Waylon, a familiar voice muttered, cutting through the slumbering for. "Waylon!"

A hand was on Smithers' shoulder.

"Eh!" Smithers started and flailed for a moment, trying to make sense of the world. Burns' face, blurry albeit recognizable to Smithers even without his glasses, dominated his view.

It's disconcerting to wake up in a strange place. Even moreso to wake up in a strange position. Anyone who has ever passed out unknowingly, and come to lying on the floor knows that one. The shock and confusion that comes when the brain tries to make sense from the plane of gravity no longer being where one last remembered it. Smithers' mind reeled frantically, as he realized he was no longer sitting in the Martin. He was flat on his back, feet elevated, and Burns' aquiline visage in his face.

Burns grabbed Smithers' hand and squeezed tightly. He looked up to an unknown figure. "Ah, there! See, I told you I felt some flex in his fingers yet, did I not."

"Well indeed you did, Mister Burns, though I never would've believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Hehehe."

Smithers tried to move, but Burns pushed him back down. Ordinarily, it would be no contest of strength between them, but either Burns was stronger, or he was weaker. It was all very confusing. He gave up struggling and relaxed.

"Monty," he asked slowly, "where am I?"

"Springfield General Hospital; the Homer Simpson Ward… whoever he is," Burns added, looking away.

"Where's the Aston Martin?"

Burns narrowed his blue eyes sharply, and his face darkened. "They're still finding the pieces of it."

"Come again?"

Burns glowered at Smithers. "You wrapped it around a telephone pole barely a half mile away from the Carter-Nixon tunnel, just past the sunflower fields."

"I did what!?"

"You heard me."

"No, that's not possible. I took it out, I went into the badlands. I spent the night in this town called Dry Feather, than I came back. That's it."

Burns snorted in disgust. "Your recollection is sadly inaccurate. You must've been going too fast, lost control. You struck a telephone pole side on. Essentially, you vaporized my car." Burns made an exploding gesture with his hands. "How you managed to survive at all, let alone with nothing more than a few scrapes and a concussion amazes me. It should be pieces of you they're still sorting out from the wreckage. You've been unconscious for a week."

Smithers took a moment to digest that. He reached up, touching the bandages wrapped around his head. A week, he'd been asleep that long? It seemed like mere hours. He didn't remember the accident at all. He and Hercules had been heading west…

"Hercules!" Smithers shouted, suddenly awake. "What about Hercules!?"

Burns folded his thin arms across his chest and tried to look emotionally detached. "Remarkably, the little beastie fared as good, if not better than you. He's out bouncing around the kennel as we speak, probably wondering (once again) where his inconsiderate master has gotten off to this time."

Smithers lowered his chin.

"I'm sorry about the car, Monty. Truly. I'll pay you back."

Burns made a dismissive gesture. "Bah, forget the automobile, Waylon. I've already got another one on order from Europe. It's inconsequential, it can be replaced." Burns' face drew in, and he sighed heavily. He sat down on the bed next to Smithers, and put a hand on the younger man's chest. "It's you that can't be replaced, you know," he muttered, not able to meet Smithers' eyes. "I can have all the things in the world, but I can't buy another you. Money's a remarkable tool, my dear, but even it has its limits."

Smithers reached weakly out, and laid a hand on Burns' thigh.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. Smithers wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for. The car, leaving… their fight. He didn't even know. Smithers shifted his weight slightly, pulling Burns closer with what little strength he had. "I probably over reacted-"

("-You didn't.")

"-I wanted to grow old with you." Smithers looked up at Burns.

"And so you shall." The older man still looked away.

"No," Smithers looked away. "I mean I wanted us to grow old together. I'm going to grow old, and with… what you're doing… you'll just stay the same."

Burns shook his head. "That's not true, I'll age… a little."

"And what about me, Monty? Are you just going to stand idly by as my mind and body falter, watching as a I lose a little bit more of myself each year? Are you going to promise to stand beside me? Or will you just step back and say 'I'm sorry Waylon, that's too bad.' Will you take care of me in my final hours? Or will you just pawn my care off on some faceless doctors and set out in search of some new young thing that catches your fancy? These are the questions I have to ask, Monty. These are the things that weigh on my mind."

Burns covered his face with his hand, and turned even further from Smithers' imploring eyes. "Waylon," he whispered softly, "please don't ask this of me."

"I'm not asking you to do anything for me. I'm asking to find out what you're going to do when I… you know."

Burns hunched over and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I've already come too close to losing you. This incident makes twice now." He looked over his shoulder, meeting Smithers' eyes. "I don't think I could manage to lose you again, for real. The fact that you are here now is a second chance I don't believe I truly deserve."

Burns turned, and took Smithers' hands in his. Smithers was struck by how cold Burns' hands felt. Smithers longed to take them to his chest and warm them.

The older man, however, was still stronger right now. Burns pinned Smithers hands to his heart, and lowered his head. "Your life has been spared, by forces beyond my own power, I fear. I've given this much thought these past long days." He gave a wry smile. "What good is life if it's not spent with the living? I've avoided that far too long." He held up a hand. "Now, before you get ideas that I am going to stop taking those injections, let me clarify: For as long as you shall live, I will abstain. I shall stay here for you; and yes, I shall grow old with you. If I shall die before you, that is a fate I've decided to accept. And if I shall outlive you by Nature's will, I cannot promise then I won't seek to prolong my own life once again."

Burns leaned forward, touching his forehead to Smithers'. "I'd give up eternity if it meant spending one more day with you. I don't want you to die; but I can't have you leave. Tell me, dear Waylon, if I were to ask you to spend your life with me, forever and a day, if that what it takes, would you take my hand; would you say yes?"

Smithers closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Burns'. "Are you asking me to marry you, Monty?"

Burns chuckled softly. "Inelegant as always, aren't you. But I suppose, yes, you could say it that way."

Smithers smiled, unable to open his eyes lest the tears start. He reached up, and clasped the back of Burns' neck with a weak hand. "For you, Monty, the answer's always been yes."

He tilted his face up, lips meeting Burns.' Their embrace was soft, sweet, and everything either man ever hoped it could be.