Title: Coming Home

Author: Me, duh.

Summary: Steven Hyde ran from Point Place, away from the memories, from Jackie. Now it's five years later and he's back, like it or not.

Author Note: I just started writing in this fandom, and I'm taking a little creative license with the plotlines. This starts during the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own "That 70's Show" or anything like that. I do own an awesome chocolate chip cookie recipe, though. But it's just not as fun to write about...


"All the people on the street, I hate you all.

And the people that I meet, I hate you all.

And the people that I know, I hate you all.

And the people that I don't, I hate you all."

I Hate Everyone by Get Set Go


Steven woke the next morning with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. He groaned as he forced himself to sit up. It took a full minute for his mind to get in clear, working order and for the room to come into focus.

"Shit," he swore, glancing around the room. He'd hoped the whole thing was just a weird, alcohol-induced dream. Obviously not.

At some time during the night, someone, most likely Kitty, had left a glass of water on the side table. He gulped it down quickly, ignoring the stale taste. It quenched his thirst, but did nothing for his headache.

As he was considering going back to sleep, there was a sharp knock on the door which made Steven wince. "Yeah?" he called out.

"Get up. You've got some work to do," Red answered through the door. "I want you downstairs in five minutes."

"Don't I even get a shower?" Steven called to Red's departing footsteps. Of course, there was no answer.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, watching the colors explode behind his eyelids. On a normal day, he'd be in his dark office at the back of the store, enjoying a morning drink to take the edge off of his hangover. But he doubted that was going to happen today.

He had slept in his clothes and they felt stiff and itchy. Reaching for his bag, he pulled out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He stumbled towards the bathroom, taking a moment to splash his face with ice-cold water in an attempt to wake up.

He hadn't shaved in days, and the stubble was threatening to become a full beard once more. He rubbed his face thoughtfully. Maybe he'd hunt down a razor later, but for the moment he was going to leave the facial hair. He wasn't trying to impress anyone here.

Someone had placed a toothbrush and a new tube of toothpaste beside the sink. He'd have to remember to thank Kitty later. He'd forgotten how caring she truly was. A sick feeling of guilt threatened to turn his stomach. Kitty had been good to him, and still was, even after his years away.

Sighing, he faced his mirror image. It was the same reflection that met him every morning, that had met him every morning for years. "Morning, scumbag," he muttered to himself.

Whatever. He didn't want to think anymore, not about the past and not about the present. He wanted to change his clothes, brush his teeth, and get through the day. Not a lofty goal, but attainable, even by his slacker standards.

A few minutes later, with new clothes on and clean teeth, he made his way down the stairs. He came into the kitchen, expecting Red to be waiting. Instead he found Kitty, smiling brightly at him.

"Good morning!" she trilled excitedly, moving to take his arm. "I made you a big breakfast! I know Red has a lot for you to do today, so you'll need your strength!"

She led him to the kitchen table, which was covered in food. There were scrambled eggs, a whole plate of bacon and sausage, pancakes, toast, a bowl of shredded potatoes, and a single empty plate that she sat him in front of.

"Eat up," she encouraged.

He was hungry, he decided. And it did look good. Kitty stood beside him, waiting and watching. He tossed her a quick, thankful smile and then began to fill up his plate. It had been a long time since he'd eaten a homemade breakfast.

"It's good," he assured Kitty after a few bites. She beamed in response, taking a seat beside him.

"Did you sleep well?"

Steven nodded, "Sure. Thanks for the sheets. And the toothbrush."

"Well, of course! I'm just so glad to have you home," Kitty said, patting Steven's hand. "We've missed you." After a beat, she added, "All of us, especially Eric and Donna."

He glanced up at her, into her hopeful gaze, understanding the hidden message. "I didn't come here to see Eric and Donna," he said firmly. "I'm not going to see them."

Her smile dimmed, but only slightly. "We'll see," she said simply.

Red came into the kitchen through the sliding glass door, frowning deeply as he caught sight of the young man at the table. "Enjoy your breakfast, Steven. We've got a lot to do," he said.

Steven glanced over his shoulder, meeting Red's gaze. "Whatever," he shrugged, pushing another forkful of food into his mouth.

"I'll be in the garage. Wash the dishes and then come out," Red instructed.

"Wait," Steven said, shaking his head. "Wash the dishes? Then what? Scrub the toilet?"

"Red, really," Kitty began. "I can do that! No reason to make the boy do the dishes."

"Don't act as if it's beneath you, son. Wash the dishes." Red didn't wait to hear any more complaints, just turned and walked back out the door. As he was about to close it behind him, he said over his shoulder, "We'll talk about the toilet later."

"What is his problem?" Steven growled. He angrily took a bite of sausage, glancing at Kitty. "Why is he treating me like I'm a damn kid again?"

Kitty looked uncomfortable. "Well, um," she laughed nervously. "He's just trying to help!"

"Help? He's just getting a kick out of treating me like shit, since Eric's gone."

"Don't say that!" Kitty looked distressed and Steven sighed, knowing he was causing it.

"Whatever."

Steven stood, shoving his chair back angrily. His appetite had left with Red, leaving behind only a sickening sour feeling in his stomach. He moved to the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water.

Kitty stood beside him, watching over his shoulder as he angrily scrubbed the plates. "Honey, I know you're upset, but please don't break my dishes!" she urged him.

Steven was a bit more careful as he continued, but still terribly angry.

When the last dish was drying in the dish drain, Steven turned towards her. "He's an ass. And he expects me to sit around and take his shit forever," Steven said.

"He's just..."

"No. Don't defend him." Steven held up a hand to quiet Kitty. "I don't care if he's an ass. I'm not going to be here long. And when I leave, I'm done."

"Done?" Kitty frowned.

"I won't come back again."

"Don't say that!" Kitty cried, grabbing his arm. "Steven, this is your home!"

He met her gaze steadily as he said, "I will always appreciate what you've done for me, how much you cared for me. But I'm not a little boy anymore and this isn't my home."

Kitty's eyes filled with tears, but she swallowed them back. "I'm very sorry you feel that way, Steven. But you've still got a lot to learn." Without another word, she quickly walked away, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

He felt guilty for saying things that hurt her, but the truth was he felt antsy and uneasy with every passing moment in the Forman house. Once, it had felt like home. But he had said his goodbyes a long time ago and he hadn't ever planned on coming back.

If he could just talk to WB, convince him that things would be better if he let him come back. He could save up some money and then take off before WB played another 'daddy' stunt. Maybe head out to New York. Or go the other way entirely, out to California. Or maybe just drive until he felt like stopping. Whatever got him out from underneath everyone's thumb and on his own.

Steven was debating picking up the phone and dialing the record store's phone number when Red came back in. "Are you coming or what?" Red asked.

"Yeah, whatever," Steven shrugged, casting one last glance at the phone.

He followed Red into the garage. "The yard needs to be raked," Red said, handing the younger man a rake.

Steven gritted his teeth as he took the tool, holding back a wave of anger. Another stupid chore.

Twenty minutes later, there was a moderate pile of leaves growing beside the trashcan and a thick layer of the leaves still covering the ground. Red leaned against the wall, watching Steven work.

"I'm sick of this!" Steven cried suddenly, throwing the rake to the ground. "What is this suppose to teach me? Obedience?"

"Keep raking," Red ordered, straightening up to face the younger man.

"No!"

"Pick up the rake, Steven."

"Not until you answer me. What good does this do me? Raking damn leaves! Is this how I grow-up?" he sneered. Feeling petulant, he kicked the pile of leaves, watching them scatter across the grass.

"No, this isn't how you grow-up," Red shook his head. "This is how you keep busy and keep out of trouble. And it needs to be done. So pick up the rake."

They stared at each other for a moment. Steven's gaze was angry, but Red met it with a calm, even look. If it had been anyone else, Steven would have hit the other man long ago. But this was Red Forman, and that still meant something to him.

"Fine," Steven groaned, bending to pick up the fallen rake. "I'll do your damn chores."

"That's fine."

Steven was angry as he gripped the rake, moving it in short, hard bursts, but he was going to finish the job. Red watched him without a word, arms crossed in front of him. It was going to be a long day.