Thirty minutes after Clark and Martha left to tend to the farm—after about three reminders from Martha that Lucinda was not allowed to lift anything heavier than a pillow—Lex finally arrived.
He entered the room so quietly that Lucinda almost committed attempted murder.
She turned her head, caught sight of him leaning casually against the doorframe with that infuriatingly calm smile, and instinctively reached for the IV stand.
"Easy," Lex said, lifting both hands in surrender, amused rather than alarmed. "For someone who was unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours, you seem to have stored an impressive amount of strength in… wherever you keep that."
"I could've thrown the entire bed at you," Lucinda muttered, settling back against the pillows with exaggerated restraint. "But I'm not a violent person, Lex. I simply think violent thoughts."
Lex chuckled as he stepped inside and carefully placed a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table. He even adjusted the angle, as if presentation mattered more than her near-death experience.
Lucinda eyed the bouquet suspiciously. "Are the flowers necessary, or did the hospital come with a florist loyalty program?"
"Yes," Lex said smoothly. "And no. They're insufficient, actually, considering the inconvenience I caused you in Metropolis." He straightened, his tone quieter now. "I didn't want you to get admitted there. I couldn't trust anyone with you—anyone except the Kents. So I brought you back here in Smallville."
A small, genuine smile tugged at Lucinda's lips. That—that—was the Lex she believed in. Trusting Jonathan and Martha more than his own blood, even when Jonathan barely tolerated him.
Not for long, she thought quietly. I'll make him see you can be trusted, Lex.
"That's… sweet of you, Lex," she said aloud.
He returned the smile and stepped closer, the easy charm giving way to something more serious. "So, I've reviewed your lab results."
Lucinda froze.
Her mind immediately sprinted back to the blue glow beneath her skin, the crystal pulsing in time with her heart in her real universe. Her fingers curled into the sheets.
"There's something wrong with your blood," Lex continued.
Her breath caught. "I–Is it blue?"
Lex blinked. Once. Then frowned slightly. "No, Lucy. It's not blue." He paused, then added, "That would have been… concerning."
"Oh," she exhaled sharply. "Then why do you look like that?"
"You're anemic, Lucy," Lex said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Severely enough to cause fainting. That's why you collapsed. Perhaps, have you been skipping meals?"
She lifted a finger. "In my defense, you've been dragging me across cities and towns, auctions, laboratories, and mysterious rich-people nonsense. It's been difficult to schedule lunch."
Lex opened his mouth, visibly caught off guard. "I—Lucy, I didn't realize—"
"Oh, don't apologize," she waved him off. "In my original timeline, I only eat once a day. Sometimes twice if I'm emotionally stable."
Lex stared at her in silence, the kind of silence that suggested several competing thoughts were lining up for a duel inside his head.
Lex stared at her in silence, the kind of silence that suggested several competing thoughts were lining up for a duel inside his head. His brows knit together, his lips pressed thin, and for a brief, dangerous second, Lucinda wondered if she had finally broken the man who survived meteor showers, hostile takeovers, and Smallville High politics.
"You're impossible," he finally said, exhaling through his nose.
Lucinda brightened instantly, as if he had just complimented her bone structure. She lifted a hand and flicked her hair—careful not to disturb the IV line—with theatrical grace. "I know I'm beautiful, Lex. You don't have to say it out loud. I appreciate subtle admiration."
"I said impossible, not beautiful," he corrected, his voice calm, precise, and dangerously patient. "They don't even sound similar."
"It depends on the pronunciation," Lucinda shrugged, already plowing ahead before he could object. "Also your tone. And your subconscious admiration. Sometimes words migrate emotionally, Lex. Linguistics is very… migratory."
Lex blinked. Once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly, as if checking whether the floor might explain this conversation, before returning to her face.
"I," he began carefully, "do not believe I possess the intellectual capacity to survive that explanation." He paused, regrouped, then stepped closer with visible effort. "But anyway—once you're feeling better, we'll go home immediately."
"Oh, I feel fantastic," Lucinda said, leaning forward with sudden enthusiasm. "Truly revitalized. Speaking of which—what about the item you bought at the auction?"
Lex didn't even flinch. "What about it, Lucy?"
She narrowed her eyes, studying him with the intensity of someone who had just heard a very suspicious sound and was deciding whether to pounce or pretend nothing happened.
"Don't look at me like that, Lex," she said flatly. "You absolutely think it might help me get back to my own time."
Lex didn't deny it. He simply exhaled—slow, measured—and moved to sit beside her. Unlike Clark, who had the unfortunate habit of collapsing furniture with his sheer existence, Lex settled onto the edge of the bed with deliberate care. He was so gentle,Lucinda barely shifted.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and laced his fingers together, staring at them for a moment longer than necessary. It was the posture he took when he was about to say something inconveniently honest.
"Actually," he said at last, lifting his gaze to meet hers, "I was wrong."
Lucinda blinked. That alone was alarming.
"The item I bought at the auction," Lex continued, "was recovered by Dr. Steven Hamilton. It was found in Miller's Field—near the same area where I was exposed to the meteor shower."
Her attention sharpened instantly. She didn't interrupt. She just listened, eyes fixed on him, body utterly still.
"Days ago," he went on, "I had the object examined by several specialists I employ in Metropolis. This was before it was even legally cleared for public bidding yesterday." His mouth twitched, unapologetic.
Of course. Classic Lex. He would do anything in his power to examine that item probably just in case he might not get it.
"They determined that its composition includes materials that do not exist anywhere on Earth. No known alloy. No terrestrial origin. Probably not yet."
Lucinda frowned slightly as if she didn't know the origin of the item. "That's comforting. In a deeply horrifying way."
Lex nodded once. "That was my conclusion as well. I thought—given your… circumstances—that you might be able to help me understand it. That's why I brought you to the auction."
He fell silent again, just long enough for the weight of the words to settle.
Lucinda shifted, clearing her throat. "Ah. So." She gestured vaguely between them. "What's the plan now? Panic? Denial? Aggressive research montage?"
Lex turned fully toward her, his expression tightening. "I spoke to a man earlier today. He claims he witnessed something during the meteor shower. Something that landed in Riley's Field."
Lucinda's stomach dipped. "And?"
"He said it was a spaceship," Lex said evenly. "And he believes the item I purchased belonged to it."
Lucinda swallowed hard. Wow. Great. Internally, she screamed. Outwardly, she managed to remain upright and composed, which was impressive considering the mental sound of canon shattering right on her face.
Another timeline fracture. Another 'this wasn't supposed to happen yet' moment.
Lucinda couldn't even remember which season or episode Lex was supposed to hear this story—she just knew it was definitely not now. And certainly not overlapping with Season 1, Episode 5.
Honestly, she wasn't even sure if Episode 5 had fully finished yet. For all she knew, Smallville was currently buffering. Nothing lined up anymore. No familiar beats. No comforting canon rails. The script had gone rogue.
"But," Lex continued, his tone shifting into that calm, razor-edged cadence he used when he believed he was being very reasonable, "I have an assumption. A… gut feeling, let's say—for the sake of your deducing level—"
"Ouch—" Lucinda winced automatically, already offended on behalf of her intelligence, but Lex rolled right over her protest like a luxury sedan over a speed bump.
"—I believe Mr. and Mrs. Kent might have some idea about it," he said, eyes steady. "Something connected to how they found Clark in Riley's Field. You know. They might have seen something."
Lucinda's soul attempted to leave her body.
She almost collapsed. Then she sat up too fast. Then she nearly collapsed again. It was a full physical reboot, minus the loading bar.
For the love of everything holy and syndicated, Lucinda internally screamed, spiraling violently. Lex doesn't know about the Kents finding Clark in Riley's Field until the Season Seven finale. Season. Seven. This is Season One. Episode Five-ish. FIVE-ISH.
She could practically hear the sound of canon snapping in half somewhere in the distance.
"Lucy?" Lex's voice cut in sharply.
She realized she was gasping—full-on, oxygen-deprived, fish-out-of-water gasping. Lex's eyes widened, all composed billionaire logic instantly replaced with genuine alarm.
"Lucy! What's wrong?" He stood so abruptly, the cushion waved. "I'll call the—"
Lucinda didn't hesitate. "No—!" She lunged forward and caught the hem of Lex's sleeve, her fingers curling into expensive fabric with a strength that absolutely did not match her recent résumé of clinically unconscious.
The sudden movement startled them both—Lucinda because her body actually obeyed her, and Lex because patients were not supposed to move like that unless something had gone terribly wrong or spectacularly right.
Lex turned back at once, brows drawing together. "Lucy—"
"I—I'll talk to them," Lucinda blurted out, breath uneven, grip tightening as if letting go would cause the timeline to snap entirely in half.
Lex leaned closer, gently steadying her wrist so she wouldn't pull out her IV and create a hospital incident named after her.
"I'll talke to the Kents," she said quickly, lowering her arm as he guided it down. "You didn't exactly make… what we'd call a warm and fuzzy impression on Mr. Kent," she swallowed. "If I ask, they might tell me something they wouldn't tell you."
Lex studied her for a long second, weighing calculation against concern. Then he exhaled and placed both hands on her shoulders—firm, grounding, careful.
"I appreciate you wanting to help me, Lucy. Truly. But right now, you look like you might faint again if someone sneezes too loudly."
He guided her back against the pillows, pulling the blanket up with meticulous care, avoiding the IV line like it was a live wire. The gentleness of the gesture almost made her chest ache more than the meteorite ever had.
"I'll be back this afternoon," Lex said, offering her a small, reassuring smile.
Lucinda frowned. "And when exactly am I supposed to interrogate—sorry—talk to Mr. and Mrs. Kent?"
"It can wait," he replied calmly. "The universe has survived this long without answers. It'll manage a few more days."
He turned toward the door, hand settling on the knob.
"Lex?"
He paused and looked back.
Lucinda hesitated, then spoke carefully, as if stepping through a minefield made of canon events and fragile friendships.
"For the sake of curiosity," she said, "if you ever found out something… not normal about Clark—given that you once ran him over at full speed, he swam it off, pulled you out of a drowning car, and then went back to algebra like nothing happened—would you still be friends with him?"
Lex's lips parted at Lucinda's perceptive question. He wasn't truly surprised. She knew about his brush with death, about Clark's impossible rescue; her curiosity was only natural.
"Clark is the closest I have to a real friend my whole life, Lucy," he said, a rare, unguarded smile tugging at his mouth. "And that's never gonna to change."
"Can you promise?" Lucinda asked, her eyes wobbling despite herself. She knew the question was unnecessary—childish, even—but she needed to hear it from Lex's own mouth, needed the certainty so she wouldn't falter.
"I don't make promises, Lucy," Lex replied evenly. "I make certain outcomes."
And with that, Lex left the room. The soft click of the door closing echoed in the sterile space, leaving a hollow silence behind.
Lucinda swallowed hard, her eyes drifting toward the pale white hospital building beyond the window. The walls gleamed too brightly, too unnaturally, and the sunlight that should have streamed in seemed strangely muted.
She had already made her decision—Clark was going to spill the beans to Lex, whether he liked it or not. But the scenes in her head were doing somersaults, colliding like bumper cars in a poorly run carnival.
Every possibility seemed catastrophic. Every outcome involved at least one exploding laboratory or someone getting electricuted.
Lex could—no, probably would—snap at any moment. He might turn villainous, start monologuing about power grids, or worse, ask her to sign a non-disclosure agreement mid-crisis in Season One.
"Oh, please. Not yet," she whispered, voice trembling as her chest tightened but no tears came—just a hollow ache that made her feel smaller than the hospital bed, which, let's be honest, she is.
"If I reason with Mr. and Mrs. Kent, they'd probably let Clark tell Lex the truth," she murmured, nodding as if she were presenting a thesis to an invisible board of experts.
"After that… the plan stays the same. The goal is to stop Lex's obsession with Clark and redirect the mystery onto myself instead. That would 100% save their friendship."
Lucinda paused, brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as the gears in her mind ground slowly to a halt. The realization hit her like a rogue meteorite—something she hadn't considered yet.
If she wanted to divert Lex's obsessions onto herself, that meant she had to remain a mystery. That meant she had to keep lying. Boldly, unapologetically lying.
She chewed on her lip, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth despite the ethical alarms blaring in her brain. "He should be fine, right?" she muttered to herself. "It's not like I'm that important to him. He won't just turn into a villain if a housemaid lies to him."
She was about to close her eyes, seeking some fleeting comfort from her cinematic plan, when a shiver ran through her. The room went abruptly cold.
Lucinda gasped, clutching the sheets, and immediately pushed herself upright, squinting at the flickering lights above, which cast jagged, jittery shadows that looked like they were trying out for a horror movie audition.
Then her gaze snapped to the window. Noon should have been bright, sunny, possibly perfect for a latte. Instead, the world outside looked like it had been dipped in black paint and left to dry. Nothing but dense, unnatural darkness.
The lights blinked off completely, plunging the room into a silence so thick Lucinda half expected it to demand ID before letting her breathe.
And then—the footsteps. Rapid, uneven, panicked. Probably nurses of wardmen trying to figure out where the fuck electricity went even after paying the bills.
Her stomach did the knotted-sock trick again, and her fingers dug into the bedspread. It had only been minutes since Lex left. So how did it already feel like the world had flipped to nighttime horror mode? Why did the shadows look like they were gossiping behind her back?
The air suddenly turned colder, so sharply that Lucinda's breaths began to form little clouds of vapor.
Curiosity, being the unhelpful little imp that it is, propelled her off the bed. She tiptoed toward the window, brushing the curtain aside, expecting… well, maybe sunshine. Maybe a bird. Anything with wings.
Her eyes wobbled—but honestly, she wasn't shocked. Frost and ice had claimed the windows like some kind of dramatic interior decorator with a grudge, curling into ornate patterns that would have been beautiful if she weren't so certain they were trying to give her a heart attack. Tiny crystalline tendrils crept across the glass, shimmering faintly in the dim light.
"Flickering electricity to no electricity. Frost. Ice. Freezing cold," Lucinda muttered, pulling the IV line out of her vein.
She thought it would be cinematic—cool, stylish, like in the movies. Instead, it hurt. A sharp sting shot up her arm, warm blood seeping from the puncture site like the universe was trying to make a point.
"Bad idea," she groaned, hastily wrapping her hand in the sleeve of her lab coat—wait. Lab coat? She paused. "Who the hell changed my clothes?" she mumbled to the empty room, because of course no one answered.
Before she could dwell on that existential wardrobe mystery, screams pierced the hallway—sharp, panicked, human—then cut off abruptly, replaced by the unmistakable sound of something breaking.
Lucinda didn't need a second thought. Of course that's Sean. She could almost feel him radiating murderous frost energy, the kind that freezes toes, hearts, and minor life decisions.
Instinct took over. She yanked a chair—the same one Martha had sat in earlier—and hurled it at the nearest window. The glass cracked, then splintered spectacularly, an almost cinematic "yes!" moment, if you ignored the fact that frost shards rained over her like tiny knives.
Unlike every dumb protagonist in every horror movie ever, Lucinda didn't wait for Sean to show up. No! She vaulted through the shattered window… and froze midair.
Wait. What?
Below her… nothing. Absolute, terrifying, gravity-assisted nothing. A three-story drop yawned like it had been waiting just for her.
"Oh, I'm way dumber than I thought," she muttered, pressing her palms against the window frame and inhaling shakily.
Her knees wobbled despite her best attempt at a heroic stance, and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple—part fear, part sheer disbelief at her own impulsive nonsense.
"Lucyyyy…." a familiar voice echoed, closer this time, sending chills crawling up her spine.
The hallway had gone unnaturally silent in the interim, as if the building itself was holding its breath in suspense. Or probably because Sean had frozen everyone in sight.
Lucinda exhaled slowly, trying—and failing—to convince herself she was in full control. The shaky puff of air betrayed her panic.
"Yep, definitely Sean's voice," she muttered under her breath, voice heavy with dread. "And yep… he knows my name too"
"Don't make me find whichever room you're hiding in, Lucy!" Sean thundered, each syllable slamming through the corridor like a warning bell struck too hard. "Because if I do, I'm freezing everyone in this damned hospital—including your precious boss, Lex Luthor."
Lucinda's eyes widened. Her brain offered exactly half a second of panic before promptly clocking out.
"Oh, he didn't —" she muttered—and kicked the door open. She didn't know where that strength came from exactly but who cares now?
The frozen doorknob shattered on impact, splintering into glittering shards that skittered across the floor like broken glass confetti.
Cold rushed in immediately, biting through her skin, her breath fogging the air. The hallway beyond looked less like a hospital and more like a mausoleum carved from ice.
Everything was frozen.
Walls glazed over in thick frost.
Doors sealed shut beneath creeping white veins.
Windows opaque with ice.
Even the ceiling glittered faintly, cruelly beautiful.
The emergency lights still glowed—but dimly, smothered, as though the ice itself were choking the life out of them.
Lucinda stepped forward carefully, bare feet crunching against the frozen floor.
And there—at the far end of the hallway—stood Sean. He looked disturbingly normal. No frost clinging to his skin probably because he had already sucked a few body heat.
Around him lay nurses and patients, collapsed where they'd stood moments earlier. Some were slumped against walls. Others sprawled on the floor, limbs stiff, faces pale and frighteningly still.
Lucinda's gaze darted frantically among them.
"Lex…" she whispered. She found him just behind Sean, sprawled on the frozen tiles, unmoving. Her stomach dropped.
Sean noticed the moment her expression changed and laughed, the sound sharp and echoing in the icy hall.
"As I thought," he said grinning. "You are different, Lucy Bryce."
Lucinda clenched her fists, forcing herself not to run forward and slip dramatically to her death.
"What did you do?" she demanded, though the answer already felt like it was clawing its way up her spine.
Sean's grin widened. "I just dropped their body temperatures by ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. Some of them are dying, some are already dead as per my body's needs," he gestured lazily at the frozen corridor like a tour guide presenting his masterpiece. "Hypothermia will then take care of the rest."
He grinned wider. "They'll die... unless you cure me."
Lucinda shook her head slowly, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her chest. "After what you've done—after killing innocent people and hurting my friend—you really think I'd cure you and let you walk away?"