Rhone shut the door behind her and walked the short distance to her bedroom. She tossed the eye protection she had been wearing in the firing range onto her dresser.
She stopped where she was and listened, trying to identify the noise… Running... It was Griffin running down the hall. She turned on her heels and calmly went to her door.
She opened the door just as Griffin was sliding to a halt in front of it. "Oh, Rhone," he hadn't expected to see her that soon.
"What's wrong?" she asked, stepping aside so he could enter.
"Nothing's wrong," a Clark reminiscent smile crossed Griffin's lips as he walked past her.
"And that's why you were running here," she nodded in a way that said she didn't believe him as she shut the door behind them.
He continued to smile as he reached for the largest pocket in his cargo pants. He pulled out a small flat box of dark green felt. "New Guy brought this back," he held it out to her.
She looked at it for a moment, "Then he failed, it was a delivery."
"It sure is," then he added, "A delivery for you."
She slowly took it from his hand, "Did you open it?" She eyed him suspiciously.
He held his hand up to his heart, "I would never do such a thing."
She tilted her head at him.
"I didn't," he looked at her honestly, "I don't even think New Guy looked at it either – you really scare the hell out him." He went into her tiny kitchen area and pulled a water bottle out of the refrigerator.
"That's the point," she stated the obvious. She turned the box over in her hands; it was a jewelry box, no doubt about it. She put the box on the counter.
"Oh, no," he shook his head as he walked to her side.
"No what?" she asked.
"I know you," he started, "You'll leave it there just to have something new to deny yourself – to torture yourself."
"I think that's a little extreme," she laughed.
"Yeah," he paused, "So, prove me wrong."
She set her jaw and turned to look at the box, leaving Griffin to pear over her shoulder. She picked it up and held it gingerly in her hands, as though mishandling it would cause it to shatter.
Griffin brought the water bottle to his lips and tipped it up to take a drink.
Rhone placed her thumbs on the open seam and pulled it apart. She stopped breathing and just stared at it.
She heard Griffin choke on his water behind her. "Holy shit," he said softly.
"It's – beautiful," her voice was a whisper. She set the box down and picked the bauble up, handling it even more gently than she had the box. She held it up in the dim light and it shone brighter than an exploding terrorist installation against the night sky. It wasn't gaudy; it was actually kind of modest in that way, it was just -- expensive. The necklace was white gold with – flawless diamonds and dark emeralds. Emeralds? …He remembered when she told Chloe her favorite color was green. He remembered… He listened…
Griffin put his water bottle down next to the felt box and brought his arms around Rhone's shoulders. "Let me put it on you," he offered as he reached for it.
"No," she said simply, "It has to go back, I don't want his…"
"I know that," he said. He believed her – more than anything; anyone could just look at her and know that she did not define herself by such things. Then he added, "He knows that." Griffin shook his head, what do you get the woman that allows herself nothing? He gently took the necklace from her hands and began to put it on her.
She wasn't really listening, just thinking of Lex and that he thought that she was worthy of such a beautiful thing. He was wrong, of course, but still… She was – touched.
"Well, I don't know if it was really meant to be worn with a t-shirt," he turned her to face him. She didn't say anything, just stared blankly at his chin. "So, is he secretly a queen or do all billionaire playboys collect women's jewelry?" Griffin wondered aloud.
"I highly doubt it was from his personal collection," she managed to find her voice.
"I don't know, Rhone," he picked up the box it had come in, "It has his initials in it."
She looked down at the box, and sure enough, the initials L.L. were embroidered on the inside. She brought a hand up and placed her hand on the necklace. After a moment, she turned around. In her flat voice, she said, "Take it off."
"Why? It's your favorite color…" he started.
"L.L. doesn't stand for Lex Luthor; it stands for Lillian Luthor – his mother. I won't take something so dear to him," she explained as though she were sick with herself for even putting it on.
"Maybe you are dearer to him," Griffin suggested as he undid the clasp.
"It's a trinket. We don't need to own such things. What kind of example would I be setting if I – indulged myself so blatantly?" she asked as she turned to him again.
"I think 'trinkets' usually cost less than a few hundred thousand dollars," he hinted to the obvious price of such a fine piece of jewelry.
She delicately began to place it back into the box that was obviously customized to this particular necklace. "And where would I wear it? To a Cambodian jungle to flush out guerillas? To a security job in South America?" she asked softly. Anyone that saw it would think that she killed a wealthy woman and ripped it off her corpse.
Why did it have to be jewelry? She never wore such things, well, just the watch – but that was different. It also had function. …Could this be a – first move? Could a girl dream that lofty? An image of Victoria Hardwick flashed in her mind. No. Something this expensive still wasn't a big investment to someone like Lex. She mentally slapped herself for even hoping… Hoping? Was she allowed to do something like that? …She just wouldn't tell anyone. She began to reevaluate the gift.
A part of her wanted to keep it. It was a gift from Lex – a gift that showed he listened to her and cared for her. It came from his heart, despite the fact that it could very easily be looked at superficially. It was a sacrifice – something that was his mother's, and he just gave it away…
Lex tossed the white towel over his shoulders. He moved in front of the large windows and absorbed the morning sun. He breathed deeply and took a long sip of Ty Nant water, still cooling down after his work out.
He looked down, the bottle was almost empty. He grabbed the towel with his free hand and used it to dry the sweat on his scalp.
It had been three days since he had extended his – apology to Rhone Chade. He was beginning to question sending it with that inexperienced soldier. He really did fail miserably when he had come here – considering what he said his mission was. What if he took his precious heirloom and fenced it or something? What was wrong with him? He was normally so cautious…
If it did find it's way to her, how did she receive it? Did she see it as him trying to buy her: her friendship, her forgiveness, her – affections? He was beginning to rethink it – how badly it could be misconstrued. …Would she see it as he meant it? Would she see that he was forfeiting something that…? He should have sent a note with it -- one that actually said the words. But that was – hard. No, it was impossible to put into words.
He remembered when buying people was easy and common, when the concept made sense – but they all wanted to be bought. He didn't really think about it then, but he knew that is what it was – even at the time.
He turned on his heels and ran the towel over his head again. He tossed the damp towel onto the treadmill as he walked toward the door. He brought the bright blue bottle to his lips again and opened the door to the hall.
He didn't really know what he wanted her to do – Ok, he knew what he wanted. That didn't bother him as much as not knowing what to expect her to do. He played most of the women he was with, had them figured out – what they wanted from him. But she was – different.
He was about to turn the corner at the end of the hall when he noticed the glass table that normally only had a single orchid on it, supported something else. He stopped abruptly and set his empty bottle of Ty Nant next to the dark green jewelry box.
He picked it up and rubbed his thumbs over the felt. …He hung his head slightly. She didn't see what he was really trying to say. …At least she had the decency to return it – which was too bad, it would look great on her. But he would believe that about anything.
…This wasn't here before. He looked up suddenly and jogged to the end of the hall – nothing. He jogged to the other end – nothing. A frown marred his features. How did she…? Did she come herself or did she send someone else?
He stared at the box for a moment and decided to open it. Things like this always made him feel better, things that were his mother's. However, the feeling of rejection was too strong.
A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. His heart jumped and he bent to one knee to pick up the small white paper.
He rested the open box on his knee and held the paper between his thumb and index finger for a long moment. A million different possible messages ran though his head as he looked at it. "I can't be bought, Asshole," being the most prominent, and the least desirable.
Just open it, he yelled at himself.
He unfolded it and read the brief message, written in the artistic hand he had come to know as hers:
I understand.
RC
That was it, two words. He smiled softly. …If she understood then why did she return it? And why didn't she stick around? …Well, she understood, and that was good. …He wanted to see her.
And how do they keep getting in here? …His first time at the mansion, Clark said that he squeezed through the bars at the front gate… I should get those checked -- he made a mental note to himself.
It was late and she wondered why he was awake. She knew he would be in Metropolis this week, and she assumed he would be at this penthouse. She didn't think that he would stay at the mansion his father lived in – despite the fact that Lionel Luthor was out of town.
From her position across the street, strategically stationed on the side of a building, she could see that he had been sitting at his desk for hours. …Why was he three days early for the exhibit at the Luthor Wing of the Metropolis Art Museum? Should she contact him? It had been about a week since she sent the necklace back, was he angry that she had done so?
She rubbed the metallic covering over her eyes with her reflective hand -- she often wondered how her vision was not hindered when it was there. Well, it was on a long list of things that she didn't really understand.
She had done two military jobs in the last week and was beginning to feel the effects of nonstop action. She was thankful to have enough men to rotate through when jobs came up like that.
She watched his head slightly roll to the side; he must have finally dozed off. She smiled. …She was slowly gripped with a – longing to be closer to him.
She looked around; the other windows in his building were dark, as well as the windows of the building she was currently attached to. She looked down, no one on the street, only a couple of cars. This wasn't her normal neighborhood; she exercised extreme caution.
She stood up, standing horizontal on the vertical face of the cement building. She felt gravity pull on her – more so on her head and shoulders, farther from the soles of the feet that held her to the building. It didn't bother her; she had learned to compensate for it some time ago.
She extended her arm and shot a stream of the relic to the ledge of his balcony and released the metal at the soles of her feet. As soon as the stream hit the balcony, she began to retract it. She expertly climbed over the ledge and peered in the sliding glass door.
He was sleeping, but he was moving. It looked – restless. She debated making a quiet entry and moving him to bed, but decided that it was a little too risky. And he might realize that he didn't go to bed himself. Or if he woke up and saw her like this – not that he would be able to tell it was her – he might experience some sort of terror-induced seizure or something.
She shook her head; she really did inspire fear in anyone that saw her this way. Well, almost anyone – everyone that knew her true identity was actually pretty good about it. It had never occurred to her before, fascinating. …People that she was helping usually took it pretty well too, now that she thought about it. Maybe they were too afraid to make a commotion – or maybe not… Probably.
He stirred. She looked to the top ledge of the building and released another liquid metal stream.