Smithers met Keith at the train station around three o'clock. They did the awakward "hug-or-handshake" dance, before finally deciding on one of those one-arm chest-bump hugs common among men.

Smithers had packed everything he needed into a small shoulder bag. One of the things Smithers had learned in his travels with Burns was the art of light packing. He had been expected to carry all of Burns' belongings in addition to his own. Smithers joked that by now, he could fit a full week's worth of survival gear in a backpack. It was an exaggeration, but not by much.

Keith snickered as he eyed Smithers' tiny luggage. His own was a large-sized rolling suitcase, with a second small travel bag attached to it.

"We'll only be gone two nights," Smithers observed.

Keith blushed. "Gotta be prepared, right?"

Smithers patted his small pack. "I am. It's called 'traveling light.'"

They stowed their luggage and took their seats. They were traveling coach, seating similar to that of a plane. It would be a long trip, they'd arrive around ten PM, but there was a dining car, and an observation car. Smithers found he was looking forward to Keith's company.

He slid into the seat next to Keith, and tucked his MyPod into the pouch on the seat in front of him.

"How'd that project go last week?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Keith shrugged. "I hope my 'prof' likes it. After sixty pages, he'd better," Keith laughed.

"A thesis?"

Keith's laughter was proving infectious. "I wish. That'll be even longer. This was my semester project for economics. 'Assessment of Risk Analysis in a Post-Modern Free-Market Economy,' he remarked, quoting his title.

Smithers couldn't help but chuckle. "Sixty pages on that? What exactly is that anyhow?"

Keith rubbed his chin. "A lot of bullshit," he chuckled. "It's mostly about whether or not the market tools we use today are good at predicting how much risk one should take in a global economy. It's not all words. Some of those sixty pages had graphs on them." Keith shrugged. "I like economics. What can I say?"

The Springfield Nuclear Plant had survived a full forty-eight hours without Burns coming in. The staff knew the routine, and ran things as smoothly as possible. Lately, Burns hadn't been much of a leader anyhow. He'd taken to barring himself in his office, emerging only to sic the hounds on unsuspecting workers.

Earlier in the week, he'd walked into the break room to find a pair of employees, Lenny Leonard and Carl Carlson engaged in a heated dispute over who got the last cream-filled donut. Burns had ordered both men to solve the dispute with a fight to the death.

While they were throwing weak punches like schoolgirls, some fat carbon blob from Sector 7G meandered over, grabbed the donut off the tray, stuffed it in his mouth, and waddled off muttering Mmm, pre-fight donut. Burns lost his heart for a good old-fashioned gladiator match.

You two, stop that pitiful endeavor. You'll both die of old age before either of you woeful pinheads figured out how to swing a proper uppercut. Burns turned, and walked dejectedly back to his office.

These past few days, he hadn't bothered going in to the nuclear plant at all. His mind was still whirling from his conversation with Smithers on Wednesday. He knew exactly how long he could be missing in action before things got out of control. About five days. He had the rest of the week, the weekend, and by Monday he'd have to be back on his game.

You're losing this battle, Monty, the little voice chirped.

I'll win it. I'll get him back, Burns thought angrily, challenging the little voice inside his mind.

By force? Do you honestly think that would work?

Burns rubbed the sides of his head, groaning softly. It's all I know.

The little voice seemed unimpressed. Whatever happened to you, Monty? Just the other week you wanted to get a room prepared for him to move in, and now, you want to destroy him. What would your father say?

My father is dead.

What would your grandfather say?

He's dead and moldering in his grave.

That may be. But you still know the answer.

My grandfather would say 'faith, family, and friendship are three demons one needs to slay if one wants to be successful.' My father? He'd say 'you need to follow your heart, because if you do, it'll always see you though.' Burns sighed.

He got up and walked to his chamber in the residential wing. Beside his massive bed was a night stand with a locked drawer. He paused, fished a key out from a chain around his neck, and unlocked the drawer. The drawer was empty, save for a small carved ebony box.

Hands shaking, Burns lifted the box out. The contents hadn't seen the light in so many years, Burns thought, remembering. He sat down on the side of the bed weakly, and opened it. Inside were two identical white gold rings, strung together on a delicate, matching chain. They looked like a pair of wedding bands. For all intents and purposes to Burns, they were.

He lifted the chain out, cupping the rings delicately in his hand.

They were slightly different sized, naturally. One was his, the other… the other was his former partner's. Waylon Sr. had given Burns the ring only a few weeks it seemed before his death. Before saying goodbye to Waylon Sr.'s remains, Burns had taken a moment to remove the ring. It's so no one could possibly identify the body, he told himself. He knew, even then, he hadn't believed that.

No, he'd kept it because it served as a reminder.

For years after Waylon Sr.'s death, he wore his own on the chain around his neck. He'd finally stopped wearing it when Waylon Jr. started working full time for him. He didn't want the young Smithers to see it, ask questions about it. Given Burns' lack of modesty, it was inevitable some day he'd forget to take it off before Smithers assisted him with selecting the day's wear, or some other exposing task.

The last thing he needed was for Waylon Jr. to ask about it.

Burns had put the rings together, and locked the drawer, vowing never to open it again. Just like Waylon Sr.'s room upstairs. Burns sighed and folded the rings in a fist. He was sure doing a lot of nevers as of late.

Carefully, slowly, he uncurled his fingers and lifted the ring that he'd once worn up. He peered at it, remembering. The inscription was still there, delicately engraved on the inside of the band Forever as Yours. WJS. The final part of the inscription was the date Waylon Sr. had started working for him. It was the closest thing to an anniversary they'd ever had.

Burns studied the ring with a quiet intensity.

Smithers, his young Smithers, rarely ever added the suffix "Junior" to his name. Burns knew a lot of that came from the fact the Smithers had never really known his father. Smithers was just a baby when his father died. Forever as Yours… that wasn't limited to the past, Burns reflected. It seemed fitting, even now.

All these years that Burns knew Waylon Jr., he thought he, C. M. Burns was the one in control. Now, it seemed, Smithers had been the one with the power from the beginning. Like this ring, Burns thought as he slipped the chain with both rings on over his neck. He's had me wrapped around his finger the entire time, and neither of us ever knew it.

Burns reached over and stroked Hercules absentmindedly. The tiny dog had become an ever-present companion in Smithers' absence.

You have to tell him, the voice remarked. Even if it doesn't change anything, you have to tell him the truth.

It won't change anything, Burns thought sadly. He's lost to me.

Perhaps, yes, that may be true. Go to the convention, say goodbye. You need closure, Monty, and you know it.

As usual, whatever inner conscience he had spoke true.

Burns lay down on the bed, pulling both Hercules and his plush bear Bobo into his arms. The terrier gave a squeaky little yawn, and licked Burns' face. He curled his tiny, furry body against Burns' gaunt chest.

Arms around the only loved ones he had in Burns Manor, and indifferent to the time of day, Burns tried in vain to sleep.

It was a long train ride, it gave Keith and Smithers a good amount of time to chat.

"You were married once?" Keith asked incredulously, eyes full of awe.

Smithers nodded. "It didn't work out."

"Why not?" he pressed.

"Simply put, it was a lavender marriage. I thought it would work out somehow. I was naïve. It fell apart," he made an exploding gesture with his hands. "A complete disaster."

"What happened to your wife?"

Smithers shrugged. "Who knows? She never wanted to hear from me again after the divorce, so I let it go."

"Do you miss her?"

Smithers shook his head, smiling. "You sure ask a lot of questions there, Keith."

Keith blushed and fidgeted in his chair, hand accidentally(?) bumping Smithers' in the process. "I just want to know how you knew… how people know… if they're," he struggled for words, "you know…"

"Gay?" offered Smithers.

Keith nodded. His expression made it clear he was grateful for Smithers saying the word so he didn't have to.

Poor, shy, adorable lad, Smithers thought. He reached over and gave Keith's hand a squeeze. "It's not like ever know exactly. It's more like you realize what you don't like, and if you're gay, or on the gay side of the spectrum, you realize you just aren't interested in physical relations with a woman." He shrugged. "It's that simple."

Keith turned his hand so that his palm was against Smithers' palm, and curled his fingers around Smithers' hand. He seemed to accept that answer, though Smithers could tell from his expression that his thoughts were still sorting themselves out.

"Are we...?" he paused. "Are we a couple?"

Smithers beamed, and wrapped his fingers around Keith's warm hand. "Maybe it's going that way. I'm still sorting things out myself."

"Like whether you're… you-know… or not?"

"Oh no," Smithers laughed. "I figured out a long time who I like." His eyes clouded over for a moment, remembering when he started realizing he had feelings for Burns. "I, um, I had a 'type,' if you will. A man I thought I'd give the world for. It didn't work out."

"You two broke up?"

Smithers shook his head, still holding Keith's hand. "No. He wasn't into me. I kept thinking he might be, and I didn't get seriously involved with anyone while he was in the picture, but in the end it wasn't meant to be." Smithers shifted his feet. His relationship with Burns felt more like a divorce than what happened when he and his wife called it quits.

Though there had never been a physical component to his dynamic with Burns, the emotional invest Smithers had put in was more than he'd ever done with his marriage. He wasn't sure, even now, how truly over Burns he even was. He wondered, deep in the back of his mind, if he'd ever truly move on from Burns. Perhaps, he thought, looking at Keith out of the corner of his eye, we don't ever really get over things. We just learn how to cope in time.

It seemed like the serious conversations were over for now.

The rest of the ride they spent chatting lightly, learning a bit more about each other.

Keith wanted to know all about Smithers, the placed he'd traveled to, what it was like running a nuclear plant and being one of the most powerful people in Springfield. I was never 'powerful,' Smithers said laughing.

Are you kidding? Keith replied. You had that town by the bullring. Your boss depended on you, you could have anything, do anything you wanted and people never questioned it.

I didn't want power, Smithers admitted.

No; but they gave it to you anyways. That's true power right there. Not the stuff people seize by force or intimidation, but the sort people give willingly. That's how leaders are made, sir. Keith couldn't help but add that last word; and a wink.

Smithers steepled his fingers, rested his mouth on his fingertips, and thought about Keith's words. Keith accused him of being a man of influence; Burns had called him, what had he said? A microscopic little cog? Something like that. Smithers interlaced his fingers and rubbed his hands together. A tiny piece, he speculated, like the pin to a grenade. Can the submissive actually be the one with the power, he questioned. It was a new idea he'd never entertained before.

With that in the back of his mind, Smithers asked Keith about his story.

The young man was, like he said, a native of the region. He'd never been in a long term relationship, though he'd dated a bit. He was, like Ellis at the bar had said, questioning a lot about himself. He hadn't talked with his family about things yet.

He was the middle child, with an older sister, and older brother, and two younger brothers. His youngest brother was had just started high school this year. My parents married young, he explained. His parents had been high school sweethearts who got married in their late teens, and somehow, against all odds, had made things work.

By the time the train arrived at Niagara Falls, both men knew a great deal more about one another. Smithers hadn't told Keith the story about Mister Burns, and had no intention of doing so. Sometimes a bunch of little half-truths were better than one big truth.

They passed through customs and caught a shuttle down to the hotel.

The river was on their left as they rode downtown, the entire area bathed in a glowing mist. Lights along the falls changed the fog from red to yellow to blue, and every shade in between. The hotels shone with their own neon lights. Everything was coated in a heavy dew, and the light reflected off the wet surfaces, given the entire downtown a very surreal feeling.

The hotel Smithers had reserved was located right by the falls, appropriately named Fallsview Casino. The shuttle dropped them off at the front entrance. Keith had wanted to pay for everything, but Smithers resisted. Let me at least book the room and train tickets, Smithers said. I don't have student loans hanging over my head. Keith bobbed his head in agreement.

So saying, Smithers reserved a single room, two queen beds, with a wonderful overview of the falls.

They made their way up to the room, and tossed their stuff on the floor. Smithers flopped down on one of the beds and threw and arm over his face. "I don't know about you, Keith, but I'm exhausted."

Keith laughed. "The night's still young, Waylon! Let's go hit up that club down the road. You remember, the one I told you about on the train?"

Smithers had seen the photos. It looked like a fairly wild place. The website showed people in crazy costumes, ice buckets of campaign and glow sticks, things like that. He took his glasses off and ran a hand through his lengthening hair. "Seriously? I don't know. Couldn't we go tomorrow night?"

Keith shook his head. "Tonight'll be fine. You just need something to wake you up a bit."

Smithers head Keith rusting in his duffle bag. A few seconds later Smithers heard the sound of a small metal object being set on the dressed.

He propped himself up on one elbow and put on his glasses. "Keith, what are you doing?"

Keith looked at him, and winked. He set a small metal tin, it looked like an old film canister, made of tin and with a screw-top. "Hang on," Keith replied. He pulled out a small square mirror, and started unscrewing the canister.

Smithers felt his pulse quicken uncomfortably. "Uhm, Keith…" he began uncertainly, watching with an increasing sensation of dread as Keith slowly poured some of the contents onto the mirror. It looked like baking powder. Smithers knew it wasn't.

Keith carefully used his credit card to draw the powder into lines, then pulled a dollar bill out of his wallet and rolled it into a tight tube.

Smithers shook his head. "No, Keith. Please don't tell me you're doing this…"

Keith ignored Smithers, and, covering one nostril, used the rolled bill to sniff up one of the powdery lines. He coughed and sniffed a few times, and rubbed his nose. He smiled warmly at Smithers and gestured to the other line. "You'll be wide awake in no time," he beamed.

Smithers sat up fully, and put his hands out. "No," he said, face stern. "I am not okay with this."

Keith raised his eyebrows, confused. "What? A little flake won't hurt anyone. It'll help you have fun, that's all."

Smithers stood up. "In case you didn't notice, I was having fun," he snapped. "Up until now."

Keith wiped his nose with his hand and rubbed his palms together. "Jeeze, Waylon. Everyone does it."

"Clearly everyone does not do it," Smithers folded his arms over his chest. "Because I don't."

"How do you think I managed to stay up doing all-nighters?"

"I figured you used coffee and willpower like the rest of us," retorted Smithers. He started grabbing his belongings and stuffing them violently back into his travel bag.

Keith shook his head. "Hey, whoa, wait! Where are you going?"

"Out," replied Smithers angrily. "And I won't be back." He stormed to the door, then paused. Sighing heavily, he turned around and faced Keith. "You know, I was really getting to like you. I was looking forward to this weekend maybe turning into something more. But this," he gestured to the paraphernalia on the dresser, "I am not okay with. I can't believe you thought it would be a good idea to bring cocaine into a foreign country! Like nothing could've happened. And I was travelling with you, for Chrissake!" Smithers ran his hands through his hair. "Do you know what could've happened if we'd been caught?"

Keith gave a shrug, which ordinarily would've looked cute and innocent, but now looked flippant. "We weren't, were we?"

"Well maybe you don't care about that, but I do. I'm sorry Keith, I'm not having any part of this. I've come too far in life to have it all ruined just because my travelling companion made a stupid decision."

"So you're just leaving," Keith snapped, "just like that? Where the hell do you think you'll go, Waylon?"

Smithers folded his arms and stared levelly at Keith. "I've coordinated travel plans from one end of the world to the other. I think I can find my way back to Plateau City from here. Goodbye, Keith."

Smithers swung his travel bag over his shoulder and swept out the door. He didn't bother looking back. There was nothing more in that room that he cared to see.