There's a moment in the warehouse when he's hit by the realization that he actually loves her. He knew he had loved her for a while, just because he never said it didn't mean it wasn't real, but something in his intoxicated state had caused him to realized just how real this was. His head was pounding and the room was starting to spin and he thought maybe he wouldn't remember the specifics in the morning, but all he could see was her face, the way her eyes found his across any room and the way she lit up when she made him laugh.
Jackie. Veteran's Day barbecue, that spoiled little rich girl with the big mouth that somehow saw right through him, even if she didn't know it. Telling him he's worth being loved after a lifetime of rejection, telling him she's interested. Kissing him, and the fireworks he felt against his lips unlike anything even the hottest chick was able to for him.
"Huh," she said, turning away from him to look at the ground. "Okay, I didn't feel anything."
And the shields went up. She didn't feel anything. How could she not feel anything? How could he read something so wrong?
"Nothing?" He asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Zen. He was Zen.
"No, I mean the kiss was hot, but…" she shook her head, giving him a look. "Well, did you feel something?"
He looked at her, his mind a whir. How could she not feel something? Why did he have to feel something?
"Uhhhh…no," he fixed his shades, pausing as the thought of telling her yes, he felt something, he felt the entire damn fireworks show, and if she could just feel something too they could be golden, maybe he could have a chance. "Well…"
"No."
She nodded, and he looked away, licking his lips as he tasted her lip balm. Fruity, obviously, Jackie Burkhart would not wear anything else. His lips were still on fire, like she had burned him, like she had left a mark on him. He brought his fingers up to feel them, to see if they were actually vibrating like they seemed to be. Dammit. How could this one girl have this much of an effect on him? How could he let this happen?
He drove her home, later, and the conversation was easy, and he thought that maybe she wasn't as bad as she used to be. Maybe there was more to her than he thought, maybe they could be…friends. And that's it. Because she didn't feel anything.
And that was where it started. That was where he started falling, and he hadn't stopped since, but if Jackie went to Chicago and this thing between them was finished, he would finally hit the concrete at full force.
Somewhere in his haze he's cracking open another beer. Chicago, Chicago, Chicago…
Jackie. His Zenmaster. The way she looks at him that summer in the basement, her doe eyes half closed and rimmed with red as she blows the smoke out between her teeth.
"I need to find someone better, Steven," she says, a small smile on her face. "Someone…someone that isn't stupid Michael."
He rolls his eyes; he's so tired of hearing about Michael. "Man, you gotta stop talking about Kelso, man."
They're sitting on the couch in a way that should be uncomfortably close but isn't. It has to be the drugs. He shouldn't feel this comfortable.
"Listen, Steven," she says, and then she trails off, a faraway look on her face. "I forgot what I was gonna say."
He laughs, and it's genuine, and he can honestly say he never say himself at this point. Never saw Jackie Burkhart, head cheerleader and the most annoying girl in Point Place, in a circle with him. Except she's not that annoying. Not really.
"Did you hear they got this car that runs on water?" He asks, looking at her with as much excitement as his haze can muster. She's laughing at him now, really laughing, throwing her head back and closing her eyes and he realizes he wants to kiss her.
And he almost does. He gets so, so close. Because his shades are on the table and she's looking at him now, really looking at him, and he's so mesmerized he can barely think. And she's biting her lip, she must really want to kill him, and she's looking at his own lips now, and that has to be a sign.
But then he remembers that first night, sitting on the hood of his car. She didn't feel anything. She doesn't feel the connection, didn't then, can't now.
So instead he takes a big hit and lets the clouds wrap around his brain the way he wants her body to. It's just the drugs, man.
Maybe he could go to Chicago. They have record stores in Chicago, right? WB must have a branch in Chicago. He could do it, he could leave Point Place, if it were for her. And they could get an apartment and have a circle and fall into bed together every night and they could be perfect. It could be perfect.
But there's something holding him back. It's the way she's pushing him, the way she's begging for a proposal. He can't do it. He wants her more than anything in the world but he is twenty years old and just starting to figure it out but he's not there yet; he's just a kid. He can't picture marriage and he can't promise her forever even though that's all he wants to give her because he couldn't stand to look at himself in the mirror if something happened and he had to break that promise. But he can't lose her either.
He crushes the empty can in his hands. Another beer.
Jackie. He's breathing in the scent of her hair, the scent of her, as their lips crash together. It's a new thing they have going on, started about a week ago, and he's the happiest he's been in such a long time.
Not that he would tell her that. They're just two friends who make out because their friends are gone and TV is starting to suck. It doesn't mean anything.
But there's this thing she does with her tongue when they kiss and the way she sucks at the soft spot in between his collarbone and his neck that drives him crazy and gets him hard just thinking about it. All he wants to do is take off her clothes so he can actually see the skin he's feeling underneath her shirt and her bra but he doesn't want to push her, not the way Kelso constantly did. He's going to be better than him, better for her.
He can hear the guys laughing off behind one of the many walls of beer, but he can't bring himself to stumble over to them. Steven Hyde is lost in his own head with memories of a brown-haired beauty flashing all over his consciousness.
He cracks open another beer, hoping maybe the alcohol will just black him out so he doesn't have to think about her anymore, doesn't have to be tormented by her anymore.
Jackie. The way she looked at him when he was on top of her, naked except for the sheet on his cot. The first time they do it in that hot musty basement, all hands and teeth and tongue. She had asked for it, begged him for it really, and with the way she was looking at him with her lip between her teeth he's not sure how he held out this long. And it's hot and sweaty and dirty and filled with this fire that he's not sure he's ever felt before, and he wonders why on earth Kelso ever let her go.
Jackie. The first time she told him she loved him, out of desperation in that basement when she thought she was going to lose him. Her dark eyes so vulnerable he knew she meant it, and he can't even look at her because he wants so badly to say it back but he knows he can't because he's Steven Hyde and he's the poor little orphan boy who's never been loved and he just can't get the words out.
She doesn't care.
He loved her, he loved her, he loved her…
Jackie. The look on her face when he tells her about the nurse. He hates himself, he really does, and when she gets out of the car and he's watching her walk away from him he just wants to slam his head on the steering wheel until it blows his brains out.
She had trusted him, and he was so stupid. He had assumed and he was hurting so bad that he had to hurt her in the same way, and now he wishes he could take it all back just so he doesn't have to know how to feels to have her look at him that way, like her entire world was crumbling and she was just so disappointed and he can practically feel her walls going up.
Jackie. He tells her he loves her because he knows he's going to lose her, he can tell by the way she's set her jaw and the way she's not even yelling at him, she's just empty. No emotion. But he tells her he loves her anyway and he's not wearing his shades because she needs to see that he means it, needs to see that he's hurting too and that he hates himself for what he's done to her. If she could just see it and hear it, maybe they'll have a chance.
Her head flies up when he says it and her eyes are searching his and he can tell that she knows this is real, this isn't like Kelso saying whatever he could to get in her pants. But she throws his words back in his face, she doesn't love him, and she leaves the room.
He knows she doesn't mean it. She wouldn't leave if she meant it, her eyes wouldn't be filled with so much pain he can see it across the room if she meant it. So she leaves, and he lays back on Donna's bed hating himself, but eventually he does get up and leave and when he does he can hear her crying in the bathroom. And that makes it so much worse. This is so hard and it never had to be if he could just tell her he loves her when he's not about to lose her and doesn't fuck it all up every time he gets mad. Hearing her cry through the door makes this all so much worse, if that's even possible, and he slips his shades back on and walks back over to the Forman's.
"Hyde, man, are you okay?" He can hear Eric's voice, full of concern, calling to him from somewhere else in the warehouse.
They don't get it, they never will. Donna put her entire life on hold for Eric, didn't go away to college and didn't travel the world like she had always dreamed of when they were kids, and he doesn't even see it. He ran out on their wedding and broke her heart and she took him right back.
They're all just a bunch of kids, man. A bunch of kids who grew up too fast and are barely out of high school but Kelso's a dad and Donna and Eric were supposed to get married and Hyde's a business owner and Fez has a real job and Jackie's going to become a hotshot in Chicago. They were all just a bunch of kids.
Jackie. The way she looked in his Zeppelin shirt and nothing else. The way it rode up her thighs as she straddled him and the way her fingers teased the curls at the base of his neck.
Jackie. How proud she was of him for getting a real job. The way she pushed him to be better and followed him around that stupid corporate office in Milwaukee. She always defended him, even against his own father. She called him perfect, and she meant it.
Jackie. He gravitated towards her when she walked into the room. He needed to be touching her, grabbing her thigh or pulling her to his lap. Years later and there's still this fire he can't ignore, even if he wanted to.
How can he let her go? How can she leave him? Why can't they just be happy in Point Place? Why does she have to pull these stupid fucking ultimatums on him when he just needs time?
Another beer. He's pretty sure his bloodstream is alcohol at this point. He knows he smells like a distillery.
Jackie. When he saw her in that wedding dress. She was so beautiful, and he wanted nothing more than to stare at her forever. He wanted this, he wanted her, but he was terrified.
Jackie. He found her crying at that Packers game, and his heart broke in two. He thought this was just a game between them, thought she was just trying to get a rise out of him. He watches her cry and the way that it's silent tears, like she's trying to hide it, and he's thrown back to that day where he lost her for a little while and told her he loved her; she was crying in the bathroom. He wants so badly to take her into his arms and kiss her until she's not hurting anymore but he knows he can't. Not now. So he goes back to his seat and he tells Donna to go look for her, because he can't stand the thought of her standing there by herself.
Jackie. They were so damn happy. The Valentine's Day Dance, and the Christmas Dance, and everything in between. She looked at him like he was her hero, and that both delighted and terrified him. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and funny and cunning and dramatic and whiny but he loved her more than he knew he would ever love anyone else.
It was like the parting of the Red Sea, and for a moment Hyde saw the answer. It was so obvious, staring him in the face this entire time, but he was so scared. But it didn't matter. He couldn't lose her again, not now and not ever. He couldn't lose her again because he didn't act. He needed her, she was his best friend and the love of his life.
So he stumbled out to meet his friends, who were all sitting in a circle around the cases of beer. He grinned at them, swerving as he fought the urge to fall over, and raised his beer.
"Okay, I've finally made up my mind about Jackie," he slurred, tipping forward. The guys looked at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm gonna marry her! I'm gonna be…Mrs. Jackie Hyde!"
And it felt so good to say, so right. Mrs. Jackie Hyde. That's who they would be. And they'd be so happy, just like they used to be, and they could live anywhere. Chicago, Point Place, Milwaukee, Timbuktu, it didn't matter.
As long as they were together. He couldn't wait to tell her in the morning.