"So you're really leaving despite there being a free dinner involved?" he said coyly.
"If I don't get back…" her voice trailed off. He looked at her imploringly. "I know what happens when you leave twenty-eight males with little or no direction alone," a thought occurred to her, "And the new guy." She said it as though it explained everything. She unlocked her car, but leaned against it.
"You are going to have to tell me," Lex said.
"I should get back to train the new guy," Rhone clarified.
"About the – twenty-eight males," Lex hadn't thought of it that way before. She lived with them.
"Guys do things to each other," Rhone tried to explain. From the way Lex was looking at her, he didn't understand. He had probably never "hung out" with a group of guys or anyone for that matter. "Awol is probably sodamizing the new guy with a coat rack or something," she tried to explain as she rubbed her eyes, anticipating future frustration.
Lex was looking at her with a look that said he was still processing what she just said, but there was no processing it. "They're really not that bad," she added quickly. "But they have done some – messed up things to one another," she shook her head. Then she smiled. He was still looking at her with that look on his face. "They're stronger that way – a part of something," she continued.
Clark was his first real friend, so Lex never got any of that "goofing off" that other guys knew. When he was at Excelsior Prep, he had been in the dormitory. But he was never a normal student. He really didn't have to see other students if he didn't want to. Most of the time; he chose against it.
However, there were some nights when he would be reading in his room and he would hear a reoccurring series of events that might explain what Rhone was trying to say. It would be dead silent, then a loud noise, then one boisterous voice that expressed a profanity, then a bunch of guys laughing, then that one voice saying something, then a lot more laughter. It kept him up on more than one occasion. Lex made a note to himself to never allow another male to sleep near him without taking adequate precautions. "Through friendship," Lex ventured.
"We're not supposed to have friends," she repeated a phrase she had heard so many times.
He raised his eyebrows at her. She had called him her friend more than once.
She turned and opened her car door. She put her artist's tube in the back seat and looked over her shoulder at him, "No one tells me what to do."
Lex smiled sadly. She was really leaving. He found his voice and it was surprisingly casual, "How can I reach you in Metropolis?" Was he asking for her phone number? Why not? …She gave it to Clark. If the farm boy wasn't betrothed to Lana Lang, that might worry him. And the hug outside of the high school was probably one of the most platonic that he had ever seen – not that he didn't envy the tactile contact. Envy? What, a Luthor envy? …Had he ever had to ask for a phone number? When he went out, he got so many cards and numbers that…
She turned to him, standing inside of her car door. Her eyes were honest and – sad. "You can't," she said softly.
He swallowed. What was with women and leaving him? He understood that her job would lead to certain limitations, but he couldn't get a hold of her at all? The despondency he had been feeling was fermenting into resentment.
"I'll contact you," she could see animosity beginning to etch itself onto his attractive face.
He decided to walk away before he said something that he didn't mean -- or before he could say something that would betray his feelings. With a dismissive sigh he said, "For someone that doesn't let anyone tell them what to do…" He let the meaning of his remark hang in the air.
"Mr. Luthor…" she began.
That was it. "Ms. Chade," he said in the same business tone that she had used when she said her fake good-bye in his office earlier that day. He turned on his heels and headed back to his office.
She watched him get halfway to the door. She didn't know what she was feeling, but she didn't like it. It was the feeling she got when she let someone down – something she made a point to not do. What was his problem? What the…? …He had a point. She didn't know what to do. Should she follow him and…? And what? Tell him that you… No. Not an option.
She slid into her car and started the engine.
Claire watched her employer open the door and steal a glance to the parking lot. His demeanor was different. He had a look on his face that told her to keep her eyes glued to her computer monitor and definitely not to speak. What happened in less than five minutes? He walked swiftly past her and shut his office door firmly behind him.
Lex sat behind the desk of his home office, lack of sunlight on the walls telling him it was dusk. He had been in no hurry to get home this evening. The minute he entered his office at The Plant he began to feel a sickening feeling in his stomach, later recognized as guilt. Then a dull pain behind his eyes, immediately recognized as the aftereffects of juvenile stupidity. …And no way to apologize. Shit.
Why did he have to have this – he didn't know. As little as he wanted to admit it, it was probably an abandonment issue. …Mom… She said that she would contact him. Why wasn't that good enough? Why did he have to…?
He stood and absently went to the tumbler of brandy that stood in the corner of the room. He poured the dark brown liquid slowly into the glass, trying to think of a way to contact her and then quickly trying to forget that he cared. He swirled his glass briefly as he walked back to his desk.
He sat and leaned his elbows on his knees, cradling the glass in his hands. He lowered his head and closed his eyes.
He ventured a look up at the door. He remembered when she walked though it for the first time. She was nice looking, strong… She accused him of being a terrorist. He smiled and laughed silently.
His eyes began to sting and he closed them again. He finally leaned back and brought the glass to his lips. As he rolled the liquid around in his mouth, something struck him as odd. He opened his left eye and brought the glass up to eye level. …When was the last time he had a drink? He begrudgingly opened his right eye, only to furrow his brow. …He didn't drink the whole time that she was here. Well, after she came back from Hong Kong – almost a week ago. …Shit.
Rhone turned the key toward her. The soft purr of the engine ceased and she leaned her head against the head rest. She allowed herself a loud sigh. She had gone for a long drive along the Metropolis expressway system once she reached the city. She wasn't ready to go home.
Unfortunately, she was no closer to figuring out what happened then when she left the parking lot of Plant Number Three. Maybe he really couldn't handle the information that she had given him. …It was just as well, she could foresee him making her weak. It didn't take a premonition to figure that out.
Someone was coming. Griffin. She quickly composed herself and opened the door.
"I didn't expect you back so soon," Griffin covered the distance to her car.
"The audit ended today, Griffin," she said stoically.
"I know, but I figured you would be hanging out with Lex…" he began.
She turned and reached into her car to pull out the few things that she had taken with her. "Our alliance has concluded," she said stoically.
He watched her immediately place her artist's tube on her back. Right, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "What happened?" he asked. He could tell that she was upset. Not that she would ever admit it. Hell, most people could never tell that she was.
"He realized the reality of the situation," she said in a voice that forced flatness. He realized the reality of me, she thought sadly to herself.
The last time he heard, things were going great – all things considered. "Rhone," he began.
"Where's the new guy?" she had her duffle bag and laptop over her left and right shoulders, respectively.
"Rhone," he began again.
She began to walk toward the door with wide strides, "Are you going to tell me where he is, or do I have to scour the whole complex?"
Her voice had an edge to it that said she wasn't in the mood talk. Had she been – hurt? It was something that Griffin didn't fully comprehend. He said, "I brought him in this morning. He finished the basic tour. I knew you would want him to begin on a physical regiment…"
"Where is he?" her voice elevated slightly.
"He's in the shower," he said quietly. Then added, even more softly, "Ex."
She stopped suddenly and turned to face him, "Griff…"
He put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her arms affectionately. He didn't speak, only looked at her imploringly.
She looked away. She hated it when he gave her the big brother treatment – at least in an instance like this. "Can we talk about it later?" she sighed. He was her best friend – unofficially – and she knew that he was just trying to help. Besides, this wasn't the most private place on base – the middle of the garage.
"Sure, Rhone," he went back to their first name basis. He usually only called her by some incarnation of her title to make a point. He also did if they were in a situation that called for it. The other men had taken a similar stance – she had asked them to. He lowered his hands and they began to head for the door again. She would open up to him – eventually.
They reached the door, and she paused. He looked at her, "What?"
She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head quickly, "Nothing." She reached up and opened the door. Had she grown that accustomed to him, the way he treated her, in a few short days? No, she was tired – too much civilian work.
He tilted his head to look at her, "You were waiting for me to open the door for you?" It was a question, not a statement.
"No, I was – thinking of something," she shook her head softly.
"Sounds more like someone," he said. They had begun making their way through the main corridors.
He said it in a way that implied a part of him was reminiscing; he wasn't trying to give her a hard time. "He and I are nothing like you and her," she said matter-of-factly.
"As you wish," he said lightly.
Bishop said that when he was pretending to agree with you. Rhone glanced at Griffin out of the corner of her eye. "The new guy, have you…?" she asked a leading question.
Griffin quickly held up his hands, "Good cop." He said it as though he was eight years old, calling the front seat of the car. She looked at him again. "I picked him up," he defended.
"Fine," she conceded. It wasn't like she could change it now anyway.
Feeling slightly guilty, Griffin held out his hand for her duffle bag. "Here," he said, "Let me take your clothes."