Unexpected - Eminem x Beyoncé Fan Fic

Silent Communication

Marshall POV

"Sir, would you please state your name for the record," the droning voice of the county prosecutor asked.

"Marshall Bruce Mathers, III," I replied, speaking directly into the small microphone angled in front of my face from the side.

The seat was uncomfortable - a dark green covered cushion over a wooden chair that had seen at least one hundred too many uses. To my right sat an older woman in a black robe, her greying hair pulled away from her face. Down three steps was an older man, typing away at a tiny device that looked like a condensed typewriter. Across the room were two tables, one designated for the prosecutor, the other for the defense.  To my left sat thirteen men and women of various ages, their eyes focused on me as I spoke.

"Have you ever met the defendant, Mr. Mathers?" I was asked and, although I'd been instructed that these kinds of bullshit preliminary questions would come up, I nevertheless had to stifle the urge to roll my eyes.

"Yes," I responded firmly, flicking my eyes to where Jay sat. He returned my gaze without flinching. No doubt, he'd been coached on how to react to my testimony.

"How is it that you know the defendant?" The prosecutor asked.

"We were friends for a long time," I responded. "We did some songs together and have generally just run in the same circles for years," I explained, still looking at Jay. He didn't look away.

"You're a rap singer?" She asked and my gaze returned to hers.

"Yes," I replied, unable to help the dry tone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one juror smirk.

"The defendant is also a rap singer?" She prodded and I nodded.

"Yes," I answered.

"Did you and the defendant ever have a falling out from your friendship, Mr. Mathers?" The prosecutor asked. I sighed, knowing we were about to get into the grit of the testimony.

"Yes," I said firmly.

"Tell us what happened," the prosecutor asked.

"Objection! Calls for a narrative," the defense counsel said, rising to his feet. Jay had secured a fairly low key attorney for this trial. I hadn't been able to sit through any of the testimony yet, but I'd heard that he hadn't done much by way of objections.

"Sustained," the judge said. "Counsel," she indicated, looking back at the prosecutor.

"Why did you and the defendant have a falling out?" She asked and I took a breath.

"Jay and-" I started to say, but she interrupted me.

"I'm sorry, sir. For the record, when you say Jay, you mean the defendant?" She asked and I nodded.

"Yes," I replied. She gave me a look to continue, and so I did.

"Jay and his wife divorced nearly a year ago," I started.

As I began, I could see the jurors leaning forward out of the corner of my eye. They were finally getting to hear the inside story for what happened between Jay-Z and Beyonce and Eminem. Their eyes were alight with interest, curiosity clear as they lapped up every word of the tale. The people in this room were getting what no reporter had managed to secure just yet – an interview and retelling of how I ended up in the hospital for a week.

Having long had practice at maintaining a straight face, I spoke clearly and without pause as I explained what went on with Jay, Beyonce and me. When the background for how Jay and I became what we were now was set, the prosecutor moved on to the night of the awards ceremony. In as much detail as possible, I was walked through every part of that night, including getting my ass handed to me by the three chumps who'd secured plea bargains nearly two months ago.

As I spoke, the prosecutor put up photos of my injuries, an aggravating fact that I hadn't been able to get away from. Gasps were heard in the courtroom as picture after picture of my dozen stab wounds and bruised body were shown. When I finished describing what happened, I glanced at the jury. Nearly every one of them was looking at me with shock, apparently surprised that I'd managed to survive the attack.

When the prosecutor was done, the defense counsel stood up and started asking me questions. They were exactly what the prosecutor had predicted they would be, so I knew what was coming.

"Mr. Carter was not one of the men who attacked you, was he?" The man asked and I shook my head.

"No," I replied.

"And you didn't see him at any point in that hall way before or after your attack?" He questioned.

"No," I answered.

"So, you don't know that he had anything to do with your attack, do you?" He asked.

"Objection! Argumentative," the prosecutor called out.

I didn't listen to the argument between the two attorneys. Instead, I looked over at the man whom I'd held such high respect for as an artist for so long. He returned my gaze without anger. Instead, his eyes flicked to one of the photos which was still up before he looked at me.

Though he didn't – couldn't - say the words, I could see it in his eyes. He regretted it. I nodded slightly, acknowledging the silent communication just before the defense counsel starting questioning me again.

It was probably all I'd ever get from Jay, regardless of how his trial for attempted murder turned out.

--

"Are you alright?" Bey asked, looking at me with concern. I'd gotten back from giving my testimony three hours ago and had holed up in a far corner of the house, blaring music as I sat in the middle of the room and just listened.

I looked at her, giving a small nod in answer to her question. She frowned and moved to the stereo, turning the system down before moving to crouch in front of me, her hands on my knees. She was beautiful, as always. In sweats with her hair up or dressed to the nines and ready for an event, she took my breath away.

"Are you really alright?" Bey asked and I shook my head, grabbing her hands and pulling her toward me. She climbed on my lap, pushing her arms around my shoulders as she rested her head in the crook of my neck. I held her close, doing nothing more than listen to her breathing, for several minutes.

"He's going to prison," I said finally, my voice gravely. "The pictures they showed, the look on the jurors' faces," I paused to take a breath. "There's no doubt about it." Bey nodded her head, squeezing her arms.

"I know," she whispered. "I saw the way they looked at him when I testified," she said. "It wasn't good."

"I should be fucking thrilled," I muttered. "He's getting what he deserves," I noted. "But, I can't be. I can't be happy about him going in a cage, despite what happened." Bey nodded again, lifting her head to kiss my neck.

"I know," she repeated. "And it's one of the million reasons that I love you." My arms pulsed around her, my heart flipping the way it did every time she said that to me. I kissed the top of her head and picked up the remote, turning up the music.

We sat like that for another couple hours, just holding each other as the beats flowed. Although we'd have to wait to hear the verdict, it would be a miracle if Jay got out of this. The world would be slobbering over the details of our testimony and his for years to come. But, right then, the only thing that mattered was that Bey was with me, her arms holding on, as the world continued moving forward.