Chapter 1: A night to remember.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Matt Groening.
Charles Montgomery Burns sat up and threw his book away in frustration. He could not concentrate. The lines would become blurred and he kept reading the same sentence over and over again.
“You mean to tell me he's never told you before? Never?”
Patty Bouvier's question had echoed in his head ever since he had heard it a few hours ago.
Mr. Burns stood outside his boyfriend's door. His and Smithers' four year anniversary was fast approaching but this year the younger man seemed to act differently than on how he did during their previous anniversaries. While he used to be overly excited and wanted to plan everything this year he seemed jittery and they had yet to make plans. Mr. Burns was not the man to express excitement for such social conventions as anniversaries, but this did not mean he did not enjoy them. Therefore that day, which so happened to be Waylon Smithers' day off, he had decided to drop by the younger man's apartment and propose that he, Monty Burns, would take care of the celebrations this year.
Upon arrival, he heard voices coming from inside the apartment.
“You mean to tell me he's never told you before? Never?”
“Pat it's not a big deal!I don't mind! I really don't!” Smithers defensive protests were heard.
The older man stood there. It was obvious they had been talking about him and if he had any doubts they were cast away with Patty Bouvier's next exclamation.
“You two have been dating for four years...he's never told you he loves you...and YOU don't care.”
The tone of her voice was stating that she was not buying any of Smithers' words. Monty Burns could only imagine the look she was giving Smithers right now. He always felt uneasy when he had to meet Patty Bouvier and this was not because he used to date her mother. It was because the young woman had the ability to look at people and it was as if she could read the depths of their soul.
“Of course I care!” Smithers blurted out, “It's not like I have an option though do I? Do you think I'd hate the idea of hearing him saying it to me? But he isn't going to tell me cause that's who he is!”
“Pats, I really don't want to go into this. I don't want to over think about it cause then I'll start hoping that maybe this year he'll tell me and if he doesn't...”
Smithers voice softened and turned silent. Monty Burns turned to his heels and drove home.
END OF FLASHBACK
The old plutocrat sighed. He had always thought that Smithers knew how much he loved him. If only the young man could hear how his heart skipped a beat every time their eyes met. If only he could see how he secretly gazed at him while he pretended to read his morning newspaper. It was not easy to translate his feelings to words because he had to describe logically a feeling that was purely illogical.
His feelings for Waylon were one of a kind! He could not put them into mere words. Saying that he just “loved him” was an injustice to Smithers himself. His chest swelled with pride to have such a competent partner in life. He cherished him so much that it made his mouth dry, his palms sweaty, his cheeks red and turned his witty vocabulary to jumbled knots. Every word he wanted to say seemed empty and meaningless. He had meant to declare his feelings to him ages ago but everything seemed idiotic and fake to how strongly he felt.
Monty Burns let out a groan. If only there was a way to tell Waylon how he felt. Or at least show him how strongly he felt. He looked at the calendar on the bedside table next to him. Their four year anniversary was only three days away. He decided it then. He was going to plan their anniversary's celebration all by himself and then he would say those three words to Smithers in the most special way possible and he planned to practice saying it until it came out perfectly.
Waylon Smithers Jr. stepped out of the car letting out a giggle. He was feeling a bit tipsy from the wine and the way Monty had been behaving made him feel giddy. On their fourth year anniversary's celebration Monty had been very attentive. He had reserved the best restaurant in town for them and after having an excellent meal they had danced together. Then he took him for a stroll near Springfield's riverside. There he held his hand and embraced him under the moonlight before kissing him passionately. This had to be the most romantic date Monty had ever planned. Yet the evening was far from over since he had one more thing planned for them tonight.
“Hush Smithers,” Monty hissed as he got out of Smithers' small car, “you'll wake the hounds,”he continued as he unlocked the mansion's door. “How can you drink a mere drop of wine and get tipsy, but have huge amounts of whiskey and not; I'll never comprehend.”
“I don't know,” Waylon whispered softly and passed his left arm around his lover's shoulder, “Monty thank you so much for tonight.”
“The night is far from over Waylon,” the older man whispered back affectionately, “I still have a few more aces up my sleeve.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Smithers offered, tripping slightly and losing his balance.
“Just go to my study and relax,” Monty answered, “And be careful with the door...”
“I know, we don't want to wake the hounds!” Smithers finished his warning. He took out a cigarette and lit it up.
“Be careful with that cigarette,” Mr. Burns warned as he moved towards the kitchen, “Don't set my study on fire.”
Waylon motioned with his hand and went towards the study. Monty Burns entered the kitchen and opened the fridge to find a bottle of champagne.
“OK Monty, you can do this!” he encouraged himself as he got out of the kitchen. He heard a faint 'thump' coming from the study and then another one. “What in Jove's name is Waylon doing in there?” he wondered. “He's going to wake the hounds.”
It was at that moment that it dawned Monty Burns that something was not quite right. The had not heard his hounds bark or growl at all with all this racket. This was very unusual for four top notch, ferocious guard dogs. He heard another thumping sound coming from the study.
“This isn't right,” Mr. Burns thought, “Smithers would never…”
He felt his blood run cold. This was highly unnatural. Someone apart from him, and Smithers, was currently in the mansion. His hands went to the inside of his jacket where his Beretta holder was. He pulled the gun out, loaded it and placed his finger over the trigger. He tiptoed to his study's door and saw that it was slightly open. He heard the sound of movement from inside and peered through the open gap.
Smithers was on the ground, clutching his head and there was a man pointing a gun at him. Another man was tossing the books from the shelves to the ground, looking for something.
“Where's Burns?” the man towering over Smithers asked.
“I've told you,” Waylon replied rubbing his head, “He isn't here. I just came over to get some documents for him.”
A punch landed on Waylon's face, making Mr. Burns wince. Smithers let out a groan and placed his palm over him mouth, spitting slobber in the process.
“You're lying Mr. Smithers,” the man said coolly, “I don't appreciate being lied to. You see I know you're lying because of this-” he leaned down and grabbed the semi-burnt cigarette that lay on the carpet, “You wouldn't be smoking so idly if your boss had been working late and waiting for you to bring him something important, would you? So let me ask you once again. Where's Mr. Burns?”
Smithers stared back at him. If he was currently feeling any fear he was not letting it register on his face.
“Do I look like his mother to you?” Smithers finally replied.
The punch landed on his nose so strongly that he fell back on the floor. Blood oozed down his nostrils and the taste of iron in his mouth made him gag. Waylon Smithers Jr. truly hoped that Monty had realized what was going on and ran for help. He had not heard his car start, nevertheless, which worried him. For all he knew Monty was still in the house.
“The book ain't here Joe,” said the man searching the bookcase.
“Goddammit!” the man called Joe exclaimed angrily, “Thank you for giving him my name Frank. I am Joe, he is Frank and you're Waylon Smithers. Now let us all exchange addresses and phone numbers and arrange a FREAKING TEA PARTY WHEN ALL THESE ARE PUT BEHIND!”
Waylon Smithers' heart thumped strongly against his chest. He knew how dangerous the situation had just turned. He saw the man named Joe raise his armed hand and landing it on top of him. The cold metal landed on his head and the pain was so unbearable that he passed out.
Charles Montgomery Burns' fingers went for the trigger the moment he saw Waylon landing unconscious on the carpet. He had been watching the men and thought. He thought hard. It was evident that they were hired to look for him and a book and they wouldn't stop until they could find it. He looked behind him. If this had happened four years ago he would had up and left, driven to safety and he would had left Smithers deal with the situation on his own. Yet this was no longer about him.
Smithers mattered a lot to him to abandon him to his fate. He, as a result, stood there and observed the the scene, calculating the outcome of his next action. It was meaningless to call the police. That incompetent baboon Wiggum would get them all killed for sure. He thought of World War II and his youth. What would he had done in such a situation?
Meanwhile the two men stared at Smithers, who lay motionless on the floor. Joe let out another curse. They had taken care to disarm the mansion's alarm, sedate the dogs to sleep and destroy the surveillance cameras. They had never thought that they would had entered the house to find Burns missing. They had been watching the mansion for the past month and a half and the old man was always home and in bed by ten every single working day. His assistant would sometimes spent the night at the mansion during the weekdays but they had planned to enter the house and leave very quickly. Yet that night they entered the master bedroom to find Burns missing, the only one inside the building was Waylon Smithers and they had no more time to put on searching.
“What are we going to do with him Joe?” Frank asked once more and he quickly aimed his gun at the unconscious assistant. “I say we shoot him.”
Monty Burns tried to move forward but his legs wouldn't. His heart was thumping fast and he closed his eyes trying to calm himself. Smithers' life depended on him. Why could he not move?
A memory from World War II flashed before his eyes.
“Don't be a fool Frank,” Joe hissed and put his hand over his partner's gun, “I'm not risking the needle for a break-in.”
“He saw our face Joe,” Frank insisted, “He'll squeal on us. I'm not going to prison again.”
The two robber faced each other in anger, their guns slightly lowered. It was at that moment that Charles Montgomery Burns' feet moved forward.
A shot pierced through the silent night.
You start writing a short fluffy story and pops up. Ok What do you think?