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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.

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JC hissed as Chris bounced onto the bed. "You getting up any time today, Big Daddy?"

JC only moaned, pulling the pillow over his head. He was not in the mood to deal with Chris. Chris didn't take the hint. Instead slipping his head under the pillow. "Did you actually get with Mr. Rock star?"

JC finally gave up, and pried his eyes open. "Huh," he muttered, sitting up. Christ shot him an amused grin.

"Stapp. Justin was whining about it all day yesterday. Again."

JC grimaced, he'd been hoping Justin had let that go; it'd been a week all ready. Apparently, not.

"So," prompted Chris, poking a finger at him. JC hid a wince as it connected, scooting back out of reach. That whole side was tender.

"What?"

Chris gave an exasperated huff. "So have you finally decided to venture into the realm of dating again? Despite the baby's pouting?"

JC's eyes narrowed. He suddenly sensed a set up. Chris usually studiously avoided having to think about any of their sex lives. Yet here he was, deliberately asking him if he'd gotten laid. He could sense Justin's hand in this. "No," he muttered, climbing out of bed. "Not with how things are now."

Chris rolled his eyes. "As if it's going to get any easier, now that we've hit the top. Jayce despite how Justin acts you are free to move on. He'd want you to be happy." Chris frowned at the look Jayce shot him. "You're not waiting for this thing with Brit to end are you?

JC snorted, heading for the bathroom. "Not even," he called out.

"Good," said Chris, turning on the TV. He surfed through the channels until landing on MTV. He frowned at the screen as the paparazzi crowded around Eminem and his daughter.

The MTV's announcer's voice filled the room as he turned up the sound. 'In other news... Marshall Mathers, the rapper known as Eminem has recently filed for divorce. Seen here picking his daughter up for the first time since the split.'

The shower shut off and JC emerged from the bathroom. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Chris began channel surfing again, "Same ol'. Same ol'."

Marshall hitched Hailie against his side, eyeing his bitch of a wife. Kim looked bad. Her eyes were blood shot, and there was dirt on her neck. "Why haven't you signed the papers yet Kim?"

Kim shifted from one foot to the other, eyes darting around. And he knew she was about to lie. "I just haven't had a chance to Marshall. Besides I thought we were going to try again?"

Marshall snorted, before turning to look at the Explorer parked some feet away. "Yeah, that was before you started fu-," he paused, glancing down at Hailie. "Before you got with Eric." He wondered just how dumb Kim thought he was, showing up with her man and expecting him not to know.

Frowning he leaned forward, brushing his thumb over her throat. The bit of dirt was driving him crazy. She winced, leaping back. Marshall glanced from the make-up on his fingers, to the bruise on her throat. Memories flickered in the back of his head of a similar bruised neck, before fading away in the face of his rage. "What the fuck is this," he snarled.

"None of your goddamn business," barked Kim.

"It is if you've got my kid," growled Marshall.

"Oh fuck you, Marshall," hissed Kim. "Fucking hypocrite."

Em's gaze darkened. He didn't like Kim's tone. Nor what she was implying. He'd never hit except in self-defense. Then only cause she'd been to fucking high and the bitch had pulled a knife on him. He cast a glance over to the limo.

Dre was all ready headed their way; he'd gotten out the moment Em had raised his voice. He smiled down at Hailie holding his arms out to his goddaughter. She gave a squeal leaping until Uncle Dre's arms. "What you got for me?" she crowed.

"You're a mercenary little thing." Dre laughed, tucking her into his arms as they headed back to the limo. "Slim don't take too long," he called over his shoulder.

He turned back to Kim.

Kim froze as the icy blue eyes met her's, aware of who stared at her from the glacial depths.

"I done had 'bout 'nough of this shit, Kim. Nah I expect a bitch to stick a nigga for whatever she can get. I ain't got no complaints about what you want in the settlement long as you don't get to goddamn ridiculous. But this shit with Hailie stops."

"I don't know...” she muttered.

"Shut it. I don' wanna hear all that noise. You using Hailie like a weapon against me, all that bullshit ends NOW!" he barked, looming over her.

Kim ignored the urge to step back, sometimes Slim was like a snake. He zeroed in on any movement and struck.

"I'm tired of this. So here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna decide how much you wanna take me for. Then you're gonna sign the fucking papers. But most importantly your gonna sign over full custody of my baby to me," he snarled.

Kim opened her mouth to protest. But a familiar light was burning in his eyes.

"You know me, Kim. I fucking kid you not. They will never find you and that fucker."

Kim looked into her husband's eyes, and didn't see Marshall. She saw only the thing that drove him. Want. Take. Have. "A'ight, Marshall. Damn. I'll have them signed and to the lawyer this weekend."

Em stood still, watching as Kim stalked to the waiting car. Eyes fixed on the man in the Explorer who dragged Kim across the seat planting a possessive kiss on her.

He turned his back and walked away.

That night, Marshall sat on his baby's bed, staring down at her. "Hey, honey," he said, quietly. The five year old quit chattering.

"Huh, daddy?" she said, eyes bright, glowing. For a second another pair of eyes flashed across his mind. Darker, older but just as bright. He shook off the odd thought. "Has mommies' friend ever hurt you?"

Hailie stared up at her father, trying to understand what he meant. "Eric," she asked, tentatively.

"Eric," he confirmed, keeping his anger in check. Hailie blinked. Why would Eric hurt her? He got her ice cream. Let her watch whatever she wanted on TV.

"I like Eric. He's nice, daddy." Taking in Hailie's unworried gaze, her smiling gap toothed mouth. Yeah, his baby was fine. And as long as she was everyone else would be too. Leaning forward he planted a kiss on her forehead. "All right then. Night, baby."

"Night," she said as he stood. He flicked off the light, took one last look at her in the glow of the night-light then left.

Em glared at the guys. "Will y'all shut the fuck up," he yelled. Kuniva paused mid-speech, turning to look at Em.

"What's your deal?"

Em rolled his eyes, snatching the remote from Kon. They went through this every Tuesday. "You fucker's know tonight is Law and Order: SVU," he growled, changing the channel back. He turned the sound up as the familiar musical sting played. Kon dropped back onto the sofa, shoving at Bizarre. "I can't believe you still watch this."

Em didn't answer as Det. Tutuola appeared on screen. He hadn't originally been a big fan of the show. When it started in 99' he'd only caught an episode every now and then but then the new season had started with Ice-T. And that was just the shit. Now he was hooked. He liked to see if he could figure out who'd dun nit before the end of the show. Eight out of ten he usually could.

"Em, damn man. Why we gotta watch this? Ain't like we didn't see this shit for real. Now, you wanna watch it," complained Bizarre.

Em ignored them, turning up the sound, eyes trained on the screen. The woman Det. Tutuola was talking to looked vaguely familiar. He studied her. Dark hair fell in loose curls around an aristocratic face; blue eyes filled with defeat stared up into the actor's face. He had the oddest sense of deja'vu, like he'd seen her at an industry party or premier. Or maybe he'd seen her in something else. He pushed the disturbing sense of familiarity to the back of his mind, trying to concentrate on the case.

Swift grunted, standing up. Bump that. There were four other TVs in this house. He crossed the space between Em and the screen, intent on finding one. "Where the other TVs, Em?"

"Okay. The next muthafucka to say another damn word is gonna catch a beat down," snarled Em as the show went to commercial.

"Damn, somebody's a pissy bitch," muttered Proof. The others nodded in agreement, before silently deciding to leave Em in peace. They filed out as one to hunt down another set. Em didn't look away from the tube. The woman was back. This time Det. Benson was talking to her.

Em couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her. Knew he'd seen that slouching pose, hands tucked in armpits, poised on the balls of the feet as if ready to take flight, somewhere. Memories shifted, a face trembled in the shadows of his backbrain before Det. Benson's voice shattered the gathering thoughts.

'You realize you have tells, right?' The woman shrugged. Benson reached out, ignoring the woman's flinch as she caught her forearm. Slowly, she tugged her arm down. 'For an abuse victim it often becomes second nature to protect the wrists.' The woman glanced away, as the camera panned over the black and blue bruises. 'To keep from being grabbed or dragged. Spiral fractures are inevitable. Did you know that most Doctor's who see x-rays of that type of fracture often suspect domestic abuse?'

Marshall shifted uneasily as thoughts too swift and elusive for him to latch onto rose and sank in the depths of his mind. It was like he ws seeing it again. He dismissed it as reminders of the past and Debbie's many exs. Thirty minutes into the show, Marshall decided he wasn't feeling tonight's episode. Something about the case struck to close to home: from the arrest of the murdered woman's dope-dealer boyfriend, the subsequent release, to the arrest of her brother. Of course, despite the unsettling feelings he kept watching. Half an hour later he turned of the TV, unconsciously disturbed. As for some reason the show's closing scene kept playing through his head.

'Det. Benson glanced up as the dealer entered the precinct, liberally covered in blood. A small, self-satisfied look on his face.'

Nearly two weeks after the AMA's and JC was still dealing with a pissy Justin. Then again he might just be behaving normally, he thought. Eyeing the giggling couple, he fought the urge to hurl. Sometimes he wondered what he'd ever seen in his ex. But then again it wasn't like he'd been all that experienced when they'd gotten together. He and Eric hadn't had a chance to take it very far before they'd gone to Germany. Once there, and sharing a room with the baby, the thought of bringing a quick fuck back to the hotel was intolerable. And he'd been adamant his first time was not going to be in a bathroom stall. That was fine for blowjobs, and mutual jerk-offs.

Eyes following the couple behind the opaque lenses, JC stretched on the chaise, rolling over as if still asleep. Absentmindedly, he noted the lack of bruises on Britney's body. Apparently, Justin had finally learned how to be a gentler lover. Of course, Britney wasn't built like him. Justin would have had to. He doubted she'd be able to handle Justin's idea of passion. Which was why he'd been sure they wouldn't last long. Not with Justin needing what only JC could give or so he'd once believed.

It had been months since Justin had touched him in anything but anger. Even that last time they'd made love had been tinged with it. He reasonably, or so he thought, pissed about Justin's cheating with Britney, and not wanting to be touched. Justin's usual insistence, the familiar rough and fast fuck then Justin's voice telling him that they were through. That he wouldn't be risking his growing fame, and this was the last time. That Britney was someone he could tell his mother about.

JC closed his eyes against the remembered pain. Telling himself that he had no right to be miserable. He was one of the top Pop Artists, the album was still rising to new heights, and his brothers were happy at least. What more could he ask for?
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