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Adjusting	By : Bia Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 7351 -:- 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
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Marshall stepped into the room after his customary knock, leaning against the door as Josh shook of the last remnants of sleep. He stayed on the far side of the room knowing the upcoming conversation was going to be stressful enough.

"We need to talk."

JC yawned, tugging his t-shirt down as he sat up. "What's up?"

"I thought you said your injuries were minor," Marshall said.

JC shifted nervously, not wanting to get into this with Marshall. "They are."

"It's been a week. You shouldn't still be feeling them," said Marshall, waving off the kid's denials before he could even start. "Don't even try to deny it. I saw you wincing when you were playing with Hailie yesterday. You're not about to keel over on me 'cause you've got internal injuries you're to brainless to tell me about."

JC sighed. "No internal injuries. God, Marshall! I'm not stupid. It's just a few places I couldn't reach to treat, so they're healing slower."

"Well, since I'm here and Hailie's knocked out; we can do them now," insisted Marshall, moving further into the room.

JC shook his head. No way. Unaware that he'd begun backing up.

Marshall stopped. "Look, JC. Do I have to say it again?"

JC stilled, hearing the exasperation in Marshall's voice. He wanted to tell the man it was less about being afraid than ashamed. He knew in his head that it wasn't his fault, but he'd let Justin.... Men weren't supposed to be abused. He didn't want Marshall to think any less of him. He snorted, like his opinion could possibly get any lower, then forced himself to meet the steady gaze. Only to find there wasn't a hint of censure in that this-is-for-your-own-good gaze; a look like the one his mother had often given him. "Fine," he muttered sullenly, standing.

Marshall knew to go into the bathroom first. Josh was still wary about being hemmed in. After last night's confession he could understand why.

Inside the bathroom, JC gripped the hem of his t-shirt as he talked himself into taking it off. Shame and rage vying for control. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have thought twice about whipping of his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder to see Marshall watching him. His gaze patient, neutral. He tugged it off.

"What the fuck?" barked Em, stepping forward as he stared at the wounds scattered across the slender back. There were teeth marks, deep ones. He hissed as he spotted more than one red and swollen.

JC flinched, inching away.

"Stay the fuck still," snapped Em.

JC froze, trying desperately to remind himself that this man wouldn't hurt him. Had no reason to. Had never shown any inclination to.

"These are fucking bite marks," hissed Em. "Do you know how easily they can get infected? And these are on their way there. Why didn't you say something?"

JC shrugged, forcibly holding back the tremors that wanted to escape. Logically, he understood Marshall wasn't upset with him. It was still nerve wracking. "It's not like it's new. I figured they'd heal like they always do."

Em knew descending into an incoherent rant would accomplish nothing but God did he want to. Timberfuck was in for a world of pain he ever ran into that fucker. "Well, they're not. I'll clean and bandage them up for now. Then check every other day or so. But if an infection sets in, I'm taking your ass to the hospital."

"Oh, no," said JC, shaking his head. "No hospital. I'll agree to you doctoring them but no hospitals.

"Infection," Em started to growl.

"No. They take records. If I have to I'll go back early," insisted JC. "See our tour doctor."

"No," snarled Em. "If we have to, you can see the doc Dre's got for Aftermath."

JC agreed quickly, he wasn't exactly in a hurry to get back to the real world.

Em opened the bottom cabinets, and began to gather what he needed. Glad he'd stocked all the cabinets the last time he'd been here. He could see the kid was one step away from freaking out. Josh was hunched over the sink, arms locked and fingers clutching the marble counter.

JC waited anxiously for Marshall to start. No, matter how much he tried to convince himself that everything was okay he couldn't relax.

Em watched the tremors run through the kid's body. If he touched the kid he was liable to have a fucking heart attack. Talk to him. Isn't that your deal, Em thought. Yeah, well. Your deal is dealing with shit like this. "Look kid, calm down. I’m gonna rinse the bites with the peroxide first,” he said. No sudden movements. Em made sure the kid could see him in the mirror, approaching.

JC nodded, trying to untense his muscles. He hissed at the shock of cold as Em poured the liquid liberally onto his back.

Em waited until the liquid quit bubbling, before swiping at the scarred flesh with a towel. He grimaced at the faint red stains, before repeating the action a second and third time. He kept it up until the peroxide quit bubbling, and the wound ran clear.

JC managed not to tense back up, instead focusing on the face he could see in the mirror. The icy eyes looked different somehow.

Em uncapped the antibiotic ointment, and moved closer. He could see the kid starting to shift nervously. Hell, you're fucking looming. Em snorted, how else am I supposed to get the shit on? "Chill, kid. I'm just putting this stuff on. It'll keep the bite marks from getting infected," he said, reaching for Josh. "If they're already infected this is the strong shit so hopefully it'll kill a minor one."

JC still flinched at the touch, even though he'd been expecting it.

Don't growl. Em bit back a curse, and held still. Waiting. After a moment, Josh stopped looking like he was going to fly apart. Em carefully went over every bite mark, rubbing cautiously at edges to be sure they were clear. He smeared the antibiotic on liberally.

JC fought to slow his breathing. You're fine, he growled to himself. Marshall's just fixing your cuts. Stop being such a little girl. After several more tense minutes Marshall stepped back.

JC let go the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then froze, as Marshall was suddenly only inches from him.

Em really had to learn impulse control, sometime in the near future. However that thought was far from his head at the moment. He was more concerned with the still purple bruises that had become visible as Josh straightened and the sweatpants slid down around his waist. Bruises that should have faded by now.

"What did that fuck do to you?" he growled.

JC glanced down in the direction Marshall was looking. He flushed, yanking the sweatpants back up. "It's nothing."

"Nothing," Em made to move closer, but stopped as Josh backed up. Knock it the fuck off. Before you break what we've spent the last week fixing. "Sorry, kid. None ah my business."

JC stopped, berating himself for his irrational behavior. Hadn't he vowed he was going to stop doing shit like this? Hadn't he said he was going to try, that it was the least he could do for Marshall. "It's not really as bad as it looks," he offered hesitantly. Not used to talking about this. But wanting to offer something in return. "It only looks this bad cause it's a couple days worth of bruises. They don't hurt nearly as bad as they usually do."

A haze of red edged at his vision. Em suddenly wanted to do violence. Rein it in. We do not need Slim. Em gave an inarticulate growl. Marshall surged forward.

"A couple of days," Marshall said, hesitantly as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea. "You...he...you know what let's just get this done. 'Cause just thinking about that fucker irks me."

JC was just as eager to drop the subject, turning back to the sink he leaned over it. He watched as Marshall, eased up beside him. Once again he was struck by the thought of something being different, but dismissed it as Marshall began applying the bandages.

They worked in silence until all the bites were covered. Marshall stepped back, giving Josh his space. "Breakfast will be ready in ten," he said. He paused in the doorway. "Don't worry, Josh. There's no rush, we'll get there eventually."

Everyone's Monday morning wasn't quite so successful.

While the day might have dawned bright and clear, unusually smog free. The kind of day you just enjoyed life. It quickly took a turn for the worst if you were working for Dr. Dre.

Rick stood at attention. Switch to his left. The other members of their security team a step behind them. He did his best not to meet Mrs. Young's gaze.

The regal looking woman stood just to Dr. Dre's left. Hip cocked against the chair he sat in. Her long red nails drummed an angry tattoo on the surface of the desk. The only sound in the room for a long moment.

"A week gentlemen," she said softly. The long nails tapped faster. Rick made the mistake of looking up, and met her gaze. She honed in on him like a shark scenting blood. "Rick. What do you have to say for yourself? Hmm? What excuse is there for such incompetence? This level of blatant idiocy," she hissed.

"Mrs. Young. It's not that simple," Rick tried to explain.

She shot him a look. He went silent, dropping his eyes.

"What's not simple gentlemen?" she purred, coming around the desk. Her dark eyes glittered. "Finding one man. One little girl. You know where he was seen last. You know what he was driving. Find him." She came to a halt in front of him. The diminutive woman barely reached his chin. One long red nail stabbed into his chest. "Gentlemen," she said gaze sweeping the room. The men easily twice her size quailed. "My daughter wants her best-friend. I want my goddaughter. Find her. Or else," she growled, stomping by. The doors slammed shut behind her departing figure. Every man to a one flinched.

Dre sighed, fingers going to his temple. He groaned rubbing at the growing pain. Finally he looked up. Rick winced at the anger banked in the dark eyes. "Do you know what I've been doing this week? Hmm?" he asked, quietly.

No one spoke.

"Can't guess? Well, I'll tell you," he said, sitting back. Hands dropping to the mahogany desk, gripping the edges. "I have had to deal with that," he snapped, pointing to where his wife had exited. "While at the same time watching the news for any mention of a dark-haired John Doe."

Dre leaned forward, looking from Rick to Switch. "Do you know how many dark-haired John Does appear in the news on a daily basis?" he barked.

Rick opened his mouth. "Sir, I think...."

Switch took a step back, shaking his head at Rick's continuing failure to learn.

"Muthafucka, did I ask what you thought?" snarled Dre.

Rick's mouth snapped shut.

"Now, what do you have for me?"

Rick grimaced because technically, Mrs. Young was right they had nothing. "We've found no trace of the house in the suburbs you mentioned, sir. Unfortunately you were right about the lengths Mr. Mathers went to, to protect his privacy. There is no way to determine who purchased it for him or where it is. And our conversation with Mr. Holton proved somewhat futile."

He paused to clear his throat, before continuing doggedly. "However he did it, he left no paper trail. His jeep hasn't been sighted since that night. He hasn't shown in any of the usual places. We could only inquire so much with the paparazzi without alerting them to the situation."

Rick shifted uncomfortably, before forging ahead with his idea. "Perhaps sir, you might consider going to the police." Rick trailed off as the other security members stepped back.

Switch muttered 'idiot' as he stepped further away.

Dre's gaze narrowed. Rick swallowed heavily. "You want me," began Dre. "To call the police. And tell them what exactly?"

Dre stood, leaning forward. "That EmFuckingEm has abducted someone. That he's been missing for a week, when he has a court date coming up?" he asked incredulously.

"Get out. Get out of my office now," roared Dre. The entire group flinched. Nearly pulling a 'Three Stooges' moment as they scrambled to obey. "Do not show your faces until you have Em. If I see you before then, he will not be the only one to go missing."

When they left Dre collapsed into his seat. He sat in silence awhile. Then hit the intercom. His assistant answered the first buzz. "Sheena get me some Tums please." He released the intercom, and dropped his head onto the desk. He was killing Slim when he found him.

Chris pulled the door shut behind them, locking it. He stared around the green room, looking for any cameras. Fortunately, there weren't any. "Okay we need to discuss this now," he said, dropping into a chair beside the couch. "This is the third time someone's asked about Jayce. And yet again we've come up sounding lame. This thin excuse we've been giving isn't cutting it."

"What do you want us to say," growled Justin. "Our second lead singer decided he'd rather be off fucking around than working?"

Chris's gaze narrowed, not liking Justin's tone at all. Trust him to be an ass about it. "No, infant. We come up with a viable excuse for JC's absence then we stick to it."

"What if there really is something wrong," asked Lance, hesitantly. "Maybe he's in trouble. It's been a week, Chris."

"I know," he sighed. "Has anyone else heard from him? At all?"

The others shook their heads.

"Every time I call his cell it just rings," said Joey, worriedly. "It won't even go to voice mail anymore. It's full."

"Are you sure he hasn't called you again," asked Justin, turning to Lance.

The green-eyed man glared. "Tour bus school or not, I know when I've talked to a fucker. I haven't spoken with Jayce since that night."

Chris sat forward. "Lance, I know we've been over this before, but tell me again."

"I got the call sometime after midnight. I should have known something was wrong when JC called me Lancey-poofu. I mean I knew he was drunk then," Lance said quietly as if it were his fault JC was still missing.

"When I tried to find out what he meant he said he didn't know. That he had to ask him. I could hear this muffled conversation then he was back telling me he'd be gone awhile, and he'd call later."

Chris's head dropped back against the chair. The story hadn't changed the thousandth time he'd heard it either.

"Chris what did Lonnie say," Joey asked, unconsciously petting Lance.

"He said they arrived at the Viper room around nine. They'd been there maybe an hour, when JC told him to go home. Said just because he didn't have anyone to spend the holiday with didn't mean Lonnie should suffer with him."

Chris paused shooting a glare over at Justin. The kid didn't even have the decency to look guilty. "JC told him to go home to his wife." Chris shifted in the seat. Restless didn't even begin to describe him. Twitchy was more like it. He'd be that way until they found JC. "Lonnie said he protested, but Jayce told him and I quote..."I'm a grown ass man, Lonnie. I can take a cab home if or when I need to."

Justin growled, "I knew I should have put a collar on him."

Chris frowned, glaring at Justin. Hell, if he were Jayce he'd have stayed away from the infant for a while too.

"Do you think we should call the police?" asked Lance, worrying at his lip.

"No. I'm sure he's fine. This is JC we're talking about, no one's more responsible. Besides he's his own man," Chris said, gaze fixed on Justin. "If he wants to go walk about then we cover till he comes back."

Joey and Lance agreed reluctantly. Justin just growled again. "So what's the excuse?"

Chris paused thinking. "Can't say break, the press will have a field day. Oh, I know. Artist retreat. He's gone to get in touch with his inner creativity for the new CD.

Lance and Joey both nodded.

"All right," said Chris standing. "That's our story and we're sticking to it."

Taking one last look to make sure everyone understood, before moving to the door. "Jayce is quite capable of taking care of himself. Until I have reason to think otherwise, I'll assume he's safe and happy wherever he is."

The others murmured their agreements, as they filed past.

"JC's very serious about his writing. He has this thing about getting in touch with himself. So he's gone on a little retreat," said Chris with an indulgent if amused grin.

Justin snorted beside him. "Artist retreat. Yeah, right. Knowing Jayce he probably got lost in the woods, and has been abducted by aliens."

Chris's gaze narrowed. Out of sight of the camera he smacked Justin upside the head. The younger boy turned a glare on him. Chris lip curled, and bared his teeth at him. His own gaze darkening, the look considerably more threatening. Justin huffed but turned away. He didn't like the infant's behavior of late. Whatever was going on between him and Bitchney had obviously freaked Jayce out more than he'd thought. Had to have, if Jayce had gone a.w.o.l. He prayed that his brother was all right. 'You'd better not be dead, kiddo. Or I swear to God I'ma kill you myself, he thought desperately as the interview plugged on.
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