C. Montgomery Burns didn't have a lot of things going for him at the moment. Last week he'd managed to stave off the Nuclear Regulatory Commission's inspection, just barely, and he bribed the OSHA inspector to let a few things slide. Nest of raccoons in the ventilation duct? What raccoons? There are no raccoons here!
Things like that.
What irked him though was the fact he hadn't heard a response from Smithers, despite sending his most formal and imposing of documents. Did Smithers not read it? The manager at the hotel assured him it had been hand-delivered.
Burns had half a mind to fly out to Plateau City himself, and demand Smithers acknowledge him.
Lately his moods seemed to pendulum between fury and sorrow. He was beginning to feel drained from it all. What he needed was Smithers. The man always managed to be the balancing yin to his raging yang. Without Smithers, well, most of his impulse control was going out the window.
Damn it all.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Smithers' number.
As always, his call went straight to voicemail. If he hadn't been getting reports on Smithers from Dimas, Burns would've been worried. At least he knew Smithers was alive and well. But why wasn't he answering. Burns slammed the receiver down vehemently, and tented his fingers, thinking.
To hell with it, he snarled.
He dialed Smithers' number a second time, waited till the voicemail beeped, and began speaking. "Smithers, you stubborn clod of a mule, read that letter you received and call me back immediately!"
He hung up and waited.
Seconds ticked by, lengthening into minutes. The minutes seeped in a quarter of an hour, then half. Still, Burns waited, unmoving, for his phone to ring.
On the other side of the country, Smithers and Keith were boarding the southbound Amtrak train to New York City. They couldn't have asked for better weather. Smithers wore a pair of light cotton shorts, polo tee, and a button-up overshirt; which he'd left unbottoned. Keith wore cut-off jeans and a hooded tee-shirt. Smithers didn't even know they made tee-shirts with hoods.
Keith grinned. "I like the look of a hoodie, but it's too warm for one," he remarked jovially as they climbed onto the train, and took their seats. "You know," Keith remarked after the men had gotten settled, "we could go to Niagara Falls some weekend."
Smithers looked up from the route map. "Oh?"
Keith nodded. "It'd be a weekend trip, it takes about six and a half hours from here, but the economy tickets are only fifty dollars each. That's cheaper than driving. We could skip out of our respective duties some Friday, and come back Sunday."
Smithers folded the Amtrak schedule into his backpack and pulled out a New York City brochure, one of several he'd grabbed at the train station. "We could," he said thoughtfully. Let's see how today goes before we commit to anything, he added silently.
Keith seemed to take the hint. He drummed his hands on his thigh, and stared out the window quietly.
"Hey," Smithers interjected, tapping Keith on the knee, "what's on your mind?"
"Just thinking about the trip," Keith replied.
Yep, Smithers thought, the man definitely should never play poker. "No, seriously," he pushed, "something's got you distracted."
Keith turned his soft brown eyes towards Smithers and smiled. "It's just," he paused, "I'm not sure if this is a date or…"
Smithers gave a reassuring smile. "You're worried about that?" He shook his head. "Don't be. There's no pressure. We're just two handsome guys on their way downtown for the day. It doesn't have to be more than that."
Keith looked away, bashfully. "Handsome," he muttered, and blushed.
Well, more 'cute,' Smithers thought. When it came to handsome, Smithers considered the austere type to better fit that definition. But no, Keith was definitely cute, with his youthful charm, tousled locks, and expressive eyes. Smithers resisted the urge to reach out and ruffle Keith's hair. Instead, he clasped his hands together between his legs.
"I like your new glasses," Keith admitted. "I'm sorry about your old pair, but honestly, these fit your face better."
Smithers took his glasses off and squinted at them. "You think so?"
Keith nodded eagerly. "Oh yes. They make you look…" he paused, searching for the word. "Sophisticated, I guess. Worldly."
Smithers laughed and interlaced his fingers. "Worldly, eh? What do you mean by that?"
"Well, like you've been places. Seen and done a lot of things. I've never lived anywhere but the capital district. I mean," he added, "I've travelled. I went to Florida as a child, and I have grandparents in Michigan, but I've never lived anywhere else, you know?"
Smithers nodded thoughtfully. He knew exactly.
"If you could live anywhere," Smithers asked, "where would it be?"
Keith thought for a moment. "Arizona, Tucson maybe. Or San Francisco."
"Well you can't get more different than those," Smithers remarked. He dug a granola bar out of his pack and offered it to Keith. Keith took it, thanked him and tore into it eagerly.
The two men rode quietly for a while. Eventually, the train arrived at Penn Station. Smithers, who had been reading the map of Penn Station got up, motioning Keith to follow.
"Where are we going first?" Keith asked, curious.
"How do you feel about museums?" Smithers asked.
"Natural history or art?"
"Either."
"Both are fine," Keith replied, bobbing his head eagerly. "Whichever you want."
Smithers nodded. "We'll go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art then," he said decisively. "They have an amazing Egyptian exhibit I've been dying to see."
Keith trotted along beside him.
"We'll take the subway," Smithers remarked, looking over his map. "It'll get us close enough. From there, we can walk the rest of the way."
"Sounds good," Keith agreed cheerfully.
A short time later, Keith and Smithers were standing before the Tomb of Perneb; and the narrow entrance between the limestone blocks. Smithers grinned broadly at Keith, who looked up in awe.
"Isn't it something?" Smithers remarked, tilting his head towards the entry way. "This is the real thing, no reproduction." He laid a hand on the stone. "Chiseled out by hand. You know, some of this artwork is so precise, down to the micrometer. We're only now developing technology that precise; and they did it all by hand."
Keith reached out and stroked the stone next to Smithers' hand.
"Have you ever seen them," he asked. "The pyramids, I mean."
Smithers shook his head. "I've been to Europe a few times; Asia too. Never Africa." He slid through the narrow entryway. "I've been to India twice…"
"You must've seen some amazing sights," observed Keith, sliding in behind him.
Smithers gave a sad little laugh. "No, unfortunately not. It was always on business."
"Oh." Keith fell silent for a moment.
They passed into the main Egyptian exhibit, peering into the various display cases, and occasionally making an observation to one another. Smithers periodically glanced out of the corner of his eye to watch Keith. He wanted to see Keith's reaction.
The young man seemed interested, and he appreciated the craftsmanship to be sure. Smithers wasn't sure Keith felt the same things he did. Smithers felt it better to let Keith do the talking. He liked Keith, to be sure. The man was young, seemed a tad naïve and insecure, but his puppy-like enthusiasm was endearing. It made Smithers feel good, being seen with a younger man. It was nice to have someone look up to him.
The gallery opened up into a solarium-like room with a reflecting pool. Smithers paused and clasped his hands behind his back, taking it all in. Keith slid over beside him, standing just close enough to be significant, but not so close as to actually touch.
Smithers held his head high, feeling himself oddly regal; as if he were the some ancient chieftain or cleric from the lands of the Nile.
Keith must've caught that.
He turned, and looked Smithers up and down, admiration in his eyes.
"You've done so much," he said quietly. "Business or not, it must be nice to have all those experiences."
Smithers glanced over at Keith, regarding him almost imperially. "It was," he admitted. "But that was a different time." He looked at the limestone temple before them. "Sometimes the world moves on, and leaves nothing but memories." He glanced at the brochure. "Would you like to see the Eurpean sculpture court?"
"Absolutely!" Keith paused, face clouding over for a moment. "The past might be memories," he began carefully, "but the memories remain a part of you." He paused. "So, in a way, we're all part of the past."
Smithers chuckled. "Well now, that's profound."
Keith beamed. "Thank you," he replied, his sentence ending with an odd abruptness.
Smithers shook his head. He was going to try calling me 'sir,' again; I'm sure of it. Why? Do I really seem that way to him? Smithers chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Kids these days, he mused. He stopped and took out his cell phone. The voicemail icon was blinking. He hadn't noticed that earlier.
"Hang on a second, Keith." Smithers walked to the side of the reflecting pool by the window, and hit "listen."
A painfully familiar voice barked into his ear, "Smithers, you stubborn clod of a mule…" Smithers clenched his teeth and listened to the short message Mister Burns had left, demanding he read the letter. He'd almost forgotten about it: the formal one that arrived yesterday.
Smithers hit "repeat" and listened to the message again. This time, he didn't focus on the message, but the tone.
Burns sounded rattled, frantic almost.
Smithers had lived under the shadow of Monty Burns for most of his life, he knew the man's voice as well as he knew his own. Though the casual observer would've only heard anger, Smithers detected an undercurrent of desperation behind Burns' words.
Smithers felt an old, familiar tug at his heart.
He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose slowly. I shouldn't have listened to that, he chastised himself. I can't, Monty. I don't know what's wrong - and it's not that I don't care - but I can't go rushing back to mend your broken life. He felt his eyes start to brim with unshed tears. Whatever's going wrong for you, you'll have to figure it out yourself. He ran a hand over his nose and mouth. Monty, I'm sorry…
"Waylon," a soft voice at his arm spoke up. "Is everything okay?"
Smithers looked over at Keith. "Just some ghosts from the past. Memories that won't stay gone, you know?"
Keith looked sympathetic and innocent at the same time.
No, Smithers thought, staring into Keith's soft brown eyes, you don't know. You've never had your heart broken yet. Smithers sighed, and this time didn't resist the urge to run his hand through Keith's dirty blond hair.
The young man tried to lean out of the way, but he smiled nonetheless. "You'll mess up my 'do," he laughed, trying to smooth his hair back down. It resisted adorably.
Smithers smiled, wanting to say more. His expression softened. "Let's go check out those sculptures, eh?"
Keith rocked back and forth on his heels eagerly. "Yes, sir!"
Smithers gave a slight snort, but his lips curled up nonetheless. Sir, yet. Was Keith actually serious, or just playing around. Smithers wasn't sure if it bothered him… or if he kind of liked it.
He gave Keith a playful shove. "Come on, you; get moving. Those statues won't wait forever."
Keith grinned, and pushed back. "Right? They might walk away at any moment. We'd better hurry!" He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Smithers shook his head, smiling. The incorrigible youth these days, he thought lightly, as he and Keith made their way to the European gallery.
Charles Montgomery Burns had not moved from the desk in his office at the manor. He probably would've sat there all night if Hercules hadn't started whimpering to go out.
Burns hung his head, stood, and scooped the dog into his arms. "We need to get you a cart or something, don't we beastie," he remarked as he carried Hercules outside.
He set the dog in the soft grass and stood nearby while Hercules hobbled about, trying to find the perfect spot to do his business. Here I am, thought Burns sullenly, Master of the Atom, reduced to watching a dog decide where to poop on my lawn. Ah, how the mighty have fallen.
Hercules finally found a spot that met his approval. He did what he needed to do, then toddled back over to Burns. Burns sat down on the step, and helped the dog climb up next to him. The irony of the entire situation was not lost on him.
He'd sent Smithers away, not expecting to miss him. Smithers left his dog behind, and obviously hadn't bothered to miss him! Burns rubbed Hercules ears absentmindedly. "He's gotten over both of us, eh beast? It's just you and me now."
Hercules might not have understood Burns' words, but he understood the tone. He wriggled under Burns' arm, and climbed into the old plutocrat's lap. Burns put his arms around the dog, and looked to the left, west, the direction of the setting sun.
If he hasn't called by now, Burns thought sadly, he's not going to. It's best to just move on. He got up, Hercules tucked under one arm, and rang his lawyer.
"Waylon Smithers is evidently not coming back," he announced to the man. "Stop the rent going to pay for his apartment, and cancel his lease. Have everything of his moved into storage here. If he wants it, he can come get it."
"Yes, Mister Burns," the lawyer replied. "We'll get that started first thing tomorrow morning."
As Burns was making those decisions back in Springfield, Smithers was trying to stay awake on the ride back to Plateau City. He and Keith barely even scratched the surface of the art museum; there was no way it was possible to see everything in a single day.
Smithers resolved to go back there. He wanted to take his time and really soak in the fabulous pieces from history. Keith enjoyed it too, though he wasn't quite as good at sitting still to contemplate the subtleties. No worry, Smithers thought contentedly. It was nice enough just to have some company for the day.
Keith seemed more awake than he did. No great surprise there, the man was still young; but he had a keen light in his eyes.
"You're a night owl, eh?" Smithers asked, yawning.
"You have to be when you're in the middle of your Master's," Keith agreed. "I mean, there are some nights I can't afford to sleep. I just have to get things done. I suppose I'm used to pulling all-nighters."
Smithers stretched his arms behind his head. "Ngh, not me," he grunted, feeling the satisfying pops along his spine as he arched his back.
Keith winced. "Was that your neck?"
"One of them was."
"Sounded like it hurt."
"Ah, it felt great." He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "So, Keith, still worried?"
Keith's brow wrinkled. "About?"
"About whether or not this was a date."
"Oh!" Keith blushed and laughed nervously. "Well, uhm, not so worried anymore…"
Smithers steepled his fingers and tapped the tips together. "That's good."
Keith looked modestly away and tucked his hands against his stomach.
"So," Smithers probed, "what was it?"
"It?"
"Today. Was it just a casual outing, or more like a date?"
Keith blushed, and squirmed a bit in his seat.
Smithers found himself enjoying Keith's shyness. He leaned forward, resting his lips on his fingertips. There was something about watching the young man squirm that excited him.
"It was… more like a date than not…" he began.
"Is that a bad thing?" asked Smithers as innocently as he could.
The red flush to Keith's cheeks was slowly creeping down his neck. "No… it wasn't a bad thing."
"Then that's good." If there was a moment to make the first move, Smithers thought, this would be it. He started to lean in, then caught himself. It still didn't feel quite right. Not yet anyhow.
In his mind, he heard the distraught tone to Burns' voice, recalled the unopened letter in the bottom of his dresser drawer. Things didn't feel quite done yet. Over, perhaps, but not finished.
Is there every really such a thing as the end, Smithers pondered to himself. He reached over and patted Keith's leg. "I had a great time too, Keith. We'll have to do this again."
So thinking, he leaned back and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift with the swaying motion of the train.