Chapter Twenty-Two

Burns looked forlornly to the side of the room where Smithers' bed used to stand. "Who was I kidding? I'm not meant for true love." He closed his eyes, remembering the tender touch of Smithers' hand across his cheek as a tear slid down it. "Still..." He smiled as he thought of Smithers telling him he loved him. "It was such a beautiful illusion."

Smithers threw another sock into his suitcase, angry movements masking his sorrow. "I can't believe I let that old man play me like that," he said to his mother as he slammed the suitcase shut and fell back on Burns' bed. "I can't believe I ever thought he l-loved..." She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he wept.

"I know you loved him, but he's just not the kind of man who can give of himself the way you wanted. Selfless love is in your blood, as it was in your father's, and it makes you a wonderful man, but it opens you up to heartbreak. You could give and give until there was nothing left of you, and he still wouldn't reciprocate. He couldn't."

"You know, the funny thing is that even though we've only been dating for a few months, I feel like this is the end of... of a long marriage."

"You were in love with him for twenty years."

Smithers took the scroll of parchment Burns had written him from the nightstand and unfurled it, his eyes scanning the words. "I can't believe I did something as stupid as letting myself fall in love with him again."

"Don't blame yourself, honey. He even had me fooled, and I never liked him to begin with." Smithers grabbed the handle of his suitcase and dragged it behind him as he rolled himself toward the door. His mother took the suitcase handle from him, saying, "I'll get that," and following him out into the hall. "After I help you get settled back in your apartment, I expect you'll want some time to yourself."

"Yes."

"You can call me anytime."

"Thanks, Mom," he said in a mumble, his lips quavering as part of him still couldn't believe his relationship with Burns had fallen to pieces.

Dr. Hibbert walked into Burns' room and did a double-take when he saw no sign of Smithers left in the room. "You know Waylon is still allowed to be in this room after being discharged, right?"

"He won't be around here anymore. I dismissed him."

"What do you mean, dismissed?"

"I ended our partnership."

"Mr. Burns, I don't understand. In your 9-1-1 call, you called him the love of your life, the person you cherish more than anything, and now you break up with him? That makes about as much sense as vaseline on toast."

"Do you think I wanted him to leave?"

"Breaking up would usually suggest that."

"I only ended it because I love him too much to keep putting him through the pain that being with me was causing him."

"But you don't love him enough to simply... not hurt him?"

Burns' eyes widened at hearing it stated so plainly. "No. I don't." He felt a chill down to his stomach. "I wish I could. I thought I could, but I was clearly thinking wishfully."

"I don't believe that. I would have believed that a few weeks ago, but not now. You were prepared to sacrifice your life for him. You love him enough to put him first. You are capable of treating him well."

"Then why do I keep hurting him?"

"That sounds like a question for your psychiatrist. Do you want me to bring him in?" Burns nodded feebly. "I'll get him," said Dr. Hibbert, leaving the room.

Burns' psychiatrist walked in a few minutes later, shaking his head. "Mr. Burns, you are the most maddening patient I've ever had." He sat down in a chair at his bedside and said incredulously, "You broke up with Waylon?"

"I told him the truth."

"Which truth?"

"That we weren't in a long-term committed relationship before his accident, and I only tricked him into thinking that."

"And he didn't take that well."

"No. He didn't."

"Then why does Dr. Hibbert say you broke up with him?"

"He said he wished he never loved me, and it was too painful to stand. I told him I never loved him."

"That's not the truth though, is it?"

"No. No, it's not." He sniffled back a tear, his chin turned toward his chest, before looking plaintively into his psychiatrist's eyes. "Doc, why do I keep hurting him?"

Dr. Kowalski sighed a sigh of futility. "We've discussed this before. You believe you're unlovable, yet you fear rejection. Rather than risk a partner rejecting you, you sabotage the relationship so you can tell yourself that you were the one who ended it. Nobody rejects you, but nobody can get close to you, either. If you want to have a healthy, loving relationship, you need to recognize that Waylon truly loves you, and that there are worse things in the world than risking rejection. Things like living out the rest of your life in solitude because you've pushed away everyone who ever cared about you."

"I do understand he loves me."

"Then you know he must be hurting, just as you are."

"How do I stop it? I've made a terrible mistake; I know I can afford him the tender treatment he deserves from now on, and I don't want him to hurt for another second because of me."

"There's no easy way to 'stop it.' But tell him how you feel. Apologize sincerely. It won't fix things right away. But it's a start, and at least he'll know you're thinking of him."

"Yes, that's what I must do. Hand me my phone."

Smithers had just said goodbye to his mother and begun to recline on his couch in his apartment when his phone chimed, a notification of a text message. He held the phone in front of his face.

Monty.

I am sorry, Waylon.

Smithers dropped his phone onto the floor beside him, letting it tumble until it landed face down next to his crutches. Notifications continued, and Smithers tore his glasses off his face, flung them to the floor, then turned back to bury his face into his couch cushion. After a few minutes punctuated by notification alerts, he turned around and reached for the phone, then yelled fruitlessly at it, "I don't want to talk to you!" He tossed it back to the floor and fell into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt he was at a cocktail party with Burns. The atmosphere was merry, as they laughed at each other's jokes, enjoyed drinks, and shared amusing anecdotes with the other guests. It felt so vividly real, he was sure it was an actual memory, until Burns took him by the hand, led him to a secluded alcove, and whispered in his ear, "I love you, Waylon." That moment felt like Burns' mind reaching out and touching his in the present. "Please, don't ever forget that I do love you."

Smithers awoke with a start, then heard his phone chime again. He stretched an arm out blindly for his glasses, then placed them back on his face and looked at his phone, seeing a whole stack of messages from Burns.

He unlocked the phone and looked at his messages.

I am sorry, Waylon.

I want you back. I only asked you to leave because I thought I couldn't help but keep hurting you if you stayed. I now realize I was wrong, and I do love you enough to treat you with kindness.

You are the best part of my life, Waylon. I adore you. I know I've erred recently as we are concerned, but since your car accident, I've treated you quite well, haven't I? I can continue to treat you with the respect you deserve, and I will. I promise.

I am truly sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I do love you. I have loved you for years now, but I couldn't bring myself to make a move and risk losing you. When you misconstrued our relationship as romantic in nature, it afforded me the perfect opportunity to indulge my tender feelings for you. Surely you understand my motives. You, too, were afraid to risk our friendship by asking me on a date.

I want us to be together. I want to make you feel better, because you're the only person I've enjoyed caring for. I want to wake with you beside me and share lazy Sunday mornings cuddling in bed together. I want to make up for all the times I concealed my love from you, from the world. Please give me the years so I can give them back to you.

Whatever your answer, know I will forever cherish our years together, especially our last few months. These last few months, for the first time in my life, I felt truly happy in a way I did not believe was possible. There is no one else I'd prefer share my bed and my life.

Please, answer me.

Waylon?

Please, Waylon.

Remember I will always love you, no matter your answer.

Please, don't make me suffer the indignity of begging you.

I beg you, Waylon, just talk to me. I can accept if your answer is no.

Please, talk to me. I beg you.

I'll pay you a thousand dollars for five minutes of your time. Please don't make me go higher than that. I will, if necessary.

I know I sound desperate, and that's because I am. I don't know what I'd do without you.

I love you.

The messages spanned a couple of hours, and it had been forty minutes since the last one. Smithers read them over, then again and again, considering what kind of reply he should send. Nothing seemed adequate to express his feelings, namely because he couldn't decide between them. Unable to decide on words, he decided on an action.

While he was driving to the hospital, his phone chimed again. He glanced anxiously at the notification.

WAYLON SMITHERS, you have 1 prescription ready.

Of course, it was just the pharmacy letting him know his thyroid medication was ready. As his eyes focused on the road ahead of him, his mind drifted into a recollection – or perhaps it was a reverie – where he was lying still in a castle, at death's door, and he awoke to Burns' lips pressed against his. He remembered how he had thought that was the best damn way to wake from a nightmare. He also remembered that he had remembered this shortly after moving back in with Burns. No, Waylon. We didn't live together until I came home from the hospital. Smithers grimaced. I still think of the manor as 'home.'

He pulled into hospital parking and got his visitor badge, then made his way to Burns' private room. As he walked in, Burns lifted his head, his eyes brightening. "Waylon..."

Smithers looked into his eyes, unable to conceal his sorrow. "Monty."

"Thank you for coming to hear me out; I've been a fool, an absolute fool, and I'm ready to come to my senses." The look of relief on Burns' face faded as he saw Smithers only looking sadder.

"I'm afraid so am I," said Smithers, his face solemn.

"What the devil do you mean?"

"I'm not going to lie – I still love you. But you've lied to me at every turn."

"I only lied to –"

"No, Monty, you'll hear me out. I know you've often been deceitful in your business dealings, but I remember enough of our life before to know that you were usually honest with me. Not always, but usually. If you were engaged in some illegal doing or double-crossing, you let me in on it. But even as nice as you've been to me since my accident, you've been going behind my back and deceiving me left and right, and I have every reason to believe that you would've kept it up indefinitely if I hadn't caught you."

"Well, you're probably right about that. But I'm committed to be honest to you from now on."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"How can I let myself believe that again?"

"Because I was only lying because I was afraid to lose you. If lying will only make me lose you, then I cannot risk lying to you again. I simply cannot afford to."

"But how can I believe that?" Burns opened his mouth but said nothing. "How can I believe you? It's not like you lied about buying a boat, or putting money in an offshore account, or even having an affair. You lied to me about my past – our past – solely to manipulate me into doing what you wanted."

"That is not true. It wasn't solely to manipulate you; it was also because that's how I wanted to remember our past. I wanted to believe it so badly, I was willing to lie to you, but I wasn't only lying to you – I was lying to myself."

"Except when you were lying to yourself, you knew what the truth really was. I didn't. You gave me memories of things that never happened. I still can't tell how much of what I remember of the past is real and how much was put there by you."

"I've made some mistakes, but I only made them to give you happier memories. Is that such a crime?"

"Spinning a tale of a fantasy world for me to live in was at least as much for your benefit as it was for mine."

"Don't forget your role in spinning that tale. By the time I deduced the nature of your confusion, you had clearly built up a romantic fantasy about our history. Who was I to burst your bubble, especially given I wanted to live inside it with you? Especially given my guilt..."

"You didn't want to live inside the bubble with me. You wanted to control the bubble so I didn't see anything you didn't want me to see, like your history of treating me with cruel indifference." Smithers furrowed his brow. "What guilt?"

"You almost died to save me."

"Well, now we're even and you can go back to living without guilt."

"It's more than that. The worst guilt wasn't that you were injured saving me – it was that I had taken you for granted and almost let you go to your grave without making it clear what you mean to me. Without treating you as you deserve."

"I'm sorry if I have a hard time buying this, but actions speak louder than words."

"Yes. That's why I pushed you out of my car and am in this hospital bed now. If I can love you enough to sacrifice myself, surely I can love you enough to treat you well."

"I'm sorry, Monty." He sniffled back a tear. "It's too late."

"No..." Burns said in a faint plea. "Please, give me another chance."

"I've given you chance after chance, and you just keep finding new ways to betray my trust."

"Please, give me one more chance. Not because I deserve it, but so I can give you some of the memories you deserve. After that, you can leave me forever and I won't bother you again."

Smithers shook his head, then went into the adjoining private bathroom to retrieve a round sponge and fill a shallow basin with warm, soapy water. "I'll think about it," he said as he came back with the sponge, basin, and a stack of short towels. "Right now, it's time for your sponge bath." He sat beside Burns and cushioned his neck and head with a folded towel, then gently, lovingly ran the sponge over Burns' face.

"Thank you," said Burns as Smithers wiped the sweat from his brow. "No one knows his way around a sponge like you do."

Smithers smiled, thinking it was an odd yet sweet compliment as no one but Monty Burns could give. "I'll never forget the way your fingers felt, dancing along my scalp and shoulders." Smithers continued to freshen his sponge, then scrubbed slightly and softly behind his ears with the finesse of an artist making the finishing strokes of a painting.

"I hope that's not the only touch you found worthy of remembering. Or were you only flattering me?"

"I don't think I could fake flattery that well." Smithers laid towels along either side of Burns' torso, then brought the sponge down to his chest. "I thought you were just flattering me until you came home at lunch and jumped into my lap for some afternoon delight."

Burns furrowed his brow. "Why would you think anyone would need to flatter you?"

"You seemed pretty reluctant to make love to me on our first date re-enactment." Smithers stopped moving the sponge. "No, that really was our first date, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was."

"And that night was our first time together, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Smithers resumed his gentle scrubbing. "Waylon, you're a virile young man. How could you possibly think I find you anything other than utterly beguiling?"

"I told you, because you were very reluctant to make love to me." He squeezed soapy water onto Burns' underarms, then rinsed and patted them dry.

"But once we were in the midst of our amorous congress, surely my enthusiasm gave me away."

"Most of my doubts did fade that night. But they didn't really go away." He laid a towel over Burns' chest to keep him warm and dry.

"They should have."

"I kept thinking that maybe you were only enjoying yourself so much because you were picturing a younger, fitter version of me." Smithers turned Burns gradually to the side and laid more towels where he'd been lying.

"Poppycock. If anyone should be worrying about being eclipsed by his younger, fitter self, it's me." Smithers washed from the back of his neck down his spine, the sponge filling the nooks and crannies of his every vertebra. "All it would take for you to get back into prime condition is a few more weeks at the gym. I'm never going to be in my prime again, or anywhere close."

"You could have surprised me," said Smithers, washing his buttocks. He moaned softly as he made another thorough pass. "I don't know how I kept my attraction a secret from you for so long."

"You had years to get used to being 'just professional' with me. And it's much more difficult to go back to avoiding a forbidden fruit after you've gotten a taste of it."

"You've got that right." Smithers dipped the sponge in the basin and began to clean Burns' crotch.

"Honestly, what did you think you were doing with me?"

"Hm?"

"You claim you had no memories of me. Yet you assumed I was your intimate partner. Why? I'm a good six decades older than you. Why didn't you assume you were involved with one of your younger friends who came to visit?"

"I'm not sure." He slowed his wiping, then wrung out the sponge and replenished it with clean, soapy water. "You were so attentive, always at my side. Your worry didn't seem like the kind of worry a boss would normally have for his employee."

"You were always attentive and at my side, for decades, yet I never assumed you were in love with me. Regarded me with excessive admiration, yes, but not romantic love."

"Maybe you should have. I was definitely in love with you. It completely devastated me when you didn't show up on my last birthday." He patted Burns dry with a fresh washcloth, then put some moisturizing lotion on his hands and worked it into Burns' skin all across his torso. "All I wanted for my birthday was to spend the evening with you."

"Why don't we do a re-creation of that night? Or rather, a revision. Once I'm out of this hospital, I'll go to your place, and we'll have the evening you envisioned."

"It won't change things between us."

"If our partnership must end, let it end on a pleasant note."

Smithers set aside the sponge and gathered the damp towels, then dressed him back in his hospital gown. "I'll consider it."

"Oh, and Waylon – thank you for remembering the lotion. The nurses here frequently forget, and my skin gets cracked and dry."

"It was my pleasure, Monty."