When Maggie heard that Moe had been very ill as of late, she made it her best effort to visit him, and to write a song for him, since he couldn't attend her latest concert. She was okay with the fact that he didn't come, after all, his health was much more important.

Moe was 75 going on 76, hardly 20 years older than her father, Homer. She knew the entire time she'd outlive him anyway, but now everyone else might outlive Moe. She knew personally that he hadn't been doing too well recently; poor health and illness exhausted him physically and mentally.

People would always comment on how Moe used to be sleazy, harsh and violent, but Maggie never really saw that in him. She saw a depressed and troubled man who had difficulty adjusting to relationships, and could be a better person if only the world were more forgiving and kind to him. In short, he had a heart of 40% gold and 60% stone.

Visiting him at the hospital would not be easy, she thought. Would he even be able to talk to her? Would he be too deep in another bout of depression to even look at her? She'd considered Homer to come with her, but decided against it.

Maggie stepped out of her father's car with her purse, carrying the essentials plus a limited-edition version of the original "The Godfather" novel, that she bought for Moe. She looked up at the hospital's entrance. It looked large and imposing, as most hospitals were. Funny how a place meant to help you could look so scary sometimes.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Moe Szyslak. He's a friend of my father," she said what was probably her longest sentence yet, "Do you know which room he is in?"

The man at the front desk looked up and adjusted his glasses, "You're Miss Maggie Simpson?"

Maggie nodded.

"Mr. Simpson told me you weren't much of a talker, so you sing all the time instead. But that ain't important. I can send a nurse to lead you to Mr. Szyslak's room."

She nodded again, though flushing a little at the "not much of a talker, but a singer" comment. She never really liked to talk, but to sing? that was a different story.

She sat in the waiting room, growing anxious. She scanned around at the other people in the waiting room, momentarily wondering why they were there. She couldn't remember the last time she had been here. Maybe she was still a baby back then.

"Well, hello!"

Maggie snapped out of her thoughts as she heard the nurse and looked up.

"You must be Miss Simpson. Maggie, yes?"

To be fair, Maggie had expected someone more dignified in mind for a nurse, this nurse in question was stocky and had a nose bigger than his eyes were. But it was a familiar sight anyway.

"You probably know me, I'm Milhouse. Your brother's best friend. Er, I usually take care of the kids, but once I heard you were here I couldn't pass up the opportunity, you know?"

Maggie realized she must have been gawking at him for a moment and shook her head, "Sorry, didn't expect you."

"I get that a lot!" Milhouse chuckled, "But, er, you wanted to see Moe? He's on the second floor. I can show you his room, but that's about it for me, I'm more of a pediatric nurse. Kids and stuff."

Maggie stood and tidied herself up a little. As excited as Maggie was, she was still incredibly nervous to see Moe, and didn't know what to expect. It seemed as if Milhouse saw through her nervousness and gave her a warm smile that said, "don't worry!"

"He's in, uh, room 28, I believe," Milhouse pushed his glasses up as the two walked through the white corridor, "I haven't heard much of him here, but I know him from when I was a kid, and Bart loved to make prank calls to him. I think he was the one who saved you or

Something?"

Maggie only nodded, taking in this information. She and Milhouse then stopped at the door numbered 28, Moe's room. Milhouse took out a key and smiled at her again.

"You ready to see him? I'll leave the two of you to talk privately. I've got to go, I have a patient, a 10 year old who swallowed a monkey-wrench," the nurse unlocked the door and slowly, quietly opened it, "And, uh, it's the third time it's happened. Anyway, he's in here. Best of luck."

"Thank you," Maggie gave him an uneasy smile, her anxiety growing more obvious. She walked into the room with her eyes closed and tried to take in the surroundings through her ears instead. Years of being a quiet girl gave her the opportunity to hear better than others.

First, there was a heart monitor beeping steadily, which meant he was still alive, good. Second, she could just barely hear his breathing, which sounded ragged and a little strained. Third-

"Mags..."

Maggie opened her eyes wide at that voice, that voice, low and gruff yet tinged with pain and exhaustion. There she inspected the rest of the room fully; a starkly white backdrop with hints of blues, greens and reds, tubes and wires and machines were all around, connecting to Moe's body.

"Magpie," the voice croaked, "You're...here."

She hardly wanted to look at Moe, because she knew it'd hurt. And it did.

her heart sank when she saw him in his hospital bed, half-buried in his blanket and several tubes inserted within him.

She remembered him standing at his bar counter, shifty-eyed and gray-haired, when she was still young. She remembered him as her babysitter, in a blue shirt that matched hers and a sloppy grin to boot. In the 20 years that passed, he did age, which was normal-his gray hair went white and more wrinkles formed around his froggy face. He still had those features now, yet he looked different. His eyes, though still brown, long lost that shifty look that he used to intimidate others including her father. They looked hurt and somewhat glazed over.

Maggie had nothing to say, but she knew Moe would understand why.

"I'm mighty sorry I couldn't...go," Moe wheezed, trying to breathe through the cannula up his nose, "Wasn't feelin' too hot."

Maggie gave him a small smile, "It's okay," she took her seat in a nearby chair and pulled up close to Moe. She just now noticed how pale and thin he looked, especially considering how he was before, and his sunken eyes enhanced his dark circles and eyebags even more.

"I'm...glad you came," he tried sitting up with great difficulty, "Did you...get somethin' for me?" he looked at her bulging purse.

Maggie nodded, pulling out the novel she bought and a transcript of the song she wrote for him. Instantly he smiled, taking the book in his hands.

"This is the original...Mario Puzo version, yes?"

Maggie nodded.

"You know me...so well."

"And I wrote a song," Maggie held out the transcript.

Moe continued his smile, settling the book on the bed, "Please sing it to me."

And she did. Though she had to be a little quiet as to not bother the other patients, it still made Moe tear up in happiness when he heard it, and that was good enough for her.

"Beautiful," Moe said breathlessly, "Thank you."

Maggie smiled and held on to his bony hands, as if to say, "you're welcome".

She also thought about how he wouldn't have taken any stranger in his room too kindly, but would be too weak to be his harsh former self. Essentially she was seeing a completely different Moe than in the past.

Inadvertently, she looked down at his body as well and inspected the tubes running into him; a feeding tube was sticking out of his abdomen as she felt it, but stopped since she didn't want to hurt him or make him uncomfortable.

Moe must have noticed, as he placed a hand on his stomach and rubbed it softly as if it hurt.

"I've...been here since yesterday," Moe explained, "I musta...puked at least three times today...I can't seem to take in any food now. It's hard," he sighed, and continued, "I've been sick for a...little over a month. But hey, at least...I don't try to kill myself...anymore," he looked back at Maggie, "How have ya been?"

"Good."

"And Homer? I'll bet he's been drinkin' again...good thing I locked the...tavern's door."

Maggie chuckled at his comment, it seemed he still had his humor intact.

Moe eased down the blanket so it was around his waist now, "Look at me. I can barely...hold my shotgun anymore. I'm sure if Barney were still around...I wouldn't be able to throw him outta the tavern," he seemed to grow angry, "I tells ya, I'm turnin' into Mr. Burns."

This time, Maggie took her time to inspect Moe better. He was right, the illness had sapped him of all his strength and essentially de-muscled him. And it had only been a month and a half. His face alone bore all the exhaustion and haggardness of a dying man, and his body looked no better.

Instinctively, Maggie cupped his sharp cheekbones, smiling softly to reassure him. She swore she saw him tear up. She kissed him on the forehead and wiped away his tears.

Moe returned his favor, holding Maggie's hands, "I...remember when ya were just a little baby. Sometimes, when I look at ya or think of ya, I...still see the little baby in my arms...with yer blue bow an' all..."

"Everyone does," Maggie admitted, and it was true. Everyone remembered her as the Simpson baby, and not really for who she was now. She didn't really mind, though.

"Do you...know how we met?" Moe looked serious.

Maggie shrugged, she only knew half of the story, that he saved her from the sky.

"I was...in a very low place in my life. Lonely and desperate," he closed his eyes, "so I thought...about ending it all on the bridge there. Then...well, you fell right out of the sky...into my hands."

Now it was Maggie's turn to tear up. She leaned over so she could hug Moe carefully. He returned the hug and although it was a sweet hug, she could only feel all the bones in his body shifting around. Sharp. Hard.

"Anyway," Moe looked to the window, "The nurse has had me...in a damn wheelchair since yesterday. I hate those things. It just ain't for me, you know?"

Maggie nodded.

"I'd love to show 'em I can still live like I...used to. But I just can't," Moe was now inspecting the I.V. needle inserted into his wrist, "I have to be here...I don't know how long. Hopefully not too long."

Maggie gave him a pitying look. Again he was right, there were times where Moe became too weak to even walk, so he had to be in a wheelchair, or when there was none, by Homer. He never really liked that and tried to keep his old tough-guy persona, but it just didn't work.

"Damn," Moe wheezed in pain, "My stomach's killing me...It has been since a month ago...I hate it, too. And I hate...the God-awful medicine here...some of them, I need needles...poking inside of me," he clenched his stomach and was turning even paler, "A fourth might be coming. Maggie...the bucket?"

Moe didn't even have to say "please" in order for Maggie to rush back in with a bucket that Moe could vomit into. She looked away, but could still hear him retching. Moe finished with a hacking-coughing sound and sighed deeply, settling the bucket on the table beside him so the nurses could dispose of it.

"S-sorry about that, Mags..."

Maggie shook her head and smiled, she understood. The breath, though, was a different story.

Moe's face turned serious again, wiping off the bile from his mouth, "The oncologist-my important doctor-had a talk with me yesterday..." He looked up at the ceiling, away from Maggie, "I know...it's difficult."

She already understood what he meant, he didn't need to say anything further. Maggie silently watched him for a couple of minutes, allowing him to take a rest. She realized his breathing got worse after the vomiting.

"Thank you, Mags...The-the nurse will take care of...everything else. I h-have to get prepped for...for the thing, you know," Moe sighed, "I need to have...surgery and...the other medicine..."

Maggie understood it wouldn't be easy, but she believed he could pull through it. She looked up at the clock, how much time had passed? How long had she been with Moe for? She likely had to go home, but didn't want to leave Moe behind. Even if he was to be taken care of by nurses and doctors, he wasn't going to be with her.

"I don't want ya to leave, either," said Moe, as if he read her mind, "but I feel enough time...has passed. Thanks much for coming," he smiled weakly.

Maggie nodded again, and stood up. She curtseyed to say "thank you", but hesitated to leave as she looked back at Moe in his bed. He looked so fatigued and ill. she knew he'd have nurses with him, but nurses were strangers at worst and acquaintances at best. She gave Moe one last, gentle hug. Moe could feel her warmth, but to Maggie, Moe felt cold and bony.

A nurse-female this time-quietly opened the door with a crash cart. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see the young woman hugging her patient, and waited until they were finished. She waved goodbye and thanked her for coming, while Moe continued to watch her leave, hardly paying attention to the nurse.

Meanwhile, Maggie kept the door slightly ajar, watching Moe and the nurse converse through the tiny slit.

"How have you been, Moe?"

"So-and-so. I...threw up again. But at least...I got to see Maggie."

"You two seem close."

"That...is mighty true."

"Ah, we have to get you prepared for surgery and such. It won't be too long."

"Ah, geez. That's okay...at least you're cute."

Maggie smiled, finally closing the door. Moe really hadn't changed after all; a majority of the change was physical.

She just hoped he could get better.