Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Smithers, I could have sworn we had bought off the muckrakers for at least the month." Mr. Burns sat hunched over his desk, crunching the sides of the newspaper with his fists. "The nerve! I don't know how they come up with these!"

Today just had to be the one day Mr. Burns decided to read the paper for himself, didn't it? Smithers stood in front of the desk, watching as his boss began crunching the newspaper into a ball. "Sir, I believe we pulled 'funding' after some regulatory commissions became suspicious of our activity." As Smithers spoke, Mr. Burns continued battling the newspaper in his hands, struggling with all his might to crush it. "It would have been worse to-"

"Aha!" Mr. Burns held the sufficiently-crumpled newspaper ball in his hands and threw it away from him; the ball barely made it off the desk, rolling to land at Smithers' feet. He frowned. "Throw that away for me, Smithers."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Burns folded his hands. "You wouldn't believe what the headline was today."

"What was it, sir?" Smithers already knew, of course; every morning he scanned the papers for any mention of his boss, but Mr. Burns needed the catharsis that complaining provided.

"They say I'm 'stingy'. How dare they?" Mr. Burns turned his chair to face the grand window behind him. "And they want me to release my banking records to the public! It's unbelievable."

"Agreed, sir. The nerve of the public never fails to astonish me." Actually, Smithers had expected this demand for quite a while and was surprised the media hadn't played this card before. Springfield was well aware of Mr. Burns' attitude toward his wealth, but nobody knew what Mr. Burns did with it all. Even Smithers lacked knowledge of certain accounts and purchases. "But, you are a rich man, sir. It's only natural for people to wonder where your wealth goes."

Mr. Burns turned back towards his assistant. "Well, they know exactly where it goes. Into my pocket!" He patted his breast pocket for emphasis.

How could he explain with as little criticism as possible? "Yes, well, some are likely expecting you to give some money to…" Smithers gestured vaguely, "better causes."

Mr. Burns scoffed. "Tell me, Smithers, what could possibly be a better use for money than my personal gain?"

Smithers silently prayed Mr. Burns would control his temper. "Believe me, sir," he laughed nervously, "I see no better use, but some people do believe the rich have a duty to use their money to help others."

Mr. Burns gestured to the trash can that held the crumpled news article. "And what does this have to do with me?"

Hm, should he be honest here? Smithers couldn't grovel this problem away, so he decided yes. "Well, forgive me for saying this, sir, but many people see you as…" The words brought on nausea. "…a miserly old coot." Smithers fought the urge to ramble or add praise for his boss; he instead waited for Mr. Burns' response.

"I'm well aware."

Smithers clasped his hands together. Thank God. This reaction was great so far, considering the circumstances. "Of course, but a lack of charitable acts on your records would confirm their false beliefs, and it could turn public opinion to be even more strongly against you."

"I see." Mr. Burns leaned back in his chair. "So we should not release them?"

"I wouldn't say that." Smithers took a few steps closer to the desk. "This story is new; we have time to affect the narrative. If we give significant amounts to charity now, we could fudge the books a bit." Smithers went over Mr. Burns personal budget in his head. Yes, there were plenty of opportunities to move things around…

"It's too coincidental. Nobody will believe I happened to have a change of heart the day this headline was released."

"Like I said, sir, we would backdate most of your donations." It would be a bit more complicated than that, but convincing Mr. Burns to try the idea was the main priority at the moment. Besides, Smithers would likely do all the forging anyway. "In a month or two, we "reveal" to the press that you have given to charity for years, endearing you to the public."

"At that point why not just lie about donating at all?"

"That's always an option, but I'd rather be safe than sorry on this one, sir." Less fraud meant less paperwork for Smithers; not that he minded, but he much preferred the hands-on portion of his job.

Mr. Burns sighed. "Alright, then. You go check on my employees, I'll think of "worthy" causes for my hard earned cash."

Smithers nodded and headed towards the offices.

"I'm quite partial to 'Kars for Kids' myself, sir. They have a lovely little jingle…"

Monty Burns held his head in his hands, unable to even look at the papers scattered across his desk. Just mountains of greedy, whiny, selfish people begging for money they really didn't need. Really, these monsters needed a name less kind than "charities."

He and Smithers had been at this for, what, at least an hour? While Smithers remained focused on the task at hand, Burns had tuned out his assistant for a minute and checked the clock. "Twenty minutes?"

"-sir?"

Burns laid his head on the desk, unable to take this anymore. "I cannot do this, Smithers! I accept my fate as the lonely, misunderstood millionaire of Springfield. Let them hate me."

Smithers let out a small gasp. "Don't say that, Mr. Burns." He went around to Mr. Burns' side of the desk and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You really are a wonderful-"

"Oh Smithers, it's a pity the world cannot see things as you do." Burns lifted his head, looking forward at nothing in particular. He didn't have it in him to listen to Smithers' vague flattery right then. If anything, Burns required honest feedback.

Why did this matter, anyway? Smithers watched the press like a hawk, but Burns had never particularly cared whether the public admired him. In fact, he preferred his fearsome reputation. Business flowed easier when rivals feared and respected him; true negotiations were a thing of the past for Burns, all due to the fearful respect he had cultivated over the years.

But that was it, wasn't it? Fear for him was higher than ever, yet he had begun to lack respect. It clicked then. The public didn't hate him for his lack of charity. No, that would be hypocritical. They just disrespected him.

Burns sighed. Public hatred dissolving into mere disrespect? No, he could not stand for this, but, good God, he did not want to give his money away. Surely he could think of another justification…

Burns locked eyes with Smithers. "It's a trap."

"Uh." Smithers raised an eyebrow. "How so, sir?"

"Once you start giving to a charity, you can't stop." Yes, that was believable. "If I decide my money would be better used elsewhere, then surprise! Reporters are at my door asking if I want to give children cancer. I can't win." If Burns could just explain this to the press, this whole fiasco would blow over, and the people would regain a healthy respect for him.

Smithers stared at him without a word. Who knows why, this wasn't rocket science, after all. "I understand, but I'm not the person you need to convince."

"You don't believe the press will accept this?"

"No, sir." His response contained neither subtlety nor the usual bootlicking, so maybe Burns' idea wasn't the greatest. Smithers turned to face the window. "However… if you wish to avoid commitment, you could start your own charity, sir. If there's a cause you care about, you could-"

Burns' laughter interrupted him. "Smithers, I know you know me better than that. There is nothing I care-" He fell silent. An idea cut off his train of thought.

Smithers looked at him again. "You were saying, sir?"

These were desperate times. At least, that's how he justified it. A lack of respect significantly hinders any attempt to swindle people and increase his wealth. Burns could feel the money and power slipping from his hands.

How did Smithers word it? Something he cared about? Other than himself, of course; this was supposed to be charity. Burns glanced at Smithers as he considered his idea. He certainly grasped at straws here, but the idea wasn't half bad.

He wouldn't call this outright "caring" but it would do.

"Smithers, I've found a solution. Take me home." The scheme was dishonest in a way that made Burns smile, but it still remained a small enough lie to easily get away with. Yes, all he had to do was pour enough money into…

Smithers helped Burns out of his chair as he attempted to stand up. "Sir, you haven't left work early in years, are you feeling alright?"

"Well, I do feel lightheaded after this whole ordeal." He let Smithers support him as they walked to his office's door. "But, yes, I feel fine. I've discovered a novel method of banking fraud, and I need time to implement it."

"I look forward to seeing it, sir."

"As you should."

While Mr. Burns waited in the dining room, Smithers prepared his evening meal. Nothing incredibly fancy today, but still quite elegant for most people's standards. Smithers had reached the point where everything was either in an oven or cooling on the counter top, so he left the kitchen to check on Mr. Burns. In the evenings, Mr. Burns tended to gripe about whatever misfortunes occurred at the plant that day, expecting encouragement, pity, and praise from Smithers, but he had been awfully quiet tonight.

His boss appeared to be deep in thought, but he looked up at Smithers when he entered the room. "Smithers, this charity business has been on my mind all day."

"I thought you had a plan, sir?" Smithers took a chair next to Mr. Burns. "I'm sure you could let it wait for the evening." Really, it would be for the better. A man of Mr. Burns' age did not need such stress, and Smithers just hated seeing his boss distraught in any way.

Mr. Burns clasped his hands together, leaning his elbows on the table. "Tell me, Smithers, what exactly do charities do? I know they take my money and claim to "help people", but I've never understood the process." Upon seeing Smithers frown, he continued, "I'll drop it for the night once you answer the question, so wipe that worried look off your face."

"Well, sir, each is different, but many give food and shelter to those who need it. Some provide other general necessities, and others improve access to health services." A timer sounded from the kitchen, so Smithers stood up to check on it. "That's far from a comprehensive list, but we can discuss this further in the morning. I'll go finish your dinner."

…

Burns watched as Smithers left the dining hall, creating a mental checklist of what he had told him. Food, Shelter, Necessities, Health. For something or someone other than himself.

Oh yes, he had really outdone himself this time.

Burns sat patiently on his bed as Smithers buttoned up his shirt. The curtains were open but little light came through his bedroom window, as the sun had yet to rise. Burns preferred only natural light when first waking up, so the lights were off and the room was still fairly dark.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, why am I here so early?"

Burns smiled to himself, still quite proud of his little plan. "I feel energized today, Smithers, as if God himself would kneel at my feet."

"Oh, I'm sure he would, sir."

Burns watched Smithers as he fastened the last button on his shirt. "I want to get a head start on the day, that's all." While lying came easily to Burns, he had to choose his words carefully around Smithers; his assistant knew him a bit too well.

Smithers stepped toward the closet, moving slowly as to not trip in the dark. He returned with a tie and blazer, and pulled the tie around Burns' neck. Dressing had gone slowly today. Smithers' already-impaired vision likely did not fare well in the low light, but Burns was not about to sacrifice his morning comfort to make someone else's life easier.

Burns waited a moment before asking his planned question, watching Smithers' hands as they adjusted the knot on the tie. "Smithers, how do you take your meals?" Smithers stopped adjusting the tie, hopefully because he was finished and not due to the question. "What do you generally do for dinner?"

"Well, sir, I generally eat at home. Why do you ask?" Smithers held out his arm for Burns and helped him to his feet.

Of course, that answer told Burns absolutely nothing. He would have to probe some more. "I just like to know about my employees. You know my preferred meals; it's only fair that I know yours." Burns put his arms through the blazer while Smithers held it for him. "Do you ever go out?"

Smithers buttoned the blazer. "Sometimes. I enjoy going to bars."

"Ah yes, the food of the lower class. While it is not for me, I do see the appeal. Thank you for this insight."

Burns ignored his assistant's reply as he put on his shoes. Yes, the conversation was informative, but unfortunately it would have to be ignored. Burns needed to drop as much money as possible for this to work, and that was not going to happen with bar food.

Burns rung Smithers through the intercom at his desk.

"Yes, sir?"

"Smithers, come to my office. We are leaving early today."

Not a moment later, Smithers entered the office and stood in front of the desk. "Are you feeling alright, sir? This is the second time this week."

"Relax, Smithers, it's already five o'clock." Burns leaned back in his chair. "I wish to go out to dinner tonight."

Smithers held his clipboard in hand and began to write. "Where would you like to go, and who will be joining you, sir?"

"I'm thinking someplace out of town." With his current press coverage in Springfield, fine dining in public would be unwise. "And it's just you and me, today. Oh, and I'd like to drive." That last part was mainly for his personal enjoyment, but if he was counting this as charity, it likely wouldn't hurt to separate Smithers from his work duties as much as possible.

Smithers lowered the clipboard and gave Burns a blank look. The nerve, of all the things Smithers did without hesitation this is what he stops to consider?

"Sir, I really don't have the funds for a dinner of your scale. But I would be more than happy to-"

"Smithers," Burns interrupted him, pinching his nose. "I will pay for dinner. Consider it a charity of Montgomery Burns."

Smithers raised his eyebrows. "Oh, okay, sir. Though, speaking of charity, we do need to talk about-"

"No no!" He interrupted Smithers again. Burns needed to take the charity scam off of his mind. He couldn't have Smithers associating it with any of the money Burns would soon spend on him. "Work is over for today. Besides, the people already despise me. A few donations won't change a thing, so I don't plan on wasting money on this fool's errand."

That should hold him off for now. Smithers paused for a moment, then cracked a smile. "As you wish, sir."

…

Hm. Smithers did not know what exactly to make of this, but he knew better than to prod Mr. Burns while something good was happening. Dinner with his boss! Just the two of them! Who in Heaven had Smithers pleased because this had to be the greatest opportunity he had received in months.

Smithers fought to keep a neutral expression on his face during the drive to the restaurant, but he did a mediocre job at best. Luckily, Mr. Burns drove and Smithers sat in the passenger seat, so he could look out the window whenever he couldn't keep the grin off of his face. Yes, he had dined alone with Mr. Burns many times, but going to an out of town restaurant together was a separate event. Mr. Burns generally ate out of town when avoiding paparazzi, and yet…

No, was he…?

No. Smithers shook his head; he knew better than that. Smithers was obsessed, not delusional. There were other reasons for them to avoid media coverage, like the current bad press over his boss' hoarding of wealth.

That still did not explain why Mr. Burns was taking him to dinner in the first place. Smithers doubted he was about to be fired, but it was equally unlikely he would get a promotion. Their relationship was good right now; not phenomenal, but good. Most likely the dinner was a random whim of Mr. Burns sparked by some event in his personal life.

Oh, but a man could dream…

Mr. Burns stopped the limo in front of the restaurant entrance, looking out the window as if searching for something.

"I can park the car, sir. I'll join you in a minute."

"No!" Mr. Burns turned toward Smithers, and the latter man raised an eyebrow. "I can… pay someone to take the car. Yes, walk with me, Smithers, I'm sure they have valets here."

"Uh, okay, sir." Again, many questions plagued Smithers, but he was not about to risk his night out by asking one. He exited the car, went around to the driver's side to open the door for his boss, and reluctantly left the car outside entrance as he followed Mr. Burns into the restaurant.

Mr. Burns said a few words to somebody who was hopefully a valet before turning to Smithers. "I made reservations the other day, so we should not be waiting long."

"Really, sir? That's amazing, I didn't know you could use the phone." The comment sounded sarcastic in Smithers' monotone voice, but Mr. Burns responded before he could clarify his intent.

"Oh no, I could never use that confounding machine on my own." Mr. Burns waved his hand. "I sent a letter declaring our presence for today."

"I see." God, his old-fashioned habits were so dignified.

A well-dressed hostess approached and led the pair to their table. As they walked, Smithers allowed himself a few seconds to let his imagination run wild regarding how this night would go before dragging himself back to reality once they reached the table. He pulled out a chair for Mr. Burns. Only a few people dined near them, and the table was moderately secluded against a wall, allowing for a semi-intimate environment.

The hostess handed them their menus once both men were seated. Smithers skimmed through the options, looking for the least expensive dish. He wanted his boss to be in the best mood possible tonight, and remaining under-budget never failed to bring joy to Mr. Burns.

"What do you think you'll have, sir?"

"Smithers, why don't we drop the "sir" for the night. "Mr. Burns" will do just fine." Mr. Burns looked up from his menu. "I think I'll have one of the steak dishes, though my heart is not yet set on any particular one."

"…Okay, Mr. Burns." Hardly a step toward familiarity, but a step none the less. Smithers looked through the steak dishes. Oh, good, they were all at least double the price of the meal he had been eyeing. "I'm considering one of their chicken salads."

"A salad, eh?" Mr. Burns flipped through the menu. "No, that won't do. Smithers, I want you to pick out something else."

"Oh, well, I was aiming for something less expensive. Also I-"

Mr. Burns held up a hand, shaking his head. "No, please, do run up a bill. That's the whole reason we're here." Mr. Burns paused. "Restaurants such as these were made for throwing money at. Now, there was one dish I saw just now…" Mr. Burns flipped through the menu again.

"I'll do whatever you tell me to, but-"

"Aha! You should try this one, Smithers. It's a Tomahawk Rib-eye with sides of lobster and a small salad."

Smithers searched the menu for Mr. Burns' dish and almost gasped when he found it. "Mr. Burns, this dish is nearly three-hundred dollars! I can't justify-"

"Oh, but I can," said Mr. Burns, interrupting him once again. "You know I despise when people tell me how to spend my money, Smithers. I'm sure you do not want to join the ranks of advertisements and the government."

Smithers kept his expression neutral. Normally his boss was easy to read, but tonight he had no idea what Mr. Burns was up to. "No, Mr. Burns, you're right. I'll order that instead."

"Good!" Mr. Burns smiled and clasped his hands together. "Good."

A waiter soon came by to take their orders, and once the food was delivered, Smithers found himself even more grateful for his boss' generosity than normal because, honestly, the meal was phenomenal.

Even if the rest of the night was filled with mindless small talk, it was nothing short of a dream for Waylon Smithers. So much so that he failed to notice the small notepad that Mr. Burns had begun to write in.

…

Across the table, Burns listened to Smithers make fun of some of their employees. That might have been the first time Burns had heard his assistant make a joke. He would likely forget this tidbit later on, but it remained notable for now.

Burns looked over the receipt at the end of the night, taking care to hide the bill from Smithers without seeming too obvious about it. He wrote down the amount in his notepad, added approximate costs for gas prices and the valet, and crossed off the word "food" from the top of his list.

One down, three more to go.

Burns listened idly from his desk as Smithers rambled off the statuses of his market shares. He heard the word "gain" more often than "loss" during Smithers' update, which proved satisfactory for the day. His charity scheme continued to bug him, however. Half a week had passed since their dining out, and Burns was ready to make another purchase.

The next item on the list was "shelter". To the best of Burns' knowledge, Smithers was not homeless, so he doubted he could get away with buying a house without raising Smithers' suspicions. Such a shame, too; a fully paid-off house would have added so much money towards his "cause".

Burns had made progress in that he now had a set goal of claiming a million dollars as charity. The loss of such a sum pained Burns to even think about, even if it appeared to be a disappointing number for a man of his wealth. Still, Burns also rationalized that since he had a reputation as a tightwad, and since the donations were fraudulent, it would be wise to keep the number low. A million was enough to gain realistic respect.

"Sir, there is an employee here to see you, from sector-"

"Send them away. I'm sure I have more pressing matters to attend to."

Smithers glanced down at the papers in his hands. "Actually sir, your schedule is clear for the day, but I can make up an excuse if you wish."

"Yes, go do that." Burns rested his chin on his hands and watched Smithers poke his head out the door to send the wayward employee away.

Today's phase of the plan began when Smithers made his way back to Burns' desk and awaited orders. Burns eyed the man, then began his interrogation. "You live comfortably, yes?"

"How so, sir?"

"I mean, you have a," Burns gestured vaguely, "nice home of some sort? Nothing that would rival my estate, of course, but something suitable for someone like you."

Smithers looked at him in silence for a moment, no doubt having no idea what Burns was getting at. Good, he was keeping him on his toes. "Yes, I have a place to live."

"Good. Smithers, I would like to arrange a trip to your place when the workday is over."

To the common man, Smithers had no visible reaction. Burns, however, having been practically chained to his assistant for the past twenty years, noticed Smithers' grip on his papers tighten and the slight widening of his eyes.

"Well, sir, my apartment is on the other side of town, and you have dinner with someone from the mayor's office tonight." Smithers adjusted his glasses as he spoke.

Resistance, eh? "That's news to me. You rarely take more than five minutes to get to the mansion when I call for you."

"I speed, sir." Smithers broke eye contact with Burns. "Besides, it would probably be better if…"

Burns automatically tuned out Smithers when he began to ramble. He was grateful for the resistance; he had no desire to see the man's apartment. All he needed was information, and a trip to the other side of town, as Smithers had expressed, would interfere with things. Though, Burns would be lying if the reluctance wasn't notable. Smithers tended to bend over backward to fulfill Burns' every desire.

Burns would take care to remember this for later, just to ensure Smithers didn't have skeletons in his closet. But for now, his main focus was providing shelter, not inspecting it.

In the meantime, Burns had one last thing to attend to. "Smithers, how about we go to dinner again?" Setting his donation goal to one million dollars made the other night's meal nearly worthless. Plus, multiple checks to the same establishment could easily be fudged to appear as regular donations. "We could make it a weekly thing, if you like."

Smithers' earlier hesitation disappeared. "Oh, yes, sir! I would love that."

Burns nodded in approval. Of course he would. "Very well, then. For now, just bring me an employee to fire, or something."

A few days later, Burns sent Smithers home early, much to Smithers' chagrin. Burns had found the perfect way to donate to Smithers a sort of "shelter" that would bring him significantly closer to his million-dollar goal. It required him to run an errand, however, and Smithers' attendance would only bring more questions from him that Burns didn't need.

When it came time to leave the plant for the day, Burns drove himself to the small, run-down Sleep-Eazy Motel near the outskirts of Springfield. The drive proved to be stressful. People didn't drive like they used to in the '20s; over the past few decades, instead of simply moving out of Burns' way, drivers now had the audacity to honk at him and wave rude hand gestures through their windows.

Burns felt a shiver down his spine as he pulled into the parking lot. Whether it was the group of smokers outside, the falling-apart building, or the general shabbiness of this area of town, Burns already hated it here. But, it would have to do. This would hopefully be an in-and-out deal, considering the difference in wealth between him and whatever fool owned this place.

Burns grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat of the car and headed inside the motel. He glared at the smokers as he approached the building. The automatic doors squeaked as he entered the lobby, and the blast of freezing air from the air conditioning threw him off-balance. To his left stood a young receptionist at the service counter, flipping through a magazine.

"You, over there." Burns approached the receptionist. "Where can I find the owner of this establishment?"

"Uh…" The boy's eyes widened in fear when he registered Burns. Good. "I don't know, sir, I'm kinda new-"

"Quiet, you!" Burns pointed a finger in the receptionist's face. "I wish to speak to the owner. Or at least someone in charge." He glanced around at his surroundings, and shuddered at the sheer lack of class here. "Run along, now. I wish to leave as soon as possible."

The receptionist opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, nodded at Burns, then went through a door behind the counter. If the boy knew what was good for him, he would not waste Burns' time. Burns looked around the lobby again; the motel wasn't falling apart, but it was close. Stains scattered the warping walls, bumps in the floor had nearly tripped Burns when he walked, and the few pieces of furniture clashed with each other, as if he were at a flea market.

Burns turned back towards the counter to see the receptionist return followed by a middle-aged woman. She held a cigarette in one hand and leaned over the counter to get a good look at Burns, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face.

She spoke in a thick, southern accent, rough with years of smoking. "'The hell you want?"

"Excuse me?" Burns leaned away from her. "You're the owner?" She must not have recognized him.

"Yep."

Burns waited for her to say more, but when no response came, he continued speaking. "I'm Monty Burns, owner of the nearby power plant." Surely she would recognize him then. "I'd like to discuss business with you."

She took a drag from her cigarette and waved the receptionist away. He went back through the door as she spoke. "What kind?"

Burns sighed. He much preferred negotiating in a board room, surrounded by employees and businessmen, but the motel lobby would have to do. "I wish to… purchase your motel." He considered adding on that he had plenty of money to spare in this instance, but decided against it. He only wanted to be moderately swindled, not go completely bankrupt on this charity escapade.

"Hmm." The owner threw her cigarette on the ground and stamped on it. "I'll sell for five-hundred-thousand."

"Sold!" The offer had barely left her mouth when Burns agreed and held out his hand to shake. She took it, and shock appeared on the woman's face—the first sign of emotion Burns had seen from her during this interaction. "Now where's the deed?" he asked.

The owner said nothing as she retreated through the door for a moment and returned with the deed and other documents. She placed them on the counter for Burns to take.

Burns lifted his briefcase up onto the counter and opened it for her to see. "There's two-fifty in here, and I'll have the bank send you the rest." He snatched the papers, and after making sure they were what he had asked for, he bolted out of the motel without a "goodbye". He just had to get out of that dreadful place.

This purchase reminded Burns of his more illicit deals; he hadn't even bothered to get the owner's name, not that it mattered in this instance. He had the deed, and that was all he needed. The post-deal excitement was starting to set in as well; though it lacked the usual negotiation, Burns still got exactly what he wanted!

He couldn't wait to tell Smithers the good news. Yes, Burns would call for him when he arrived at home. Smithers would come to the manor so Burns could tell him in person.

Mr. Burns was really jerking his chain today, wasn't he? Sending him home with no explanation, then calling him to the manor this late in the evening without telling him why? Mr. Burns had seemed to be in a good mood on the phone, but Smithers was prone to worry and wasted no time driving to the manor.

He let himself though the front door, buzzing the intercom so Mr. Burns would know he had arrived. A quick glance revealed his boss hadn't waited for him in the entry hall, so Smithers headed towards the sleeping quarters. The door to Mr. Burns bedchamber was open. Smithers poked his head in, and saw Mr. Burns reading through some papers in his bed.

Mr. Burns grinned when he saw Smithers and set his papers in his lap. "Smithers! Why, it only took you," Mr. Burns checked his watch, "seven minutes to get here! Impressive, since you apparently live across town."

Ah, Mr. Burns had remembered that conversation. Smithers shouldn't have expected otherwise. "Yes, sir. I worry when you call me this late."

"Well, worry no longer, Waylon, I have good news." Mr. Burns handed him one of the papers. "You know that cheap motel down the road from the plant?"

Smithers sat on the bed and glanced at the paper. "Yes, the Sleep-Eazy—" What in the world? "Mr. Burns, is this the deed to that motel?" He looked at his boss. "Why do you have this?"

"Technically, you have it. I'm giving it to you."

What? "Sir, I don't-"

"Don't be too flattered, Smithers, it's only legally yours, and it only includes the building. I'll handle the business of it and include some of the profits in your salary."

Smithers read the deed more closely. It seemed legitimate, but Smithers still found it hard to believe that Mr. Burns would not only drop money on a motel but also give part of it away with so few strings attached.

"Sir, did you steal this document?"

Mr. Burns laughed. "A fair assumption, but no, I bought it with real money. I didn't even con the owner, which I'm almost disappointed about."

"But why did you buy it?" It's not like the motel would generate much profit, especially if Mr. Burns was splitting it with Smithers. "Any why would you share it with me?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I did it on a whim." An obvious lie, but Smithers wouldn't press it. Mr. Burns changed the subject. "There are many benefits for you, Smithers. If you wish, you may utilize the rooms at the motel whenever you like, for free."

"I don't frequent motels, sir." Smithers didn't love what his boss was implying, but he doubted Mr. Burns realized the implications at all.

Mr. Burns shrugged. "Still, you'll get money out of it. Think of it as a donation from your benevolent employer."

"Yes, sir." Was Mr. Burns on something? Something had to be wrong, and Smithers would kill to know what it was, but for now, he would settle with accepting the gift.

What a day. Smithers considered the document in his hand. Yes, the Sleep-Eazy wasn't the nicest place on Earth, but this deed was worth more money than Smithers had owned in his entire life! And he now held it in his hands. Whatever Mr. Burns' motives were, this was still an incredible gift, and Smithers was grateful. Oh, right, how could he forget-!

Smithers looked up at Mr. Burns and gave him a small smile. "Thank you, sir. This is by far the most generous gift I've ever received."

"It's also the most generous gift I've ever given. Enjoy it." Mr. Burns' words almost came as an order.

Smithers looked at the ground to hide his smile. Maybe he does care. It was times like these when he could believe someday his relationship with Monty would grow into something more, that he could experience this affection from his boss everyday…

"Smithers, since you're here, would you help prepare me for bed?"

"Of course, sir."

"Smithers, is there anything you currently lack in life? Something you desire, but cannot obtain on your own?"

"Oh, yes…" A faraway look entered Smithers' eyes. "…sir," he added, quickly snapping back to reality.

Mr. Burns had wanted to survey the plant himself, a job Smithers generally did alone. The pair had spent the last half-hour walking the halls of the plant. The hall they were currently in was fairly isolated; most of the lights had burnt out and small amounts of steam escaped from the exposed pipes.

Mr. Burns had walked ahead of Smithers, but he stopped and turned towards Smithers before speaking again. "Well, out with it then. I'm in a giving mood today, believe it or not." He opened his arms. "Let me buy you something."

Really? Again, after the motel ordeal? Smithers stood still, frantically thinking of a response. "Well, sir, I have noticed a recent change in spending habits…" he trailed off. A dank hall in the nuclear plant was the last place Smithers wished to tell his boss about the "thing" he wanted. "What I want can't be bought, so I'm afraid there is nothing you could do."

Mr. Burns silently appraised him, then made a sound of disapproval. "Never-mind, then!" He turned around and began to walk again. "There's nothing I could buy you? I'm sure there's something out there you cannot afford that I can."

"Well, sir…" A few things came to mind: some of the few Malibu Stacey dolls he lacked in his collection cost upward of ten-thousand dollars, but he'd die before divulging that particular hobby to his boss. He also wouldn't mind a nicer car… but who was he kidding?

Mr. Burns had to be ill, or something. Smithers' suspicions were first raised by the dinner a few weeks ago, then Mr. Burns took it to an entirely different level when he gifted him part of the motel. And now this? Smithers loved the attention, but… Mr. Burns never gave money away willingly, and even when forced, he would never be so casual about it. If Smithers were to continue accepting generous gifts, he would be taking advantage of Mr. Burns. No, he could not do this.

"I'm afraid there's nothing to get me, sir. I'm perfectly-"

Mr. Burns whipped around and grabbed Smithers' lapels. "You're beginning to frustrate me, Smithers. I am your boss and this is an order!" Mr. Burns was quite close to his face. "There must be something you want, and I am going to know of it!" Smithers loved his raging eyes… it took everything in him to keep his face expressionless.

"Smithers, quit staring and answer my question!" Mr. Burns raised a hand and slapped Smithers across the face, but due to his frailty it felt no stronger than a feather landing on Smithers' cheek.

Smithers remained silent a moment longer until Mr. Burns released his jacket and took a step back. "Sorry, sir. Let me think." He had to low-ball this one. "I wouldn't mind a new pair of shoes. If that is something you wouldn't mind paying for, of course." Hopefully shoes were cheap enough to where Mr. Burns wouldn't be too angry whenever he regained his senses.

"Shoes!" Mr. Burns clasped his hands together. "Yes, that will do nicely. In fact, why not go all out? Why, Smithers, we could buy a whole new outfit for you!" Mr. Burns nodded, pleased with himself. "Let's go to the tailor's at once."

And with that, Mr. Burns walked right past Smithers, heading for the exit, apparently.

Smithers shook his head. What was Mr. Burns planning? He elected to not question Mr. Burns for now, but he planned on figuring it out eventually.

Smithers had been browsing suits with the help of an employee for the last half-hour, leaving Burns to walk aimlessly through the store. Another employee approached him, but he waved them off. Burns needed time to think.

Why, oh why, was he surrounded by fools? The men in the news, with their baseless attacks, the employees at the plant, refusing to do their jobs, and now even Smithers, who apparently wanted nothing more expensive than shoes. Shoes! What kind of a man responds to a gift offer from Montgomery Burns by asking for shoes!

Burns had made little progress since purchasing the motel. That memory brought a smile; the purchase brought him over halfway toward his goal, and as a bonus, Smithers had been noticeably more productive lately. However, all other donations seemed minuscule in comparison, and Burns still had nearly half a million to spend.

Luckily, he could easily rack up another hundred grand by buying a few outfits at this store. They tended to overcharge. It would still leave him far from his goal, but it would have to do. Maybe he could go ahead and buy Smithers a nice car or something later.

Eventually, the first attendant waved Burns over to see the different items that she and Smithers had selected.

The first few sets were alright, but it was painfully obvious Smithers had chosen them solely for their low price tags. That, or Smithers' fashion tastes were even worse than Burns had perceived. Smithers' reluctance to let Burns spend money on him was expected, admirable even; the attention to Burns personality and subtle deflection of impulsive choices were testaments to his quality as an assistant. Burns still wished Smithers just would let it go for a month or two.

The next outfit differed from the others; that is to say, it actually looked fashionable (and expensive!). Anything to rack up that "donation" amount.

The suit was similar to Smithers' old suit in color, though it was a bit darker. It had more of a tailcoat and fitted him in a much more flattering way than his current jacket. The slacks were a darker espresso, and the shoes were a matte black.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Smithers popped back into the dressing room, and after a moment, came back out with a bow-tie added to his outfit. It too was similar to his current wear, but it was a much deeper purple than before.

Finally, an outfit not chosen for its price tag. "I like this one, Smithers! You look good in green."

Smithers' face lit up. "You think so, sir?"

A tailor took Smithers' measurements and pinned the suit where needed. To the untrained eye, the outfit hardly differed from his previous attire, but to Burns it was a clear improvement in class and style. Smithers' old suit wasn't cheap, but this suit's elegance sure made it seem that way. Burns found himself enjoying the remaining similarities. The new suit was still very Smithers, just as it should be. He must have picked it out himself.

"Yes, I think this is the one," Burns replied. Smithers looked to the employee, but Burns held up a hand to stop him, knowing what he was about to ask. "You don't need to know the price, Smithers, it's my money." He really needed to give it a rest. "Besides, I already have to see you all day. I would like to enjoy the view."

Smithers didn't respond at first, but a grin soon formed on his face. "Of course, sir." How odd, the man seemed so reluctant just minutes ago, but now Smithers seemed over the moon. At least he finally accepted Burns' "charity" without complaint.

While Smithers changed back into his usual attire, the employee slipped Burns a receipt with the total cost of the outfit and tailoring fees. Good, she was trained well.

Burns smiled upon seeing the five-figure price. "I'll take five of everything in his outfit. Does this cover everything?" He handed her a quickly scratched out check with the required amount, and she nodded. "Have them shipped to Burns Estate when the tailor is finished."

By the time they were done, the workday had ended, so Burns elected to be taken home. On the ride back to the mansion, he flipped through his notebook. He subtracted the final price from his remaining goal and crossed "Necessities" off of the list. Clothes were necessities, after all, and he had provided that to Smithers.

Burns closed his notebook, satisfied with the day's efforts.

Monty Burns tried to focus on reading the file in front of him, but he could feel Smithers' worried stare from behind him.

Burns kept a detailed file on hand for every employee detailing personal facts, work information, and most importantly, how much and how often they claim insurance or benefits from the plant. In fact, Burns had an automatic system that monitored every employee for him and logged it into their file—though now that he thought about it, that might just be Smithers.

Burns flipped through Smithers' file at the moment. It had been a week or so since he had bought Smithers' outfits, so Burns believed it was time to initiate the final phase of his plan: healthcare costs. He had asked Smithers to bring the file to him so he could figure out how to maximize this; however, he had gleaned little information from his assistant's file.

"Smithers, have you really never used the plant's health insurance?" Normally this would earn high praise from Burns, but right now it proved inconvenient.

Smithers cleared his throat. "No, sir. I take spending your money very seriously."

"I'm sure you do." Burns sighed. "And you can quit worrying back there, I'm not going to fire you."

"Oh-thank-God." Smithers spoke so quickly his sentence sounded like only one word.

Hold on. Maybe no health information was the best outcome for this. So what if he knows nothing about Smithers' medical history? The American healthcare system has plenty of expensive ways to change that! "We'll just have to pull out all the stops with this one."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Burns spun around in his desk chair to face his assistant. "You'll see. I want you here bright and early tomorrow; we have errands to run."

Smithers had arrived at Mr. Burns' manor over an hour earlier than usual. Mr. Burns hadn't informed him of why he was here, and Smithers still feared a punishment after the incident with his personal file the previous day.

After helping Mr. Burns dress and otherwise prepare for the day, Smithers helped him to the car and drove them away from the mansion. He had taken extra care that morning to shower his boss with praise, just in case his worries had any merit.

"Where are we going today, sir?" Smithers glanced through the rear-view mirror at Mr. Burns, who was looking out the window.

"We're going to the doctor's office. Hibbert, not Riviera, if that wasn't obvious."

Smithers' grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Is everything okay, sir?" Oh, please not this-

"I'm fine, so quit your fretting." Mr. Burns waved a hand in dismissal. "We're not going for me, we're going for you."

"For me?" Smithers deadpanned.

"Yes, I expect all my employees to have impeccable health. It's a plant-wide policy of mine." Mr. Burns made eye contact with Smithers through the rear-view mirror, then returned to looking out the window. "Don't think you get an exception because you're my favorite."

Smithers smiled despite himself. "Yes, sir." He knew damn well there was no plant-wide health policy, just look at the buffoons in sector 7-G. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Mr. Burns had pulled the "my favorite" card to distract Smithers from this obvious lie, and while it only partially worked, Smithers knew better than to push something Mr. Burns clearly didn't want to explain.

Not that he would ask, but why would Mr. Burns make a dedicated trip to the doctor just for him? Smithers tried to think of explanations for the rest of the drive but ultimately came up with nothing.

They encountered no trouble at the doctor's office. Dr. Hibbert must have heard Mr. Burns was in the waiting room, because they were taken back almost immediately. A nurse led them back to the exam room, quickly took Smithers' vitals, and left to find Dr. Hibbert. The service was far better than what Smithers would normally expect at the doctor's office, as his last few visits had been to Dr. Riviera, though he wasn't sure if the higher quality was due to the practice itself or Mr. Burns' presence.

It was quite the awkward scene, with Smithers up on the examination table with one sleeve rolled up and his jacket laid out behind him, and Burns in a small, metal chair against the wall, lacking all of his usual intimidation and air of importance. Smithers considered asking Mr. Burns for more information on why they were here, but again decided against it.

Dr. Hibbert entered the room not a minute after the nurse left. He greeted Mr. Burns and Smithers, glanced at the clipboard he had in his hands, then set it down on the small counter.

"I'll admit, when I heard Monty Burns was in my waiting room, I was a bit concerned. I didn't realize it was his assistant I would be examining." Dr. Hibbert began poking around on Smithers, checking for who-knows-what.

"Well, he's here with me, Doctor, so I expect the best and most expedient care from you," replied Mr. Burns.

Dr. Hibbert let out a good-natured laugh. "Of course! Anything and anyone associated with Monty Burns will get nothing but the best from me. Now, I'm just going to look inside your ear." He stuck the otoscope inside his ear, causing Smithers to flinch a bit.

"Sorry, Dr. Hibbert, it's been a while since I've done this."

The doctor laughed. "No worries! Though, now that you mention it, it has been a few years since I've seen you. You really should come by more often."

That was probably true, but Smithers had no intention of billing the plant's health insurance. That was Mr. Burns' money. While Dr. Riviera's check-ups were questionable, at least they were cheap.

"Does this mean there are more things to check? More tests to run, and all that?" asked Mr. Burns. "Since Smithers hasn't been here in so long, surely there is some catching up to do?"

"Well, there are a few vaccinations and screenings he's overdue on."

Mr. Burns nodded. "Good."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Really, you don't need to do all that much, Doctor." Smithers watched as Dr. Hibbert wrote something down on his clipboard. "I can't afford-"

"Obviously, Smithers, I am paying for this." Again with the charity, apparently. Why couldn't he spend his money where it mattered? Mr. Burns gave him a stern look as if Smithers was a misbehaving child, then he turned to the doctor. "Run everything you need to, then run everything else."

Smithers gave Mr. Burns a questioning look, but his boss didn't acknowledge him. Hopefully Mr. Burns would feel like explaining himself sometime soon. Smithers had near infinite patience with his boss, but the significant gifts and their lack of explanations sincerely bugged him.

"Is there anything specific you want checked out?" Dr. Hibbert addressed the question to Mr. Burns for some reason. God forbid Smithers have any say in his own healthcare. But, as with everything else regarding his boss, Smithers let it slide.

"Can't you run an x-ray, or blood tests, or," Mr. Burns gestured vaguely, "something?"

"Well, Waylon doesn't really need any of those, but why not? We can head back to the x-ray machine for now." Dr. Hibbert laughed again and placed a hand on Smithers' shoulder, then turned to Mr. Burns. "Monty, I'll see if one of my assistants can get you something more comfortable than that chair. Just hold tight for a bit."

Great. More unnecessary tests, and more unnecessary spending.

Mr. Burns gave the Doctor a nod, and Smithers followed Dr. Hibbert out of the room. They walked down the hall in relative silence, only interrupted by Dr. Hibbert briefly speaking with another employee. They made it to the radiology offices, but Dr. Hibbert pulled Smithers aside before going in.

"Now, there are some procedural questions I still need to ask you. I would have normally done this in the examination room, but," he chuckled, "I figured asking Monty to leave the room could end badly for both of us, so I'll do it now."

Smithers smiled politely. "I completely understand." He really did; he was almost afraid Hibbert had planned to ask them in front of Mr. Burns, so Smithers was grateful the Doctor had waited until now.

Dr. Hibbert looked down at his clipboard and began reading off the questions, making notes as Smithers answered them. The questions were just the basic screenings for depression, anxiety, and sexual activity. Nothing his boss needed to know about.

"I understand you have a loyalty to Mr. Burns, but do tell me: does this impromptu visit have anything to do with the nuclear plant? You haven't been exposed to dangerous levels of radiation, have you? At least, no more than the usual."

Smithers shook his head. "No, there haven't been any accidents lately. I'd tell you if there was." Well, he might not tell him outright, but Smithers wasn't dumb enough to lie to a doctor. "I honestly have no idea why Mr. Burns dragged me here."

"Whatever the reason, it's good that he did! You really should come by more often, Waylon." Dr. Hibbert laughed. That was starting to get on Smithers' nerves. "And don't worry, if there is ever an "accident" at the plant, the press won't find out from me, with doctor-patient confidentiality and all." He gave Smithers another smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This extends to anything health related, you know," he whispered.

Oh, it better. Smithers had enough on his plate without that.

Dr. Hibbert led him into the radiology department, his attitude wearing on Smithers' nerves. However, Smithers respected anyone—well, maybe not Riviera—with a medical degree. Even with the inappropriate laughter and laid-back attitude, he knew Dr. Hibbert was a good man who took his job seriously. So, annoyed as he may be, Smithers kept any snide remarks inside his head.

Dr. Hibbert introduced Smithers to the radiologist, then explained he had to leave to check with another patient. Mr. Burns could only delay him for so long, Smithers supposed.

"Whoa." The radiologist flipped through a packet of papers. "Do you work at the nuclear plant or something? Because you have, like, seventeen things ordered."

"Uh…" Smithers doubted she actually cared about why he was here, so he just told her, "…yes." It was the truth, after all. Smithers was anxious to leave as soon as possible.

She nodded, still reading the orders. Her face lit up. "Hey, I haven't gotten to use the electroencephalograph in ages!" She put the packet under her arm, and waved for Smithers to follow her. "I'll take you back for the x-rays first."

Burns had returned to his limo to wait on Smithers; despite Hibbert's assistant's efforts, the doctor's office was not a comfortable place to be, and he didn't care all that much about Smithers' tests, so the car seemed like the most pleasant place to wait.

After at least an hour of waiting, Burns saw Smithers exit the front doors and head for the car. Yes, it may have taken a while, but every penny spent here was a small step toward a more productive public image.

Smithers got into the drivers seat without his usual "hello, sir". Odd, but Burns had nothing to say at the moment either, so they left the office in silence. His mansion was quite far from the doctor's office. Since they had a bit of a drive ahead of them, Burns considered taking a nap, but that just seemed too unprofessional.

Smithers soon broke the silence with a sigh. "Sir, I have tried not to say anything, or question your judgment, but we need to discuss your recent behavior." Uh oh. Quick, think of an excuse while he speaks— "Why are you taking me out to dinner and buying me clothes? Why do I own a motel now?" Smithers lifted a hand from the wheel to run a hand through his hair. "And this impromptu visit to the doctor? Which was quite unpleasant, I must say-"

"Oh, it was unpleasant, eh? I expected better than baseless complaints from you, Smithers-"

"No, sir, that's-" Smithers lowered his voice to a whisper, "What am I doing? Oh, whatever." His voice raised again. "Sir, I love working for you; you're the only m—er, Boss—for me. But you don't treat me well. I can't even get a "thank you" for my work, and now…" Smithers set his eyes on the road while Burns watched his face in the mirror. "What scheme are you pulling that requires spending so much money on me?"

Oh, now Smithers was holding an interrogation. Of course. Can a man not attempt bank fraud without so many questions? It's not like Burns was that obvious about it! Sure, he rarely gave away money, but if he had to part with it, it would either go to the plant or maybe to Smithers.

Hm, perhaps the maybe in that last part was just a bit too strong. Burns admitted he was a selfish man, and Smithers was well aware of that fact as well. His assistant had likely figured out it was a scheme of some sort, but he couldn't know the complete truth now! Burns was so close to pulling this off; he just had to think of a good, convincing lie…

Nothing came up.

"Sir?" Smithers wouldn't dare give Burns outright indignation, but the look Burns received through the rear-view mirror was awfully close.

Burns went with the next best option, glaring at Smithers through the mirror. "You don't get to know everything, Smithers. Don't forget I am your boss."

Smithers did not respond, opting instead to hold Burns' gaze in the mirror.

This wouldn't do. Anger never worked with Smithers anyway; Burns should have known better. Burns softened his gaze, trying another approach. "Let me rephrase that, Smithers. I'm asking you to trust me." He steepled his hands. Yes, if you throw Smithers a bone with a kind remark, he'd do anything. "Surely you can do that?"

A moment of silence passed, and Smithers broke eye-contact. "Of course, sir. I trust you." His voice was flat, and his face was blank, but at least the questions had ceased.

"Excellent. Now, drive us to work."

Burns sat at his desk with a pile of paperwork in front of him. Despite that, he smiled to himself; now that all of Smithers' medical bills had come in, Burns had hit the one-million dollar mark, and this whole tribulation was almost over. He could soon go back to hoarding all of his money for himself. All he had to do now was go over some bank statements and write some strongly-worded letters to the press with "proof" of his charitable works, then the public would love him again.

While no organization could claim to have received any large donations from Burns, he assumed the significant drop in his net worth would point the press to that conclusion. His expenses transferred over into fraudulent donations smoothly: the dinner bills became repeated donations to the Springfield food bank, the suit purchase became donations to Goodwill, and Smithers' medical bills became a grant to the hospital (Hibbert could be relied on to sign that off). The only liability would be the motel purchase, but considering it was mostly in Smithers' name, he should be fine there.

Burns prepared an envelope for every major news outlet in Springfield. Each included partially accurate copies of his bank statements over the last couple weeks and a letter; each letter detailed a false account of Burns' donations and contained a forged signature of a non-existent employee who handled Burns' finances.

Smithers entered the office as Burns sealed the final envelope. He eyed the pile of letters on the desk. "Who are you writing to, sir?"

"Oh, just the incompetent fools who write the newspaper. I know they're not worth my time, but I cannot stand being slandered in the press."

Smithers picked one up and inspected it. "Would you like me to drop them at the post office for you?"

"No, I'll do it myself. It's more satisfying that way." Not that Burns believed Smithers would read his mail, but he didn't want to take that chance. Smithers was a smart man, and his suspicions were still high; if he saw the bank statements and read the letters, Smithers very well could make the connection to Burns' recent generosity towards him.

At this point it did not matter whether Smithers knew of his plan or not; the letters were about to be sent, and even if Smithers thought the idea was risky, he couldn't dissuade him now. However, Burns had found other reasons to keep his assistant in the dark.

It was in Burns' best interest for Smithers to have a positive opinion of him.

Smithers had been different after their visit to the doctor, his usual warmth and bootlicking tainted with occasional aloofness and candid criticism. They were small changes, mostly, and likely impermanent. Burns planned to correct this behavior, indirectly this time.

And what better way to have that than to let Smithers believe he'd been showered with genuine gifts? Yes, Smithers had always groveled at his feet, but most of that was empty praise. Let the man hold Burns in high regard in earnest!

"Sir? You seem lost in thought."

"Oh." Burns looked up at his assistant and stood from his chair. "Yes, I'll deliver these now." He picked up the pile of envelopes and snatched the one out of Smithers' hand.

Smithers watched Burns as he headed for the door. "Now? In the middle of the workday?"

"Don't question me, Smithers," said Burns without malice. He turned to face Smithers before leaving the office. "We're still dining out tonight?" Burns highly doubted Smithers would cancel, but he wanted to bring it up.

"Of course, sir."

Burns nodded and took a few steps back toward his assistant. "Smithers, I'm not entirely sure why my recent generosity sparks so much suspicion in you, but I assure you, it is not what you think," he lied. "Listen, I…" Burns gestured vaguely with the letters in one hand as he found the right words. Oh, this pained him to say. "I actually… enjoy spending my money on you! Yes, Smithers, my most dedicated employee, who is more deserving of my wealth than you? Myself not included, of course."

The lie was easier than expected. Burns closed the rest of the distance between him and Smithers and placed a hand on his shoulder. The expensive suit felt soft under Burns palm. Smithers remained speechless, though his expression had softened over the course of the conversation.

"Sir, I'm honored—I don't know what to say." Good, he bought it. The usual look of admiration broke out on Smithers' face, and Burns almost found himself buying the lie as well. Almost. What mattered is that Smithers was off of his tail, and now he could deliver the letters in peace. He would soon have the respect of the public once again.

Burns headed for the door again but turned back to Smithers as he opened it. "Say, the sun's already setting, why don't you head for the car while I mail these, and we can get a head start on dinner?"

"Of course, sir." Smithers smiled. "I must say, your new interpretation of when the workday ends is growing on me."

"As it should!" Burns closed the door behind him, satisfied with the perfect execution of yet another scheme.

…

Smithers watched his boss leave the office.

The last month was odd. The gifts? The implied respect that came along with them? Not to mention the way Mr. Burns disregarded his strict work schedule and his own wealth to provide these things.

Smithers was a smart man, but so much of that intelligence went out the door around Mr. Burns. That conversation was nothing but lies. It had to be. God, that nearly brought tears to his eyes. Smithers nevertheless found himself grinning like an idiot.

Who cares if it was fake? Smithers knew who he was into. Some of it had to be real. Mr. Burns enjoyed his company enough to go to dinner, and that was enough. He could accept not knowing the true motivation for Mr. Burns' charity…though, considering the letters his boss was about to send, he might have figured it out.

Smithers sighed, still smiling. Who cared? He had dinner with Mr. Burns.