Title: A Change of Face
Author: Granitite Stone, granitite@yahoo.com
Summary: Nothing is absolute. Our paths can be changed in an instant, and nothing will be the same. NOT PART OF STRANGE BEDFELLOWS!
Web Address: www.angelfire.com/weird/cobalite/index3.html
Pairing: AJ/Marshall
Rating: R

She was new to the city, and still cared about her students. Jenny Nelson had been keeping an eye on the young man that sat in the third row. Mr. Mathers was always sporting one bruise or another, but today's was obvious

"Class dismissed." Thirty fifth graders jumped to their feet and ran for the door. "Marshall, would you stay for a moment?"

A little white boy with taped glasses, so out of place here. He stood in front of Jenny's desk, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "Whatever it was, I didn't do it!"

"I'm sure you didn't." She took of his glasses. "How'd you get the black eye, kiddo?"

"I fell."

"I'm sure." She gave him back the frames. "You fall a lot, don't you?" He didn't say anything, just looked at the floor. "You live with just your mom, right?"

"Yeah." He picked at the tape. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, you're not in trouble. You can go now, Marshall." She watched him flee, then went to the main office. Social Services removed Marshall from Debbie's custody before she could take him back to Missouri.

"Custody is awarded to Robert McLean." Denise looked at the paper, and then at her son. "Do you understand that, baby?"

Alex shook his head. "What's custody?"

"It means you're going to go live with Daddy for now." Denise vowed to fight the judge's decision.

Bob took a job at a car factory in Detroit, and for the ten years Denise contested the decision, no judge would remove Alex. They could never prove Bob was hurting him.

Eventually, he met a boy named Rufus Johson. The bruises stopped, and so did any hope Denise had of getting her son back.

He took chorus because his guidance councilor told him not to waste his voice. It didn't matter to them that even after a dozen years in Florida, he was still a Detroit boy at heart. Marshall wrote rap songs when he could escape from the pop nightmare Howie and Chris lived in.

He thinks maybe he loved Chris, because Chris knew what it was like growing up being bounced around. But Chris was a spaz, a dreamer, and a psyche major. They broke up before they killed each other.

Marshall hung out with Howie a lot after that. "I'm trying to get a group together." This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

"Howie, I know what you listen to, and you've seen what I write. You're so white bread, Wonderbread wants you as a spokes model, and I belong in some underground club."

"You don't have to like pop to sing it. Face it, Marshall, rap is never going to make it big in the mainstream. Give me a hand, and when we flop, at least your name will be out there."

"You don’t think it'll last?" Marshall looked at his watch, and grabbed his books. "Because I swear, Howie, if I get stuck in a fucking pop group for the next ten years, I'm gonna kill you."

"It'll never happen."

When their first single kicked ass in Europe, he dyed Howie's entire body magenta. When it started selling in the US, Brian and Nick helped him steal all of Howie's underwear, and handed it out to fans before their shows.

He was easy to pick out. A single white face in a sea of dark skin. "They call you Johnny, right?"

AJ spun around. "Holy shit. You're Doctor Dre."

"I heard you on the radio, Johnny. You got something, something I think will sell." Dre watched AJ go speechless. "Interested?"

AJ nodded, then looked over his shoulder. "Pete, get your ass over here." He clapped the man who came over on the shoulder. "Dre heard me. He wants to sign us."

"Us?"

"Yeah, us." Peter didn't seem surprised that Dre had been looking for a solo artist. "Alex is like, 18, man. They'd eat him alive on his own. We gotta protect him."

"Who is we?" If they were all as talented as Alex, (Johnny, whatever) he could live with a group.

"D12." AJ grinned. "The Dirty Dozen."

Some time last year

"So," The interviewer reclined in her chair. "Marshall. You've made the occasional comment that you didn't want to be in the Backstreet Boys at first. Is that true?"

"Yeah." He ignored her flirt. "I'll never forgive D for making me a pop superstar."

"Nicknames. We all know where everyone else's came from. Why do they call you Eminem, and where did it come from?"

"I always wanted to rap, you know? A friend at school told me no one would take a MC named Marshall seriously, so he started calling me Eminem. Marshall Mathers."

"Some people think that's why you dislike Justin Timberlake so much." She leaned in conspiratorially close. "Is your feud with the baby of Nsync because you both want the one thing you can't have?"

'Yeah, Chris.' Of course, he wasn't going to say that. "I hate Timberlake because they walked in, and tried to take over our fanbase. He's the worst. At fifteen, he just jumped on a stage. I worked to get where I am. We all did."

"I understand." Her hand touched his knee. "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

He looked at her hand, and moved away. "Not at the moment."

"What do you look for in a girl?"

'I'm not.' But he couldn't say that either. Kevin would kill him. "Someone who'll put up with me."
----

Marshall Mathers. Bad boy of the BSB. Foul mouthed, raised in the foster system. It gave him a rough edge that endeared him to the fans. Nick might be the most popular, but Marshall was the most human.

The fans would pass his unreleased songs around by MP3 on the Internet. After 'Stan' was leaked, they even stopped stalking him, so he guessed he really didn't mind.

He wished the Eminem thing would just go away. Eight years, and he was still stuck with it. He hated it, when interviewers and critics used it. It was Chris that had given it to him, and at least when the guys or their fans used it, it was still a term of endearment.

"You coming out tonight, Marshall?" Nick stuck his head in the door. "We're even getting the old married folks on the floor."

"If I do, you promise not to follow me around?" He grabbed his jacket. "Because, there is nothing more embarrassing than having your little brother walking in on you fucking. He still isn't returning my phone calls."

"Trust me. I don't ever want to see that again." Nick made a sour expression. "You're never going to convince me that's better than straight sex."

"I'm not gonna show you, either." He followed Nick out the door. "What city are we in?"

"LA."
-----
The six of them were perched around the room in various positions. AJ was on the floor, actually trying to sleep through the interview. The woman was only asking the standard questions, the ones they could answer in their sleep, so he decided to try it.

"I know you've probably heard this a thousand times, but how did the six of you hook up?" No one answered her. "Guys, I know it's early, but the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can leave."

"It's was your idea. You answer the question." AJ poked at Harry's leg.

"You got us signed. It's your damned turn."

She sighed, and wondered what she'd done to deserve an interview with six surly rappers at six am. "Someone?"

AJ sat up. "A'right. But next time one of you assholes has to do this." He managed to sit up. "So, back in '95, the six of us are on the way back from New York City. Pete and Harry come up with this idea that since we all have split personalities, there's a dozen of us. Six guys, twelve people. I'll tell ya, it is fucking crowded on those tour buses."

"Thirteen people, depending on what mood AJ over there is in. Man, some days I just wanna strangle Johnny No-Name, and then the next minute he's fucking Alex again." Peter was finally starting to wake up. "I've known him since we were kids and it's still like roulette. You do something to him, you never know if he's gonna blow your brains out, kill you on the next track, or just sleep with yo girl."

"Hey, I don't shoot my friends. It's the rest of ya that need to worry." He climbed into a chair. "So, here we are, bunch of teenagers with foul mouths. Rap is just really starting to take off mainstream. Then, I do this radio contest and Dre himself comes looking for me."

"Is it true he wanted you as a solo artist?"

"Yeah. But Pete was afraid I'd get my ass killed, so we signed as a group."

Rondell opened one eye. "And we ain't never gonna let him alone about it, either. AJ is one fucked up little white boy, and now we're stuck with him."

"Fuck you." AJ flipped him off. "So, we cut our first album, and shock the hell out of everyone. Then, they couldn't get rid of us."

"You say you all have alter egos. Anyone want to explain that one?"

Swift took the question. "Our parents all hated us, or some shit. I mean, who names their kid Ondre, or Rufus? Von sounds like a girls name, Denaun's name just has a fucked up spelling, and then there's Deshuan. No one knows where the fuck that came from."

Harry pushed Swift off the couch. "AJ's the only one of us with a normal name, and he wants us to call him Johnny. We're still trying to figure that one out."

"Don't listen to Harry. They all know, they were probably just too stoned to remember. My father didn't want me, but he didn't want Mom to get me either. So he drags me to Detroit, and makes my life a living hell. I won't use him name, I won't give him the satisfaction of saying 'That's a McLean up there.' Johnny is my dark side, the one who writes the fucked up lyrics. Alex is the one who wore glasses growing up, who got picked on."

"And AJ?"

"AJ is somewhere in the middle."

"Else we'd have killed him by now." Denaun's voice came from the vicinity of the coffeepot. "You got anymore boring ass questions for us?"

"I'd like to ask about Tina." She saw AJ go still, and close his eyes.

"Bitch. We told you, no fucking questions about that." Peter glared at her. "We're done here. Get the hell out."

Harry waited until the interviewer had left the room, before coming over to where AJ sat. "Alex?"

"I fucking hate it when they do that." His eyes snapped open. "I don't want to talk about it to them, and I don't want to talk about it to you, so let's just go, alright?"

"Don't be such an asshole. We're worried about you." Peter joined Harry. "Your Mom keeps calling me, checking up on you. How the hell long has it been since you had a decent night's sleep?"

"Leave. Me. Alone." He got up out of the chair, and stalked out of the room.

"We gotta do something. He's still a mess." Swift watched the door swing shut.

"What the hell can we do? Maybe Dre." Denaun opened the door again. "He's gonna crack, and then what the fuck are we supposed to do?"
-----

Alexander James McLean. AJ. Johnny No Name. Baby of D12, the voice that got them their start. A boy who grew up with a father who couldn’t care less, and knocked him around. Who almost died at the age of thirteen, when things went too far. For whom Rufus Johnson, now Peter Bizarre, one borrowed a gun to scare Bob McLean into leaving his son alone.

The one who was said to fuck anything that walked. The one who trashed gays in his lyrics, but didn't think anything of taking a guy home at night. The one raised on the streets of Detroit, but remembered the heat of Florida. The one who knew his mother had fought to keep him but lost in the end, and loved her for it. When he'd made it big, AJ bought Denise a house, but hadn't spoken to his father in years.

"I'm fine. Really." He talked into the receiver. "Well I don't care what Harry told you! I don't need to go back to the shrink. It's been six months. I'm dealing. Mom, mom, don't start crying. I know you miss her too. Listen, I have to go. Take care of yourself, alright? I'll be down in a couple weeks. I do take care of myself! I told you, Harry's a liar. Fine, whatever. I'll see you soon."

"So, I’m a liar?" Harry was in the doorway, looking pissed.

"Why the hell did you tell her? Are you trying to drive her nuts?" AJ slipped his cell into a pocket. "My insomnia is my business."

"You're killing yourself. You need to get some help, Alex. You can't keep up like this."

"Not tonight, a'right?" He picked up his boots. "I just want to get out of this damned hotel. We're going out tonight."

"If we do, you gonna get some sleep tonight?"

"If you asses will leave me alone, I'll try. Okay?" Harry nodded, and walked out. AJ cupped his forehead. "So fucking tired."
-----
End of Chapter One

Questions, comments, and concerns about my sanity should go to granitite@yahoo.com
Choose Your Poison at www.angelfire.com/weird/cobalite/index3.html 
~ When I look into the mirror, and see a face I don't recognize, I am no longer surprised.