Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. Degenerate Matter, their albums Vagabondage, Ultrarelativistic, WIMPs and MACHOs, Frozen Stars, the song "Vagabondage" and all the lyrics contained therein copyright to the author of this story (username: MistyMountainHop, maker of Those '70s Comics).

CHAPTER 15
ALCOR

August 13, 1994

Saugerties, New York

Woodstock '94
...

Degenerate Matter was halfway through its set at Woodstock's north stage. The field had become a pool of muck, and the spectators resembled squirming tadpoles. But Degenerate Matter's music had them dancing and cheering and, from all appearances, blissful in the drizzling rain.

Hyde was sidestage with Scotty, glad to be dry and clean. The same couldn't be said for the band. Before the gig, Ro had instigated a mud-wrestling match with Lee, Sherry, and Nate. She'd also tried to drag Hyde into the fight. The road crew was setting up the stage. Ro had scrambled onto it and crawled toward Hyde. Her dirty hands grasped the cuffs of his jeans, but Lee yanked her back into the mud.

On another day, Hyde would've dived in after her. But he'd taken charge of an asshole: the thick cable connected to the soundboard. One of the roadies hadn't coiled it properly for transportation, which made it a knotted mess. Fortunately, Hyde and the junior sound crew had an efficient, untangling system. He couldn't risk screwing it up by playing in the mud.

His mind was on business, not fun. Wrestling without enough gusto could've killed Ro's mood before the show. But she was in great spirits now. Her right arm flung off drying mud as she tore into her guitar. "I'm a planet, a wandering star," she sang. "Changing orbits when I feel like it."

The song was "Vagabondage," off the Degenerate Matter's first album, and the band was in badass form today. Nate attacked his drums, banging them out like Keith Moon. His percussive insanity seemed to drive Ro into a frenzy herself. She was liable to blow out her voice and break all the strings of her guitar.

Lee and Sherry, by contrast, remained grounded in the song's nuances. They played their instruments with a different kind of intensity, ordered and artful. Mud matted Sherry's hair and coated Lee's clothes, but their dirty state tamed their musicianship not a damn bit.

"I may be roving, but I'm not aimless," Ro continued to sing. "I'm what I need to be, what I need to be … and that's free!"

The song moved into the raucous chorus then transitioned into the much quieter, more emotionally intimate bridge. Hyde shut his eyes during this part. When he'd initially heard the band, back in '88, this song was in a rough form. It had reached him nonetheless, just as it was doing now.

"Am I a vagabond," Ro sang delicately, "or in bondage to the freedom I seek? Can't outrun myself."

Hyde felt a nudge to his shoulder, and Scotty said, "You okay, man?"

"Just into the song," Hyde said, but a shadow fell across his mind. He and Ro were so protective of their privacy that they'd become trapped by it. She didn't seem to mind as much as he did, but on top of all his other secrets, this one had destabilized him.

Night blanketed the field when the band's set was nearly finished. He crept away from his place sidestage and squeezed himself into the muddy crowd. Seeing Degenerate Matter from this vantage point was a rare treat, but he threw himself into the mud and slathered himself with it.

"Look at this guy," someone in the crowd said, but Hyde jumped to his feet and sneaked to the back of the stage. Security tried to stop him, but he flashed his road crew laminate. It was mostly clean due to being tucked beneath his shirt during his mud bath.

The ground backstage wasn't nearly as wet as the field. An open tent covered the area. Smaller tents from radio and TV stations were clustered near one another, and he hid himself among them.

Degenerate Matter ended its set with the emotionally pounding "Pulse As a Clock". Backstage, producers from MTV tried to wrangle the band into their interview tent. Security got between them, allowing Lee, Sherry, and Nate go straight to the Port-A-Potties. Ro, however, asked her guitar tech for a towel, and Hyde stepped out from his hiding place.

"Hey, Spark."

Ro glared at him. "Hyde?"

"Who else?"

"You look like a turd." She laughed. "You went and moshed with the kiddies?"

"Something like that." He offered his hand, and she grasped it, despite that he got mud all over her palm and fingers. "Road crew has the load-out under control. Get yourself muddied up again—" he pulled her close to his body—"and let's fuck somewhere."

She pressed her hips against him, and a smile lit her face. "Wait for me by the front of the stage."

They parted and met back up when she was thoroughly drenched in mud. They had to be unrecognizable, indistinguishable from anyone else here.

Together, they searched the field for an abandoned tent and found one closer to the south stage. Their screw was rough, quick, and dirty, but it didn't provide the emotional release he needed.

Two days later, at home in Minneapolis, Hyde and Ro fucked slower. More intimately. They looked into each other's eyes until she hit her her intimacy cap and cut him off.

He was used to her limits. He respected them and had his own limits in other areas—which she respected less. Yet he needed to be pushed, always had, to reach his potential . Ro, though, protected her boundaries fiercely. Pushing her was like pushing against a mountain and expecting it to move.

After their homecoming, she settled into the crook of his arm. They were on their bed and smoking cigarettes, an addiction he cursed himself for every goddamn day. They both smoked far too much. Especially her, considering she sang for a living. Their house stank of tar, save one room where he kept his smoke-free wardrobe and luggage. If they ever quit the habit, he'd hire a cleaning crew to rid their house of its baked-in stink.

"What're you making for dinner?" Ro said. The question was utterly domestic, but he liked it.

"I'll whip up some spaghetti," he said and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She loved his tomato-meat sauce. The recipe was Mrs. Forman's, and he'd made a batch of it a few weeks back. Frozen it away for a night like this.

"With brussels sprouts?"

He silently gagged. She also inexplicably loved that abominable vegetable, but all he had to do was put them in a pot and boil them up.

"Yeah, I'll—"

The phone rang on his nightstand. He and Ro had separate numbers, and hers was unlisted to keep their engagement secret.

He let the answering machine take the call. He and Ro finally had some down time, but a familiar voice came through the speaker: "Hi, Steven. It's Brooke. Could you call me back as—"

Hyde grabbed the phone receiver. This was Brooke's third call. She'd left two messages on the machine already, but he'd planned on calling her tomorrow.

"What's up?" he said, and Ro sat up from him. She snatched his cigarette and puffed on it herself.

"Steven, hi," Brooke said. "How are you?" She was too polite for her own good. Her voice had a telltale quiver. She was nervous and should've just said what she needed.

"Fine. Just got in from New York. What's going on?"

Ro slid off the bed and picked up her clothes from the floor. She waved goodbye at him playfully with both their cigarettes between her fingers. He didn't want her to go, but he enjoyed watching her bare ass wiggle as she left the room.

"Betsy's birthday dinner is next Sunday," Brooke said.

"At Benihana, right?"

"Yes, but..." She sighed. "There's no good way to say this. I think it would be best for Betsy if you celebrate with her separately. Michael's been working so hard lately, and—"

"Got it," he said, more tersely than he'd intended. "Family dinner's gotta be for family."

"That's not it at all. You know Betsy and I consider you part of our family, but that's the problem. Betsy's attention will be torn between you and her dad if you're there." She waited a moment before continuing. "Michael's doing really well now, and I want Betsy to feel comfortable with him. I want my mother to feel comfortable with him, and I want him to feel comfortable with us."

Hyde had no arguments. In spite of how many times Kelso had hurt her, Brooke still loved him. And Kelso worked hard to earn back her trust. Hyde couldn't deny that fact, but it didn't sit easily with him. Part of his heart screamed for Kelso's death. It always would.

Brooke had no clue that Kelso had raped Jackie. Or that Hyde had almost killed him because of it. Those truths existed in another cosmos from her and Betsy, and they had to stay that way.

"You want me to tell the kid?" he said.

"I already told her, and she threw a mini-tantrum. She really loves you."

"Feeling's mutual. So when do you want me to fly out?"

"Would the twenty-seventh work for you? Jackie's coming the week of the third."

"Yeah," Hyde said. "I'll be there."

August 27, 1994

Chicago Illinois

Hired Car
...

Jackie had hired a car service to pick her up from O'Hare Airport. It wasn't the first time. Being driven to Brooke's home in comfort was a necessary expense.

She leaned back in the car's leather seats. A pair of headphones covered her ears, and the music of Degenerate Matter kept her calm. Betsy's frantic phone call late last night had startled her. Apparently, Steven had missed her birthday due to a scheduling conflict; and Brooke rescheduled him to visit on September 3, the date of Jackie's own visit.

Jackie offered to postpone her visit until September 10, but Betsy was starting school next week. She'd planned a slumber party with her friends for that weekend. She begged Jackie to visit today, and Jackie made it happen.

Changing her flight was easy since Jackie had bought a first-class ticket. She didn't always. The cost was outrageous, but she could afford it. This time, she had to.

Her night with Rod last month was still affecting her. It left her so wholly touch-averse that she avoided walking down narrow sidewalks. Being packed like a sardine with other passengers, for hours, in a flying tin can she couldn't escape—that was a one-way ticket to Panic Attack City.

Jackie had arrived in Chicago, however, without incident, physical or emotional. The sun shone brightly in the mid-afternoon, and the drive to Brooke's neighborhood was pleasant. The driver didn't talk to her, allowing her to escape into her music. But she shut off her Discman when Brooke's luxury apartment building came into view.

Once the car was parked and the bill signed, Jackie waited on the sidewalk. The driver removed her luggage from the trunk. She paid him a generous tip, and Brooke's doorman rushed outside to earn his own tip. They knew each other by name. She knew his fellow doormen's names, too and he brought her suitcase and carry-on bag into the lobby.

He buzzed Brooke's apartment and announced Jackie's presence. Brooke must have approved because he carried Jackie's luggage to the elevator bank.

Blessedly, the elevator she rode to the eighteenth floor was empty. She wheeled her luggage to Brooke's front door and rang the doorbell. She'd wanted to speak to Brooke last night, to confirm her visit, but Betsy said Brooke was asleep. That she'd given Betsy approval for the visit. The girl was honest to a fault, like her mother, so Jackie had no reason not to believe her.

The front door's locks clicked. Jackie gripped the handle of her suitcase, and the door opened, revealing Brooke's shocked face.

"What, did my mascara run?" Jackie resisted the urge to touch her eyelashes. "It's supposed to be waterproof."

"No, your visit was scheduled for next week."

Jackie's pulse tightened. "But Betsy called me last night and said I should come this week. I rearranged my flight early this morning, which is obvious because I'm here."

Brooke turned away from her and shouted into the apartment. "Elizabeth Victoria, get out here—now!"

Betsy emerged into the living room, but she wasn't alone. Holding her hand and being dragged behind her was Steven Hyde.