Hyde woke with the pleasant warmth he carried over each Monday morning from the weekend he'd spent with Jackie. Not the whole weekend, basically just the nights, but who cared – it was Jackie in his bed, on top of him, underneath him, all around him. She was a whirlwind between the sheets, more enthusiastic than ever, shining down on him like a sun, bright and hot and burning.

She would always be gone on Sunday, but he didn't care, content with what she was able to give him, even if it was just Friday and Saturday night. Her smile, her happiness got him through the whole of Sunday and through most of Monday, and the rest of the week he still had some leftover warmth in his bones that more or less lasted him until it was Friday and anticipation got him twitchy and hopeful all day.

While it wasn't ideal, or what he'd hoped for, it was mostly enough.

And if he longed for her voice on weekday-evenings, he wouldn't admit it, and busied himself with other things so he could fall into bed and sleep and dream of her and what they would do the next weekend.

Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, he went to Kenosha to the skating-rink. Boxing at a sandbag in the gym hadn't ever given him the right kind of feeling, a bit too static for his tastes and without the right partner in the ring, he didn't like going one-on-one. In the Army, he'd only been able to really go at it with Dwayne, because, as he'd one day realized, with him he didn't mind showing everything he usually kept inside. Every other fight was exhausting in more ways than the purely physical. He'd have to be on guard, never show enough, never react to a taunt or a hit or pain. Always remember they didn't know him and shouldn't know him, always hiding what got to him and what didn't bother him. With strangers, or with people he might actually injure, he had to restrain himself and be aware the whole time.

With Dwayne, that had never been a problem, from the first moment they stepped in the ring together. Hyde wouldn't be able to say why or why him, but the fact remained that boxing or fighting in Point Place wasn't right.

So instead he went to play ice-hockey with a group of guys – and two girls – of varying ages from mid-forties to early twenties. They didn't play to win anything, there was no trainer and no training except for Oscar, a forty-something high-school-coach, who always told them to warm up properly and kicked their asses if they skipped. There was a lot of joking, a lot of shoving and yelling and some crashing others into the boards, quite a lot of illegal moves – like switching teams mid-play – and loads of fun. There was also the satisfying feeling of total exhaustion after staying on narrow steel-skids and sprinting on ice for hours that calmed his thoughts and silenced his mind.

Man, he was so fucking glad he'd found Forman's skates that day cleaning up his room. And so lucky they fit him. Eric hadn't played longer than a few months, said it was too violent for him – yeah, duh! – but Hyde had loved hockey when they'd played in school, that one year they'd had a proper coach. It was a bit different with adults. In school, most of the kids had been afraid of him and he hadn't had to work really hard.

He actually liked it better with real opposition.

Every time he came back home, Steven fell into bed and slept right until his clock woke him for work.

Work was another great way to spend time. On Wednesdays, he usually stayed longer, doing inventory and going over the new releases, thinking up ways to promote one of the school's punk-bands he'd accidentally seen play in a club one Sunday. They were fun, had smart lyrics to their hard, sharp sound and that they were all girls from Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow made it just that much cooler.

Those chicks really rocked. He only needed his father to approve of his idea, though he didn't think it would be a problem.

This week, WB was on a business-trip to New York. He'd asked if Steven wanted to come along, and he'd been tempted, so tempted! But they wouldn't be back until next Monday, and that would mean missing his Jackie-time and nope. He didn't get to see her enough to skip it, and since she hadn't yet given him a clear sign of yay or nay, he wouldn't risk it.

Maybe next time. In a few months, there was a planned trip to San Francisco, and he already knew he'd go. Steven had always wanted to see San Francisco.

So, Wednesdays were for work, for doing the nasty stuff like invoices, orders and tax-forms and he usually didn't get home until after midnight. As the boss, he slept in on Fridays, a luxury he could claim because Dave was there to open Grooves. Sometimes, when Hyde got bored, he'd come by anyway and annoy his employee by sorting the records into the wrong crates or arranging the cassettes in random orders – like age of the bassist, or shoe-size of the lead-singer. That was fun.

And whenever he found himself with too much time anyway, he did some stuff in the house. Stuff that before had been Forman's job, like sweeping the driveway and cleaning the gutter, or trimming the hedge. And stuff that was considered 'women's work'. Since he'd started talking with Donna more and more – there wasn't really anyone else he liked to talk to, except Jackie and well… – he'd come to the conclusion that the word 'women's work' was bullshit. If people – men – wanted a clean house, they should do something about cleaning it, and it wasn't really that hard to use a vacuum-cleaner every now and then. Or wash dishes or cook. It made his stomach do funny loop-de-loops whenever people praised Mrs Forman for her potato-casserole and asked her to hand out the recipe, which she never did.

He'd written it down for her, and Mrs F pretended it was hers, and he loved that she did. Because he couldn't care less about the women from church fawning over his cooking, but if she liked it so well that she'd pretend it was hers – that was the highest praise he could imagine.

So yes, he cooked and did chores and sometimes cleaned the living-room and the kitchen, and if anyone would say shit about it, he'd give them the finger. Mrs Forman went to work every day and cleaned up other people's shit – literally! She deserved to have a bit less to do at home. Man can rebel against preconceived stereotypes by walking in protests, or protest by breaking those stereotypes every day, Donna had said. He liked the idea of rebelling with a vacuum-cleaner. After using the Army as his personal rehab-center, it sat just right with him.

"Morning," he greeted the Formans, already awake and bustling about in the kitchen. Red was making coffee while Mrs Forman made bacon and eggs on the stove. The smell hit Hyde like a pile of bricks and his inner dog started to salivate. "Wow – what's the occasion? We usually get coffee and cereal on Mondays. Did I miss a holiday or something?"

"Oh no-no," Mrs Forman giggled. "At least I don't think so – Red?"

"What? Dammit, Kitty, now I have to re-count the coffee. I told you I can't do it if you distract me every second!"

Mrs Forman leaned over and murmured to Steven with a wink in her eyes. "Oh-oh, Mr Grumpypants is exceptionally grumpy today." Then, at a normal volume, "Would you set the table, Steven? I've got three free days, starting today, and I want to do something fun." She clapped her hands, and Hyde heard a grunt from the area of the coffee-machine.

"That's cool, Mrs Forman. What're your plans?"

"Red is taking me to Chicago!"

Steven nearly dropped the plate he was holding, but managed to grab it at the last second. Chicago. He could go with them – see if he maybe found Jackie. By chance. In a city of over seven-hundred-thousand people.

Right. Hyde rolled his eyes at the idiocy of that idea. "Great, have a good trip. When're you coming back?"

"Tomorrow," "Wednesday," they said at the same time and Mrs Forman turned to glare at her husband. "Red Forman, you will not take me to Chicago for only one night! I deserve two nights, at least, Mister, and you will stay with me, if I have to chain you to my wrist."

"But Kitty…"

"No buts!"

"I still have Fez's handcuffs, Mrs F – if you want them?" Steven smirked and highly enjoyed the reaction it got him.

"You keep out of it, smartmouth!"

"Oh, that's kind of you, Steven, but I think I can manage this one without them."

"Manage me? Kitty, I am not a… a business to be managed! I'm managing myself. I'm not manageable!"

"And don't I know it…"

Hyde grinned. Breakfast was a delight.