THE BLACK MANTLE

by ingrid

~*~

Seasons in Smallville changed without warning.

At least that's what it seemed like to the city born and bred, as Lex was. Here in the country it felt like late summer one day, the next it was early winter and Lex shivered in the cold breeze which rushed over him the minute he emerged from his well-heated car. Maybe it was the location of the Kent's farmyard, endless acres of flat land surrounded by nothing but miles of short, stiff stalks of harvested corn, that made the stray winds seem so potent. So changeable.

Lex hurried into the barn. He ducked inside quickly and took a minute to shake the chill from his skin ... his bones. Rubbing his arms helped a little, scrubbing both hands over his scalp helped much more than he would ever be willing to admit, but then again, there was no one around to see him.

Or so he thought until he heard a scuffling sound from the loft above. Lex glanced up and saw nothing but shadows flitting over the cracked ceiling. Heard nothing else until the odd curse and grumble floated down, so strange coming from such a unusually pristine mouth.

"Clark?" he called up toward the ceiling. "Is that you?"

"Lex?" A head covered with dark tousled hair peered down at him from over the long railing. "Hey, there. Come on up."

Lex carefully made his way up the rickety staircase, the one that never seemed sturdy enough. "Sorry to bother you, Clark. I just wanted to see for myself how you were doing. You seemed a little stressed out the last time we spoke."

He saw a tape gun in Clark's hand, both man and machine working to seal a huge brown box, ripped open at its seams. Lex received a sheepish grin in reply. "Yeah, I kind of was. But thanks ... everything's okay now."

"Are you sure?" Lex looked around with consternation. Flatscreen high-definition televisions, designer clothing, as well as a ski boat -- filled the narrow area of the loft. "Looks like you have a lot of rearranging to do."

"It's a lot of packing and returning, actually." The tape gun ripped across another long length of cardboard and Clark sighed. "Hopefully they'll take it all back."

"I see." A sidestep to the window to get out of Clark's way and Lex shivered as he watched a cobweb sway, quivering in the chill October breeze. "So, tell me. Did you buy all this stuff on sweet smiles and promises?"

He could almost hear the flush of shame in Clark's voice. "No. My parent's credit card."

Lex gingerly touched the trembling cobweb. It tore with surprising ease. "They must not have been too happy about that," he said, shaking the ripped silk from his fingers with a disgusted grimace.

"They weren't." Another heavy sigh. "Oh ... shit."

Lex quickly turned around. "What's wrong?"

"This coat." Clark winced and held up the two-thousand dollar Hugo Boss black cashmere three-quarter length men's coat he'd worn the while visiting Lex the day before. The coat that nearly made Lex's eyes fall out of his head, more because of the man wearing it than anything else. "I can't return this."

It had been an -- interesting -- sight. "I should say not," Lex agreed wryly. "Most high-priced designers aren't very big on taking back individual items, especially not those classified as 'gently used."

Clark shook the coat hard, frustration lining his face. "Christ. What am I going to do?"

"Let me see it." Lex held out his hand and Clark hesitated before giving the coat to him. Lex shrugged it on and dark cloth swam around him in a loose black wave. He turned to study his reflection in Clark's full-length mirror -- an ancient wooden thing, forever standing in the loft's corner, the recipient of a million wondering reflections.

The coat was far too big. Too black. Too much of everything. "It doesn't fit." Lex clutched at the overly long sleeves with convulsive little grabs of his fingertips. "But that's not a problem," he said quickly. "I can get it tailored."

Clark disagreed. "No. Don't do that. I'll try to get someone else to buy it."

"Who else around here is going to buy a coat that costs this much? No one." Lex struggled out of the reams of suffocating cloth. He folded it over his arm with practiced care. "I'll be wearing it by the weekend." He paused to wipe some sweat from his palms. "It's getting colder. I needed a new coat. You saved me the bother of getting it myself. I'll write a check for your parents tomorrow."

"Lex ..." Clark hesitated. He suddenly nodded, oddly humbled. Maybe the two-thousand dollar price tag held more weight than Lex thought. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. But whatever else you have stashed in here ..." Lex nodded toward the ski boat, garishly red in the loft's dull light. "I still can't figure out what you were planning to do with that thing."

"Neither can I." Clark looked morbidly ashamed. It was a strange look for him. "Honestly, I don't know what got into me."

Bitterness welled up, then broke apart inside of Lex and came out in an acidic rush. "If I'd known you were so eager to have toys to play with, Clark, I could have bought you anything you wanted," Lex snapped hotly. "You could have kept them in a room in the mansion, and we wouldn't have had to tell your parents about any of it. You could have come over and done whatever ... "

"I didn't want the toys, Lex," Clark cut him off abruptly. "I wanted ... " A pause. "I wanted to be something I wasn't. Someone I wasn't." He shrugged. "And now, I have to pay the price for it."

"No, you won't," Lex sighed. He couldn't remember ever feeling so resigned, as if he were playing a role in an ancient play and there would be no denial ... not until the curtain fell. "Tell your mother to call me later. I have some things I want to talk to her about."

"Lex ..."

"Please, Clark. Just do as I ask."

"What about Dad?" Cautiously. "Would he be okay?"

Lex held onto the stairs' railing tightly as he descended, sharp splinters digging painfully into the palm of his hand. "I'd prefer your mother, only because she's more practical. But yes, either one of them is fine."

"Right. Um, Lex," Clark called after him, sounding contrite. "Are you sure you want that coat?"

Lex didn't turn around. He smoothed the black cashmere between his fingers. It felt like a spider's web. "Yes, Clark. I'm sure. It's more my style anyway, wouldn't you say?"

Lex hurried down the rest of the stairs, making sure to be well out hearing in case Clark would try and call him back. Try and make him change his mind about who should be wearing what and why.

Lex had his coat, his stolen black mantle, returned to him. Him, its rightful owner.

He'd be damned if Clark would ever wear it again.

~*~

His phone rang later that evening. "Lex? Hi, this is Martha Kent."

"Mrs. Kent," Lex replied cordially. "Thanks for calling me. About those bills that Clark ran up last week. The ones that can't be refunded?"

"Yes?"

"Send them to my office. I'll take care of them."

"I can't let you do that, Lex." Her voice sounded stretched, like nickel wire over steel. "You know I can't."

"I think you can, Mrs. Kent. I think you know why too."

He heard a quick inhale. Her voice, thick then, as if she was fighting back tears. "Lex, it's not your fault. Boys want what boys want sometimes and because Jonathan and I can't give him those things you have ..."

"It's not about desire, Mrs. Kent. It's about restraint," Lex said calmly. "Clark has to restrain himself more often than not. I don't. So please, just send me the bills." His knuckles whitened around the receiver. "Let me fulfill my role in our relationship. Our friendship. Please."

"It's not your role, Lex. Not if you don't want it to be."

"I want it to be. For Clark's sake. So send me the bills," he said. "Thank you, and goodnight. I'll be speaking to you soon."

Lex hung up quickly, before she could protest. He knew she would do as he asked. Martha Kent was a smart woman and she'd want what was best for her boy.

Just as Lex did. And always would.

Even if he had to wear a black coat that would never really fit.

~*~

fin