Five full minutes had passed since Roger slipped out of the room, and Lucinda still hadn't moved an inch from the spot she'd been frozen in since she entered.
Her arms hung limp at her sides, her expression flat—half numb, half irritated at her own existence.
Since she arrived, most canon scenes has already been demolished beyond repair. And Lucinda had accepted it now: she was about to demolish the entire timeline anyway. With grace, of course.
Lex remained planted in front of his thoroughly annihilated car, hands shoved into the pockets of his immaculate coat, his back rigid and tense. The hum of the machinery, the low mechanical beeping of several screens, and the white, cold light bouncing off metal.
"You're seeing all of this," he finally said, his voice slicing through the silence. Slowly, he turned to her, shadows cutting sharp lines across his face. "Are you not going to ask anything?" He nodded toward the monitors, each of them plastered with Clark's face, vitals, schematics, and a disturbingly thorough biography.
"I believe I am not in the place to do so," Lucinda replied evenly.
Lex's lips twitched—half amusement, half annoyance. "Human beings are innately curious, Lucy. Don't tell me that after what happened in the lab—and after what you overheard between Roger and me—nothing in you is even remotely curious?"
Lucinda could practically feel his obsessions vibrating in the air like radio static. It was so strong she could've sworn the walls were absorbing it.
"Clark must not be human," she murmured casually.
Lex's eyebrow twitched so sharply it was a small miracle it didn't detach.
"Isn't that what you're thinking?" she added, just to see how far she could poke him. But of course, he's Lex. He only blinked.
So she strode forward, stopping right beside him, placing her hand on the ruined car's hood. Her gaze remained on the dented metal, now resembling modern art.
"Perhaps I've seen worse in the future, so none of this even fazes me," —or maybe I know the plot, but sure— "or perhaps… let's say I've heard rumors about Smallville and the… peculiarities that started after the meteor shower."
Lex's stare pressed against the side of her skull with such force she wondered if he had laser vision too.
Good. That was exactly what she wanted.
Finally, she lifted her head to look at him. Thankfully his scalp wasn't blinding her tonight—either the lighting was mercifully dim, or Lex had invested in a matte formula conditioner.
"Which one could it be?" Lucinda asked with a saccharine smile, delighted to see Lex genuinely, spectacularly baffled. "After all, what's more mysterious than a woman from 2023 suddenly crashing into 2001? Even I have no idea. However…" Her grin widened. "With your help, it'll be easy-peasy."
Lex's eyes narrowed like he was analyzing a stock chart. "I get the feeling you're using me as leverage to go home."
"Well, yes." Lucinda grimaced, as though that should've been obvious. "And for the record, it wasn't my idea, Lex. It was yours. You offered me the deal, remember?"
His eyes narrowed even further. By now she was sure he was living on pure skepticism. "Then what do I get in return if, let's say, I helped you find your way back?"
"Knowledge, Lex. You know that." She gave his chest a light smack—just enough to make him flinch and pretend he didn't. "That's what your dear daddy Luthor teaches you, right? Knowledge equals power, equals dominance, equals—whatever family motto he drilled into you since birth."
"And how do you know about that?" he demanded.
Lucinda shrugged. "Please. Aside from wealth and manipulation, what else do influential families teach?" She watched his eyes flicker with that tiny glint—the one that told her she'd hit the mark. "Exactly."
Lex exhaled sharply. "Fine. You're from the future. I entertained that. But you still haven't explained how you're in possession of a mismatched pair of socks with the Smallville logo and an animated version of me and Clark on them."
Lucinda short-circuited for a full half second.
Her knees buckled like a Victorian woman fainting at gossips, but she caught herself and shot upright, finger raised in the air in immediate defense.
"That is something I cannot discuss with you yet," she declared with all the confidence of someone bluffing at poker with a terrible hand.
"And why not?" Lex stepped closer, voice low.
"Because—" Her lips twitched. "Because… it's late. Yes. Very late. And I need to sleep. Now."
She spun on her heel and marched to the door with artificial dignity—only to rattle the knob uselessly. Locked. Completely locked. She pulled harder, twisted, yanked—nothing.
Behind her, Lex chuckled. A moment later, he was already right behind her. Much too close.
He reached past her shoulder, twisted the knob with insulting ease, and pushed the door open. "I'm beginning to doubt the quality of that 'future knowledge' you keep mentioning, Lucy."
Lucinda inhaled sharply, lifted her chin, and deployed her nuclear option. "Oh, you won't regret anything, Alexander Joseph," she said with a grin sweet enough to rot teeth.
Lex's eyelid twitched like he had just chewed a whole lime. "Don't call me that."
Lucinda smiled, batting her eyes. "Why have two first names if you're not going to use either properly?"
Lex looked genuinely offended and was about to launch into a monologue about legacy when Lucinda offered small bow and slipped out of the room.
"Goodnight, Lex," she said and disappeared.
The moment she closed the door of her room behind her, she sagged against it, exhaling like she had just successfully escaped a predator armed with a trust fund and unresolved trauma.
She might not have caught the details of Lex and Roger's conversation, but she knew the canon beat by heart. Lex wanted Roger to watch Clark, dig up secrets, confirm the impossible.
Kal-El A.K.A Clark Kent—small-town sweetheart with superstrength VS. Lucinda Delos Santos A.K.A Lucy Bryce by force—universe-crosser with questionable survival skills and definitely got nothing aside from spoilers.
By her math, she had maybe a 10% chance of diverting Lex's obsession from Clark to herself. And that was being generous.
Would it help if she told him the truth? That Smallville was just a television show? That all their tragedy, trauma, destiny, and meteor-induced melodrama were scripted by writers with deadlines? That Lex Luthor—terrifying future villain, current light-headed—literally—was born in a writers' room?
Lucinda shook her head so fast her brain nearly rattled. "Meh. Absolutely not. They can't handle that truth," she muttered. "These people lose their minds over meteor rocks. Imagine telling them they're fictional."
She flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. If she wanted Lex's obsession to shift, she needed strategy. Timing. Wit. Definitely Clark's cooperation.
He had no plans to tell Lex the truth anyway. He might as well join her little crusade.