Author's Note:

I think a lot of Hyde and Jackie's problems stem from the fact that they only met because of Michael – he looms over their relationship and makes Steven all kinds of insecure which inevitably leads to stupid decisions on both he and Jackie's parts. So I wondered, what would have happened if Jackie hadn't dated Michael? This story is just one of many that could have developed.

Set in 1985 when Jackie is 23 and Hyde is 24 in Chicago.

I do not own, just attacked by a plot bunny that would not leave me alone. This is shorter than my usual stuff; a two, maybe three shot. Hope you enjoy!

Having live performances was his idea, and while he was happy to set up all the logistics and even a bit of the promotion being saddled with this cross of a junior producer/reporter was getting to be a bit too much of a pain in the ass.

She was tiny, he wasn't a big guy and he felt overly large next to her, as if with one wrong move he'd send her spiraling to the ground, and perky. Way too perky. Angie's perky was annoying, but Miss Burkhart's was like a whole new circle of hell.

She kept asking questions, stupid questions, then scribbling notes and asking for quotes. She didn't have the first idea of what she was covering, half his answers prodded more queries. They'd been at it for, had it really only been half an hour? Felt like four. He needed a drink.

But no, she stuck to him like glue, no worse than glue, a tick. And now she was asking him for a live interview. Not what he'd had in mind at all.

He'd anticipated a bit of press, easily handled, then an enjoyable evening of tunes, a strong hit once he got home, and a girl to share his bed for a couple of hours. Burkhart was getting in the way of all of that.

He was keyed up, filling with excess energy with nowhere for it to go. There were two ways to handle this, intimidation or Zen. She had a camera with her, so Zen it was.

After a few answers of 'whatever' she glared at him, but retreated to consult with her assistant or cameraman or whatever.

"We're an hour out bro."

"Whatever."

"Oooh, she was that annoying huh? Had to retreat all the way back to being seventeen again?" Angie teased him. Hyde glared at her. Having a sister was two parts torture and one part annoyance.

"You knew they were sending someone over didn't you?"

Angie grinned at him, "And that's why I offered to take care of the after party in exchange for publicity."

"Ugh."

Angie grin stretched so wide she was practically baring her teeth at him.

"At least the set will be good." He grumbled, and turning to stalk away from Angie he nearly ran over Jackie.

"Can I quote you on that?"

"Whatever."

He'd anticipated more glaring, or maybe a seductive eyelash batting, but instead he was met with a shoulder shrug.

"Whatever it is then."

Damn. If she printed that it would get back to WB and this whole initiative of his would get scrapped before it even got out of the parking lot.

"Or perhaps you prefer I print that you rolled your eyes, or shrugged your shoulders?"

"Fine. The set will be good. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." She looked up at him all steely determination, and then launched in to another thirty minutes of questions. He only managed to extricate himself when he said he needed to check on the band, and that was only because she was shuffling through her notebook trying to find the questions she wanted to ask them.

He was finally free. Angie was manning the store like a pro, yet another reason she had pushed him into the front end of this gig – to show she knew more than him about managing. He ground his teeth, but forced himself into his responsible persona. He'd be damned if she scuttled him that easily.

He managed to enjoy the set, but his game was off and he ended up helping Angie lock up.

Three more gigs, and he was more annoyed with Burkhart. She brought up musical influences that had no bearing on the bands playing at Grooves, asked pointless questions about the history of the band like their favourite hair care products and names of their girlfriends, and did it all with either overflowing perkiness or a steely determination.

He was sick of it, she was seriously ruining his buzz, and cutting into his extracurricular activities; enough that he had even contemplated scrapping the whole idea to avoid her. To top it all off Angie was enjoying herself and dropped him in the deep end whenever she could, further complicating things.

Tomorrow he was going down to the Chicago Mirror and getting her fired. He could do it, a few accusations there, a bit of throwing the Barnett name around… Or at least get her reassigned the hell away from him, but tonight was different, usually she mingled throughout the set annoying people to get their quotes. Instead she was standing off to the side, alone, looking – was that wistfully? - at the mass of bodies dancing (or as Red put it, wiggling).

He found his feet moving toward her of their own accord before he managed to stop, turn around, and focus on sorting records.

Three gigs later he was shoving down an odd flare of jealousy when she grinned at something her cameraman/assistant had said, and striding across the floor before he could think of an excuse. She didn't see him coming, so he quickly redirected himself to Angie who happened to be nearby. But he'd forgotten the relish she got out of the whole thing. He fled outside.

His own store, his own gig. He was trying to reign in his growing rage, and failing. Not only had she annoyed him for over an hour this evening, but now she was interfering with his ability to enjoy the music he had arranged for himself to enjoy (with the added benefit of coming up with a better idea to drive sales than Angie – one that was paying off handsomely).

He was still outside, smoking, when Jackie and her assistant finally left the gig. They didn't notice him, and he watched as Jackie fiddled with her piece of shit car until it finally started with a spluttering cough, an acrid smoke mingling with his cigarette's.

"I wish someone would dance like that with me" Jackie whined to Angie. Three months of gigs and they had struck up a friendship. Angie had approached her sometime in July during one of the sets, and they'd been giggling and gossiping ever since. Steven had at first chalked it up to another sisterly bout of annoying him, but they seemed to have genuinely bonded.

Which was great. Super. Now she dropped by the store at odd hours to hang out with Angie, and annoy the hell out of him. He'd yelled at her a few times and she'd visibly shrunk for a moment before shrugging her shoulders and ignoring him. Wouldn't even fight back. Made it difficult to win, but he'd burned her a couple of times, so at least if they weren't even he wasn't yet defeated.

He looked where her eyes were focused, and walked away.

The next time he wasn't quite as successful. "You wanna dance?" The words left his mouth before he had time to think. She looked back at him, speechless for a moment before she nodded and he threaded them through the crowd leaving Angie behind. He tried not to think about the feel of her in his arms, so different to the one or two times he'd danced before, and he found he didn't mind this wiggling in public thing quite as much as he should.

They didn't talk at first, but then she burned a girl who had copped a feel on his ass and joined him in a laugh. He was entranced by her throat and gripped with a sudden urge to kiss her. "Jackie, I kinda wanna kiss you."

"Okay." She said, but they were knocked sideways by another couple, and the moment broke. "If she can't hold her booze you shouldn't be walking her out in public." Jackie shot at them, and even though the girl's boyfriend was a hulking giant Hyde couldn't help but laugh with her as they retreated back to Angie.

"I didn't know you could dance little brother." Angie teased.

"Yet another mystery Angie, what can I say, gotta cultivate my mystique." He said as he left them, still hungry for a kiss.

By the end of the summer he was going crazy. Each week they had a gig, and each week Jackie would show up and annoy the hell out of him. Only it wasn't exactly annoying. She had a bitchy side, and the more they got to know each other the fierier she became when he wouldn't cooperate with her. She'd pout, she'd whine, she'd practically beg, she'd try tricking him, and occasionally kicking him in the shins.

Sometimes the entire four hour set up for the gig passed in what felt like half an hour. Then they'd mingle with the crowd, and late in August he'd drive her home and make out on her couch until her roommate kicked him out.

Angie didn'tlet up on the teasing, which he solved by showing her up at their meetings with WB. The more she teased, the more competitive he got until she started to back off.

He was going crazy. Jackie wasn't his kind of chick. She didn't care about music, or least her tastes were terrible. She had manicures and talked about her hair. She collected glass unicorns.

But she could fling burn for burn too – so it didn't matter that she wasn't busty and wearing punk leather and black week old nail polish. Or that her make-up was a little too overdone for him, or that she and Angie were best friends, or that her expectations were sky high (course she also had mini-skirts he loved to slide his hand under too).

He was going crazy because he was losing his excuse to spend time with her. Tonight was the last in the summer series, and though their numbers were way up he and WB agreed it was best to keep the novelty intact and end the limited run until next summer. Which meant he was going to actually have to talk to Jackie.

He didn't talk to girls. Especially not a talk about defining their relationship. Shit. She'd hooked him into a relationship, without once getting to see her naked. Though the idea of seeing her naked made him want to talk about it. Crazy. He was going crazy.

"You wanna come back to my place tonight?" He husked into her ear after climbing into the El Camino and necking. She looked nervous, but said yes. They were quiet on the drive over, usually Jackie had plenty to talk about – he knew a million particulars about both her roommate and all of her co-workers, as well as Pat Benatar. As they pulled up she began to wring her hands. He laid one of his over them.

"Look, I'll just take you home."

"No! Steven, I want to come up, it's just…" She trailed off as he slunk down into his seat a defeated set to his shoulders. "What are we doing?"

"We're gonna go upstairs and I'm gonna throw you on my bed and have my way with you like I've been fantasizing about for months."

"Months?" She squeaked. He'd been dreaming about it for months and not once had pressured her about it. Maybe it didn't matter that he hadn't called her his girlfriend. Or called her at all for that matter.

"Jackie." He said, his voice soft, almost pleading.

"I want to Steven. You have no idea how much I want to tear your clothes off, but I'm not going to be one of your girls."

"What girls?"

"The ones you take home and then never talk to again."

At that he leaned back into his seat and away from her, but didn't deny it.

"Angie should know better than to run her mouth." He said.

"I offer myself on a platter and that's all you have to say?" She said, lunging for the door, but his hand grabbed one of her wrists.

"Don't. Look. Jackie." He started. She turned to face him, but kept her body leaning away, ready to escape at a moment's notice.

"You're not one of those girls." He said, facing her.

"Then what am I?" She said, her voice tremulous.

"Uh. You know." He stuttered out.

"No, I don't Steven. I have no idea what's going on inside your head, or your heart for that matter. It's been fun, and you're ridiculously hot, but if this is just some summer fling for you then…" she trailed off.

"Fine. You're my chick. Happy?" He spat out, half expecting an indignant snort – but then she practically jumped into his lap and began to kiss him forcefully.

"Ecstatic."

As always reviews are much appreciated!