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Up From Here	By : aliciakristine Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 3454 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Eminem (Marshall Mathers). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
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- 14
13.

In
Boston, Massachusetts, Robert Hensen sat in his office with a yellow legal pad
before him. A framed photo of Cameron sat on the desk before him. In the
picture, a blonde-haired 7-year-old boy grinned at the camera from behind a
birthday cake. He was the spitting image of his father. His eyes were blue and
strikingly clear, rimmed with blonde lashes. His lips were thin and pink, and
his face tapered into a sharp chin. He was a beautiful child, a happy child,
one that could just as easily amuse himself for hours as he could enjoy a day
with his family at a carnival. He loved his family, especially his baby sister
Sabrina. He remembered his "first mom," though vaguely, and spoke of
her every now and then, though increasingly less and less as he grew older.

Robert
Hensen loved his son. He loved him fiercely and passionately, the way that all
men love their first boy. He wanted to see Cameron grow to graduate high
school, college, and then law school. He wanted to see him marry and settle
nearby, have children, and lead a quiet, happy life. Cameron Henson was smart
and determined, and Robert knew that he was capable of whatever he decided to
accomplish. He already showed a curiosity for politics, one that Robert
encouraged with trips to the state governor's building and one weekend to
Washington D.C.

He spun
in his leather executive chair to look at the fireplace in his office. It
crackled cheerfully, and Robert felt mocked. He had never felt less cheerful in
his life. He knew the law, and he knew that odds were in his favor. But
Marshall Mathers was in control of an entire empire. The man was richer than
Jesus himself, and while Robert wasn't anywhere close to poverty, he was also
nowhere close to being a multimillionaire.

Who even
said that Marshall and Tara would actively try to get custody of Cameron,
anyway? He rubbed his forehead to try and ease the almost unbearable pressure
that threatened to crack his skull in two. Damnit, he loved Cameron. He
didn't give a shit whose blood pumped through his veins! All he cared about was
that blood did pump through his veins. He didn't care that he wasn't
Cameron's biological father, and that was the honest-to-God truth. He had
raised Cameron, provided for him, watched him learn to walk and speak and
blossom into this fascinating, completely individual little life. How
could anyone try and take that away after nine fucking years?

He
decided to call it a day. He stuffed a thick stack of papers into his
briefcase, zipped it shut, and slipped his feet back into the loafers kicked
off beneath his desk. His chest and head pounded in rhythm. Adrenaline had
pumped through him for hours last night and this morning after Marshall's call,
and he had attacked his firm's extensive legal library with enthusiasm,
determined to find every single law that he could use in court to keep Cameron
where he belonged. But the adrenaline had faded into fatigue. He wanted to go
home, sit on the couch with Cameron tucked against him, and watch whatever
stupid cartoon happened to be on Nickelodeon. He just wanted to be near him.

His Lexus
SUV was parked in the private parking lot behind his house, and he sat inside
with the engine idling for a moment, oblivious to the temperature that had
dropped well below freezing. A bitter wind howled around the curves of his
truck, and he felt like howling back at it.

Robert
Hensen had done some shitty things in his life, yes. He had wronged Tara in the
worst imaginable way, and he had been cold and cruel in taking Cameron from her
as he had. But at least in that he was acting in the best interest of his son!
He had provided for Cameron, clothing him, feeding him, sheltering him, loving
him very much - didn't that assure him certain inalienable rights, ones that
couldn't be taken away just because Marshall Mathers, fucking Eminem, decided
he was ready to step up and take responsibility for the life he'd created to
carelessly nearly ten years ago?

<hr>

Marshall
met with his lawyers the next day, and though they raised eyebrows when he
explained the situation, none of them said anything. Bill Tolbert, a quiet,
solemn-looking man in his mid-40's, agreed to be in charge of the case. Early
in his career, he had handled a lot of child custody cases, and he assured
Marshall that with a little catching up on the laws that had been implemented
since he'd turned his attention to criminal and financial law, he'd be more
than able to give things a fair shot. Working beneath him were Thomas Redding
and Ryan Wilkes, young, eager lawyers that had represented Marshall in court
when he was tried for the mess with Kim at the night-club.

After a
brief discussion, they decided to immediately file a petition asking the courts
to grant Marshall temporary custody while waiting for the court date. They
warned him that this would be turned down almost without a doubt, but it would
at least get the ball rolling. "What do you mean, turned down? I'm his
fucking father!" Marshall said angrily.

"They
have to rule in the best interest of Cameron, though, Mr. Mathers," Bill
said soothingly. "They're not going to want to uproot this child from his
life before they know if that uprooting is going to be permanent. If the judge
rules in Robert Hensen's favor - which is a possibility, you'll have to accept
that - that uprooting and attachment to you and Tara is going to prove
pointless."

"That's
a fucking joke," Marshall said, but somewhere beneath his anger, he
understood.

He left
the lawyers huddled over thick law books and drove to the hospital, where the
nurses' sympathetic smiles told him that there had been no change long before
he reached Tara's private room. He muttered hello to the guards posted at her
door and went inside. She was still hooked up to the ventilator, but color had
returned to her cheeks. "Tara," he said roughly, sitting in a chair
beside the bed. "Wake the fuck up, Tara, we need to have a talk."

The
machines continued their steady beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep. Tara's
eyelids didn't even flutter.

"Wake
the fuck up, Tara," he repeated, less roughly this time. "I need you
to fucking wake up. How much of this shit am I supposed to handle? I've still
got a fucking business to run, I've got to deal with all this legal bullshit,
and you laying here taking your own sweet fuckin' time to open your eyes and
rejoin the living. Come on, wake up."

She
didn't.

He left
shortly after that, making a quick stop at the small cluster of soda machines
near the elevator bay. He stuck sixty cents in one and punched a random button,
opening the can that popped out without even looking at the label. His thirst
was unquenchable, but he drank anyway.

It was
useless, and he threw the can away while it was still half-full. He was thirsty
for Tara. Nothing else would satisfy.

He went
home and watched Shrek 2 with the girls on their projection TV in a
small movie room upstairs, but he couldn't concentrate on anything but the
thoughts boiling in his head. He wanted more than anything to turn the movie
off and tell the girls what was going on with Cameron, but he couldn't yet.
That was a conversation he was completely unprepared for, and he had no idea
where to even start thinking of an approach. As angry as he was with Tara, he
loathed to say or do anything that would ruin the relationship she had with his
girls - and he knew that Laney, especially, would be angry that she kept
something like that from him for so long.

So he
suffered through the movie, one girl under each arm, and then tucked them both
in. As he was leaving Hailie's bedroom, her soft voice stopped him at the door.
"Daddy?"

He turned
back towards her, one hand above the light switch. "Yeah, Hai-Hai?"

"What's
the matter? Are you worried about Tara, Daddy?"

"Yeah,
baby. I'm pretty worried about her."

"Do
you need a hug?"

"Yeah,
baby," he said, and his voice cracked. "I could stand one of
those." He went back to her bed and leaned over her. She wrapped her
skinny little arms around him, squeezing with all her might.

"I
love you, Daddy."

"I
love you too, baby."

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm
worried about her, too. Would you sing to me? You know, like you used to?"

He kissed
the top of her head, something so out of character that he froze with his lips
in her hair, and then kissed her again. "Sure, baby. I'll sing to
you."

<hr>

Tara was
taken off the ventilator at three in the morning on a Sunday. Her body, unaccustomed
to breathing on its own, was injected with drugs, and after thirty seconds of
uncertainty, she took a shallow breath. The doctor on call went down to the
nurse's station to call Marshall, who sleepily said he'd be there as soon as he
could.

He came
in the door thirteen minutes later, looking disheveled with creases from his
pillowcases across the side of his face. Tara was still sleeping, but the
doctor nodded when Marshall asked if he could try waking her up again.
"She's under heavy drugs, though, Mr. Mathers. Don't be surprised if you
can't rouse her tonight."

Marshall
shook her until her eyelids fluttered, and seeing a sign of life on her was
enough to bring him to tears. He went into the bathroom and pressed the heels
of his hands against his eyes firmly, telling himself in the darkness that he
was not a bitch, that it was going to take a lot more than this to make
him cry.

He
splashed his face with cold water and went back into Tara's room. She was
staring at the ceiling.

He had to
go back into the bathroom. It was too much, to see her eyes open, to see them
blink, to see her conscious.

The
doctor warned him that if she did wake up, she wouldn't be able to speak.
"Her throat is probably very raw from the ventilator," he said.
"So don't let her try to talk. It'll hurt her if she does, I'll promise
you that. She'll be able to whisper late tomorrow evening, and she should be
talking like normal in a few days. She'll be hoarse for awhile, but it won't be
permanent."

Marshall
went to her bedside and smiled down at her. "Are you awake, Tara?"

She
looked at him and smiled, opening her mouth to speak. Only a harsh breath of
air escaped her lips, and tears sprang to her eyes. She reached for her throat.

"I
know it hurts," he said, sitting on the bed beside her. "Try not to
talk, okay? Your throat hurts from the ventilator."

Her eyes
were unfocused and glossy, and he knew that she was still groggy from the
drugs. As much as it killed him to do so, he kept from asking her about her
letters or about Cameron. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her chapped
lips. "It's pretty fucking good to see you awake again."

She
touched his face, blinking furiously. A fat teardrop slipped from one eye and
he wiped it away with his thumb. "Don't cry, baby."

How
long? she mouthed
at him. He could tell that even moving her lips hurt her, and he put a finger
to her lips. "A little over a week," he said, and she winced.
"I've been waiting pretty fucking impatiently. Do you remember when you
came out of surgery? When you squeezed my hand?" She nodded, and fresh
tears welled in her eyes. "Stop fucking crying, you big baby," he
said, but he was on the verge of it himself.

The
girls? she mouthed.

"They're
worried about you, same as me, but they were a lot more confident than I
was."

I love
you, she mouthed.

His heart
clenched. "I love you, too," he whispered back, leaning forward to
kiss her again.

<hr>

The
petition was, of course, denied. They received word of it early Monday
afternoon, and Bill tried to keep Marshall's spirits up. "We knew this
would happen, Marshall, but it showed that you want him. It showed an effort on
your part, and that's never a bad thing. Don't be discouraged."

Marshall
shrugged. "I don't know. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about
when I talked to him on the phone."

"All
lawyers know how to sound like they know what they're talking about," Bill
said, and chuckled when Marshall gave him a dirty look. "Well, at least
I'm honest. But let me assure you. I do know what I'm talking about, and I do
think there's a chance for you to get custody for Cameron."

"Not
just me," Marshall said. "Tara, too."

Bill
leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I don't know, Marshall, I'll be
honest with you. The best bet might be to impress on the fact that Tara lied
about Cameron's father. It wouldn't look as good if you were both on the same
side of the courtroom, you know what I mean?"

Marshall
shook his head. "I'm not making Tara out to be the bad guy," he said
firmly. "Find another angle."

Bill
shrugged. "Okay, Marshall. Whatever you say."

"And
I do say," he said. "I don't just say, I fucking demand. Tara
and I are both seeking custody of Cameron, got it?"

"I
got you."

Marshall
left, his stomach heavy. He still hadn't even told Tara about all this. What if
Tara didn't want this to happen? What if she didn't want custody of Cameron with
Marshall? That was assuming a lot about the future of their relationship, and
who knew what she wanted from him?

He went
to the hospital, surprised to see Becka there with the girls. They were crowded
around Tara, giggling and babbling excitedly. Marshall paused in the doorway to
admire them. They already looked complete - did they really need to pursue
custody of Cameron, too? But he knew the answer without having to so much as
think about it. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't do everything in his
power, if he didn't use every resource available, to get his son. Laney
and Hailie deserved to know him. Marshall deserved to know him.

The girls
visited for awhile, and then Becka took them home. Marshall waited patiently
while they said their goodbyes, glad to hear some of Tara's voice returning.
When they left, he shut the door behind them and sat on the side of Tara's bed.
"We need to talk," he said.

"Uh-oh."
Her voice was deeper than usual, and very hoarse, but he'd never been as glad
to hear anything in his life.

"I
filed a petition to get custody of Cameron."

"What?"

"I
read your letter."

She said
nothing for a long moment, and then: "Are you angry with me?"

There was
no point in lying. "Yes."

"I
knew you would be."

"Can
you blame me?"

"No,
Marshall. No. I can't blame you."

"I
went and met with my attorneys. They're drawing up the paperwork now, but we're
taking it to court. They filed a petition on our behalf-"

"Our?"

"Yes,
Tara," he said impatiently. "Who the fuck else�s do you think?"

"You
mean... Both of us?"

"No,
Tara, me and Hailie and Laney. Yes, both of us."

"I...
You want custody of Cameron with me?"

"Yes.
With you. Isn't that what parents do? They share kids? Right?"

She
squeaked out a sob, a sound that would have been amusing in any other
circumstance, and pressed a fist to her mouth. "Is that not what you
want?" he asked quietly, afraid of her answer but determined not to let
her know it.

"It's
what I've always wanted," she whispered around the fist she still had
against her lips. "Since I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to hear you
call us parents. I never thought... You filed for custody?"

"The
petition for temporary custody was denied, but my lawyers are optimistic."

"You
know how you told me you never knew what to do, you never knew how to be a
boyfriend?"

He
frowned. "Yeah."

"Right
now, I really need for you to hug me. I'm so happy with you, Marshall, just hug
me, okay?"
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