A/N: In this chapter, as you may have guessed, Moe and Smithers meet. That is all. Happy reading!

(Third-Person P.O.V.)

Smithers arrived at the gay bar, but all the welcoming committee had to do was look him up and down before deciding,

"Ew, no way! We want beef cakes, not scrawny mercenaries!" They kicked him out before he even got to the door. From there, Smithers looked all over for a decent gay bar of any kind, but either they didn't accept him for his looks, or there were creepy predatory gays that stalked every guy they could find. Finally, there seemed to be zero bars left in all of Springfield.

At the same time, Moe was at his tavern, serving everybody beers. The only people who came back to Moe's place that night were his regular customers. This included Homer, Barney, Lenny and Carl, Sam, and Larry. He went to the back room where he kept his special brews and barrels full of whiskey, wine, beer, scotch, and pretty much every other alcohol-related drink. This way, nobody would be able to hear him when he screamed,

"SCREW MY LIFE!" He gasped: somebody else had been saying that at the same time as him! ...But who? Moe peeked out the back window, but the dark, pitch-black of the night did not allow for visibility.

"That's funny. I could've sworn there was somebody here," he declared, shrugging. He was about to get back to work, when he saw a moving shadow in a dim alley light. "Who's there?" he demanded sternly. By God, he wouldn't allow homeless people to live behind his tavern if his life depended on it. He couldn't stand free-loaders.

"Huh? Oh! Sorry, mister! I was looking for my car, but eversince Mr. Burns cut the Street Light power, I haven't been able to see a damned thing outside. Do you know where I can, uh...get a drink?" a voice asked, out of the blue. Moe's eyes moved to see a young man in some fancy business suit, with light brown hair that also greyed from stress, hazel-honey eyes, a small button-like nose, and a perfect posture. As far as Moe could tell, the young man looked to be seven years younger than him, yet he was an inch taller.

"Eh...you've come to the right place," he chuckled nervously, before opening the door. The young man looked genuinely surprised, yet pleased. For a moment, Moe felt gratitude from doing such a small, helpful gesture, but before he could let himself get too carried away, he sighed,

"Sometime this year, moron. I don't want the wind blowing flies into my bar." The man slightly jumped in realization and walked through the door clumsily, muttering apologies profusely. Once the door closed, Moe placed a hand on the small of the younger man's back to lead him to the bar area. He jumped again, but relaxed slightly after a second. Once they got there, the man sat on a stool and Moe took his place behind the bar. Moe noticed that the young man had placed an elbow on the countertop and rested his cheek in his hand. As much as he didn't like making conversation with people, he figured it would be a decent thing to do since this guy was a newcomer.

"So, uh...what's a bumblin' flutterbudget like you doin' here?" he teased.

The younger man chuckled and Moe exhaled silently with relief. He wasn't creeping him out: so far, so good.

"Well, actually, I've just had a hard day at work and I need a little something to forget about it," he said. Moe nodded. He was used to listening to problems. But something about this man made him pry for more.

"What happened at work? Did your printer not work, or-" The young man sighed and mumbled,

"No. Nothing like that. It's just...I've liked my old boss for as long as I could remember, but I was replaced by some woman since the sales were dropping. I didn't want to tell my boss, because I didn't want him to worry. See, I hated it whenever he got stressed, because I loved him, but I'm kinda almost over it, now. I just wish I didn't get fired, that's all..." Moe was surprised with what he was hearing. Who the hell did this 'boss' think he was, breaking this man's heart like that?! And wait a second, why did he even care?! This was all so weird! Thankfully, though, he kept his inner thoughts to himself.

"There, there. Mosey's here to make it all better. What's your name, man?" he asked.

"Smithers. That's what everybody calls me," he replied. Moe knowingly raised an eyebrow.

"That's your last name, isn't it?" he said, all-too-wisely. Smithers looked as if he were about to say "No," but instead he moped and muttered,

"Yes." Moe was too clever for those kinds of tricks. He waited impatiently for Smithers to say what his first name was, but he wouldn't budge. So, he motivated him to do so by teasing,

"C'mon, surely a handsome-lookin' fella like you has a nice first name. Now if you don't tell me what it is, I'm gonna have to make one up. Although, I have always wanted to meet a guy named Zebulon."

Smithers giggled and his face reddened at being called handsome, but he hid the fact by laying it on the countertop. When he looked up again, he finally cracked.

"It's Waylon. Waylon Smithers," he explained. Moe nodded in thought.

"Hmm...Waylon. I like it. It sounds like, uh...what's-his-name."

"Wayland Flowers?" Moe gave him a look of astonishment.

"How did you know?"

"I get that a lot. Now," Smithers folded his hands together and placed his chin on top of them whilst resting his elbows on the countertop. "What's your name?"

"I'm Moe. Moe Szyslak. 'Moe' is short for my real name, 'Morris'," Moe replied.

"Cute," Smithers commented, referring to the nickname. Moe couldn't help but flush a little before saying,

"Ah ah ah! Not so fast, buddy-boy! If you wanna be my pal, you gotta take this challenge!" Smithers perked up.

"Oh? I'm all ears," he said.

"You have to take this shot of Everclear. Pure alcohol. All in one take and nothing to drown it down. I dare you," he cackled mischieviously.

"O-ho! We've got ourselves a deal, Mr. Szyslak!" Smithers cackled equally naughtily. He picked up the shot and did what Moe hadn't expected – he drank it down...in one gulp.

"Holy shite!" he exclaimed, drilling his fingers through his hair. "What are you, some kinda legend?!"

"Who, me?" Smithers remarked, laughing, "Naw, I'm just a measly ex-power plant executive!" He winked almost flirtatiously before Moe got themselves a few drinks.

Later that night, Smithers was more drunk than he had ever been his entire life, and it felt amazing. Moe was also drunk, though not quite as much. He was trying to convince Smithers to pretend to yell at his boss for being such a butthole.

"Now, repeat after me: 'Get out of my life, you son of a bitch'!" he said. Smithers laughed and shook his head, not wanting to say it.

"C'mon, do it! You know you wanna!" Moe whined, moving his hands in the air to get his point across. Smithers giggled like a school girl and said bashfully,

"Please stop...bothering me, sir." Moe's turn to shake his head. Then -

"Aw, c'mon, that's bullcrap! If you said that, your boss would think you were a sissy!"

"Hey, I'm not a sissy!" Smithers laughed, pretending to scold Moe.

"Then prove it."

"Huh? B-"

"Now!"

"GET OUT OF MY FRICKING LIFE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Smithers screamed, waving his fists in the air. Everybody jumped and looked in his direction before going back to business as usual. Even Moe was taken aback, having jumped backwards five feet. But then he let out a wheezy laugh and patted the younger man on the back.

"Atta boy, Smithy! How do you feel?" he asked. Smithers looked up and parted his lips as if he'd just had an epiphany.

"Like Madonna. ...Hell, I'm the prettiest unicorn in all of Rainbowland!" he cried giddily. Just as suddenly, he fainted and fell off his bar stool. Moe got up and knelt near where he was immediately.

"Smithy? Smithy~!" he sang gently, but there was no answer. He was knocked out for the night. "Uh oh. ...Hey, Barney! Get the stretcher!