Ryan sat, nestled under the covers of the huge bed in his room. The size of the thing always made him feel small, like a child. A Yale course book rested on the pillow next to his head.

His father, Waylon, sat on the bed beside him; Waylon's hand resting on Ryan's knee.

"Have you decided what you want to major in?" Waylon asked.

Ryan shook his head. "I'm really not sure," he confessed. "It all looks pretty interesting, actually."

Waylon patted Ryan's leg affectionately. "Well, what jumps out at you?"

Ryan opened the course catalogue to a dog-eared page. "Well, there's this…" he began, pointing to the page.

"Mathematics and Physics," Waylon read. His eyes skimmed over the description. " 'Mathematics has many aspects: it is the language and tool of the sciences, a cultural phenomenon with a rich historical tradition, and a model of abstract reasoning… Physics forms the foundation for all other sciences… The major in Mathematics and Physics allows the student to explore the productive interaction between the two subjects more extensively than either individual major.'"

Waylon passed the book back to Ryan. "Well, that sounds rather intensive, to say the least."

Ryan nodded. "Yeah. There's also this one," he added, turning to another marked page. "I like the sounds of it."

"Physics and Philosophy?"

Ryan nodded, hazel eyes eager. "That's the one! And I was thinking Dad, if I play it right, I can take the required courses for one, and use them in the elective slots of the other."

"Playing the system." Waylon chuckled.

"Sure! Why not?"

"That'd be a lot of work on that brain of yours."

Ryan gave him a smug grin. "I think I can handle it."

"Why do you even want to go into these fields? I would've thought literature or straight philosophy would've been more your thing."

Ryan shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. These just kind of spoke to me, I guess."

"What if it's too much?"

"It won't be. And, if it is, I can always cut down to one major, right?"

Waylon ruffled Ryan's black hair affectionately. "As long as you keep your grades up, and work hard, I'm not worried. I have every confidence in you… boy," he remarked, adding the last word lovingly. He leaned over and gave Ryan a quick kiss on the forehead.

Ryan smiled, a bit embarrassed. "Awww, Dad," he protested. "I'm too old for goodnight kisses."

Waylon stood up, smoothing the covers where he'd sat. "Then why do I always hear about it the next morning if I forget? Goodnight, Ryan. Sleep well."

Ryan rolled over, pulling the comforter about his neck. "Goodnight, Dad," he replied, trying to keep the happiness from showing too much in his voice. It felt good to have a family.

Despite being tired, the day's activities still weighed on Ryan's mind. He felt utterly exhausted, yet unable to sleep. After over an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up. Ryan left his room, and paced the dark corridors of Burns Manor, his bare feet making no sound against the smooth floors. A flight of stairs up, passed the landing, down the hall…

Ahead, he saw a flicker of light, an oil lamp held aloft by a slender hand.

Ryan padded noiselessly over, staying just out of the light. He followed Montgomery Burns down another path, lined with statues and paintings. He'd been here once before, though the place had made the hair on the back of his neck rise. He hadn't been back since. Waylon referred to the place as the Hall of Patriots, a gallery of Burns' ancestors and their accomplishments.

Burns paused before a section of wall, covered with a curtain of deep forest green.

Ryan slipped closer, crouching behind a statue.

Burns turned, looking in Ryan's direction, and lowered the flame of the lamp. "I know you're there, boy," he said into the darkness. "Come out, and come here."

Ryan sighed and slouched out of his hiding place.

"Straighten your spine."

"Fine, fine," Ryan mumbled, drawing his shoulders back, raising his head.

"How did you know I was there?"

Burns gave a calculated blink. "I can see in the dark."

"So why'd you bring the light?" Ryan asked.

"Because I didn't know if you could see," Burns replied.

"Oh."

Burns held the lamp up, pulling the curtains aside.

The now recognizable face of Waylon Sr. looked down on them regally from his place on the wall. Larger than life, yet captured with the finest brushstrokes down to the tiniest detail. "No one moves these curtains but me," Burns explained. "But I keep his portrait here as a reminder." Burns set the oil lamp on the floor and took a step back. "Sometimes, when I need to someone to share my thoughts with, I come up here, and talk to him. I don't know if he hears me…"

Burns sat down on the floor, drawing his thin legs up and wrapping his arms around them.

Ryan sat down next to him, staring up at the painting.

"Why do you keep him covered?"

Burns shrugged. "Multiple reasons, I suppose, Ryan. Your grandfather, he gave his life for me, for his son, for his wife and the entire town. Without him, Springfield would've never been on the map… and without his sacrifice it would've been as quickly wiped off."

"What happened?"

"There was an accident at the plant," Burns replied softly.

Ryan rested his head on his wrists. "Reactor Two…"

Burns shot Ryan a stern look. "How did you know that?"

Ryan shook his head, and offered a shrug. "I don't know. It just seems right, somehow. Like that's how it happened, you know?"

Burns turned his attention back to the painting. "Well, I know because I was there. But if I hadn't been, then I wouldn't. You've got a keen mind to you, boy."

"My mother always said that."

"Did she now." It wasn't a question.

Ryan nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment, the only light coming from the flickering oil lamp. "I keep him hidden because the past isn't always something I want to be reminded of. But that's not the only reason. The other is your father."

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked, raising his head.

Burns shrugged. "No one wants to feel that they are being compared to another, judged against the ghost of someone they cannot compete against. What good would it do my dear Waylon to think he could never measure up to his father in my eyes?"

"So you keep the curtains pulled…" Ryan began.

"… To preserve the past, and maintain the future; yes, yes." Burns answered. "Your father is not his father, and that is hardly a bad thing. There are similarities, to be sure, but it's the differences that I appreciate as well. He's got much of his mother in him. I'm sure I couldn't have loved your father half as much if he were the spiriting image of Waylon Sr. there." Burns reached out, and put a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "I love your father for who he is, not who he came from. If I loved him merely for his bloodline, well, that would be selfish and possessive all in one, and despite what one might believe there is more to my nature than that."

Ryan felt Burns' cold, thin fingers through the fabric of his teeshirt. He didn't pull away.

"You, Ryan? You have perhaps more in common with your grandfather than you do your own father. That's both a blessing and a curse to me. When I first saw your eyes as you sat beside Larry… well…" he gestured to the painting. "I hated it, and I resented you."

Burns gave Ryan's shoulder a squeeze. "Even now, it is unsettling to me. That look on your face, so patient, and understanding. It's a look I've seen before, but never thought I'd see again."

Ryan licked his lips. "So, what does all this mean?"

"Have you not been listening?"

Ryan shook his head. "I have. No. I mean, for you and Dad; and I guess me too. What's this all mean?"

Burns withdrew his hand and reached for the oil lamp. He took it and stood up, looking down at Ryan. "It means that I have a chance to see the continuation of a truly remarkable bloodline. It's a gift and an honor. I'm glad to see your grandfather's blood runs strong in your veins. You're a worthy son for your father. I hope he knows how proud he should be."

Ryan pushed himself up. He watched as Burns began to pull the curtains shut. Ryan reached out a hand, and laid his fingers across Burns' arm. "Maybe you should leave them open," he suggested.

Burns regarded Ryan levelly. "Pray tell, why?"

"It just seems better that way." Ryan turned and started to make his way off into the shadows.

"Wait," he heard Burns' voice from behind him. "Where are you going?"

"To bed, I suppose," Ryan replied.

"In the dark?"

Ryan turned, and afforded Burns a slight smirk. "You're not the only one who can see in the dark, Monty. I can find my way back safely enough. Goodnight, old man. Don't wake my father when you go to bed." He gave Burns a jaunty half-salute, and capered off into the shadows, leaving Montgomery Burns behind.

Yale, he thought as he stolled down the hall, hands clasped behind his back, thinking of his grandfather's portrait. Yes, that would be a good choice. And a double major in hard science? Well, he could probably handle that too. Who knows, he thought as he returned to his room and slid into bed. Perhaps someday I'll run a nuclear plant too. With that, and feeling much at peace with the world, Ryan snuggled in and fell asleep.