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 48
LIKE VAPOR

March 17, 1995

Minneapolis, Minnesota

First Avenue Club
…

Jackie's senses had trouble absorbing input. A rainbow of colors lit the inside of First Avenue, a club in downtown Minneapolis. The club. It was made up of two venues, locally called The Mainroom and The Entry. The Mainroom was the larger, where Prince had filmed Purple Rain and where Steven had taken her. But her thoughts were on the smaller, The Entry, where he'd first heard Ro Skirving and Lee Turnbull play.

Outside the club, the building was painted black. Silver-white stars broke up the darkness, displaying the names of performers who'd played here like Prince and R.E.M. Steven had pointed out Degenerate Matter's star. His star, too, as far as she was concerned. Thinking about it pressed free will and fate onto her shoulders. Leaving her had allowed him to come here, to The Entry. To meet Ro Skirving and become part of her music and life. To fall in love with her.

"Look up," he said inside the club, and Jackie did. The colorful lights were swirling around and reflecting off small disco balls.

"Are you having flashbacks?" she said.

"If the DJ switches to ABBA, I might."

"It is a dance night, so anything could happen."

"Sure as hell better not. This is a fuckin' rock club."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," she said. A metal railing boxed in the dance floor, and she leaned her back against it. The DJ was spinning hard-thumping remixes of popular rock songs. People danced close together, sashaying, twirling, grinding, and servers wove among them, offering drinks.

Jackie pulled the sleeves of her blouse over her knuckles. She hadn't been to a club in almost a year. It was also the last time she'd danced with anyone: Brie's friend Rod. She'd slept with him that night, too, even though she'd cut it short.

"What do you expect me to do tonight, Steven?" she said, but a server stopped in front of them.

"Beer?" the server said, and Steven shook his head no. Jackie was tempted to buy a beer for herself. Maybe several, but she refused to put Steven's sobriety at risk. Plus, she'd drunk during her nights with Rod and lost control. She wouldn't do that with Steven.

"Expect?" he said once the server moved on. "Nothin'. But I hope you'll have fun. You love dancing."

"Loved." She nodded to the dance floor. Two women in shredded T-shirts were rocking out together, and they were giving Steven the eye. "Should you be seen here without your fianceé? You haven't even hidden your hair."

"Not a problem. You scope out the guys in this club? They all look like me."

She scanned the dance floor. Many of the men had long hair, ripped jeans, and a hard-rock swagger. "No, they don't."

"Whatever. Tabloids got no clue I'm back home. I'm as good as anonymous. And, got to tell you, me and Ro end up dancing with a lot of locals whenever we come here."

"You do?" Her chest fluttered. "All you do is dance, though, right?"

"Nowadays."

"You weren't always monogamous?"

"Nope. Mutual deal. Ended when we got engaged."

"Wow." Her attention drifted back to the two women in shredded T-shirts. "I never … I couldn't."

"Wasn't my favorite sitch either, but that's how it worked."

She hit his arm. "Oh, come on! You must've loved it." The back of her fingers stung with her strike. "Sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Didn't hurt," he said, but he sounded distracted. His gaze had landed on the two women, and they were beckoning him to them. "Listen ... would it be cool if I got in a dance with 'em? Been caged by all the bullshit surrounding the band lately. Could use a breather—"

"Go," she said, though her toes scrunched in her shoes.

"Thanks. I'll stay in sight."

She waved him off, and he strode toward the women. They smiled at him. He smiled back, and Jackie pushed herself harder into the metal railing. One of the women, a pale-skinned blonde, took the lead and grasped his hands. She moved his arms to the beat of the music. The rest of his body found the rhythm, and the other woman—a tan redhead—danced in sync behind him.

The moment seemed innocent enough, but Jackie gaped when the redhead took control. At the song's chorus, she eased her arm over Steven's chest and pressed herself into his back and butt. He laughed and went with it, not once losing the music. Even when the blonde shimmied her breasts in his direction.

To him, this dance was platonic, a moment of connection. His face revealed no obvious lust. Neither did the way he moved. He'd given himself freely to these women, not his depths but his presence. But as they put their hands on him in various places, Jackie experienced a possessiveness over his body, over his laughter and time.

She had no exclusive claim to any of it. He was more comfortable inside himself than she'd ever seen, and he'd developed that ease without her. He'd been stiff when they were teenagers, more than she'd realized back then. Not arrhythmic, but his body was under constant strain, keeping his emotions imprisoned. Now that those emotions were free, his body had become free as well.

Her evolution had been the opposite of his. She'd lost the freedom of her body and grown stiff to protect herself, but that protection was a confinement. The safety it gave was also starting to feel like an assault. Her therapist said this was common, that defense mechanisms often lost their usefulness and turned into hindrances as people progressed through their healing.

If Jackie was progressing … she touched her hair. She'd gotten it dyed back to its natural color. She'd traveled alone with Steven halfway across the country. Received hugs from him and Donna and enjoyed them. Perhaps her healing was finally progressing, but she had a long way yet to go.

Hyde's dance with the two women was giving him emotional release. He lost himself in it as much as he could, but Jackie seemed to be losing herself. She slouched more each time his gaze fell on her, and by the end of the song her face was hidden in her hair.

Hypotheticals bombarded his skull, long-shot possibilities. He excused himself from his present company and returned to Jackie by the railing. "I won't touch you," he said, and she glanced up at him, "but how's about a dance? Right here, in our own little semi-private spot."

"You don't want to dance with me." Her blouse sleeves were already over her fingertips, but she crossed her arms over her chest like her hands needed more protection. "It's okay."

"Actually, I do. It's why I brought you here." A bass-heavy remix of Hendrix's "Purple Haze" pounded through the club's speakers. The dance floor vibrated with the new beat, and he said, "You dig this song, man. Or used to. One of the only ones we'd agree on."

"I can't go back," she said. "I can't be that girl."

"I don't want to be with that girl. I want to be with you. Who you are now."

She looked at him as if what he'd said disgusted her.

"Something's triggered you," he said, using a phrase she'd taught him. "Was it me dancin' with those women?"

"No … yes." She uncrossed her arms, and they hung limply at her sides. "I'm not like you, Steven. I can't just be."

"Why?"

"It's dangerous."

"With me?"

"With everyone."

He gripped the hair at the back of his head. "What's the point of breathing if you're afraid of fuckin' living?"

"I wish I knew." Her shoulders slumped further. "The reward's just not worth the risk. A pity dance with someone I..." She stopped him before he could object. "You hate that word." Pity. "I'll put it differently." Her posture straightened a little. "I see no benefit in having a cupcake when all I can have is one."

"Gonna need more than that."

"Exactly. I might like dancing with you." A sad smile rose on her lips. "It might be fun, and it'll be an unrepeatable experience. When are we going to have this opportunity again? When am I?"

He waited for a response to form in his brain, but her eyes connected with his, and she rightly said, "You don't understand."

He slapped the railing. "Then help me."

Beyond the dance floor were tables, and people were gathered at them, talking and drinking. Despite his earlier bravado, he was pushing his luck by being here. A thousand people had to be at this club. If just one of them recognized him, he'd have dragged Jackie into a situation she didn't ask for.

"You can touch me, Steven—" she grabbed his right hand and placed it on her waist, and the unexpected contact pulsed through his nerves—"and it doesn't make me want to pry off my skin. I don't trust anyone the way I'm starting to trust you." She held his other hand and wiggled it to the music. "I loved dancing. Maybe that hasn't changed. But if I find that out with you, tonight, then what? How fair is that to either of us?"

"It's not about trusting me. It's about trusting yourself."

"To do what?"

His hand was still on her waist. He maintained a light touch, and he raised her left arm in a loose closed position. If she'd put her right hand on his shoulder, they'd be ready to waltz. "To know when something doesn't feel right. But you've got to try things, Jackie. Test 'em out. See what works. Just 'cause dancing might feel right with me doesn't mean it won't feel right with someone else."

"The last time I thought something felt right, it went too far. I pushed myself too far."

"So it's got to be all or nothin'?"

"No, but—"

"This won't be all or nothin'," he said as "Purple Haze" transitioned into a remix of Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun". He bounced his right shoulder. "Get your hand on there."

"Are you serious?"

"Waltzing is the latest craze, man. 'Specially to club versions of rock music. Can't beat it."

Her hand rose toward his shoulder, but she hesitated. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"We'll get to do this again." Probably in the privacy of her house—because the tabloids would turn it into a story if the paparazzi ever caught them. And Ro might turn it into a different, even more destructive story. "If you like dancing, that is. If you don't, then at least you'll know."

"Damn you," she whispered, but she also rested her hand on his shoulder.

He led her onto the dance floor in a modified waltz. Their bodies had space between them, and he didn't move her too far from the railing. But he made their dance playful, leading her into open rolls and dipping her. She giggled halfway through, and the sound opened pockets of light inside him.

They let go of each other toward the end of the song, but they continued to dance. Her body moved gingerly at first, like it was injured or sore. Then her eyes closed, and the fluidity he remembered from their teenage years returned to her.

Her eyes should've been open and studying her own moves. She considered her body a lost cause, but to him she was as perfect as she ever was. Whatever scars lay beneath her clothes, they were a testament to her strength, not weakness. She was still here and fighting … and dancing.

She reached for him blindly, and he grabbed hold of her hand. He wrapped his fingers protectively around her palm. Someone—a guy in his late twenties or early thirties, lanky build—was watching them. Men would've been all over her had she been in the thick of the dance floor, the way her hips were swaying. Her cheerleader rhythm hadn't disappeared; it had gone dormant until now.

"Black Hole Sun" transitioned into another song, and their spy advanced on them. Hyde had no chance to ask Jackie if she was enjoying herself or felt safe with how he touched her. The guy was in their space.

"I hate to bother you," the guy said to Hyde, slightly out of breath, "but I—man, I can't believe you're here—and I just wanted to thank you. Your music's gotten me through some really rough stuff."

Jackie released Hyde's hand but stood close to him. "Who do you think he is?" she said to the guy.

"Oh, uh..." The guy glanced behind himself, and three women gestured at him from a distance, "O. MacNeil—Steven Hyde. Degenerate Matter? It's got to be you."

"Yeah, it is," Hyde said. No point in denying it. The guy just wanted to express his gratitude. "Glad the music could help you out. What's your name?"

"Jay—Jason, and it more than helped me out." Jason's voice wavered. "You have no idea. … 'Point of No Return' helped me get clean. Felt like someone finally got it, you know? Where I was coming from."

"That's great, man." Hyde should've been more guarded, but astonishment seeped out of his voice. Was likely showing on his face, too. He'd gotten letters about the impact of his lyrics, but having someone tell him in person bypassed his defenses.

He offered his hand for Jason to shake.. Jason did, and Hyde looked him in the eyes. They were filling with tears. "I've been there," Hyde said. "I know how tough it is."

Jason dragged trembling fingers through his dark, shaggy hair. "Shit. I can't believe this happening."

Jackie cupped Hyde's elbow. She was being quiet, an observer, but she was his priority tonight. He planned to bail from this fan encounter politely, but Jason's three lady friends rushed them.

"Oh, my God, it is you!" one of them shrieked.

"You're so hot!" another said.

"Where's Ro?" the third said.

Jason answered for him. "On tour." Then he said to Hyde, "Hey, yeah. I thought you were touring with the band. The message board said you were there."

Hyde bit down a curse. This guy had to be part of Degenerate Matter's fan club. Its website had a message board where fans discussed the band's songs, wrote concert reviews, and shared band encounters. Soon as Jason got home, he'd type up their meeting for thousands to see.

"Someone—Vagabond75—said she met you in Melbourne," Jason said, "but she must've been lying because you're here." He laughed with wide eyes, as if he'd lost a chunk of his sanity. "Man, what are you doing here?"

Whatever response Hyde gave, it wouldn't convey the full scope of the matter. Not that it was this guy's business.

"Can I have a hug?" one of the women said.

Hyde held Jackie's hand again, firmly, and eyed the railing. "Sorry, we've got to get goin'." The opening was some distance away, but one of the women darted to the dance floor's center. She was whispering in people's ears, and those people tapped the shoulders of dancers around them. The club's energy was being sucked toward him. It would swallow him and Jackie whole if he didn't get them out of there.

He yanked Jackie forward, and they hurried to the opening in the railing. People trickled from the dance floor toward their location, but the trickle became a downpour as shouts of, "Degenerate Matter!" and "O. MacNeil!" broke through the music.

"Fuck," Hyde said under his breath, but he and Jackie got past the railing. They climbed the three steps down to ground level, pushed through clubbers ignorant of the oncoming storm, and raced through the exit.

Jackie didn't object to their fast pace. He brought them down the block and across the street to the parking lot. They were in his Camaro less than two minutes later, but his carelessness would cost him.

At home, inside the gate of his property, Hyde told the head of his security team what happened at the club, to keep a lookout just in case. The guard numbers would have to be increased starting tomorrow.

"Well, that was exciting." Jackie said afterward and removed her coat in his living room. They'd been smart enough to leave their outerwear in the Camaro, not to check them at the club.

"Exciting isn't what I'd call it." His blood screamed for nicotine. Ro had a half-full carton of cigarettes in her nightstand, but he shoved two pieces of gum in his mouth. "If you want to cut this visit short, I'll get you on the earliest flight I can."

She draped her coat over her arms and leaned against the armrest of his sofa. "I'm not going anywhere. We have one more day together..." She straightened up. "Unless you want me to go?"

"No." He was looking forward to their time tomorrow, planned from ideas he'd had for a while but without the opportunity to see them through. "Can't believe you ever wanted to be famous."

"I was young." In an imitation of that shrieky fan at the club, she said, "Can I have a hug?"

He half-laughed. "If you ask at a lower decibel, sure."

She dropped her coat to the sofa and spoke softer. "To be honest, I'd really like to give you one."

He walked past his fifty-inch widescreen TV, one of his and Ro's biggest indulgences, and his arms glided around Jackie's back. She was standing on her toes, and her chin nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Taking comfort in her presence felt like an indulgence—and somewhat like he was using her. He needed this embrace, but he should've gotten it from Ro.

Ro might have given it to him, but emotional and physical distance had split them apart. She probably would've unzipped his fly, too. Grasped his dick with her hand or mouth, turning her comfort into what he didn't want.

His muscles tensed at that last thought, and Jackie withdrew from him. "What?" she said. "Steven, are you okay? You've gone pale."

She touched his forehead with the back of her fingers, a move of hers back when they used to date, He'd had a habit of concealing when he was sick, lying about feeling feverish.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just realized something I didn't expect to realize." He sat on the sofa and scratched his nails through his scalp. When Ro got back, they'd have some crap to hash out. Deprivation was a weapon he'd been wounded with thousands of times. It came in all forms, and his ma had wielded it masterly. Ro was doing the same.

A weight fell beside him on the sofa. Jackie. She sat far enough away that their bodies had no contact, but her empathy reached him. "Where did you go?" she said.

He scratched the nape of his neck. "Don't ever want you thinking you're a replacement for anyone."

"Who would I be replacing?"

"No one. That's what I'm sayin'." The skin at his nape grew hot from his scraping. He stopped and laced his hands together on his lap. "Not who you used to be and not anyone else." Whatever he lacked with Ro wouldn't infest his relationship with Jackie, chewing on the woodwork like termites, destroying their foundation. "What we've got—our friendship—isn't about anyone but us, all right? I'm glad you're the one I'm spending time with."

Jackie tilted her head and squinted, as if attempting to parse out his words. "You're going really far back, huh? To when I glommed onto you after I caught Michael cheating on me."

"Tryin' to reassure you. Even if Ro and I weren't having ups and downs, I'd still want to hang out with you. Same as Forman or Betsy."

"Consider me reassured." She leaned closer to him and kissed his cheek. "And consider that a thank-you for tonight."

He fought the urge to rub his face, to capture the kiss and what it meant. It had been a quick peck, but its significance went deeper. She was testing herself, experimenting to see what she could tolerate, to learn what she might enjoy giving and taking. He'd treat those experiments sacredly, along with her trust in him. Playing a part in her reformation was a gift, one greater than he deserved.