Part 1: The Letter
Disclaimer: The characters are mental children of Matt Groening and thus do not belong to me. But this twisted story does.
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Charles Montgomery Burns looked up from his pea-soup to the younger man. The room was lit by candlelight and he could barely see his assistant's face. Waylon Smithers had been acting strangely lately. He could not quite put his finger to it but he knew that the younger man was different that he used to.
"Smithers," he barked and the other man shot up, "Where is your mind travelling to? I said I'm done with the soup."
"Oh," the man barely exclaimed and hurried to collect the plate and spoon. He gathered them quickly and retreated into the kitchen.
The owner of Springfield's Power Plant looked at him retreat, annoyance mixed with puzzlement. Waylon Smithers Jr. had stopped asking silly questions about how he found his cooking a month ago. Thinking about it this was the same period he started acting strangely.
The younger man had become – how could he define it – distant probably. He stopped speaking to him, he was losing focus, and he was not even affected when he told him he found him to be a nuisance. He just smiled glumly and told him he was sorry for this.
"I lost my appetite," he announced when the younger man served him the main dish of grilled steak, "I need you to help me prepare for bed Smithers."
The younger man looked at the plate for a few seconds before saying "certainly sir" and helping him stand.
-)-)-)
"I've put food in the fridge for the weekend sir. Your cook can take care of the heating I hope," Waylon commented as he helped the older man into his bed.
"Are you going away for the weekend Smithers?" the older man asked in amazement. It was rare for his assistant to spent time away from him. For a moment he felt something similar to disappointment but he could not define the reason for it.
"Yes sir. I won't be in Springfield till Monday morning at work time. So I arranged for your other driver to take you to work," Smithers commented as he fluffed the pillows.
Charles Montgomery Burns watched Smithers' hands fondling his pillow, arranging the bed covers and he grumbled. In his age he hated changes. That boy should have known that already.
"I'll be seeing you on Monday morning then," he grumbled angrily and for a second he was taken aback as he noticed Waylon had an expression of misery. That man seemed in distress, it seemed that something was troubling him. He opened his mouth to ask him about it but he changed his mind immediately. He had never cared for anyone and he wasn't going to start now.
The man moved away and closed the curtains. He went towards the door and stopped. They both looked at each other, the younger man as if expecting something from him. The older man looked at him wondering what he was supposed to tell him. Finally Smithers bowed his head.
"Take care sir," he wished him glumly and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
-)-)-)
The weekend passed away very slowly. It was one of the most boring weekends he had experienced. Charles Montgomery Burns almost jumped out of his bed in excitement on Monday morning, but he quickly remembered that in his old age that was slightly uncomfortable. He had admit it though that spending two days alone was more exhausting than any of Smithers' antics and planned events.
