The Work of Destiny
By She's a Star
A/N: This takes place sometime after Satine's death and before Christian tells their story.
Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Luhrmann. Camille belongs to Alexandre Dumas.
Dedication: To my wonderful Rougettes, Kara and Madi. I love ya, girlies :)
~*~
Why am I out here?
Christian Claremont asked himself that question as soon as he stepped out of the hotel and into the blinding sunlight. All around him, Montmartre bustled with activity: young couples walked arm in arm while giggling children followed aggravated-looking mothers. Friends greeted one another, and merry singing came from a corner where a few Bohemians strummed guitars.
It was so...alive.
How could the world be like this?
Satine was gone, and yet these people looked completely unaffected. They still went about their everyday lives, oblivious to the fact that the most beautiful, sweet, amazing woman that had ever lived was now gone.
Dead.
Christian felt a familiar rush of grief take over him, and tears welled up in lifeless blue-gray eyes. Taking a strangled breath, he turned around and prepared to plunge into the darkness of his garret once more. However, a soft whisper that seemed to dance in the slight wind stopped him.
"Christian, don't turn back," it seemed to sing. "You have to move on."
It was her voice.
Satine's voice.
I've gone mad, he thought miserably. I've finally gone mad.
After all, there was no other explanation. From the second that he'd gotten up that morning, he'd heard her voice in his head. It was undoubtedly her voice; no other sound could be as sweet, as beautiful.
'Christian, go outside,' it had said that morning. 'It's beautiful...look at the sunshine. Go outside.'
He couldn't say no to her.
Even if it was just a voice, a crazed figment of his imagination.
He still needed to listen.
Right now, that voice was all he had.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward unsteadily into Montmartre. He felt so horribly out of place...he didn't belong here, with these people. He belonged with Satine.
Only Satine.
With a miserable sigh, his eyes fell upon the Moulin Rouge. It was no longer the majestic palace of desires and illusions that it had once been; rather, it was deserted and defeated. The windmill wings turned slowly in the breeze as though it took an enormous amount of effort just to make one complete circle.
The Moulin Rouge stood for everything he'd ever believed in. Truth, beauty, freedom, love...
Satine.
Now it was nothing more than a distant memory, so hazy that it almost seemed like a mere dream.
My life is over, Christian thought despondently. Over. I can't go on without Satine...it's torture. I can't do this. I can't write our story....I just want to die. Die, so I can be with her.
But he had to do it.
He had to keep his promise and tell their story.
No matter how much pain it caused him.
As long as Satine was happy....
"Would you get out of the way?" an annoyed female voice asked. "People are trying to get by here!"
Christian shook his head a few times, coming out of his reverie.
"Sorry," he mumbled, staring down at the ground. "I'm sorry."
"I don't care how sorry you are," she snapped. "I just need you to move!"
"Sorry," Christian repeated stupidly a third time, rushing out of the road and towards a sidewalk café. He needed to sit down in the shade...to get out of the sun, the street.
However, all of the tables were packed, mostly with couples sharing cups of coffee as they stared dreamily into each other's eyes. Christian awkwardly studied the scene for a moment before noticing a table in the corner, empty with the exception of an old man around the age of seventy.
Much as he didn't want to go and sit with some stranger, he also just needed to sit down. He didn't want to walk back out into the street again.
Awkwardly, he made his way towards the table. Once he reached there, he asked the man timidly, "D'you mind if I sit with you?"
The man looked up at him with sad eyes.
"Oh," he said in a sorrowful tone. "No...no, not at all."
"Thank you," Christian said, sinking down into an uncomfortable chair. An awkward silence filled the air, and Christian could lightly make out the indistinct sound of many conversations all blended together.
"I'm Armand Duval," the old man finally introduced himself, holding out his hand.
"Christian," Christian responded, shaking Mr. Duval's hand. "Christian Claremont."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Mr. Duval said softly. His eyes lingered on Christian's face for a moment longer before focusing on nothing in particular. Christian watched him in interest, and to his surprise, tears began to well up in the old man's eyes.
"Um...are you all right?" he asked uneasily.
"Fine," Mr. Duval said, his voice sounding a bit strangled. "Old memories..."
"Oh," Christian said. A silence filled the air once more. After about thirty seconds, Mr. Duval broke the quiet spell.
"Have you ever been in love, Christian?" he asked softly.
For a moment, Christian was too surprised to reply. Memories of Satine swarmed through his mind. Her belting out Sparkling Diamonds, rolling around on the Red Room floor, singing Come What May with him...
Taking one last soft, shallow breath.
"Yes," Christian finally replied. "Yes, I have."
"So have I," Mr. Duval said softly. "She was beautiful...so beautiful. Marguerite."
A slow, sad smile crept across his lips as he whispered the name.
"Marguerite," he repeated, louder this time. "Marguerite Gautier...the finest courtesan in all of Paris."
Christian immediately sat up straighter, and his heartbeat quickened.
Finest courtesan in all of Paris?
Satine...
Her name danced around his head.
"Courtesan?" Christian croaked.
Mr. Duval took his shock the wrong way.
"She wasn't bad," he immediately said. "She was so beautiful and sweet...not awful, not at all. I know you might think-"
"No," Christian cut him off. "No, I don't mean it like that." He took a deep breath. "It's just that...the woman I love....loved....is....was...a courtesan as well."
"Was?" Mr. Duval questioned softly.
"She...died," Christian felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Of consumption." That familiar aching that had been growing less and less painful had now returned full force. "She was so sweet...so good. All she wanted was to fly away, to become an actress. She could have." Christian swallowed back a sob and blinked his eyes rapidly to keep from crying. "She was so talented...the world didn't deserve to lose her. She was so beautiful. Inside and out. And yet..."
"Nobody saw the inner beauty," Mr. Duval finished mournfully. "No one but..."
"Me," Christian finished.
"Marguerite died of consumption as well," Mr. Duval said after a few moments of silence. "And I...I didn't..." he rested his head in his hands. "I didn't get to say good bye. I didn't get to spend her last days with her. I wasn't with her when she died. I don't know what she wanted of me, or..."
His voice trailed off, and the old man's frail form began to shake with sobs.
All at once, Christian felt incredibly lucky.
He'd been there...he'd been there with Satine, he'd held her in his arms.
He knew what she wanted of him.
'Tell our story, Christian...'
"I...I have to go," he said, standing up quickly. "I'm sorry. I have...I have a promise to keep."
"All right," Mr. Duval said softly, looking up after wiping his face on his sleeve. "Make her happy."
"I will," Christian said softly, then turned and hurriedly made his way back to his garret.
Tell their story...he needed to do it, he needed to tell their story. For Satine.
For himself.
Only steps away from the door, he paused one last time and looked back over at the café. Armand Duval still sat there alone, staring up into the light blue sky.
"Thank you," Christian murmured softly.
It couldn't have been a coincidence, he mused as he stared at the old man. It just couldn't have been...fate or destiny or whatever it was had dragged him outside on that day. Had helped him move on. Had helped him tell their story.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and let the breeze caress his skin. For the first time in so long, he felt almost relaxed...peaceful...
"Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide."
It was the voice again.
Satine.
"But I love you," she finished, "Until the end of time."
He could hear the smile in her tone, and all at once he knew.
It hadn't been the work of destiny that had drawn him outside that day.
No, it had been Satine.
"Come what may," he sang softly as he opened his eyes. "Come what may...I will love you until my dying day."