~The Izzy Cam~

Dr. Dan Leonard was a beautiful man, and everyone in the hospital knew it. You had to be beautiful when working in the field of Plastic surgery; if you weren't, then how could people trust that your procedures were legitimate?

He was tall, not quite as skinny as Duff, but not as muscular as Slash, Skipper assessed as the way-too-polished man approached her E.R bed, wearing a slimy smile and a surgical mask around his neck. "Sorry for the wait there, Chief, I was performing facial reconstruction on an infant. He has-"

"Let's cut the small talk, Leo," Skipper said, pulling the stained red cloth napkin from her forearm.

Dr. Leo pulled up a stool, and sat before her on the bed, arranging a suture tray beside himself. "That's one nasty gash, but, uh... I can get you sewn up and out of here pretty quick. A running corner whip stitch should take care of the scar."

"Sure Leo." He tried to catch her eye and give her a smile, but she was never interested.

He'd bedded every single nurse in the building, and the doctors he was definitely working on, but Chief Nelson was a prize. She was always busy, never interested in anyone's advances. Even the reserved Dr. Ladawn said he would nail her, just to feed his own pride- but of course, that would never happen.

He prepared a syringe of Lidocaine, which Skipper politely declined. His ice blue eyes were on hers the entire time he stitched, yet she didn't seem to notice. She didn't flinch while he worked, even without pain meds. "Can I ask you something, Leo?" Skipper finally said as Dr. Leo was cutting off the extra prolene, and irrigating the wound with antibiotic fluids. "Sure?"

"Am I... overly attractive, or something?" A million thoughts ran through the doctor's head. Hell yes, he wanted to say, but would that be too forward? No, you're just right. But would that be an insult?

"Never mind," Skipper grumbled as Dr. Leo numbly pressed a bandage to the wound, and she stormed away without another word.

****

Skipper's POV

"Ah, Fuck."

There is the sound of trivial things toppling over, water running in the sink, a sponge ringing out. Then there is more whispered cursing, wincing, and a bit of dripping. The faucet is always leaking.

After arriving home I toss my things on the couch and wander toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Slash stands shirtless at the sink, clumsily swabbing at a cut on his chest. He turns quickly upon my arrival, exposing to me his battered and bruised body. I grimace at the sight of purple and blue bruises peppered all over his chest and neck, as well as along his jawline. His lip is busted and bleeding, and he basically looks like he got hit by a dump truck.

I'm so pissed at him it hurts, more than his wounds possibly could.

"Hey, could you... help me with all of this?" He motions to his whole body in general. I let out a lengthy sigh and rush to his side, turning on the leaky faucet to let the water get hot. I open the cabinet to the left of me for a bowl and fill it with the steaming liquid, swipe the sponge from his hand and drop it in the water.

"Curly, I-"

"Follow me." I snap, leading him to the messy dinner table in the next room. I clear off a few beer cans and point to the empty spot. "Sit."

"Just wait-"

"Sit!" He jumps and slides onto the table, glancing at me defensively. "Jeez, woman."

I wring the sponge out and go to work gently cleansing his bruises, trying to avoid his enticing eyes pinning themselves to me. "Would you quit that?" I swat his arm lightly, but he doesn't look away.

"I won't apologize, I'm not sorry for kissing you." He says this firmly, as if he's trying to defend his position before I even say anything.

I drop the sponge back in the water and stare up at him, nibbling the inside of my lip slightly. I haven't come to a decision about how I feel regarding tonight's events, and I have no idea how to proceed... with him.

"I know, I wouldn't make you apologize for that, and... frankly, I don't regret it." I grab the sponge again, wringing it out profusely to distract myself from the nervousness growing in my chest.

"Then... why are you pissed at me? And don't say you aren't, because I can see it all over your face."

"You ruined my benefit!" I exclaim, squinting at him. His head rolls back on his shoulders and he lets out a laugh, running a hand through his tangled hair. "You didn't wanna go to that bullshit anyways."

"How would you know that?"

"I know you, and I know you hate shit like that." He attempts to touch my hair but I coolly avoid his hand and go back to swabbing his chest.

"You and Rosie... what you did was completely inexcusable, it embarrasses me on so many levels," I complain, but he only brushes me off.

"And it flatters you. Admit it."

"It does not! How did you get here so fast, anyway?" Slash winces as I approach one of the larger bruises burdening his body, so I lighten my touch a bit.

"Well, someone called the fucking police after a while, but your creepy friend helped me shake the heat." I give a little chuckle. Carleigh, always a good man to have when the shit hits the fan.

"I'm sorry I ruined your little benefit, but what was I supposed to do? He hurt you, again. I wasn't gonna stand by this time and just watch you, I couldn't. And... for the record, you taste really sweet. Like champagne." He winks at me and my cheeks redden involuntarily, my eyes as wide as golf balls.

"Slash," I stutter slightly, and find no words to finish the sentence without making me out to be a blushing schoolgirl.

"It's all over now, Curly. We made out, right in front of that asshole, and it was fucking amazing! Don't you get it?" His fingers clench around my wrist, causing his busted knuckles to ooze fresh blood from their scabbing wounds.

"Yes, it was amazing, Slash. I can't deny it, but... I'm just confused at the moment, okay?"

"Come here, and stop pretending you don't know." He grabs at my waist and I jump backward just in time, staring at him accusingly.

"Please! I just need some time, to... figure things out, alright? We've come this far, can't you allow me some space to think?" He crosses his arms across his chest and then winces in pain, placing his hands back against the table.

"Alright, sure. Just... see me, alright?"

I apply some soothing cream to his bruises in silence, and dress them loosely with some spare gauze.

"Look what he did to you," he nods to my bandage as I lead him to the couch in the front room, and help him to sit. I suck in a breath, helping him pull his Doc Martens from his feet. "He didn't know it was me, and I'm sure if he did..."

I just pull a blanket up over his body without bothering to finish. "Go to sleep, it's gonna hurt like hell in the morning."

"You could get under here with me, you know," he points out, tugging at the blanket. I could, and I bet it would be warm. He would smell like cologne and shampoo, and he would hold me close. Maybe he would whisper sweet things in my ear until I fell asleep, and he would kiss my eyelids. But I don't. Instead I grab my jacket from the hook near the door and head out.

****

I haven't been back to Rosie's hotel room since the night he returned to New York, and I have a feeling he hasn't been back here in a while as well. It's not any less inviting the second time.

He must've known I was coming because he left the door cracked. I push it open and enter the dark and shadowy place; the curtains pulled over the windows and the lack of light fixtures makes the place out to be spooky, even a bit eerie. Much too quiet for my taste. I shut the door behind me, hoping that the sound draws Rosie out of his hiding spot. No one emerges, so I do a bit of looking around, to no avail.

"Rosie?" I push open the door to the bedroom, which is even darker than the front room. There he is on the foot
of the bed, quivering like a leaf and clutching something close to his chest. There's the sound of ragged breathing as his stiff shoulders rise and fall with each lungful of air.

His head rises and the object in his hands is exposed.

"Oh god!" I whimper, wishing I hadn't closed the door behind me. I press against it as hard as I can, staring at the dull black handgun he's examining. He loads and unloads the thing, over and over, rhythmically almost. His eyes are cloudy, sad, filled with tears.

The effects of untreated bipolar disorder.

"I love you, you know that, right?" His voice comes out sounding choked and weak, gravelly almost. "I love you more than anything else in the world. I always have, and I like to believe you know that."

I hold both of my hands out in front of me cautiously, and take a tentative step toward him. "Would you put that down?"

"I wish you could understand, but you... you're still so young. I always forget that, you know?" He says, clicking the bullets back into place and ignoring my command.

"Rosie, I-"

"I just wish you would be straight with me, sweetheart. Is it so hard? Can't you just wait until I've taken care of Erin?"

"No!" I blurt, and his body jolts. His watery eyes narrow as he peers up at me, tightening his hold on the weapon. I swipe at it but he's too quick for me, holding it just out of my reach. "I can't wait for Erin to go! I... it hurts me to watch you two together, and you know it! You kissed her, right in front of me. I can't take it, you know I can't take it," I'm whining like a child who didn't get her way, and I don't care. He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry, you know I don't ever wanna hurt you." Fresh tears are rolling down his splotchy red face. It's impossible to be angry with him when he looks like this, but I cling to the last fumes of rage I hold and glare at him.

"It hurts me to watch you and Slash together, and you kissed, right in front of me." He struggles to utter through a clenched jaw, removing the bullets from the gun.

"Only after you kissed her." It's a classic he-said she-said, childish but all too easy to fall into.

"Tell me, Junior. Tell me what you see in him, please." He pleads, running his fingers over the barrel of the gun. The safety is not intact.

"I... he's... he's kinda hot-"

"So am I."

"He does everything I tell him-"

"So do I."

"I can tell him anything-"

"Sure."

"He's always there-"

"Cut the bullshit, Junior! I give you all of those things, all the time! What the hell else could you possibly want from me? Huh?" His face is just as bruised and damaged as Slash's, and all the movement causes his split lip to start bleeding again.

"No, that isn't true," I point out, considering my words carefully. "I told you to get rid of Erin, and you didn't."

To this, he does not respond. He recoils a bit, and then goes back to loading and unloading the gun. It makes me nervous, sick to the pit of my stomach. What is he planning to do with it, where the hell did he get it, why does he have it?

Faster than lightning I snatch the gun right from his hands and scramble backward quickly, so that he can't immediately take it back. He's on his feet in a split second, advancing on me with a vengeance. "What the hell are you doing? Give me the fucking gun!"

I bolt to my right to avoid him, shaking my head exaggeratedly. "No, just calm down, alright?"

"Give it to me!"

I flop on the bed and roll to the other side, using it as a divider between us, clutching the gun close. "Please, you're scaring me!"

He hops the bed like it's nothing more than a trivial hurdle, while I press myself into the wall with nowhere left to run. He grabs onto the gun, forcing me deeper into the wall and transforming our struggle into a contest of strength. He'll surely win after a while but I hang on with all of my might as he attempts to wrestle it out of my grip.

"You... wanna know... why I like Slash?" I cough, distracting him for just a minute. His grip loosens just slightly as he stares at me expectantly.

"Because... he fights for me, Rosie. He only has eyes... for me... and... I'm his number one. That's more than you can say... for yourself." His eyebrows form angry red arches, and suddenly the gun isn't in either of our hands. It topples to the floor as he speeds around the bed to the nightstand, picking up the telephone.

"Fine, Junior. I'm done wasting time, I'll give you exactly what you want." There is the clicking sound of the phone keys, and I remain on the wall, attempting to catch my breath. Things could've really ended badly, and that possibility becomes even more of a reality after the moment has passed.

He makes two calls.

"Erin? Yeah, it's Axl." He pauses, eyeballing me in the dark. "Yeah, we're done, alright? Tell the fucking Everly brothers that I'm returning you to the seller."

He says some more harsh things, utterly mean things, arguing with her lividly. Guilt replaces the fear sinking like a rock into my stomach as he practically screams at her, calling her a bitch, a slut, nothing more than a useless piece of trash. "Whatever, bitch," he laughs cruelly, and slams the phone back down onto the receiver.

There's a few quiet moments before he picks up the phone again and makes his second call, to who I assume is his manager.

"Yeah, I ended it with Erin. Don't fucking tell me it's bad publicity, because at this point I don't give a shit, okay?" More arguing, which I tune out, letting my eyes fall closed leisurely.

He slams the phone down once more, and presses the 'end call' button.

"There, it's done." He whispers, advancing toward me with a different sort of look in those green eyes.

Poor, Poor Erin... in real life they got married, and Erin miscarried their child. And then there's that bitch Stephanie Seymour... let's not get started.

MIPPER FANS DONT GIVE UP HOPE! MICHAEL IS COMING BACK EVENTUALLY

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