The club. The dancers have champagne, and Allison says it's nice to party when the show's over, because they don't have to worry about how they'll feel the next day. Allison says she and Rex were having "a calm week," and then she sends him off to get drinks and disappears on him. They have a ridiculous shouted-but-can't-be-heard club fight. Ronnie observes, hilariously, that the two are "drama mamas." Allison puts on her martyr pants and says that she thinks everyone will have more fun if she goes home. Rex intercepts her before she gets into a cab (which is conveniently waiting at the curb? In Salt Lake City? Sure). They have the same fight for the hundredth time, and Rex finally observes that his life is becoming ever so slightly Groundhog Day-ish.
The next day. Rex wakes to "I've Got You, Babe." He goes to Allison's house, where she is lounging in her finest Confrontation Caftan. She even admits that they keep having the same goddamned conversation, and then they rehash last night again. Rex says he wants them to be a couple. Allison she says she can't be the girl he wants her to be. He goes through all the things he does for her and asks what she's done for him. She admits she doesn't do things for him. He says "most guys" would want "moral support." No, Rex. Most guys would want blow jobs.
Allison shouts that Rex is delusional if he thinks she's not supporting him. She asks what he needs from her. "You!" he shouts. Dude! This is not going to happen! Rex says he's so proud of Allison as a dancer, but that he doesn't want to hang out with her anymore, that his family thinks he's nuts for spending the last three years mooning after her. They are correct. He asks Allison not to come after him (isn't the problem that she doesn't, ever?). He leaves. Thank heaven. It never would have worked, not with his eyebrows and her nose. Their babies would look like Groucho Marx.
Adam heads to New York. Christiana and Chris go out for a romantic, wine-filled dinner. He has like three days' beard, and looks yummy. Christiana, good for you. Chris says she danced beautifully, and in her talking head she frets about her age and staying relevant. She talks about the young'uns biting at her heels, and Chris seems to grasp the essential ridiculousness of this exercise when he clearly enunciates, "Who is biting at your heels, Christiana?" (I'll give you three guesses, and yes, I will accept "split ends" as your answer.) She says there are some days when she feels up to the challenge of fending off the mobs of baby dancers, but other days she's too tired to fight. Chris says he tries to support her but that she tends to keep a lot of her concerns to herself. Lady, your hot husband is a professional ballet dancer. It's literally his job to support you when you lean on him. He suggests that she stop holding herself to such a high standard and keeping herself so emotionally in control and she dissolves into tears and asks for a timeout (like Lily and Marshall!). Chris moves around to Christiana's side of the table and hugs her and tells her he loves her and yes, he is Charlie From Seattle: The Grown-Up Years. Sigh.