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

CHAPTER 38
RECLAMATION

January 21, 1995

Point Place, Wisconsin

The Formans' House

…

Hyde and Ro had separated. Not because they'd ended their engagement, far from it, but to create a diversion. Every newspaper, magazine, and TV station seemed to want a piece of them. For two weeks, the photo Come On Magazine had published popped up everywhere: in other tabloids, on MTV and VH1, even on network television news reports. All with fake-as-hell stories. That was the only good part about it. No one who actually knew anything was blabbing.

Yet.

Hyde was used to having time away from Ro, but two weeks never felt so long. The publicity department at Grooves Records fielded time-wasting phone calls while he and Ro stashed themselves in different states, as if they were on the run from the Terminator. He'd taken cover in Wisconsin while she hid in Ohio. Finally, though, they rendezvoused at the Formans' house, arriving within an hour of each other.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Mrs. Forman said in the living room. She was sitting with Red on the sectional couch, her hand pressed against her heart. Hyde glanced back at Ro, who was seated in Red's armchair. She'd kept her mouth shut, allowing Hyde to take the lead. The introductions had gone tersely, but at least they'd happened.

"The less you know, the safer you are," Hyde said. Gravity was pulling at him, stretching his mind in every direction possible. He should've been stumbling around like an idiot, like a drunk, but he remained standing. Remained sober. "They're going to find you both here. Or at the Piggly Wiggly. Or wherever. They'll say they're legit reporters, ask you a boat-load of questions about me and Ro. And they're going to offer you a lot of money to answer 'em."

"And we'll tell those bastards to go to hell," Red said.

Ro kicked the back of Hyde's calf lightly. He turned around and found her smiling. "I like him."

It was her first real moment of presence, but he knew better than to drop his guard. She was furious the photo of them had gotten out. He'd taken full responsibility for it; Betsy's name was nowhere in his explanation. He still hoped to make a meeting between Ro and the kid happen, but it wouldn't if Ro blamed her.

"What'd I tell you?" Hyde said, with a mild tone of triumph. Ro had avoided meeting most of his family for years. Of course, he would've preferred different circumstances. This wasn't the encounter he'd envisioned. Mrs. Forman had begun to cry and not out of happiness.

"I would never say anything to a reporter," she said. "Steven, I'm as good as your mother—no, I'm better than the mother you had. Much, much better." She pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table. "I don't understand why both my boys had to keep their engagements secret."

Red rubbed her back. "Kitty..."

"Mrs. Forman, it's not you, all right?" Hyde's fingers twitched. A pack of gum was in his left jeans pocket, a pack of cigarettes in his right. He'd have to go outside soon, have a smoke, but gravity was inescapable, even in outer space. "My life's what it is, and I've got to work around it."

Mrs. Forman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Are we going to be invited to the wedding, at least?"

"That was always the plan," Hyde said.

She seemed comforted by that. She patted Red's knee and stood up. "I have an engagement dinner to make." She hurried toward the kitchen, but she stopped at the door and pointed at Hyde and Ro. "Don't you dare elope before I'm finished."

Dinner went better than the introductions. Ro was taken in by Mrs. Forman's cooking and Red's grumpy but badass attitude. Afterward, Hyde and Ro holed themselves up in the basement. It was their first time alone since Come On's article about them, since their New Year's trip to Switzerland.

Ro dragged her hand over the wall's painted stone bricks. Robin's egg blue wouldn't have been Hyde's first choice. He liked the walls the way they'd been, gray and natural, but this wasn't his home anymore.

"I grew up here," he said, sitting on the futon.

"What this place mean to you now?"

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. She was hopeless. "It means we finally got ourselves some damn privacy."

"That we do." She approached him and grasped his shoulders. "So, love, are we talking or fucking?"

"Think we've got to reconnect first."

"Fucking it is." She unbuttoned the fly of his jeans, but he stopped her from going further. "What?"

"You know what."

She dropped beside him onto the futon. "Hell." Her fingers combed through her short and spiky black hair and reached into her jeans' pocket. "Can we smoke down here?"

"Nope."

"Hell."

He slid his arm around her shoulders, but she was stiff beneath him. "Got a lot to decide in the next few weeks."

"Not discussing it without the rest of the band."

"Even our personal shit?" Degenerate Matter had a meeting next week, not in their rehearsal space. Media would swarm it if they were tipped off. So they'd be meeting at Dawn's house. Her home address hadn't been leaked. Tabloids didn't care about band managers, not unless they had blood to spill.

"Our personal shit can't be separated from the band," Ro said.

He drummed his fingers on her upper arm. "Sure it can."

"I asked you for another year." She wasn't looking at him, but she didn't shrug off his arm, either. "You 'accidentally' left that picture lying around somewhere—"

"It fell out of my freakin' wallet."

"Mm-hmm."

She didn't believe him, and although he was lying, it wasn't about what she thought. "You still want to do this?" he said.

"Do what?"

He squeezed her shoulders in a sideways hug. "Us."

She turned toward him. His arm slipped off her, and she grabbed his shirt with both hands. "Don't be an asshole."

"You just met my first true set of folks, Spark. You're in the place that fuckin' saved my life, and you've got nothing to say about it? "

"Don't deflect." Her fists yanked the fabric of his shirt. "Don't try to make our fight about something irrelevant."

"It's all goddamn relevant!" He pulled free of her grasp and stood up. The force of his voice had startled him, and he backed away from the futon. From her. "I'm keeping crap from you I shouldn't have to, man. You're the one person I've got to be able to tell anything—"

She shoved herself off the futon but didn't advance on him. "You can."

"Bullshit." Secrets had invaded his life like termites, gnawing at his foundation, weakening his overall structure. Ro continually tried to move him into another house, but the termites came with him. "You cut me off whenever the I try to tell you. And there are tabloids—strangers—out there who'll know more about me than you do."

"No, that's bullshit." She stepped toward him but came no further. "There's no one who knows better than me how terrified you are. You're afraid you're going to let loose that anger of yours and hurt someone."

His skin hardened over his body, like wood petrifying. She saw him. Regardless of how much he hid, she saw him for what he was. Her insight was how she'd initially drawn him in. She read him without the stories, without the details of his past.

"I'm honored I'm so good at pissing you off." She took another step toward him. "It means you trust me enough to show your truth."

"That's not all I am." He barely heard himself say it, but her next move confirmed he'd spoken. She was close to him now, and she cradled the side of his face.

"Then show me what else you are," she said. "Use words if you have to, but show me."

His pulse throbbed painfully through his veins. Continuing the way he had, the way they had, wouldn't work. Their new situation with the media was proof, as was the scar on his left arm. "I gave Betsy that photo," he said. "She left her purse lying around at a party, and someone swiped the photo."

"And you question my no-child policy."

Her palm fell from his cheek and skimmed his neck. She must've felt how fast his heart was beating, but he'd given her too much power in their relationship. If he didn't reclaim his portion, whatever good they had would implode.

"I hate one-sided relationships," she said, and her hand dropped from his neck to his chest. "I see the trail I made, blocking myself from other parts of your life. Thought I could keep you for myself that way. Wouldn't lose you to stories or anything else. But if I'd listened—" she slapped her palm against his heart—"I should've listened."

"Ro." He covered her hand with his. He waited for her to wriggle free, but she left her hand on his chest and beneath his palm.

"Could've made an exception for her, your girl. Had her over for the weekend. Let her see us in three dimensions rather than two." She inhaled a few slow breaths before continuing. "No need for you to give her that photo, then. No party. No theft. No fucking Come On Magazine." She shut her eyes, appearing more vulnerable than he'd ever witnessed. "I led us here."

"Uh-uh." He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her knuckles. "We got to the same destination on different roads."

"So what do we do?"

"Only way is forward, far as I'm concerned. With or without each other."

She removed her hand from him but not violently. It remained by his mouth, and her thumb ran over his lips. "I vote for with." She rolled her left sleeve up from her wrist. Her old hesitation marks were silvery but visible. "I sliced into you. I see the blade in my hands, just hacking away. If I could stop cutting into myself, I can stop cutting you off."

"All I needed to hear." His skin softened back into flesh, but another part of him hardened. "Now we can fuck."

"Wait a second now." She tugged him toward where his old room used to be. "Aren't you going to give me a tour? If this place saved your life, I want to know every single detail. Who manufactured the bricks? Who laid them? What kind of cement was used?"

"Smart-ass," he said, and—as if that were an invitation—she pushed him back toward the futon and unzipped his fly.

January 24, 1995

Oshkosh, Wisconsin

Eric and Donna's House

...

Jackie's fingers hovered over the keypad of Donna and Eric's phone. ""I'm not ready. ... I need to breathe."

"Breathe all you need," Donna said. She was sitting next to Jackie on the living room sofa. Sunrays shone through the pair of casement windows above, making Donna's hair appear to be on fire. "If you need to scream, you can do that, too. Eric's at work. Izzy's in nursery school. The walls are thick."

Jackie hung up the phone. "I might end up screaming during the phone call."

"Totally understandable. You know, I'm really glad you took my offer."

"Me, too." She was also glad Donna was still her friend. An actual friend. The last two weeks had been full of taking back control. Her therapist had done the emotional work with her. In terms of real-world action, she'd done a lot on her own. Donna had helped with some of it, though, and this last part she suggested Jackie not do alone.

Jackie had begun with the Blonde Brigade, with Deborah specifically. Playing on Deborah's ego was the easiest method. Through careful baiting, Jackie discovered the source of her so-called friends' demands. Their belief in her connection to Steven had come directly from Jackie's mother.

Pam's flakiness was a calculated act, and Jackie should've realized it much sooner. "Never let anyone know just quite what you know," she used to say. She'd paid attention to all of Jackie's romantic relationships since high school. And despite her game of pretend amnesia, she'd always remembered Jackie and Steven's near-engagement.

So Jackie adopted the same strategy with the Blonde Brigade. She didn't let any of its members know just quite what she knew.

"Steven's coming to my birthday," she'd told all the women individually. "It's a few days after the GRAMMYs, and he'll be flying in."

Ann-Marie was the most savvy of the group, and she'd questioned Jackie closely.

Jackie was prepared. She hadn't had much contact with Steven since their time in Michigan. They'd spoken once, briefly, about a week ago. But her plan had already been conceived. She made a request of him, to leave a message on her answering machine consisting only of this: "Jackie, March third—yeah, I'll be there."

The message was vague enough that he didn't balk. It could be interpreted as a meeting he had to go to or a gig or any event she needed confirmation for. She'd shared the message's purpose with him, that it was to get the Blonde Brigade off her back. He was all in support of that, but he didn't ask about March third's significance. Her birthday was a date that must've fallen through fifteen years of cracks.

Ann-Marie, however, was all over it. "I'll throw you the most lavish birthday bash since mine," she'd said. "We'll have it at the Wintry: San Francisco, Financial District. The Grand Avenue Ballroom. No fee—if you can ensure Steven Hyde will be there."

"You heard the message," Jackie said. "You print up the invitations, and I'll send him one."

"I can send it to him myself, darling."

"Unfortunately, you can't. I'm one of the rare few who knows where he'll be at any given moment, and that's information I won't divulge."

"Of course."

Ann-Marie had exceeded Jackie's expectations, giving her the perfect platform to burn the Blonde Brigade and her membership in it. She'd likely have to move from Foster City, but she was done fading away quietly. This time, she'd disappear in an explosion of fireworks.

"What's that?" Donna said now. Jackie had pulled from her purse Ryōkan Taigu's book of Zen poetry. His words were seeds that blossomed into a sense of peace inside her, as if she didn't have to apologize for existing. The feeling always wilted, but she savored what she could.

"A Christmas gift from Steven," she said. "It's calming." She picked up the phone receiver again after reading a few poems. "Okay, I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Donna raised her fist in solidarity. "Go for it."

Jackie punched in the phone number, but she misdialed and got a recorded operator message.

"Do they have to make that warning beep-beep-beep so loud?" Jackie said. "Not everyone who uses the phone is a senile old deaf person who refuses to use a hearing aid out of denial."

Donna laughed, hard enough that her face flushed. "Wow. Haven't heard a burn like that from you in ages."

"I'm stressed, Donna. My anxiety has to go somewhere. And there are no senile old deaf people in the room who'd be insulted—" Jackie mock-gasped—"unless you've been hiding your age all this time! Who's your plastic surgeon? Your face looks fifty years younger than it actually is. "

"Shut up and dial!" Donna continued to laugh, and Jackie had to fight the giggles herself. For a moment she was sixteen again, not quite carefree but unburdened by history.

"Fine, I'm dialing," she said and pushed the numbers more mindfully. The phone rang in her ear, and her mom's trilling voice answered, but Jackie pretended that she didn't recognize it. "Hi, is my mom—oh, I mean, is my sister available to talk? It's Jackie Burkhart."

"Jackie," her mom said in a warning tone, "you know very well I picked up."

"This time." Jackie's heart slammed against her ribs. She laid her first trap. "There's always a chance I might call when my stepfather—I mean, my brother-in-law—picks up instead."

"And you'll show discretion, as always."

"I'll do as you taught me." Jackie glanced at Donna, who was watching her intently. Jackie pressed the privacy button the phone, which muted her voice to her mom, and mouthed, "So far, so good."

She pressed the privacy button again. "I sent you an invitation to my birthday party yesterday, Pam. It should get to you in a few days."

"Oh, Ann-Marie filled me in on all the details!" Her mom's attitude had flipped, from menacing to exuberant, a switch Jackie was well-acquainted with. "Ecliptic's been booked for the event, and they're very much looking forward to meeting Steven. You really have made the right decision, honey."

Jackie clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to speak.

"Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

She shook her head, but her mom couldn't see it. "Uh-uh," she said through her fingers.

"Excellent. Perhaps you'll spend the weekend here sometime in February?"

"Mm." She had no intention of spending any more weekends at her mom's.

"Ta-ta, then."

Jackie hung up the phone and stared at Donna. "What?" Donna said. "What happened?"

Jackie was shaking. Too much energy was coursing through her, and the sofa offered no shielding "Could I..." She inhaled deeply for strength. "Could I have a hug?"

Donna flinched like that request had broken the sound barrier. Jackie's body had been off-limits long before she and Donna reconciled in the fall of 1987. She probably never expected to hug Jackie again.

"I'd—yeah! Definitely." Donna scooted closer to Jackie on the sofa and opened her arms. Jackie entered the embrace hesitantly, but Donna's large hands were familiar on her back, comforting.

"My mom arranged the band already," Jackie said into Donna's shoulder. "Ecliptic's going to play at the party. I didn't have to prompt her. She took it upon herself."

"Efficient."

"Exactly. She has a hyper-attuned sense of survival. Staying several steps ahead, anticipating what she might need and putting pieces in place."

"Kind of like you used to do," Donna said and adjusted her grip on Jackie's back. "What you're starting to do again."

"This is a one-time thing." Jackie wouldn't become her mom. The very idea tightened her throat, but she was less shaky and left the embrace. "Thank you."

"Any time." Donna gave her one of the warmest, most genuine smiles Jackie had seen in a while, and she emblazoned it onto her memory. "So," Donna said, "how do you think everyone's going to react when Hyde doesn't show?"

"Horribly. My reputation will be destroyed, but it's not like I have a career in California … or anywhere else."

Donna rifled through some newspapers on the coffee table. "That can change."

"I'm not looking through the Want Ads."

"No, it's my second article for The Milwaukee Journal. It happened, Jackie. I got a year-long, non-exclusive contract with them, and the phone's starting to ring like it used to."

"Oh, my God, that's great!" Jackie hugged Donna again, briefly, and joy spiraled in her chest as she read through the article. Donna had reviewed the Nine Inch Nails concert at the MECCA Arena. Her words captured both the spirit of the band and the fans. No part of the article was trashy or exploitative. "This is amazing! People should aspire to write like you."

Donna cheeks went pink. "Please."

"I mean it." Jackie passed the newspaper back to her." There are too many hacks out there, writing about everything but the music."

"You don't have to tell me." Donna folded the newspaper neatly. "It's all about making a quick buck instead of creating a worthwhile piece of rock journalism. Going freelance was the best decision I ever made career-wise." She gestured to Jackie's book of Zen poetry. It lay on the coffee table. "May I?"

Jackie nodded her consent and closed her eyes while Donna read a poem aloud.

"This is so Hyde," Donna said afterward

"I know."

Donna read another poem, titled "Too Lazy To Be Ambitious". It was one of Steven's favorites, and it had become one of Jackie's, too. "I can see Hyde's struggle in his lyrics," Donna said, "to get to this place."

"He told you?" Jackie said. Come On Magazine had gotten only one fact about Steven absolutely right, that he was O. MacNeil. She hadn't known if he'd confirmed it to their friends, but apparently he had.

"Yes," Donna said. "He stayed here last week. Eric and I threw out all our wine and beer, just in case. Hyde realized what we'd done, though, and reimbursed us." She peered up at the casement windows. "I hope he gets through this."

"He will."

"He's already given up so much." Donna's gaze returned to Jackie, sharply. "So have you."

Jackie blinked rapidly, an attempt to thin her emotions. "What are you talking about?"

"You had so many dreams, Jackie. What do you dream of now?"

She had no answer to that question, but the phone rang, killing what would've been awkward silence. Donna waited until the third ring to pick it up. "Hey!" Donna said a moment later, grinning. "We were just talking about you. … Me and Jackie. ... Yeah, she's here. We've gotten the band back together … Okay, lame joke. … Sure. Hold on."

She passed the phone to Jackie and said, "It's Hyde."

"Steven?" Jackie said into the receiver.

"Hey. How you holdin' up?"

"Well enough." She clutched the book of Zen poetry to her chest. "How about you?"

"Bad enough." His voice sounded scratchy, like he'd smoked too many cigarettes. "Havin' to outrun imprisonment, man. This is the kind of shit I used to rant about in the circle."

"Filled your nightmares, too."

"You remember that, huh?"

She couldn't forget it. Lying next to him on his cot while he fought anxiety in his sleep. Soothing him once he woke. "My therapist taught me a technique for dealing with bad dreams," she said. "You go back through them while awake and take control. That way, you can change what happened. It helps."

"This ain't a dream." His voice clogged up, and he coughed away from the phone. "Real life's a lot harder to fix."

"But the concept's the same. After my dad was released from prison, the media swarmed. But he wouldn't let them reimprison him. He held press conferences on his own terms. Gave interviews to the papers that would consider his side fairly."

"Did it help or just stitch up wounds with cobwebs?" An extended hiss came through the receiver. Then static crackled into Jackie's ear.

"Steven?"

"Blew smoke into the phone. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Every fuckin' newspaper, magazine, and TV station is hunting me, Ro, and the band like we're prey. And we are. Band could break up over this—"

"No." Jackie's palm hurt. She was clutching the poetry book too hard. "Take control. Give an extended interview—or a series of them—but reveal only what Degenerate Matter wants to. Govern the flow of information. Eventually, the public will be satisfied. Maybe even saturated. Your privacy will be intact because there's no money to be made off it anymore."

He didn't answer. He was obviously smoking and, she hoped, thinking. Donna gave her a questioning look as the seconds passed, but he finally responded. "No reporter I'd trust to do that with."

"Oh, Steven, you are so incredibly wrong." She patted Donna's knee. "I'm sitting with your reporter right now."