My Dearest Smithers, the letter began, I hope this doesn't come too late.
My boy, who ever would've guessed that you'd leave such a hole in your absence. In all my years, I never once questioned what I had. I believed I knew.
No. Instead, you've made question who I am; and ask what have I become? I never realized, the moment you walked out that door, how much you meant to me. You were the sky upon which I hung my stars. Now my nights are ice and dark. It is perhaps no less than I have earned; what I deserve.
I took for granted your presence at my side. You looked good on me. You were my style. I didn't realize that until after, at my own self-absorbed whim, you had departed.
There's so much I've never told you; about my past, about our future. Us. I always hoped deep down you knew. You left imprints on my heart that can't be rubbed away with time. Even stone can be scarred.
If fate has sentenced me to never look upon you more; I must accept this.
You have always been, my boy, evermore than I deserved. If only I could have a moment again with you, a day, or even an hour, I'd tell you all the things my heart now longs to say.
Waylon, please don't let this be the end of us. I am not a kind man, I am not patient, nor long tolerant. I have mistreated you grievously in the past. I can't deny that. But I hoped, somehow, you could see past all that, perceive that there was so much more behind my actions when I ignored you, or spurned your kindness with my own mephitic rancor.
Permit me to beg you, if I may: come back to me, Waylon Smithers. Come home.
Burns Manor has stood empty too long. A mausoleum for the remains of my heart. I never realized how much your voice filled these abandoned halls, devoid spirit and life. Your light banished the darkness that haunts me now. My sanctuary has now become the perfect metaphor I am loathed to endure.
Bring light to these halls once again, Waylon.
Sit beside me in the long nights. Warm my heart by bringing nothing more than yours. I offer my hand, open, and unarmed, in supplication. When you have found all you need to out there, come back to me. Never again will I send you away.
I shall not hold you captive, nor force your will, but I beg you please don't give up this lonely, and very foolish old man.
Yours… always,
Monty.
Smithers finished reading. His bowl of cereal sat forgotten off to the side. Yours… always. Now that couldn't be a coincidence. Burns asked him to come back, and not just to Springfield, or his old job, but back to Burns himself.
Smithers' heart flipped and trembled within his chest. Did that mean what he hoped it did? Was Burns truly offering him a home at the Manor? He knew he would not be able to concentrate until he knew for certain. Smithers pulled out his phone, and called Burns' private line.
Please pick up, he willed. Please.
The phone rang more times before Burns answered. The man's voice sounded tired. Given the flight he made yesterday, it was understandable. Smithers knew Burns liked to imagine himself an unwearying force of nature. Smithers also knew even the most tenacious overlords in history still needed sleep. Burns was no different.
"Mister Burns… Monty," he began without preamble, "I read your letter."
Burns exhaled slowly. "And?" he asked warily.
"Is it true? Is all of it what you really feel?"
"Smithers… Waylon…" Burns sighed. "Do you even need to ask that after last night?"
Smithers relented. "No, I don't. It's just… it's been a lot to deal with in the past few weeks, Monty. I've got a lot to sort out in my head."
Burns made a sound of acknowledgement. "So," he began slowly, "when are you scheduled to be released from Dimas' care?"
"I talked with him on the ride back from Albany. I suppose I'm pretty much good to leave whenever I want."
"You could leave tonight."
"I could… but there are people here I want to say goodbye to. I can't just up and leave."
"Fair enough, Waylon." Burns coughed awkwardly. "I trust you'll contact me before you decide to leave, so I can send the jet for you?"
"I won't have to manage my own flight back?"
"No. I'll see to everything."
"Thank you, Monty."
"No… it is I who should be thanking you."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Still so much left unsaid. "Well," Smithers began, "I'll, eh, I'll keep in touch."
"These empty hours without you are an anathema to my very soul. I meant what I said."
"About what?"
"That I love you. I hope you know that."
Smithers smiled, though Burns couldn't see it. "I believe that, Monty. I truly do." They said their goodbyes, and disconnected. Smithers mulled over his options. He picked up his phone and called Dimas on his private cell.
The man answered. "Sir," Smithers began, "I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, but I was wondering what my timeline might be to return to Springfield."
Dimas chuckled. "You're not my employee. You can leave whenever you want. Clear out your desk, and turn in your ID, and you're done. And if you ever need a recommendation, I'd be happy to oblige."
"Thank you, sir," Smithers replied graciously.
Smithers knew one of the good things about certain industries is that they run twenty-four hours a day, around the clock. He made his way over to the nuclear plant to start packing what few personal items he had in his desk. The entire contents fit neatly into a single box. He wouldn't be able to turn in his identification until Monday, but that gave him Sunday to say goodbye to the people he met. He wanted, especially, to have one last chat with Leon before he left. He'd miss that man. Ellis too. And of course his coworkers from the plant. Smithers was not one for long farewells, or going-away parties, but he at least felt a few cards would be in order; thank you notes for training him, that sort of thing.
After his conversation with Dimas, he'd called Burns back, and suggested Tuesday morning as a time to depart for Springfield. Burns agreed, and said he'd have the jet at LaGuardia by ten AM. When it came to travel, Burns was very particular about long-range aircraft. It would be nice, Smithers thought, to make the flight from Plateau to Springfield non-stop, and in the comfort of the familiar cabin.
Sunday he continued to pack. He bought the cards, filled them out, and put them in his day-bag to bring in on Monday. He made his way down to J. Vernie's, and was disappointed to find Leon off that day. Smithers wrote a brief message on the back of one of his business cards, and left it with the other bartender. He even stopped at The Lucky Lady on his way back. Leon was not there either. Smithers wrote the same message, Leon, thank you for everything. If you're ever out my way, look me up, and gave her a card as well.
Feeling bittersweet, he made his way back to his apartment, and finished packing. He didn't have much. Everything fit neatly into his suitcases. It was all about traveling light, once again.
Smithers hadn't been expecting much of a send-off, but from the Plateau City crew. He'd expected to hand out the cards in the morning, and then leave early. It was Ruby, from accounting, who flagged him down on his way to the Human Resources office. "Waylon," she said, waving a hand, "wait a minute!"
Smithers paused. "What's up," he asked, curious.
Ruby put a hand on his shoulder. "Before you go, you should stop down at the cafeteria."
"Oh, I'm really not hungry," he confessed.
"Please," Ruby encouraged. "You can't leave on an empty stomach."
Smithers looked at the ID badge in his hand. "Oh, what the heck," he shrugged. One more free sandwich couldn't hurt. He followed her down the familiar corridors to the cafeteria. As he approached, it sounded like it was more usual; especially considering the time of day. Ruby sneezed.
"Bless you," Smithers replied.
The room suddenly grew quiet. "Shhh, shhh, shhh… it's him," someone whispered.
A few steps to the door, Ruby paused. "I have to tie my shoe," she explained. "You go ahead."
Smithers deftly stepped around her, and into the large room.
"SURPRISE!" the large cluster of familiar faces cheered out. Sharon and Gary held up a cake with a picture of New York State, and a dotted line connecting to North Tacoma. Goodbye, Waylon! We'll Miss You! the frosting letters announced. Smithers blushed. "Aww, jeeze," he muttered, shyly.
Ruby put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward. "You didn't honestly think you were getting out of here without saying goodbye, did you?" she asked, grinning.
Smithers took off his glasses and rubbed his burning cheeks. "Well, actually I had."
"Hah, not a chance," laughed Antoine, sitting on one of the tables, swinging his legs lively back and forth.
Ruby pushed Smithers gently down into a seat and Sharon cut him a slice of cake.
"How'd you even know I was leaving?" Smithers asked, in polite confusion.
"Well, the cards were kinda a giveaway," he admitted. "Speaking of which, where's mine?"
Smithers reached into his pouch and pulled out a card for Antoine. "I was going to leave this in your mailbox. You don't have an office."
Antoine grinned. "My office can fly." He started tearing open the envelope. "Oh, and about the party, a little birdy let the word slip the other day that you'd be leaving, so… yeah. That too." He returned his attention to the card.
Smithers tilted his head, puzzled. "'Little birdy?'"
Preston detached himself from the crowd, and gave a modest wave. "Hi, Waylon."
Smithers' eyes widened in surprise. "You?"
Preston looked at his feet shyly. "Yes, well… It appears someone might've sent Mister Dimas a very persuasive email after we got back from NAAECon, stating how one single act shouldn't make or break anyone's career… and he had a change of heart." He looked up bashfully. "I wonder who that was."
Smithers tried to suppress a grin. "I have no idea." He gestured to an empty chair nearby.
Preston took it.
Any hope of productivity was halted for the next few hours, and no one minded at all. They sat, laughing and swapping stories until eventually the cake had been eaten; and the daily requirements of their respective jobs once again demanded attention. Smithers said his goodbyes, amid handshakes and a few friendly hugs, then turned in his ID badge, and left through the gates of the Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station for the last time.
Smithers got off the train at LaGuardia airport, and made his way through security to the executive gate. He recognized the familiar atom emblem on the tail-fin of Burns' company jet. It was the same copper color as the cufflinks Burns had always complemented him on. Smithers smiled, and adjusted his bowtie. It felt good to be going home.
The pilot escorted him across the tarmac, and up into the plane. His luggage had already been stored beneath. Smithers was so intent on getting settled at the table he didn't notice a familiar figure detach himself from the shadows at the aft end of the compartment.
"Hello, Waylon."
Smithers jumped, nearly colliding with the curved bulkhead. "Mister Burns," he gasped out of reflex.
Burns shrugged his way down the aisle. "'Monty'," he corrected, sliding into a seat at the table across from Smithers. He reached out and took Smithers' strong hand in his narrow one. Smithers noted how cold Burns' hand felt.
"You're freezing," he remarked, and covered both Burns' hands with his.
"All my blood seems to have flooded my heart, as it were," Burns remarked. He glanced at Smithers' hands. "I see you're still wearing that ring. I'm glad. It fits you." He paused, glancing out the window as the plane taxied around and prepared to take off. The engines cycled up.
The plane rumbled and angled back as it detached itself from the ground. Smithers, his back towards the cockpit, was pushed against his seatbelt closer towards Burns as the jet climbed steeply.
Burns tightened his grip on Smithers' hands. Against the force of acceleration, he craned his body forward, reached up, and caressed Smithers' cheek. It took a herculean amount of effort on his part. Burns ran his thumbs over the back of Smithers' fingers. "Someday, I'll get you one all your own," he murmured.
With that, he released Smithers' hands, and leaned back in his seat. Smithers looked into Burns' eyes, clear and blue; and at peace.
Smithers leaned back as the plane leveled out, and unfastened his seatbelt. He rose and walked over to Burns, offering a hand.
Burns unfastened his, and took Smithers hand. They made their way back to the couch near the aft end of the compartment. Smithers sat down, pulling Burns with him. "We can take our time, Monty," he said softly, thoughtfully. "We've both been through a lot these past few weeks."
Burns nodded. "That doesn't change the fact that I expect you to call the manor your home from now on. I've taken the liberty of setting up a room for you. It will be your space, to arrange and decorate as you see fit. Anything you want, it will be done." Burns smiled softly. "But perhaps some nights, you might sleep in a different room."
Smithers' heart skipped a beat.
"I'm not implying or suggesting anything, my dear friend. But after this, I have no desire to have you too far from my side ever again. Why would I want you any further from me than necessary?" He shook his head, and put his hand on Smithers' knee. "No, Waylon. I've more than enough space in my own big, empty room. If some nights you might find yourself feeling the same, I'd gladly welcome your company at night."
He put his head against Smithers shoulders. "Perhaps, now that you're here, my night sky will once again be resplendent in stars."
Smithers put his arms around Burns, and drew him closer. "I always had stars in my eyes when I looked at you, Monty."
Burns slid his hand to Smithers' flank, then around Smithers waist. "I can't promise I might not hurt you…"
"I can't promise I won't get mad…"
"… But I can promise you, for as long as I live, there is no one I want in my life more than I've ever wanted you right this minute."
"Monty, I…"
Burns gave Smithers a squeeze, smirked flirtatiously. "Oh, hush up, Waylon." Burns leaned in, and grazes his mouth along Smithers neck, nibbling gently.
"For this? With pleasure, sir." Smithers giggled, and turned his face to Burns'.
Their lips met, and they kissed once, lightly.
For a moment, it was enough...
...But it was only enough for a moment.
The End...?