New Reflections (Burnsmithers)

Bonus: Monty's POV scenes and Part 16 dream

From Part Two

Monty felt oddly blissful in his semi-consciousness, he couldn't explain it. Smithers was muttering about something, he didn't know what, and he didn't care. The curtains were pulled open, the rings sliding along the bar, he knew the sound well.

Even with his eyes closed, the sun broke through and disturbed him.

"Sir, it's... morning." Clearly.

Monty wrenched open his eyes, immediately squinting. "It's too bright."
"Sorry, sir." The curtains went again, and the glare lessened. He could open his eyes properly. Smithers stood in front of the partially open window. And again, something was different.

"I feel odd, Smithers." As he became acclimated, the sense grew stronger.

Smithers shifted. "Well, sir..."

Monty turned his head away from the window. A few locks of brown hair, too long and the wrong shade to be Smithers' (why would his hair be on Monty's pillow, anyhow?), fell next to him, over his shoulder, as he turned. What... He no longer felt tired. "Why, I haven't seen anything like this in forty-odd..." Was it really his hair?

Anxious, Monty sat himself up in bed and threw his covers off, remarking on the strength he'd possessed to do so. But then...

He lifted his arm, the skin unmarred, and turned it, flexing his hand, and then the other. He grasped the hair over his shoulder between his fingers, reaching up further, only feeling more hair. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Otherwise, he had somehow aged backwards.
"Smithers," he said, remembering his assistant was still there, "look at me, it is as if I am young!" A mirror, that would be useful...

Monty slid off the bed, again noticing the ease, agility, with which he could move, and rushed to his bathroom. His hands on the counter, he leaned forward, incredulous. He blinked, and his reflection did the same. He reached his hand to the glass. A face free of the lines of old age; long, brown hair.

His heart pounded, and so too did his head for some reason. But this was what he had wanted, the other night, as he'd told Smithers... and it had come to pass. He was young again.

"I do suppose my wish has been granted, eh?" Monty grinned at himself, still half-convinced he was dreaming. Back in his bedroom, Smithers stared at him. Monty stood up, his posture once again straight and absent of any hunch, and returned to his bed, catching a glimpse of himself as he went, as well as another slight headache.

"Your... your wish?" Smithers was asking. Monty sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. "Yes! Don't you recall our conversation last night?"
"I... of course, but I didn't think... I didn't think anything would happen," Smithers said. "That picture you threw in the fire- you look just like that..."

"Perhaps. Though I don't believe my throwing it in the fire was the sole reason this happened, if there is any discernible reason at all."

"If there is any reason," Smithers repeated. There had to be some reason, unless his youth had been acquired through vague universal means. "What should we do now?"

Everything, I must go out and partake in physical activities, oh, I haven't been able to do that as I'd want in so long... "Oh, there are so many things..."

From Part Twelve

The image of her plagued his mind. Why had she come to the same restaurant as they? Monty exhaled, relieved, as he drank in the night air outside, Waylon beside him.

"I've no desire to interact with such a woman ever again," he said, shaking his head.
"Me neither," Waylon agreed, "Do you think she saw us?"
"I... I don't know." Shivering suddenly, Monty took his hand, anchoring himself. "...Thank you, Waylon."