Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Nor do I own the song lyric reproduced below. That belongs to Keane.
But any way you look at things, looks like the lovers are losing.
The applause was deafening and the mood backstage as the curtains fell could only be described as victorious. They had gotten through the opening night of Spectacular Spectacular successfully, despite the events of the day seeming to lean towards failure. It was indeed a victory, going against all odds. It made everyone feel positively bohemian.
Then Satine gasped for breath, Christian screamed for a doctor, and the true nature of how things were emerged. This was no victory at all. Or if it was, surely it was someone else's.
The doctor who arrived moments after Christian's first terrified scream had to struggle to pull the limp Satine from the writer's arms. It caused quite a scene. Christian was sobbing.
Beyond the curtain, the audience applauded.
The doctor took Satine away.
The rose petals fell like rain upon the grieving writer.
People came and went. And then someone knelt down next to the writer and whispered, "You still have a chance at love."
Christian chanced a glance up. It was not a delusion. It was Toulouse, still in costume, his face shining with all the hope in the world. The writer shook his head. "She's gone."
"No!" Toulouse insisted. "She only is unconscious! The doctor says that she is very ill, but now she can recover. Do you know what this means?"
Christian could feel hope coming back into his heart, but he hardly dared to let it take over. "I saw her," he whispered. "I was so sure…"
"Come." Toulouse made an attempt to pull Christian to his feet, but the writer got up on his own. "The Duke has left! You two can be together at last!"
As Christian followed the painter off-stage he felt his steps become lighter. A smile made its way tentatively to his face. He could not quite bring himself to believe it but, God, if Toulouse was telling the truth… "We can be happy," he murmured. The words tasted good.
They rounded a corner and the closer they got to Satine's room the harder Christian's heart began to beat. He had never felt so alive than at this moment. Things were going to turn out fine. Many would have called him naïve for having regained such hope so soon, but to Christian it did not matter. He knew Toulouse wouldn't lie to him and he had always been one to believe in the miraculous.
"She'll be so happy," Toulouse whispered in barely concealed excitement as they approached the last corner. "I can't wait—"
Suddenly he stopped and Christian collided into him, nearly falling over.
"Toulouse, what on earth…" his voice left him as he saw what had stopped the painter in his tracks. There stood Warner, having emerged from the shadows, gun pointing at Christian.
"I've come to fulfill orders," Warner said. He cocked the gun.
"B-but surely you know," Christian stammered, "the Duke has left the Moulin Rouge."
"He did not tell me that there was any change to his instruction, regardless of whether he left or not. He still owns this place."
Christian's heart sank. How could he have been so foolish to believe for a second that things could turn out well? He should have listened to the Argentinean when he had the chance, but he had thought the other man was lying. Surely not all love affairs with woman who sold themselves ended badly. He had wanted to prove his love for Satine was different.
Now he was staring at a gun.
The Argentinean had been right.
"I'm sorry," Christian said, waving his hand in the air as if to dismiss something trivial.
Warner stared. Toulouse stood frozen between the two, unsure of what to do, unsure if any action taken on his part would bring harm to his friend. The gun was awfully close and Warner was awfully big…
"What I mean to say," Christian continued shakily, "is that I had been so…God! I was foolish." Then he began to laugh, as though he found the failure so ridiculous that it was amusing.
Warner shook his head. The hand holding the gun twitched.
The laughter was pierced by a loud bang and replaced by a strangled yell.
Toulouse cried "No!" as he watched Christian drop to the ground. Warner disappeared around the corner and was gone.
The painter dropped to his knees and turned Christian over. Blood was spilling from his chest, everywhere, staining his white shirt red and his dark vest an even darker color. And his face…
Toulouse watched, helpless to stop the flow of blood.
Christian's head fell back and he was gone.
From around the corner came Satie. He told Toulouse that Satine was going to receive proper treatment and there was a chance of her recovering. For now they knew one thing: The girl would live.
He did not even see Christian as he turned back around and left.
Toulouse found himself alone, the cold form of Christian slumped next to him on the floor.
The poor writer had been in for a terrible fate from the moment he had fallen in love.