*DISCLAIMER* I do not own That 70s' Show or it's characters. *longing sigh*

Rating: T for language and mention of sex/rape.

I'm back guys! It's so great to have the sequel for I Don't Want to Give Up up and running.

For those of you who have read IDWTGU, welcome back and enjoy. For those of you who haven't, you better go and read it, or this will be mighty confusing for you. (Don't worry, hopefully it will be very enjoyable for you!)

Chapter One is named after the song "Get Back" by The Beatles, a claaaasic!

This chapter is very short, and it drags on. I get it. You want some action, some more dialogue, some more answers. All with time. I need to have a starting point first. I hope you guys still like it.

Voila! Thank you guys for being patient. You are awesome.

Rot in jail.

This is what Eric Forman's up mind kept ringing throughout his skull as he sat in the Point Place county jail, a place he would have never envisioned he'd be.

He did not look well. The dark circles under his eyes had gone from dark to woah, dude, you ever heard of sleep? His hair was long-ish, and he had actually grown some scruff. He almost laughed, thinking of the irony, as he toyed with his facial hair.

His cell was not that bad. His bed was warm, his cellmate kept his mouth shut, and he had a hole to shit in. The walls were covered with carvings, which captivated Eric. He wondered how many stories the carvings told, as he looked at all of the names forever imprinted in the concrete walls.

He flopped onto his bed.

It was over. It was over for Eric Forman because even he didn't see himself deserving of anything better than what he was dealing with. He dealt with the excruciating lurches of his stomach, the vomiting, the taunting of prisoners and guards, the feeling of fucking worthlessness. He did it by not only accepting it, but welcoming it with open arms. What else should've happened? Should he have been left alone? Maybe a pat on the back by the policeman and a "okay, one more chance, just don't do it again!" would suffice. Fucking right, he scoffed.

He sat his still lanky body up and rubbed his eyes roughly. More than any physical change, he had grown colder. He had no reason to smile. He had no memories to hold onto, because he was just reminded of how he fucked those up. He had no feelings but regret. His emotional pain was general-he no longer pinpointed his agony to one reason. It was everything. It was every breakup with Donna to every fucking time the word rape screeched through his mind and made a devastating halt. Every jerk at his emotional health was sure as hell present.

He had a lawyer. He remembered how he was so desperate to get one when he was first jailed. Now, it was worthless. He wanted to stay in jail.

Because of her.

Jackie Burkhart. A heartbreaker in ways that he would never be able to explain to anyone. His nightmares, his dreams, his daydreams revolved around her. Around what she was...around what she used to be.

He shivered. No one had even paid for his bond. Not his parents, not his ex-girlfriend. He had received no phone calls, no letters, no visits other than from his lawyer.

He was truly alone.

But, of course, this is where the story only begins.

"Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner, but he knew it wouldn't last. Jojo left his home in Tucson, Arizona, for some California grass."

He shoved his rough fingers against the off button of his radio. Get Back by The Beatles did not seem to fit his mood at the moment, or any mood he had been feeling lately.

He ran his fingers through his curly hair, remembering the days where it was music, drugs, and sex. Now all three brought memories that he did not care to ever think of again.

Who was he, Steven Hyde, nowadays? Other than being twice the douchebag he had been, he was three times as broken.

"Christ," he muttered, as he swerved his car way from another damn moronic driver on the road. He flicked the fucker off and got off the freeway.

He was heading towards his apartment, where Jackie was either a) sleeping or b)sitting on their bed chewing on her nails.

He had begun to hate her habit of chewing her nails with an inflamed passion. It represented her downfall as a woman and a human being: she used to cry if she chipped a nail, now she was violently tearing the little things off her fingers.

Things weren't peachy keen in the life of Mr. and Mrs. Smith nowadays. He drank, she cried. They both went to bed angry. All in a day's work.

Speaking of work, that was also down the drain. Being the boss's kid had it's upsides, but being lazy and refusing to show up at all was not something W.B was fond of. Steven was close to losing his job, not like it mattered.

His group's little stint of trying to gain justice for Jackie did not strengthen their relationship. Instead, it had torn them all down to filthy, exhausted little pieces that would take a hell of a lot of effort to unite.

He and Donna acted as impassive acquaintances, barely nodding at each other when they did see each other. Kelso spent time with his cop buddies in Point Place, and Fez had found a girl to screw for a while. Both Kelso and Fez phoned Jackie frequently, asking if she needed anything. She never answered, but would smile bitterly when she listened to their messages on the answering machine declaring their commitment to helping her in any way possible.

Hyde and Jackie were damaged the worst in regards to relationship. They never had sex, barely talked, and were on the brink of breaking up.

Even Mr. and Mrs. Forman were acting different, although together they remained united, as they had always been. Hyde guessed that it would be pretty fucking hard to find out that your son raped a girl, let alone a girl you who loved like a daughter.

Forman. Asshole was where he belonged. Sometimes, he wondered if he should be there, too. Along with his friends. They're the ones that fucked up initially anyway.

Surprisingly, Forman never told authorities that he was drugged, not even his lawyer. This piece of knowledge bemused the curly-haired young man, though he figured that it was to keep the three guys out of trouble.

He held her in his arms as they lay on their bed. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in his musky scent, a smell she knew oh so well. He sighed into her hair and rubbed her back. He blinked a few times, feeling anxiety in his chest as he thought deeply about the news he and his wife just heard: Eric Forman's trial was in three days.

How would he be able to handle the next week? What would he do during the trial? Would he go and watch the trial? He scoffed at the thought. 'What am I gonna do there, be gonna be a damn cheerleader?'

As he continued to rub Kitty Forman's back, Red Forman felt a shiver run down his back as he questioned who exactly he would be rooting for.

Jackie flipped through a magazine with a smile on her face. Liberachi was soooooo gay. Wasn't obvious to the pop culture world? She closed the magazine and ran a finger through her dry, stringy hair. She lied in bed with baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt on. It was 3 o'clock and she hadn't even showered, brushed her teeth, or put on makeup.

Their apartment was a mess, and she scolded herself in disgust at the life she was living. She doubted Steven even found her attractive anymore.

Speak of the devil, she heard the door open. "Steven?" she called out.

She heard more footsteps and the slam of the door as she listened to his reply. "Nope. I'm robbing the place." Sarcasm. Lovely. Jackie rolled her eyes. He thought he was so funny.

He walked into the room. She examined him. He has grown a beard. He was wearing ratty old jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt. His eyes glanced at her cooly and he nodded to her direction as he grabbed a towel from behind the door. "I"m gonna take a shower."

She kept regarding him, the way he walked like he knew what he was doing, how he talked with such confidence. She kind of resented him. She knew it was not rational, however.

She was only angry because she knew she would never be able to give him love. Or a family.

He got into the shower. Jackie leaned her head back against the headboard and reached for the phone, impulsively dialing the number she had been wanting to punch in for the last few days.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Jackie?"

She smiled. "I miss you."

Jackie waited for a response, there was none.

She coughed. "It's not your fault. It never was. I get it now." She fluffed her raven hair, examining it between her tiny little fingers. "I miss you. And I need you to support me. Come over."

There was another pause. "Yeah, I figured we need to talk."

Jackie coolly responded with disinterest. "Mhm."

"I'll be over soon."

"Okay. And, listen..." She took a breath. "I forgive you, Donna."

Donna kept her voice level, trying to hide the wariness from Jackie as tears brimmed her eyes. She mumbled an okay and slammed the phone on the receiver, images of skin on skin and hands in curly hair filled her head. I'm a bitch.

His cellmate was a fucking weirdo. He kept quiet most of the time, and cried a lot. Pussy.

But he had to wonder how much he really knew what was going on in this Eric kid's life, as his finger ran across a carving on the wall that said "Donna Pinciotti."

He scoffed. Kid was probably missing his bitch.

Please tell me what you thought of the first chapter in a review! I love hearing feedback, good or bad. Hope you guys liked it!