Rigel, tablet in hand, sat in front of the dour and imposing figure that was Rhonda LeBlanc. Rhonda tapped her hands lightly together. "So they're both going to the charity ball tonight?" she asked, eyes predatory.

Rigel blinked once, then nodded. "They are."

Rhonda scoffed. "Hardly appropriate behavior for an executive, wouldn't you agree?"

Rigel eyes the woman who had hired her carefully. "It depends, ma'am," she replied. "I took the liberty of viewing some of the previous years' articles from the society pages, for the purpose of my own research. Mister Radson has attended the event with former CEO Mister Dimas since the first year Dimas hired him. It seems he's rather a fixture."

The senior vice president regarded Rigel carefully. "So you think it is appropriate to bring non-management employees to a formal event, even when there is no good reason to do so."

Rigel shook her head. "On the contrary, ma'am; I would find it completely inappropriate. I have noticed though, that some of the other executives bring along important functionary employees to these events. My presence is a necessity to my boss; Mister Radson is as much a status symbol to the plant as he is anything else in this case. I believe, though I never met the man personally, that Mister Dimas most likely brought him along as a display of authority, showing that we are one of the few agencies to have a personal pilot on staff for the chief executive. Actually, as far as I can tell, we're the only company in attendance who has a personal pilot."

Rhonda growled low in her throat, and stood up. She paced the length of her fishbowl office, then stopped, facing her balcony. She glanced over her shoulder at the serious-faced young woman behind her. "I trust, Rigel, if you see anything out of compliance, you will do the right thing tonight?"

Rigel bowed her head. "Absolutely, ma'am."

"Good. Now please, I'm sure you have a mountain of work ahead of you. As do I. Thank you for your time." Rhonda clasped her hands behind her back, looked out over the snow covered grounds, and didn't move until Rigel had left.

"Smithers!" a familiar voice cut through Waylon Smithers' quiet office. He quickly stacked the papers on his desk, and hurried into Burns' massive office. The master of the atom eyed him up and down. "So, tell me, Smithers, have you heard anything back from young Tucci regarding… you know what?"

Smithers shook his head. "If you're referring to the fuel rods, we haven't talked about it since that one call several weeks ago."

"Hmmm, I see." Burns tented his fingers and tilted his head. "But that was not what I was referring to." Burns hunched his shoulders. "I was referring to the invitations. Have you heard anything back?"

Smithers gave a laugh of relief. "Oh, those, yes! Absolutely. Everyone's responded; everyone's coming."

Burns tented his fingers. "Excellent. That makes, what, six in total."

"Seven, I believe," replied Smithers. "Counting the minister."

"You were able to find one, were you?" Burns probed, eyes sharp. "I trust such an individual will be able to keep his mouth shut?"

Smithers nodded. "Absolutely, Monty. I'm quite sure I have him under my thumb."

Satisfied, Burns relaxed a degree. He smiled innocently at Smithers. "I must admit, Waylon, I was surprised you didn't invite any of your family."

The floor had suddenly become very interesting to Waylon Smithers. He regarded the thick carpet pensively. Finally he looked up. "I can't really invite my mother now, can I?" he asked, settling into one of Burns' guest chairs. "What a disaster that would be."

Burns regarded Smithers. "Humor me," Burns replied. "Oh, I'm quite sure I already know your answer, but I want to hear it in your own words, Waylon. Are you ashamed of me? Unwilling to let your family know of our 'arrangement?'"

"It's nothing of the sort," Smithers replied crossing his left leg over his right. "My cousin Robbie is a punk at the best of times. He always teased me as a child, and we were never particularly friendly even when I lived with his parents. I am perfectly happy not to see him ever again."

"What about Caroline?" Burns prodded.

Smithers shook his head. "We've drifted apart. She's married, has a husband. Adam I think his name is. She also has a son named Jeffrey. I couldn't exactly invite her without inviting them too; and I don't know anything about Adam." Smithers rested his elbows on his leg. "So tell me, Monty, what about you? Why didn't you invite half the town?"

Burns folded his arms across his chest. "That is not a fair question to ask, Smithers. You already know the answer; but I'll humor you as you did for me. I invited my son Larry, of course, and his wife, Janet. Naturally, I added my grandchildren Elliot and Donna to the list. So that, Smithers, is four for me, and two for you. As far as I know, you merely invited Tucci and the pilot, correct?"

Smithers shrugged in affirmation. "Does the small scale of things bother you, Monty?"

Burns shook his head. "No, no. I daresay Smithers, that discretion has always been a big part of my life. I am too old, and too staid to change course now. I've kept the entire town at arm's length for decades. That suits me just fine." He regarded Smithers, a faint hint of sadness playing behind his blue eyes. Burns untented his fingers, and folded his hands in his lap.

"I worry, Waylon, that I have inadvertently or not caused a schism between you and those you might've once considered friends through my monopoly of your time these long years."

"I don't look at it that way, Monty."

Burns pursed his lips. "No?"

"Not at all. I mean, sure, I could've refused to spend so much time with you, but honestly, I enjoyed it. I still do. Maybe I don't have a huge gathering of friends to show for my life, but I have you. I'm happy. Isn't that what matters?"

Burns mulled over Smithers' words carefully. "I suppose, yes. That is a page worthy of note. Still, it saddens me in some regards. You will never have an heir to pass on your legacy. You will simply grow old with me, and then what?" Burns made a flipping gesture with his hands. "Poof. Nothing."

Smithers smiled and shook his head. "No, not nothing. I was married once Monty, remember? I could've had children if I wanted to. It wasn't in the cards for me, and I don't regret it." Smithers gave a short laugh. "If I have children I certainly don't know about it; and no one's brought it to my attention." He expected Burns to join in, but the older man sat as if thinking. Smithers' amusement died in his throat. He regarded Burns' serious expression a bit nervously. "Monty?" he asked slowly.

Burns drew back his lips. It wasn't a smile. "I never thought I had children until Larry found me."

A tiny surge of doubt ran through Smithers' veins. He ran a finger along the collar of his shirt, which seemed to have grown uncomfortably tight. "Well, I'd think I would've noticed if my wife was pregnant, don't you?"

"Ah Waylon, as I recall, you left impulsively, without adumbration. From what I gathered in casual observation there had been little in the way of open communication between you two for quite some time. It is not outside the realm of possibility you begot your own progeny, unbeknownst to you."

Definitely choking me, Smithers thought. He fumbled to loosen his bowtie, hands moving numbly. He took off his glasses. "Monty," he began, "that's not the case. And even, were it the case, it's been something like twenty years now. If my wife, ex-wife, had wanted to let me know she would have." He rubbed his eyes. "You're the one who deserves an heir, not me. And you have one, with Larry. It's odd enough to think in a few short months he'll be my stepson. Stranger still when I think about the fact he's quite a bit older than me."

Smithers set his glasses on Burns' desk and found himself wishing for a cigarette, or a drink. These past few months had taken a toll on his nerves. It was nothing he couldn't handle, he knew, but it was more than he liked.

In the past year, Smithers' life had gone through several upheavals. Not all of them bad, of course. He was happy to finally have a relationship with Montgomery Burns that he'd always hoped for. The man treated him a friend and equal. He'd even stepped up to becoming a co-owner of the Springfield nuclear plant. Though his job duties hadn't changed that much, he now stood on an equal footing with Burns. He'd been granted the title of Chief Operations Officer, the same one he'd held on paper at Plateau City. Except here, back in Springfield, the title wasn't a temporary honorific. It defined his new status; though Smithers had to admit the appellation meant little to him. It wouldn't have mattered what Burns called him.

Truthfully, had little concern these days. He knew how Burns regarded him. Their dynamic had evolved significantly. Gone were the days of groveling and menial tasks. These days he was a peer, an equal; sometimes even a friendly adversary.

Smithers was always rather shocked that Burns seemed to appreciate a small degree of willful insubordination. Not that Smithers went out of his way to rebel, of course, but Burns appeared to like the challenge of keeping Smithers in line. And Smithers found, contrarily, he liked the freedom to challenge his partner. They'd had a spirited debate not too long ago about the nature of the pipes in the cooling towers.

Burns insisted they could get a few more years out of them before they needed repairs.

Smithers countered that if they weren't replaced by the end of the quarter, there would be nothing left to repair. He held out a small fragment of material in his hand, and crushed it to powder. If so much as a pigeon lands on them, they'll disintegrate.

Bah, you worry too much, Smithers. Those falcons we keep have eaten most the pigeons for miles.

Smithers had folded his arms across his chest. Alright. Then what happens when one of your falcons decides to land on the pipes? No, Monty, we're pulling from the C Budget, and replacing the pipes.

Burns had sulked in his chair, but Smithers could see the faint glimmer of approval in his partner's blue eyes. Smithers knew Burns appreciated his work, but he also knew Burns' character. The man's very nature prompted him to balk and fight Smithers every step of the way; even when he ultimately supported the undertaking.

It was part of Burns' very makeup. He once had told Smithers, metaphorically Smithers assumed: I will never kneel before another man, my knees don't bend that way.

Smithers, feeling rather sassy that day gave Burns a wink and promptly quipped: Well, I guess that just means I'll have to lie down for you then. He waited a few seconds while Burns realized what he was implying. It was like watching an epiphany in slow motion, the puzzled look giving way to surprise, then finally theatrics. He'd leapt to his feet, and threw a crumpled ball of paper in Smithers direction.

Get out of my sight, you insatiable beast. Why, I suspect if I were ever to fail keeping my wits about me, you'd ravage me like the young satyr you are. Begone with you, lest I fall victim to your shameless depredations! Smithers was already on his feet, snickering in delight as he dodged yet another harmless missile from Burns' desk.

Ah, Smithers thought, remembering, good times. A nice break from the now. The present could be sobering. He reached for his glasses, still on the desk from moments before.

"I've found a minister for the ceremony. I told you that, right?" Smithers asked.

Burns nodded. "Indeed you did. Moments ago as I believe. And that brings us full circle to the start of our little chat. Young Tucci. He's your project. I won't interfere, but I have to know: what are you going to do with him?"

"He knows too much, and I don't quite trust him to keep his mouth shut. When he comes out here, I'll have a little talk with him. Actually, we both will."

Burns tapped his chest. "Me? What on earth for? What benefit could I possibly derive by chatting with some inexperienced young pup?"

Smithers raised an eyebrow. "Well, he is a CEO, is he not? Don't you take a personal interest in maintaining communications with the other plant owners around the country? He is a future atom baron, fledgling though he may be. Probably the youngest plant owner in the country, if not the world."

Smithers slipped on his glasses. "In addition to knowing too much, he represents an unusual demographic in a league of… well, powerful, rich old men like us."

Burns laughed at Smithers worlds. "Like 'us' eh, Smithers? Finally your endowments are sinking in through that thick skull of yours, yes? Well," Burns smiled, "it's good to see you're finallyacknowledging what you are." He leaned back and glanced at the clock on the wall. "I'll entertain your little leisurely hobby with Tucci as long as it doesn't interfere with my agenda."

"I figured you'd see reason, Monty."

"Balderdash, Smithers. I hardly call this reason. But if it makes you happy… I suppose I can tolerate it for now." Burns' mouth was set in a prim line, but his eyes shone with a subtle mirth. Obscure to some, but blatantly obvious to Smithers.

The younger man kept his face straight as best he could. "Thank you, sir."

Burns gave a toss of his head. "I spoil you, I suppose. Ah, the whimsical fancy of an old man. Don't get too used to it, Smithers. I really am quite a despot."

"Of course you are, Monty. No one would ever think otherwise." Smithers gave a half bow, and chuckling softly, showed himself out.