139Hey! I know I haven't updated this in a bit. Sorry about that. This is probably the last official chapter, and then there will be the epligoue. Enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not own That 70s' Show. If I did, I'd have oodles of money. Clearly, if I'm writing fanfiction, I don't.
The next few days were spent going in and out of the hospital. The basement gang, particularly Hyde, clung to the hope that Jackie would get another kidney. Fiona, Sky, and Pete knew better. Jackie's blood type was rare, and the chances were they wouldn't even give a kidney to someone as sick as her. People were in Jackie's room constantly. Doctors and nurses alike visited, offering soothing words to the tiny burnette. Jackie insisted on all her kids coming to visit her, which they did. She convinced Tammy to bring a TV and the brand new VCR just donated so they could have a Scooby Doo marathon. Jackie tried to keep her kids happy. She didn't want them to be sad.
It was a dark, gloomy Thursday. Hyde, Pete, and Sky were sitting in Jackie's hospital room. Fiona was off working, and everyone else was either at school or work. Hyde refused to leave Jackie. He didn't want to leave her alone. Sky and Pete didn't want to leave their friend either.
Jackie drifted in and out of conscious. She would start to mutter things, things that didn't make sense. Hyde made out bits of the words: help, James, faster. He had no clue what his girlfriend was dreaming about, but he hoped they were good dreams. He kissed her forehead before stepping out to go get something to drink. "Love you, Doll," he whispered scratchily.
Jackie blinked open her eyes, staring foggily at Hyde. "Love you too, Steven," she replied hoarsely. Those were the last words Steven Hyde would ever say to Jackie Burkhart.
Jackie tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. She took a few shallow breaths. She hated this, feeling out of breath and weak all the time. She hated being tired and weak and small. She just wanted it to end. "Sky," she mumbled.
"Yeah?" the blonde responded worriedly. Sky was smart. She knew Jackie was holding on as tight as she could, and yet the loud girl was still slipping away.
"I think I hit my ten," she stated.
Sky's eyes widened while Pete looked angry. "Don't say that," he reprimanded. "You're not going to die, Supergirl. You're going to live a long time. A long, long time. Until you're a hundred and three."
Jackie's eyes twinkled. "And what about you?" she shot back weakly.
Pete smirked. "I'm immortal, baby," he winked. Sky smacked his arm.
"Idiot," she mumbled under her breath. Jackie smiled weakly. She was glad they were here.
"Hey, will you do something for me?" Jackie asked quietly.
"Yes," Sky agreed immediately. Hell, if Jackie asked her to climb Mt. Everest right now, she'd say yes.
"There's a wooden box under my bed at my parent's house," Jackie explained. "The key's under my rug. Send it to your mom."
"Your mom?" Sky repeated skeptically.
"My mom," Jackie confirmed. "It's full of stuff I've saved. I want her to see that I had a life, and a damn good one at that."
"Okay," Sky agreed. "I'll send her the box."
"Good," Jackie said. "Sky?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
Sky smiled. "I love you too, Jackie."
Pete feigned hurt. "What about me?"
"I love you too, Pete," the brunette reassured him. She studied her friends. "You guys should go eat or at least take a shower. I'm not going anywhere."
Sky looked hesitate, but Pete nodded. "Okay," he said. "See ya later, Supergirl."
Jackie only smiled as her friends left the room. Those were the last words anyone would ever hear Jackie Burkhart say.
Five minutes later, Hyde entered the room to find all of Jackie's machines quiet. Panicking, his arm went immediately to her wrist, checking for a pulse. There was none. Jackie Beluah Burkhart was officially dead.
Hyde broke down. Jackie, his doll, was gone. He just wanted to dig himself into a hole and never come out. What had Jackie done to deserve this? She was only seventeen for Christ's sake! There was so much more she should've had the opportunity to do. There was so much more she could do.
Tammy heard Hyde crying and came in. She took one look at Jackie and understood. Her favorite patient, the bright little girl who loved to help people, was gone. Tammy, too, started to cry.
Jackie's funeral was big, full of people and love. Everyone who had loved her showed up. The funeral was full of doctors and nurses who had befriended the tiny girl and fellow patients who were captivated by her. All of Jackie's kids were there also, standing with bright flowers. The basement gang stood in front with Fiona and Pete. The rest of their friends were there as well.
It was a long service, mainly because everyone wanted to stand up and say something. Jackie's doctors talked about her will power, how she kept fighting until the end. Jackie's nurses, Tammy in particular, talked about her kindness, the way she always wanted to make others smiled. Sky stood up and talked about the fun, carefree friend she'd have. Pete talked about the extremely charming witty midget he had known. All of Jackie's friends had something nice to say, a memory or something Jackie had done to help them. All the kids stood up and recited a poem one of the girls had written. Fiona couldn't say anything. She was just too shaken up.
And then it was the basement gang's turn. Donna went first. She talked about how Jackie was always a good friend to her no matter what. Eric stood up and said how Jackie drove him crazy sometimes, but how they always secretly agreed on stuff and how that was nice. Fez talked about his goddess and how they went shopping and on quests for new candy together. Kelso talked about his favorite ex-girlfriend and how she always looked out for him. Laurie talked about the bitchy girl she'd always respected. Red talked about his favorite, the girl who could actually hold a flashlight. Kitty remembered the girl she tried to teach how to cook, the one who always gossiped with her. And Hyde, well, Hyde talked about his Doll, the girl who opened his heart.
And watching from a distance was a woman with newly colored dark hair and a sad smile. She didn't dare approach, but she watched. She watched and listened. She watched and listened and clutched a note in her hands. The note was found at the bottom of a wooden box filled with mementos any mother would kill to have. The mementos showed the life of a girl, a well-loved happy girl, an active girl, a strong girl. The note was simple. It said: I lived, Mama, I lived. Aren't you proud? For the first time in years, Pamela Burkhart let her emotions show, weeping until there was nothing left.