Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER THREE
THE BREAKOUT

Jackie had given Michael permission to sit with her. They were alone in the Formans' basement, a rare occurrence these days. His arm snaked around her shoulders, but she didn't cuddle into him. Spring break was more than half-over, and it had been a sexless, horrible disaster. The lack of romance she could blame on Michael, but the disaster? That was all her.

She'd lost Steven's car. Poor and orphaned Steven, who didn't have parents to buy him a new one. The Formans, though well-intentioned, could barely afford to clothe him. So—unless his boss, that dirty old hippie, had another El Camino buried somewhere—she needed to get that car back.

"Hey, who do you think is hotter," Michael said, gesturing to the TV, "Mr. Spacely or Mr. Cogswell?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The short, mustached dude and the tall, big-nosed dude. Who would you rather do it with?"

"Ew. Neither of them."

"But they're rich."

"And old and not real, Michael!"

He squeezed her shoulder. "I'm real. How about you do it with me again … finally?"

She scooted away from him, putting a whole couch cushion between them. Ever since kissing Todd, she'd agreed to most of Michael's non-sexual requests. Watching The Jetsons was one of them, but she hated shows about space. And Michael pawing at her during every commercial break didn't make it better..

"I'm not ready yet," she said. "I told you that."

"Damn, Jackie, it's been over a week! Spring break's all about having non-stop sex. We're wasting our Mother-Nature-given opportunity to do it!"

"I don't care."

"Why? 'Cause you've been too busy licking the roof another guy's mouth?"

She slapped the couch, hard enough to make her palm sting. "God, would you stop saying that? There are more important things going on besides your crazy paranoia, Michael!"

"Yeah? Like what?"

Like finding Steven's car, but she couldn't tell Michael that. He'd blab the truth to Steven, who believed his El Camino was safe in her garage. Steven hadn't confronted her about it yet, but according to Donna he was plotting revenge. That would buy Jackie time but not much. The car had been missing for over twenty-four hours. If she didn't return it to him in one piece, he'd never forgive her.

He might even have her arrested.

"Come on, Jackie," Michael said and squeezed her shoulder again. "How am I supposed to believe you don't wanna 'prove your love' to other guys if you won't prove it to me?"

The basement door slammed open before she could answer. Donna rushed inside and said, "Bad news—"

Jackie shot off the couch. "Not here!" She dashed to Steven's room, and Donna followed.

"What bad news?" Michael called after them, but Jackie shut the door, blocking out his voice. Her behavior was sure to increase his suspicions, but she'd have to deal with that later.

"So," Donna said in the darkness of Steven's room, "my uncle's contacts in the Point Place PD found the car."

"And?" Jackie needed light. She waved her hand through the air, and it smacked into the pull cord. She tugged it, turning on the room's bare bulb. "Where is it?" she said. "Did they tow it somewhere safe?"

Donna picked at a hangnail and didn't look her in the eye. "It's been stripped for parts. All they found was, like, the chassis and the front bumper with the license plate."

Jackie covered her mouth. Her ribs must have dissolved because her chest was caving in. "Oh, God," she said, though it resembled a hiccup. "Donna, what am I gonna do?"

"Come clean. Tell Hyde the car was stolen from you."

"Or I can beg my dad to buy him a new one. A better one."

"Didn't your dad cut you off for dating Kelso again? Isn't that why you're working at the Cheese Palace?"

"Damn!" Jackie's face grew hot. "You're right. I'll have to work overtime … for the next four years!"

She threw herself onto Steven's cot and buried her head in his pillow. Tears dampened the pillowcase, but with each crying breath, her stomach pressed into something lumpy. She sat up, wiped her eyes, and slid her palm over the blanket. The pattern of lumps was familiar. Too familiar.

She yanked the blanket back, and her breath caught. Staring up at her, with their pink and green petals, were her flower pillows.

"Steven...?" she said. "Steven stole my pillows?" She hugged one to make certain she wasn't hallucinating. "Donna, these are them—the ones I told you about!"

"That's impossible." Donna snatched the pillow Jackie wasn't holding and examined it. "He must've gone to the mall and bought his own."

Jackie narrowed her eyes. Donna sounded just like a cheerleader, fake as hell. "Cut the crap, Pinciotti. What do you know?"

"Nothing!"

"Just like you knew nothing about Michael cheating on me with Laurie?"

Donna's shoulders slumped, and she pulled on the sleeves of her blouse. "All right!" she said after ten seconds of silence and sank to the cot. "Hyde snuck into your house the other night and stole your pillows."

"And?"

"And he might've taken back his car keys."

Steven. Steven had been the one creeping around Jackie's room. It explained her dream that night. It explained everything, and relief poured into her chest. "So the Camino's safe? It hasn't been stripped?"

"It's fine," Donna said. "Hyde's been keeping it in Leo's garage."

Jackie squeezed her pillow until her knuckles hurt. "That scruffy, conniving car stealer! He let me worry about his stupid Camino for almost two days, and you're his accomplice!"

"Jackie, to be fair, you stole his car first."

"Yes, but..." An idea crashed into her mind, and she smiled at the smoking wreckage. "I know exactly how to get him back."

The lingering scent of weed soaked every part of the Fotohut, but the most potent of it oozed from Leo. He was sleeping off his pre-shift high at the film-processing counter, and Hyde envied him. Work had kept Hyde too busy to indulge in their circle. He was organizing rolls of film practically sober. People had taken a crap-load of pictures this spring. That was good for business, but Leo would be up all night, developing photos.

A car engine vibrated the Fotohut's walls. Another customer, and Hyde put on his most polite face. No one showed at the drive-through window, though, and the street was clear of cars. Weird. Maybe Leo's snoring had shaken the walls, but a frenzied knock rattled the Fotohut's door.

Leo snorted at the noise but didn't wake. Hyde went to the door, unsure if he should open it or grab a bottle of stop bath. A dose of chemicals would stall a robber, but who would bust in through the back? Anyone planning to steal from the Fotohut would go to the drive-through, where the cash box was.

Hyde glanced at the window, in case the robber had an accomplice, but no one lurked outside. Some moron probably thought the Fotohut had a bathroom. "Use the Fatso Burger across the street!" Hyde shouted at the door. "This ain't an outhouse!"

A muffled voice answered. "Steven, let me in. It's an emergency!"

Jackie. She'd must've come to confess.

He unlocked the door, and Jackie darted inside. Her face was a streaky mess of mascara, and but her mouth was worse. It had contorted into a horror-movie frown, as if she'd evaded a chainsaw-wielding psycho.

"Steven, I'm so, so sorry!" she said, clutching his arm. "I never meant for it to go this far!"

He covered her fingers on his arm, intending to pry them off, but his hand froze there. Had she swiped something else from him?

She let out an anguished cry. "Oh, it's all my fault! I was on this thieving kick, and Donna told me you know I stole your car. But what you don't know is that someone stole it from me!"

Tears fell from her eyes, and she brought his hand to the center of her chest. Her heart pounded beneath his fingers, pushing hot chills into his skin. The sensation was terrifying. It was addictive, and the last time he'd felt anything close was on her Lincoln, during their one and only date.

When they'd kissed.

He shivered as his emotions turned physical. Experiencing that again with her was bad. Unacceptably bad, and he yanked his hand from her. "Jackie, I—"

"No, let me finish. Last night, I drove all over town with the Lincoln, searching the back alleys of Point Place—"

He stared at her through his shades. "Point Place doesn't have any back alleys, except the exit to The Hub's parking lot. "

"Steven, I found him." She inhaled a stuttering breath, and Leo stirred in his chair. "I must have found him—the car thief—because I was attacked by a man in a ski mask. He had a crowbar and a knife, and he dragged me from the Lincoln and stole it!"

She grasped the front of Hyde's denim jacket and pulled herself to him. Her body warmed his stomach, but his blood turned to frost. "I've never been more scared," she said. "I had to walk three miles in the dark to get back home!"

Her voice vanished into sobs, and his guts twisted. He'd let his vengeance go on too long. He should've known she'd get herself in trouble.

"This guy..." he said slowly, and his arms glided around her back. His gaze fixed on the Fotohut's door, but all he saw was Jackie, being held-up at at knifepoint. "He didn't do anything more than get you outta the car, right?"

"He threatened me with the crowbar," she said into his chest. "Told me he'd bash in my skull if I didn't give him the car."

"Shit." He held her tighter and pressed his cheek against her temple, making sure she was still warm and breathing. "You weren't supposed to get hurt, man. Just wanted to teach you a lesson."

"What are you talking about?"

His shoulders and neck stiffened. Explanations wouldn't undo what'd he'd let happen. "I'm sorry," he said, shutting his eyes. "I'm really sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" She pushed free of him, and fresh tears shone in her lashes. "Steven, I—"

"The Camino's fine," he said. "I stole it back from you and hid it in Leo's garage."

"I have a garage, man?" Leo mumbled in his sleep.

Hyde spared him a glance, but Jackie said, "Why? Why would you do that?"

"Tried to teach you a lesson about stealing from friends," he said, and a smile brightened her mascara-stained face. "What?"

"We're friends?"

"Focus, Jackie." He massaged his knotted-up neck. It was growing tenser by the second. "Our collective, screwed-up judgment put you in danger, man. Look at this place." He moved a finger in a circle, indicating the Fotohut. "We've got a problem when a shack in the middle of the road is safer than where we live."

"What are you saying?" She stepped back, but he grasped her hand. "Steven?"

He'd acted reflexively. His mind yelled at him to let her go, but he needed her close, and she voluntarily returned to him. Her fingers wrapped around his palm, as if to reassure him. But he was the one who owed her reassurance and more. "Are your folks home?" he said.

"Yes, but I don't understand what—."

"They leave you alone sometimes, though. Your dad goes away on business, and your ma..."

"Takes the occasional spa weekend, but I'm never alone. I've always got the housekeeper." She jostled his hand. "Could you focus, please? I almost died last night because of you."

His eyes flicked to the Fotohuts shelves, but she was seared onto his optic nerve. "The security at your place sucks," he said. "You've got to get a better driveway gate, man. A tall one that locks automatically. Padlock on the one you have was open the night I took the Camino back."

"It was?" She dragged his hand to her hip and pressed his knuckles against it. "I didn't even think about that."

His index finger hooked one of her belt loops. He could've tugged her closer. His body begged him to, but his survival instinct kicked in, and his finger withdrew. His life was fucked up enough. He wouldn't make it worse by indulging in feelings he shouldn't have.

"Those spikes on the gate you've got aren't a deterrent, either," he said. "Any idiot can jump over 'em—and someone determined enough'll do more than that. You're lucky it was just me who broke into your room."

"Hah!" She thrust his hand from her. "You stole my pillows, too, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"I know. Because I found them in your cot."

The tension in his shoulders and neck rose to his forehead. "You were in my room again?"

She nodded. "I see what you mean about the Fotohut being safer than where we live. You should really lock your door."

"That's not what—" He squeezed his jaws together. No one knew he had only a week left at the Formans', that turning eighteen meant becoming homeless. His gray book of contacts had more blank pages than phone numbers, but he had the Camino. He could sleep in his car until he got enough dough to rent an apartment.

"Did it feel good to steal them?" she said, and he looked at her dumbly. "My pillows. Did you like taking them?"

"What the hell does that matter?" His head was pounding, and his eyes ached. He rolled his shoulders, attempting to force the tension from them, but Jackie's demeanor had completely shifted. Panic no longer shook her voice, and she wasn't crying. In fact, she was peering around the Fotohut, as if casing the joint.

"Stealing gives me such a high," she said and moved away from him. He didn't stop her this time. She went past Leo, who continued to snore, and snatched a box of film from the shelves. "Maybe I should arm myself with a crowbar and a knife. Then I could steal bigger and better things."

A strange laugh bubbled in her throat. It began as a giggle and grew into a cackle, loud enough to make Leo jump in his chair. "Who let in the witches, man?" he muttered. "I don't wanna fly on no stinkin' broom. Sweeping the sky's God's job."

Hyde's skin prickled. Jackie had lost her freakin' mind, and he maneuvered around the photo-processing counter to her. "You sure the thief didn't hit you over the head?" he said. "'Cause you're talkin' crazy."

She passed the box of film to him. "You care about me."

"If by care, you mean I don't like some asshole threatening you, then yeah. I care." He put the film back on the shelf, but his hand shook while he did it. Fear was gaining ground, and he inhaled three deep breaths to calm himself. Jackie's mood had changed too fast to be sane. He was no shrink, but going from crying to laughing couldn't be a good sign. "Maybe you should let a doctor check you out, to make sure you're—"

"I wasn't attacked, Steven." She tugged on the hem of his denim jacket. "Donna told me you stole your car back—but I wanted to hear it from you, so I put on this act."

"You were lying..." His body swayed as the tension left it. He leaned against the counter for support, but his skull continued to pound. "This whole thing was a scam?"

She gestured to her makeup-smeared cheeks. "How did I do?"

"How'd you do?" His voice was barely audible, even to him, and the force of his scowl hurt his face. "You're..." safe, but he couldn't tell her that, so he tried again. "You're..." a loon. Crazy enough to send him to the nuthouse, but his feelings for her would get him there first. She was off-limits, someone he was in no position to protect. Someone he desperately needed to forget.

"I'm what, Steven?" She tapped his wrist until his eyes focused on her. "What do you think I am?"

Her face resembled wet newspaper, but the sight of it crammed his stomach with porcupines. Those big brown eyes, that adorable as hell nose, that mouth he craved to taste again—they stabbed him from the inside-out. "You're..." someone he had to forget for both their sakes, but she was embedded in him, deeper than he could extract.

"Point Place's Prettiest Princess?" she said for him. "'Totally hot' with 'super hair'?"

The jig was a hundred percent up. She remembered his lame attempt at coaxing her back to sleep, and his lips relaxed into a grin. "An evil genius, man. That's what you are: completely and utterly evil."

Jackie cupped her forehead and blew out a slow breath. Steven didn't hate her. He even seemed amused, and she looked back at the dirty old hippie. Leo's snoring echoed off the Fotohut's walls, and his smell probably explained Steven's behavior. Steven had to be at least a little high.

Why else would he have held her?

He'd expressed enough concern tonight to make her cry real tears, but she couldn't indulge in such thoughts. They'd lead her to places he wouldn't go.

"Mind tellin' me why you've been stealing crap?" he said and, as if to underscore his question, grabbed ten dollars from the Fotohut's cash box. "Is it 'cause your dad quit givin' you dough?"

"No. I got the taste for it when Donna and I snooped in Casey's room." She drummed her fingers on the photo-processing counter. But it had to be covered in chemicals, ones that would yellow her manicure, and she withdrew her hand. "I stole his clock radio, and Michael caught us—sort of. He was mostly asleep, but you know what that idiot said? That he wanted to have sex with Donna!"

Her fists clenched at the memory. If she'd been talking to anyone but Steven, she would have shut up. The story was embarrassing, but he knew how bad Michael could be. He'd understand her motives.

"I would've let it go," she said, "because everyone has weird sex dreams sometimes, right? But the pig went on about it the next day while he was awake!"

"I'm awake!" Leo's eyes snapped open, and he sat up straight

"No, you're not, man," Steven said. "This is a dream. You know, one of those where ya think you're awake, but you're really not?"

"Oh." Leo slumped back into his chair. His eyes closed, and his mouth dropped open with heavy, rhythmic breathing.

Jackie scoffed. "So gullible."

"So stoned."

Her spine stiffened. "Like you?"

"Nope." He leaned his back against the drive-through counter. "Barely touched the stuff. But if I were toasted, maybe I'd get how Kelso's sex dream turned you into Maindrian Pace."

"Who?"

"Gone in Sixty Seconds?"

"Stealing your car took longer than sixty seconds."

He shook his head at her. "Man, you gotta watch more movies."

Her nails dug into her palms. Each beat of her her heart stung, as if her blood was full of hornets. "Whatever, Steven. You're busy working. You have your car. I'll just go—"

"Jackie, I'm not tryin' to get rid of you. I'm tryin' to get you to finish your damn story. Gone in Sixty Seconds is a movie where Maindrian Pace steals cars." He flipped the cash box lid open and closed, and his voice softened. "Get it now?"

The hornets in her blood drowned. "Fine, yes," she said, stepping closer to him. But he crossed his arms over his chest, meaning his body was off-limits. Not that she should be touching it. Or wanted to touch it, but her skin tingled with the memory of him touching her—in life, in her dream—memories she had to banish from her mind.

"Michael," she said, and her voice cracked. "This is all about Michael. The next day after his sex dream about Donna, I sneaked into Casey's room by myself. Michael was sleeping in there again—don't ask me why—and I talked to him. I wanted to make him have a sex dream about me. I told him we were going to do it, and he says, 'Where's Donna?'"

She slapped the photo-processing counter. Michael's promise ring clinked against it and bit into her finger. "'Where's Donna,'" she repeated. "Can you believe that?"

"Yup."

"That's no help."

He shrugged. "Guys dream about screwing pretty much every chick. It's our nature. Doesn't mean we're gonna act on it."

"Have you ever dreamed about sleeping with me?" The question had been parked in her head for two days. It should've stayed there, but it sped out her mouth made her her cheeks burn. "I just mean, has—has Eric?" She slid Michael's promise ring halfway off her finger. She rubbed the tender flesh beneath, but nothing would soothe her raw heart. "I know Fez has. Of course he has."

Her throat closed up, but Steven didn't seem fazed. His palms beat out a rhythm on the drive-through counter, and his grin from before returned. "Like you said, everyone had weird sex dreams sometimes."

Her cheeks burned hotter at his answer. He hadn't insulted her for asking, hadn't denied dreaming about her, and that grin—it intrigued her. It infuriated her, and she did her best to ignore it.

"Well, I guess I get that," she said and pushed the promise ring flush against her knuckle, "but his dream still pisses me off. Michael won't shut up about my one slip with Todd. He keeps accusing me of cheating, and now he's fantasizing about other women?"

She removed a compact from her purse. Her face reflected in the small mirror, and she gasped. It wasn't fit for public view. She searched the Fotohut for a sink but found none. How did Steven and Leo develop photos in this cramped, ill-equipped shack?

"Here," Steven said and passed her a bottle of sparkling water. Leo had a stockpile of it beneath the drive-through counter, next to a stack of plastic bins.

She looked down at the bottle. Steven had opened it for her, and he put a plastic bin on the film-processing counter. "What are you doing?" she said. His kindness made no sense. She'd stolen his car, tricked him into thinking her life had been in danger. "What's all this for?"

He handed her a roll of paper towels. "You wanna wash your face, right?"

"Yes, but..." Some questions were better left unanswered, and she drenched a paper towel with water. "I'm sure Michael's already complained about this to you, but I cut him off." She scrubbed the makeup from her skin. The first paper towel filled with black, and she dropped it into the bin. "That's why I've been stealing. It's replaced the excitement of sex. Not that making love with Michael's all that exciting. It's more—"

"Let me stop you right there," he said. "Don't need the details."

Her cheeks continued to burn, despite the water dripping off them. Steven knew the pathetic truth about her thievery. Taking his car had been a huge mistake, her biggest thrill, but she was done stealing

She finished washing to Leo's snores, and a follow-up examination of her reflection confirmed her face was clean. Thank God. The moment she left the Fotohut, this ordeal would finally be over

"'Bye," she said, but Steven's gaze held her in place. He moved closer to the photo-processing counter. To her. His eyes were visible through his sunglasses, and they compelled her to speak. "I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry you keep getting tangled in my relationship with Michael."

She winced at the edge in her voice. It revealed the lie, that she wasn't sorry. Steven's presence anchored her and deranged her all at the same time. "I don't mean to involve you," she said, "and you have every right to be sick of me. But I can't change what's already happened: that obnoxious kiss on my Lincoln, taking your El Camino—"

"I'm always sick of ya," his hand rested on the roll of toilet paper, "but I never said that kiss was obnoxious. Plus, stealing my car was pretty badass."

Her cheeks flushed with fresh blood, but embarrassment had nothing to do with it. "Really?"

"Yeah, man. You got more stones than most people I know." He clasped her shoulder, something he'd done to Eric, Donna, and Fez many times. "But the next time you get a hankering to steal something that big, swipe Forman's car."

"That old clunker?" she said and wrinkled her nose, but a glorious vision in silver-blue glittered behind her eyes " Ooh, what about Mr. Forman's Corvette?"

"If you don't value your life, sure." His hand fell from her, but his warmth remained. He slapped the counter a few times, and his eyeball ring clanked on the surface. "Hey, Leo, man, my shift's over. Wake up!"

Leo sat up in the chair and rubbed his eyes. "Man, I had the strangest dream about witches sweeping my garage. It was, like, the most normal dream I've ever had."

Jackie glared at him. "You just said it was the strangest dream. How could it be the most normal dream you ever had?"

"That's what makes it strange, man. It was normal."

"Whatever." She opened the Fotohut's door, pleased that Steven seemed to think of her as a friend. But as the cool, night air swept into the Fotohut, he took her hand. It wasn't a tight grip or much of one at all. He was holding onto her ring finger and pinky, but his touch buzzed through her body. She craved more of it, and she put some annoyance into her voice. "What?"

"Wanna grab a burger?" he said, and his grip moved from her fingers to her palm. It created a stronger buzz in her skin and a secret, doomed hope that he craved more of her, too.

"Sure," she said, "but who's paying?"

He quirked up an eyebrow. "Who said anything about paying?"