Cassandra was in the dining room when Lex entered. He watched her tilt her head slightly in his direction, listening to the footfalls, before smiling. "You're up early. Business meeting in Metropolis?"

"No." He lightly touched her shoulder as he moved past her to his own chair. "Trying to enjoy a quiet breakfast with a friend before my father realizes anyone's up."

She laughed a little. "Not enjoying his visit."

"Not in the least." Lex responded flatly. "I rarely enjoy uninvited guests, particularly ones that decide to visit merely to elicit guilt. Whether it`s guilt for letting him live or guilt for okaying the surgery I haven`t decided yet."

Cassandra nodded, her hand creeping out toward the plate of toast. She selected a slice then reached for the jam. He watched her lift it close enough to tell by scent what flavor she'd chosen then nod in satisfaction, settling it down beside her plate.

It was the same routine every morning. She never deviated. The staff had learned to put her favorite flavor, Strawberry, directly before her plate so that she would not have to fumble for the right one. Likewise, they'd arranged the sugar, cream, and butter in precise order and the same teacup every morning.

She'd once confided to him she'd become a creature of habit, partially due to her blindness, and partially due to her own nature. She didn't wish to waste time worrying as to whether or not she would make a mistake. Ensuring a certain order in her life allayed those worries quite effectively.

It was when she poured her own cup of tea that Lex came to a rather shocking conclusion.

His father wasn't blind. Not anymore at least.

Reaching for his own cup of coffee, he silently recalled every meal he had shared with his father since Lionel had come to the manor, analyzing it in an attempt to remember any patterns that had evolved in those meals.

A frown touched his face when he realized that, at first, his father's actions had been quite careful and cautious, and to a certain extent, still were. But there was a casualness to them now, a lack of the practiced concentration that was inherent in every motion Cassandra made in an unfamiliar environment.

"Why so quiet?"

Cassandra's gentle question drew his attention and he turned to look at her. "Have you noticed anything unusual about my father's behavior?"

She hesitated, one hand moving restlessly, as if playing a melody. "Well..."

"Cassie..."

The brunette sighed and nodded. "Yes. I hadn't wanted to say anything but...yes." She bit her lower lip lightly then admitted, "I think...at least I suspect..."

"My father might not be as visually impaired as he would like us to believe?" Lex smiled bitterly, knowing his expression easily translated into his tone. "You're not the only one."

"If he's not...then the question is, why bother to pretend?" Cassandra frowned. "A play for sympathy from you?"

"My father couldn't care about my sympathy either way. No," Lex's frown echoed his friend's, "this is something else entirely."

"But what?"

What indeed....

Finis

 

None of them is mine

 

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