~The Izzy Cam~

Erin woke with a start, sitting up straight as a board. The clock next to her bed read three am.

Her first instinct was that the nightmares had interrupted her slumber again, but when she couldn't recall them she knew that couldn't be right. They were always so dreadfully detailed, the horribly harsh words pouring from Axl's mouth like some twisted spout. But wait... she did remember.

She was on the ground again, watching Axl's boot close in on her precious engagement ring. It was dust in seconds, but he didn't stop there. His boot collided with her stomach now, and when she looked down her blue corduroys were slick and slimy with red blood.

Erin caught her breath, gasping and wheezing, tucking sweat-soaked strands of hair behind her ears. In the dim moonlight she could see her fingertips, stained red and smelling slightly of metal. Frantic, she peeled the comforter back, and a similar pool of blood greeted her. Her thighs were soaked, as was the bottom half of her nightgown.

"Oh god, oh god," she began to sob. It was her last piece of him, no matter what the doctors told her.

Her last piece of Axl was dead and gone a long time ago, in Central Park.

****

Skipper's POV

The door to the examination room flies open and bangs against the back wall, sending some stray medical supplies on the counter beside it plummeting to the puke-colored linoleum.

"I came as fast as I could, uh... I was actually observing a surgery at New York Presbyterian."

My eyes remain closed as I lean against a gurney in the corner of the room, as far as I could distance myself from Erin without leaving. She is still recumbent, wearing a hospital gown with her legs propped up in some stirrups. Her belly is exposed, shiny with ultrasound gel. I know she's staring at me, smirking. She thinks she's caught Rosie like a fish on a line.

She may have.

She glances at the monitor every so often, gushing over what she thinks are fingers, toes, hair. I would like to tell her that her baby is only six weeks along, meaning there's nothing to see; but that would require my acknowledging her existence, which I would really rather not do.

Rosie's gaze travels to Erin, who grins widely at him, pointing at the monitor. "Look at your son! Or... daughter, it's too young to tell." The ultrasound technician looks so extremely uncomfortable, I feel bad for her. She picks at her corkscrew curls, glancing nervously between Rosie and I. "She's definitely pregnant," corkscrew lady confirms.

"Was that ever in question?" Erin says shortly, narrowing her eyes at me.

Rosie immediately turns to me. I figure anger is written all over my face because he's trying to do damage control, strutting over to me and placing a hand over mine. "It's not mine, I swear it's not mine."

I force myself to look up into his wide and pleading eyes, and I want to believe him. I want to think that everything he's ever told me is true, but sometimes I just don't know.

"Of course it's yours, who's could it be?" Erin chirps, to Rosie's great annoyance.

"Will you shut the fuck up already? You've done enough."

His attention is refocused on me. "Please, I need you to believe me."

I remember the test I did three years back to figure out the identity of the father of my baby, it was quick and painless. I suppose that could provide some closure for us all, and it would require sticking a giant needle in Erin's stomach, which is a plus.

"There's a test we can do," corkscrew lady suggests before I have the chance to do so myself. Rosie perks up while Erin seems to sag a little bit, and the overconfidence in her eyes soon reduces itself to nervousness.

"Oh, that sounds a bit scary, I don't know if I wanna do any testing when... the baby isn't far enough along, I'm sure?"

"Oh no, it's a very quick procedure." Corkscrew lady assures us all with a forced smile.

"Do it." I assert, glancing down at my pager. I've never wished for a beep so hard in my entire career. "I'll make sure the lab puts a rush on the results, so we can all get out of here. I've got patients who need me right now."

I take a step toward the door but Rosie clamps his hand down over my wrist, shaking his head once. "Don't leave me here with her." He whispers loudly, stealing a glance at the bed.

"You dug this hole for yourself," I snap involuntarily, pulling my hand away.

His eyes sadden as I walk to the door. He's trying to guilt me into staying, but I won't allow it.

"Your dirty mistress is right," Erin says in an irritatingly superior voice. "This is your baby and she knows it, don't you Dirty Mistress?" I blink at her with a neutral expression, though my instinct prompts me to smother her with the pillow she's resting against.

"Don't fucking call her that, you're the whore that got knocked up," Rosie comes to my defense. I give him a benign glance and open up the door.

"Junior."

I pause for a split second before leaving, and heading straight to my office.

There is a man inside, sitting on the edge of my desk. Slash.

I close the door behind me anyway, gazing into his eyes. They're warm, they're intimate, they're wanting. It hits me that this is how they always were from the moment I met him, I was always too oblivious to give it a second thought.

"Sup, Mrs. Big Shot? Just get back from some... life-changing procedure?"

He gives me his signature goofy grin, though he only smiles when we're alone. Or when he's drunk.

I force a little chuckle and shrug, "It's certainly, um... life-changing." I want to go to my desk but I'm afraid of what will happen if I do.

He wears a button down flannel and tight black pants, his scuffed Doc Martens. His flannel is tantalizingly undone, a generous portion of his toned chest peeking out through the top. He sure does know how to get into my mind, I suppose he always did.

"You alright, Curly?" He asks after a spell of silence, in which I was trying to figure out what to say next.

"Uh... um, yeah?" I lie, edging toward the desk. The paperwork for my MoyaMoya kid sits right beside him, and I decide they're more important than my petty feelings.

Slowly I put one foot in front of the other until I reach my destination, standing right beside his dangling legs. My hands vibrate as I reach for the papers, he's so close that I can feel his body heat. I can hear his breathing, but it's not like he's hyperventilating or something. I can smell his scent, cologne, man shampoo. It's intoxicating, because I know I can't acknowledge it. I can feel his eyes glued to my skin, but I can't point it out, can I?

There's a chance that Rosie's been lying to me and has a child with another woman, but I can't look at my best friend?

The thought sends my eyes racing up to meet his, a dire mistake.

They're too rich, and looking at them is like gorging yourself on gummy bears- they're so fucking tasty you can't stop shoveling them into your mouth, but you know you'll regret it later when you feel like crap and you break out in zits. In my case, the zits would be Rosie's criticism.

"No. You're not okay, you look like you've seen a fucking ghost or something," he jokes, and for a second he's just my friend again. He's not attractive and he doesn't smell like sex, he's just my goofball friend. Until he gently places his hand over mine, and caresses the back of it with his thumb. Then it's all so glaringly obvious again, and I'm shoving my cheeks full of gummy bears.

"I... I, um..." I manage to free my hand, leaving the papers where they are on the desk and taking a step backwards. His dark eyebrows dip a little bit and he slips from his sitting position on the desk, easing toward me. "What's wrong, Curly? You're being weird." I'm not being weird, I want to tell him. He's being weird. He was never a flirt before, when I first met him he gave the impression that he wasn't attracted to me in the least.

My back hits the wall, and I have to let him come closer. I have to let him take my hand and press it against his chest, smiling at me charmingly all the while. I let him lean against the wall right beside me, and place a kiss against my hand.

"I... can't... I don't..."

"Sure you can." He chuckles at me, and swipes his thumb across the tip of my nose.

"The band is going back to California, you know... to record and stuff. Technically we should've been back months ago, but you..." He pauses, and his eyelids close halfway.

"Anyway, you know that I'm not myself when you're gone, so... I was thinking... you should come with, huh?" My words are frozen in my throat, my tongue is a desert.

"You'd love it, I promise." His face is coming nearer, slowly but surely, I know what he wants to do. Common sense gives me a rare slap in the face (they're few and far between) sending me bolting toward the desk again to escape the sugar and empty calories that gummy bear Slash is trying to provide.

His eyes narrow even more for a few seconds, before he groans and begins to massage his temples. "Fuck. Fuck!" I can't seem to catch my breath.

"He got to you, this fast? I can see it in your fucking eyes, he's got you under his spell." I didn't plan for this moment. Maybe I tried to figure out what I would say to him to soften the blow, but Slash knows me too well. There's no way to sugarcoat this.

"Slash, I-"

"No no, don't explain yourself. You don't need to, you guys have got some... twisted history that needs closure. If you think this will last, you're insane, Curly. He destroys everything he touches, so if you wanna love a ticking time bomb, go ahead."

"Slash!" He shakes his head stubbornly.

"No, don't take my word for it, Curls. Find out for yourself." Now he's the defensive one when I take a step toward him. "Please, I still want you to be my friend. Can't you still be my best friend?" His eyes turn to stone, and he firmly shakes his head no.

"Sorry, Curly. I can't, it's not fair to me, and it isn't fair to you. I can't pretend I don't feel the way I do about you. Shit... You can pretend all you want, you can tell yourself a million times that you love Axl, and maybe you do. But you love me too." I don't even try to protest. He has to say what's on his mind, that's just who he is.

"We kissed, and it was fucking hot, alright? So now when he kisses you, you'll be thinking about me the whole time. When he holds you at night, you'll remember how it felt when my chest you were laying on. When he makes love to you... you'll be pretending that its me, won't you?"

I can't bring myself to watch him anymore, so I let my eyes fall to my shoes. There's a drop of blood on my left one.

"See, you won't even deny it. I won't pretend I don't love you, I'm done doing that shit. Axl can beat me to Kingdom Come, and I'll never stop. No one can make me." His eyes tell me that he believes every word he says; he searches me for some kind of response but I can't give one.

He drifts toward the door, and glances back at me. I want to say something, I don't want the conversation to end like this. "Slash-"

"Say my name, Curly. I love it." My cheeks redden and he leaves the room, giving me privacy to wallow in my own helplessness.

****

"Baby? Wake up." A hand gently shakes my shoulder.

"Sl...Sla-" I drowsily stutter, waiting for my vision to return to me.

"It's me, sweetie." I manage to lift my head from the surface of my desk, attempting to roll out the painful stiffness that's settled into my muscles. Rosie glances down at me with excitement in his eyes, clutching a folded piece of paper in his fist.

"Tired?" I scan the room, happy to find that we're alone. "A little," I respond, turning my attention to the paper.

"It's negative. The kid isn't mine." He slaps it down in front of me, and what he says is true, the paternity test came back negative. I give him a guilty look, and he only chuckles, taking over the neck massage for me. His fingertips are gentle and firm at the same time.

"We can move on from Erin now, she'll have her kid and we can get the fuck away from her."

"Yup." I lean into him.

"I meant to tell you earlier, but... the band has to go back to Cali now, we've been camped out in the apple for too long," he chuckles, brushing strands of hair from the back of my neck so that he can have better visibility.

"Yeah, I heard." I tell him absentmindedly, enjoying the feeling of tension lifting from my shoulders.

"From who?"

I don't respond, and eventually he moves on.

"I... we've just gotten back together, and I don't do long distance, so... I want you to come with, alright baby? The hospital I did my internship at, UCLA... I've still got a few connections there, so I pulled some strings and they really want you. At least for a little while, it's only temporary."

I remain taciturn.

"And they're even setting up a little lab for you so that you can do your AIDS research? You'd be completely free to do what you like, and you know... they'll even pay you a bit more to come."

Slash. I can't leave things the way they are, not having him in my corner leaves me with a creeping sense of dread that I can't rid myself of. I suppose Ladawn is capable of handling the hospital for a few weeks, though it would be hard to hand the reigns over to the arrogant bastard.

"Please don't hate me for asking, I just..."

"Sure, I'll go." I tell him quietly, and he pauses for a little before giving a nervous laugh.

"Fuck, yes. I was prepared for that to go completely south, but... you..." He stops massaging to plant a gentle kiss on my shoulder. "Yeah, I can make some arrangements. I guess I could use a break from the city, and that sounds fun..."

"You're amazing, baby." His voice is muffled by my hair. He pulls me to my feet for a hug, and I notice how his hands rest dangerously low on my hips.

Slash, you dirty dog. Horny asf, aren't you? I personally want them to work out but my writer self says that would make the plot boring. "Conflict" and all.

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