. Don't let go, though," he said shakily, tightening his grip so that his American friend didn't really have a choice in the matter.

The plane steered down the runway, but Billy wasn't watching the plane's progress the way that Niccolò was. "I won't," he promised, looking at the teen. Just then, the plane lifted up in to the air. Billy transferred his left hand with his right hand and wrapped his left arm around Machiavelli's shoulders as they approached full altitude. "Still good?"

Niccolò peeked out at the world below them. The grassy field they'd launched from looked very far away, but he could feel himself beginning to calm down significantly. In front of them, mountains mingled with clouds. "It's not so bad once we're level."

"Okay, well we're going to be going into one of the tricks right now," the Kid cautioned him.

"We are?"

The plane was already tipping, one wing dipping lower than the other. "Remember, you're harnessed in just fine," Billy said, stroking his arm. The plane rolled over once, then twice. It straightened out again and circled the field, changing directions in lazy turns.

"It's kind of fun," Machiavelli said, opening his mouth for the first time in a few minutes. "What was that-?" He stopped talking again, as the plane tilted, upwards this time.

"We're going to do a few loop-the-loops now," Billy explained. He whooped as they completed one loop and started on another one. Even Machiavelli had to grin as his stomach rose and fell with the plane. He extended an arm out to the wind, feeling it whoosh between his fingertips.

As the plane leveled out again, he took a deep breath in. Up here, in the open air, he felt like he was hovering above the Earth, with nothing but Billy's calm keeping him airborne. Their craft piloted in easy turns, swinging around the mountain he'd seen earlier. Looking below them, he could see the leaves of the trees changing color below him.

Billy tossed an arm around his shoulder as they went into a slight dive and didn't move it after they pulled out of the fall again. He chattered happily, keeping the Italian immortal slightly occupied with conversation instead of thinking about what their plane was doing. "Are you having fun?" he asked, sounding slightly worried.

Machiavelli looked over at him and gave him the biggest smile he could muster up. "Yeah," he agreed hesitantly.

Billy squeezed his shoulder. "Are you sure? Cause if you're not, we can go down right now." Machiavelli found it hard to look away from the Kid's stunning blue eyes. He nodded again. "You're not lying to me?" Billy asked again, seeking assurances.

"It's a little bit scary, but I know that I'll be okay with it when we land," Machiavelli admitted. "You really like being up here?"

The outlaw leaned forward, looking at the detailing of the machine around them. "I do. It's fun. And I find that taking many adventures has kept me from being too lonely over the years."

"Are you lonely often, Billy?"

Billy held out a hand, palm down and rocked it back and forth. "Yes and no. I think anybody like us, who are kind of forced to live life mostly alone, you know, would get lonely. I mean, I've got Black Hawk and you had your friend there, but it would be nice to have someone to have adventures with all the time. You know?" The outlaw spoke rapidly, smiling nervously, and looking about them.

The European immortal nodded. When he spoke, he was so quiet that with the wind whipping about them, Billy almost couldn't hear him. "We could have adventures together. I don't want to go away when I turn 18. I think I'll be lonely too."

"Well, we can't have that. No, Mac, you stay with me for as long as you want. I'd like to have you around," Billy said, sounding slightly gruff. "Plane's touching down now," he added, speaking into the other immortal's ear. "There's a bit of a bump when we land. Just when we touch down. Don't worry."

The plane was dipping lower and while Machiavelli was tracking their descent, he leaned back right before they touched down. Billy had been right; there was a slight bump and thn a rattle as they coasted down the runway again.

"From here, it's like steering a car," Billy shouted above the noise. "A very tall, very loud one," he added, laughing.

Machiavelli laughed too, giddy from finding himself on the ground again, and in one piece too, for that point. He let go of Billy's hand at last, undoing his harness the moment the plane finally came to a halt. The Kid squeezed his knee when he began to get up. "You'll have an easier time getting out when Steve gets the stairs over here."

"How's he going to get down?" Machiavelli wondered, craning his neck to see for himself.

"There's a ladder built into the side of the plane. Here he is, actually."

After they paid the pilot, Machiavelli followed Billy back to the car. He settled gratefully in the Thunderbird, vowing to remain on the ground for a very long while. "Can we get some ice cream?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure, we'll stop somewhere on the way home," Billy agreed easily. "Hey Mac? If you're ever not comfortable doing something, you never have to do it. Promise me you know that?"

Machiavelli nodded. "I think I'd go out there and do it again, sometime. Not right now, but someday take another plane ride," he offered. "I think I'm just the kind of guy who panics the first time around."

"Well, that's why you have me," Billy said brightly. "Hey, tonight you should call the Flamels. We never got around to do that last night. I'd like to say hi to them too."

"I miss them all," Machiavelli said. He perked up. "Maybe they can put the Pup and Georgette on the line." He spoke much more freely now that he felt safe. Billy let him talk, buying both of them an ice cream at the first creamery they came across. He shook his head a little when the Italian got the biggest size ice cream they had, but let him do it.

~MB~

As Billy searched once more for the correct keys to get into the house, Machiavelli fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "Why don't you label them?" he suggested after the third key the American tried turned out to be wrong.

"I always think about it," Billy mumbled, trying a fourth key and opening the door at last. "But then I get in and I put the keys down and I can't remember which one I just used. So I never end up doing it." He tossed the keys on the side table by the door, pasting a charming smile on his face.

Machiavelli gave him a small smile, but shook his head as he finished dialing the Shadow's number. He listened to it ring and full on grinned when he heard Scatty's voice on the other end of the line. "Hello!"

"Put it on speaker," Billy commanded, sitting beside him and grabbing for the phone. Niccolò swatted his hand away, but did as he said. He set the phone on the coffee table in front of them. "Do you miss us?" the Kid called into the phone, sitting Indian style on the couch next to his Italian counterpart.

Scatty's answer to the negative sent Billy into peals of laughter. Machiavelli's lips curled up in a smile, but he didn't find it nearly as amusing as his American friend had apparently found it. He feigned indignation, pressing the Shadow for a positive response and laughed a little himself when she became increasingly rude in her answers. At last, he let the point go. "Guess what we've been up to?" he asked, trying to entice her into the conversation.

"I shudder to guess," Scatty said on her end of the line, sounding for all intents and purposes, vaguely bored by their antics. "Nothing illegal, right Billy?"

Billy actually looked a little offended at that. "Of course not," he said, sounding scandalized. "I wouldn't do anything to Mac that wasn't good for him. You know that."

Machiavelli glanced between the outlaw and the phone. Apparently, Scatty and Billy were referencing something that they hadn't included him on. The thought annoyed him a little, settling on the back of his mind, but he focused on regaining the conversation at hand. He made a mental note to revisit this conversation with Billy later on in the night, figuring that he could wheedle information out of the good natured immortal rather easily. "Well, he did do one awful thing to me, Scatty."

Both American immortals stopped squabbling momentarily. "He made me drive," he moaned melodramatically. "It was awful."

"He was good at it," Billy defended himself. "He did fine. I'd let him do it again."

"Don't listen to him, I was scared the whole time," Machiavelli said, leaning over the phone. "Just like this morning when we nearly plunged to our deaths."

"Ooh, were you driving again?"

Machiavelli huffed a little at that. "No. Billy brought us up in an airplane. We did all sorts of tricks and flips. I've never been so grateful to be returned to solid ground again. My god." He began describing the tricks to the Shadow, Billy adding details and clarifications as he talked. Getting sleepy, he lay down on the couch, surprising Billy when he rested his head in the man's lap. After a moment, the outlaw shifted so that Machiavelli could be more comfortable. And, towards the end of the conversation, he felt a swell of happiness hearing a burst of laughter from Scatty. He had never been entertaining in the same way that Billy was easily, so it was a pleasant feeling for him that he could make the Shadow laugh.

Briefly, the Flamels came on and Machiavelli spoke to them, but too soon it was time for them to go, having made dinner reservations in town. After they hung up, Niccolò could hear his own stomach rumble. Billy glanced down at him, combing a hand through Machiavelli's thick hair. "Hungry?" Machiavelli nodded. "We could order a pizza, but it might take a half hour. Think you can wait that long?"

Machiavelli nodded again. Billy's touch was making him more tired and he struggled to wake up. "I think I'll take a shower while we're waiting."

"Good," Billy agreed. "You'll feel better once you've taken a hot bath." He snagged the phone off the coffee table and tapped in Machiavelli's password.

"Why would I take a bath and not a shower…" he trailed off, realization dawning on his features in one unhappy rush. "Billy! I just realized. We don't have any running water," Machiavelli all but whined. "How am I going to take a bath with no water?"

"I told you we have a pump out back," Billy said patiently. He thumbed through the food options on Machiavelli's phone. "I'll even help you fill up the tub." He caught sight of the Italian's dissatisfied expression and laughed a little. "Mac, you've lived before homes had electricity and running water. Like, way before," Billy said, emphasizing the word way. "I'd think you'd be used to it."

"I am used to it," Machiavelli grumbled under his breath. "That's why I don't like it."

"Well, think of it like camping, but better. Anyways, you'll feel better when you're clean." Billy hauled a bucket of water in and walked past him to the bathroom. "Hey, when we're safe we should go camping together."

Niccolò bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything. He sincerely doubted that he was the type to enjoy camping, just as he doubted that this bath full of well water was going to be relaxing. He pressed up against the wall as Billy trundled past again. "Don't worry, I know how to heat up the water with my aura," the American called as he went past.

"How are you going to do that?" Machiavelli asked, trailing after the outlaw. "Let me take that," he offered, indicating the last bucket. Billy held it out for him; the minute the outlaw let go of it, the bucket crashed to the ground slopping water on both of their feet. "On the other hand, maybe you should take this one too."

"Too heavy?" Billy asked cheekily. Machiavelli huffed at him, silently chastising his abysmal arm muscles. "Anyways, I know a trick," the Kid explained. "Watch." Dumping the last bucketful into the tub, he set it aside and held up his hands. With a smile at the Italian, the room came alive with the smell of cayenne peppers. His hands glowed red and he dropped his hands into the water, where the water began to bubble and boil.

After a moment, Billy withdrew his hands, shaking them dry. "Alright, I'll be out here. Oh, and don't drain the water when you're done. I want to at least rinse if we're going to be driving all day tomorrow."

"Okay," Machiavelli said tiredly, already starting to strip down. He waited until the door clicked shut before he dropped his pants and stepped out of them. He groaned as he sank into the tub.

Knowing that Billy was going to be climbing in after him, he struggled to keep the water as clean as he could. This meant certain concessions on his part, but he mused that he could continue his activities after the outlaw fell asleep.

Leaning forward, he scrubbed at his hair. The shower he'd taken the day before seemed like a long time ago. He efficiently scrubbed at his upper body, but couldn't help lingering longer down below the water. Sinking into the water, he closed his eyes for what felt like seconds, but more likely was a couple minutes in itself.

He shot up again at Billy's light knocking. "Hey," he called. "What's up?" Billy's voice was muffled through the door, but he could just make out the other man telling him that dinner had arrived. "I'll be out in a second," he shouted.

He sloshed out of the tub, looked around and cursed when he saw that he had forgotten clean clothes. Unwilling to put his dirty clothes back on, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stalked out.

"Bit overdressed for the occasion, aren't you?" Billy snarked, taking in his appearance.

"Oh, shut up," he groused, sliding onto his seat at the table.

"You're not going to get dressed now?" the Kid asked with some surprise. He whistled, a high note and plated a couple of pieces of pizza which he slid in front of Machiavelli. "That's not the Mac I know and love. He's uptight."

Mac shook his head. "Not now, I'm hungry." But he made sure the towel was still covering his dignity before he snagged one of the pieces. "We're going to have to do laundry soon though," he added as an afterthought. Jerking his head in the direction of his room, he added, "I'm almost out of clothes.

"Is that towel all you have left?" Billy joked.

"I forgot to bring clean clothes in with me," Machiavelli said by way of explanation. He reached across the table for another slice. "Billy? When we get to your place, where I assume you'll have the amenities turned on, can we have some real food?"

"You mean, not delivery food?" Billy asked, gnawing through a pizza crust and licking his fingers. "Sure. What do you want?"

The Italian shrugged. "I'll think about it," he promised. "Now, I'm tired."

"I thought you were hungry?"

"I was and I am. I'm both. I think I'm going to go to bed right after this."

Billy nodded, looking tired himself. "That's probably for the best. We're going to be on the road all day tomorrow. But we'll be in Philadelphia by Friday. Isn't that good news?" He grinned.