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, the songs "Keystone," "Against," and all the lyrics contained therein copyright to the author of this story (username: MistyMountainHop, maker of Those '70s Comics).

CHAPTER 45
QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENT

March 13, 1995

Sydney, Australia

Sydney Rose Bay VIP Parking Garage
…

Hyde gave in.

Degenerate Matter had a three-hour drive ahead of them, from Sydney on the east coast of Australia to the country's capital city of Canberra. Hyde stood on the doorless side of the band's tour bus, inhaling poison into his lungs. Cigarettes were an evil his sanity deemed necessary. Or they were his method of self-punishment, for judging Scotty unfairly at both ends. For not caring more about the woman Scotty had hurt before learning she was Jackie.

Pete, Degenerate Matter's tour manager, had secured this VIP parking garage in Sydney Rose Bay for the band. The road crew was already onto the next tour stop, leaving yesterday to check out the venue. Hyde had successfully avoided Scotty, and Scotty had stayed out of his face. But with all the CONDEMNED signs nailed to his relationships, losing this one hit him hard. Worse than he'd expected.

Any friend of his who didn't know Kelso had a special cachet. Brooke and Betsy, the Formans and Jackie—the moment Kelso's near-murderer lost his anonymity, Hyde would become a treacherous madman in their eyes. He'd banked on Scotty being around when the bulldozer rolled in, but that was a no-go. Scotty's violence had become personal. It should've mattered all along, but Hyde had been blinded by unconscious desperation.

He dropped his cigarette butt on the pavement and stamped it out. His body craved another, but putting his mouth around a tailpipe would be more efficient. He surveyed the parking garage for a suitable candidate, but Lee swaggered up to him and mimed taking a drag. "Got a spare?"

Lee was the second-to-last person Hyde needed to see. The smell of smoke must've lured him. Hyde removed his almost empty pack from his jeans, and Lee plucked a cigarette from it.

"Need a light?" Hyde said.

Lee signaled no, but his waist-length hair got in the way. He pushed it aside and lit the cigarette himself with a match. "So—" he sucked in smoke and blew it out with a grin—"Scotty fucked your girl, and you're fucking mine. Funny how life works, huh?"

Hyde arched up an eyebrow. Lee's statement had revealed two important pieces of intel. First, Lee was still in love with Ro, but Hyde had suspected that fact for a while. Second, Scotty was sharing Hyde's business.

"Don't care if he fucked her," Hyde said. "He fucked her over."

"Scotty wants to talk about it," Lee said.

"Would you be talkin' to me if I'd busted up Ro?"

"Not with words."

Hyde pulled the last cigarette from his pack and stuck it in his mouth. "How the hell do you tolerate my presence all the time?"

"For Ro."

Hyde nodded and lit the cigarette with his Zippo. The smoke burned his already-scorched throat, inspiring a vision of tossing the cigarette to the ground. He didn't act on it. Ro preferred him as a smoker, though not the kind he was when pissed off.

"I'd do anything for her," Lee went on. "You better remember that."

"You think you're the only one?" Hyde said, and Lee's derisive laugh gave him the answer. "Yeah, well, you don't know shit." To stay with Ro, he'd sliced his life into disconnected pieces. In return, he got a direct line to her thermal nuclear fusion. She'd reignited his core, but it had yet to sustain itself.

"Yeah … I don't know shit." A typical Lee provocation, but as tense as Hyde was, he only took an extra-long drag off his cigarette and coughed. "I stick around, despite your ass infesting everything I love." Lee waved his own cigarette at Hyde. "What're you willing to sacrifice?"

"You're lookin' for me to screw up." Hyde stared straight into Lee's eyes. "And maybe I will. Maybe I won't. But whatever happens, it'll be between me and her."

Lee dropped his smoke and mashed it with his boot. "Only started being between you and her when you got engaged."

Hyde laughed now, phlegmy, and he dropped his cigarette, too. "You two fuckin' each other back then wasn't a secret. That was her deal, and I accepted it. Same as you accepted my 'infestation,' but she closed that door, man. You've got no clue what goes on behind it."

"Closed doors can be opened again," Lee said, "but I don't have to tell you that."

He turned his back on Hyde. Strands of his black, dead-straight hair flew out behind him as he strode to the other side of the tour bus, and Hyde flipped him off.

Hyde preferred outdoor arenas like Canberra Stadium. Sitting in the band's family-and-friends section onstage, behind the sound monitors and amps, meant he got a view of the open sky. The temperature was a cool sixty-four degrees. The Canberra crowd loved Degenerate Matter, and the band loved the crowd back. Ro climbed the lighting truss during "Because I'm A Girl" and dived into the pit during Lee's solo for "Point of No Return".

After the first set, though, Ro pulled Hyde behind the curtain that served as the stage's backdrop. They had relative privacy here. Most of the crew was in front of the curtain, and the rest of the band had gone to the greenroom. Ro was sweaty and draped her arms around Hyde's neck.

"The crowd's one of the best we've had," she said. "You've got to come out tonight, love."

He planted a hand on her damp back. "Still too pissed to do 'Spark' justice."

"Then sing something else. We'll back whatever you want to do."

His first impulse was to refuse, but he couldn't deny her any longer. She needed him to share this experience with her, to understand how she felt giving and receiving all that energy to and from so many people. It would connect him in a profound way, she'd claimed, to himself and the crowd … and to her.

Hyde stuck out his tongue and pulled funny faces while making even funnier sounds. He'd stashed himself in the greenroom during the band's first encore. Did vocal exercises while feeling like a fool. The greenroom door swung open as he hummed in E-minor, and Scotty entered before Hyde could shut himself up.

"Hyde—" Scotty closed the door, and Hyde backed away from him. "Look, man, we have to hash this out."

"No, you've got to do your damn job." Hyde's voice was low. He wouldn't raise it, wouldn't start a fight no one could win. "Band's fuckin' playing. Get back to the bunker."

"Lee's gear is taken care of. Rick's covering me. We've got to take care of our shit." Scotty brushed his hand over his short hair and inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry."

"Apologizing to me is pointless." Hyde pressed his hip against an armchair. He had to ground himself, to remember who he'd become. "You hurt the hell out of someone I love. Not sayin' that out of self-righteousness 'cause I got no right to be sanctimonious. But when I look at you, all I see is what you did to her."

Scotty nodded as if he understood, but then he said, "My relationship with her was complicated. My head wasn't right then. Hers wasn't much better. Doesn't justify what I did in the end, but—"

"Yeah," Hyde said, "you better stop 'explaining'." Because the more Scotty said, the less in control Hyde felt.

"Let me ask you this one thing," Scotty said. "Then I'll stay the hell away from you." It was a last request, and Hyde obliged. "Did Jackie—did she let you touch her? What I mean is, was she okay with you touching her?"

"I didn't give her a reason not to be."

Scotty's lips twitched, but if Hyde's answer wasn't satisfactory, that was Scotty's problem.

"Thanks," Scotty said, "for giving me a few minutes. Again, I'm sorry. Guess us being friends was doomed from the get-go."

He left the greenroom, and Hyde resumed his vocal exercises. Pressure was building up in him. It clutched at his bones like prison bars, demanding release. But he contained it, letting it vibrate in his bloodstream.

The band found him pacing when it returned to the greenroom. The first encore was done. Sherry, Nate, and Lee grabbed drinks from the fridge. Lee tossed Ro a Coke, but Ro tossed it to Hyde, who fumbled the catch.

The can fell to the ground and rolled by Ro's feet. "You should've caught that," she said and picked up the can. "What's wrong?"

"Won't know what to do with my hands without a guitar," Hyde said. It was a truth but not the truth. The song he'd chosen to sing had no guitar part for him.

"Just don't flail your arms, and you'll be fine." She passed him the can of Coke. "Open this?"

She was being playful, trying to relieve his tension. He appreciated it, but he needed more than being sprayed by agitated Coke. Once he was onstage and singing, she'd probably realize how messed up his head actually was. And she wouldn't like it.

Hyde stayed in the darkness sidestage. The crowd cheered for Degenerate Matter's return, and when it quieted down, Ro said, "We're gonna do something we haven't done before."

The crowd roared its approval, and Hyde's palms began to sweat. He wiped them on his jeans. Twenty-thousand people were in the stadium, but his thoughts were for one who wasn't.

"Ladies and gentleman," Ro said, "O. MacNeil—otherwise known as Steven fucking Hyde!"

He dashed onstage, waving to the crowd without looking at it, and the crowd greeted him with a blast of screams, whistles, and shouts. The band's official photographer, Marty Luckner, snapped pictures. Camera flashes from the press and crowd lit the stage, too. How many of those photos would end up in tabloids, Hyde couldn't guess.

He reached Ro's microphone stand, and Ro kissed his temple before moving aside with her guitar.

"Evening," Hyde said into the mic. The crowd answered with another blast of vocal energy. He tried to take it in, but his own energy left no room.

Ro played the opening riff of "Keystone," and he gripped the mic stand to keep himself upright. His eyes shut as an image of Jackie entered his mind. She was in her house at Foster City, huddled on the floor of her living room. Blood poured from her nose, and her skin resembled a burn victim's.

"I left my home with the doors unlocked," he sang with a growl. "You sneaked inside and vandalized the place, splintered the furniture, smeared shit on the walls."

By the end of the first chorus, his emotions and the music were indistinguishable from each other. The band didn't go into the second verse but transitioned into a new song, "Against". The guitars were sludgy, dancing around the serpentine rhythm of the drums and bass. Hyde had written a draft of the lyrics a few days ago.

"Faced with violence," he sang from memory, "violence grows. Won't stand by and let you kill yourself." He glanced at the stars glittering above the stadium. "Faced with violence, you shut down. Won't stand by while we both disappear."

The band smashed him into the chorus, and he shouted more than sang, "I'm against! I'm against … your descent. Your dissent!" Then, mostly to himself, he said quietly, "You're decent."

He went through the verse and chorus again, and he hid himself in the shadows as the band took over. Ro supported Lee musically during his solo, playing both harmonious and discordant chords. Sherry's bassline energized the rhythm with some funk, and Nate's drums crashed all around.

Eventually, Hyde returned to the mic and sang, "It happens again, again, again, again, again … st." Then he slunk back into the shadows until the main riff started up. His hands balled into fists. They pushed into his hips, and his voice forced out his emotions. "Faced with violence, we can grow..."

After the song's last chord, Ro reclaimed the mic. "Just a little something we've been working on," she said and exhorted the crowd to show its appreciation, but Hyde bolted offstage before he could receive it.

He spent the rest of the second encore in the greenroom, sitting on the sofa and shaking. He'd let out too much; his thoughts were chaos. Contradictory ideas sickened his stomach, but he shoved them aside when Ro entered the room. She was alone and draped herself over his lap. Her sweat and body heat were welcome sensations.

"You were born to sing," she whispered in his ear. Her fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt, and her knuckles pressed into his chest. "I want what you gave the crowd."

Sherry's laughter trilled outside the door. Two of her friends had come to the show, and they were probably getting the backstage tour.

Hyde patted Ro's butt, and they got off the sofa together. He took her hand and gripped it hard, an attempt to keep his shakes from her. "Does the women's bathroom have a lock?" he said.

Donna pushed open the door before Ro could answer. Sherry and her friends were behind her. "That was an incredible show!" Donna said. She plucked a small notebook from her pocket. "Fans are going to be trading bootlegs of this one."

"And some greedy bootlegger'll press it onto double CDs, sell it to indie record stores for twenty bucks a pop. Then the stores'll hike up the price at least double." Hyde scratched the nape of his neck, but his hair was damp from sweat, and his fingers caught in it. "Anyway, me and Ro have to do our own postmortem before you can do yours."

He pulled Ro past Donna, Sherry, and Sherry's friends. Out in the tunnel, they darted past Lee, Nate, and a few arena workers, and locked themselves in the women's bathroom.

Less than a minute later, they were fucking against the tiled wall. No condom, but Hyde wasn't worried about it. They'd already gotten over that hurdle, and he grunted into her shoulder with most of his thrusts. It was the only way to keep his words inside. He loved her, didn't want to lose her, but he was losing himself.

"Having quickies in a bathroom is convenient," she said after they both finished. She was washing her hands in the sink. "Clean-up is a cinch."

He stood behind her at a distance, and he watched her reflection in the mirror. "I've got to leave the tour."

She turned around, and water droplets flew off her hands. "Only five shows are left."

"Doesn't matter. I can't process shit here."

"Scotty," she said, taking on Lee's habitual sneer. Then her face went blank, and her voice lost all affect. "Jackie."

"Me, Spark. Me." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. The rest of his fingers went into his jeans pockets to hide their fidgets. Ro liked to read his body language, had a habit of inferring more from it than what was safe. "Band's got a recording session tomorrow," he said. "You don't need my crap-mood bringing it down."

"What I need is for you to love me enough to stay."

"I can't stay the way you're askin'. If you want me in the long-term, you've got to let me go for now."

She stepped up to him and yanked the belt loop closest to his fly. "Don't give up your present for your past."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"You sure about that, blue eyes?" She was threatening him. He didn't like it, but her threats stemmed from fear.

He pulled her hand off his jeans and laid it flat on his chest. "Shutting off how I fuckin' feel has too many consequences. I'm not going back there."

"Shutting off is the last thing I want you to do. But your emotional energy's being expended where it doesn't belong."

"Think it belongs here." He slid his hand over hers and pushed them both into his speeding heart. "That's where I'm expending my energy."

"Mm-hmm."

"Look, I get it. You see this sitch with Scotty as a 'story,' but it's alive, man. It's still playing out."

"On who? You or her?"

He let her hand drop from his chest. "I've got to deal with this my way."

"Your way led to your slow suicide, love." She gestured to herself. "My way brought you here."

"Won't be held hostage. If I leave, and you're done with me, then you're done with me."

He headed for the bathroom door, intending to unlock it, but he stopped short when Ro said, "And how would you deal with that? With me being done with you?"

"It'd be like cutting open my jugular." He grasped the doorknob. Turning it would open the lock, but he caught Ro's reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her expression was softening. "You trying to control me feels the fuckin' same."

"Do what you want."

So much for softening. He unlocked the door but didn't open it. He'd been manipulated enough by people he loved. Acted against his own self-interest to keep them in his life. But by doing right by himself, he'd be doing right by both of them. She should have recognized that.

"Holy hell—" his hand slipped from the doorknob—"you don't trust me."

No answer, but her lack of a response was as good as a confirmation.

"I don't get why..." An accusation scratched at his throat, that she trusted Lee, had told him what she should've been telling Hyde. But if he voiced that charge, he'd be repeating his past. He'd drive her straight to Lee or, at least, away from himself. "Hard to understand much of anything, considering you don't let me in on the workings of your skull."

He approached her and laid his hands on her shoulders. His touch was light, and she didn't shrug him off. "But I trust you," he said, "and I'll keep on doin' that while I'm gone."

He moved in for a kiss, but her lips were stone. She didn't follow him out of the bathroom either, and on the tour bus he packed his stuff alone. The band was going to Melbourne tonight, a seven-hour drive. But the bus would make a fifteen-minute detour to Canberra Airport, where he'd book a flight to Sydney and a connecting one to the States.

He waited for Ro in the rear bunk, but she spent their remaining minutes up front. The bus parked in the airport's drop-off zone. He shouldered his duffel bag and held onto his guitar case while Donna, Sherry, and Nate said friendly and somewhat-concerned goodbyes. Even Lee gave him a cursory wave, but Ro ignored him.

"Ro," he said before leaving the bus, "buin mo chridhe dhuit."

Ro angled her head toward him from her seat. He'd finally elicited some kind of response. "Pòg mo thòin," she said, and Lee laughed. A great send-off if there ever was one.

She'd told Hyde to kiss her ass.