Disclaimer: Don't own. Have no end of suggestions for the people who do, however.

Spoilers: General through season eight. Specifically for 3x08, "Jackie Bags Hyde," and 8x06, "Long Away."

Author's Notes: This is what happens when I watch one of my favorite episodes of all time, followed by what may turn out to be one of my least favorite episodes of all time. Sorta random angst that begins pretty much where "Long Away" ended.

Boxes

Jackie was armed and ready. Her best friend was in crisis, and who could possibly be better at cheering her up than someone as fabulous as Jackie herself? It had stung learning that Donna had turned to Randy instead of her for comfort. How could Donna think she wouldn't know how to cheer her up? Who knew more about being dumped than Jackie?

She winced. Jackie didn't need Steven to make fun of her; she was becoming a master at burning herself. Even that transitory thought hurt, and she fiercely reminded herself, we don't think about him anymore, remember? He's an undeserving bastard.

It was the same reminder she issued herself at least a dozen times a day, and it worked. Mostly. Maybe if she lived somewhere else, a large city where she wouldn't be forced to see him nearly every day, it would be easier to forget. But she wouldn't be chased out of Point Place by an ex-boyfriend and a tramp who couldn't buy clothes that fit. She was still Jackie Burkhardt, after all. She was queen of all she looked upon—though she had to remind herself of that more often now, too. It was becoming too easy to forget.

But none of that mattered right now, because her best friend was hurting and Jackie had a personal mission to make that hurt go away. To that end, she was entering the Pinciotti home with a box full of provisions for the long night ahead. In it was all she would need to exorcise Eric from Donna's heart and mind. True, she'd tried the same measures to rid herself of Steven with limited success, but then it wasn't to be expected that Donna's flannel-wrapped heart was as sentimental as Jackie's own delicate soul, nor that the appeal of a scrawny geek like Forman could possibly compare to Steven's broody perfection.

Jackie shifted the weight of the box and turned the corner toward the stairs. But, as if her thoughts had summoned him, her way was blocked by the sudden appearance of Hyde descending the staircase. They simply stood for a moment, staring at each other.

Hyde had his hands half in his pockets, his thumbs looped around his belt buckle. It was a stance she well-recognized. A Zen gesture completed by the inexpressive look on his face. He wasn't glaring at her, but he wasn't moving out of her way, either, and given the fact that she was the one with her hands full—not to mention it was only gentlemanly behavior to let the lady pass first—he really should have stepped aside.

That thought, and the irritation that came with it, allowed Jackie to regain her composure. Her startled stare turned into a full death glare, as she snapped, "MOVE, Steven."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Why do you think, idiot? So I can go see Donna. She needs me!"

Hyde snorted his disbelief. "Jackie, Donna is depressed. Don't make things worse."

"Make things worse? That's what you think I'll do? Donna is my best friend, Steven. I know how to help her."

"Oh really? What's in the box, Jackie?"

Jackie knew Hyde was testing her. He probably thought she had stuffed it full of unicorns or something. He had always underestimated her. "A broken heart recovery kit," she said defiantly.

Hyde was impressed and trying to hide it. Jackie could tell; she could always tell. "So what's in it? Tequila?"

"No, alcohol is your unhealthy escape from pain, not mine—by the way, don't think I haven't noticed you've been drinking more since your blissful union. If you want to know, look for yourself." She shoved the box into his chest and held it there until he reached for it, then she stepped back and watched him with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

He sat on the steps and opened the lid. There were three different trays in the box. The topmost, for the first day, was the Wallowing Level as Jackie called it, filled with Joni Mitchell albums, Love Story, a box of chocolates, tissues, and an activity instruction sheet that included things like going through old keepsakes and reading love letters from the beloved bastard.

The middle row was the Anger Level, with Pat Benatar replacing Joni, and including the book Sisterhood Is Powerful, which Donna had forced on Jackie a long time ago, and which Jackie never saw a reason to look at except on that one bitter, post-breakup day. She still thought feminism was for ugly girls, but hating men was something even Jackie could support lately. There was also a pad of paper for the writing of angry, vitriolic letters to the hated bastard, which might or might not be sent.

The bottom section was Jackie's favorite. The Pampering Level was just that, a collection of things that made Jackie happy. Bubble bath and body lotions and Cosmo and everything necessary for a home pedicure. Since this was for Donna, she had also thrown in Pride & Prejudice, some boring book that Donna said she liked.

Hyde looked through it all without comment, setting aside each successive tray and then replacing them all when he had finished.

"Does it pass inspection?" Jackie asked. She didn't care if she sounded snide; the very idea of being put on trial before being allowed to see her best friend had her fuming.

"When did you make this?" he asked without looking at her.

"I started it the first time Michael and I broke up, and it now has a ninety-eight percent success rate over a three day period."

Hyde nodded and slowly rose to his feet, leaving the box on the stair beside him. "Donna will like it."

That was as close as he would come to an apology, Jackie knew. But she had spent enough time getting not-quite-apologies from Hyde. "I know. Maybe you should try trusting me next time." She didn't even bother hiding her emphasis. He deserved it.

She could practically see Hyde bristle. "Because you're just such a trustworthy person, right, Jackie? What about what you did to Donna—thinking she was cheating so you wrote to Eric about it? How was she your best friend, then, huh? God, you regress more every time I see you."

Jackie wasn't exactly sure what "regress" meant, but she knew it was something highly unflattering by the disgust with which he said it. "You're not one to talk about how people respond to suspicion of cheating, Steven. I think your track record on it runs something like, slept with a slut, married a stripper."

"Leave Sam out of this," Hyde returned irritably.

"Oh, yeah, we wouldn't want to insult precious Sam now, would we? Do you even know what her last name was before she married you? You don't know her at all, and yet you married her, when you wouldn't even—" Jackie stopped, her voice choking with emotion. This was all getting too personal, too close to that wound that wasn't healing, for all the boxes she made.

"Are we back on that again? Crap, I thought marrying someone else might at least keep me free from your nagging all the time. And, for the record, I was drunk when I married her, so you can't hold it against me."

"Heaven forbid you actually be held accountable for something in your life, Steven Hyde. You always have an excuse, don't you? If it's not the government, then it's Michael's fault, or alcohol, or whatever. I'm sure your next argument is it's my fault you were drunk in the first place, and if that is it, you can spare me. I'm through with letting you slide; you make your own choices, you can deal with your own consequences."

"Considering that the consequences of this choice are that I'm married to a gorgeous blonde instead of a shallow bitch, I'm pretty much okay with them, thanks."

She couldn't have said what made her do it. There wasn't any thought involved. There was just her arm reaching up, and her hand swiping across his face with as much force as she could muster, which was apparently enough to whip his glasses right off his head.

Her eyes pooled with tears while she struggled to find words to say to this man with whom she had so foolishly entrusted her heart. He had slowly pulled his head back around to face her; there was a scratch down the bridge of his nose—whether from her fingernails or his glasses she wasn't sure—and it was proof of how truly pathetic she was that her first impulse was to reach out and touch it, soothe the hurt she had inflicted. The urge was quickly checked, however, when she saw the icy look in his crystal blue eyes.

There were so many things she wanted to say, words of betrayal and loss and hurt, but in the end, she chose the ones that summed it all up best. "You used to be my knight in shining armor," she said in a low tone.

Without waiting for an answer—she knew she wouldn't get one anyway; Hyde never gave her answers when she needed them—she grabbed the box off the stairs and continued on her way up to Donna's room. She needed a wallowing day as much as her friend did now.

Hyde's footsteps echoed hollowly as he descended the stone steps into the empty basement. Sam wouldn't be back for a few more days, and the others were all at Donna's. It was too bad. He could use a distraction now. Jackie's parting words still rang in his head.

You used to be my knight in shining armor.

To hell with that. He had never asked to be her hero, had never sought it, had freakin' told her he wasn't one. But that was Jackie. She never listened. She always had to see things with her deluded rose-colored glasses.

Oh crap. He had forgotten his glasses next door. He would get them tomorrow. Once he was sure Jackie had gone. It was going to be back to avoiding her for the next few weeks, until she'd had time to become rational again.

His cheek stung, and he rubbed it as he sank back onto the old sofa. The girl could hit, man. He wasn't that surprised; her aim with her feet to his shins had always been deadly. But she had never been angry enough to slap him before.

Maybe he had deserved it, but she had goaded him into saying it in the first place. Jackie, with her blue-green eyes that challenged him, and her tears that threatened him, and her stupid box that reminded him she wasn't the shallow bitch he told himself daily she was.

He needed her to be that one-dimensional caricature of herself. When he thought of her that way, it made the longing for her go away. Mostly. It had become a mantra for him; whenever he started missing someone who would actually disagree with him, or the smell of her strawberry-scented shampoo, or even the idle chatter with which she used to fill his days, he would tell himself how impossible she had been, carefully remind himself of all the hassle and all the ways she had disrupted his Zen life. It worked. Mostly.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, Hyde turned on the television. Some old sitcom rerun was on; he pretended to watch it, even though no one was there to see him pretend.

You used to be my knight in shining armor.

It was all the fault of that stupid box. Going through it, he had been forced to realize that Jackie was a really good friend to do that for Donna, and then he had realized she wouldn't have had time to make it all for Donna tonight. She must have already had it.

Because of him.

And then he had pictured her, crying her eyes out over old pictures of them and writing him nasty letters that were much more about heartbreak than anger. He had envisioned her watching Love Story in those old flannel pajamas he had pretended to hate but really found so cozy, especially when she curled up next to him and he could feel her heart beating steady and strong. He imagined her burning his picture as he had encouraged Donna to do with Eric's. As if he had been there himself, he could see her going through all her stages of grief and then deciding she was over him, that she had never really loved him in the first place.

Just like he had never loved her. Yeah. Right.

Life was so simple living in that denial. Hyde had made pretending not to care its own art form. But there was a world of difference in that word "pretending." He wished he could pass over to the actual not caring now.

Sighing in defeat, he turned off the television and went into his dark, empty room. He turned on the light, then rummaged through some old boxes until he found the one for which he had been looking.

It was his own version of a breakup box from his first two breakups with Jackie; there had been no one before her who had hurt him deeply enough to warrant one. He looked over Willie Nelson records—marking his short-lived and selective interest in country music—angry diatribes written and never sent, apologetic letters crumpled up at the bottom of the box, mementoes of a life that didn't exist anymore.

Hyde's eyes caught on a picture and couldn't look away. He and Jackie were standing by the Formans' porch; he wasn't even sure when it was taken. He had his arm slung around her shoulders and was looking at something or someone not pictured, but Jackie was looking up at him with delight and rapture and love.

You used to be my knight in shining armor.

Hyde stared at the picture for a long time; then he slowly tore it in two, irrevocably separating himself and Jackie. He fumbled in his pocket for a lighter—when one lit up at often as Hyde did, it was only sensible to have several near at hand—and then watched as half of the photo shriveled and blackened.

Then he gazed once more at Jackie's happy face, now staring adoringly at blank space. Someone else would come along and fill that emptiness soon enough, he was sure. Someone more worthy, ready to be the Prince Charming Jackie needed. And Hyde was okay with that. Mostly.