THEN

Smithers arrived at the manor earlier than usual. The sky was lightening quickly, but the sun hadn't risen quite yet. He entered the code at the gate, drove up the curving drive, and parked at the front door. When he'd started working for Burns, he used to feel self-conscious leaving his car to be put away by the staff. Now he didn't even think about it. He grabbed his satchel, and trotted quickly up the front steps.

Johan, silent as ever, was waiting at the door. He held out a hand for Smithers' car keys. Without even thinking about it, Smithers dropped his keys into Johan's palm, and headed down to the laboratory.

Smithers' mind was especially preoccupied as of late. His somewhat tense conversation with Roberta a few days ago, and the knowledge that sooner or later they'd actually have to pick a wedding date weighed on his mind; in addition to the latest preparations for the groundbreaking.

The laboratory at Burns Manor was an elaborate affair, with an airlock-style entry, and a security keypad. Smithers punched in his personal code, the same one that opened the gates to the estate, and ducked in.

He tossed his satchel carelessly onto a bench, and grabbed his lab coat off a hook by the door. As he was shrugging it on, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Well, good morning, dear chap. I see you're ahead of daybreak."

Smithers turned, and saw C. Montgomery Burns strolling leisurely out of the biotech wing. Burns was wearing a white, button up shirt, and a pair of casual slacks. He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

"I hope you don't mind, Monty. Down here I feel I can get some peace."

"A troubled mind and wakeful nights?" Burns tilted his head inquiringly.

"I've got a lot on my mind lately."

Burns gave a toss of his hand. "My dear Smithers, I know the feeling! Sleep, such as it is, never does come easily to the talented virtuoso. No, our minds are much too busy to be bogged down with such a trifling as sleep." Burns tented his fingers. "It is one of my dreams to finally transcend the need for such paltry concerns. Ah, if I could only attain such an unfettered state it would be… oh, what was your word?... Excellent." He grinned toothily tapping his fingertips together.

Smithers buttoned his lab coat. "It would be excellent, yes."

"Why, imagine what mankind could accomplish without sleep, or with immortality!"

This was all a bit erudite for Smithers this early in the morning. He saw, fortunately at least, Burns had left the coffee pot on. He poured himself a cup of the scalding, bitter brew. He blew on the surface to cool it, then set the mug on his workbench.

"A nice pipedream, Monty," he agreed.

Burns paused his finger-drumming. "'Pipe' dream? Oh no, my dear lad, toss such dismissive thoughts down the tube. I want to show you something. Come along. Usually I try to have everything done before you get down here, but," Burns chuckled, "the early bird gets the worm, eh?"

Burns escorted him into the biotechnology wing of the lab, then paused at sealed door. "My private lab," Burns explained. He entered a code into the keypad, then put his palm on a scanner. As a final measure, he leaned close to a camera, and a red light scanned his eye. "Retina scanning," he explained, proudly. He gestured grandly as the door hissed open. "Waylon, my dear, welcome to my private sanctum!"

The room was smaller than Smithers had expected, but it was still substantial. Along one wall, several bays of various plants sat under grow lights. There were seedlings, and vines sitting quietly in trays of blueish fluid. Smithers reached towards a curious looking green pod.

"Oh, don't get too close to that one," Burns warned. "It got a taste of my blood the other day, and has been a right pill ever since."

As if on cue, the pod opened and snapped at Smithers' finger.

He backed up hastily and almost bumped into a cage full of some small parrot-like birds. They flapped wildly at his presence. Their heads were curiously shaped, almost resembling hawkish human faces. "Burnsgerigar," Burns explained. "I rather like the idea of raptors with my countenance, but felt it best to start small, and see how it went."

"I see…" Smithers said, not sure what else to say. The burnsgerigar squawked and chirped, watching him with their unsettling, human-like eyes.

By the far wall was a reclining operating chair beneath a surgeon's lamps. Several racks were mounted above to hang equipment or intravenous fluid bags. A clear refrigeration rack, various vials of all sorts and colors stacked neatly inside.
"Usually I'm done with this by now," Burns remarked, turning his back to Smithers and pulling a syringe out of a sterile packet. He stuck the needle into a colored vial, draw out some purple fluid, then injected it into an IV bag hanging above the chair.

Smithers watched wordlessly.

Burns saw down in the chair, and tightened a tourniquet around his left arm. He ignored Smithers as he took a betadine swab, wiped his arm, then deftly inserted an IV needle into his vein. He opened the line, and the purple liquid began to drip into his body. He reclined in the chair, and rolled his head towards Smithers.

"Better life through chemistry, eh?"

"Monty! What are you-" Smithers started.

"-Don't be a nervous nelly," Burns scolded. "I've been doing this for years. Just a little elixir I concocted to preserve the vitality of youth and stave off the ravages of aging."

Smithers was flabbergasted. "YOU invented a youth serum!?" he practically yelled.

Burns winced. "For god's sake, bring your voice down, man! Do you know how sound echoes in here! I don't need you bellowing like some wounded animal and deafening me. Indoor voice, Smithers!"

Smithers put up his hands. "Sorry, Monty; it's just… does this actually work?"

"Absolutely!"

"Good lord! Do you know how much people would pay to get their hands on this?"

Burns looked at a clock on the wall. "I have an idea."

Smithers tried to contain his excitement. "But Monty, you could be rich!"

"I already am," Burns replied nonchalantly.

"You would be a great philanthropist!"

Burns made a dismissive gesture. "Not interested."

"You could be, I don't know, something great! The sort of person who people look up to! A hero folks would want to be like!"

Burns gave Smithers a very patronizing stare. "Waylon, I've said this before. I don't give a fig about other people, and what they think of me. If I ever were to care about anyone (and I don't, mind you), it wouldn't be someone I'd view as the common man." Burns glanced at the clock again, turned off the fluid line, and with a quick flick, removed the needle from his arm. He placed a finger over the puncture, to stop any bleeding. "As for hero? No. I far prefer the role of a villain. When you're the hero, people start expecting you to behave a certain way. When you're the villain, you can do whatever you want."

Burns gave Smithers a predatory grin. "So, want a taste?"

"Excuse me?"

Burns gestured to the IV bag. "Want to know what it's like to live, if not forever, than for a lot longer than you ever imagined?"

Smithers paused, and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "How much longer are we talking about?"

Burns swung his thin legs off the foot-rest of the chair and sat up. "What year do you think I was born in?"

Smithers held up his hands. "Monty. I don't want to make that guess."

"You don't get to make that decision." Burns bared his teeth. "That was not a request."

"I do get to make that decision, Mister Burns," Smithers replied, folding his arms across his chest. "And I'm deciding not to answer that question."

Growling, Burns leapt up and stormed over to Smithers. "You will do as I say, or else!" He was toe to toe with the shorter man, chest heaving with emotion, eyes furious.

"Or else what?," Smithers replied, narrowing his eyes and not giving an inch. "I'd say you're my age, maybe a few years older, but nothing more beyond that."

("Try twice your age," Burns muttered to himself.)

"What was that, Monty?"

"I was born in 1881. Do you hardly think I'd be the picture of vivacious youth if this little elixir didn't work? Why, I'd be a senile old man!" He leaned in, conspiratorially. "So, Waylon, my fellow, what do you say? Just a little drop, for prosperity?"

Smithers rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully.

"Honestly, Monty, I think I'm going to have to pass on that for now. Maybe next time though."

Burns shrugged. Any trace of rage that he'd shown seconds ago had melted away, replaced by a cordial cheerfulness. "Well, suit yourself, Smithers. But don't worry that I'd let it go to waste. I've started giving Crippler a bit of the old juice, hehe."