Encounter: Chapter 9

Can I Forgive You?

Author's Note: This story is starting to wrap up and I am full on begging for comments. Thanks for reading, thanks to all who've reviewed, thanks to all who collectively wish season 8 to hell but know we've got to deal with it somehow.

And as always, I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Steven Hyde made his way further into the room, sucking in steadying breaths as he sat slowly down beside her. He looked cautiously at her, the one person who could make he-who-proudly-never- felt-anything, feel everything all at once. Her face, showing obvious confusion and exhaustion, seemed older; her head hung slightly, heavy on her shoulders. Her tiny hands that lay fragile in her lap were chapped and smudged with dirt, so unlike her. As horrible as he felt, he knew she felt worse. The bitterness, the jealousy, the anger. She'd been living in a hell he'd created for her much longer than he would care to admit. And he honestly couldn't understand why he'd hurt her so ruthlessly, why he'd wanted her pain so desperately. And the only explanation that he could find was that he truly did love her, and yet that didn't make any sense.

He shuddered, though he wasn't cold.

The moments ticked by, the silence surrounded them, and finally a thin rasp he barely recognized as her voice spoke.

"You said we needed to talk, so talk."

He looked up to find her jaw quivering with intensity, her gaze set right passed him, over his shoulder, a safe distance from his eyes. And her whole body was shaking.

Being this near to him was making her crazy, crazy with violence and lust and need. And despite herself she craved a return to the numbness that had gotten her through the night. And she set herself in stillness.

He sensed that she wouldn't let him stay much longer if he didn't open his mouth. But could he say what needed to be said? Could either of them stand to hear it?

He gulped down air and nothingness, and held the wind in his throat. He relished the suffocating feeling in his chest, as it allowed him to muster up motivation somehow. He waited until he couldn't bear the burning in his lungs any longer, and gasped forth for a brutal breath of oxygen. He coughed nervously, and ran his fingers roughly through his hair. He felt a wave of memory swipe at him harshly; as he felt the very same bile seering, scratching in his throat as he had the day he had told her first that he loved her, after he'd hurt her with the nurse. And he took great care to confirm that his shades were in their rightful place over his eyes before speaking.

"I needed to hurt you. I needed to see it taking place in front of me, to be sure that I could. That's why I let Sam stay, that's why every word I've uttered in your direction for months has been set out to not just burn you, but scar you. I was so hurt, so angry, after the ultimatum, after the hotel. And I loved you too much to stay away, but I hated you too much to stand it. So I needed to know I could hurt you, just like you hurt me. And somehow, I'm terribly sorry, and yet not at all, at the exact same time."

He noticed her blink briefly, but other than that, she remained so motionless it scared him. She stared back at him for minute after minute before prodding, "Keep talking, Steven."

He looked at her incredulously. Shocked, disappointed, terrified, at her lack of reaction. Annoyed at her demanding yet unfeeling response. "Keep talking? Jackie, do you have any idea how hard this stuff is for me?"

"Yes, Steven, I do. But I also don't care. So keep talking. Or you could just leave." Her voice was weak, light, void. And seeing her, the emptiness he'd reduced her to, he realized how he really had brought her down, so far from the Jackie he'd met, and the Jackie he'd loved. And it wasn't fair. She'd taught him to feel, for better or worse, and in turn, he'd killed that capacity in her. The last little light he'd taken hope from as it ignited with his arrival had now dimmed and vanished, and Steven Hyde was terrified.

So he took that in as fuel for his fire, and he turned to her in a fury.

"You'd like it if I left, wouldn't you? Then you could sleep for days, wake up still numb, find a dumb, rich, adoring man to spoil you, and you'd never have to feel anything again. Anything except the greed, and the pride, and selfishness you were raised on. But, damn it, Jackie. I'm not going to let that happen. I hurt you, I hurt you again and again, and what's worse, I meant to. And I get that you don't want to feel that anymore, you know I get it, but that's not who you are, that's who I am, so I'm telling you to snap the fuck out of it!"

He was feeling heavy from his outburst as he sadly watched his bait fall flatly to the floor.

She wasn't fazed.

He roughly pulled her shoulders to face her towards him and then moved one hand to her face to guide her to look in his eyes.

"Look at me." He growled. "Jackie, fucking look at me!"

Finally, he saw her blink away a single tear before turning those eyes to his.

"Why, Steven?" her voice broke desperately, and he finally got a reaction. "Why? Can't you just relish the fact that you taught me zen so well? I don't want to feel anything. I don't want to look at you. I'm trying to hold it in, but its so hard, and I think I might explode, but I can't take anymore, so please don't make me look at you. Please just say what you've got to say and then leave. I don't want to feel. I don't want you to make me." Her eyes reverted to the wall, and she pulled his hands from her face, not even flinching when she slightly scratched her own cheek in the process.

His voice came back as strong as ever though, despite her protests. "No. I'll say my piece, but I'm not going anywhere. Not until you've had your turn. I'm sick of being miserable. I'm tired of just sucking it up and pushing on through. Either we're over, really over, and we've got our closure and can have a decent shot of moving on, or we give in to how bad we want each other, need each other, are fucking toxic to anyone other than each other, and we try again. But we're not going to keep dancing away from solving this. I know I started it, I know the avoidance is my fault, but it stops, right here, right now. Tell me how you felt about Sam. Tell me how you felt when you left for Chicago. Really, Jackie, how did it feel when you heard I had a wife when I wouldn't commit to marrying you? How did it feel to know I was passed out in a warehouse when all you wanted was a sign? Tell, me, Jacks. What's it like to love a man who can't say they love you back? Who won't? Did it feel good to know you could make me crazed with jealousy? To know you still can? Tell me, Jackie. The moment you knew about Sam did you wish you had slept with Kelso? Did you have nightmares of me touching her the way I used to touch you? Tell me. Tell me, now, damn it!" His voice had risen, his face was wild with desperation. He'd edged himself so close to her, she was pinned to the back of the couch. He reached for her, and she cringed, she pulled away in tears as she began to shout over his persist pleas.

"No! It's too late, Steven. I don't want to think about it. I can't. I won't. So just go. Please, please, just go. If you ever thought you might have loved me, ever, then go." She repeated her begging over and over and as he moved in even closer she began beating her tiny fists against his chest, crying now, desperate to put off the feeling at any cost.

But he was too strong, and he caught her flailing arms and pinned them with surprising ease, before leaning in and whispering, "Tell me, Jackie, or I'll never let you go." He pulled back slightly as he noticed her shaking, her fighting, her crying all suddenly halt, and she looked back up to his eyes, deep into his eyes, for what he dreaded might be the very last time.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

"I loved you, Steven. With my whole heart. Maybe with more than love than I had to give away. So how did it feel when you avoided me? When you ignored me? When you devalued me? When you replaced me? I don't know how it felt, Steven, because it killed me. And the dead can't feel." She took advantage of his momentary surprise and pushed with all the strength her tiny frame had until he fell back away from her and she could lift herself from her prison on the couch. She walked to the door and opened it, then turned to him with the kind of all-consuming hate that blackened her eyes and distorted her beautiful face, and her voice was eerily calm. "And as for wishing I had slept with Michael? I don't need to wish. We'd been screwing for hours before you ever showed up. I just lied to try and get you back, but to be honest, now I don't want you. Get the hell out of my life."