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

Author's Note: This story stands alone, but technically it's the sequel to my one-shot "Hyde's Secret" (posted back in 2012). You don't have to read that story, however, to enjoy (or understand) this one.

CHAPTER 1
THE ATTRACTIVENESS OF RISK

The apartment Hyde shared with his dad had been looted. The television was gone, along with the framed drawings on the wall and Bud's favorite lampshade. The thief must've been in a rush, though. Plenty of stuff remained behind, like Bud's record player and the couch, not to mention every kitchen appliance. But this was only Hyde's first glance. Maybe the bedrooms had been more thoroughly ransacked.

What had freakin' happened? He didn't get it. The front door was locked when he'd come home tonight. Had to be an inside job, man, like the landlord. Or some chick Bud stupidly gave a copy of the keys to.

Damn it, Bud should have been here. Work hours were over... but what if the robber had done something to him? Knocked him out and tied him up? Hyde raced to Bud's room, but it was empty—of everything. The shelves had been stripped of books and picture frames. Bud's clothes were missing from the closet, too, like he'd run off.

"Crap."

Hyde bolted to his own room. Nothing had been taken from it, but his green duffel bag was on his bed and open, as if waiting to be filled. A messily scrawled note was taped to the zipper. He snatched it up.

Steven, the note said in Bud's handwriting.

I screwed up, son. You gotta get out. Leave no trace you ever lived here. They're after me. Debts I couldn't pay back in time. Never gamble, Steven. It's not worth it.

They don't know I have a kid. They won't come after you. Even if they searched for your birth certificate, they won't find a connection between us. I know how paranoid you are about that kind of thing, but if you ever believed me on anything, you can believe that. If you leave now, they won't even know you exist.

Quit reading this letter and pack. Go to the Formans'. I'm sure they'll take you in again. And burn this letter once you're safe.

I'm sorry.

—Bud

Hyde crumpled the note and tossed it into his duffel bag. Then he spent the next half hour packing. In his eight months of staying here, he'd transferred most of his things from the Formans' to this apartment. His stuff mostly consisted of clothes, records, a few posters, and toiletries. Unfortunately, he'd have to leave his stereo behind. It was too bulky to carry out efficiently, especially without a car. If his dad's loan sharks were coming over—to break Bud's thumbs or whatever moneylending thugs did to defaulters—Hyde couldn't afford to return here.

He shouldered his duffel bag and left the apartment. He locked the door, just to give the loan sharks' muscle a harder time to get in. Then, once outside, he chucked the keys into a garbage can across the street. A thought to call the cops flickered in his mind, but he snuffed it out. He and cops didn't get along, and they'd involve him in Bud's mess more than he wanted. Probably put him in the danger Bud warned him to stay out of.

The night was slightly colder than he would've liked. June in Wisconsin, man. His corduroy jacket kept most of him warm, but he could've used an umbrella. Rain was pouring down, not pleasant weather to haul a heavy duffel bag in. Streetlamps lit his way, but where was he going? He couldn't return to the Formans' and put that burden back on them. He needed a safe place to crash, just for the night, so he could come up with his next move.

Leo's apartment was on the other side of town. Too far to walk. Kelso's house was crowded with all his nutbag siblings running around, and sharing a room with Fez guaranteed no space to think. He'd want to play "slumber party" games all night or force Hyde to sleep in the bathtub—because no way was Hyde sticking around while Fez took care of "his needs".

Donna would probably let him stay over, no problem. She might even keep it a secret from Forman since they were broken up. But she'd also want to know what happened, why Hyde had to leave Bud's. Then she'd get pissed when he clammed up, and Bob would find out Hyde was staying there, and Bob would tell Red, and...

No, Hyde had only one option. It was a risk, man, but he had a good cover. And her neighborhood was closer than the Formans' anyway.

Rain had drenched his hair and flattened it over his forehead. Water was dripping into his eyes. He blinked his vision clear and sped into a jog. His pulse was beating in his neck, but he couldn't distinguish his physical effort from his anxiety.

Spending a night with this chick was a gamble, man... and he'd seen how well gambling had done for his dad.

"Steven?"

Jackie hardly believed the sight in her foyer: Steven sopping wet with his green duffel bag over his shoulder. Rain water trickled off him to the Brazilian walnut flooring, and he moved to drop his soaked bag onto it.

She gestured a frantic "No!" at him then turned to Maria, her family's housekeeper. Maria was the one who'd let Steven in so late at night. "Get the mop," Jackie said, "and some towels for his bag to go on."

"Yes, Miss Burkhart."

Maria promptly went deeper into the house, and Jackie returned her attention to Steven. He was still dripping water onto the floor. His normally unruly hair was plastered over his forehead, and his eyes weren't concealed by his sunglasses. "What are you doing here?" she said.

"Figured I'd drop by and see Shade."

"It's almost ten at night."

"So? I've hung out with the critter 'til then before."

"Sure," she said, "until then. Not starting at ten... whatever." She huffed out a breath. "What's with the duffel bag?"

He shifted the bag on his other shoulder, as if that would answer her question, but then he said, "I'm kind of between living spaces."

"Oh, God. What happened? Did your dad become a deadbeat again?"

"No, he got transferred."

"He's a bartender, Steven."

"Yeah, and he got transferred to another bar."

Jackie let out an incredulous laugh, and Maria arrived with the mop and towels. Jackie took the towels and laid them out on a stretch of floor that was dry. "Put your bag down there," she said to Steven, and Maria began to mop up. "Oh, and your boots. You're not tracking dirt through my house."

Steven blew out a sigh that puffed out his cheeks, but he did as she instructed. He lowered his duffel bag to the towels and took off his boots. His socks, though, were clearly soaked.

"Maria, when you're done mopping, fetch Steven some of Daddy's socks and slippers. And bring him a dry washcloth for his feet."

"Yes, Miss Burkhart," Maria said. She finished with the floor and returned to the depths of the house.

"You ever hear of using the word 'please'?" Steven said. "'Thank you' is another good one."

Jackie gave him a puzzled look. "To who? Maria? She's paid well to do as she's told."

"Yeah, but she's still a freakin' person. Wouldn't hurt to treat her like one from time to time."

She put her hands on her hips and groaned. "Not this again." Whenever Steven came over to visit the kitten, he always stuck in little digs and judgments. She was grateful he gave her Shade for Christmas. It was one of the kindest things anyone's ever done for her, but that didn't give him the right to tell her how to behave. "Just shut up and sit down until Maria gets back."

He scowled, but he also backed up to the foyer wall and sat down on the bench. "How come your dad hasn't barged down the stairs yet?" He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped one of his wet-socked feet on the floor. "He ain't gonna be happy you haven't kicked me out yet."

"You've only been here for a few minutes," she said, but he was right. Daddy didn't like that Steven came over every week. A condition Steven had when giving her Shade was visitation rights, and she had to honor that. So did her father. He was the one who'd accidentally killed her first cat—her beloved Sugar Plum—with the Lincoln. All she had to do was tremble her lips, shed a tear or two, and say she missed Sugar Plum so much! and Daddy let Steven stay as long as she wanted.

"Ah. I got it," Steven said and stopped tapping his wet foot. "He's outta town again."

She nodded. "For the week. My mom, too."

"To another 'retreat'."

"Don't say it like that. Selling houses is hard work. She deserves a break."

"Yeah..." He pushed the wet hair from his eyes. Then he gazed at her with such intensity she wished he was wearing his sunglasses. Fortunately, Maria showed up with the socks, slippers, and washcloth, giving Jackie an excuse to look away.

"Thank you, Maria," she said and took the items from her. "That will be all—no, wait. Please make sure one of the guest rooms is suitable for sleeping in and leave the door open."

A smile twitched at the corner of Maria's lips, and she said, "Yes, Miss Burkhart," before disappearing down the carpeted hallway.

"Dry your feet before putting on Daddy's socks," Jackie said to Steven, but she refused to meet his eyes. Unlike Michael, he seemed to see things about her she couldn't guess. How could a boy she was barely friends with penetrate her defenses like that? Especially when her boyfriend was so inept at it? Not that Michael really tried, but he should've been better at reading her than someone she'd never made love to.

She glanced at Steven's feet. Her father's black socks were on them, but the slippers weren't. "Not a slipper-person?" she said.

"Never have been, never will be... So, what's this about a guest room?"

She kept her focus on his socked feet, "I'm not an idiot, Steven," and crossed her arms in front of her chest, both to mirror his demeanor and for extra protection. "You need a place to stay tonight, and you clearly aren't going to the Formans'—for whatever reason."

He said nothing, but she hadn't expected him to. He didn't like to discuss himself. Their conversations were usually about the kitten, although occasionally one of them would let something personal slip through.

She gestured down the hall, and he followed her to the living room. Shade was curled up on his cat tree by the bay window. Steven went directly to him and petted his cream-colored head. Shade let out a little meow and stretched his paws toward Steven's face. Then his buzzy purring started up, and he leaned his cheek into Steven's waiting hand.

"Hey, Cat," Steven said. His thumb traced the orange rings around Shade's eyes. They looked like Steven's sunglasses, which was why Jackie had chosen the name "Shade".

She joined Steven after a while and petted Shade's rumbling side. Sometimes the back of her hand slid against Steven's, and her skin tingled at the contact. The sensation reminded her of how she'd felt on Veteran's Day last year, during their one and only real kiss. She hadn't understood what it meant then. But through the time they spent together with Shade, she'd been able to attach a word to that moment other hot...

Tender.

Steven had been tender with her, something she was unaccustomed to. Michael's kisses were always a bit disconnected, too sloppy, and immature. They mirrored his behavior, but Steven didn't win any trophies in that area either. He could be as rude and insensitive as he was compassionate. But his manner toward Shade had revealed the true nature of his soul—it was gentle, surrounded by protective barbed wire.

"Miss Burkhart, the guest room is ready," Maria called from the stairs.

Jackie withdrew her hand from Shade's belly, where she'd been scratching. "Thank you, Maria."

"Heh." Steven smirked at her. "That's two 'thank you's tonight. And one 'please'."

Her cheeks grew warm, and she moved her attention to Shade's pink triangle of a nose. "I have to write the cook a note for the morning—so she'll make two of everything. How long do you think you'll be staying here?"

"I'll be out after breakfast."

"To the Formans'?"

"No..."

"Then where?"

"That's what I got all night to figure out."

"Oh, you're being ridiculous," she said. "Just go back to the Formans'. They like you better than Eric, anyways... Well, Mr. Forman does."

"Whatever." Steven scooped Shade up from the cat tree and hugged him to his chest. Shade's purr grew louder. "He's gettin' big."

"He's almost eight-months-old..." She stared at Steven's fingers as they stroked Shade's fur. He was so sweet and relaxed with their kitten—her kitten. He'd stroked the back of her own hair once, much more frantically, after her last breakup with Michael. "Look," she said to his fur-scratching fingers, "school just let out for the summer, right? You can stay here for a few days. The kitchen's stocked, and the cook is used to making food for more than one person—"

Steven's hand froze at Shade's shoulders. "What's in it for you?"

"Consider it a thank-you for going to jail for me... and for punching out that jerk Chip... and for Shade... and for being a good friend."

He didn't balk at her use of the word "friend," something he'd done every other time she'd called him one, and his hand resumed petting Shade. "Yeah," he said, "I'll think about it."

Hyde grabbed his duffel bag from the foyer. It wasn't dripping water anymore, and Jackie allowed him to bring it upstairs to the guest room. His boots, though, were another story. They'd have to stay put on the towel, but he had another pair in his bag—that he wasn't "permitted to wear" on her family's "lush, expensive carpet".

He didn't mind. The carpet cushioned his feet. Plus, he was about through with walking tonight.

The guest room's bland décor could've used a sledge hammer, but the bed was comfortable, more than his lumpy cot at the Formans'. He changed from his wet clothes to his dry undershirt and sweatpants; then he lay back on the bed and considered his options.

Leo would probably let him stay in his apartment for a while, but Hyde didn't want to cramp Leo's style. The apartment had only one bedroom, and living with Leo could get weird, especially with the string of chicks that regularly visited. Walking in on their late-night activities was not something Hyde needed to experience. He'd had enough of that with Edna.

A yawn forced its way out of his mouth. Sleep was threatening. He slid beneath the comforter and settled into the bed. Maybe he'd stay at Jackie's a few days after all. Regroup. Look for cheap housing or find a roommate. He had to do something.

His eyes shut, and he tried not to think about it anymore, but his eyes drifted open at Shade's soft meowing. The kitten was prowling outside his room. Did he want in? Hyde pushed the comforter off himself, lumbered to the door, and opened it.

Shade trotted inside, and Hyde sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Cat." He patted the comforter, and Shade leapt onto it. A moment later, Shade butted his head against Hyde's chin.

Hyde laughed quietly. "No denyin' you're freakin' cute," and he petted Shade for a while before getting back into bed.

Shade followed him up to the pillows. He nosed his way beneath the sheets then crawled on top of Hyde's chest.

"Joining me, huh?"

Hyde made sure the sheets didn't block Shade's access to fresh air. Then he shut his eyes again. The nights he'd spent with Shade after finding him in the woods—when the kitten was just a tiny thing—had been some of the most peaceful. Shade's presence now, with his purr rumbling into Hyde's body, soothed Hyde's mind enough for a restful sleep.

Jackie couldn't sleep.

The feeling of Steven's skin on hers usually dissipated after a few minutes, but it didn't this time. The sensation frustrated her, raised gooseflesh up and down her body, and needed release. But she wouldn't do anything foolish, wouldn't betray Michael the way he'd betrayed her so many times. She wouldn't betray him inside her mind either, not with unfulfillable fantasies.

Steven barely tolerated being her friend, and he hadn't felt anything during their kiss. He hadn't even thought it was hot. If she'd understood her emotions that night instead of dismissing them, then... nothing would be different.

No, that wasn't quite true. She might've continued to chase after Steven and repulsed him so much he wouldn't have given her Shade. Then their friendship wouldn't have happened at all.

Her pink ceiling looked prison-gray in the dark. She laced her fingers over her stomach and tried to will her skin and nerves to calm down. But her mind rebelled, creating images of Steven barging into her room and confessing his undeniable attraction to her.

"Damn," she whispered and thrust the sheets from her uncooperative body. She went out into the hall, intending to wash her hands in the bathroom, to scrub and scrub until Steven's touch sloughed off. But the door to his room was open a crack. She opened it further and peeked her head inside. Steven was asleep. Not snoring, but his breath was heavy and regular, like the pendulum of her family's antique grandfather clock.

Her father liked to say that slumber rendered a person harmless, that even the most hardened criminals looked like angels when they slept. Did the same hold true for toughened-up orphans?

She slipped into the room to prove the theory, to get a closer look at Steven's dozing face—and stumbled over something lumpy. His duffel bag? Did he put it next to the door on purpose? She knelt down and patted the lumpy thing. Its canvas material scraped against her palms. She'd tripped over his duffel bag, all right, and in the windows' ambient light, she found the bag's zipper.

She pulled the zipper open slowly, couldn't risk the sound waking Steven. Snooping gave her such a rush. It made her feel dangerous, and her romantic frustration began to dissipate. She dug her arm inside the duffel bag. Clothing, rolled-up posters, and the pair of boots she'd probably bought him all met her hand. She rummaged deeper and discovered a paper bag, had to be his stash, and a wadded-up piece of paper.

She withdrew the paper from the duffel bag, and something furry rubbed against her leg. "Shade?" she whispered, and he meowed at her.

"What's up, Cat?" Steven said groggily, and Jackie swallowed a curse. He just had to be a light sleeper.

She tried to sneak out into the hall, but Shade was underfoot. She tripped over the duffel bag again in an attempt not to step on him, and she hit the floor with an "Oof!"Steven sat up in the bed. "Jackie?"

"Shh... you're dreaming." She stuffed the crumpled paper into her pajama top, where it lay precariously between her chest and the cotton. Then she crab-walked backward to the door, hoping for a quick getaway, but Steven—damn him—was out of the bed and at her side in seconds.

"What the hell are you doing?" he said and shut the door before she could escape.

"Nothing."

"Cut the crap."

She stood up, crossed her arms in an "X" over her chest, and grasped her own shoulders. She had to hide the evidence of what she'd pilfered. "I was just wondering where Shade is. I get lonely at night when my parents aren't around, okay? And sometimes he'll cuddle with me."

Only the first part of her explanation was a lie, but Steven seemed to buy all of it. "Oh... 'kay. Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

She opened the door and dashed to her room. She locked her own door and turned on the lamp by her bed. Her heart was racing with Steven's ball of paper pressed against it. Maybe her excitement was for nothing. The paper could be blank or a grocery list or otherwise insignificant, but she had to know.

She sat down on the bed and withdrew the paper from her pajama top. No writing was immediately visible on the outside, so she flattened the crumpled paper on her thigh. The side facing her was white and empty. She flipped it over, and this side was filled with writing.

Her heart pounded harder. She was holding a letter from Bud, Steven's father.

"That's terrible," she whispered after reading it. "Your father is terrible... I'm terrible."

She shouldn't have invaded Steven's privacy. If he'd done it to her, she would've beaten him with her shoe; but despite the guilt she felt, she wadded the letter back up so it looked like she'd never read it.