Grace is in the science storage room, looking at a case of butterfly specimens pinned to Styrofoam. Luke comes in as she's puzzling over a jar of red stuff. He's seems a little put out: "It's really admirable that you want to talk, Grace." She replies, "Who said anything about talking?" She zooms over and starts macking on him but he pushes her away. Frink: "See? Told you the kid's not normal." Grace keeps her arms around his neck and shoulders and asks, "You'd rather talk than make out?" She smiles. "I think you're the one that needs the help, Girardi." Luke pushes her away completely: "No. I'm not going to let you use our make-out time as a cudgel to avoid this issue." Cudgel, even. Grace says this is why she doesn't talk to anyone: "Because now we're all about her. That stupid fifth C is how the alcoholic is controlling my life -- well, I'm not going to let her, okay?" Luke: "She already is! Look at us!" Grace: "Only 'cause you can't get off it!" Luke: "Okay. So let me come over to your house and we'll hang out." Uh…that's not exactly a concession to Grace's point, there. Grace starts to walk out: "This conversation is over." Luke explodes again: "Can't you see what you're letting her do to you?" Grace: "It's my space! I made the choice! Me." Luke, who sure has gotten…sure of himself, goads her: "I think you really believe that you're strong…but you're more terrified than anyone I know." He walks out. She slams the door behind him and sits down to stew.