Work Text:
Friday, July 13, 1984
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
1:00 pm
Impulsively ruthless.
It's what Jackie has always feared she would become. Just like her mother.
She has loosened up a bit, though, especially with Hyde. Her schedules have been hastily penned on loose scraps of paper. Her bucket list is still a mile long, though, as she happily checks off her greatest goal. In a little black book.
She now has her own show, like Christine St George. But without the bitchy undertones. Or overtones. Whatever.
Hyde has been keeping her company, in celebration, with a paper bag in hand. But this time, it's just McDonald's. "Didn't your dad have a little black book?"
She tries to be less than amused, but a giggle inevitably escapes from her lips. "Steven, stop. You're ruining it."
He can't help but observe the similarities, though. After all, both of them have been visiting him regularly in prison lately, and Hyde's grown to like him.
And, her father has grown to like him, too. He's way better than that Kelso boy, her father has repeatedly posited, and she wholeheartedly agrees.
Hyde nods, strangely self-assured. "And you've been gettin' pretty involved in politics..."
But she's unsure about his strange hypothesis. After all, she's tried so hard not to be like her parents. And, her father is in prison.
But prison has changed him. He's not professionally ruthless, anymore. He's come to terms with all the mistakes he has made in his life, and wants to be a better person once he's out of his cage. Just like her.
"I report the news. It's what I have to do," Jackie amply defends. Now, she's so far out of her opulent cage, it feels like she's flying to distant lands. "The style segments are way more fun."
"Just sayin,' minus the orange jumpsuit, you're a spitting image of..."
"I'm not recommending an orange jumpsuit to anyone, in my style segments," Jackie loudly deflects, "Or black and white striped ones, like the Hamburglar."
Jackie lovingly eyes Hyde's Big Mac, wrapped in crumbly paper. Not tinfoil, as and Hyde recoils. "Hey, this is mine. You said you didn't want anything."
Hyde rips off the paper wrapper, and immediately starts to dig in. Jackie dramatically sighs, with a determined pout.
She bats her eyelashes, but he refuses to flinch. "Haven't you read a lot of Marx? He says sharing is caring."
He inevitably chuckles. "You don't like him. Just like your dad."
"Hey, my dad likes Ayn Rand. She was crazy, and ugly." She quickly swipes a few fries from the carton, and Hyde groans. "She didn't think sharing is caring."
But she shares, and she cares. About the welfare of the world around her, and that's her puddin's doing. Well, and her own, of course. "You overshare, but some of it's just stupid gossip-y shit."
"It's in the job description," Jackie defends, once again, "I'm a talk show host now. I talk, and talk, and talk..."
"Fitting." He circles back to his strange hypothesis. "Your dad talked my ear off the last conjugal visit."
"I made you tell me all about it." She leans in, snatching another fry. "He thought you were a little scruffy and crazy at first, but you're a good guy. And, you have a rich dad."
"We both have shitty Mas. Don't think Edna deserves the title." His tune is now crystal clear, but he angrily clears his throat. "Pam doesn't, either."
"She just moved to Cancun, and her new boyfriend Leonardo is just a year older than me," Jackie angrily rattles off, struggling to relate to her floozy, desperate mother, "She tells everyone that I'm her sister. It's not like she had me when she was seventeen or anything..."
"Twenty-three," Hyde rightfully amends, "Ain't that too young?"
It's a slight, nervous jab at her expense. She's been talking about kids, and he's not ready. Not yet. Maybe in a few years, he says.
"I'm almost twenty-three, and you're twenty-four. I don't think it's all that young. Especially if we're soulmates, which we are," Jackie quickly quips, "And it helps that you're not forty-one, like my dad. Then it's weird, and gold digger-y. I picked you before you had any gold, and I have my own gold, and I'm fine. I'm not going to ruin it, like my dad."
"By bein' illegal?"
Jackie can't help but smirk, pulling a non descript baggie out of an obscure, stuffed drawer. "Well, other than...you know."
*****
1:30 pm
"I can't believe you went out and got me..." She fishes out a fried piece of chicken out of a crumbly paper bag, notably skeptical. "Chicken McNuggets, right?"
Jackie passes Hyde the joint, and Hyde passes Jackie a handful of fries. Straight out of the carton. "Forman says they're pretty good."
"But he's also a chicken..." She awkwardly trails off. "Well, he used to be. He still looks like a chicken, though. Like Big Bird."
Hyde inevitably chuckles. "I'll relay that back to Forman."
"The Big Bird part?"
He evilly smirks. "Nah, the other part."
In turn, Jackie sends him a sea of daggers. "Don't. You. Dare."
He refuses to immediately relent, and Jackie kicks him in the shins. He notably winces. "Pam doesn't kick shins, right?"
The flattery suffices, and she awkwardly chuckles. "No. It's something all my own."
In a similar vein, Hyde relays a familiar anecdote. "Your dad threatens with a punch to the gut. Or a choke out."
"My dad tried to do both to Michael, and he usually deserved it."
"Huh." He stares at the ceiling, as high as a kite. "This shit should be legal."
Jackie nods, revealing her libertarian streak. And her father's. "Yeah. Daddy thinks so, too."