Secondhand Burns

SUMMARY: Smithers and Burns are married and just hitting a stable stride when a revelation from Larry Burns upends their lives. This story follows their married life and their newfound hobby of shark-jumping. Warning: may or may not contain actual sharks.

AUTHOR NOTE: This is the sequel (eh... three-quel?) uh, anyway, the third installment of my Burns Song Trilogy. The first story is A Smithers Named Desire, about how they get together, the second is When I'm 104, about their first few months of marriage, and now is Secondhand Burns, which is about their married life and their newfound hobby of shark-jumping. Some loose ends are tied up, while a number of others unravel, only to be later tied up again, presumably by some expert knot-tyer in a knot-tying contest.

Recap:

In case you haven't read the previous stories in awhile, here's what you need to remember: Burns just lost his fortune, giving it up to save Smithers, having learned what it is to truly love someone blah blah blah. After gaining popularity at an anti-Barlow rally (and with Barlow hauled away for his involvement in Smithers' kidnapping, the Republicans lack a gubernatorial candidate), Smithers has decided to run for governor. Also, in the end of the first part, when caught in flagrante delicto in Burns' office, Burns at first went along with people's assumptions that Smithers was assaulting him until he revealed in court that Smithers was completely innocent and that he was in love with Smithers. I think that's all you really need to remember.

Chapter One

Smithers turned his key as slowly and quietly in the lock to his apartment door as he could in an effort to avoid disturbing Burns' sleep. He turned the knob and stepped inside, setting his briefcase on the floor.

"What the devil took you so long?" Burns said, staring him down from his burgundy easy chair, snifter of brandy cradled between his spindly fingers.

"Monty, you're still up?" He hung his jacket on the coat hook by the door and approached, undoing his bow tie as he walked. "It's two in the morning!"

"I am aware of the time. It's not as though I have anywhere I need to be early in the morning," he said, turning away and sighing to the floor. Looking up and fixing his gaze determinedly on Smithers, he said, "Now answer me."

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting in the blue floral settee facing Burns' easy chair and taking his hand. "Quimby is running me ragged at the plant. These sixteen-hour days are killing me."

"You never complained when I made you work sixteen-hour shifts."

"That's because I enjoyed working for you." He patted the seat beside him, and Burns set down his liquor on the glass coffee table and sat beside him, slumping slightly against his shoulder as his body begged for sleep.

"If you don't like it, then tell him you won't work such long hours. Or get a job elsewhere."

"I'm making good money, though. It's overtime pay – I can't walk away from the opportunity to make hundreds of dollars in a single night." He pulled a few hundred dollar bills and fanned them in his hand, waving them so they grazed Burns' nose. He put his arm around Burns' shoulders and stuffed the money into the tie of his robe.

"I don't see why you should spend so much time away from me just to make a paltry five hundred dollars."

"But it's not a paltry amount. Not anymore..."

He grimaced and grabbed the money out of his robe and shoved the fistful of it forcefully into Smithers' hand. "Keep it."

Smithers' snorted in a nervous, bewildered laughter. "What?"

"You're the one who earned it, not I."

"Honey, what's mine is yours."

"Between your gubernatorial campaign and your lawsuit and all this overtime you've been doing, I hardly see you anymore. You pay me to loaf around here by my lonesome while you do another man's bidding all day. There is no honor in obtaining wealth that way."

"But there's honor in being wealthy by cheating your taxes and cutting corners on environmental safety."

"Now you're making sense."

"What do you want me to do?" he said, asking genuinely and without a hint of frustration. "Hm?" He stroked Burns' chin with an index finger. "Just tell me, and I'll do it."

"I want you to spend more time with me."

"Are you sure you'll be okay with me making less money?"

"Smithers, we're poor. A few grand a year won't change that."

"If that's what you really want." He ran his hand up and down Burns' shoulder and upper arm. "You know it's what I want."

Burns brought an arm around Smithers' waist. "It's what I want," he said, then his head dropped against Smithers' chest and he began to snore. Smithers pulled a blanket over them and within minutes fell asleep.

Smithers awoke to his cell phone alarm, a digitized rendition of the tune to Good Morning Baltimore. When Smithers' eyelids finally mustered the resolve to stay apart for longer than a few seconds, he looked down at Burns' head, unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of Smithers' breaths, Burns' own breaths too slow and slight to draw the eye. Smithers put the palm of his hand on Burns' cheek, causing his lips to tighten momentarily and then slacken as he retreated into a deeper sleep. Smithers ran his fingers along Burns' cheek and neck, staring at Burns' open mouth, his tongue gradually lolling out as he snored. After fifteen minutes had passed and he really had to start getting ready for work, he drew in close and kissed him in an intimate yet not libidinous fashion, kissing him as a way to gently induct him to the new day dawning. "Good morning, Monty," he said once Burns' wide open eyes conveyed that he was awake.

As Smithers began to rise from the settee, the blanket billowing away from him and collapsing onto Burns' lap, he put his hand on Smithers' thigh. "Wait – Waylon, sit down." Smithers immediately did as he said. "Stay with me today."

Giving a pained chuckle, he said, "I can't do that."

"Tell him you're sick."

"I've already called in sick twice this month to be with you. I told you, I'm going to cut back on my hours. I promise we'll do something special together this weekend."

"What do you suggest?"

"Whatever you want." He patted Burns' shoulder as he stood and headed for their room where he gathered clothes from the dresser drawers and slung a towel over his shoulder. "Are you ready for your shower, dear?"

"Yes." They walked onto the gold-flecked pearly tiles of their spacious, elegant bathroom, and through the mirror, Smithers looked at Burns standing close behind him. Burns touched his elbow. "Let's have lunch together."

"It's a date." Smithers hung their new clothes on the hangers perched on the garment rack and turned the shower dial clockwise for hot water and disrobed. "Damn it!"

"What is it?"

"I can't have lunch with you today. I'm having lunch with my lawyer to discuss my case against Kent Brockman and Channel 6."

"Well, where are you meeting? I'll meet you there."

"The Pimento Grove. I'll come pick you up. Be ready by eleven." He removed Burns' robe and hung it on the rack. "But it won't be very romantic with the lawyer there." He set one foot inside the shower, testing the temperature.

"Bah. I've never been one for such gooey gestures. I've only made them to entice you since I know you love that malarkey."

"I do." He brought his other foot into the shower and guided Burns inside. As the water wetted Burns' hair, Smithers rubbed shampoo into it, lathered it up, then mixed it into his own hair. He scrubbed Burns' skin with a loofah, making sure to get behind his ears. Once they had washed, he helped Burns out and wrapped a towel around them, patting their skin dry and then hugging him and kissing his cheek. "Feel better now?"

"Yes." He sighed.

"No, you don't." He took Burns' chin in his hand and tilted his head up. "Tell me what's wrong and how I can make you feel better."

"Do you know how much Quimby bought the plant for?"

"No," said Smithers, shaking his head. "You never told me."

"Two million dollars." Smithers' face fell in empathy as a tear ran from Burns' eye. "I had no choice..."

"You did have a choice, and you chose me." He hugged Burns, who was now beginning to cry. "We'll get you your plant back. No matter what it takes." He rubbed the towel around Burns' hair, drying him secondary to soothing him.

"Spare me your quixotic promises. My fortune is gone! Really gone..." He backed against the wall and slid to the floor, curling into a ball but reaching his arm out shakily for Smithers. "All gone..."

Smithers knelt beside him and wrapped the towel around him before hugging him. "We'll get it back. You're so enterprising; I believe in you." He kissed Burns' forehead. "You're an amazing person. You know that, right? You've accomplished so much in your life, and I see no reason you can't keep accomplishing everything your heart desires."

"You're right. I can claw my way back up to the top. The only question is...how will I do it?"

"That's the spirit!" He rubbed his own hair with the towel before giving it back to Burns and dressing himself. "I know you'll think of some brilliant scheme. And when you have it, I'll do everything I can to help put your plan into action." He helped Burns stand and dressed him back into his robe. He went into the kitchen and started a pot of water boiling and some eggs and bacon frying. Once the water began to boil, he divided two cups' worth into a couple of mugs with bags of darjeeling and green tea and poured oatmeal into the water remaining in the pot.

Burns slinked unobtrusively into a chair at their cozy kitchen table, as meek as any man dethroned so unceremoniously as he had been. "I am so accustomed to being at your side all day. I don't know what to do with myself lately."

"I'm sorry I've spent so much time away from you," he said, plating a couple of eggs and strips of bacon. "I've only worked so much because I thought the extra money would make you happy."

"It does," he said. "But so do you."

He set the plate before Burns and went back to cooking his own eggs and bacon. "You can spend the day scheming a way to get your fortune back. I know how much you love scheming."

"I do."

"I'll lay out your suit for you to wear to lunch when I'm done here. How is your breakfast?"

"The yolks are too dry and powdery."

"Here, have mine," he said, swapping the new eggs with the old ones on Burns' plate with the spatula. Smithers watched as he took a bite. "Is that better?"

"Yes."

"Good." As the bacon continued to cook, Smithers pulled out a chair at the table and ate the overcooked eggs. "So, do you want to do anything for Halloween this year?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know...go to a party?"

"So you want to go to a party, eh?"

"If that's what you want."

"It's obvious that's what you're angling for." He pushed aside his eggs and took a strip of bacon in his mouth. Smithers poured the oatmeal into a bowl and sprinkled it with brown sugar and cinnamon and tended to his bacon. "Ugh. It's cold," he said, pushing aside his plate of bacon and dipping his spoon into his oatmeal.

"This fresh batch will be ready any minute, dear."

"Do you have a particular party in mind?"

"Well, usually I get together with a few of my friends."

"Very well."

"Have you given any thought to what you'd want to wear as a costume?"

"Something scary this year. Like a taxman."

"I'm sure we can arrange that."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I don't know...maybe a vampire."

"We can't both go as taxmen."

"I'll think of something." He transferred the bacon from the pan to Burns' plate. "Careful, it's burning hot." He spooned oatmeal into a bowl for himself, then sat down and took the plate of cold bacon and bit a piece. "Why couldn't we? Matching costumes would be cute."

"I'm going for scary like Nosferatu, not cute like Hello Kitty."

"Then I'll come up with something scary." He glanced at his cell phone, reviewing his e-mail. "Shit. Quimby wants me there an hour early. I must have had my notifications disabled." He took a brief sip from his tea and kissed Burns' cheek. "I'll see you at eleven," he said, running to the door.

"I'll see you –" Smithers had already grabbed his briefcase and shut the door, already was descending the stairs, "–then."