Fic: Please Call Me Baby

Rating: PG-ish

Series: Um, kind of part of "Within Me" by Scarlet... and kind of not. Also kind of a part of the "Book of Love" series. *grumbles* YOU figure it out. *grins*

POV: Marcus

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It was late when he slipped through the door of Oasis. He knew it was late. Still, it had taken him the better part of three days to understand exactly what he was feeling. It had taken him the rest of the time to figure out what to do about it.

Not that this was any kind of a solution, of course. Hell, getting up on stage and singing wasn’t really going to accomplish anything, and he knew it. But... it might help him to find the right words when he saw her again. Assuming she ever stopped hiding from him, anyway.

He spared one small glance for the bartender, and even less to the rest of the room, climbing the stairs onto the stage and slipping the CD in his hand into the appropriate slot on the karaoke machine. He moved to the middle of the smallish stand of wood, one hand wrapping tightly around the microphone in its stand as the opening strains of the song began. He didn’t know why it seemed so perfect, but it did.

Eyes closing as the piano and horn intro played, he swayed slightly, emotion welling in him as he crooned the words softly.

Well, evening fell just like a star
It left a trail behind
You spit as you slammed out the door
If this is love we're crazy
‘Cause we fight like cats and dogs
But I just know there's got to be more

So please call me, baby
Wherever you are
It's too cold to be out walking in the streets
We do crazy things when we're wounded
Everyone's a bit insane
But I don't want you catching your death of cold
Out walking in the rain

True enough, he knew. He wasn’t sure of exactly what they were or where they were going, if anywhere, but... he knew he wanted to find out, even if he had been thrown a bit by what she’d told him a few nights earlier.

He could have reacted better. He knew that. But he hadn’t, for whatever reason. Maybe because of the sort of man he was. The sort of man he’d always be.

He smiled slightly as the next verse started, because really, it could have been written about him. Hell, maybe it had been in a way.

I admit that I ain't no angel
I admit that I ain't no saint
I'm selfish and I'm cruel but you’re blind
If I exorcise my devils
Well my angels may leave too
When they leave they're so hard to find

So please call me, baby
Wherever you are
It's too cold to be out walking in the streets
We do crazy things when we're wounded
Everyone's a bit insane
I don't want you catching your death of cold
Out walking in the rain

His slight smile grew, knowing what was coming and how very true it was of them both. Sometimes it took music to make him see himself, and in this case, that was definitely true. Not that he was a sap or anything, he told himself sternly, even as he continued the song in his emotion-laden tones.

And we're always at each other's throats
You know it drives me up a wall
But most of the time it’s just blowing off steam
And I wish to God you'd leave me;
Baby, I wish to God you'd stay
Life's so different than it is in your dreams

So please call me, baby
Wherever you are
It's too cold to be out walking in the streets
We do crazy things when we're wounded
Everyone's a bit insane
I don't want you catching your death of cold
Out walking in the rain...

They really did tend to have words a lot, but that was just their way, he figured. Both of them strong-tempered, it made sense that they clashed from time to time. It only made the making up that much more worthwhile, he thought. But this time... this fight...

He sighed softly as the music came to its inevitable close.

This time she’d seemed so... torn. Broken, almost. And much as he didn’t want to admit it, that scared him.

He almost wished she’d been there to hear the song, but then again, she was out with the girls, having a night of it.

"Just as well," he muttered, retrieving his CD and climbing down from the stage, giving a halfhearted wave to a couple blokes he recognized. "Chit needs that more than she needs ta ‘ear me bein’ all... nancy-boy-ish."

He considered having a drink, but he wasn’t really in the mood. Maybe he’d just slip a copy of the music under her door when he got home. "Yah... that’s th’ thing ta do. She’ll know who it’s from. She’ll ‘ave ta."

His earlier smile returned as he strode from the club, not noticing the group of women in the corner, most of whom had their chins resting almost on the table in shock.

~End...

( Song: ‘Please Call Me, Baby...’ Tom Waits, "The Heart of Saturday Night", 1974 )