Hey there, hi there, ho there.
Back again! Unbelievable, right? Originally, this is part of a BIG story that is still being written, but it makes for a good story in itself, one that can stand on its own feet even if I might not ever finish the last big part (I hope that won't happen! I spent insanely long on it already!)

I wish you all fun with my Hyde and my Jackie (and my Donna, because I love my Donna!) and if you do, I would feel wonderful if you dropped me a line or maybe just left kudos, if it left you speechless ;-)

On Sunday, Jackie took the bus back to Chicago. She stepped out into the bustling station and through the masses of travellers coming to or leaving from the Windy City, took the L-train and, after that, another bus to get to her apartment. She dug her keys out of her handbag and stepped into the slightly cold but comfortably furnished hallway, hearing her room-mate argue with her boyfriend about the best way to cut an onion in the kitchen. She immediately felt at home, same as when she stepped into the Pinciottis' house and wondered how it could be to feel home in two different places at once and in equal measures.

The smile that started to creep up her face felt harsh and pulled at her skin, and Jackie realized that she hadn't spoken one word or changed her expression even one bit since stepping onto the bus in Madison.

No, that wasn't right.

She hadn't moved a facial muscle since leaving the bed in Point Place. Her mind was empty, but it was thankfully calm.

"Jackie? Is that you?" Duh – who else would it be? Jackie placed her keys in the bowl by the coat-hanger and stepped into the kitchen, which smelled of garlic and bacon and pasta. It made her swallow hard, the memory of last night's meal, with Steven, sitting wrong in her throat.

"Yes, Amy. Hey Aaron," she waved.

"You're home earlier than I thought. You want to eat with us?" Amy asked, her brown eyes open and friendly and welcoming. She always invited her if she cooked, and Jackie usually loved to eat with her – and Aaron – because that girl could cook. Now, though, she just shook her head.

"No, thanks. I'm… I think I'm coming down with something," she lied, too tired to explain things she didn't even understand herself. "I'll just go and lie down. Have fun."

"Oh, get better soon!", Amy smiled, then slapped Aaron's hand away from the bell-peppers. "Hands off, moron! You'll just cut them wrong!"

"How can you cut bell-peppers wrong, for God's sake! Can I at least boil the water, or is that too difficult for me, too?"

The voices receded as Jackie closed the door to her room. The two of them were always bickering and always sniping at each other, but anyone could see that Amy loved Aaron and that Aaron loved Amy. They were… well, they were disgustingly cute, and Jackie couldn't stand cute right now.

Unbidden, last night came to her mind. The smell of the sheets, freshly laundered and still with the strange but comforting lily-scent Mrs Forman's detergent emitted. The taste of his skin, slightly salty and so familiar and still so shockingly new every time. The sex, mind-blowing and fantastic, frantic and loving, relaxed and goofy. They had ended together in his bed every night, no matter what they'd been doing during the day. They always did this now, and Jackie hated it but couldn't stop doing it, never strong enough to resist his pull and never kind enough to refuse his hands and lips.

Nine weeks.

Nine weeks now since she'd left him in the restaurant, determined to come back when she was ready, certain she wouldn't call him before she had an answer for him.

Her resolve had lasted till Monday evening, when she'd picked up the phone just to talk about her day. And when she'd hung up, she'd known she couldn't do that again, not without betraying her own resolve of doing things on her own – for herself! Just herself, for now. And talking to him, listening to him listen to her, sometimes answering and sometimes just silent in a way that let her know he was smiling – that would weaken her, she'd known. She'd never be able to see if she could live without him in her life, because up to now, he'd always been there. Even away, he'd been there, hiding behind her reasons and her actions. He'd influenced her decisions and she wanted them back, wanted them for herself.

She only called him once more, to tell him she wouldn't call again until she knew the answer. He'd said he understood.

She'd believed herself, then. She didn't anymore.

Jackie hadn't called him again, not that week and not on the weekend and not on the week after. She'd just gone back to Point Place to visit her mom the weekend after that, and after an exhausting day at her mother's newest charity-project, Jackie had just wanted to hop in to bring Mrs Forman the beautiful scarf she'd found in Chicago that she'd bought her as a gift. Donna had been there, and Steven, and of course Mr Forman.

It had been an accident.

They – Donna, Steven and Jackie – had smoked pot in the basement and they'd had fun, played Monopoly – Steven had won, for some reason – and Donna had giggled and then started to cry about Eric and then she'd left and the two of them had remained alone.

And Steven – he'd taken a breath to ask her, and Jackie had just known what he'd ask and she still hadn't known what to answer and to shut him up, she'd kissed him.

He'd responded at once.

They'd ended up in bed, sweaty and glowing and happy. Until, later that night, Jackie had crept out from under Steven's arms and left, slinking away like a one-night-stand without even waking him. She'd left a note - I still don't know, I'm sorry and she'd gone back to Chicago.

So far, this wouldn't have been that bad. One bad decision… one spur-of-the-moment sexual encounter – pfft. Even Donna'd had that one, with Eric, that one time they were broken up. Before the not-wedding, Jackie thought it had been, but couldn't quite date it. At least she'd let Steven know that they probably weren't back together, not like Donna, who'd let Eric leave in the pathetic hope that everything was as it had been just because there'd been an orgasm!

Yes, that far, things would have been alright.

Except… Jackie found herself back at Point Place the next weekend, and in the exact same bed – luckily, not the same sheets – and this time it hadn't even really been an accident. She'd gone to the basement in hope he'd be there, and the minute she'd spotted him and that tentative, hopeful smile on his face, she'd jumped him.

The whole weekend she'd jumped him.

And the one after that. And the one after that. And… yes. Every weekend.

Even that wouldn't have been so bad, but she never called him! Point Place was Point Place, different rules applied there. Chicago… Chicago was her safe place, her haven. She was free here to be the Jackie nobody knew beyond what she was willing to show, where she could learn, free of any expectations, of any preconceived ideas about her. She could go to clubs and disco with her work-friends, could watch a musical or a movie without being criticised for her taste, could come and go as she pleased. She could be as rude or as kind as she wanted to be, and only had herself to hold her accountable, only herself to blame if her behaviour backfired and dumped her in the shit. Only herself to dig her out of said shit.

But Point Place was Steven, and history, and backstories and remains. She wanted him – god, she still never wanted anyone else! And in Wisconsin, she couldn't resist his pull, while in Chicago, she could pretend he didn't bother her, that he didn't affect her and that she didn't want anything more than make him happy and be happy alongside him.

She could pretend it didn't break her heart every time she left.

Some weekends, he'd tried staying awake to catch her before she slipped away, but nowadays he pretended to sleep, giving her the chance to go without forcing her to say something that might be a lie. And if he let her, it surely meant he was okay with this arrangement, right?

Right?

So she did, she left, and she'd go back the next weekend and she'd leave again come Sunday morning, go through work and life Monday to Friday, go back… rinse, wash and repeat.

If it was killing her worse every day, nobody would ever know.