Standard Disclaimer. I do not own the Simpsons, C. M. Burns, Waylon Smithers Sr, or any other characters from the Simpsons Universe This is a non-profit piece of fan fiction.

Author's Note:

I've wanted to do two things for a while, and in this, I felt I had the perfect medium to do of which finally getting around to that Burns/Smithers wedding that's been on my list since forever. The other thing is to tell the tale of two OCs, Preston Tucci and Antoine Radson; or at least the beginning tale. Like most of my stories, this is a stand alone piece, but it does tie back into past works. You don't have to read them to appreciate this, however it might help to set the stage if you've at least read "The Unfolding of Waylon Smithers" before beginning here.

If you haven't, I'd recommend doing so. Go on, take a bit to read it. I'll be here when you get back.

Still here? Well, okay then. So am I. Good to see you.

I view this story as the start of a new... epoch? dispensation?... whatever.

This pieces isn't a capstone... it's a foundation block. A new start of the next focus in my works: the bridge between the past and the future of Burns' and Smithers' relationship. Needless to say, right now at least I couldn't make it all about them. There's another story to be told here. Preston Tucci, the "naive, conceited, and possibly gay" former personal assistant has now become a CEO in his own right. That doesn't make life easy for him. If anything, it makes it harder.

He does not have an easy path ahead of him.

This story too sets the stage for his character, and potentially the future dynamic between him and his housemate Antoine Radson.

Ever since the first time Waylon Smithers met them, their lives have become, for better or worse, intertwined. Montgomery Burns is like the center of his own solar system. It seems he has a way of pulling people in. Just like the sun can swallow a comet, or pull planets to collide, being in Burns' trajectory is not always a good thing. Poor Preston has found this out the hard way, even if he's not fully aware of it. He's got a target on his back that can be seen from space.

In the background, Burns and Smithers remain: each a powerful man in his own right, capable of manipulating events in the lives of those they know. I consider this piece a beginning, not an end. Something that tells a tale, but sets a stage for the future Burns and Smithers as well.

Thank you, my Readers, for all your interest, reviews, and encouragement.

I'd also like to take this moment to thank my wonderful Beta Reader, Lady Tiko, whose input and assessment proved invaluable in sculpting this piece.

It is my pleasure to present Supercritical Arrangement. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing.

~ Muse

Preston sat at his desk, staring at the mountains of paperwork in front of him. He wasn't even sure where to begin. He eyed his towering inbox balefully, then glanced at his pitifully empty outbox. Most of his projects involved communications from the Board of Directors: financial decisions regarding growth and expansion, stock handling, that sort of stuff. There were also a few new memos from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation in the heap too. Probably at least one or two letters from the Plateau City Municipal Department; and god knew what else.

Preston debated getting himself a cup of coffee, but his nerves were already rattled. He relented, poured some hot water into his mug, and fished a tea bag out of the tin in his desk.

High power executive right here, he thought with a note of cynicism. Running the company, one cup of herb tea at a time. Chamomile. It had been Antoine's suggestion. It was supposed to help the drinker relax.

He missed Antoine's presence at his side. Sure, the man could be a colossal pest at times, but he could always relax the mood. He was a good friend. At least, Preston thought as he blew on his tea to cool it, Antoine's taste in decorating was better than his taste in clothing. Directly across from his desk was a photo Antoine had hung: taken from inside the curved barrel of a wave at sunset, titled "Evetide Breaks."

The very edge of the curling wave was just about to touch the ocean, captured for eternity, droplets suspended against the golden-pink sky like polished diamonds. The rest of the water grew deeper, the color changing from clear to light green, then eventually a passionate shadowy blue.

Preston had never been a fan of the ocean or of beaches. Allowing Antoine to decorate his office had been a concession he'd made; and in exchange now wore more appropriate business dress Preston had chosen. The cargo pants, the gym shoes, those were gone. When he wasn't down in Infrastructure, or working on maintenance for the company helicopter, Antoine had agreed to wear the profession attire Preston had so carefully selected. That meant button up shirts, well-fitting chinos, polished shoes, and of course a tie.

Antoine had tolerated it all with good-natured silence, and a hint of amusement while they shopped. He dutifully tried on multiple outfits without objection, though he would from time to time voice his preference for certain styles. Eventually, decisions were made that they both agreed on. Getting Antoine to wear a sports coat seemed to be too much of a struggle but at least he'd gotten Antoine wearing ties. It was a victory in Preston's cultured eyes.

As for decorating his office, Antoine had handled everything over a weekend. It'll be better for your head not to have it look like it did when… you know… Antoine muttered, picking up a glass paperweight with the name Thaddeus Dimas on it. This stuff, it's not good for your head, Preppy. He tossed the paperweight in the trash, and wandered off to do whatever it was he did.

Or, more accurately, whatever it was he used to do.

Preston thought of those times as the Dimas Era. It wasn't a phrase he liked, but he could find no better way to label it in his mind.

In the days that Thaddeus Dimas had been alive, and running the plant, Antoine served as Dimas' personal pilot. Dimas made a habit of flying out on an almost weekly basis, as often as not bringing Preston, his then personal assistant along. Dimas' travel once kept Antoine gainfully employed, though when Antoine wasn't on-schedule for a flight, he'd saunter about the plant and chatting with the various employees. There was something rather likable about Antoine, his good-natured attitude and easy-going disposition.

Preston hadn't initially liked Antoine's carefree disposition. When he first started working at the Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station, he'd thought Dimas indulged Antoine with far too much freedom. The blue hair and beard, the hipster clothing; the way Antoine ambled about and didn't appear to do anything useful. Preston would threaten that if he had his way, he'd fire Antoine in a heartbeat.

Antoine would throw back his blue hair, laugh, and reply with something along the lines of Don't be a grumpy little lapdog. You know you love me.
Preston would vehemently deny such an accusation. Over the next two years though, Preston had to admit his feelings had changed.

Antoine, for all his flagrant impiety was actually a remarkably hard worker when the need arose. He was also loyal to his friends. When Antoine invited Preston to start joining him and a few other employees for drinks after work at a nearby bar, Preston got to witness first-hand how Antoine managed to keep their different personalities in check. Antoine was like glue somehow. He was able to soothe ruffled feathers, and encourage comradery. He seemed to have a wonderful sense of timing for comic remarks. He wasn't afraid to laugh at himself, or play the fool.

One night, Preston was sitting in his small apartment, watching a documentary on the wolves of Minnesota. It wasn't that he particularly liked wolves, but he didn't have cable. In a choice between public access bulletins, some sitcom in Spanish, or a wolf show on PBS, the wolves won out.

Preston's knowledge of wolves was limited references made in his management classes, about the "alpha" and the "omega" the business hierarchy. The alpha was the top, and everyone else listened or got put in their place. The omega was at the bottom, and got beat on. The message was clear: be the alpha. That was the sum total of Preston's knowledge, or interest, in wolves.

The omega serves a crucial function in the stability of the pack dynamic, the narrator explained. In times of stress, it is often the omega that instigates a distraction either by invitations of play, or even by taunting a packmate to release their frustrations on the omega, rather than one another. While it was originally thought that the alpha wolf would forcibly roll the omega onto his back, we now know that surrendering is a voluntary act initiated by the omega. As such, the omega allows the higher ranking wolf to feel his position of his been validated; and conflict is avoided.

Preston watched as a rather rangy and goofy looking wolf interjected himself into the middle of a scuffle between two other wolves. He, or she, antagonized the two fighting wolves to the point where they forgot their quarrel, and together chased the omega across the field.

All Preston could see in his head was Antoine. Goofy, carefree Antoine.

It reminded Preston of the day when Dimas had been in a right terrifying mood. Preston had been nervous to even stand near his boss. Unfortunately, they'd both be flying to Albany that afternoon. Preston was dreading the idea of being stuck in a helicopter with Dimas. The man's rage was barely contained.

Usually Dimas was a good-natured fellow. Something had upset him though, and he prowled around the office like a caged bear looking for a fight. He was muttering something under his breath. Preston had no idea what the issue was. He was waiting for a response to an email Dimas had submitted to the Plateau City development commission. The answer Dimas wanted was "yes." The email that came in said "no."

Preston's heart dropped into his stomach as he read the reply on his tablet. He glanced at Dimas as they approached the chopper. Finally, he steeled himself and presented the news. He was expecting an outburst, but even in that he'd sadly underestimated the situation.

Dimas exploded.

He yelled, he swore. He snatched the tablet, bellowed something incoherent at Preston, and prepared to hurl the tablet across the tarmac when Antoine poked his head out of the cockpit. Hey, Big D., are we flying or screaming? Because we've got a timetable to keep.

Antoine hopped over and wandered into the mix, reaching for the tablet.

Dimas held it out of Antoine's reach and roared something that included a threat about firing.

Antoine shrugged and snagged the tablet, expression neutral. Yeah, but unless you have another pilot on hand, that'll have to wait. It's my job to get you to Albany on time, so whatever it is you'll have to do it later. Sir.

Dimas growled something, ripped the tablet out of Antoine's hands and shoved it back at Preston. He gave Antoine a scathing look, muttered an apology to Preston, and boarded the helicopter.

Preston remembered the look Antoine gave him as he headed back to the chopper. Preston still blushed when he thought about it. Though Antoine's face had been fairly reserved, there was a look at his eyes, no behind his eyes, that spoke volumes.

Preston had held his tablet to his chest, feeling his heart flutter for a reason other than fear, as he joined his boss in the passenger compartment of the chopper. As he fastened his belt and prepared for take-off, Preston reprimanded himself for his thoughts. There was no way he was feeling a crush on Antoine. That was simply not possible. Antoine was so far and removed from the sort of person Preston envisioned himself falling for that the idea was out of the question. He's a disrespectful, over-indulged nobody, Preston thought as he settled in and put his headset on. There's nothing a professional like me could ever have in common with his kind. Preston buried his face in his tablet, and reviewed the agenda for the remainder of the week.

But that was then, during the Dimas Era.

Thaddeus Dimas was dead, and Preston had taken the mantle of Chief Executive Officer. Antoine worked in maintenance. Preston made far less flights than Dimas did. He had little need for a pilot most weeks. At night, after work, Preston would make his way home exhausted, and curl up on the couch with his housemate and closest friend; the same friend who once stepped in front of an enraged Dimas for him. Antoine.

Following the incident (The Incident, he brain corrected, capitalizing the words) that had led to Dimas' death, and Preston getting shot, he'd moved in with Antoine. It was supposed to just be a temporary thing. He didn't want to be alone. Images of that gruesome day flashed behind his eyes every time he closed them. His small apartment downtown suddenly felt too empty. Antoine must've picked up on it. He was the one who suggested moving in together. Just till you get your feet back, and only if you want, Antoine explained.

It didn't take long for either man to realize the arrangement benefitted them both. You fill the space, Antoine remarked one night as they watched a reality show. You should stay. And that settled it. Shortly thereafter, Preston cancelled his lease, and moved his few possessions into one of Antoine's spare bedrooms.

Since then, he tried as best he could to tackle the daily grind of running a nuclear power plant. He was young he knew, and everyone's eyes were on him. He felt as if he were under a microscope. It was overwhelming at times.

Eventually, Preston grudgingly allowed Antoine to drag him on a vacation several months ago. He'd worried if he left everything would come crashing down in his absence. Much to his relief, it hadn't.

Now that they'd entered into the grey season that filled the gap between late autumn and winter, recalling their walks on an empty stretch of Florida beach gave Preston something to remember. He found himself looking forward to returning next year. In the meantime, the photos (and the cowry shell anklet he wore 'round his left ankle) would have to suffice.

The anklet was a gift from Antoine. Because I know you wouldn't wear anything where someone could see it, Antoine explained with a smirk.

At times it seemed Antoine knew him better than Preston knew himself. Preston took one last look around his coastal-themed office, then grabbed a folder from the top of the pile, and started in.

Antoine grunted as he followed Sharon up the stairs to the top of the cooling tower. A series of zig-zagging flights ran up the exterior, allowing access to the walkway around the top. The stairs were open metal, similar to the types found on most fire escapes. Each landing was about seven feet high. The cooling towers themselves were two hundred fifty feet tall.

"All this for a lightbulb," he muttered.

A finger jabbed him in the flank. "Hey, quite your griping, Doughboy. You need the exercise."

Following behind, Sharon, Chief of Infrastructure had decided to follow Antoine on his first trip up the cooling towers to replace the aircraft warning lights. Routine maintenance. For the second tower, he'd be on his own.

"How many more flights?" he asked, glancing over the railing at the curved shell of the cooling tower.

Sharon shrugged, running a hand over her spikey red hair. "Another twelve or so." She didn't even look winded. "And it's not 'just a lightbulb.' These are medium intensity obstruction lights: full complement replacements: four thousand eight hundred watts, with a time delay to eliminate contact chatter."

Antoine thought about the ten boxed lighting mounts he carried in a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "And how much do they cost again?" He started up the next flight.

Sharon followed close behind, work clanging on the steel rungs. "Well, put it this way, if you decided to toss that duffle bag over the railing, you'd be working for free for the next year to pay it off."

"So about a thousand dollars a light?"

Sharon laughed into the wind. "I like your humor, even I know you make more than that. Try closer to five thousand a mount, and you'd be correct."

Antoine tightened his grip on the strap and whistled.

He felt Sharon prod him again. "Don't slow down there," she warned. "Walk and talk."

"Walk and climb."

"We're one of the few plants that has stairs instead of a simple ladder," she replied.

Antoine reached over and slapped the gently curving grey shell of the tower. "This wouldn't be that hard of a climb."

"Not here, no," Sharon agreed. "But once you get past the throat, you're climbing outward, not just up."

Antoine followed the curve of the tower with his eyes. He'd never given the shape that much thought before. The wide base tapered gently, then grew steeper. He hadn't stopped to consider the fact that the tower widened again near the top. The so-called throat, the narrowest spot, was about two thirds of the way up. Antoine grunted, repositioned the light bag, and kept climbing.

Despite the physical work that Infrastructure, maintenance required, Antoine found he rather enjoyed it. He'd always liked working with his hands. He'd joke that his hands were smart and his head was not. Working down in Infrastructure had been his decision.

After he and Preston had gotten back from their vacation, Antoine explained that it probably wasn't appropriate for him to keep working as Preston's personal assistant; he also had to admit he wasn't particularly good at it. He could help out some, but it was a job that required a different set of skills than he naturally possessed.

People are gonna accuse you of playing favorites, he cautioned Preston. And, he added, what I make isn't easy to justify for a newbie secretary. I don't fly enough anymore to justify my salary otherwise. I'm good at repairing things. Send me down to Sharon.

Antoine remembered how Preston resisted the idea, but couldn't come up with a good counter-argument against it. Antoine knew how people could start talking. He was not about to become ammo used against Preston's career. He'd known Sharon for quite some time; she was one of the regulars that would join him and a few other employees down at The Lucky Lady, a bar and grill not too far from the plant. He was one of the few people who remembered she was a vegetarian. She always appreciated that.

Without waiting for Preston's formal approval, Antoine had made his way down to Sharon's cluttered office, and announced he was transferring to her department. Sharon folded her hands, and regarded him carefully. What are your qualifications? She finally asked.

Antoine was caught off guard. Well, I do most of the maintenance on the Little Diva, the company chopper, by myself. I'm pretty handy with repairs around my house. When I was fifteen, I worked in an automotive garage-

Sharon held up a hand, cutting him off. You worked in automotive repair? Before you had a driver's license?

Antoine winced. Well, technically I think it was more of a chop shop. But they paid me cash, and let me drive around the scrap yard. I learned a lot, got experience with a bunch of different machinery. I pick up on that sort of stuff easily. He paused, looking at his hands. I'm smart with these, he announced, holding them up.

Sharon smiled patronizingly. That's good, but it's not enough. She tapped his head with a pen. I need you to be smart up here. There's a lot that goes into Infrastructure. I like you, but I'm not going to take you on board just because I know you. She got up and started rummaging through a disorganized stack of papers and books beside her desk. Here, she said, pulling out two books. I want you to read these, finish them by Friday, and then we can talk.

Antoine took the books and flipped through the pages from front to back. Home Maintenance for Dummies? Electronics All-in-One for Dummies? Seriously?

Sharon slid back behind her desk and sat down with a smirk. They're required reading for all my trainees. If it's too much for you, well, tell me now.

Antoine flipped the pages again, this time from back to front. No, no, he muttered. It'll be fine.

Good, good, Sharon replied. I'll be quizzing you on some of the concepts later. The scale changes, but you'll find a lot of that stuff is remarkably applicable to what we do here. Go one with you now, and I'll see you Friday.

Antoine turned to leave. He'd made it to the door when Sharon called out after him. Oh, one more thing.

He paused and looked over his shoulder. Yes?

Sharon looked like she was struggling to find the right words. Her brow creased in thought. Well, you're… you're a bit wider than most of the people I hire. Some of the access corridors can be quite narrow. For you, they'll be an especially snug fit. You're not claustrophobic, are you?

Me? Naw. Not claustrophobic at all. Antoine glanced down at his familiar paunch. You don't think I'll get stuck or anything, do you?

Sharon shrugged. If you do, we'll just leave you there till you thin up. It'll be like Winnie the Pooh. A wedged bear in great tightness. But we'd probably figure out something before too long. She gave him a toothy grin.

I see, Antoine replied, not entirely convinced.

Let me know if you have any questions, okay Pillsbury?

What?

You know, Pillsbury. Like the doughboy.

Antoine gave her a sad puppy face. Please don't call me Pillsbury.

Sharon nodded. Doughboy it is then. She smiled, and tossed him a mock salute. Don't forget to have those read by Friday, okay Doughboy.

Right, Antoine muttered sullenly. He left, closing her door behind him.

That night, Antoine had sat on the couch, TV off, nose buried in one of the yellow-covered books. When Preston got home, Antoine wasted no time in talking about his day. Sharon said I remind her of the Pillsbury doughboy, Antoine whined. Then after that she decided she was going to start calling me 'Doughboy,' and she didn't stop.

Preston raised his head from a crossword puzzle he'd been working on.

Someone gave you a nickname you don't like? And they wouldn't stop?

Antoine pursed his lips and nodded vigorously. Antoine was expecting sympathy. Ideally, he hoped Preston would tell Sharon to drop the nicknames, and address him proper. Antoine looked up, scrutinizing Preston's face.

Preston sat a moment, poker-faced, then a smile began to form at the corners of his lips. He drew a hand over his mouth, but not before Antoine could notice.

A nickname the recipient doesn't like! Oh what a tragedy! I can't imagine what that would feel like. How dreadful!

Antoine folded his arms across his chest. You know what, fine. I'll deal with it, but I won't like it. She thinks I'm fat.

Preston came over and sat down next to Antoine, his thin body leaning against Antoine's thicker frame. I suppose you could work out, if it bothers you that much. Unconsciously, Antoine reached out and pulled Preston against his chest.

There was something he loved about holding Preston. Despite the young man being all edges and angles, Antoine thought Preston was the most perfect thing he could ever put his arms around. Preston seemed to benefit from it too. He never objected when Antoine held him. Sometimes Antoine found himself wishing he could do more for Preston, satisfy his dear friend in different, better ways. He squeezed Preston affectionately.

I like being this way, Antoine remarked, running his free hand over the curve of his belly relishing the sensation. It feels nice. He paused thoughtfully. And anyhow, if I were all skinny, I wouldn't be so good for cuddling. He smiled at Preston. So really, this is pretty perfect.

Preston reached out and stroked Antoine's belly thoughtfully. Antoine found Preston's touch far more stimulating than he'd expected. He shifted his legs, drawing one up; lest Preston see the affect his innocent gesture was having. Antoine thought of baseball, and wondered why a belly rub from Preston excited him so.

Baseball… or Electronics for Dummies.

Antoine grabbed the book, set it in his lap and concentrated on the pages. He glanced over at Preston, but the thin man was clearly oblivious. Antoine was glad. Ah the awkwardness of the human body, Antoine thought to himself, and resumed his studies.

Reading had never been Antoine's strong point, but he made it through both books and on schedule. It was easy reading. Several hundred pages, but very user friendly. Friday morning he showed up and Sharon gave him a written quiz. The questions weren't specific to any particular page he'd read. Instead, they asked broad concepts. He filled in his answers, and waited patiently while she went over his work.

Looks like you've got it, she announced, nodding. Let's take you on a bit of a tour then. She gestured for him to follow.

Sharon had dutifully showed Antoine every nook and cranny in the guts of the plant. He tagged along behind her, learning and watching. True to his words, he was a quick study. Sharon remarked it was nice that he picked things up so quickly. Antoine beamed proudly.

Sometimes the physical aspects could be a bit daunting, like climbing thirty-something flights of stairs carrying a bag of really expensive lightbulbs, but he found he enjoyed it. It wasn't flying, but least he was still doing something he enjoyed.

"At least the weather's not too cold" he remarked, eying the grey sky as he ascended to yet another landing. "This must really be brutal once the snow flies." They were just at the throat of the cooling tower.

"That's why we do it now," Sharon replied, heavy boots clumping along behind him. "We don't wait for them to go out, and by replacing them now, we know they'll be good for the cold months." She put a hand on his shoulder, indicating he should pause. Antoine stopped, surprised.

"Let's take a breather for a minute," she remarked, leaning on the railing and pulling a water bottle from a holster at her belt. "You know," she remarked as she took a long sip, "you're not as out of breath as I was expecting."

Antoine chuckled. "Don't let the cute teddy bear build fool you, I am a beast at endurance," he remarked, grinning at the backhanded compliment. It was Sharon's way. She'd never say something straightforward, but Antoine had known her long enough to recognize her approval when she voiced it. "I like to go mountain biking, hiking, that sort of thing." He leaned on the railing and surveyed the layout of Plateau City below. "I mean, don't ask me to run sprints or anything," he confessed, "but I could do this all day."

Sharon gave a nod. "That's good. Because after we finish this tower we need to go back to the shop, and get the set for Tower Two."

"More, eh?" Antoine remarked.

"We've got two towers, right?"

He shrugged. "Touché." He ran a hand over his hair, which he'd tied back in a bun. "Well, I can do this all day. A bajillion flights of stairs and a Congressman's salary worth of peachy little lightbulbs? Bring it on." He started off, heading up the next flight.

Sharon quickly capped her water and hurried to catch up. "Whoa, wait for me Doughboy."

Antoine chuckled. "There's a phrase that doesn't get said a lot," he muttered, amused.

Charles Montgomery Burns eyed the package on his desk suspiciously.

"Remind me again, Smithers, why exactly this is a good idea."

Smithers added several more stamps to box, and tucked it under his arm. "I know you'll disagree with me, Monty, but Preston knows too much. He may be just a kid to you, but we'd be better off keeping him in the loop. Think about it. His employees are used to the regular transfer of spent rods out of their cooling ponds. I'm sure the Board of Directors is too. If that suddenly stopped, don't you think people would start asking questions?"

Burns waved a hand. "Bah, they wouldn't ask questions."

Smithers raised an eyebrow. "No? For the past, however many years it's been, rods are going to 'dry storage.'" He made quotation marks with his fingers. "You don't know the Plateau City plant like I do, Monty. The employees there pay a lot more attention than the ones we have here. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a few whistle-blowers in the mix."

Smithers checked the address on the box and headed towards the door. "We'll send him this, it'll give him an out if he wants to maintain the status quo. If he doesn't? Well, that's his prerogative, I suppose."

Burns glowered, but made no effort to stop Smithers. "I should hope you know what you're doing, Waylon," he purred dangerously.

Smithers gave his boss a confident smile. "Don't worry, sir. I've got this all taken care of."