AN: I've had this done for a while now, but I've been very busy this last week or so with guests and life in general. So I'm sorry it took me a while to post this. That said, I'm a little nervous about posting it given the fact that I'm so far into Jason and Kate that there really isn't much Superman in this or the next two chapters. I hate it when authors go on about reviews, but I feel my sad little Jason epic was over looked last chapter. I know, get over it, right? But to put it into perspective for you, after two weeks I barely broke into double digits with the reviews for the last chapter. On the flip side of that, my Twilight story, which is popular for the sake of being popular I think, has been posted for not even 72 hours and has 114 reviews for that one single chapter! LOL! And I feel INFENENTLY more connected to my Jason fic than I do my Twilight fic. So, I hope people aren't turning away now that I've taken a step away from the angsty Jason and Supes relationship a bit. How many times did you all tell me Jason needed something good to happen to him? Now that I've done that, I had to go and mess things up a bit just to hold your interest! So don't hate me for this. A very popular author told me that no one wants to read about happiness. It's angst that sells books! LOL!

Many thanks, as always, to htbthomas, and hellish red devil for all their help on the beta read for this. And many thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter: elliania, ecabs, 7crazyread, heartnut, ellalou73, Arhazivory, gatemaker06, Louise, katbaby, Shadeslayer390, moonlight234, and Trekkie6.

Age 19 part three: Three Little Words

It's amazing how much you can learn about another person in the space of a month or so. I learned that Kate bites her nails when she watches television and then complains later that she needs a manicure. She orders the same chicken salad sandwich from the same deli two or three times a week. She uses pencils as hairclips. She doesn't like to wear socks if she can avoid it, even in the dead of winter. And she is very picky about where things go – everything has its place.

"Lose everything that's important to you in a fire and you quickly learn to treasure every spoon, photo, and knickknack you own," she once said to me in defense of her obsessive ways. I couldn't really argue with that one.

But there were things that I was tempted to argue with her about. Like the fact that her favorite color was blue. I couldn't change her favorite color, but did she have to force it on me? She loved my eyes because they were blue. I didn't like them much because I knew from whom I had inherited them. She always wanted me to wear blue, and even went so far as to buy me a blue shirt once. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I never wore blue. Blue or red. Those were his colors, not mine. But I took the shirt, and I reluctantly wore it… once.

And then there was the fact that I was always supposed to guess just how far was too far when we would kiss. I knew something had happened to her in her past, given those first few conversations I had heard. Someone had hurt her in some way once upon a time, but she never told me any details. She would just pull away at random moments. The worst would be when she would initiate the kissing. She would get me all riled up and then sigh heavily and turn away from me. I didn't pressure her for anything more because I was constantly afraid I could really hurt her, but still, she shouldn't have been tempting me like that if she had no intention of following through. We were both keeping something back from each other. I only hoped that her reason for holding back wasn't anywhere near as bad as mine.

But I think the thing that drove me the most insane was the very thing that drew me to her. She knew me. She knew things about me that no one knew. Things I didn't want to talk about or deal with, ever. Not specifics, just generalizations. And she wouldn't leave it alone. She was constantly asking me what was wrong, and would call me out when I told her nothing was. She could pick up on the smallest detail and turn it into something major.

Take flying, for example. I told her my Dad was a pilot and when she started talking about how much she loved flying, she noticed that I flinched. I didn't mean to, but she noticed. Noticing meant she would ask me about it.

"You don't like to fly?" she asked.

"Flying is fine," I said, but it didn't convince Kate.

"How can you not like to fly when your dad is a pilot?"

I couldn't very well tell her that my issues with flying went far beyond the confines of an airplane. Still, she wouldn't let it go and asked me if someone I knew died in a plane crash. Did I get airsick? Had there been a bad incident with turbulence that had scared me when I was little? I knew she was asking because she cared, but I just wanted her to let it go. I ended up telling her that I felt a lot of pressure to become a pilot – to learn how to fly – and since I never did, I felt badly about it. It was the closest thing to the truth I could offer her, and she seemed to believe me.

My overly high body temperature was another issue. Was I sick? Did I need to go to the doctor? Did I need a cool bath? I explained to her that I was sick as a child and that I still had a few lingering issues, a higher body temperature being one of them. She didn't believe that one as quickly as she did some of my other stories, but she came to accept it.

But the most bothersome issue she picked away at was something she "just can't put her finger on," as I'd recently heard her say to her roommate. Something that troubled me, and she was determined to find out what it was. I hoped to God she never did, but knowing Kate, she wouldn't give up until she knew everything. I knew I'd have to tell her at some point. Things were progressing so quickly between us, it was only a matter of time before I either had to tell her or leave her. I wasn't sure how I would do either one of those things. So until then, I tried to appease her questions with as truthful a statement as I could.

I managed to not complain, and I was grateful for every moment I had with her regardless of the frustration I felt at not being one hundred percent open with her. Even the fact that I loved her was a secret. I'd fallen so fast and so hard I figured she would think I was giving her a line if I told her. Since I wasn't sure what had happened to her in past relationships, I wasn't sure if falling in love was even something she wanted right now. Being her boyfriend was enough so far. I didn't want to push it and risk losing her over something like this. Even more than that, if I did have to leave her to keep her safe, it would be easier if we'd never said those things to each other. It would be easier for her if she didn't know how deeply I felt for her.

And so, with the holidays looming in front of us, I had agreed to go to Virginia for Thanksgiving to meet her family. News that I would not be joining my parents that day upset Mom to a degree, but I promised her that Kate and I would be in Metropolis for Christmas. We were meeting each other's parents. That in and of itself spoke volumes of the progress our relationship had made.

A week before Thanksgiving, Kate surprised me by renting a movie and bringing deli sandwiches to my apartment for dinner; chicken salad for her, naturally, and veggie lovers for me. It wasn't really a surprise though. We stayed in most nights, anyway. It was easier to cuddle and kiss and touch each other if we were in the privacy of one of our own apartments.

"When you meet my mother," I said, giving Kate a kiss on the cheek, "don't tell her I actually like vegetables. Okay?"

She chuckled. "Why not?"

"Because she stuffed health food down my throat for most of my life. I would hate for her to know that I've come to like some of it."

She laughed at me and headed for my bedroom.

"Where are you going?" I asked out of surprise.

"Can't we eat and watch TV in your room?" she said rather innocently.

I hesitated, but said, "Okay."

The only place to sit in there was on my bed, and she made herself rather comfortable, propped up against the headboard with her sandwich in her lap. I sat beside her, and once the food was gone, she ended up in my arms. As good as it felt to be there with her like that, it also made my insides squirm in nervousness at the potential of the situation.

The film she selected was "Shine."

"It's about a guy who goes crazy from playing the piano," she explained.

"And you want me to watch this… why?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because I thought you might like it. It's the one I told you about – the one with the Rach 3."

And so we sat, curled up against one another, watching a depressing film about a poor, abused, but talented Australian boy who was, in fact, a little crazy. As much as I hated to admit it, the music in the film was brilliant. I thoroughly enjoyed the music and found myself drawn into a certain romantic mood by some of the pieces. It wasn't difficult with Kate in my arms, her skin so soft and her hair smelling like wild flowers. The sweater she wore drooped off one shoulder, baring the tantalizing skin there, tempting me to touch her. The music would swell and I would unknowingly pull her closer and drop kisses on her neck and shoulder.

"Hey, cut it out. Watch the movie," she scolded.

The film continued to the point where the kid went to college and performed the hell out of the "Rach 3," all in a pointless attempt to please his father. He didn't succeed, and he went mad in the process. His relationship with his father was strained and they saw little of each other for years. The plot, wretched as it was, started to hit a little too close to home for me. It made me wonder just why she wanted me to see this film, especially when the "Prelude in C Sharp" was featured as the man's lowest of low points. What did Kate know? More than that, how did she know?

Surprisingly, the plot took a turn for the better and the man found some happiness playing in a restaurant. "Flight of the Bumblebee" signaled his breakthrough moment.

"Can you play that?" she asked after the song.

"Nope, but then I've never tried."

She turned to look at me. "Can you try? For me? I love that song."

"I can ask. My teacher doesn't like pieces that are overplayed though, so he might say no. But it is a Rachmaninov, and he loves the Russians."

She twisted around to kiss me, pulling my face down to hers and slowly dragging her lips over mine, before directing her attention back to the movie. My attention, however, was completely focused on her. I kissed the side of her neck and ran my fingers along her side, tugging on her sweater to pull it up slightly so I could feel the warm skin of her stomach.

"Jason," she whined. "Come on."

"What's the matter?" I said, tasting the sweet skin of her smooth neck.

She shifted away from me slightly. "Cut it out, okay? Just watch the movie."

I huffed and flopped back against the headboard, turning my face away from her. I shook my head, still unable to figure her out.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"What's what for?" I replied a little more harshly than I should have.

"That growl. That whole shaking your head thing."

"I didn't growl."

"You growled."

"I'm frustrated."

"Frustrated?" She sounded completely unaware of my current physical situation.

"Yes, Kate, frustrated!"

"Because of me?"

"No. I'm frustrated by the slow delivery of the mail around here. Yes, you! Who else is kissing me and turning me on and then pushing me away?" Probably not the mailman…

She gaped at me. "What? I am notdoing that!"

"Yes, you are."

"I kissed you, and that was it!"

"It's been a lot more than that, Kate."

She frowned at me. "Not from me, though. You're the one who's had his hands all over me all night long."

"I like to touch you, and you've had your hands on me in the past," I countered.

"But not tonight!" she corrected. "Tonight we were just going to watch a movie."

I shifted on the bed to look at her better. "Just. Just sit here?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you pick to sit in my bedroom? Why not out on the sofa where we normally watch TV? Why in here on my bed with the door closed?"

Her eyes shifted away from mine for a second. "Because I didn't want Lance coming in here and interrupting us."

"Interrupting us doing what?" I pressed. "Watching a movie?"

"Yes."

"Right, because Lance would really be interested in a morbid and depressing psychological drama about a pianist. That's just his cup of tea."

She scowled. "I didn't want him to come in, as he has in the past, and start talking to us about some random girl and did she call and is there anything in the house to eat! He does it all the time! I thought if we were in here, he'd leave us alone and we could watch the movie in peace."

"Okay, so why did you dress like that?"

She looked down at herself. "Like what?"

"In that sexy little sweater that falls off your shoulder?"

Again she looked completely surprised by my accusation. "It's just a sweater."

"Right. And I suppose this is just a film that you picked for fun."

"I picked it because I thought you'd like it," she stated evenly.

"You thought I'd get a kick out of watching some guy get picked on and torn up by his family, lose his mind and everything that's important to him, and end up in a mental institution? Thanks, but that's not my idea of a good time."

She sneered at me. "I picked it because of the music!"

"You could have picked 'Amadeus' for the same reason, and that movie is hilarious."

"Hilarious… that Mozart dies penniless at the end and the other guy… um…um…"

"Salieri."

"Yes, him. He ends up in a mental institution after trying to commit suicide! Is that your idea of a good time?" she challenged.

"All right, so most musicians have some sort of a tragic life. What's your point then?"

"My point?"

"You're point in making me sit though this particular film."

"There was no point. I thought it was just something that would appeal to the both of us. There's beautiful music for you and the psychology of the family dynamic for me."

"And a lot of depressing shit in between," I said nastily.

She stared at me for a second, and I could almost feel her anger. "What's with you tonight?"

"What's with you?" I countered. "I know there was an ulterior motive to you picking this film. I'm just waiting for you to own up to it."

"And what do you think that is?"

"That… there's something wrong with me. That I have some kind of psychological problem, like this crazy guy."

"You know what, I didn't even think about that. I honestly just picked the film because of the music. But now that you mention it, yes, there is something there, Jason."

"Something?" I growled.

"There is something inside of you that is dark and heavy and immovable. Something you're not sharing with me, and I don't know why."

"So you do think I'm messed up," I huffed.

"I think there's something you're hiding from me about your past that causes you pain."

"And you're gonna fix it, I suppose." I scoffed. "You know, Kate, you're not my psychiatrist; you're my girlfriend. I don't need you to fix me."

Her frown deepened. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? I'm just telling you how I feel. And you know damn good and well that I'm not the only one keeping secrets in this relationship."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why do you keep pushing me away, Kate? Every time we get close, you push me away. You lead me on, and then expect me to shut it off as soon as you're uncomfortable."

"You know, I thought you were different." She slid off the bed. "I thought you weren't like all those other guys who only want to have sex and no relationship."

"Now hang on a minute," I said, standing up. "We do have a relationship, and I am interested in that, but I'm interested in other things, too. I'm not a monk, Kate."

She stopped the movie and ejected the DVD from the player. "I never said you were. And we have done some things. Or maybe I was just imagining that." She turned her back to me, still messing with the DVD.

"Oh, we have, I'll grant you that. But I'm a little confused over how far is too far. Sometimes you don't mind if I touch you, other times you tell me it's too much. Now, I know that something happened to you in your past. I know there was some guy that hurt you."

She spun around to face me. "What?" Surprise and a hint of fear flashed in her eyes. "Who told you?"

"No one told me anything, but give me some credit, will you, for realizing that something did happen to you. I've been waiting for you to explain it to me – to tell me just what I am allowed to do and where to draw the line, but you seem to just want me to guess. Well, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of guessing. If you want me to be honest with you about this so-called 'darkness' that's in me, then you need start talking about your past, too. The door swings both ways."

"You told me it was all right if we didn't rush into things."

That was the truth. I was still worried I could really hurt her, but I was at least willing to try. I loved her and wanted her too much to never at least try. "We don't have to rush. I have my own reasons for that, but I'd at least like to know what your reasons are, especially if they are as bad as I think they are."

She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She bit her lip. "You first."

"What?" I frowned.

"You tell me why you don't like to talk about your past. Why anytime I tell you what a wonderful person you are, you scoff at me and tell me that you aren't. Why I hear such sadness in your music. Even the happier pieces have a darkness to them. It's like they mock you with their joy. Why is that, Jason?"

I didn't want to answer her. So I changed the direction of the argument again. "I knew you had a reason for picking that film. I thought you were supposed to be able to get people to talk. If you wanted to get something out of me, you didn't have to make me sit though such a wretched movie."

"This isn't about the damn movie!" she yelled. "And if you had given it a chance, you would have seen that things do turn around for him. He was just about to meet a woman who helps him work though some issues. A woman who loves him and helps him find himself again. It does have a happy ending."

"Oh, so is that what this is? I'm supposed to draw some parallel between his crazy life and mine? I suppose you're the woman who's going to save me. That's kind of hard to do when you can't even accept me just the way I am."

I regretted it the moment I said it.

Kate grabbed up her things and stormed out of my room. I followed her in time to see her as she slipped on her coat.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Home. I can't stay here with you." She swung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

"Wait, Kate. Don't. I—I—"

She turned around to face me, and I could see that there were unshed tears in her eyes. "For the record, I do accept you for who you are. No," she shook her head. "It's more than that. I love you for who you are. I only wanted to help you. That's what people do when they love someone. But I can't stay here and argue with you – not if you're going to accuse me of trying to practice psychology on you as if my only interest in you is for educational reasons. I had thought that you understood you meant more to me than that. I guess I was wrong."

She turned away.

"Kate," I said, feeling my heart plummet into my stomach.

"Goodbye, Jason."

"Kate, wait a second," I called to her as she walked away. "Kate!"

She didn't turn around. She just kept walking.