Bandom One-shots book 3

Mockingbird (Eminem x Mick Mars)

The night's quiet. For a minute, I'm just sitting here, staring at the blank page on the computer screen. The silence is louder than anything else. It's the kind of silence that creeps in when your mind's racing. You think about everything, then nothing at all. But tonight? It's different. My mind's not on my career, my beefs, or the endless chaos I seem to find myself in. No, tonight, it's about something real, something that actually matters—Hailie and Lainie.

I run my fingers through my hair, lean back in my chair, and pull my hoodie tighter around my chest. The last few years have been a goddamn rollercoaster, and I'm still trying to make sense of it all. There's been pain, regrets, mistakes—but through all that, my daughters are the one thing I know I've done right. They're my reason. They keep me grounded. And after all the shit they've seen, I've got to make sure they know I'll always be there for them.

The idea for "Mockingbird" started out small, just a couple lines bouncing around in my head, but the more I thought about it, the bigger it got. It wasn't just a song; it was a letter to them. It was my way of explaining the chaos, the things they don't know, the things I wish they didn't have to. I want them to understand I'm doing this for them. But how do I tell them that? How do I put into words what they mean to me, without sounding like every other cliché?

That's when I called Mick. Mick Mars, the guy who's been around the block and seen everything, just like me. He's been through his own struggles, and if there's anyone who knows how to strip a song down to its rawest form, it's him. I needed someone to help me capture this, to make it real. I needed something that hits deep.

"Yo Mick," I say, pacing around the studio, one hand on the mic stand. "I've been trying to write this thing, but it's not coming together the way I want it to."

Mick's sitting at the soundboard, flipping through some chords on his guitar. He doesn't look up right away, but I can tell he's listening. Mick always listens.

"What's up?" he asks in his gravelly voice, the one that's always been as smooth as it is rough.

"I want to write something for Hailie, you know, for both my girls," I tell him, stopping in front of the piano. "But I need it to be real, raw... no sugar-coating. I don't wanna sound like I'm making promises I can't keep. But I want them to know I'm always gonna be here, even if they don't always get it."

Mick nods slowly, setting his guitar aside. He walks over to me, eyeing the screen where I've started typing out some lyrics.

"Listen, man," Mick starts, his voice low and steady. "You're the king of telling your truth. If anyone can make them feel what you're saying, it's you. You just need to stop thinking so hard. Let it flow. Write it like you're talking to them, not for them."

I take a breath, letting his words sink in. Mick's right. I can't overthink this. It's just me and the girls, always has been. It's about the bond we share, the pain, the love, the hope. It's all there. I just need to let it come out.

I sit back down and start typing. My mind's a blur of images—Hailie growing up, Lainie's laugh echoing through the house. And then the weight of it all hits me: the divorces, the fights, the uncertainty. They don't deserve that. They don't deserve to see their old man as a broken mess. But they're also too smart to not see through the bullshit.

Yeah

I know sometimes things may not always make sense to you right now

But hey, what daddy always tell you?

Straighten up little soldier

Stiffen up that upper lip

What you crying about?