Diclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge, or the characters or songs or costumes or anything, which makes me really really sad. At least I own a copy of the movie :)

AN: OK, this is my first fanfic for Moulin Rouge. This is set after Christian has finished writing, and he also has consumption (known as TB in modern days). Yes, I checked it out and this is possible, most people who are infected with the TB bacteria may never actually develope the disease, or they may develope it months or even years later, but the later the less likely. Still, I did my research. This is just a one off, short story kind of thing, but I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with it so i may fix it later. I don't know, but tell me what you think.

The End of the Story

The months afterwards were long. Long, painful and hard. They were made easier, of course, by Christian's special friend. The bottle. Whatever he could get his hands on. Whatever was the cheapest. Whatever would do the best job at numbing the pain. But he knew what was happening. Oh, yes, he knew. And that's why he did it.

Leaning over the sink, Christian coughed again. The sink was stained, no longer pure and white, but a sickly pink colour – it may never be white again. He didn't care. The coughs racked his entire body, right down to his heart, right down to his soul. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered, really, not anymore.

He now knew why she had left him. Satine. God, it still hurt for him to think about her. And write about her? That was hard. Harder, even, then giving up his special friend – that ever comforting bottle of booze. But in the end, it didn't help – he supposed it never did.

Christian dragged himself over to his bed. He smiled to himself. Yes, no matter how hard it was, he had done the right thing. He had written their story, like she had wanted. And now, now he would be rewarded. Not with money – no, what did he need money for? The one thing he wanted, he could never buy. He would have it soon, anyway.

It took him a while, to start writing. Near the end was when he knew for sure what was happening to him. And only now did he understand Satine's extreme pain. What she had tried to hide from him, her desperate internal struggle for life, for love.

Consumption. The doctor had arrived too late, but had told Christian what had claimed her life. It was his own fault really, he had asked. And the doctor, rather reluctantly, told him everything she would have suffered through. But now, at least, Christian knew it was happening to him too, and he was, for the first time in what seemed like forever, happy.

He lay on the bed, gasping for air. And that's when he saw her. Satine. As beautiful as ever. He reached out with tender, shaking hands to stroke her face, and was surprised at how solid her smooth skin felt under the palm of his hand.

"I did it," he gasped between coughs. "I did, for you."

Satine smiled. She knew. She had been watching and she had always known he would. Christian would never disappoint her. As she looked over him, he started to sing:

"Come….. what….may, come….what may…..I will…..love….you….until…..my….die-ing……day……"

And he was true to his word. Christian did love her, until his dieing day. She stayed with him, until the last cough hacked at his last ounce of strength. Then, she held out her hand for him to take.

"I've been waiting for you, Christian," she whispered. Then, even more quietly "I'm sorry. For everything."

For the first time since she left, he smiled. "Don't be," he said.

And they walked away from the Moulin Rouge, together, forever. Walked on, to a different place, which we can only visit when our time comes. Walked away, like they should of before the opening night, if only the cruel hand of fate hadn't called forced Satine to leave in a different way. Now, they were happy. Happy and free.