AUTHORESS'S NOTE: I'm sorry for the extremely long delay in posting any new chapters. I've been very busy with school, writing my novel, et cetera, but I've decided to start adding to my fics again. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! It really means a lot to me. Please continue read and review. Thank you. :)

CHAPTER FOUR:

The next day, I sat in my office with cold sweat seeping into my back and ten breaths fighting for favor at once. I had not yet seen Mr. Burns all morning, and glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 10:16 already. Mr. Burns had always come in at least by 9:00, and I was growing more anxious by the minute. I tried to take a sip of the green tea latte I had bought earlier but my hand just shook as I picked it up and the tea itself had become an unpleasantly tepid.

I put the cup back down and attempted to focus on my work. I had piles of it to do, and so far, I had only taken care of correcting a few billing errors. It had been my most unproductive day in my entire career as an executive. I felt simply awful, reflecting on the humiliating events of the past night, theorizing about how it would affect my friendship with Mr. Burns, wishing my shallow desire for fame wouldn't have turned me into such a fool.

I stared at the piece of paper that seemed to have magically appeared before me. I didn't even remember placing it there, but suddenly, I was reading it, or at least trying to. The words all blurred together like they were forming an inkblot. At this point, I grew so frustrated that I knocked one whole pile of papers from my desk to the floor and rubbed the eyes veiled by my glasses with helplessness. Then I heard the voice.

"Smithers, what in God's name do you think you're doing?" yelled Mr. Burns, as he finally sauntered into our conjoined office space.

I quickly looked up at him and got down to the floor to clean up the mess I caused. "I'm sorry, sir. I just…my hand slipped…"

Mr. Burns eyed me curiously, and I knew very well that he had seen my display of rage as just that, but he said nothing more. He walked to his desk and immediately began watching the employees on the surveillance cameras.

Returning the last paper to my desk, I was tempted to ask Mr. Burns where he had been all morning, but I decided not to. I sat back in my seat and tried to concentrate on a complaint from the Springfield Environmental Council. It was a bit easier to focus, just knowing that Mr. Burns was alive, well, and at work, but that fact didn't by any means cure the rest of the nerves that were swimming in my stomach.

For about an hour, Mr. Burns and I spoke not even a word to one another. The day had won another record as the most silent day we had ever spent at the plant. However, just as the clock struck 12, Mr. Burns spoke: "Smithers, come in here. Who is that?"

I wandered into Mr. Burns' office and took a seat next to him, relieved that he was partaking in one of our usual routines and was actually talking to me at all. "Who is who, sir?" I asked. Mr. Burns pointed to a young, new worker I had hired a few months ago. "Oh, that's David Polonski. One of the few competent laborers from Sector 2-F."

"And who is that?" asked Mr. Burns, pointing now to a gangly, middle-aged man whose face was flat on his control panel as he slept.

"Garrett Bentley. Supervisor of Sector 4-J."

"I want them both fired."

"What? Why?"

"These tomfools think we don't put surveillance cameras in the bathrooms," Mr. Burns sighed, shaking his head. "And so I was forced to sit here, watching them partake in one of those new-age kisses that repulsively utilize not only the lips, but also the tongue."

"Oh, I see," I said quietly. "Well…I know office romances are looked down upon, but I don't think we need to fire them for it."

"It's not that locale of the romance; it's the fact that there is a romance to begin with. Now go fire those sodomites and start hiring for their positions posthaste."

My mouth hung open for a few moments before I have the strength to ask: "You want me to fire them because they are…well…?"

"Yes, it's still legal in this state to terminate based on sexual preference, and even if it weren't, you've never had a problem bending or even breaking the law before. So, off you go. And on your way back, bring me a strawberry jam biscuit for lunch."

I tried to remain calm. "Sir, Polonski has proven over these last few months that he has been working here that he is a very intelligible man and a proficient worker, one of the few we have. Bentley's aptitude, on the other hand, has declined slowly but surely, and I suppose I can see why he should be fired, but Polonski…"

"Smithers, wherefore are you arguing with me? I told you to do something; now you shall do it," Mr. Burns said, anger slowly filling his beautiful face.

"No."

"No?"

I hesitated. I couldn't believe I had just said that horrible word to Mr. Burns. "I mean…I disagree with your assessment of these workers. Can we discuss it at length and make a final decision?"

Mr. Burns' eyes now bulged in a rather unbecoming way as he shouted, "'Can we discuss it? Can we make a final decision?' Whom do you think you are, Smithers? You think because you got a couple songs on the radio that you're the cock of the walk now? Well, you're not.You're not my equal. You're not even close."

Every word was a new arrow in my heart, but I managed to utter, "Sir, I thought one of my job titles was as your advisor."

"Perchance that's true, but you're only my advisor when I want you to be, and this is not one of those times. I've already made a decision, and now you shall carry it out."

"But…sir, I'm only saying this for the good of the company. We need Polonski."

"There's that 'we' again," Mr. Burns said, now in a new, truculent tone that made me shiver with tension. "Smithers, I'm very tempted to believe that your only opposition to this termination is due to some perverse loyalty you feel to your own kind of people."

"How can you say that when I clearly stated that I had very little qualm about firing Bentley?"

"Because Bentley is a homely, old man, while Polonski is quite the handsome fellow," Mr. Burns said before blushing, cringing at his own words, and adding, "Well, at least, someone like you might think so."

"Sir, I have no interest in Polonski. This whole thing is preposterous." I began to instinctively tug at my bow tie, which was beginning to feel like a live boa constrictor around my dripping neck.

Mr. Burns stared at me without a blink. "So, then you should have no problem firing him. Let me rephrase that: you will have no problem firing him. Because if you do, I will have no problem firing you either. Believe me, after last night, I will have no problem firing you."

I swallowed hard and tried to push emerging tears back down their ducts. For the first time in my 25-year-old relationship with Mr. Burns, I saw him look at me with nothing but hatred. It terrified and saddened me in equal measure. I then nodded and turned to walk out the door, prepared to fire the best worker we had hired in years and another worker that, while not a wonderful employee, was still about ten times more efficient than a handful of other oafs we kept under our wing.

"Oh, and Smithers…" Mr. Burns started. I turned around to face him. "If you can't bring yourself to fire Polonski on my terms, just fire him because he's Jewish. That will be good for a laugh too. Oh, and don't forget that biscuit I wanted."

I nodded and said the same words I had said mindlessly about a million times before: "Yes, sir."