Disclaimer: I don't own a thing, yadda, yadda, yadda, if I did, Jackie and Hyde would be making sweet, sweet love all night long.

Author's Note: Yet another take on the what could be of Jackie and Hyde. There is a happy ending, so no worries. I have a tendency to write with angst (which, don't you fret there's some) But this ends in a happy way. Or well, it's an implied happily ever after. In the words of Steven Hyde, "be vague". {Large Cheshire Smile} Fun times! Hopefully, after thanksgiving, I'll start another series. I think one-shots are a safe bet for the time at hand. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, I love the reviews! Lol. Hint, hint, cough, cough. R&R and ENJOY! Happy Readings!

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Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?

Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.

So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,

And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.

And we are so fragile,

And our cracking bones make noise,

And we are just breakable girls and boys.

- Ingrid Michaelson

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There were a million places she could have been. Where she should have been. Like her bedroom, half across town. That would have been a good place to start with. But, tonight, just like the night before, just like the night before that, she found no comforter in her room; her sanctuary that laid next to the room of her current boyfriend. There was no solace in her square fortress, with her white walls and pink accents. At least there wasn't the same kind of solace she found in her car, driving well above the speed limit, well into the early morning.

There wasn't the same solace she found as she walked across the street to the house they had all grown up in. Her bedroom, currently, held none of the memories the driveway she crossed held. Or the back stairs held. Or even the basement door she had slammed more times then she wished to remember. Her bedroom was a pale, pale imitation of the abyss known as the Forman Basement.

She didn't even know where she was driving until she had stared at the darken house. And what had seemed like hours to her, was only the fifteen minute drive to her ex-boyfriend's lair. The same fifteen minutes she dreaded every day, as she and Fez, or she and Donna drove to 'hang out' at the only place they knew to hang out at.

As she turned the knob, the same knob that was never locked because one of the six always found themselves in front of it, she had expected several scenarios. And truth be told, most of them involved Donna and Eric in a lover's embrace. Since Eric had come home for New Years Eve, not even two weeks ago, the couple had been everywhere, spreading their love and warm wishes on every known surface of Point Place. Surely, by now, they had given Kelso and his record of 'doing it' in the most random of places, a run for their money.

What she hadn't expected, as she turned the knob and walked into the musty room, was her ex. He was sitting in his usual chair, one foot on the table, the other flat on the floor for balance, and his arms crossed over his broad chest. He looked up from the television, which was muted, and stared at her with such blankness, she felt he had forgotten who she was entirely.

Not that this train of thought lasted very long. After thirty seconds, thirty-five seconds, his blank stare was replaced with a scowl. His eye brows raised well above his thin framed sunglasses.

"What are you doing here?" She felt her own lips twist into an unpleasant sort of display.

It had been almost two months since his 'wife' had left. A month since she had decided she was in love with Fez. And almost two weeks since she and Fez had started dating. Yet, still, Jackie B. Burkhart and Steven J. Hyde could not be left alone in the same room. Hell, even when other people were with them, there was such a tension, everyone instantly felt uncomfortable.

And it had only gotten worse after Sam had left, and even more so intolerable when Jackie and Fez had started dating. They tried to keep their distance from each other. They tried to save themselves from the nasty looks and the lethal words that were bound to occur. It just never seemed to work out the way they wanted.

"I'm allowed to be here." She stated, her nose quickly finding higher air to breath.

He scoffed, allowing the front legs of his chair to hit the cement floor. He leaned forward, his thumb hitting his nose, a snort following. "During daylight hours. Which, still boggles my mind, considering I heard sunlight was bad for your kind."

She rolled her vibrant, stormy, green/blue eyes. "I couldn't sleep. So, I went for a drive."

"Princess couldn't sleep, huh? Aw, what? You're knight in shining armor ain't doing it for ya? Probably doesn't know the right buttons to push."

She wasn't sure when he had crossed the line from mean to cruel, but he had. Everything, everything, was a mockery of her relationship or a burn on her virtue. As far as he was concerned, she was a slut who was dating a falsified prince charming. And damn, was he waiting for the bottom to drop out.

"For your information," She ran her tongue over her lips, moving to plop down on the lawn chair across from him. "Fez knows exactly the right buttons to push."

"Fez doesn't know his way around the Piggly Wiggly." He challenged.

"He doesn't need to know his way around the Piggly Wiggly to get me squealing." She saw the hesitation in his next move. She noticed the slight flex in his chest; his arms uncrossing so he could tighten his hands into fists. She basked in the raised eyebrow, the question of if she had or she hadn't.

"Bullshit." His voice was like a snake, hitting her directly in her chest. "Fez would have parade that around the basement. His own personal victory of nailing you."

"He's not Kelso, Steven." It wasn't until his name echoed back into her ears that she noted how her voice had dropped several decibels. "He would not parade around the basement. You didn't."

Whether it was her voice, which had lost it's fighting tone, or the fact she had said his name and called him on his own virtues, Hyde had lost his snake like tongue and his balled up fists. He sat dumbfounded as he stared at her.

In the fifteen seconds it took for her to call him out, she had acquired a fragileness that hit his body instinctively. The desire to wrap her in his arms, to protect her, fell heavy against his shoulders.

However, there was no need to let on that he wanted anything to do with her.

"I had no reason too, Jackie." He cleared his throat, straightening himself in his chair, crossing his arms once again. "It was my business. The guys didn't need to know anything."

She mimicked his movements, crossing her own arms as well as her legs. "It was our business, Steven."

There she went again, saying his name with that soft tone. Shudders ran down their spines as his name echoed back and forth in their brains. For one, it was the way her voice dipped, annunciating the syllables in his name. The other one was simply concentrating on the name itself and the person it was associated with.

"Like you didn't run your mouth off to Donna." He tried to reclaim some of his cruelness, but he had failed. The words might have been rough, but his tone was more questioning then actual stating.

"I did not." Delicate arms untangled from themselves. Her hands fell to her lap, wringing together as her eyes focused on them. "Donna would ask and I would remain Zen, you know, being vague and what not. She had stated, numerous times, that we were weird and unnatural and whatever." She shrugged, her eyes meeting his for the first time in weeks. "What did she care at that point?"

There was nothing to say on his part, so he shrugged. He shrugged and he shifted his eyes. He shifted his eyes and unfolded his arms. He unfolded his arms and twisted so he could focus on the television which was currently soundless. He focused on the television so he couldn't focus on her. And he couldn't focus on her because she was no longer his to focus on.

"Why are you here, Jackie?"

The sound of his voice perked her ears. She had lowered her eyes as he had turned away from her. But now she had a perfect view of the side of his face. The broad jaw, the twinkle of blue eye, the stiff demeanor he insisted in displaying; it was all things she had long ago put into memory.

"I told you. I couldn't sleep." There was a tiredness in her voice. Or, well, maybe it wasn't tiredness, maybe it was defeat.

She stood up, dusting her jeans, forcing him to look at her. "I'll just leave, ok?"

"No." It was gut reaction. A side affect from the fatigue he must have been feeling. "I mean." There was no 'I mean'. No meant no, in every single langue. No was universal. "What I meant was, you don't have to, if you don't want to."

She stood there for a few seconds, even though time was so skewed to them it could have been minutes, hours, days. With a nod of her head and the ghost of a smile, she sat back down, her hands wrapping around her knee caps.

"I heard you got ownership of the record store." He had not expected his 'if you don't want to' line to come with a conversation.

However, he supposed, at two in the morning, when two people couldn't sleep, conversation was bound to happen to them.

"Uh, yeah, I did." He nodded his head slowly. "It's pretty cool, you know. Eric has been helping out and stuff, earning a bit of cash on the side."

"I know, it's really great for him. Especially with college and stuff." Her eyes began wandering around the basement. Catching random knick-knacks and old sports memorabilia. This room held memory, after memory, after memory. Some good, some bad, some simply weird and strange. But ever single one of them had led her to one conclusion; this was home.

The basement was their home. Their own private escape from adulthood and work and life. It was their own bat cave as Eric had so delicately put it one day, ages and ages ago.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Hmm?" She was startled out of her revenue as his voice penetrated her trip down memory lane. She looked over at him, inwardly gasping as his blue oceans were crystal clear to her. His glasses discarded onto the table between them.

"I asked, why couldn't you sleep?" There was a smirk at the edges of his lips. He had obviously enjoyed catching her off guard.

"I," In all honesty, she couldn't sleep because those crystal eyes haunted her dreams. For months she had dreamt his face, thought about her regrets, waited for the moment where she could fall apart in his arms. Sleeping, eating, drinking, thinking, anything, had become difficult for her to do. But, unlike the princesses in her long forgotten fairytales, she couldn't sit around and crumble. And she hadn't. She had started working, and living, and breathing, all by herself. He had knocked the air from her lungs and she had swallowed it all back in.

And, in all honesty, it was only hard on nights like this. When she couldn't breathe as she slept. Or she couldn't think without stumbling. And, maybe she had come to the basement not to find sanction, but rather to find him and those eyes. It was like getting a song stuck in your head; you can't get it out until you've listen to the song. She couldn't stop seeing him until she saw him.

"Well?" He was smirking now and she had to close her eyes and take a breath. She had to fill her lungs with air or she was liable to drown.

"I couldn't sleep because," Her upper teeth dragged her bottom lip into her mouth and she began to chew on the plush flesh. She saw that smirk and those blue eyes and her body tensed with regret for turning that damn door knob. "I couldn't sleep because of you. Ok? I haven't been able to sleep, in months, maybe even years."

The blankness that had greeted her as she walked into the basement, greeted her once again. She sighed and leaned into the lawn chair, her hand moving to rub her temple. Honesty was the best policy, it was short and simple and something she lived by. There was never a reason to lie. Ever.

Blankness or no blankness.

She watched as his lips began to move but no sound was produced. She watched as his arms flexed, finally falling to his sides, his stomach lurching forward as those blue eyes stared with no understanding sketched into them, only confusion.

"What?" He had figured her fatigue was due to her busy, not so busy, schedule. He thought, maybe, her lack of sleep was caused by her insecurities of life and death and everything in between. He assumed, almost painfully, she couldn't sleep because she was day dreaming of white weddings to his friend. Maybe, even though it killed a part of him, she was focusing on the woulds and coulds of her brand new relationship, her true love.

And, for what it was worth, the only reason he could sleep at night, was knowing, deep down in his black heart, she and Fez were never, never, going to last. She was not meant to be with Fez, not in this life, not in any life. This Fez infatuation was a simple breakdown in her psyche. A flaw in her grand scheme of life. Fez was a fly in mere comparison to what Kelso had been to her. To what he, himself, had been to her.

At least this was the logic as he lulled himself to sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

"I'm sorry." She stood up again and his eyes ran the course of her body, drinking in her jeans and loose sweat-shirt. "This was a bad idea. It's too late, or too early, and I can't." She shook her head, her pony tail whipping across her face.

"Jackie," She froze as he said her name. Her head stopped shaking and her balled hands opened to the cool sensation of the basement air. "Sit."

For about half a second, everything Donna had said about being a strong independent woman circulated her brain and the desire to not sit down took over her. But, it only lasted half a second. And before she could further think about being a strong independent woman, she was back to sitting in the lawn chair.

"You can't just come down here, at two in the morning, and point the blame on me for you not sleeping, just to tell me it was a bad idea and try to leave." He had stood up at some point, she wasn't sure because it was hard to concentrate on what he was doing as well as what he was saying. His arms were tossed into the air, his right hand retracting to cover his chin. He froze and spun on his heel, looking down at her from across the room.

"I'm not pointing fingers, Steven. I'm stating that I don't sleep because I can't help but think of you as I go to sleep." She clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth. "It's not that big of a deal."

"We've been broken up for, like, almost a year." He sputtered. Everything was still wrapping around his brain. Her words twisted in knots in his chest. He had assumed that she was fine, that she had long forgotten him. He had been trying, day after day, to get her to forget him, to let go. He knew he wasn't good enough for her. He couldn't make her dreams come true. As far as she was concerned, he was worthless.

And, on that note, Kelso and Fez, and basically everyone else she came across, were never going to be good enough either.

Whether that was fair to her or not, it was the truth. She was worth more then anyone could give her. Not that he was ever going to admit that to her, or anybody else for that matter.

"So, what does that have to do with anything?" She gave him a look that clearly questioned his intelligence or lack there of. "I can still feel for you. Whether it's been a year or five."

"Why? Why would you feel anything, after everything we've been through? What would possess you to still feel something?"

"We all can't be jaded and black hearted, Steven. Some of us need to love and care and feel to survive." Her tone was now suggestive of his ignorance, his stupidity. Or, maybe it was simply re-enforcing her throw words of jaded and black hearted. Maybe she was emphasizing what she stated. Maybe she wanted him to disagree with her. Make him prove he was worth it.

"I'm not jaded. I just don't see the point in living with something that is dead."

"Is that what it was? A death?"

"You mourned didn't you? Jackie, we're too different, and I'm tired of all of this bullshit. You made your choice." No one was sure if he was referring to Kelso, months ago, or Fez, mere weeks ago. No one was even sure if he was talking about them, or if he was referring to her decision not to fight against his own choices.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She folded her arms, remaining seated in her chair. "You know what, never mind, forget it. I don't know why I even bother with you."

The night had taken a very weird turn for her, and for him, and it was too much. She should have never gotten into her car. She should have never driven the fifteen minutes to his basement home, her sanctuary. There was no reason to leave her boyfriend in the room next to her, alone. She didn't need Steven Hyde, just as he didn't need her.

At the end of the day, she needed to remember to let go.

The door knob was in her sights as she took the few steps towards the outside exit. Her tennis shoes prevented the sound of her steps echoing across the open room.

A hand clasped around her wrist and she twisted her head to stare at those haunting blue eyes, that broad jaw, and those fleshy lips.

"What?" The sound of breaking rippled in her words and they both knew she was at the brink of tears. "What do you want?"

He knew all her tones, all her inflictions, everything decibel that left her lips were stored in his head. He could recognize the agony in her words. Her tongue darted across her lips and her eyes strained to stay open so the tears would not overflow from the brim of her eye lids.

There was sigh, between them, and in the second it took to realize how truly breakable they really were, he pulled her hard against his chest. He held her as the tears she had been holding in for months poured onto his shirt.

"Tell me you don't feel it. Tell me that you never felt it, Steven. Tell me so I can let go and forget. Please." Her plea was full of desperation and anguish. She was begging him to renounce the feelings he had tried to hide. The feelings he never wanted to admit too because they broke him. They made him weak and vulnerable.

Leave them, before they could leave you. Isn't that what he had been taught? Wasn't that the lullaby his mother sang to him, night after night as she shut the door to his cluttered room? As she introduced another man into his house? As he pulled the pillow over his head so he could sleep without the sounds of pleasure echoing from his mother and her date?

He didn't say anything. There was no response for her plea. So he held her. He pulled her tightly against himself, and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. And he felt her back against the thickness of her sweatshirt. And he debated on the fragility that was currently held in his arms.

He could lie and tell her that he hadn't felt anything. That, after everything they had been through and everything that was between them, she was just another notch on his bedpost. He could very well tell her what she shallowly wanted to hear.

But he wasn't going to.

He might not feel exactly what she wanted him to feel, such as white weddings and grand futures, but he knew that he felt something for her. He always had.

Her tears scorched his insides unlike anyone one else's tears. He hated it when girls cried, but he could deal with it. But when she cried, it was irrevocably painful. He could feel her sadness radiating from her body, her soul, and every time she cried, truly cried, all he wanted to do was die. He wanted to stop the irrational pain that swelled in his chest.

The coldness that was forming over his stomach, from the tears soaking through his shirt, forced his lungs to cry for air. He took a deep breath, he felt the pressure of his ribs being brought against the frail tissues.

She pulled away, at some point, he wasn't sure because his breathing had become irregular. He did, however, know that she was still in his arms, only now, instead of being pressed against him, there was space between them. His gruff hands were holding on to her shoulders, his eyes looking down at her red face.

"Why are you so short?" The laugh that escaped her lips were like waves crashing against his ear drums. It was like lifting a car over his head.

"I'm not wearing platforms." Her voice was full of emotion and a few tears were still running from her eyes.

"Yeah," He looked down between them, taking in her flat tennis shoes. "I can see that."

He knew she was short. It was a part of the Jackie Burkhart appeal. The fragile, petite, yet strong, persona that she portrayed both inside and out.

"I can't tell you I didn't feel anything." Blue eyes were still staring at her shoes, but he could sense the smile that had appeared for the briefest of seconds fade from her lips. "I know you want me too, but I can't."

Blue crashed with blue/green, and a flashback of repressed memories rotated his brain like an old film strip.

She sighed and broke the eye contact first, fitting herself closer into his arm span. Closing the small space she had created. His wet t-shirt burned her cheek with a cold redemption.

"I don't want you too. I might die if you even thought about telling me you never loved me." She whispered, her hands finding his hips, as she stared to the side of the basement. A sense of longing hit her as his arms wrapped snuggly around her.

"Was it really love Jacks?" He rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're going to tell me, after Kelso and Sam, that what he had was love?"

He closed his eyes as her chest rose and fell against his.

"Yes, Steven, I am. What else would it have been?"

"Lust? The desire not to be alone?" He shrugged. "I don't know."

He felt her shrug as well, yet she still made no attempt to move away from him.

It was the first time, in a long time, they had come to some conclusion. It was either an onslaught of lethal words or looks that could kill. Jackie and Steven did not do talking. At least not since marriage proposals, and Chicago opportunities, or Kelso and Sam. Donna had said it best when she had told them that it was better for everyone involved if the two stayed away from each other.

"Why are you with him Jacks? You know he's not good enough for you."

She looked up, startled out of her thoughts.

"Why do you care?" Their was a husky quality to her voice and he could feel the familiar pull in his loins. But all thoughts carrying a sexual undertone were pushed away as he took a step away from her, dropping his arms and putting space between them.

"Because he's not good enough for you. He's Fez for Christ's sake." He threw his arm up and turned around, beginning to pace behind the couch. "You're like a trophy to him."

"I'm a trophy to everyone, Steven." There was no self assurance in the way she said it. No, there was a kind of sadness, a kind of truth that echoed behind her words. "Just look at how you all treated me."

"You weren't a trophy to me." He stated, pausing at the end of the couch closest to the washer. A finger was pointed to his chest, emphasizing his confession. "You were never my trophy."

"Then what was I? A knick-knack that you could use and toss away as you felt fit?" There was no malice in her words, not even a raised voice. She was almost mono-toned as she stood, arms defensively folded, feet pressed together for optimal balance.

"You're Jackie." The finger that was pressed dangerously to his chest was retracted and his hand went to comb through the top of his hair. "You're the most annoying person on the face of the planet. You complain. You're bossy. You're irrational. And most of the time someone wants to kill you." He threw his hands up and walked over to the fridge, kicking his frustrations into it. He stared at the wall from a hot minute, his arms folding threateningly over his quickly rising and falling chest. "You're Jackie and I love you and he's not good enough for you." He turned around, his menacing stance doing nothing to hide the uncomfortable expression.

"So, then, who is good enough for me?" A headache was forming over her right temple, and a spell of dizziness was making it's way through her body. The lack of sleep and the conversation at hand was too much. "You?"

He scoffed. "Me? Are you kidding? I'm the least good for you. I'm, I'm always going to bring you down."

A realization that might have always been there, that maybe she had ignored before, rushed across her. She dropped her arms, and separated her feet. She took up the space she had before tried to leave untouched. There was a wave of air, from somewhere, that quickly spread between them.

"Is that what you think? You're going to bring me down?"

"Oh, come off of it." A disgusted expression twisted across his features. "Sam is what I'm meant to be with. She's the epitome of what I deserve."

"Trash?"

"She was very well not trash, Jackie."

"Ok, then, what, Steven? What do you deserve? Some girl who was already married. Who had tricked you to the alter out of boredom? What, Steven?"

"I deserve the same lousy fate as Edna and Bud. I'm trash Jackie. I'm trash and you know it. You've always known it. You would burn me with it when we were younger, and you repressed it as our relationship continued. But I was always, and will always be, trash."

In the amount of time it took for Jackie to cross over to him and to raise her hand, the sound of contact between her palm and his cheek ran across the basement.

They stood, not even a foot apart. Hyde's cheek was turning a deep red as Jackie's eyes flooded with a new slate of tears.

His fingers burned the heated flesh of his cheek, his eyes buried deep into hers.

"How dare you, how dare you, how dare you." She was sputtering the same words over and over again. It was becoming a mantra as she closed her eyes, squeezing the salty solution from her green/blue orbs. She began shaking her head as her tiny hands balled into fist, her nails digging into her palms. There was a break as a sob filtered between, but it last only a few seconds as the words continued to flow.

He didn't know what to say, how to react. His cheek was radiating a heat that was too hot for his hand.

"You, you," Blue/green eyes were wide open now, a vivid red incasing her irises. She was pointing at him, jabbing her finger into his chest. "You are not trash Steven. You're not. You're not Edna and you're not Bud. You never were. I was a selfish bitch when we were younger. Don't ever assume that I've forgotten everything I have ever said about you. I know what you are. And you're certainly not trash. Don't you ever, ever," She broke off, her finger seizing from jabbing him. She began sobbing and crying, incoherent words falling from her lips.

For a second time that night, on the other side of the room this time, Jackie found herself in Hyde's arms.

He began shushing her calmly. His lips moving towards her ears. Strong hands found her back and began rubbing the pain, the tears, the emotion. He could feel knot after knot as his hands, palm wide, ran up and down her back, grasping at straws to sooth her.

"Jackie, please don't cry. I hate it when you cry." His voice sounded almost foreign when it took on the soothing undertone. It was as if he was a different person. Surely, surely, this other person would not have broken her heart. Would not have given her up without so much as an explanation or a fight. This other person was the person she had convinced herself to love. Surely, he and this other person, was two separate people.

But as her body wracked with sobs, her tears burning through his shirt, he quickly realized that this person was simply him. It was the person he allowed himself to be when there was no need for pretenses and no need for walls.

"Steven, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her words were slightly clearer then they had been, and he was grateful for the early hour, and even more grateful Red had installed that air lock door, to muffle the sounds of the basement from the house.

He refused to say anything, holding her and soothing her silently. There was no need for words between them. He had the uncanny ability to screw it up and she had the habit of exaggerating. If their relationship had taught them anything at all, it was talking was sometimes more damaging then not talking.

After several minutes, her sobs died down to heavy breathing, which was currently balancing his own deep breaths. They stood near the drying, holding and being held, their chests rising and falling out of sync. As he breathed in, she was breathing out.

Her face was once again pressed against his damp shirt, her eyes trying to focus on the moving pictures on the television.

"How did we end up like this?"

It took his brain a minute to register her words. He sighed and leaned his forehead on the top of her head.

"You wanted to get married and I'm a moron." He tried to assert playfulness with his words, but it didn't come out as such. The truth hardly ever did.

"I wanted to know if I was apart of your future."

"How could you even doubt that?"

She pulled away from him, her arms moving to lay against his chest, in between their bodies.

"Because, let's be honest with ourselves. I'm the spoiled princess and you're the rebel rocker. Garage band heroes rarely stay in love with the fashion divas." There was a smile dancing at the edges of her lips.

He sighed and lowered his head, his breath hot against her face.

"Steven," there was a warning in her words, but she made no movement to back away.

"Please," a smile crossed his lips as they lowered to their destination. "I won't hurt you."

And with a bait of breath, his lips were pressed against hers. The taste of him swirled across the edges, making her open her mouth, forcing herself to drink him in. She pressed her weight on to her toes, forcing herself, as well as his head, to move up. Her hands found his shoulders and moved with a grace down to his hips. She moaned into his mouth as his hands moved from her back to her face, cupping her cheeks, holding her in place.

She wasn't sure how they had accomplished it, but one second they were standing, her toes numbing from the coordinating balance ballet and cheerleading had given her, and the next second they were on the couch. Her hair fell from it's pony tail. His shirt was ripped from his body, his chest free for her hands to roam. The scent of her shampoo rushed across their sense, intoxicating their already blurred minds.

He was the first to pull away. His eyes were shining with such an intense blue, she mentally scolded herself for not remembering.

"I'm sorry, Jackie. I can't let you leave here tonight. You can not go back to Fez."

"He loves me." There was no longing in her voice, only humor.

"Yeah, ok." He rolled his eyes, kissing her forehead, trailing down the side of her face, his lips landing at the nook of her neck. Before he could leave a mark, making her groan in displeasure, he looked at her, a serious tint in his blue diamond eyes. "Are we ok?"

She leaned her head up and gave him a fleeting kiss, leaving the tiniest taste of her lips on his. "Of course we're not ok. But we're better then we were."

He nodded his head, moving off of her and sitting at the edge of the couch. He gently patted the seat next to him. With a smile and a half-sigh, she moved to the space, and gently cuddled up to him. His arm fitted perfectly around her as she drew shapes on his bare chest.

"No more dating people from the circle… or in Wisconsin. Or anyone for that matter. You're too good for them." He stated, his elbow moved to rest on the couch's arm, his head rested on his fist.

She closed her eyes, pressing herself closer to him. "No more marrying random strippers."

He chuckled. "Ok."

"We'll be ok, Steven. At least we took the first step." She sighed, her voice dropping to a whisper.

He looked down at her and nodded his head, his arm tightening around her fragile shoulders.

"You know, we could do that thing." A smirk found it's way to his lips. Silence filled the room and after a beat, she pinched his side, which resulted in a laugh.

"Nice try buddy."