Chapter 14

Hearts Held Hostage

After lunch, on his way back to his office, Smithers came across Homer. "Hey, Waylon! How're things with ol' Monty?"

"Great, actually. And I'd appreciate if you addressed him as 'Mr. Burns.' Even I refer to him that way while at work."

"Oh, gotcha. So, things are good between you and Burnsie?"

"Yes, things are very good between me and Mr. Burns."

"So...you wouldn't be interested in a zany scheme to get him to prove he really loves you?"

"Haven't you had enough zany schemes for a lifetime?"

"Haven't you had enough relationship drama for a Lifetime movie?"

"Thanks, but I already know he loves me. Though..." He looked around to ensure they were alone. "I must confess, I can't bring myself to trust him anymore. He..." Smithers lowered his voice to a whisper, "he cheated on me. With Maureen."

"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that." They stood there awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze for a few seconds. "Well, if you're ever in doubt about his commitment to you, you can always count on me to orchestrate a phony kidnapping."

"That didn't even work when you pulled that stunt to convince him he loved his son."

"Yeah, but he actually loves you."

Smithers' heart fluttered. It wasn't just apparent to him that Burns loved him – it was equally apparent to others. He clasped his hands over one of Homer's and shook it. "I can't thank you enough, Homer, for helping bring us together. I'm living my wildest dreams, and it's partly thanks to you."

"So...you don't want me to kidnap you."

"If he thought you were really kidnapping me, he would shoot you on sight. That is, if his arthritis didn't stiffen his poor trigger finger." He felt a sting of sadness at the thought of Burns' physical infirmity. He was in very good shape for a man his age, but he still suffered a wide spectrum of maladies. Fortunately, they kept a steady supply of ether on hand to soothe him through times of pain. The memories of times he'd eased Burns' pains warmed his heart. Long before he'd ever given him an orgasm, he had been able to make him feel better nonetheless. "I'm sure I'll be able to trust him again someday soon."

"If you want to get him to prove his trustworthiness, the best way is to–"

"No kidnapping."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, I have to go see Mr. Burns." He began walking towards their office. "Have a good day, Homer!"

No sooner had he entered Burns' office that Burns said sharply, "Smithers! What is the meaning of your dilatory ingress?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I was talking to Homer Simpson."

"Ah yes, that oaf who drank motor oil and filled the gas tank with cola."

"You remembered," marveled Smithers.

"Yes, well, I've only known the man for a few months, but one like that is hard to forget."

Smithers didn't have the heart to remind him that he'd known Homer Simpson for just over a decade. "Were you lonely?" He sat in his chair beside Burns and kissed him delicately where his ear lobe met his jaw.

"Smithers...that's not fair."

"What's not fair?" he said, playing ignorant as he moved in for another kiss, concluding the impassioned peck with a slight nibble of the cartilaginous tissue.

"Oh! Smithers..." He grasped Smithers' wrist, his cheeks flushing as a nervous yet playful smile emerged on his face. "I'll never get any work done with you in the office."

"You don't need to get any work done. That's my job. Your only job is to lie back and enjoy."

"I...I'm not up for this...oh, again..."

"Yes, sir," he said, tickling the rest of his ear with his nose and tongue.

"Seriously, though, Smithers, stop these hijinks at once."

Smithers pulled his head slightly back, then kissed Burns' nose before withdrawing to his own chair. "I guess we should get back to work," he said, grabbing a stack of papers from the desktop.

"Yes. But let's resume this later, hm? Shall we say, tonight in the garden?"

"It's a date."

That evening, after they'd finished eating their steak and salad, Burns took Smithers' hand and led him to the garden. They made their way to a bench in front of a pond where the koi swam serenely. "It's a lovely night," said Smithers. "You make it lovelier."

Burns blushed. In the past, he would have dismissed the compliment as the insincere brown-nosing of a man determined to get and stay in his good graces. Now he knew it was the other way around – he wanted to be in Burns' good graces because be truly believed him to be beautiful. He rested his head on Smithers' shoulder, relishing in the feel of Smithers' warm, steady, and slow nasal exhalations brushing his forehead. Smithers brought his arm around him, pulling him closer, and Burns smiled and let out a long and slow, muted squeal. "Mm..."

He brought his hand to Smithers' chest and slid his hand slowly down. He could always count on Smithers to protect him, to comfort him, and to love him. Yes, Smithers was a special man, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally, who loved him more than anything else in the world. Could I truly love him more than anything? More than my desire for women? Yes, of course. More than my reputation? Yes. More than my money? His eyes grew troubled as Smithers, his blissfully closed eyes obliviously unperturbed, nuzzled his nose against Burns'. Could I truly love the man more than my money? It saddened him to realize that if it came down to it, he would rather leave Smithers than lose his fortune. And yet even if I did so, he would persist in loving me...

Stop worrying over such ridiculous hypotheticals! I have Smithers now, and that's all that matters. He placed his hand around the back of Smithers' head and pulled him in for a kiss. They kissed delicately for several minutes, basking in the glow of moonlight reflecting off the placid koi pond and off Smithers' glasses. He grabbed Smithers' lapels, pulling their chests into contact, while Smithers squeezed him around his waist, dipping him backward, tilting him away from the bench's armrest and letting his head hang backwards in midair. He leaned forward and kissed him, their heads tilted slightly upside down.

As they did so, a bottle of pills fell from Burns' pocket onto the grass, where it rolled down the sloped soil and plummeted into the water. Smithers' eyes went wide, and he sat Burns gently upright against the back of the bench and dove in to retrieve the pills. When he surfaced, he had an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, sir..." He opened his hand to reveal the lid had dislodged, and the pills were soaked in filthy pond water. "I'll run to the all-night pharmacy. I'll be back in a jiff." He kissed Burns' cheek and headed toward their limousine.

Burns grabbed his hand. "It can wait."

"But dear, it's your heart medicine. You need to take these each morning and night to keep your heart beating."

"I'll be fine."

"I can't take that risk. If I let anything happen to you, I could never forgive myself." He gave Burns' hand a quick squeeze before leaving. "I'll be back soon. Love you," he said, scurrying off again.

"Smithers!" cried Burns.

Alarmed, Smithers stopped in his tracks and turned around. "Yes, dear?"

Burns stood and walked up to him, taking off his jacket. "Get out of that jacket; it's soaking wet. You'll catch cold."

Smithers smiled and took it off, letting it fall to the ground, and Burns fed Smithers' arms through the sleeves. It was quite tight, but Smithers was far too happy to mind. "Thanks. I'll see you soon, honey." He got into the limousine and drove to the Pop-N-Go All-Night Pharmacy. He went inside, and they swiftly brought out the pills. There was nothing like being a prominent rich man for getting excellent, speedy service at the pharmacy.

He headed back for the limousine, and as he inserted his key into the driver's side door, someone clasped their hand over his mouth, pulling his head back as he tried to yell out. The man grabbed the key out of his hand, opened the rear door, shoved him into the back, and sat beside him as he shut the door.

"I said not to kidnap me!" The barrel of a gun smacked his forehead. "What the hell, Homer?"

"Isn't that cute. The geezer thinks he just has to ask and we'll let him go."

Smithers realized this wasn't one of Homer's zany schemes, but something far more sinister. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints and he grabbed his gun.

"Uh-uh-uh," tutted a large man toting his Smith and Wesson. "I would drop it if I were you." Smithers did as he was told, and a lanky man got behind him and held a piano wire garrote around his neck, not applying pressure but clearly poised to do so. Another man sat in the backseat with him, and the large man, which he could now see was Fat Tony, got behind the wheel. He looked back through the compartment window. "Let's roll."

"W-where are you taking me?" asked Smithers, his voice shedding terror.

"I am not at liberty to reveal the location of our compound," said Fat Tony. "What I can tell you is you're going for a long ride, pops."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"The same reason you cut corners on disposing of toxic waste – for money."

"How much do you want?"

"A hundred million dollars."

"Done. Now, please, let me go."

"Ooh, that was too easy. Perhaps we should ask him for more."

"Take whatever you want, just please, don't lay a hand on Mr. Burns!"

"Wait a minute... This isn't old man Burns. This is his, how shall we say, 'uphill gardener.'"

Smithers gasped, realizing they had intended to capture his husband and growing terrified that they would now set out to capture him. "Well, tough luck. Monty just flew to Paris this afternoon."

"That is unfortunate, because he will have to fly back soon if he wishes to get here in time to save your life."

"Oh dear God, what are you planning?"

"He must hand us 1.5 billion dollars. In cash."

"But that's his entire fortune! He'll never agree to–"

"He had better. Or..." Legs tightened the garrote around Smithers' neck for a couple seconds before letting it go slack again. Smithers' lips trembled, his heart galloped, and his eyes rolled back as he fainted.

...

Ring ring! Ring ring!

...

Ring ring! Ring ring!

…

Burns heard his cellphone ringing from inside the house and rushed inside. Smithers had been gone for the better part of an hour, and he had grown more worried than he would care to admit. Surely the car just broke down. Or maybe there was an accident blocking the road. Or maybe dear Smithers had gotten in a crash and was now lying sprawled on the asphalt, blood seeping into the cracks...

"Ahoy-hoy!" He tapped his fingers anxiously against the back of the phone as he awaited a response. "Smithers is this you? Why aren't you home yet?"

"This is a friendly demand for ransom. You have twenty-four hours to deliver 1.5 billion dollars in cash, or we will kill your precious Waylon."

"If this is some sort of sick prank, you are not amusing me."

"To prove I'm not joking, why don't you talk to Waylon yourself?"

Fat Tony held the phone near Smithers, who was tied to a chair, his ankles bound together by chains. "Help me! They're Mafia, they're gonna kill me – they aren't bluffing! Monty, you have to save me! I love you, Monty! I want to live to see you again..." Fat Tony pistol whipped him in the back of his head, and he fell unconscious.

"Smithers? Smithers, speak to me! Waylon, please..."

Fat Tony returned the phone to his ear. "Mr. Smithers will not be able to come to the phone anytime soon. He has been rendered unconscious by the barrel of my gun."

"Return him to me at once! Or you shall face a most gruesome fate indeed."

"The money. Give us the money, and we will return him safe and sound." Burns stopped breathing for a few seconds. "Don't try anything funny, Burnsie. Should you defy me, we will slit his throat."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You have twenty-four hours." Click.

He dropped his phone and fell to his knees, his lips trembling. "W-Waylon..." Tears began to flow unfettered. "Oh, Waylon... What can I possibly do to save you?"