Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Warning: This story deals with a serious issue, a few, actually, and will be heavy angst. I hope to make it worth your while, however. I wanted something Jackie and Hyde could go through together, but not really, and to see how their relationship changes/responds. But be prepared, Jackie goes through a lot, and possibly more than I have planned at the moment. Those of you who've read my stories before know that I have to have a happy ending, so bear with me! :) (Donna isn't the sweetest person or best friend in these first chapters, but I think she'll come around.)
Dream The End
Who cares about Jackie?
Mid February, 1980, Point Place, Wisconsin
The outskirts of Point Place, the side of town made up of dirty train tracks, frightening forests, and run-down, abandoned buildings was every day becoming more beautiful and peaceful to her. Particularly the bridge. It wasn't fancy, with no lovely name like the Golden Gate Bridge, or the Brooklyn Bridge. In fact, it had no name at all. People simply referred to it as "the bridge"- it was the only bridge in the vicinity of Point Place - and everyone understood.
She parked her car on the side of the road just ahead of the bridge, and slowly got out. Her body ached, even simply getting out of bed lately was a difficult. She walked towards the bridge, plain and rusted metal meant to allow crossing of the Tonka River. On both sides of the road, walkways separated the edge of the bridge from the road, and she followed the path. Her stomach tensed with both hesitation and anticipation. One of these days the hesitation would no longer be there.
When she reached the middle of the bridge, she shivered and leaned against the cold barrister. It was early evening, the daylight was fading into haze. She supposed the sunset was beautiful, the air around her held that sheen, but she didn't bother to turn to the west. It didn't matter. She stared at the water below. She'd been told that the Tonka River was deep with a rocky bottom.
The water was smooth tonight, no ripples, no movement, a dark navy blue with glints of gold and copper. Kisses from the sunset.
A no name bridge, a river no one even bothered to fish in, both nestled in the forgotten part of town.
She gripped the waist-high guard rail. No wonder she felt kinship with this spot. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled deeply. Probably her imagination, but she smelled the river. Not dirty, not clean. Not salty, not quite fresh.
A no name bridge, an ignored river. One that wasn't salty or fresh, that wasn't dirty or clean.
She opened her eyes and looked again at the water. Now, just a few seconds later, the breeze picked up and the water's smooth cover rippled. She smiled. "You might as well be the Jackie river," she whispered.
No tears filled her eyes. Lately, tears weren't there. She wondered if she'd cried away all her body had to offer. She sighed, the heaviness in her chest not quite abating, and turned to walk back to her car.
Why was it so hard? Even turning the key in the lock was hard. Closing the door behind her was hard. Starting the ignition was hard.
She groaned and lay her head down on the steering wheel. She was so tired. Maybe she'd just rest a little bit, then go home and go to bed. Sleep would help.
A few hours later
Steven Hyde sat up in his bed, panting and wondering what the hell was going on in his damn mind. He raised his hands and rubbed his face, trying to dispel the images. Some faceless woman falling or jumping off something, a cliff or bridge or building or something. Fucking dreams. Recurring. They'd started after New Year's. Once or twice a week, at the least. He stayed still but for his breathing until it slowed to a comfortable level that didn't burn his throat.
And then he rolled his eyes, flopping back to his bed. He stared at the ceiling, at the dart of light let in from the slight opening in the curtains covering his window. A window. He still wasn't quite used to it. After living so long in the basement room with no light except electric, the comfort of the room upstairs was sometimes nice, sometimes disconcerting.
The light danced, and he watched it.
Fucking dreams. His fingers tapped on the bed, and he glowered at the innocent light. Self-disgust settled in the bottom of his stomach, and he shot up. "No way," he muttered, shoving his blankets off his body. He rolled off the bed and grabbed the tee shirt he'd strewn on the floor. No way was he going to lay here and analyze the dream. It was nothing. Stupid mind tricks that had no bearing on reality at all.
He quietly opened his door and sneaked out. The hallway was dark, but hell. He was criminal, or so others often gleefully informed him. He didn't need any freaking light. Creeping towards the stairs, he figured everyone was asleep and wouldn't notice if he went to the basement and hit up his stash. He grinned. Thank God for Forman and his creepy doll boxes he'd left down there. They made nice hiding places that Red - anti-doll man that he was - would never touch let alone look in.
He opened the door to the basement, wincing when it made hinted of the creak that was sometimes ear-splitting. He slowed, and luckily, the creak dissipated. The lights downstairs were on, and he took a few hesitant steps, frowning. Who in the hell was down here at 2 in the morning?
And then he saw them, Forman and his girlfriend Donna Pinciotti, nuzzling on the couch. He rolled his eyes.
The last thing he was in the mood for was them. Since Forman's return from Africa, and since Donna had torn him a new one in a fun-filled scream fest one afternoon in early January, the two had been disgusting. Making out all over the place, and bringing the gift of nausea to all they met.
This time, they were talking.
He was about to turn, figuring he'd take one night off from being a jerk and eavesdropping, until he heard his name.
"Don't you think something's bothering Hyde lately?"
Hyde made a face.
"How can you tell?" Donna laughed, and Forman continued. "No, seriously, how can you tell?"
"Ever since that Brian guy showed up, he's been...well, he's been more violent than usual. Remember? Kelso and Fez showed us those bruises all over their arms."
Hyde's fingers tightened around the railing. Brian. Fucking asshole, kiss up Brian. Just the thought of that prick made his blood instantly run hot. Though of course, no one knew that but him. He thought he'd been pretty good at hiding his utter loathing for the wannabe.
"Donna, Hyde's always rough with them. And to be honest, the way they've been acting lately, I can understand. God, it's like they're ten years old at times."
"Oh, this coming from you, Eric? You keep dolls in your room."
Hyde grinned. Wicked burn.
There was a pause, and he noticed when Forman spoke, the normal good-natured-ness was absent. There was an edge to his voice.
"And you keep books that you've never read and never intend to read because you want everyone to think you're so freaking smart."
Hyde arched an eyebrow. Trouble in paradise? Could it be? He thought about sitting down. A Forman/Donna fight could be entertaining.
"Whatever, Eric. Look, this isn't about us. I'm worried about Hyde. You know, he hasn't really dated anyone since Sam left."
His stomach clenched. Sam. Not exactly his favorite topic.
"So? Maybe he's had his fill of dating."
"It's just, I think we should do something. He was happy with Sam."
He shook his head. She'd told him the same thing, and he couldn't help but wondering how the hell she'd bought into that. Comfortable, yes. Mildly contented, sure, or at least enough to not do anything about the situation. Hell, the sex was decent and consistent, and there wasn't much fighting, nothing cataclysmic. It was relaxing. Sam had been his calm after Hurricane Jackie destroyed all.
But happy? Donna talked as if Sam was the love of his life.
Weird. He'd wanted to leave someone with that impression. He hadn't counted on being such a good actor that Donna would get the same one.
And oddly, it bothered him.
"I want to call her. She gave me a number when she left. I want to see if she'll come back and try to work things out with Hyde."
Hyde swallowed hard. Damn, what in the hell was Donna thinking? His grip on the rail tightened until he could feel the bones of his knuckles stretching his skin perilously thin.
"What about Jackie, Donna? From what I heard, they didn't exactly get along."
Hyde stifled a snicker. That was putting it mildly. The only times Sam really bugged him was when she was whining about Jackie and acting like a damn three year old. Hyde, she's bugging me. Make her go away. Make her shut up. Make her die. At least Jackie eventually tried to carry on with her life.
She did, you moron. With her new, perfect boyfriend.
He grinned. Yeah. That would last maybe one more month, at the most.
His grin fell. How had they lasted even this long?
"Who cares about Jackie? She's with someone else. What would it matter to her?" A pause. "Besides, and I know this sounds horrible, but...Okay. Say you were forced to eat liver and onions every day. You even had to eat it twenty four hours a day at one point. And you got used to it. Never really loved it, but got used to it, maybe liked it a little bit. But wouldn't you eventually get so damn sick of it you'd never want to eat it again? That's how I feel about Jackie. Truthfully, it wouldn't bother me if she stopped hanging around."
Hyde retreated. His chest was burning, and he had a feeling that he didn't really want to hear the rest of this conversation. Slowly and carefully, he climbed the few steps he'd descended.
Who cares about Jackie.
He'd thought and muttered those same words over the past six months, quite often. As he reached the top step and closed the door as quietly as he could, he wondered if Donna got the same sick feeling he always did when the words came to mind.
He smirked, but his stomach sank. From what he'd just heard, he doubted it. In fact...Jesus Christ, was Donna's idea to bring Sam back more about helping him or hurting Jackie?
Passing through the kitchen, Hyde considered making a sandwich, but didn't. Instead, he went back to his room and lay down.
The best thing about Laurie's old room was that it held no memories, at least none that made his insides curl. Who cares about Jackie? He closed his eyes, grimacing and glaring. The last thing he wanted to do was think about Jackie. Besides, she had her new, perfect boyfriend to care about her. So why should it matter if Donna was being a first class bitch to her?
Who in the hell was the woman in his dreams?
His eyes opened. Sleep wasn't going to come anytime soon.
Fucking dreams.
Jackie and Fez's apartment
Fez stood in the living room, hands on his hips. His beautiful girlfriend, the goddess he'd pined over for years, sat on the couch. Only she was not naked with a bowl of candy on her lap like she did often in his fantasies. She was wearing her puffy robe, the one that hid her breathtaking body, and she had no make up on. In her lap there was a bowl, but of popcorn, and she was spilling it all over herself. He'd never seen her eat so carelessly. "Jackie."
She stared at the television set, not appearing to even notice him.
Fez rolled his eyes and raised his voice. "Jackie!"
Not a glance.
He shook his head. "I am going to the Hub to meet Kelso. Would you like to come with me?"
No answer.
"Jackie?"
Nothing.
"JACKIE!"
"Just go, Fez, okay?"
Fez swallowed, but the anger still burned his throat raw. He wanted to say something, to tell her that she never wanted to do anything or go anywhere. He wanted to shake her and ask her what happened to the girl who'd finally pursued him the way he'd always longed for her to. He wanted to know what he'd done wrong, though he knew several things already. But she'd forgiven him for those incidents. There must be something else.
Instead, he simply nodded and spoke haltingly. "Fine. I will see you later, then."
He took a step towards her, to give her a goodbye kiss, but stopped. Her lovely eyes weren't meeting his, weren't even approaching his, and he figured it would be a wasted effort. Like most of the times he tried to kiss her lately, she'd simply turn a cheek to him. He turned to the door and reached for the doorknob, but hesitated.
He had something to say.
He didn't turn, and closed his eyes. "Jackie, I do not know what is wrong with you. But you are not the Jackie I know. You are not the Jackie I loved." He opened the door and his eyes at the same time. "You are no fun anymore, Jackie."
The next morning
She was supposed to go to work this morning. Her lovely job at the salon. Sweeping and mopping floors, washing towels, cleaning up messes. All things she used to watch her family's maid Martina do.
Jackie Burkhart rolled over in her bed, to face away from the daylight soaking through her window curtains. Stupid light. It should be dark. It should be dark all the time.
Jackie, I do not know what is wrong with you. But you are not the Jackie I know. You are not the Jackie I loved. Loved. Lov-ED.
Ha. He never loved me in the first place. If he had, that...that thing never would have happened. Or that other thing. And he wouldn't spend all his time with Michael or hiding in Donna's closet or spying on the neighbors.
Then again...I don't think I've ever loved him, either. God, how could I have thought I did? Sure, he's my best friend...my only friend...
"Jackie, I am going now. I will tell Jeri that you are sick, okay?"
She closed her eyes, but didn't answer. Hopefully he'd think she was sleeping. He knocked again, called her name again, then sighed heavily. Her stomach tightened, her breath stuck in her chest until his footsteps faded away from her door. She heard the apartment door open and close, and she released the breath, her chest and stomach instantly finding relief.
Sleep. All she wanted was sleep. But first...
She got up, her muscles groaning from the effort, and walked to her stereo. She turned on the radio.
"Hi, this is Hot Donna, and for all you freaks out there, I've got the perfect song. Here's..."
Jackie turned it back off, glaring at the poor machine. Donna. Hot Donna. Her supposed best friend. The girl all guys, for whatever reason, lusted over, including her boyfriend. Oh, he told her that he didn't sneak into Donna's closet anymore.
He lied. And she knew it. Donna had told her, almost happily so, like it was a joke, that Fez still visited her.
Why didn't Donna make him stop? She yelled, jerked him out of the closet. But always with that half smile that meant she was mostly amused. Of course, that was the least of her transgressions. Becoming best friends with Steven's whore of a "wife" beat that, hands down. The ultimate betrayal.
Donna. What was so damn hot about a giant lumberjack with dyed blonde hair and enormous feet? Not to mention her pores.
Not to mention her screwed up sense of friendship.
None of them cared. Not Donna, not Fez. Not Eric, not Michael. And certainly not Steven.
Hell, maybe she didn't even care anymore.
She shook her head and walked back to her bed, sliding in and pulling the covers to her chin.
There really wasn't anything, anyone to care about anyway.
Maybe she'd go to the bridge today. Throw some rocks into the water. Just to see. Just as a test.
Her eyes closed, and her heart pounded so furiously it drummed her ears. Maybe later. Right now all she wanted was sleep.
Blessed sleep.
That afternoon
Hyde drove, not really thinking about where he was going. Didn't matter. Nothing really did. Randy could man the store for an hour or two.
That asshole Brian. Blood test or not, he was an imposter. An imposter who was gonna worm him right out of his store. WB sure as hell was impressed. Hyde gripped the wheel tightly. Figures that WB wouldn't see through it. He was too over the moon at having yet another illegitimate son, this one black, this one preppy and just like him. Probably the son he'd always wanted.
He grimaced and turned down County Road 34. Why not? Maybe he'd just drive off that stupid, decrepit bridge. At the very least, he could put some nasty graffiti on it. He had a few cans of spray paint in the El Camino for a situation just like this.
Weird thing was that when he reached the bridge, Jackie's car was there, parked off the side of the road. He lifted his foot off the gas pedal; there she was, standing at the side of the bridge in about the middle of the length.
He pressed on the brake, stopped the car. She turned, and their eyes met. She looked almost panicked, for a second or two, and then she turned her back on him. He frowned and got out of the car.
"Hey."
She didn't say anything, and he came up next to her, glancing at her, then down at the water. It was murky, in places almost lumpy, looked pretty gross. What in the hell was she finding so fascinating about it? He arched an eyebrow. "Found a new place to hang out, huh?" He looked at her again. She looked...bad. Not bad exactly, but...unkempt. Her hair was messy, her face bare of make up. Her clothes...was she actually wearing sweat pants and a tee shirt? Out of her apartment?
She didn't respond, and he stood still. She bent down and picked up a rock. She threw it, a pretty decent toss for such a girly girl, and he watched her as her eyes followed it into the water.
His entire body tensed. She was acting weird. Really weird. Not talking? That wasn't Jackie. Throwing rocks? Not Jackie.
She walked away from him, and he frowned and followed her. "Jackie, what the hell are you doing here?"
She stopped, didn't turn. "You don't care, Steven."
She continued on, he didn't, though his eyes went after her.
Who cares about Jackie?
The next day, Los Angeles
She walked the lousy hotel room, taking a quick inventory to make sure she had everything packed up. Reassured that she had, she smiled and walked to the mirror. Smoothing down her blonde hair, she took a deep breath. Today she was leaving this hell hole and heading back to where she belonged. In the mirror, beyond her, she saw the tiny face of her son, and she turned. She walked over to him and gently touched his cheek. "You ready to go meet daddy, baby?"
No answer, just a wide eyed stare, and she nodded, smiling but her body tightening and quaking with nerves.
This was the right thing. For her son, and for her.
And somehow, she'd convince him that it was the right thing for him, too.
Thank god she had the cross country car trip to figure out just exactly how she was going to accomplish that.
Some people were going to have a hell of a problem with her return. One person in particular, so she'd heard.. It didn't matter at all.
She smiled. "Who cares about Jackie?"
Point Place, Wisconsin
The dream was different this time. Two faceless women instead of just one. They seemed to be fighting. One of them pushed the other into some cloud of smog, and she disappeared.
This time, Hyde didn't bother getting up. He lay in bed, angrily staring at that stupid freaking light on the ceiling.
The dreams were getting to him. He was having them frequently. At least once a week, the woman visited him. And now there was two women? What the hell?
That stupid light!
He got up and tugged the curtains closed. "Stay," he growled, pointing at them. But of course, by the time he got back into bed, they'd parted, and he slammed his fist into the mattress.
This room was not all it was cracked up to be. "I should move back down to the basement," he grumbled. He nodded. Yeah. That's what he'd do. And hell, the move would probably take care of the dreams, too.
At least he hoped so. He was sick as hell of them.
He closed his eyes, and Jackie's face was there. Jackie standing on the bridge, throwing the rock off, so enthralled by its landing in the water. She'd been the palest he'd ever seen her. She'd seemed so vacant.
A chill began at his toes and quickly ran the length of his body. He shivered. What in the hell was going on with her? What in the hell was she doing at that old bridge?
He groaned and rolled to his side, squeezing his eyes until all he saw was black and shiny spots.
Jackie wasn't his to take care of. Her new, perfect boyfriend Fez could deal with whatever her deal was.
You don't care, Steven.
"Shut up, Jackie. Just shut the hell up."