No man's land
A/N: Well what can I say? I have had this idea since last year when we covered WWI in history. Basically, this is my take on what would happen if Christian served in WWI.
Disclaimer: I disclaim!
A Trench somewhere in France January 1915
Private Christian James sighed as he rubbed whale oil grease onto his feet, and pulled on a fresh pair of socks for the second or third time that day. It was tedious and annoying to have to do this so frequently, but no way in hell was he going to get trench foot. He had seen how bad it could get; swollen gangrenous feet that eventually got so bad they needed amputation. Hell no! That was not happening to him.
He leaned against the muddy trench wall and listened. Guns could be heard firing from the neighboring trenches. He bit his bottom lip in anxiety. He and some other men had been ordered by the Sergeant to go on a trench raid latter that evening when all was quiet. It would be his first raid, since joining this bloody war, and he was scared shitless. He didn't want to die. After Satine died, he never thought he would see the day where that train of thought entered his mind, but it was true. He did not want to die, especially here.
A rat crept over from somewhere and began gnawing on a cut he had received earlier. He made a disgusted face, grabbed it, and flung it off him. "It'll be over by Christmas." He muttered bitterly, imitating the recruiting officer's words. "Over by Christmas my ass!"
Christian sighed and pulled the much worn photograph from his pocket, and traced a calloused and slightly dirty finger along the surface, smiling sadly to himself.
"I miss you," he whispered softly to the image of her smiling face, "oh god how I miss you!" He placed a kiss on the weathered paper before folding it and tucking it back into his uniform pocket. He had to push all thoughts of her aside to do this mission. Because, thinking of her made him think of the man he once was. The man who believed in truth, beauty, freedom, and above all love, and that man, would have been disgusted with him for ever taking part in this stupid war.
Slowly, silently, stealthily, they crept out of the trenches and into that dreaded strip of land, no man's land. Christian's heart raced, as he moved, staying as low as he could to the ground. He tried to breathe only when necessary, for fear that even the slightest breath would catch the attention of a German gunman. Oh god, what if a flare went off? He tried not to think about that, and instead let his mind drift to another place, another time, to his old garret, in Monmartre.
They were sitting in his garret one evening at sundown. He sat nervously in the red armchair, while she lounged across from him on the bed, intently perusing the final script of "Spectacular, Spectacular." The silence in the air almost palpable.
"What do you think?" He asked nervously as she closed the final script and lowered it into her lap with a sad frown.
"It's beautiful, extremely well written and just, amazing! I've said it once I've said it a thousand times, your very talented Christian." Satine smiled, but he knew she was holding something back.
"But?" He asked with the butterflies all writers get before receiving criticism on their work.
Satine sighed, and looked at him with jaded blue eyes. Eyes which had seen too much in a short life, eyes which reflected a soul that had to grow up far too early, eyes that reflected inner tumult.
"Things don't end like that." She said sadly. "How can a song just, make things better between them?"
He studied her for a moment, his loving eyes searching for what was causing her this heartache.
"Because," he started just as passionately and as naively as he did that night on the elephant, "of what the song means to them." There was hope in his voice, and he waited in anticipation for her reply.
Satine sighed. "But she broke his heart! How could the sitar player forgive the courtesan forgive her for what she had to do?" With the slight tremor of her voice on that last word, it dawned on him. She was worrying about what would become of them after opening night.
"If he loves her enough, than he can forgive her!" He stated matter-of-factly.
She drew in a shaky breath, and closed her eyes against her tears. "And," she looked at him with hopeful, yet at the same time, fearful eyes, "does he love her enough?"
Christian rose, and in a matter of seconds closed the distance between them, gathering her into his arms, and placing a kiss on the top of her head. "You know I do darling."
"Come what may?"
"Come what may!" He affirmed. "Forever and always!"
They were close, so close he could almost touch the barbed wire. Christian slowly began pulling out his wire cutters, when it happened.
A flare shot up into the sky, and for a brief second illuminated everything around, almost like a second sun. It would have been beautiful, if it weren't so deadly. Christian gulped. He knew in that moment he was a goner, for he was in plain sight.
As he lay on his back, Christian stared up at the sky, and shivered. Damn was it cold! The air smelt like it would soon snow. His vision blurred in and out of focus, he couldn't hear a thing. His chest ached in several places, and he could taste the blood rising up his throat. Is this how she felt before she died? He shuddered at the thought; he would like to believe that her end was painless.
His eyes started to droop, and he willed himself to stay awake. He was so cold, and so sleepy. Maybe if he just rested his eyes a moment. Yes, he would rest his eyes, and they would come for him, they would come.
He spread out the napkin and placed it on her lap, and poured her a glass of red wine. "Ere you are Mademoiselle!" He said in his best French accent. "Bon appetite!"
She giggled. "You're a fool Christian!"
"Ah, I may be a fool. But I am a fool, in love!" He wiggled his eyebrows, and leaned in, kissing her tenderly. Soon the kiss grew more passionate, and they both forgot all about supper.
When he closed his eyes, he could see her radiant face, smiling at him. The pain he had been feeling a moment ago was gone. He was happy too. A smile spread across his face as he reached out for her, pulling her into his arms.
"I've missed you!" He whispered kissing her softly, it felt so real. In that moment, he knew, and her words confirmed it.
"I know my love. I've missed you too. But we'll never be parted again."
A/N: Well there you have it. I am sorry if that last little bit offended anyone.