Chapter Six: Still Happy

"It was the Ardennes Counteroffensive, better known as the Battle of the Bulge." stated Mr. Burns as he read from the paper in his hand, one foot placed firmly on the coffee table for dramatic affect. He spoke quite presidentially and with such vigor as one delivering a State of the Union address. Waylon sat on the couch, listening diligently as Burns continued.

"The weather was to the detriment of our allied forces as the low fog and cloud cover made visibility difficult for our superior air force to lay siege on the advancing enemy tankers. The enemies had practically decimated our front lines with-"

"Wait, wait..." Waylon interrupted, setting his coffee cup down on the table. "I thought you were going to read about your childhood and all those happy times before you moved away to live with your cold and heartless grandfather." said Waylon before he could stop himself. He bit his lip nervously.

"Oh? And what makes you think that?" Burns asked. "Did you... by any chance read the papers left on my desk while I was out of the room?"

"Uh... would I be in trouble if I did?" asked Waylon warily, leaning back on the couch. Burns scratched his sideburns in thought.

"No. Though, I was thinking of scrapping that part since no one would be interested in my childish escapades. No, not a particularly interesting segment of my life."

"If I may sir... I don't think it would be boring at all. If anything, it would let people know that you actually did have a heart... once. That you really are human." said Waylon. He knew Mr. Burns did have a heart under that cold exterior and maybe writing about happier times in his life would make him realize it too.

"Why on earth would I want that?" Burns asked, a look of utter repulsion on his face. "I've worked hard all my life to cultivate this veneer of cold detachment and indifference towards the common man. It's a cut-throat world out there Waylon! You have to scratch and claw your way to the top and emotional weakness and human nature can impede that pursuit!" Burns spoke loudly, leaning over the desk towards Waylon, his palms pressed against the table.

"But don't you lose a little bit of yourself in the process? Sure you have lots of money and material possessions, but are you happy?" asked Waylon. He caught a glimpse of something, some intensity in the man's eyes for a brief second before Burns looked away and stood up. Burns shuffled his fuzzy-slippered feet as he took a couple of steps away, his back to Waylon.

"Whomever said that money doesn't buy happiness was likely a penniless fool harboring a deep resentment for those at the top." said Burns quietly. Waylon stared at Burns' back, a little speechless for the moment, though he felt something should be said.

"All I want is to make you happy... sir. If I can." Waylon muttered, his words coming unfiltered and straight from the heart. "...if you'll let me."

"Funny... that's what my last girlfriend said too before she left me." Burns laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Waylon felt a little taken aback and hurt by the fact that Burns seemed to have glossed over what he'd just admitted so easily, switching to the subject of past girlfriends.

"Which one, Suzanne?" asked Waylon bitterly, leaning forward to grab his coffee cup, taking a quick sip and feeling it warm him from the inside.

"No, Carol. I'm still seeing Suzanne... or Roxanne... or was it Annabel?" Burns paused, momentarily stumped over the name. "Oh it was Ann something, but who cares. I don't think she'll stick around too much longer anyway."

"Oh? And why is that?" asked Waylon. He wanted Mr. Burns to be happy, he really did, but he still couldn't help the feeling of relief whenever Burns broke up with one of his girlfriends.

"Well, she keeps canceling our plans, sometimes without even giving me the common courtesy to call and let me know that she isn't coming." Burns sat in the wing-backed chair across from Waylon, a sudden sullenness about him. What could he even say after hearing that? He knew that being merely sixteen, he was too young for Mr. Burns, but some part of him still held on to the hope that in a couple of years, maybe their age difference wouldn't matter so much. The real thing that stood in the way of his decidedly far-fetched romantic ideals wouldn't be age, but a matter of gender and the fact that Burns seemed to be fixedly heterosexual with no signs of dallying onto the other side of the court. After a long silence, Burns sighed and stretched back comfortably into his chair.

"Well enough about my love life. If you really want to hear about my childhood then who am I to deny you of that pleasure?" Burns smiled as he propped his feet up and leaned back comfortably, a much more relaxed posture than the rigid stance he taken when regaling of old war times, likely a reflection of his mood governing such strikingly different subject matter.

"Oh you can pleasure me any day sir." Waylon's cup clattered against his saucer and his face grew hot with embarrassment as he realized what he'd just said aloud. Burns gave him an odd look for a second, but quickly dismissed it.

"Well it all started when I was in the womb. Little did the world know that a great leader and his wave of influence would soon befall them; benevolent as he was intelligent, a supreme mastery of the atom ingrained into his very blood. He would soon forge a path that would come to be known as his legacy!"

"And then he was born." Waylon prompted, laughing at Burn's grandiose account of his legacy.

"Yes. Well I was just getting to that my dear boy. Never underestimate a powerful introduction." Burns cleared his throat before he continued. "My parents Charles and Daphne weren't very wealthy, but they made sure to keep us well fed and well mannered. I was the youngest of eleven children and it was... admittedly a much happier point in my life. In fact, I had everything I could have possibly wanted, or so I thought." He paused to drink his coffee and when Waylon didn't say anything, he continued.

"I'd seen my parents work themselves to the bone, struggling for every last cent and I wasn't about to let an opportunity like that my grandfather was offering go to waste. Especially when my other siblings found out about their grandfather's vast fortune and thus began a cycle of feuding and sibling rivalry. He took me to his mansion where I lived a life of privilege and decadence. He was a straight shooter, my grandfather. Not one to be crossed. He'd flog you in a minute if you didn't mind him."

"He beat you?" asked Waylon, though he couldn't say that he was surprised by that fact.

"Very rarely, but that was all it took for me to get the hint. After that, he spoiled me terribly and gave me anything I wanted as long as I did as I was told and behaved like a proper young gentleman."

"Did you and your dad ever do anything fun like fishing, hiking, or telling stories around a campfire?" Waylon asked, eager to veer the subject back to an earlier time. A time of fatherly bonding that he'd never had the chance to experience himself other than the time he'd spent with Mr. Burns.

"Oh we did all those things, but fishing was a matter of survival not just sport in those days." Burns laughed. "There was this one time my father told me and my brother Georgie that we were too young to go out onto the boat by ourselves so we fashioned our own makeshift raft and set sail down the river... though neither of us had the aforethought to bring the paddles." Burns laughed again, this time coming to sit down next to Waylon.

Burns went on to tell several such stories from his youth and with each one, he seemed more enlivened, almost as if he were still that same bright-eyed, carefree kid that he spoke of in his adventures. When Burns wasn't being the cold, hard businessman, deep down he was still a young boy at heart. He was still 'Happy'.

After a while, Waylon felt himself drifting off, soothed by the sound of Burns' voice and to the warmth he felt from the man sitting so closely next to him. He unknowingly moved towards that warmth as Burns droned on. He really did want to listen to more but he simply couldn't keep his eyes open a moment longer before the world faded away and he found himself whisked off into the land of nod.

"Come on Waylon! Hurry up!" yelled Happy as he ran ahead and into the forest.

"Okay, but aren't we forgetting something?" Waylon yelled back. The boy, roughly the same age as himself, turned around just at the edge of the forest and yelled out to him.

"Just come on!" Happy yelled impatiently, laughing at Waylon's overly cautious attitude. Clearly his friend was quite adventurous in contrast to himself. Waylon shook his head and ran to catch up. They ran through the forest with Happy leading the way and he only hoped that the boy knew where they were going. Soon they made it to a clearing and Happy stopped dead in his tracks, Waylon bumping into him from behind.

"Here it is! Right where I left it!" said Happy as he walked over to inspect the raft that he'd been bragging about earlier.

"So that's the raft? Do you think it will float?" asked Waylon, eying the crudely made log and rope raft sceptically. Happy pushed the raft out onto the water and hopped onto it without hesitation.

"Sure it'll float. Now stop being a pansy and get on." Happy teased. Waylon felt inspired by Happy's impulsiveness and didn't want to make a bad impression on his new friend, one that he was beginning to like a lot, perhaps even enough to call it a crush. Waylon got onto the raft which felt surprisingly sturdy despite it's looks and they set off down the river, course set for adventure.

Once they'd gotten a fair distance down the river and were ready to head back home, Waylon suddenly realized what it was that they'd forgotten.

"Oh no, the paddles!" Waylon cried. "We left them at the house!"

"Wow. So I guess that means we're going to be stuck out here alone for a while huh?" asked Happy, a look of disappointment on his face. "Dammit, now what are we going to do until someone comes along and saves our sorry hides?" Happy splashed the water in frustration. Waylon blushed as all the thoughts of what they could do out there alone crossed his mind. He wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss Happy and he unconsciously licked his lips at the thought. Happy looked up at him with a puzzled look that was simply adorable.

"What are you staring at Waylon?" asked Happy.

"I was just wondering if you've ever... kissed a boy before?" Waylon scratched the back of his head nervously as he awaited a response.

"Um... no? Why?" asked Happy, his expression one of relaxed curiosity,

"Well, no reason... just curious." Waylon blushed even harder, averting his eyes downward to avoid Happy's penetrating stare. He felt the raft rock slightly as the boy crawled closer to him on his knees.

"But I'd be willing to try." said Happy, leaning in and capturing his lips with a kiss. Waylon nearly melted on the spot as he felt the warm mouth against his, but all too soon, he felt himself being pulled away from that warmth and with a sudden jolt, he felt him self staring at a white ceiling feeling utterly disillusioned and incredibly turned on. The dream had felt so real and he sorely wished that he could have stayed in it for a moment longer.

He sighed sorrowfully and took a moment to soak in his surroundings. He was in the same guest room he'd stayed in when he was a young child in Burns' care, the huge bed with the rich mahogany headboard and posts, a matress just as luxurious and comfortable as he'd remembered and it was quite nostalgic, though it seemed a lot smaller now that he'd grown larger. He sat up and looked around the room, seeing sunlight gleaming through the silky white curtains, melting away the frost of the night before. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the couch and listening to Burns while he began to doze off against him, his head resting against the man's lap during his last moments of wakefulness. Had he really done that?

He got up from the bed and straightened his clothes which were wrinkled from enduring a night of sleep before going to the bathroom. Once he'd combed his hair and freshened up a bit he walked past Burns' room, stopping just outside the door which was left cracked open and he just could hear the sounds of the man quietly snoring.

He didn't know what possessed him, but he slowly cracked open the door and silently slipped into the room. He stopped next to the bed to see that Burns was curled up onto his side, shivering slightly and looking so innocently youthful. In that moment he was every bit the same as the boy that he had dreampt of earlier. Waylon pulled the covers up higher to cover Burns' shoulders and spotted that the source of the cold draft was the window that was slightly opened. Before he could move to close the window Burns stirred, awakening from his slumber.

"Waylon?" Burns sat up slowly, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light. Waylon panicked for a moment, freezing like a deer caught in headlights. "Waylon. What are you doing in here?" asked Burns irritably, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

"Uh, I just... I wanted to check on you and... I saw that your window was open and it was a little chilly in the room." Waylon managed to keep his voice rather calm as he crossed the room to close the window.

"Oh. Are you going to be late for school?" Burns sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms over his head, yawning tiredly. At least the man didn't seem too angry that Waylon had sneaked into his room while he was sleeping.

"No. It's Saturday and I guess I really should call home to let them know I'm alright." Waylon stood by the bed awkwardly, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, don't bother. I called them last night and your... stepfather didn't sound too happy to be awoken so late. He also wasn't very happy with you either for staying over without calling."

"I don't know why he even bothers to care what I do. He hates me anyway." Waylon scoffed. Mr. Burns stood up and began unbuttoning his night shirt as he walked over to the dresser and took out some clothes before heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Waylon sighed; as much as he liked seeing Mr. Burns undress, he wasn't sure if he was ready for an encore performance so soon.

"He wanted you on the phone, but I told him that you were asleep." came Burn's voice from the other room. "He then insisted on talking to you anyway to which I strongly discouraged until he relented."

"You yelled at him?" asked Waylon, his mouth agape with disbelief.

"Let's just say that my will far outweighs his." said Burns. Waylon could imagine the smirk the man must be wearing on the other side of the door. "I didn't even have to raise my voice for him to get the hint."

"Well, I guess I should go home then." said Waylon, scuffing his socks along Burns' carpet nervously, only just then noticing that someone had courteously taken off his shoes before he'd went to sleep which brought up another question: Who had picked him up and put him in the bed last night? Burns soon emerged from the bathroom dressed in his wide-collared tan coat, red shirt and brown checked trousers, his hair combed over neatly to cover his bald spot.

"I'll have the chauffeur ready a car for you in the front courtyard." said Burns.

"No, that's okay. I've got my bike." Waylon stepped aside for Burns as he passed and sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.

"It's no trouble at all. In fact, I'll drive you home myself." Burns insisted, struggling with his shoe laces. Waylon instinctively moved forward to help, taking Burns laces on his right shoe and quickly tying them.

"What, really? Wow..." Waylon exclaimed, "Thank you sir!" Burns was actually offering to drive someone else around for once? The same man that has a chauffeur on call at all times and within a moment's notice? Surely he must have some ulterior motive.

"Well don't make such a big hoopla out of it! I just feel like visiting with your parents for a bit that's all. I thought we'd have a nice chat." said Burns, shaking his foot out of Waylon's grasp. "No... that's a little too tight. I can't even feel my toes!" Burns complained. Waylon untied the shoe and retied it.

"There, hows that?" he said as he looked up, his eyes meeting Mr. Burns'.

"Fine. Now go get your things and don't take all day." Burns grumbled.

"Right sir!" said Waylon, he then rushed off to get his shoes and his schoolbag, excited at the prospect of having Mr. Burns actually in his house.

"Sir. Don't you think you should slow down... just a little? The speed limit is only 45 here and I'm pretty sure you're pushing 65 almost 70!" He was beginning to rethink his decision of letting Mr. Burns drive him home as they sped down the streets of Springfield, almost striking several cars already.

"Bah, speed limit..." Burns scoffed, smacking Waylon on the shoulder playfully. "Don't be so yellow-bellied Waylon! Learn to live a little!"

"I'm trying, but it won't do any good if you go and get us killed!" yelled Waylon, firmly gripping onto his seat as the car barely missed jumping the curb as they turned the corner. Waylon nearly wanted to get out and kiss the concrete of his driveway when the car stopped in front of his house, though he wasn't too eager about the idea of facing his stepfather as the man was a stickler for punctuality and schedules.

"I'm not looking forward to this." said Waylon as he walked up to the front door with Mr. Burns.

"It'll be fine." Burns assured him, making him feel fractionally better. Waylon opened the door an peaked in, his heart racing as the first thing he saw was his stepfather's face. The man had pulled a chair up to the door in anticipation of his arrival. Either Mr. Burns must have called alerting him to their arrival, or else the man had been sitting there for hours waiting, which he wouldn't put past him.

"Waylon, so nice to see you've decided to rejoin this family." Glen taunted, his fingers working on undoing his belt buckle. Panic began to set in for Waylon. Glen would threaten him with the belt occasionally, but never had he gone as far as to actually beat him with it! Glen suddenly dropped the sneering smirk, his face growing pale once he saw Mr. Burns emerge from the doorway.

"Mr. Ramsey." Burns greeted, extending a hand to Glen to which Glen took after a moment, shaking hands with him. Glen swallowed nervously and Waylon began to wonder if maybe his stepfather was a little intimidated or frightened by Mr. Burns.

"As you know, young Waylon here has decided to follow in his father's footsteps and work as my assistant. As for last night, Waylon was supposed to leave by six, but he ended up staying a little later to help me review parts of my autobiography." Burns explained.

"So? He still should have had the foresight to call. His mother was worried sick and she hasn't been doing well ever since." Glen grumbled angrily, keeping his voice low as to not wake his wife in the next room.

"I do apologize, but-" Burns began, but Glen interrupted.

"I would have told her that you had called around midnight, but she was already... out for the night." Glen continued irritably. Waylon looked over to see his mother lying on the couch with the lights dimmed and her hand over her forehead. Waylon knew that saying she was, 'out for the night' was like code for saying she'd drank too much. Guilt began to set in, knowing that it was his fault that she'd turned to drinking this time and there was no one to blame but himself.

"Mr. Ramsey. I assure you that Waylon will call from now on if he has to stay late." said Burns.

"You'd better be right about that. That's all I have to say." Glen sneered.

"So am I going to be punished then?" asked Waylon, hoping that his stepfather would be reluctant to punish him in front of Mr. Burns.

"You should be. You really should be..." Glen crossed his arms, still in the same seat he'd been in when they'd arrived. "but if Burns says you'll call next time, then I'll reluctantly take his word for it."

"Thank you... Glen." said Waylon, though it took all the effort he had to mutter those words.

"But next time I won't be so forgiving." Glen warned, glaring at him threateningly.

"Well, now that that's all sorted out I shall make my exit post haste. Please do give my regards to Mrs. Smithers." Burns smiled curtly. He then turned to Waylon. "So see you next Monday then?"

"It's a date...er... I mean... see you then... for work." Waylon stammered clumsily. Burns patted him on the back before turning to leave, shutting the front door behind him.

"Wait! Did he just call my wife Mrs. Smithers?" Glen stood up, moving towards the door that Burns' had just excited, but sitting back down when he realized that Burns had already left, his tires squealing loudly as he pulled out of the driveway.

"I hadn't noticed." Waylon smirked, glad that Burns had slipped that snide remark in so effectively. Waylon left the living room and headed up the stairs to his room, though if he could choose, he'd rather being going to his room at Burns' place and unlike most other teens his age, he couldn't wait for Monday to arrive.

A. N. - So I thought I'd better end this chapter here, even though it was a little shorter than average. There will be more confrontations between Jimmy and Waylon coming soon as well as complications in Waylon's home life so... I don't think things aren't going to be going too smoothly for Waylon for a while.

Also, the raft story was actually based on one my uncle told me of when he went up the river without a paddle and the coast guards had to rescue him and his brother. xD