Criticality

Chapter Two

"Smithers? I'm home," he called as he entered his mansion, somehow hoping that Smithers could hear him from his sequestered room of recovery. He walked inside Smithers' room, where a young woman with wavy auburn hair and ample breasts dabbed his face with the wet sponge. "I'll take over from here," he said, snatching the sponge out of her hand. Once she had left the room, he dragged it slowly across Smithers' cheek. "That is one tasty nurse you have," he said. "I'm almost jealous of you."

"She's nowhere near as sweet as you, sir."

Burns scoffed. "You can quit the flummery. Do you actually think I'll pay you more money just because you tell me sweet lies?"

"It's not lies. And I don't want more money..." He closed his eyes as beads of water dripped down his forehead and over his eyelids. He yelled out in pain and writhed under the covers. "All I want is...is..." He leaned over the side of the bed and vomited into the bucket. Mr. Burns stroked him behind his ear. "Thank you..." Smithers said in a hoarse whisper.

"No, Waylon. Thank you." Smithers smiled briefly before another wave of pain shook him, and Burns rubbed the sponge down Smithers' chest.

"Mr. Burns?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this for me? I mean, care for me in your mansion. Why not just send me to the hospital?"

"I have a vested interest in your health, and I can't trust a gaggle of quacks to manage your health properly. The sooner you're back on your feet, the better it is for my bottom line."

"I thought you might say that. I hope I recover quickly so I can get back to work soon."

"Don't worry about work yet. Just be glad you're alive." Mr. Burns smiled as he moved the sponge around Smithers' neck, then murmured, "Heaven knows I am."

A few days later, while sitting at his desk, Mr. Burns picked up the phone. "Dr. Hibbert? … What about him? … He what? … How could you let this happen to him? I swear I'll sue you so fast your head will spin like a top! Like a top, I say! … Yes, I understand. I'll be right there." He set down the phone, then ran for his limousine and sped all the way home.

He ran to Smithers' room, where Dr. Hibbert stood outside the door in the hallway. "Mr. Burns, I need to prepare you for what you're about to see."

"Egad, man! Are you trying to tell me he's dead?"

Dr. Hibbert chuckled. "Oh, my, no. But he may well be in a few days."

He poked Dr. Hibbert in the center of his chest and said in a sinister snarl, "You promised me he would live."

"Mr. Burns, I distinctly told you there was a high probability he would die."

"Let me see him."

"Okay, but first –"

"Now!"

Dr. Hibbert sighed and stepped aside. Mr. Burns burst through the door and rushed to Smithers' side. His head now devoid of hair, he was even more pale than before, his eyes slackened, looking lifeless. "Oh, no..." He touched Smithers' cheek. "Well, it worked once before..." He drew his lips near, pressed them against Smithers', and pushed air into his mouth.

The world spun around him, then he felt as if he were falling backward into an infinite well. "Mr. Burns?" called Dr. Hibbert, sounding far away. "Mr. Burns, can you hear me?"

Burns' eyes fluttered open. "Smithers?"

"No, Mr. Burns, this is Dr. Hibbert. You passed out on the floor."

Burns looked to his sides. "Ah, yes. So I did." He gradually got up with Dr. Hibbert steadying him. He turned to face Smithers. "I failed to quicken him with my curdled breath... It's all my fault."

"Breathing into him isn't going to help. In fact, given the potential for infection, it could only hurt." He chuckled.

Burns turned to Smithers' pale, still body. "Has he... is he...?"

"No, but I'm afraid he hasn't got much time left."

"Why is he... still... like that?"

"He is severely hypotensive and repeatedly losing consciousness." Smithers' whole body erupted in rhythmic contractions of muscles as he convulsed.

Burns' eyes widened. "What's going on? Why don't you stop him?"

"He's having a seizure. Well, not technically a seizure. It's from his low blood pressure. Unless it lasts too long, it's best to just let him ride it out."

His movements subsided save for some minor twitching of his hands and legs, and Burns touched his twitching hand. "Smithers..." He squeezed as tightly as he could. "I'm not going to lose you, too."

Smithers' eyes opened slowly, the world spinning before him. "M-Mr. Burns...?"

"Yes, Smithers. I'm here."

"I just had the most wonderful dream...I dreamt you were kissing me."

"Yes, a – a dream."

"And I thought – I knew I didn't have much time left to tell you –" He curled his fingers weakly around Burns'. "I'm going to die soon, aren't I?"

Burns shut his eyes and nodded slowly.

"That's okay. You didn't need to hide the truth from me. I'm glad it's me, not you. Because the truth is – Monty, I love..." He lost consciousness again from the exertion of speaking.

Mr. Burns leaned over him and kissed Smithers' lips. "Pleasant dreams, Waylon. Dream only pleasant dreams."