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Steven Hyde sat in his apartment above Groove flipping mindlessly through the latest edition of "Rolling Stone Magazine". He sighed ruefully, regretting that the music in this magazine wasn't even at the caliber of the Rolling Stones, forget about Zeppelin, at least not anymore. Gone were the days of Kiss and Zeppelin. Even Styx had gone the way of the dodo. Now it was the time of ABBA and David Bowie.

"Crap," he muttered looking at the "Top Ten Songs of the Week" list, "Crap, crap, could be good, but it's the 80's, so it's probably crap. Well, would you look at that, it's ABBA. I thought they disappeared from pop culture around '84. Unfortunately I was wrong…"

Hyde got up from his armchair, pilfered from the Forman's basement in true Hyde style to go get some beer and turn on some REAL music. By which he meant anything but "Mamma Mia".

Having gotten his refreshment, and his own version of 'soul music', he plopped back down on his ass. Hyde stared blankly at the wall and briefly contemplated getting out of the music business. If no one was going to buy anything good, well, he wasn't going to aid and abet in the murder of music. And if rock was on its way out, as he feared it was, he was going to give it the respectful memorial it deserved, not help it on its way out. Because with his love life in shambles, his friends a distant memory, and his family having deserted him as a child, music was the only thing Steven Hyde had left. And he'd be damned if he betrayed it.

He jumped several feet in the air upon hearing a knock on his door. The only people who even had the keys to get them this far were the friends he'd abandoned almost a decade ago, and there was no way they were going to be visiting him now, was there? And if it wasn't them, it was either the cops, or something supernatural, neither of which he wanted to deal with about now. Or, you know, ever.

Tentatively, with a feeling of overwhelming dread, he answered the door. Upon opening it he found an overly concerned Kitty Forman.

"Steven, we need to talk…"

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Jackie Burkhart stared regretfully at the couple sitting across the aisle from her, making out. She wanted to hit him upside the head, and grab her by the hair and yell at her, "Stop kissing him! Don't you realize that he's going to get you pregnant, then, instead of stepping up and being a man, leave you flat on your ass. Hell, if you're as lucky as me, he'll proceed to marry a STRIPPER!"

She bit her tongue and restrained herself for one reason and one reason only, the highly susceptible eight-year-old sitting next to her. The little girl who had lately taken to asking where her daddy was. Okay, and there was the fact that she was a public figure, working for Channel Five News as an anchor as of next week, and a rival network getting wind of Jackie Burkhart going spastic probably wouldn't be for the best.

And then there was the fact that she didn't so much hate them for being in love, and rather showy about it, but rather because that could have been her. A decade previously that had been her. And now she was the single mother struggling to just get by. She had thought having an adoring mini-me and the job of her dreams would have made her happy, but in reality it only made her regret what she didn't have that much more. What she didn't have was the love of her life, a support system, someone to help her raise Beth right. What she didn't have was Steven Hyde.

Over the intercom the stewardess announced that they would be landing in Madison in fifteen minutes. Jackie tore her gaze away from the lovers, and quickly made sure that everything she and her daughter had packed was securely tucked away, then looked through her notes for her first day of work one last time.

"Five minutes to landing."

Beth started crying. She always had been afraid of airplanes.

And a single tear dripped down Jackie's cheek, despite her best efforts not to give into emotion.

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After Hyde moved aside to let her pass through the door Mrs. Forman began pacing around his apartment, wringing her hands nervously. The notoriously unfeeling Steven Hyde began to feel nervous. Had someone died? Was someone sick?

"Steven," Mrs. Forman began, her voice starting out strong, then faltering around the 'V' in his name, and fading out by the 'N". She swallowed, and tried again. "Steven, there's something you should… you should know."

"Uh-huh…"

"It's, well," Mrs. Forman stammered, "well, it's about…Jackie?" she said the last word hesitantly and questioningly.

Against his will, Hyde's pulse began to speed up, and he was fairly certain his blood pressure went up a few notches in that moment. Still, he managed to make his response sound fairly Zen, "What about her?"

"Well, she's coming hbleompe."

"What was that last word?"

"Hbleompe" Mrs. Forman muttered.

"Come again?" Hyde responded, hoping he hadn't just heard what he suspected he had.

"Home."

Oh crap.

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"Thank you very much for the ride, and I'm so sorry about Beth here's rather, erm, intrusive questions." Jackie said as she paid the cab driver, tipping him amply to express her gratitude for his willingness to listen to all her daughter's questions, and actually answer them. That last bit had been rather unexpected.

"It was a pleasure, ma'am," he replied, tipping his cap first to her, then stooping down and doing the same for Beth.

With a sigh, Jackie gulped back her tears and rang Donna Pincoitti-Forman's doorbell, grateful to, at the very least, have a place to stay for the night.

As she waited for Donna to open the door and take her in, one overwhelming, overbearing thought consumed her. She was home. And tomorrow, she would, in all likelihood, see Steven.