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

Author's Note: I don't consider much of Red's behavior in "Oh, Baby (We Got a Good Thing Goin')" (7x18) in-character. I've changed a vital detail in that episode to bring Red back to his true characterization.

Dedication: For Prissy (nannygirl), the queen of Red/Kitty fanfic and a wonderful friend.

CHAPTER ONE
PLACEKICKER

Red dropped the latest copy of Auto Magazine onto the side table. He whispered, "Damn it!" at the den walls and pushed himself from his armchair. Relaxing had been his plan after the auto show, but his body refused to cooperate. A day of admiring cars he couldn't afford took a lot out of man. So did being reprimanded by his wife. He'd messed up, and it was cramping his stomach like a bad batch of tuna.

Which is why he never ate seafood. One meal of gills in Okinawa had left him unable to steer the gunboat for two consecutive days. He'd been too busy puking over the side of it, but he felt as badly tonight as he had on that gunboat. Just without the vomit.

Kitty had really yelled at him today, firing curses at him in the Toyota. The fury in her voice could've blown out the tires. It had definitely flattened his pride. He considered sneaking to the living room, escaping up the stairs, and slipping into bed. Confronting her anger again was a situation he wanted to avoid, but the navy had taught him how to survive in hostile conditions. He'd fought in two wars and recovered from a heart attack. Apologizing to his wife was an endurable task

Fifteen steps brought him to her. She was pouring a cup of tea in the kitchen, but more than anger wrinkled her forehead. Worry was nested in her skin like shrapnel.

Sweat formed on his palms. The last time she seemed this upset, his ticker was giving out on him.

"Listen, Kitty," he began, but she kept her gaze on the counter and added sugar to her tea. Her blouse and pants from the day were rumpled like her forehead. But the fact she'd remained in them confirmed his suspicions: she was afraid.

He cleared his tightening throat. Wearing his pajamas and robe felt unsuitable for what he had to do. He'd changed into them a half-hour ago, but at least the robe was useful. He wiped his damp hands on it. "I'm sorry about today," he said. "It's just that the show had a 1957 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing. I couldn't resist—"

"Pawing at it like it was Lynn Taylor?" she said, stirring her tea.

His stomach intensified its attack, clenching harder. He'd entered the kitchen from the short hallway, and it offered two paths to go AWOL, the basement door and the fifteen steps that led back to his sanctuary. "I should've stayed in the den."

"No, no, no." She touched his arm and finally looked at him. "I shouldn't have gone to the car show. I know how you get around a shiny chassis, but I was hoping you'd include me somehow." She stirred her tea some more, splashing liquid out of the cup. "Instead, you ignored me like an old shoe."

She laughed quietly, the kind of laughter that shot armor-piercing shells. "Steven treated Jackie like you did that Gullwing. He brought her funnel cake with extra powdered sugar, asked her opinion on accessories for his car—"

"I didn't bring the Mercedes funnel cake."

"You know what I'm saying, Red. You gave me plenty of time to watch Jackie and Steven be all romantic with each other. It was sickening." She went back to stirring her tea. It had been stirred plenty, but more liquid splashed out of the cup. "We're the ones who are supposed to make them sick. It's our God-given right as parents!"

"Oh, you can't compare our mature relationship to what those kids have," he said, and his stomach and throat called off their assault. She wasn't afraid of losing him. She was jealous. He smiled, hoping to reassure her. "We're past all those highs and lows. We're like a sailboat in a dead calm."

"Dead? When was the last time we went for a motorcycle ride? Or dancing? Is your passion for me dead, too?"

"Of course not! Look, Kitty..." he grasped her arms gently and drew her closer, "the important thing is every morning, I get to wake up next to my favorite girl in the whole world."

The wrinkles in her forehead smoothed out. "Reginald Albert Forman..."

Her arms slid around his shoulders, but as she kissed him, a grenade detonated in his skull. Words were nice. So was the warmth and movement of her lips, but he had to prove his devotion. It was far stronger to her than to any shiny chassis. Sailing beyond the choppy seas of young love didn't mean she no longer excited him, but he'd done a piss-poor job showing her lately.

A few nights later, Red offered to do the dishes after dinner. He was already gathering them from the kitchen table. Phase one of his strategy was in motion.

Kitty placed a hand over her heart. "Well, isn't that sweet?"

"Whipped," Eric whispered to Steven across the table.

Steven laughed, but Red pointed at both of them. "Just for that, you two are gonna help." He passed his pile of plates to Eric. "Kitty, why don't you go upstairs and have a nice bubble bath? We'll take care of things here. I promise."

"I can't argue with that suggestion." She stood from the table, cupped his cheeks, and pecked his lips. "If you finish fast enough, you can join me."

She left the kitchen, and Eric groaned. "Do you have to do that right in front of me?" He glanced at his at his arm. Tomato sauce from the plates had fallen onto it. "And the indecency continues. I'm the one who needs a bath."

"Quit whining, Forman," Steven said, "and haul ass to the sink." He grabbed two glasses off the table. "Red, man, what's goin' on? You've been kissing Mrs. Forman's butt ever since we got back from the car show."

Red picked up the other two glasses. "Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Speaking of which, you and the loud one are going to Orchard Hollow with me and Kitty next Saturday."

"We are, huh?" Steven carried his glasses to the sink, where Eric was soaping up the dishes. "What's in it for me?"

"Funny question." Red joined him and Eric at the sink. Steven had no leverage. He wasn't aware of it yet, but Red would rectify that. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Where the hell are you living?"

"Where're you goin' with this, Red?"

Red clinked his two glasses together. "To Orchard Hollow with the nineteen-year-old who continues to eat my food and live under my roof. You could've moved to Milwaukee to live with your biological father, but you chose to stay here. Now, I can either tell Eric why you did that..." he placed the glasses on the sink counter, "or you can accept you're a part of this family. And after years of being part of this family, you know what that means."

"I'm goin' to Orchard Hollow on Saturday."

Red inhaled a deep, satisfying breath. "That's right."

"Blackmailing me with privileged information." Steven put his glasses beside Red's and clapped Red on the back. "Proud of you, man."

"Hey!" Eric shouted. He was scrubbing a smear of tomato sauce off a plate. "I'm your actual son. Why don't you invite me and Donna on your 'couples retreat'?"

"Do you really want to spend a day picking apples?" Red said.

"Not really."

"See? And I don't want to spend a day with you, so you not going works for both of us."

Eric's shoulders slumped, and he put the last of dishes in the drying rack. "Since you two like being around each other so much..." he gestured to the silverware in the sink and the glasses lined up on the counter, "you can finish this without me."

He plodded to the short hallway and disappeared through the basement door. The boy had inherited his mother's sensitivity, but Red wasn't married to him. If Eric decided to mope, that was Donna's problem.

"You gonna kiss Forman's ass now that you made him jealous?" Steven said and grabbed the dish scrubber. "Maybe get him a new rubber ducky for his bath?"

"No, but my foot'll do more than kiss your ass if you stick with that line of thought."

Steven seemed to get the message. He washed a fork in silence, but Red needed more than that. Phase two of his strategy was forming up, and one couldn't be too prepared.

"Say, how do you come up with stuff like, 'Because she's my chick'?" The question should've been easy to understand, but Steven grimaced, as if Red had asked why the Packers were having a lousy season. "The reason you stuck with your girlfriend at the car show," Red said. "'Because she's my chick.' Kitty told me."

"That's what she is," Steven said. "My chick. She's into cars and knows what I like. Bein' at the auto show with her was cool."

"'That's what she is,'" Red repeated. "'That's … what … she … is.' Okay." Steven's meaning was clear, and now Red knew just what to do on Saturday.

Red's hands covered Kitty's eyes as he led her to the driveway. A chill hung in the late-October air, but Red's promise of a Saturday Surprise warmed her from the inside-out. Would they finally take the motorcycle out for another ride? His doctor had okayed it months ago. Or maybe Red had reserved a room at the Wisconsin Dells for a romantic weekend.

"All right, Kitty..." He removed his hands from her eyes, and the Toyota—as well as Steven and Jackie—replaced the darkness. "We're going to Orchard Hollow!"

Her pulse sped up, heating her further. "Oh! Oh, we haven't been apple-picking since the kids were kids!" She gestured to Steven and Jackie. "They're just seeing us off, right?"

"No, they're coming with us. Once Steven heard about my plans, he begged me to let him and Jackie go, too." Red clenched his fists and shook them in front of his chest. "Begged me, Kitty. What was I supposed to?"

Jackie tugged on Steven's coat sleeve and whispered something in his ear. He tapped his temple in response and jutted his chin toward Red. She nodded as if she understood. They must've had some kind of secret language, but Kitty couldn't decipher it.

"Best thing about this place," Red said once they were in the Toyota and on the road, "it's only fifteen minutes away." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "It used to be a dairy farm. Seventy-five acres of farmland."

"Wow, you've really done your research," Jackie said from the back seat. "Did you drive up there earlier to make sure it wasn't run-down?" She gasped. "Did you used to work there? You have all those plaid shirts. Those are farming shirts—"

"Jackie," Steven said next to her, "your tongue's actin' up."

"It's a perfectly valid question," she said. "Though he did join the navy when he was, what, eighteen? When would he have had time to milk cows?"

Red drove onto I-41, but his neck and cheeks were flushing. Kitty had to redirect the conversation. Otherwise, he might stop the car short in an attempt to fling Jackie through he windshield.

"Surely you kids have gone apple-picking before," Kitty said but received no answer. "Kids? I asked you a—"

Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Steven and Jackie's reflections were groping each other in it. Their faces had become a joint entity with their kissing, and Kitty laughed through clenched teeth.

"I can swerve the car," Red said. "That'd make them stop."

She exhaled through her nose. Red had spotted Steven and Jackie's slobbery make-out, too, but she said, "No. It's only ten more minutes now, right? How much kissing can they do?"

"Ask a stupid question," Kitty muttered. For the last nine minutes, she'd mostly stared out the passenger-side window but occasionally checked the rearview mirror. Steven and Jackie must have grown gills. Their mouths never left each other long enough to take in air.

She considered tossing the car's Weeper Keeper at them, but Red drove into Orchard Hollow's parking lot with jerky stop-start movements. When that didn't work, he honked the horn a few times, blasting Steven and Jackie apart from each other.

Everyone exited the car. Neither Steven nor Jackie complained about Red's driving, a wise decision. Red might abandon them here, and Kitty wouldn't argue that hard against it.

Beyond the parking lot, apple trees rose in the distance. Kitty's heart beat loudly in her ears. The prospect of a romantic day began to erase her memory of the drive here, and a familiar warmth slid beneath her palm. Red had offered her his arm. She grasped it with both hands, and he led the way toward the orchard's county store.

"You should've let me swerve the car," he whispered to her.

"If they start up again on the way home," she whispered back, "you have my full permission."

The county store smelled like apple pie, and paintings of the orchard adorned its wood-paneled walls. Jugs of apple cider filled the shelves, along with apple-themed oven mitts, dishware, and recipe books. Kitty's stomach swirled with the desire to buy out the store, but she'd have to do her shopping after picking apples. She and Red had reached the cash register, where a young, rosy-cheeked woman greeted them.

"Hi! Welcome to Orchard Hollow," the woman said. "How can I help you today?"

On the register counter, in a picture frame, was a hand-written list of what Orchard Hollow had to offer and the corresponding fees. Red pointed to the first item on the list and said, "Four full park admissions, including the tour."

"Oh, Red, you're really splurging?" Kitty said, and Steven and Jackie grumbled behind them.

Red cupped Kitty's chin. "Anything for my favorite girl."

He paid the cashier, who placed four apple-picking baskets on the counter. Kitty grabbed two of the baskets, passed them to Steven and Jackie, and snort-giggled. "I'm his favorite girl!"

"I can't believe we have to go on a tour," Jackie said. "It's Saturday, Mrs. Forman. We're not supposed to learn on Saturdays."

"Yeah." Steven hiked his thumbs at himself and Jackie. "How's about we skip the tour and meet you at the apple trees?"

"Already paid," Red said. "So you two are gonna see how cider is made, and you're going to enjoy it."

"Fine, we'll go." Jackie struck the apple-picking basket against her hip. "But I'm not going to enjoy it unless cider is a euphemism for diamonds."

Red's eyebrows rose, and his lips twitched up but didn't quite smile. "It's not."

Kitty rubbed his back. He was great at getting the kids to participate in group activities against their will.

Their tour guide was a wiry, gray-haired man named Fred, whose passion for apples was probably unmatched in the Midwest. He spoke about them as if they were jewels, but his enthusiasm didn't seem to impress Jackie. She kept whispering insults to Steven, ones Kitty tried not to hear. But his overalls were bright green, emblazoned with Orchard Hollow's name and logo, and much too big for him.

"He's more cartoon than man," Jackie said quietly, and Kitty agreed. Her fingers itched to sew his outfit to a proper size.

"Once the apples are cleaned," Fred said inside the cider mill, "they're brought by this conveyor belt to the grinder."

He brought them past the conveyor to a growling, vibrating machine. A man stood beside it, holding a large hose, and apple pulp poured out of it onto a tarp-covered tray.

"After the tour is done," Kitty whispered to Red, "are you going to abandon me for all this noisy equipment?"

"Of course not. You're my wife."

"That didn't stop you at the car show."

Red peered up at the cider mill's ceiling, and his chest rose with a heavy breath. "Kitty, I'm trying to make things up to you here. If you ever go to another auto show with me, I promise to be as much of a know-it-all as this guy," he nodded at Fred, "drag you around the convention center, and explain to you the glories of a '63 Corvette Stingray, okay?"

"That's all I want." She hugged his waist but peeked back at Steven and Jackie. "And for you to take five minutes out from ogling cars to feed me—the woman who bore you two children—funnel cake."

"Feed you funnel cake," he said as if speaking to himself. "Got it."

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "Good."

Kitty and Red chose an apple tree with branches low enough for Kitty to reach. The Braeburn apples snapped off the tree with little effort. Visions of baking danced through her mind: apple pies with cinnamon-infused crust, her aunt Alice's apple crumble, that French apple tart recipe from Good Housekeeping, but they became apple sauce with Jackie's shriek.

A few trees east, Steven had raised Jackie to a high branch. His arms were coiled around her hips, but she hit his shoulder repeatedly and shouted, "Let me down, let me down!"

He did as she ordered, and she dumped over her basket of apples. She dumped over his, too, and he shouted, "What the hell?"

"Worms, Steven! The last apple I picked had a worm poking out of it!"

"This is crap." He crouched by the apples scattered on the ground and started to put them back in his basket.

"Uh-oh," Kitty half-sang to Red. "Sounds like there's trouble in Young Love Land."

Red bit into the apple he'd just picked, and he chuckled mid-chew as Jackie continued to yell.

"Stop! They're all gonna be wormy now!"

"Then why'd you dump them?" Steven said.

"To check if they have worms. I didn't think that far ahead, okay?"

Kitty didn't hear what Steven said next, but he continued to return apples to his basket. Jackie, though, kicked them away from him. They shot far into the orchard, and Red whistled as one sailed past at least a dozen trees.

"Why'd she waste her talent on cheerleading?" Red said. "That girl should've tried out for the football team."

"As a placekicker?" Kitty winced and clutched her basket. She never got sports details right, but Red took another bite of his apple and gave her a thumbs-up.

Her grip on the basket loosened. No snide remark from him? She must have finally learned something about football. She stood up straighter and plucked an apple off the nearest tree branch. This day was turning out to be as good as she'd hoped.

One of Steven's apples flew by Red's ear. Red jerked his head to the side, and the apple landed by a family with young kids.

"Red," Kitty said behind him, but his attention remained on the family. The youngest kid, a toddler, picked up Steven's apple. She slobbered all over it before tossing it on the ground.

"Would you look at that." He propped his foot on a stump near his and Kitty's tree. "I bet you that germy, drool-covered grenade's gonna be used in the mill." He glanced at Kitty. "We're not buying any cider from this place. We'll make our own."

"With what, our washing machine, a couple of wood planks, and the Toyota?" Kitty yanked on his jacket. "Look at this."

He removed his foot from the tree stump and followed her eyeline across the orchard. Steven had put Jackie over his shoulder and was carrying her—and their empty baskets—farther east.

Kitty set down her own basket and moved beside Red. "Those kids have broken up so many times," she said as her arm curled around his back, "I'm honestly not sure they're going to make it. But watching them today, I've realized you were right. We don't need those ups and downs. Steadiness means stability." She kissed his shoulder and gave his butt-cheek a small squeeze. "We've always had each other, and we'll always have each other."

"Damn right." He grasped her waist and turned her toward him. "We're winning, Kitty." He gave her a little shake, and the lightness in his chest materialized on his face as a grin. "We are winning!"

"Winning what?" she said.

Her confused stare sobered him up, but he didn't quit smiling. It would reveal too much. "Oh, you know … at life."

"Don't give me that. We've been together thirty years, plenty of time to learn when you're feeding me a line." She cocked her head to the side, and the cords in her neck strained. He'd known her long enough to realize he was in trouble. "Winning what?" she repeated, and his mind charged through every shabby response until it reached a decent one.

"Nothing," he said. "We just have the better relationship is all. Like you said, it's stable." His palms skimmed her sides. "No doubts between us. I trust you, and you trust me."

She slapped his chest. "Did you bring me here because of some competition you're having with Steven?"

"No. I brought you here because you're my wife."

"Stow it!" She slapped his chest again and threw him off balance. He stumbled over a fallen branch as she shouted at him. "You don't care about having a romantic day with 'your wife'. All you care about is winning a contest!" She grabbed an apple from her basket. "Well, Red Forman, you can go climb a tree!"

She hurled the apple at him. He dodged and laughed when the apple missed him. Two times today he'd almost been hit, but his reflexes were intact. The cardiac rehab she and his doctor insisted he do had more benefits than he'd thought.

He leaned against an apple tree, and its broad canopy shaded him from the sun as Kitty dashed off through the orchard. Too bad it couldn't do the same against her wrath. He'd lost this skirmish, but the day wasn't over. He still had time to regroup, to prove to her she was more important to him than pride or a '64 Pontiac Bonneville Convertible—although driving one of those babies, with his best girl at his side, would be a mighty fine way to spend his retirement.