AN: I had intended for this chapter and the next chapter to be all in one, but both sections kind of ran away from me. So we end up with two sections. I bet you can't guess what the title for part two will be! LOL!

Thank you to everyone who is still with me even though you know what's coming up, and even though you know it won't be pretty. I do have some nice things in store for Jason, but we won't see much of it until age 19, I'm afraid. I really do appreciate each and every comment and I try to respond to them all, so if you have a question, be sure to ask. I also encourage you to hunt the fic down on LJ – my user name is AlphieLJ – so that you can listen to the music and see the pics as we go.

Special thanks to htbthomas who beta read this twice, I do believe! LOL! And Hellish for repeatedly telling me it reads like a movie. That's makes me smile!

Age 17 part one: Confronting Clark

A rainy summer afternoon. I had a few hours to kill before I was supposed to hook up with my friends at the movies. There was some new shoot-'em-down-and-blow-'em-up movie that they all wanted to see. Not my personal favorite, but anything was better than staying in with my parents on a weekend. So as was my current favorite way to pass the time, I plopped down at the piano and began pounding away at a famous ragtime melody.

Scott Joplin was a genius. As much as I loved current music and the hard edge of modern rock, it had nothing on the sound and rhythm of the "Maple Leaf Rag." I'd fallen in love with the piece about a year ago when my teacher suggested it might be fun to learn. She was right; it was fun. It was fast and complicated and exciting, and every time I played it for someone, it brought a smile to their face. When Meredith and I were dating, I'd quickly caught on to the fact that her girlfriends generally loved anything I played, but it took something extra to get any of my guy friends to sit up and take notice of music outside of what was played on the radio. Scott Joplin apparently had that something extra.

I finished the song off with a flourish and then played around with the beginning notes of the last section, slowly altering a chord here and there, testing the sound and the various combinations. I'd never written anything of my own, but I'd come to realize that I was pretty good at manipulating music someone else had composed.

The sound of the doorbell rudely interrupted my tinkering and was followed by the sound of my mother's voice.

"Jason!"

I slumped. "Yeah?"

"Can you get the door, please? I'm on the phone."

For some ominous reason, I pounded out the four opening notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony before heading to the door. Casually, I plodded down the hall to the foyer, squinting and adjusting my eyes to get a look at the random salesperson who was probably waiting impatiently outside the door for someone to greet him and not tell him to go away.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

It wasn't a salesperson, but that didn't mean I wouldn't tell the visitor to go away.

On the other side of the door stood one very wet Clark Kent. He offered me a weak smile and raised his hand up to wave at me. I rolled my eyes and turned away.

"Jason?" he said softly.

"What do you want?" I grumbled.

"I'm here to see Lois."

"Jason? Is that Clark?" Mom's voice called out, confirming that he was telling the truth for once. She popped her head around the corner, the phone still pressed to her ear. "Let him in, honey. It's pouring out there."

I heaved a deep breath and reluctantly opened the door. Clark smiled stupidly, as usual, at my mother. "Hi, Lois."

"I'm just finishing up talking with Richard and then I'll be right there." She turned to leave and then spun back around. "Oh, Jason, take Clark's coat and show him into my office. And get him something to drink, will you?" And then she was gone.

I slowly turned my head to look at him. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"No, not at all. Lois and I had some things to follow up on and she didn't want to go out in the rain, so she asked me if I wouldn't mind coming over here. I don't blame her. It's awful out there." He gave me that cheesy grin of his, and I nearly gagged.

We stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence for at least ten seconds before he said, "It's been a while since I've seen you."

My frown deepened.

"You look taller," he said.

I groaned and rolled my eyes again. "Whatever."

He shifted nervously. "Well, I just…"

"You just…?" I mocked. "Just… just… just…"

He sighed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

He closed his eyes. "Please don't make this more difficult than it already is."

"I make things difficult?" I challenged. "You're blaming me for this?"

"No, I'm not blaming you."

"Because I'm not the one who lied to you. I'm not the one who led you to believe something about yourself that wasn't true."

"Jason, please—"

"Please what?" I snapped.

"Please…"

I held my breath, waiting for it. For him to ask me to forgive him. 'Please forgive me' is all he needed to say – all he should have said. I waited for it, but it never came.

Mom came rushing down the hall, immediately putting a halt to any further tortuous conversation. "Sorry about that, Clark. Richard is in Australia and the time difference is a little crazy." She sized up his appearance. "Goodness, Clark. You're dripping wet. Jason, I asked you to take his coat."

She helped him out of his soggy trench coat and handed it to me. "Could you please hang this up to dry?"

I stepped away. "I don't want that mungy thing. I'll get all wet and have to change my clothes and I'm going out later."

"Good grief, Jason, just hang it in the bathroom so it can drip on the tile where it won't hurt anything."

I shot Clark a nasty glance and pinched the coat between my two fingers as if I were touching something potentially dangerous.

"And will you get us something to drink?" Mom asked.

My shoulders fell in obvious dislike of the situation.

"It's okay, Lois. I'm not that thirsty," Clark said quickly.

"Don't be silly. We'll be at this for a while." She looked back at me. "Just grab us a couple bottles of water, okay?"

I shook my head and unwillingly did as she asked. I flung the coat over the door of the bathroom, not caring how mangled it would get in the process of drying. If he wanted a dry coat, he could use his heat vision and have it dry in a matter of seconds, but that would mean Mom possibly finding out his little secret…and he couldn't have that. Oh, no, he could never have that. Forcing him to wear a mangled coat was just a drop in the bucket to show him how much I despised this charade he insisted on playing with my mother.

I slowly dragged myself into the kitchen to fetch the water…only to stop when I heard their conversation.

"I'm sorry about Jason," Mom said. "He's seventeen and going through that typical angsty phase that we all go through. He usually not so snippy."

"It's really okay, Lois. I understand. I was just a little surprised at how different he looked… since the last time I saw him."

"Yeah, I guess it has been a while, huh?" she chuckled. "I remember how he used to love playing at your desk. You two used to be real buddies."

"I remember that, too," Clark said sadly.

On impulse, I clenched my fist as tight as I could to keep from screaming at them to shut up. What I wouldn't give to go back in time and tell that naive child to stay away from Clark Kent – that he was a liar and would end up making his life a living hell.

"They grow up so fast," Mom said. "Remember when we used to call him Munchkin?"

They shared a laugh and I felt sick to my stomach. Hearing my mom and my… whatever you wanted to call him… talking about my tortured childhood was enough to make me want to vomit.

"Can't call him that anymore, though," she said. "He's taller than his father now."

I clenched my fists even tighter as I grew angrier, for he and I both knew that I wasn't taller than my father. I'd never be taller than my father.

"Wow. That's… that's really something," he idiotically stammered.

I couldn't listen to it anymore and I charged angrily into the office. "You know, I can hear you!"

"Jason!" Mom gasped.

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about me behind my back."

"We weren't saying anything bad, honey. Clark was only—"

"Clark was only butting in where he's not wanted," I growled.

"Jason!" she gasped again. "I don't know what's gotten into you, young man, but I do not like this tone."

"And I don't like you talking to this jerk about me," I retorted, nodding my head in Clark's direction.

She frowned at me and pulled me out into the hall, giving Clark an apologetic look as she did so. "What have you got against Clark all of a sudden?"

I laughed. "Mom, the list is so long I don't even know where to begin!" He's right on that count. Where would he begin?

She shook her head in surprise. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it doesn't give you the right to mouth off to him like that."

"Um, yes, in fact, it does."

"No, it doesn't," she countered, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, you will go in there and apologize to him for being so rude."

Me? Apologize to him? After everything he'd done to me? No way. It wasn't going to happen. Ever.

"No, I won't," I said matter-of-factly.

Mom gaped at me. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not going to apologize to him because I'm not sorry for anything I said."

"You called him a jerk."

"He deserves it!"

"He is a guest in our home and you will treat him with respect."

I scowled. "No, I won't."

"What?"

"I will not treat him with respect, not until he's done something to earn my respect."

"He is our friend!"

"He's your friend, not mine. I didn't invite him over here! I don't even like him!" I shouted.

Mom's face was red. "You go in there right now and apologize to him."

"No!"

"Jason, so help me, you do not talk back to me like this!"

"And you can't force me to apologize to someone that I can't stand!"

"You wanna bet?" she said, placing her hands on her hips. "You apologize to him right now or you will not go out with your friends tonight."

"What?" I snapped.

"You heard me."

"That's blackmail!"

She popped a hip. "Maybe so, but I am your mother, and you need to realize that I am the one who sets the rules in this house, not you. You are not an adult yet. I can still ground you."

"Oh, God," I grumbled.

"Now apologize."

I pursed my lips and weighed the options. "No."

"No?"

"No. I'd rather miss the movie than apologize to Clark Kent." He name fell from my lips as if it was something rotten.

Mom was fuming now. "Fine -- then you're grounded."

"Big deal. It's one night," I said flippantly.

"Oh, no, Jason, you're grounded for a week."

"A week!" I gasped. "For what?"

"For your attitude, for your behavior tonight, for yelling at me, for being disrespectful. The list goes on and on, Jason."

"This is not fair!" I shouted. "This is totally not fair!"

"And if your father were here, he'd probably make it two weeks."

At that very moment, I caught sight of Clark standing in the doorway to the office, looking pale. Mom's words hung in the air. If your father were here… I laughed coldly at the irony of the situation.

"I don't think this is the least bit funny, young man," Mom snipped, crossing her arms in front of herself.

I buried my face in my hands and mumbled, "That's because you're completely clueless."

"What?"

"Nothing," I replied, before looking at Clark over my shoulder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

His mouth opened and closed. I was about to start calling him Mr. Fish, he did that so often.

Mom glared at me. "You are really pushing it now. I am really angry with you, Jason."

"Well, I'm not too happy with you, either," I agreed lightly.

"That's it," she said coolly. "Two weeks."

"Oh, come on," I growled.

"Keep at it and we'll make it three."

"I didn't do anything!"

"That's right. You didn't apologize."

"I am not going to apologize to Clark frickin' Kent!" I bellowed.

"Then it's three weeks."

I gaped at her, completely stunned that this was even happening. "This is not fair, Mom. This is not fair! I can't even believe this! Three weeks? You're gonna ground me for three weeks because I don't like some idiot you've forced into my life?"

"No, I am grounding you for three weeks because you are hot-headed, disrespectful, and you need to learn some manners."

I was raging mad and could no longer hold it in. "This is total bullshit, Mom! Bullshit!"

"Jason!"

Mom and I both snapped around at the authoritative sound of the deep, masculine voice to momentarily find Clark scowling at me. Realizing that he'd nearly given himself away, he shifted nervously and adjusted his glasses. "Sorry," he offered, using his traditional, squeaky Clark voice again. "I just don't think… um… that you should be… well… that you should talk to your mother like that."

"Thank you, Clark," Mom said quietly.

I slowly looked from one face to the other, feeling more and more enraged as the moments passed.

"You don't have to apologize to me, Jason," Clark offered, "but I think you should at least apologize to your mother."

"Excuse me?" I sneered at him. "You don't tell me what to do. Who do you think you are?" My eyes held fast to his as I went in for the kill. "You're not my father."

What little smile there was left on his face vanished completely. I waited for him to contradict me, to point out that he was my father and had every right to speak like that to me. If he wanted my respect, then he should end this stupid charade right now and admit to Mom and to me exactly who he was. I dared him to say it, holding onto his gaze with a fierce intensity. I wasn't going to be the first to look away. I scowled at him until his eyes shifted downwards, admitting defeat. Coward.

"No, he's not your father," Mom stated unknowingly. "However, he is right. You do owe me an apology and I will get it. But right now, you need to go up to your room and cool off for a while. Clark and I have some work to do, and when we are finished I will come up and talk to you. I don't want to see you before then."

"Fine," I spat before darting up the steps.

"No phone, no TV, no computer, no games!" Mom called after me.

I slammed the door to my room, anger boiling up inside of me, threatening to spill over. Below me, I could still hear them talking.

"I'm sorry about that, Clark."

"It's all right, Lois," he replied, sounding a bit shaken. He cleared his throat and said, "I was seventeen once. I know a thing or two about what he's going through."

I wanted to hit something, I was so livid. Yet instead of a punch, I felt the heat of my blood rise and an odd pressure settle behind my eyes. Immediately, I shut my eyes tight, knowing that if I were to open them now, I'd probably set the house on fire given the aggression I felt at that moment.

I stayed in my room that whole evening doing absolutely nothing. When Clark finally left, about three hours after the confrontation, I watched him as he came around the back of the house and looked up at me in my room, silently requesting the opportunity to talk about what had happened. I slowly shook my head at him.

"Jason?" I heard him say.

In a voice no more than a whisper I said, "Go. Away."

And he did.

I stayed in my room for a few days after that. The only time I left the house was for piano practice, and the only time I came out of my room to play the piano was when Mom was at work. I kept to myself as much as I could, even eating up in my room. When Dad came back home, he thought he could make me see reason, and even offered to lessen my sentence if I would agree to apologize to Clark. Naturally, I told him to forget it, which meant I had to endure a full three weeks of being grounded all because I thought Clark Kent was a jerk.

Clark Kent was nothing to me but a royal pain in the backside. I couldn't stand what he'd done to my life – the mess he'd made. I hated the lies and deception he'd convinced me to participate in nearly all my life. But what was I supposed to do about it? Tell Mom? Like she'd believe me. And then I risked her being angry at me for not telling her sooner. I wasn't about to suffer through any more unnecessary punishment for something that, once again, wasn't my fault.

So the secret stayed, and my anger grew. I took my aggression out on my piano, tackling for the first time in my life a Rachmaninoff piece – the Prelude in C-sharp minor. It was the perfect piece to show off how I was feeling. The perfect prelude for what was to come.