Secret Santa

The cafeteria at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant looked festive, as multicolored lights were now strung along the walls alongside garland, bells, and mistletoe, and a poinsettia stood at the center of every table. A stack of presents sat by a plastic tree, and employees danced drunkenly about as a mix of pop Christmas songs played over the speaker. Smithers and Burns stood by the punch and cookies table, Smithers dressed in a Santa outfit complete with a fake white beard and over-sized red hat.

"I'm glad you decided not to cancel this year's Christmas party, sir," said Smithers as he ladled out a glass of punch and handed it to Burns.

"Yes, well, as soon as you offered to pay for it, I stopped dreading it as much." He took a sip of punch while Smithers got himself a glass. "And besides, I'm looking forward to your Secret Santa gift."

"Who told you I'm your Secret Santa this year?"

"No one had to tell me anything; you're always my Secret Santa. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out."

"It's true, I rig it so we're each other's Secret Santa. I can't trust anyone else here to get you something nice enough."

"You must place a lot of trust in me, considering you always make me your Secret Santa."

"I really liked your last gift."

"Which was that?"

"The tickets to the revival of Company."

"Oh, yes, as I recall, you couldn't find anyone to go with you, so you called me and asked me to come with you."

"Actually, sir, you were my first choice."

"You told me you'd called everyone you knew and they were all busy."

"I thought you'd be more likely to go with me if you thought I had nobody else." Smithers slammed back the last of his punch. "I'm really glad you came. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

Burns took a long, slow sip of his punch before saying softly, "I wanted you to ask me."

"Huh?"

"When I gave you the tickets, I wanted you to ask me along." He grimaced, then said, "All this time, I thought I was your last choice."

Smithers snorted in disbelief. "You're always my first choice. You must know that by now."

"Sometimes I have my doubts."

"Don't doubt me, Monty."

"I won't," he said, holding up his nearly empty glass, gesturing for more. As Smithers topped off his glass, Burns added, "Provided you return the favor."

Smithers slowly nodded. "It's difficult sometimes, but..." Smithers looked directly into his eyes, then said softly, "...I trust you."

They clinked their glasses together in a toast. "To our continuing trust," said Burns before each sipped his drink. As they stood beside each other, surveying the sea of drunken employees, Burns said, "Look at them, Smithers. Flirting shamelessly with each other, not a care in the world about what others would think of their behavior. Mature adults understand there are some sexual tensions you simply can't resolve, especially in the workplace."

Smithers bit his lip, searching for the courage to speak up. "Please, call me Waylon. It is a party, sir. There's no need for formality."

"Which is why you just called me, 'sir.'" Burns smirked playfully. "Very well. Waylon it is. But honestly, what is it about the poor that as soon as they imbibe a little alcohol, they start behaving in an undignified manner?"

"I don't know. But I don't think there's anything wrong with an office romance."

He waited until Smithers had begun drinking more of his punch and said, "So, why haven't I seen you flirt with anyone at work, Waylon?"

Smithers choked a little on his punch. Once his throat was clear, he said, "You wouldn't want me to behave in an undignified manner, would you?"

"Of course not. But not all flirting is undignified. Sometimes, it's even welcome."

"I have flirted at work. I guess you just haven't noticed."

"Perhaps I haven't." Burns shuddered. "This music is dreadful. What is this supposed song?"

"Uh, Santa Baby."

"I don't care for this new music."

"Actually, it was first recorded in the fifties." They had had this conversation before.

"As I said, I don't care for new music."

"I'll switch to the instrumental playlist," he said, heading for the music player.

Without Smithers there to distract him, his attention focused on the lyrics. Think of all the fun I've missed, think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed. "Frivolous drivel." His mind wandered to the dream he'd had the night before. He had been walking through 1920s Springfield when he came upon a newsstand manned by Smithers in his late twenties.

"Sir, would you like a paper?"

"How much is it?"

"Two cents."

"All right," he said, pulling two pennies from his pocket and handing them to him. "I already subscribe to the Wall Street Journal, but I like the cut of your jib. Which paper is this, anyway?" he asked as Smithers handed it to him.

"It's the Springfield Times."

"I've never heard of it."

"It's a very unusual newspaper. It reports on things normal journalists can't find out."

Burns looked at the front of his paper. The headline read: Monty Burns Has Secret. Burns quickly clutched the paper to his chest, afraid to read on to find out what secret the article supposedly revealed, especially because he was sure he already knew. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me."

"How do you know my secret?"

"Come with me, and I'll show you," he said, leaving the newsstand for the driver's seat of a black 1922 Lancia Lambda. Smithers gestured for him to join him in the passenger seat, and Burns sat beside him in the car.

"Is that better, sir?" Smithers was back at his side, and an arrangement of Silent Night for harp and strings was playing.

"What? Oh, yes, yes." He stared into his glass. "I believe I've had too much of this punch," he said with a nervous chuckle.

"I'll get the cranberry juice out, then."

"I didn't say I was done drinking it." He gestured for Smithers to refill his glass, and he did so.

"Are you ready for the Secret Santa?"

"Yes, let's get on with it so I can get my present and clear these drunken louts out of here."

Smithers led Burns to a large red chair beside the tree, then began by picking out a present. "This one is from Homer... to Carl."

Burns yawned, his mind drifting back to his dream.

"What were you going to show me?" he asked Smithers.

"You'll see." In what seemed an instant, they arrived at an alleyway paved in cobblestone, and Smithers parked near it, then headed for the alley, stopping to gesture for Burns to follow when he saw he was still in the car.

As Burns caught up to him, he said, "Where are you taking me?"

"You know where we are, Monty." He rapped at the door in Morse code, and the door opened for them. "Or don't you recognize your favorite speakeasy?"

They entered, and a look of recognition washed over Burns' face. "The Lamppost 12th Ave. I never thought I'd see it again." He smiled in reminiscence of good times had there, looking around to soak in the sights – the player piano, Art the bartender, the billiards table, the dart board, and everywhere men having a good time. "But those days are long past me."

"They don't have to be."

"You don't understand. I'm an old man now. I can't relive my youthful indiscretions, fun as they were."

"No, Monty, you don't understand. I can make you young again." Smithers handed him a hand mirror, and he saw his face now looked as it did when he was twenty-five.

"Incredible."

"...I know who this one is for," said Smithers, holding a light, slender box wrapped in red paper with silver ribbon and a silver bow. "Merry Christmas, Monty," he said as he handed it to Burns.

Burns unraveled the ribbon, then grabbed hold of a flap of paper that Smithers had intentionally left un-taped for ease of removal and tore it open, then removed the lid of the box to see a red houndstooth necktie, a watch, and cufflinks with a three-dimensional model of an atom.

"I got the watch from Cartier. It's rose gold. The tie is made from silk and linen. I got it from Saks Fifth Avenue. The atom cufflinks are from Harrods, and they're platinum. I hope you like them."

"I do..." He held the watch over his wrist, a stylish leather band accompanying it.

"Here, let me help you put that on," he said, taking the watch and Burns' right wrist in hand, then fastening it, relishing in brushes of fingertips against wrist. "There." He leaned back to take in the sight of Burns wearing his watch. "Oh, Monty, I thought the watch looked good in the store, but it looks much better on you."

"It's magnificent. Everything you got me is."

Smithers beamed. "Permission to hug you, sir?" Burns nodded slightly and hugged him for a solid ten seconds before letting go, though it felt like minutes, as his mind flashed back to his dream, beginning with flashes of sensory memories, then returning to the scene that led him there.

They drank and talked awhile at the bar before Smithers outright said, "So, when are you going to pick me up?" To Burns' dismayed face, Smithers sipped his drink and said, "I know you want to."

"Yes, I have for some time now."

"Then let's go," said Smithers, heading out to the car first and sitting behind the wheel. After a few minutes, Burns followed him there, and Smithers got the car rolling. "So, where do you want to go?"

"What?"

"Where do you want us to do it? We could park in an alley, or the outskirts of the woods."

"No. No, that would be undignified."

"Where then?"

"We'll go to the Manor. No one will ask questions."

Burns led him to his bedroom, and once he had closed the door, he began to unbutton his shirt, encouraged by Smithers' approving moan. Smithers took him in an embrace, feeling his chest as Burns moved to unbutton Smithers' pants.

"Monty? Sir?"

Burns blinked his eyes. "Yes, what is it?" he said, irritated.

"We went through the rest of the presents under the tree, but I didn't see mine. Did you put it somewhere else?"

"No. I..." He gulped, then looked back into Smithers' trusting eyes. "I didn't get you anything."

Smithers looked hurt but not surprised. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your Christmas party," he said, then stood and left the room.

Burns' eyes followed the path he'd taken and along the way, he caught the disgusted and scornful looks of his employees. He stiffened his lip and left the room, calling out, "Waylon, please! Listen to me..."

As they lay in bed together, Burns brushed the back of his hand against Smithers' cheek and said, "You were excellent."

Smithers smiled and kissed Burns' hand. "You were pretty excellent yourself."

"I shouldn't think of you this way. It's one thing to lust after a lowly drone, but you're... so much more than that."

"And you're so much more to me than a billionaire."

"My business depends on you. If our relationship fell apart as all my intimate relationships have, I would lose millions of dollars... and my only friend."

"Then don't let it fall apart." Smithers kissed down his neck to his chest.

"You're right. How could we possibly fall apart?" He kissed Smithers' ear, then whispered, "You're perfect." Smithers kissed his navel. "If you were a woman, I'd have married you."

"Let me show you how perfect I can be." He grasped Burns' thighs and kept going lower.

He felt the Smithers of his dream fading, yielding to the dawn, and fought to keep him. "Please, Waylon, don't stop now."

He had awoken with a start in his bed as Smithers walked in with his breakfast of soft-boiled eggs and waffles with a glass of orange juice on a tray. "Don't stop what, sir?" Smithers had asked him.

"None of your business," he'd snapped back. Once the tray was on his lap and a fork in his hand, he'd yelled, "Get out of here! I don't need you breathing over my shoulder as I eat!" Smithers had furrowed his brow in annoyance but quickly complied, leaving Burns alone.

He reached the door to Smithers' office, wherein Smithers had locked himself. "Waylon, please, listen to me," he said, rapping weakly on the door. "I was planning to get you something, but I couldn't decide what to give you. Nothing seemed adequate."

"Please, Mr. Burns, spare me the facile excuses. It's time I face the fact that you don't care about me the way I care about you."

Burns felt a churning in the pit of his stomach. I didn't earn my fortune by not taking any risks. Perhaps it's time I took one now. "I did have one gift ready. But you'll have to let me inside to give it to you." Smithers unlocked the door, and Burns walked inside, closing it behind him. "First of all, I need you to take that silly beard off your face."

Smithers pulled it off and set it on his desk. "Okay. Now what?"

"I need you to close your eyes."

Smithers closed his eyes. "All right."

"Now, hold still." Burns sat on Smithers' desktop and leaned forward, kissing his lips. Smithers felt a jolt of electricity down his spine and leaned into the kiss, stroking the back of Burns' head. Burns brought his hand to the back of Smithers' head and slid it down his neck and back.

"That's one hell of a Christmas present."

Burns chuckled. "No, Waylon. That wasn't your present. That was the invitation."