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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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Dre heaved a sigh as he watched the crew goof off. This was the third time this month they'd been in the studio, and still hadn't gotten any work done. The guys were sprawled on the couch fighting over the remote. Dre snatched the remote, taking out the batteries before tossing it back to the crew. If they wanted to act like children, he'd treat them like children. Fifty immediately started bitching. "Ah, Dre man. Can't you at least put it on BET first? Can't stand that MTV shit."

Dre snorted. "No. Because in case you niggas forgot, you're supposed to be working."

Em looked at Fifty, then at D-12. "We work," he asked in exaggerated surprise. The others cracked up. Dre glared at the lot of them.

"When you muthafuckas come down we're getting to work. I don't give a fuck whose got the munchies. No one gets fed till we get at least two fuckin' tracks cut." With that Dre left to get himself something to eat.

Em sprawled back against the studio's sofa. He wasn't nearly as high as the others. Not with going home to Hailie to look forward to. Still, he'd had a joint or two, so he was feeling mellow. His buzz was abruptly harshed by the braying jackass that was MTV v.j. Jessie Camp. The punk was interviewing somebody... Em's heavy lidded gaze narrowed as he tried to focus on the familiar face. It took a second for his thoughts to connect. Where did he know this guy from?

Em snapped his fingers as it hit him. Scott someshit or other, the one the kid had been all but drooling over. It took another minute for him to gather enough brain cells to comprehend the ongoing interview. Though he was certain that wasn't entirely his fault. The v.j. talked like he was on fucking speed or something.

The v.j.‘s voice brayed again, 'So how's the new a-l-lbum. New? Different? Wha?"

The Creed guy eyed the v.j. like he'd had the same thought as Em about the guy being on speed. Em snickered. "Actually I had something planned. A bit of a collaboration but it fell through."

Em snorted loudly. "More like Timberfuck's a jealous bitch," yelled Em.

Fifty paused mid toke, turning a puzzled look to a suddenly irate Em. "What?"

Em looked over, "What?"

Fifty slowly let his thoughts permeate. "Nah, dawg. You what?"

Em frowned; he knew he wasn't that high. He should be getting this conversation. "Huh?"

"What, nigga?" asked Fifty again.

Dre stood in the door, food in hand and rolled his eyes. He could see this was just going to get even more ludicrous. "Shut the fuck up both y'all."

JC was in the studio alone as usual. He had no idea where the others were. They were supposed to have met him three hours ago. The door swung open; he glanced over, hoping the others had finally arrived. But it was only Lonnie. The head of their security frowned at him. "Chasez, what are you doing here?"

JC waved a hand dismissively at the room. "I thought we were working on the next album. Apparently not."

Lonnie sighed. "Didn't you know the studio times were changed?”

JC shook his head, standing. "When? Who? Wha..."

"Last week. Lance. Justin needed a different schedule," the bodyguard answered, counting off JC's questions on his fingers. "I thought Lance e-mailed everybody to death over it."

JC grumbled. He probably had; but seeing as Justin still hadn't replaced the laptop he'd destroyed a month ago, it wasn't like he'd get them. He didn't know why he was waiting on Justin. The younger man never remembered his promises, let alone kept them. He sighed. "Where are the others?" he asked, gathering his stuff. JC glanced up at the clock, wincing as he realized he'd wasted half the day.

"At the hotel," said Lonnie, following Chasez out of the room. "They'd missed you at the mini-golf thing and Chris wanted someone to make sure you were okay. Justin suggested the studio."

JC stilled at the words. He knew that suggestion hadn't just been fortuitous. Justin had to have known where he was. His ex had deliberately excluded him. Silently seething, he rode back to the hotel with Lonnie.

"Forgot the days again," Justin mocked lightly as he and Lonnie entered the lobby. JC's gaze narrowed. He'd known Justin could be a little childish, but this was petty even for him. But it was the smirk on Justin's face that provoked him. The smug amusement at his expense.

"Oh, shut up. You ass," he snapped, stalking by. He felt more than saw the blow coming. A quick, swat to his front. A reprimand hidden inside the boys-will-be-boys behavior. And what looked like one guy roughhousing with another, in actuality a breathtaking blow to the center of his chest.

It knocked the breath out of him, but so used to things like this he didn't even wince. Barely even pausing in his stride. This was not the first time or even the thousandth; it would not be the last. JC came to a halt in the elevator, pushing the button for his floor.

He glanced up, gaze automatically finding Justin. As the door closed, Justin's head turned meeting his eyes. A slow, grin spread across the innocent face.

The doors slid closed, and JC's head dropped. Only halfway through the first month of 2001, and he was already sure he hated the new year.

Marshall tucked Hailie into his side, giving a sigh of relief as the Teletubbies died off. If he ever met the dick who'd thought up those fuck-faced creatures he was going to introduce him to a world of pain. Three freaking hours of that shit before his baby had finally conked out. Muting the sound so as not to wake her, he channel surfed idly. Too comfortable to even think of moving. A familiar face caught his eye, and he paused mid change.

He studied the screen dispassionately. The kid had good presence; it was obvious the camera loved him. Marshall turned up the sound, not examining his interest too closely. Chasez was with the rest of N'stink, except not really. He was stag, and kinda hovered in the background. He stood seemingly relaxed; except... except his hands were tucked close to his body, almost under his armpits. Bits of the last episode of SVU floated through his thoughts. He pushed the worries aside brutally. Chasez was a grown ass man. Gay or not. No way was he letting some Diva bitch like Timberfuck beat him. Still, Marshall couldn't bring himself to change the channel.

During the event the cameras showed the various members of N'stink in several shots. The camera seemed to seek Chasez out, as if in cahoots with his subconscious to drive him schizo. Despite his best efforts Marshall soon noticed a pattern developing. Whenever the camera caught JC alone he was that snarky guy that hadn't thought twice about mouthing off to Eminem. However, if Justin were anywhere in the vicinity the kid dimmed like a dying car battery. Marshall grimaced it had to just be coincidence.

Chris held up their costumes for the night, eyeing them. "Can you believe this shit?" he groaned. "I mean this kinda metro sexual stuff is fine for you and Justin. Maybe Lance. But me and Joe." Chris grimaced, holding the top tentatively between two fingertips as if the mere sight offended. JC stared at the outfits in dismay. The top a sheer, nearly see through silver; the pants black leather. Somehow, he knew the ones that looked almost like hip huggers had to be his and Justin's. Designed to make any one look good, but especially to enhance certain features.

He snatched the outfit from Chris, lost in thoughts about what the outfit would and wouldn't cover. Caught up in his worries he tuned Chris out, instead making a beeline for his room. Once inside he locked the door, and stripped. He turned to put on the shirt. He froze catching sight of his side in the floor length mirror.

For a second, he had no idea who he was looking at. The reflection in the mirror utterly foreign to him. Who was this pale, bruised creature staring back at him with ancient eyes? JC blinked and suddenly it was just him. He pulled on the top, praying it would cover the bruise. Justin had held on a bit too hard at the photo shoot the day before.

Tugging the top down, he stared in disgust, as the shirt seemed to accent, yet disguise the bruise. He looked like a porcelain doll, one step from cracking. For a moment, he stared in the mirror not quite able to meet his own gaze. He turned away.

D-12 and the majority of the crew were tip-toeing around the volatile rapper. They were back in the studio again, even though it was only a few days before the Grammies and Em should actually be in rehearsal. Proof leaned over, until he was close enough to Bizarre not to be overheard, watching as Em glared at the console as if it had done something to personally offend him. "What the fuck crawled up Slim's ass?"

Bizarre shrugged; he'd been watching Slim all week. Everyone had been aware the rapper had been p.o'd about something but no one asked what, not wanting to provoke anymore fall out. Em had already blown up at a couple of the newbies, Dre had sent his way. He'd been on edge for the last two weeks. Though no one could figure out why.

Em argued with himself for what seemed like the thousandth time. Ever since he'd seen the kid, he couldn't get him out of his head. He'd spent the last few days trying to convince himself he was making a big deal out of nothing. Except it wasn't working. Not when flashes of pale skin stained with, what were now obviously, fingerprints played against his closed lids. Or he woke from half remembered dreams of detective Benson; tugging at a masculine arm, murmuring about tells. No. He wasn't able to deny something fucked up was going on. Still, he silently berated himself in what was becoming a familiar refrain.

'What the fuck is it to you what happens between the faggots? Shit, if anything it's more ammo for the next cd. So he gets his ass beat? Probably gets off on it.' Oh yeah, Em snorted. He really looked thrilled having Timberfuck riding him. Slim snickered at the unintentional pun. Not gonna help cause you're the homophobe they call you? No. It's cause it ain't shit to me what happens to some spoiled brat boy bander. So why was it still bothering you? Why am I still thinking about it? Why do I feel the urge to hunt down the kid and beat some fucking sense into him? Maybe because no one gave a damn when it was us? No one noticed. No one cared. No one said shit, when one of Debbie's fucks left bruises. No one whispered his thoughts. Are you gonna be like them? Are you? Goddamn..."All right. Shit," snapped Em.

Dre cast a worried look his way. "You all right over there, Slim?"

"Just had something on my mind," muttered Em.

Dre quirked a brow. "Had? That mean whatever had Shady bugged out is done?"

Em nodded, ignoring the collective looks of relief around the studio. He knew he was hard to deal with when he got like this. It said a lot about his boys that they put up with his shit, without bugging out until he calmed down.

"Yeah," he grunted. Everything was cool now that he'd made his decision.
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