Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, places, or whatever in this story. Nothing. They all belong to the Magnificent Baz and his staff of writers.
Author's Notes at the end.
Sleeping Fears
The night was welcome in Montmarte. It brought relief and rest to some, and pleasure and freedom to others. Its' darkness covered all, hiding the sins of the village while also providing a quiet refuge for the tired. In the Hotel Blanche, it was met with mixed feelings.
On this night, it was welcomed. The residents of the upper floors were exhausted, run to the end of their nerves by the activities that had been consuming them lately.
On the second from the top floor slept Christian, the young writer in charge of 'Spectacular! Spectacular!'. His windows allowed a magnificent view of the Moulin Rouge, and the moonlight stole across his face gently. He was worn out entirely by the stress of writing and directing the enormous production. Today had been especially tiring, as it was only two weeks before their final rehearsal for the Duke. Christian had just finished writing 'Come What May', a secret song for the lovers in the play to sing whenever they needed reminding of their love. He had written it for Satine, for his love, to remind him and her of their own love when things got bad. Tomorrow was the first day they would rehearse it.
Up through the hole in his ceiling was the top garret. It housed four tired Bohemian revolutionaries, all just as exhausted as Christian. The Doctor was out cold on the floor, his usual bottle of absinthe clutched in hand. Satie was sleeping at his piano, resting his head on the closed lid and pillowed by his colorful scarf. The Argentinean was sprawled on one side of the bed, with Toulouse curled up on the other.
All was still and peaceful. But a sound reached Toulouse's ears, a familiar sound that dragged him back to consciousness. He looked around blearily, trying to pinpoint the noise to its' source. Even as his senses returned to him, he knew what it was.
The Argentinean. His eyelids were cracked open, but his eyes were rolled back. His breathing was rapid and irregular. And the sound was coming from him, a high-pitched, distressed whining, like a frightened dog.
Toulouse sighed and understood. He crawled across the bed and sat next to his friend, waiting for wakefulness to release him from his terrors. Often the Argentinean was stricken by paralysis when waking or falling asleep, and this was also occasionally coupled with terrifying hallucinations. It had something to do with his sickness, they guessed, but narcolepsy was a mysterious thing to them.
Carefully, Toulouse took the Argentinean's hand to try and wake him. He felt the frightening limpness and his thoughts were confirmed. A sort of night terror, with the terrible paralysis that occurred too frequently, was holding the Argentinean at the moment.
The bigger man's whining increased, as he fought to free himself from whatever horrors he was seeing. He sounded strained, but his body remained limp and still, beyond his control.
"Come on," Toulouse urged softly. "Pull out of this."
During his time with the Argentinean, he had grown used to these occurrences. At first, they had unnerved him and almost scared him, seeing the muscular and powerful man reduced to a whining and paralyzed victim. But he had adjusted himself to it, just as the Argentinean had accepted him and his multiple problems. They were companions in misfortune, both suffering from diseases that few in their time understood.
Toulouse was the one who had taken it upon him to learn all the ways to help a Narcoleptic. He wanted to be there for his friend, to be able to assist him in his problems. For it had been the Argentinean who had helped him when the simplest of colds wreaked havoc with his sickly immune system. Toulouse was the one who knew the treatments, limited though they were, for the sleeping disease. And he was the only one who knew of the frequency of the Argentinean's paralysis attacks and night terrors. The tango dancer preferred to keep to himself about the disease, confiding of trouble only with Toulouse.
Satie and the Doctor tried to help occasionally, but they just didn't understand. They were practically in the peak of health, save for Satie's poor eyesight and the Doctor's constant drunkenness. Neither of them understood the sorrows and pains that came with a debilitating disease.
With a cry of fear, the Argentinean snapped Toulouse out of his wandering thoughts as he woke up with a start. His whole body jolted as though shocked with electricity, and his breath came in rapid gasps.
"Are you alright?" Toulouse asked gently.
The Argentinean's eyes darted around furtively for a moment, as though he was just realizing where he was. He felt the dwarf's hand still in his and squeezed it, making a connection back with reality.
"Toulouse." He said, reassuring himself that his friend indeed was there.
The dwarf nodded in response, as the Argentinean's breathing slowed back to normal. He rose from the bed and strode quickly to the window, looking toward the Moulin Rouge. He heaved a sigh of relief at seeing it intact, and Toulouse could only wonder what he had been seeing this time.
After a moment, he went back to the bed and sat down heavily, his body slumped with exhaustion.
"I am sorry for waking you, my friend." He apologized.
"Nonsense." Toulouse scolded. "It's not your fault."
The Argentinean looked mournful for a moment, but his expression quickly changed to a tired one.
"Go back to sleep." The dwarf said quietly. "We have a big day tomorrow, and you need to be rested."
A good night's sleep often cut down the fits of unconsciousness during the day. The Argentinean nodded, and without saying another word he slumped back onto the bed and was asleep in an instant.
Toulouse gazed at him a moment, made sure that he was asleep, and then went back over to his side of the bed. Moments later, he too was resting peacefully.
~
It had been a successful day. So far, the Argentinean hadn't passed out once. Toulouse was grateful for that, grateful that the disease wasn't so crippling as it could be. Some days the narcoleptic was hardly conscious at all, drifting in and out of reality in a detached state. The dwarf was glad he had gotten everyone in bed, well, at least asleep, early last night. The Argentinean had woken up generally refreshed and ready for rehearsal.
Toulouse was sitting in a booth, as the seats were not put in yet. He watched the rehearsals today, for he had almost nothing to do in the scenes they were practicing. It was the scene where the lover's share their secret song. The music was quite beautiful (Satie was very proud of it) and the words were just magic. Toulouse knew the secret of Christian's inspiration, knew all about he and Satine's relationship. He thought it was wonderful.
At the moment, Christian was explaining the scene to everyone again.
"Now this is the scene where the sitar player writes a secret song, so that whenever they sing it they will be reminded that they love each other. Now, let's take it from your line…"
He pointed at the Argentinean, who began his part perfectly. But Toulouse saw it coming, saw the harsh intake of breath that signaled an oncoming attack. A split-second later, the Argentinean slumped over backwards.
"Honestly, amigo, this is ridiculous!" Zidler fumed.
Toulouse hurried over to his friend to make sure he was all right. Carefully, he sorted his tangled legs out, so that he would be more comfortable.
"Satie!" the dwarf called.
Satie came rushing over obediently.
"Run back over to the garret, will you?" Toulouse instructed. "Get me the little glass bottle with white powder in it that's on the corner table."
Nodding, the musician took off at swift lope towards the garret.
Zidler came stalking over.
"We can't work like this!" he harrumphed.
"Oh, be quiet!" Toulouse snapped. Then leaning over the Argentinean's ear, he whispered. "Come on, wake up. Satie's bringing the cocaine."
Although his body was limp and useless, Toulouse knew the Argentinean was still alert and conscious, hearing and aware of everything happening around him.
Just as Satie came bounding back in the door, the Argentinean came back to the realm of the living. He sat upright and looked around.
"I am sorry, Zidler." He said tiredly. "But some things are beyond my control."
Satie came scurrying over and handed Toulouse the bottle.
"I brought this too." He said, retrieving from his pocket the piece of mirror that Toulouse had forgotten to ask for.
"Oh. Yes. Thank you." The dwarf said, grateful that Satie had seen him do this before.
Carefully opening the bottle, he tipped out a little of the powder onto the smooth glass surface of the mirror. He offered it to the Argentinean.
"Come on." He coaxed. "This will help you feel better, and you know it."
The Argentinean nodded and accepted the mirror, holding it up under his nose and inhaling the powder quickly.
Toulouse could see the visible effect it had on him, stimulating his nerves and giving him a jolt of strength and energy. He put the cap back on the bottle and took the mirror.
"Did that help?" he asked.
"Yes. Thank you." The Argentinean said, sucking in a deep breath and letting the stimulant wake him up.
Toulouse nodded; glad that the drug had worked it's magic again. When most people used the cocaine, it made them act extremely drunk. But when a narcoleptic used it, it worked purely as stimulant and did wonders for him when he was utterly exhausted. It was a bit expensive, so they only used it in emergencies. Perhaps today had not been an emergency, but it would have quickly become one had the Argentinean not woken up enough to satisfy Zidler.
"Now, are you ready to rehearse some more?" Toulouse said, patting his shoulder.
In response, the Argentinean rose to his feet and strode over to Christian.
"I apologize, my friend." He said sincerely. "But if the lovely lady is ready," he nodded towards Satine. "I am ready to rehearse."
Toulouse smiled and walked back over to his booth, carefully storing the bottle and mirror in his jacket pocket.
Rehearsals went marvelously the rest of the day. The Argentinean sang 'Come What May' with a great passion, and Satine as well.
Toulouse was proud of him, even though he felt silly thinking it. But there was no reason not to be. The Argentinean and his will to keep performing was living proof of the ability to overcome a disease, no matter how terrible. Toulouse admired him for that quality, the power to face his problem, come to grips with it, and keep on with life. Unknowingly, the Argentinean had helped pull Toulouse out of his own shell.
Once rehearsal was over, Toulouse shrugged on his jacket and walked over to the Argentinean, who had already changed out of his costume and was ready to go home. Satie had buzzed out early, rushing home to figure something out in the score, an act he preferred to do in the quiet of his own room.
They made eye contact and smiled at each other. As they turned to go home, the Argentinean settled his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. In turn, Toulouse rested his hand on his friend's wrist. And so connected, they made their way home together, joined in spirit and in heart.
~ The End
Author's Notes: I researched the disease narcolepsy and this fic was the result. Yes, cocaine was used to treat the sickness in the late 1800's.
A million zillion thanks to Bohemian Storm! She beta-d and gave me opinions and stuff. Plus, her Argentinean story inspired me to learn more about the fabulous character. So thanks Storm! :)
Please review. Constructive criticism always appreciated. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.