A/N: Here's chapter four. We're starting to branch off into some of the other storylines now. I've got a lot planned that's still up ahead, so I hope most of you can stick with me. Reviews would be lovely... especially if you add as a favorite or an alert. I'd love to hear from all of you. Thanks!

"You'll never know what it's like to lose a best friend until you look back and don't feel safe enough to fall."

Eric Forman prided himself on being such a sound sleeper.

Growing up, he'd slept through the endless supply of slummy guys Laurie paraded in through her window every Friday night. In Africa, he'd slept right through the suffocating heat and the mosquitoes that swarmed outside his tent. In fact, even the electrifying vibrations of New York City weren't enough to keep him up awake. But last night he couldn't sleep.

He'd lain there in his old twin-sized bed, tossing and turning for hours on end. No matter which position he'd adjusted to, sleep wouldn't come. He just couldn't turn his brain off for the night; couldn't shake the sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he had a child. A pretty little girl, with green eyes and mismatched converse sneakers, to be exact.

Fleetingly, Eric found himself wondering what her favorite color was. Did she prefer orange jello, or red? How about her first word; what had that been? He wondered if she was sad that she didn't have a daddy, and he swallowed hard. God. If he did turn out to be the father, and he'd missed out on these first four years of her life… he grimaced. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive himself for that one. Still, the other day Donna had informed him that he had nothing to do with Natalia, and somehow, that thought broke his heart even more.

So he was, to say the least, a bit surprised the next morning when Donna came barreling through the basement door to talk to him.

He'd been sitting in front of the TV vaguely watching some game, he wasn't even sure which sport it was, to be truthful, and reveling in his mother's decorating abilities. Sometime a couple of years ago, she'd apparently taken on the task of revamping the crowded space he had once referred to as his 'bat cave'. The floor was laminate now, a white marble color, and brightly colored circle rugs were dispersed around the room along with things like miniature painter's easels, hippity-hops, and toy chests. A bulletin board hung where the washer and drier used to sit, displaying pictures of several children and the proud declaration 'Kitty's Little Angels'. He'd thought it funny, for about half a second, that after whipping into the room, Donna had attempted to hang her jacket on the child-sized coat rack before rolling her eyes and throwing it across the back of the couch with a huff.

"We need to talk," she announced, seating herself primly on the rocking chair to his left.

"Greetings are so out-dated these days, don't you think?" He tried to be funny, but she didn't allow for so much as a small courtesy smile.

"Look," Donna folded her hands cordially, "I heard that you're… staying. Or something. And that's whatever. You can do whatever you want." She narrowed her eyebrows in a way that let him know she meant business, "Except invite my daughter out for ice cream, Eric."

"Oh." He shrugged his shoulders, frowning. "I'm sorry. The offer was only if she got your permission. I just," he hesitated, "I just want to get to know her a little."

"Why?" Donna threw her hands up in exasperation.

"She has my eyes, Donna." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Eric found that as much as he knew they would open a whole new, controversial can of worms, he didn't regret them in the slightest. He wanted to know.

Donna just released a tired sigh and gently lifted one hand to smooth across her forehead wearily, "No. She doesn't."

"They're green," he countered, going on the defensive.

"And that means what?" Donna finally exploded, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. Her eyebrow arched so high it disappeared into her hairline. "That she's your daughter?"

Without even realizing it, Eric sucked in a deep breath. "Look, Donna," his voice had lowered considerably, taking on an intense tone that she'd never heard out of his mouth before, "I know I'm not as smart as you are, but I can count to nine." She declined to answer him, choosing instead to draw her mouth together, as if she was silently begging herself not to say something. Finding himself suddenly angry, Eric stood up. "What's the deal with Natalia's father, Donna?"

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, and the burning intensity behind them startled him. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Eric set his jaw, and tilted his head up imperceptibly.

Now Donna stood, too, casually whipping her purse over her arm, her stare never faltering from his. "Natalia's father is a man named Pete Peterson," she began, strikingly calm. "He's a forty-year-old doctor from Boston. I hooked up with him at a party two weeks after you left." She paused. "Happy?"

Eric swallowed hard as she maneuvered around him to grab her coat from the back of the couch. She started heading towards the door to leave, but paused and turned around. "You want more details?" She asked him, a predatory gleam in her eyes, "Here's one," She took a step closer to him, and then another one, until they were standing so close their bodies were brushing. "I did it because I knew in my heart that you were never coming home to me."

The mall looked different. Clearly, it had been remodeled in the last several years, because Eric didn't recognize any of his surroundings. Where was that malt stand he'd loved as a child? It had always been right across from the food court, hadn't it? And the weird second-hand store he used to occasionally steal a cool looking ring or postcard from? It had apparently been replaced by a women's shoe store.

Eric sighed and made his way towards the directory. It was funny how much things changed; funny how quickly one became an outsider in his own town. There was a time when he'd known the precise location and name of each and every store in the mall, who owned them, and how long they'd been there. Now he was surrounded by unfamiliar shops and kiosks selling brightly colored sunglasses. He sighed again, and ran his finger along the glass of the directory, tracing his way down to 'Accessories'. What had the name of Hyde's cassette store been, again? Jackie had mentioned it once. Holes, was it? No… but it was definitely 'hole' something…

Eric's train of thought was interrupted when a group of rowdy teenage boys blew past him. He straightened as the scent of smoke engulfed him, and his shoulder was jostled as a dark skinned straggler knocked into him. Feeling a bit out of his element, Eric followed the group with his eyes. He didn't know why he was glaring; they weren't turning around. They'd entered the dark shop directly in front of him… the one with the dark red walls, dim lights, and slightly obnoxious music. In an effort to convince himself he hadn't, in fact, become his father, Eric smiled wistfully. It looked like the kind of shop he and his friends would have spent hours at when they were teens. The accidentally-on-purpose jagged edges of the front entrance, the smoky atmosphere… it oozed teenage rebellion. He was just about to turn back to the directory when he caught the title… Hole In The Wall: Cassettes and More. But of course.

He waited until the unruly kids had trooped back out before entering the store cautiously moments later. The impression he'd gotten from the outside held true: there were rows upon rows of cassette racks, aisles of cool miscellaneous memorabilia like guitar picks and amplifiers, and signed posters decorated nearly every square inch of free wall. Eric couldn't resist whistling under his breath, searching the aisles and behind the counter for Hyde. There weren't any other customers in the store; the mall closed in five minutes.

"Can I help you find something?" The voice came from the back of the store, and Eric whipped around to see Hyde emerging from the back room, carrying a stack of crates so high it obstructed his face. "I've got to unload these, and we close in a few minutes, but if there's something in particular you're looking for, I could ring you up quick."

Eric grinned despite himself, and strolled a few paces towards the counter. "Yeah," he drawled, crossing his arms confidently, "How 'bout some Zeppelin?"

The crates slammed down so hard Eric was amazed Hyde didn't crush his fingers. With a flash of intensity, fierce blue eyes met startled green ones. Hyde stared at him for a long moment, and Eric's smile eager wavered. "We're closed," Hyde finally muttered, his voice even, and with a roll of his neck, he turned his back to his former best friend and started cutting open the top of a crate.

"Hey," Eric's voice rang out in the quiet shop, causing Hyde to tighten his shoulders but not turn around, "Come on." He took another step closer to his old friend, his shoes squeaking on the cheap laminate floor. "You're not even gonna let me explain?"

The only sound in the room was the soft rip of the tape as Hyde pierced his scissors through the top of a second crate. He began unloading it without a word.

"I-I didn't mean for any of it to happen, you know," Eric started softly, lifting himself up to sit on the counter next to Hyde, who continued to look for all the world as if he didn't notice that there was anyone else in the room with him. "I never intended to stay away for this long. And, man, you don't know how many times I picked up the phone to call you… or, you know…" he trailed off uncertainly, and, detecting a touchy subject, he quickly added, "But, hey, this place looks great. Really. Seems like a cool job. I was watching those teenagers in here earlier…"

Hyde let out a soft grunt of exertion as he lifted another crate and dropped it on the ground. He turned around slowly, and lifted an eyebrow when he met Eric's eyes. "Sure," he nodded, "Yeah. Woulda made a great scene for your book." Abruptly, Hyde shouldered around Eric with a bit more force than strictly necessary, and made his way back towards the counter. Eric barely registered a soft, "Fuck you," and dropped his hands into his lap, defeated.

"So that's…" Eric patted his thighs, and hopped off the counter, rounding on Hyde. "That's it? You're like mad at me because I wrote a book? Because I found success?"

"No, no," Hyde corrected methodically, still refusing to look his companion in the eye, "I'm mad at you because you turned your back on your friends, Forman. On your life." Hyde avoided eye contacts as he stalked over to a nearby table, a stack of cassettes in his arms. With an impatient sigh, he quickly busied himself with setting up a display, his eyes narrowed.

Eric just gave a hollow chuckle, and crossed his arms over his chest. Maybe this was just the final straw on his bad day, or maybe it was just the product of twelve-plus years of build-up, but something inside of him finally snapped. "Well you know what I think?" Eric taunted him, moving closer to his friend now, his tone almost menacing. "I think you're pissed at me because I got out of this shitty little town, and you didn't." Eric moved closer still, his hands smugly in his pockets. "I always thought that out of all of us, you would be the one to get out and do something with your life. I always thought you were gonna be somebody." He paused and let his words sink in, before adding, quietly but triumphantly, "Guess I was wrong."

Hyde slammed the cassette he was holding onto the floor. The plastic shattered, and he gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he refused to turn around and face Eric. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snarled.

"It means," Eric was standing directly behind him now, and his voice was livid in Hyde's ear, "That you got stuck. I mean… look at you. You're twenty-four years old and you're working at the mall and screwing your best friend's fiancé behind his back."

At Eric's words, Hyde whirled around abruptly. The two men were standing nose to nose, glaring at each other furiously, each seemingly daring the other to utter one more word. Eric took the bait. "What the fuck happened to you, man?"

Hyde's fist connected with Eric's jaw in the next second, and the impact sent the scrawnier man tumbling to the floor. Hyde stood above him, massaging his knuckles. He seemed to give his victim a moment to recover before nudging him in the side with his boot. "I could ask you the same question," he stated simply, before he turned around and walked into his office without looking back.

"Put this on your jaw."

Red tossed a cool blue ice pack across the kitchen, and Eric caught it between the tips of his fingers. His skin burned, protesting against the harsh contrast, but he obediently lifted the cube to rest below his temple.

"How's it feel?"

Red had always been of few words, and for the first time in his life, Eric was thankful for that. He gently shifted the ice pack and slowly rotated his stiff jaw. He was met with a sharp zing, and he flinched. "Aches."

His father just stared at him. He'd popped open a beer and taken a seat across from Eric at the kitchen table. He slowly traced the rim with his index finger, his gaze even. "I meant," Red paused for emphasis, " how does it feel to be punched in the face by your best friend?" His voice and expression were unflinchingly passive, making it impossible to measure his level of contempt.

Eric sighed. "Even worse," he admitted. Although a nagging part of him still thought his analysis of Hyde's behavior had been correct, he felt bad about practically shoving his success in his friend's face. He'd been out of line, and he knew it. Still, something had just… come over him at the record shop; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. All he'd known was that he'd been back to town for less than three days, and he already felt like he was back in high school. The girl next door was being wooed by the town bad boy, his mother was treating him much better than he deserved and his father was detached, and his best friend was so much cooler than him. Everything was just the same as when he'd left it, and it wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be better this time around. But it wasn't. "I just…" Eric sighed. "I can't say I expected everyone to be happy I'm home… but I never expected them all to, like... whatever," he trailed off, conscious of his father's quiet but condemning gaze.

Red was quiet for a long moment before letting out joyless chuckle. "Welcome to the blowback, son."

Eric's eyes snapped up. "The what?"

"The blowback." Red shrugged, and took a sip of his beer. "You write a book about your hometown that features everybody in a not so peachy light, and you're gonna have more than a few pissed off people on your hands." He drummed his fingers on the table for a second, his demeanor still surprisingly calm. "Then you do one better and stay away for five years. Truth is, we're all wondering just what exactly you're doing back, and how many years you're gonna be gone next time." He finished his sentence with an articulate belch.

Eric nodded slowly, defeated. "I guess I deserve that."

"I think the reason you're meeting so much resistance," Red swiveled in his chair, as if preparing to stand up, "is because we can't figure out why you left in the first place."

"I-" Eric's voice caught in his throat, and he studied his hands rather than meet his father's eyes, "I guess I really don't know, either."

Red nodded once, and lifted himself to his feet, already headed to the fridge for another beer. He paused for a moment next to the counter, thinking. "Well. Why'd you come back?"

Eric shook his head again, but his eyes automatically flickered to the side of the Pinciotti's old house. A sliver of their driveway was visible from the sliding glass door. Red stared at him for a moment. "Maybe there's your answer."

"You shouldn't have hit him, Steven." Jackie's voice rang through the mostly empty studio apartment, reaching the kitchen nook from her perch on the end of his bed. Hyde lifted his arm in a half-hearted signal that he'd heard her, but continued to poke at the charred mess on his stove that had at one point been a frozen pot-roast dropped off by Mrs. Forman.

Apparently giving up hope, Hyde sighed and shoveled the crispy remains into the garbage can before reaching for the phone. "Do you want Chinese take-out, or pizza?" he hollered over his shoulder, and Jackie slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her silky robe billowing behind her.

"Chinese," she answered primly, "And you didn't answer me."

He sighed and set the phone back on its cradle. "That's because I don't know what you want me to say, Jackie," Hyde countered, turning around in her arms and easing himself up so that he was seated on the kitchen counter with her standing between his knees. "The guy had it comin'."

But Jackie shook her head. "That guy is your best friend," she insisted stubbornly, tugging on the hem of his white undershirt.

"Was my best friend," Hyde corrected, turning his eyes down.

Jackie grasped his knees and swayed in place, her tone softened and her eyes gentle. "Are you still upset about the book?"

"Nah. I never even read it," he grinned, and Jackie laughed. "It's the movie." He paused, thinking. "My character… what was his name? Seek?" Hyde rolled his eyes. It might have been a new decade, but Forman was still just as big of a dork as he was when they were seven. "You know that scene… the one where the kids burned that old abandoned shed down, and then Seek ran away?" Jackie nodded, so he continued, scoffing. "I mean, c'mon. That never happened. Yeah, I burned the shed… but I didn't run. I stayed. I dealt with the consequences of my actions. Unlike some people."

Her eyes were wide as she watched him, and finally she relented. "So you're angry because he rewrote history?" But Hyde just shook his head.

"It's not even that," he cracked his knuckles and looked down at the raven-haired beauty standing in front of him. "He just… he thinks he gets to blow into town and save the day. He fucking…" Hyde trailed off angrily. "Maybe we don't need saving," he finally decided on, and punctuated his statement by gently swinging down from the counter.

Jackie watched him as he paced the tiny kitchen. "Maybe you don't, Steven," she added quietly a few moments later, "But the rest of us are kind of a mess. Did you know he thinks he's Natalia's father?"

His pacing stopped abruptly, and he slowly turned around to face Jackie again. He nodded slowly, his lips thin and pulled tight against his mouth. "I always kind of thought so, too," he admitted quietly.

"And that's why you come around so often," Jackie swallowed, finally understanding. "I know you take your godfather duties pretty seriously, Steven," a smile tugged on the corner of her lips, remembering an instance in which Hyde had warn a matching Mickey Mouse t-shirt to keep a younger Natalia from bawling. "Donna says that you still take her out for ice cream every Sunday night… down by the pond to feed the ducks, even, sometimes. You're gonna give the rest of us a bad name," she teased him, and he smiled for the briefest of seconds. "How can I compete with someone who takes her to see Star Wars?"

He just shrugged. "It's really no big deal," he defended himself. His voice dropped as he added, softly, "The kid doesn't have a father, that's all."

"Well I think it's sweet," Jackie persisted, reaching around to fist her hands in the front of his white t-shirt so that she could pull him to her in a kiss. "But I might have to take a rain check on that Chinese food. I just noticed the time; Fez will be home soon."

And that's how Hyde came to be sitting in his recliner in the middle of his apartment, a fork-full of moo shoo pork in one hand and a bottle of cheap beer in the other, wondering how come at the end of the day, he always ended up right here, feeling just like this: empty.

Donna let out a deep sigh as she dropped into bed, completely spent. Putting a four year old with a sugar high to bed for the night will do that to you, she chuckled, as she glanced at the clock. When had 8:30 pm become late? Although her body was clearly exhausted, her mind was still reeling, so she reached for her bedside table, ready to read a few quick pages of her book until she felt drowsy enough to sleep.

The novel that she wanted wasn't in its normal place, so curiously, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the bookshelf in search of it. Her tired eyes couldn't seem to locate the dull red cover of To Kill A Mockingbird, but they did fall across the bright blue binding of another worn read; one she hadn't touched in nearly a month, now. The frantic slope of the title called to her, and she lifted Small Pond from its place, turning it over in her palm.

There he was, handsome and grinning in the black and white thumbnail near the bottom of the back cover. And even though she knew she shouldn't, knew this was probably the absolute last thing she needed to do right now, she flipped back the cover. She knew it was crazy, but sometimes when she read things he'd written, she felt close to him; like he was sitting right next to her, whispering the words into her ear. Some days that was a good thing, like when she read the line on page 21, where Derrick admitted that he'd never love anyone quite like he'd loved Dawn. But most of the time it was a bad thing.

Taking in a deep breath, Donna closed her eyes and flipped to a random page. It was the end of the first chapter, and almost immediately her eyes started swimming, because she knew what was coming.

"And as Derrick walked away," she recited, slamming the book shut and letting it fall to the floor with a thud, "he wished that he could completely erase those last four years from his memory."

The funny thing was, those had been the best four years of her life.

Please, please review guys. I work hard on these chapters, and I need to know who's still reading. Thanks!