A/N: So, this is a request from somebody who wanted a Moe/Smithers fic. As a budding author, I must confess that the idea of this pairing is actually really interesting. Because if you think about it, it's kinda funny how one might simply stop pining over somebody of their desire and walk down the true path of destiny with another person waiting at the end. Thus, the title of this is most appropriate. By the way, I appreciate the request. I love it when people think and express their opinions: it helps me to think more analytically as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Simpsons. Matt Groening and FOX, however, do.

(Third-Person P.O.V.)

Our story begins in a below-average town named Springfield in an even more critically unstable power plant called the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. And in that power plant, among many other employees, was a young and cheerful man named Waylon Smithers. Everybody called him "Smithers" and he was an executive, as well as the personal assistant of the man who ran the plant.

Mr. Charles Montgomery Burns was a grumpy, curmudgeonly old man. That much was true. It was amazing what lengths Smithers would go to assist him, from lying to the Congress to something as simple as peeling a grape. And yet, it was never quite enough. For he was never quite satisfied.

"Smithers! Get your lazy, good-for-nothing butt in here!" Mr. Burns barked.

"Yes, sir!" Smithers replied, running into the older man's office as quickly as he could. Once the younger man reached Burns's office, he asked, "What are my duties for today, sir?"

"Congress is on my tails again! Get yourself ready for your usual acts of perjury!" Mr. Burns commanded.

"Yes, sir!" Smithers echoed, touching his hand to his forehead shortly before getting into a car and driving to Washington D.C. to lie for, what, the eighty-third time that month? He sighed and glued his eyes to the road, holding the wheel with both hands as every sensible driver should.

Meanwhile, Mr. Burns was at his manor, head in hands. Bobo was sitting on his desk faithfully, like a stuffed guardian angel of some sort.

"Good gravy! He's looking more like his father everyday! I don't think I can handle the pain anymore! The only thing I can do is to...let him go. Replace him with a nice woman. Yeah, that's a brilliant idea! Am I right, Bobo?" He looked at the bear expectantly, but all he got in return was a cold, black stare. As if the bear had just argued against his so-called logic, Mr. Burns's jaw dropped open and he put a hand on his chest in utter disgust.

"Wha?! B- Of course I am! Screw you!" he shouted, hurling the bear across the room by its leg. Mr. Burns stuck his nose high in the air in triumph: that would teach the little baloney-head for trying to downplay his ego. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the bear was lying on the ground...motionless...probably dying – wait, WHAT?!

"Oh, no!" Burns cried out, running over to where Bobo was. He shook the bear by the shoulders. "Bobo, are you alright?! Please! Speak to meeeeee!" he yelled, before bursting into tears and sobbing over the teddy bear's body. Just as suddenly, he looked up. "Bobo?" he choked. The bear looked back at him lifelessly and he gasped out of happiness. "Bobo, you've come back!" he shouted gleefully. With that, he picked up the teddy bear and danced jovially around the room with it.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but deep inside, he missed the old Waylon Smithers. The two men had fought in World War I together, been through the Great Depression together, done everything together. There was not a day that went by without Mr. Burns eventually thinking about Smithers Sr. He missed his smile, his devotion, his seriousness, his funny little mustache...everything. He lost his best friend at least forty years ago and it still hurt like hell. With Smithers Jr. looking like a long-lost twin, it was too much for him to handle. And so, he made the decision that the young man had to go.

Smithers returned the next day, having lied to the Congress successfully again. He was seriously starting to think they ought to get their brains scanned. Of course, Burns called him to his office once again. Smithers arrived to see a woman with long blonde hair, glasses, and a skin-tight lab outfit standing next to Mr. Burns's chair. He raised a very perplexed eyebrow.

"Um, sir? Not to be rude or anything, but who is this?" he asked.

"Heh heh, why, you planning to steal her for yourself?" Burns replied, chuckling nervously.

"That's very funny, sir," Smithers said, a deadpan expression on his face that read, "What, are you mocking me, or something?" Once Burns cut the bullcrap, he sighed and said,

"Well actually, Smithers, it seems that the employee performance rate has been decreasing dramatically. I also noticed that the power plant in Shelbyville has an increased profit by 25%, we are losing money by spending it on safety hazards..." He listed all the things that Smithers was hoping to keep hidden from him. At each mention of money problems, Smithers's head sank lower and lower.

"I didn't want to tell you, sir...your hands are always so tied, I didn't want you to worry," he whispered almost inaudibly. It took Mr. Burns all he had not to burst out crying when he said his next few sentences.

"Your father was the same way, you know...often thinking of my feelings first before his...anyways! We can't have sentiment getting in the way of what's most important – money! And so, uh, you're fired." It was very curt, as he did not want to go into a whole spiel about how his feelings were growing so complicated.

"What? But sir - !" Smithers cried retaliatingly. After all, his job wasn't just about Mr. Burns: it was also about earning money, getting respect, and doing something besides watching Comedy Central, for God's sakes!

"No 'buts' about it! Now scamper out of my office before I release the hounds!" Mr. Burns commanded. That was one order Smithers never thought he would have to follow.

"Yes, sir," he sighed sadly, every bit of energy he had drained out of him. He snorted at the new lady, whose name was Sarah, under his breath. Trying desperately to pretend he didn't just fire a mini Smithers Sr, Mr. Burns decided to show Sarah around the plant even if she'd already seen it. Now that his old assistant was out of the picture, things would (hopefully) be normal again.

Smtihers got into his car and checked to see if he was alone. Once he found out he was, he turned up Eric Carmen on the radio and screamed the ballad, tears flowing from his face.

"Aaaall byyyy myyyyseeeelf!

Don't wanna be aaaall byyyyy myyyyseeeelf!

Don't wanna be by myself any mooooooore!"

"Shut up!" a random employee shouted from the power plant. Smithers angrily made a rude finger gesture at him and shouted,

"Hey, do you mind?! I'm trying to wallow up in despair, here!"

"Oh! Sorry, dude! Carry on!" the man replied. Smithers shook his head. What an idiot, he thought. Then, he remembered that he was supposed to be in a sad, depressed mood so he went back to that mode. With a shaking hand, he wrote down a list of all the things to do this week. Then, he reviewed the plan.

"Let's see, here:

1.) Watch Brokeback Mountain and cry over a tubload of ice cream.

2.) Watch The Notebook and fricking bawl my eyes out.

3.) Have a series of temper tantrums, probably destroying the house in the process.

4.) Sit in the corner, suck my thumb, and shout 'WHY?!' at given moments.

5.) Shout/sing a number of sad songs, including 'Don't Wanna Miss A Thing', by Aerosmith.

6.) Bitch about women to some guy I'll probably prank-call when I'm wasted.

7.) Most importantly, go to a bar tonight and get as drunk as a monkey."

Once he was satisfied with the list, he began driving to the nearest bar in Springfield: one that was built for exclusively gay people, like himself.