Adjusting

Dre had a headache. It was a familiar one; it even had a name, Eminem. Three goddamn weeks with not a word from his protégé. He still had no idea who it was Em had disappeared with. The man had court dates in another week, and above all Nichole was pissed. Dre paused in his mental reciting of the litany of his woes to glare over at Proof.

Proof ignored the death glares Dre was sending his way. If truth be told he had his own worries to deal with. Em being gone, not a big deal. His dawg didn't have many ties and wasn't used to people worrying about his whereabouts. He wouldn't think much about disappearing for a month or so. What bothered Proof was the lack of contact with him. Em usually checked in once a week when he pulled shit like this. Proof slumped back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Em was getting his ass reamed out when he finally showed back up. Though he supposed he'd have to wait in line. He was certain Nichole planned on getting her hands on him first. He snorted hearing the slams of various cabinets from the kitchen. There wouldn't be much left.

Bizarre ignored the two brooding men instead concentrating on the game on TV. He wasn't worried. If Proof said Slim wasn't loose and Em had Hailie so he wasn't, everything was cool. Dre was just in a mood cause he didn't know every little last detail. Brother was a nosey mutha, thought Bizarre turning up the sound on the television. His stomach rumbled and he wondered when Nichole would quit throwing her fit and actually start dinner. Dee was visiting her mom and he hadn't had real food in days.

"That's your advice," barked Dre when Proof continued to stare placidly at him.

Proof shrugged. It wasn't like there was much else they could do. Calling the cops was out. He didn't trust, and knew Dre wouldn't trust, hiring a P.I. The only thing they could do was wait. Or as a last resort have him drive around Orange County till he recognized the house. He could see Dre wasn't happy but then he had to deal with Nicole and her missing goddaughter.

The boys weren't worried but then as close as they were none of them knew Em like him and Bizarre. Proof was ready to call it a night when the doorbell rang.

The miniature hurricane, a.k.a Nicole Young, paused mid cabinet slam. "Get the door," she yelled.

"Yes, dear," replied Dre quickly. He ignored Proof's snickering.

Outside, Fifty caught the clothesbasket just before it tipped out of Marcel's precarious hold. "Dawg. Don't ya'll got help to do shit like this," he asked leaning forward to ring the bell again. The errant basket now balanced on one hip.

Marcel snorted. "Moms insists no child of her's ain't gonna know how to take care of his own shit."

Fifty nodded. Yeah, that sounded like Nicole. Dre's wife was a sister who knew how to take care of herself and her own. Fifty nearly fell flat on his face when the door was yanked open with no warning.

Dre glared at the newcomers. "It's your son," he called out heading back the way he'd come. "And Fifty. Probably come to sponge dinner."

Fifty and Marcel exchanged looks. Nicole came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishrag. "Dinners in another half hour," she said pulling her son's head down until she could kiss his cheek. Marcel suffered through the mothering graciously. "Curtis you're more than welcome to stay of course."

Fifty shook his head. As much as he'd like a home cooked meal he had no wish to stick around if Dre's current mood was par for the course. "Nah. Got plans. I just wanted to know if anyone's seen Em 'round. Something's come up and I need to know when he wants to meet Wednesday."

For a moment there's dead silence. Then an explosion of sound.

"Damn. Shut the fuck up ya'll. A nigga can't get a word in," muttered Fifty.

Dre glared the others into silence. "When did you hear from Em?"

"Sunday," answered Fifty. "Why?"

"Fucker's MIA," snarled Dre. "No calls. No contact. Nothing."

Marcel winced, trying to slide unobtrusively behind his mother. Dre caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. "Freeze," he barked. "What do you know?"

Marcel shot his father a sheepish look. "I didn't know you guys were worried 'bout Em."

"Boy," muttered Dre. "Get to the point."

"Well, uh. Yeah, he called couple weeks ago. Left a number," said Marcel scooting toward the doorway. He cringed at the look his father shot him. "I got it 'round here somewhere."

"Boy, if you don't get it now," growled Dre.

Marcel grimaced and then fled to search his dirty laundry.

Proof turned a smug look on Dre.

"What," said Dre.

"I told you so," he grinned.


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JC couldn't help glancing over at Em as he continued to growl into the phone. He hadn't heard that tone, the do-not-fuck-wit-me, from Marshall since this thing between them had started.

When the phone had rung, for the first time ever, he was pretty sure it had startled Marshall as much as him. He hadn't given it much thought though, going back to teaching Hailie the ASL alphabet. It wasn't until Marshall had started to do what JC thought of as his Em growl that he'd begun to pay attention. At first he'd thought it was because the caller had interrupted Marshall's first chance to watch Law and Order in weeks. But a few minutes into the conversation Em had shot up off the couch, and stalked out of the room.

Hailie hadn't done more than glance up, then back down to his fingers. JC however had been watching Marshall ever since.

He wondered what or who had upset the blonde that much. When the other man started speaking in another language JC gave up all pretense of not eavesdropping. He blinked in astonishment at the rather impressive spate of cursing. He counted at least four different languages. The first was the loudest and most oft repeated. After another long burst of swearing Marshall hung up.

Wanting to distract Em from whatever was pissing him off JC spoke up. "Very impressive. Exactly how many languages do you speak?"

Em's head shot up. The icy gaze fixing on him. JC stomped on the instinctive flinch. This was Em. Em wasn't going to hurt him. Not even if he was pissed off. JC could see Marshall calming down. The frost melted away quickly, leaving only the usual warmth behind.

"Four. Arabic fluently. German decently. And I can usually get my point across in French and Spanish," he muttered glaring sullenly at the phone.

"What was that about," asked JC, not sure if he wanted to know.

"Just Dre being a busybody," growled Em dropping back onto the couch still glaring at the phone muttering to himself. Wasn't his fault Dre's lackeys had gotten what happened all wrong, or Marcel couldn't pass on a message. Fuckers acted like he needed a goddamn babysitter.

Before JC could ask about what the phone rang again.

"What," snapped Em barely keeping the growl out of his voice.

For a second there was silence. "Of course, I'm bringing Hailie. What the fu- What did you think I was gonna do with her?"

"Let me speak to Nic," grunted Em into the phone.

"What the fuck you need to say to my wife you can't say to me," grumbled Dre, pissed all to fuck. He still didn't know what the hell was going on. Before either man could get worked up any further, Nicky took the phone.

"Em," she said, voice firm with hints of Mrs. Holton's I'm-not-in-the-mood-for-this laced through it.

Em counted to ten then spoke. "I need a favor Nic," he muttered turning away from JC's curious gaze.

A worried frown settled between the woman's brows. "What," she said shooing Dre away.

Dre didn't go far as none of his questions had been answered. Em had been surprisingly tight lipped about things. Though, Dre had to grudgingly admit, being cursed out probably had something to do with it. Especially, seeing as he'd tried to contact them.

"First, I need your word. Nobody hear's about this. Nobody. Especially not Dre," said Em.

Nicole frowned. She didn't like keeping things from her husband. And Em knew that. Whatever this was it had to be serious. "My word," Nicole said quietly.

Em sighed oddly reluctant to share Josh's presence with anyone. But he didn't need word getting out about who he was hanging with. Especially not to Josh's fucker of an ex. Nicole might or might not recognize Josh. She was a sharp lady. And seeing as the tabloids were full of speculation about where the boy bander had disappeared to, she was bound to clue in sooner or later. "When you pick up Hailie my boy Josh is gonna be there. He's gun shy. Literally and figuratively, Nicky girl. So, I need you to keep his presence on the d-l, A'ight?"

Nicole was ready to explode with curiosity. This had to be the friend that had Dre and Proof so worked up. And she was going to get to meet him. Nicole stamped down on the urge to squeal. "All right, I'll see you Wednesday."

She hung up. Dre pounced. "What was that?"

"What?"

Dre's gaze narrowed. "Don't what me woman," he glared.

Nicole lifted an elegant eyebrow. Dre muttered nearly inaudible complaints about insufferable women and stomped off.

Nicky headed back into the kitchen, humming happily. Soon she'd have her goddaughter, Aisha would have her best friend and she'd meet this mysterious 'friend'. Her mind was all ready going off on a thousand tangents as she planned her own interrogation.

JC stood and Hailie immediately took up the entire chair as he moved over to perch on the arm of the sofa. He eyed the phone warily.

Em paused in his search for the remote, glancing from the phone to Josh. "What you wanna call your boys," he asked, standing. Damn remote wasn't on the couch.

"If we're going into the city, I really could stand to get a few things from my hotel room," mumbled JC twisting the cord around his fingers.

Em frowned. He didn't like the idea of Josh going back to the hotel without him along. But he was pretty sure that wasn't Josh's problem. "What?"

"I don't wanna call from the house phone but if I call on my cell again I know Chris is gonna answer," sighed JC dropping the phone into its cradle.

"And," growled Em. He couldn't see what the problem was. Josh could just tell the short fuck what he wanted then hang up. He said as much.

JC shook his head. It wasn't that simple. Chris couldn't be put off. Not like Lance. Chris would demand answers. He wasn't quite ready to give them.

"Call from here then," offered Em. Problem solved. Both of them, he thought as he spotted the remote.

"Once Chris has the number," began JC, shaking his head. "I won't be able to get a moment's peace. He'll find me. Then he'll head out here. Just to check on me...."

Em held up his hand. Josh was obviously not keeping up with the program. "It's not like you'll be here for him to find."

"Huh," JC blinked confused. Hadn't Em offered to let him hide out here? Or maybe that was only when he'd been staying there too.

Em rolled his eyes, giving Josh a shove as he settled back onto the couch remote in hand.

JC yelped as he tilted backwards onto the couch. He sat up, twisting around to glare at Em as Hailie giggled from the safety of his chair. "No brooding, dummy. All I meant was you'd be staying with us in L.A. so it don't matter if the N'stinkers find this place."

JC didn't even bother trying to squash the relived grin that blossomed on his face. He gave himself a mental smack for even doubting Em's words. "Right," muttered JC, picking up the handset again. He dialed the familiar number, shifting around until he was comfortably sprawled across the sofa. Ignoring the mock scowl Marshall shot him as he took up most of the couch.


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Lance blinked up at the ceiling, wondering what had woken him. It took a second for the telephone's ringing to register. He reached out, grabbing the handset clumsily.

"Hello," he growled into the phone. He'd been up late last night, trying to wrap his head around this thing Joey and Kelly were suggesting.

"Lance," came the voice from the other end.

Shit, he thought. It was JC. With his free hand he scrambled for his pants, and lost precious seconds digging for his new cell. He'd given the old one to Chris so that if-- when JC called again he wouldn't be able to pull stuff like this. There was that hope down the drain.

"Hey, JC. It's good to hear from you. How are you? Having fun," babbled Lance as he dialed Chris' room. "So what's new? Planning on coming back anytime soon? Or talk to the other guys," Lance kept babbling as the phone rang. Not letting JC get a word in edgewise. Hoping if he kept the man on the line long enough Chris would pick up before he could get away.

"Lance. Shut it," snapped JC cutting off the babble mid flow. "I need you to get my contacts, glasses, and I-pod out of my hotel room and leave 'em at the front desk for pick up."

Oh, Chris was not going to like that. Lance cringed. Mentally begging Chris to answer his phone. "Does that mean you'll be coming by to pick it up," he asked hopefully.

"No," said JC. "Someone'll be by to pick it up, sometime this week. But not me." He didn't want Chris wasting his time hanging around the front desk in hopes of catching him.

Lance gave a distressed cry when Chris finally answered his cell as JC was hanging up.

"What," barked Chris into his cell. He tried to catch Dani's arm as she crawled out of the bed.

"Well it was JC," sighed Lance.

"What did he say," muttered Chris letting go as Dani turned an enraged glare on him. He winced as she disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"He wants me to get some of his stuff, and leave it at the front desk," explained Lance. "He made sure to let me know he wasn't gonna be the one picking it up."

Chris frowned. It was shit like this that was making him worry. And wonder just what he'd managed to miss. "All right," he muttered, starting to grin as a thought hit him. JC hadn't called Lance's cell, he'd called the hotel. It would be possible to get Vin to do a trace. "Lance you did your best. JC obviously doesn't want to be found. Just go ahead and do what he asked."