For Julia - Eminem/50 Cent and groupies. It's also an AU.

They'd set the alarm for four a.m. but Em wakes to 50 shaking his shoulder. "C'mon, Em," he's saying, softly so as not to wake the others, breath warm against Em's cheek, "you gotta get up. We gotta go."

Em takes the wheel. 50 rides shotgun; he reaches out to crank up the radio but gets nothing but static. "It's broken," Em says tersely, hand braced against the head of the passenger seat as he looks over his shoulder, backing the car out into the street, "you broke it, remember?"

It's a long grim drive in the dark. They don't talk much except to say "you shoulda got the heater fixed like I told you" and "I forgot my fucking house keys, fuck, Nate better be in when we get back tonight."

When they reach the city Em lights up to mark the occasion. He cracks the window open, just an inch-width to let the smoke out, but it's too cold out and he's meant to be quitting so he ends up just tossing the cigarette and winding the window back up again.

He glances over at 50, slumped in the passenger seat, eyes almost but not quite closed.

"Hey," Em begins, just for something to say, then stops. He hadn't thought past that part.

50 sits up straight, apparently not even listening, leaning forward with his hands on the dashboard. "Look," he says, lifting his chin, and Em looks. There it is. And also--

"Shit," 50 mutters, echoing his thought. "So many of 'em. Ain't even light yet."

They circle 'round the block for a while trying to find a place to park. They're not the first to arrive, not by a long shot. Mostly guys, mostly young, but there's some girls too, even a few that don't look like anyone's girlfriend.

By the time Em and 50 finally ditch the car a few streets away, the crowd's starting to fill up the sidewalk, soon will be spilling over into the road. No doubt hotel security are gonna show up any minute now, maybe even the traffic cops.

A guy bumps Em's shoulder as they step into the street, hard enough to make them both stagger.

"Watch your fucking step," Em says quietly.

The guy's head whips around. He's wearing a Metallica beanie and he looks Em up and down through narrowed eyes, taking it all in with a sneer. "Fuck you, you fucking rap groupie." His fat friend laughs, haw haw haw.

Em's moving forward before he knows it, mad enough to spit or shout or something worse. It's only 50's arm around his shoulders and 50's calm voice in his ear - "easy now, Em, it ain't worth it, not today" - that hold him back.

He forces himself to relax. Breathes out. "Yeah." 50's right. Not today.

Em shoves his hand into his pocket as they walk across the street: still got the demo tape, thank christ, still safe. They muscle their way through to the front, the crowd parting easily for 50's big smile and bigger shoulders, and settle down to wait. Only half six in the morning and Dre's not due to arrive 'til three that afternoon.

It's gonna be a long day.

By Ro, January 2004

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