Chapter One
Mr. Burns' head drooped, eyelids dropping as he succumbed to the urge for sleep. After a second of them being closed, his head jerked up, eyes opening wide as he gasped. Smithers set a mug of coffee on the desk in front of him, and he took a long, slow sip. "You know, Smithers," he said, setting the coffee back on the desk and swiveling his chair to face him, "I could really go for a little excitement."
"I'll get the nutmeg."
"Not exciting enough."
What did you have in mind?"
"I don't know, something to make me gay."
"Like firing someone?"
Burns' eyes narrowed in devious glee. "Exactly."
"Who would you like to fire today, sir? There are lots of loafers to pick from today if the security monitors are any indication," he said, gesturing to the monitors, where workers could be seen drinking, having a cockfight, and sleeping.
"Hm..." His eyes scanned the monitors. "Let's pay all the loafers a visit, put the fear of Burns into them, and I'll decide then who is most deserving of my wrath."
"Great idea, sir."
They walked throughout the plant, never missing an opportunity to make the employees jump and get back to work, beads of sweat trailing the sides of their faces. On their way back to his office, Burns said, "Intimidating the dithering drones was such a lark! There are so many prime candidates for dismissal, it's hard to choose."
"May I suggest Homer Simpson? He's the least useful person on payroll, and by all accounts is more a liability than an asset."
"No, he may come in handy. You never know when you'll need someone to throw to the wolves. Or reactor core, as the case may be."
"Okay, then, how about that guy stroking the rifle?"
"Hm... We'll put him in the 'maybe' pile." His eyes darted to a screen far off to the side. "What in the devil is that man doing?" He pointed to one of the monitors displaying Lenny in the cafeteria.
Smithers approached the monitor and leaned in for a closer look. "It appears he's taking mustard packets from the cafeteria."
"Steal my mustard, will he? This egregious offense will not go without retaliation."
"But sir, the mustard packets are there for employees to use with their lunches."
"Don't be ridiculous; what man needs that much mustard on his sandwich?"
"I don't know. Maybe he really likes mustard."
"Tell you what – if he takes one more packet of mustard, we fire him." Lenny began to walk away from the condiments table, and Smithers gave him a "what were you worried about?" look. Then, after walking out of frame, Lenny went back and stuffed three more mustard packets into his hand. Burns tented his fingers and said, "Let's go."
Smithers closed his eyes for a moment and smiled, relishing that gleeful evil look of his, his delightfully malevolent laughter. Mr. Burns did so enjoy firing people that Smithers couldn't help but take some pleasure in it, even if he thought there were more deserving employees. He followed Burns to the cafeteria to confront Lenny.
Lenny dropped a pile of mustard packets on the table where Carl and Homer were sitting. "Here you go, Homer. But that's the last time I'm getting you more mustard packets. You know what they say happened to that guy who took too many ketchup packets here."
Homer said, "Pfft, that was ketchup. You're living in the past, Lenny."
"Lenny!" said Smithers, brusque. "How many mustard packets did you take?"
"Ah, uh..." He looked down at the tabletop and counted. "T-twenty-three, but –"
Burns said, "And you thought you would get away with it?"
"But t-they're not for me! I got them for Homer."
"Spare me your excuses, and get packing! You're fired!"
"But –"
"Smithers, I think the hounds haven't had enough exercise today. What do you think?"
"It has been a while since they've tasted human flesh."
"All right, all right, I'm leaving!" said Lenny, rushing out the cafeteria, other co-workers looking on in trepidation.
Burns looked around at his gawking employees. "And the rest of you, get back to work!"
All except Homer rushed out and got back to their stations, lunches left in progress at the tables. "Thanks for the mustard, Lenny!" said Homer, still seated and preparing to sample the remaining lunches as Burns and Smithers left the cafeteria.
"Ah, that's what's been missing from my life, Smithers! A good old-fashioned firing!"
"Your enthusiastic firings put Donald Trump to shame."
"Indeed, he's a mere amateur compared to me. He wouldn't be fit to fire my chef."
"I'd hope not; I'm the one who prepares most of your meals, after all. Speaking of which, what would you like for lunch today, sir?"
"Let's go out to eat. I'm in the mood for Luigi's."
"When would you like to take your lunch?"
"Let's leave now."
"I'll get the car warmed up."
They pulled in front of Luigi's a few minutes later, and Smithers got out to open Burns' door and guide him out, watching out for oncoming traffic. They chose a table inside and seated themselves, Luigi bringing them wine as they ordered. When Luigi left for the kitchen and shouted their orders to the kitchen staff, Burns took a slow sip of his Merlot, his eyes half-lidded until they caught Smithers' warm and inviting smile. For a moment, he had felt utterly alone, only to look up and see the proof he was not. "You enjoy my company, don't you?"
Smithers widened his smile, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Like no one else's."
The corner of Burns' mouth tilted upward in a hint of a smile. He reached out and patted Smithers' forearm a couple of times, saying, "I enjoy yours, as well," then withdrawing his arm to take another sip of wine.
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that." They ate lunch, gossiping about their employees and discussing the cultural events they looked forward to attending.
As they walked out of the restaurant and approached the limousine, Smithers took Burns by the elbow to guide him. "I don't need you to lead me around like a crossing-guard with a child," he said, wrestling his arm out of Smithers' hand.
"I know, sir, but this street gets rather busy this time of day," he said, looking down as he approached the driver's seat from the other side, "and I couldn't stand to see you get hit by a – CAR!"
"No need to shout; my hearing is still –" Before he could finish, Smithers was tackling him from the street side, pushing him out of the way of an oncoming car. Burns lifted his head from the asphalt and noted Smithers wasn't on top of him, and he couldn't actually see where Smithers was. "Smithers?" He strained to push himself up and looked around. "Smithers! Smithers, where are you?" He finally spotted him on the sidewalk of the other side of the street near the corner. The first car to have struck him had been turning right, and Smithers had bounced off the hood of the car only to get struck by a car coming from the street the first one had turned onto, and his head had struck a lamppost. "Smithers..." He ran across the street and rubbed the inside of Smithers' wrist. "Smithers, speak to me."
Smithers groaned softly, eyes shut, his body limp.
"Smithers, look at me." He turned Smithers' chin to face him.
His eyes fluttered open. "W-what happened?"
"You were struck by a car."
"Oh." He sat up. "It couldn't have been too bad."
The creases of worry in Burns' forehead faded. "No, dear friend, it appears it wasn't."
"Just one question, sir."
"Yes?"
"Who are you?"
"Good heavens! You don't recognize me?"
"No."
Burns took out his cell phone and called 911. "Operator, this is Charles Montgomery Burns speaking. Smithers has just been struck by a car, and he doesn't recognize me. Send help right away!" He cupped Smithers' cheek in the palm of his hand and said, "You'll be okay, Waylon. Everything is going to be okay." Smithers fell unconscious, and Burns pressed his cheek against Smithers' other cheek, his eyes squeezing shut and shedding a tear on Smithers' face. "You have to pull through, Smithers. What would I do without you?" He thought about his recently renewed taste for independence, but then he realized he wasn't worried about being unable to carry on the tasks of living. He was worried about having to do it alone.
