Disclaimer – I don't own Moulin Rouge, any characters, events, plots, settings, etc.

Christian's POV

Two years have passed since the death of my love. But still, I can't shake her from my mind. I wrote our story. But I can't move on. I did what she asked. I wrote our story. I wish I were dead though. Our story has been published. Many copies have been bought. I would love for Satine to smile at the fact that her story is recognized, that people still remember her. People stop me and tell me how much they enjoyed the play. They said they were sorry about her death. Satine won't smile again. I wish I had died with her, so that we could have died together, smiling. At first, I thought there was nothing I could do. But I realize there is something I can do, I can die. Soon, I intend to end my own life. It will be the most profound moment of my life.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Christian looked up from the familiar clicking of the typewriter.
"Come in!" He called. Toulouse walked in then, beaming.
"Christian, the most wonderful news!" Christian gave a small smile.
"What is it, Toulouse?" The tiny man shuffled over to Christian's desk. He frowned as he saw the three wine bottles that were empty on Christian's desk.
"You really ought to stop drinking, Christian." He scolded. Christian rolled his eyes. This coming from the man who had nearly gotten him hooked on Absinthe. In any case, Toulouse stopped frowning and smiled again.
"You have got a job interview!" Toulouse exclaimed. Christian got out of his chair and strolled over to the window.
"I don't want a job, Toulouse. And I know I don't need the money. The book gave me all I need." Christian reminded Toulouse. However, Toulouse seemed to disagree. He shook his head frantically, making the spectacles on the end of his nose sway oddly.
"It's an intriguing job offer, Christian. I arranged for the interview to be at noon tomorrow, at her house." Christian turned sharply.
"Her? A woman? Toulouse, I'm not doing whatever line of work you're suggesting," Christian began, looking angry.
"No, Christian. It's more innocent than it sounds. Besides, she's a fan of yours." And with that, Toulouse walked out. Christian slumped against the wall and slowly sank down, torturing himself yet again, thinking of Satine and that smile.

Madame Airee sat in her parlor, waiting for the man to enter. He finally did, a timid looking man, tapping his fingers nervously against the hat he held in his hands. Airee smiled at him.
"Hello, Christian." She greeted him. The man smiled and then went back to looking shy.
"Good day, Madame." She gestured to the chair in front of her.
"Please, sit. Don't look so nervous. I'm not trying to frighten you." The veiled woman said. Christian nodded and sat down. The woman extended her hand.
"I am Madame Aileen Airee. You are just the man I wanted to see, Christian." The young man looked up, looking puzzled.
"But, I, but, why me?" He asked finally. Aileen lifted her veil off and shook her head, allowing her hair to shake down. Long, heavy, wavy hair that hung down to her shoulder blades. She had a pleasant face, with a warm smile and dark brown eyes that looked like dark honey. However, overall, Christian concluded that she was not pretty. Aileen smiled.
"I realize you don't find me beautiful, Christian. Especially not as lovely as your costar was." She informed him teasing at first, but gently as she delivered her last line. Christian looked down.
"No, you are quite...beautiful, it's just..."Christian was fumbling for words again. The woman laughed.
"No need to try and trick me, my friend. I spent long hours sighing in front of the mirror as a child trying to figure out how to become beautiful. Obviously, it got me nowhere. I got over it eventually, Christian. Don't feel the need to lie." Christian nodded, going slightly red.
"So...so you asked me here to interview for a job?" Christian asked tentatively. Aileen nodded her face serious.
"I did. In fact, it's a job no one but you can fill Christian." Christian looked startled, and somewhat wary.
"Why?" The woman settled back against the couch, relaxing. She studied him for a moment before beginning again.
"I was there the day Satine died. I was at the performance. I was wearing a cream colored suit, sitting in an aisle seat and watching. The gun landed near to me, if I recall correctly. And you walked up the very same aisle. I'm sorry it didn't go right for you, Christian. But what I realized afterwards was that I fell in love with that song, and your voice, Monsieur Christian." Christian looked even more embarrassed.
"But what does that have to do with me?" He asked. Aileen smiled.
"In good time. All in good time. I wanted to hear the song again, but obviously, the show was finished. I contacted Monsieur Zidler. But he told me that very regrettably, he was not quite sure of all the words, and that it was not his song to sing. I was lucky enough to find the book you wrote. Yet I could not find an audience with the author. It was a lucky thing that I happened to come across Monsieur Toulouse. He told me he would personally arrange the meeting. He said he worried about you. I wish I had your singing skills. If I did Christian, I would merely ask you to teach me the words to the song. You did not include them all in the book, and sometimes the tune escapes my head. Besides, my own voice is not suitable for the song, and it is you I wish to hear sing it." Christian opened his mouth as if to say something.
"I can't sing that song anymore." Christian said, his eyes flashing. But he remembered it, Aileen could tell. There was a hurt in his eyes that told her that he would give anything to drink it away, to forget and heal.
"I want you to think about it Christian. Talk it over with your friends. You can't lock yourself away forever. My offer stands as such, you live here for a year. A year is all I ask. I would ask you sing one song a night at dinner, whatever song you like. The rest of the day and night is yours. Meals will be provided. You may have as much money as you like, I'll pay you a salary, but you'll be given additional money for anything else you desire. Think it over." Aileen told him. Christian nodded.
"Thank you, Madame. I will, I will think it over. But I don't think I can accept." He told her, getting up to leave, still fiddling with the hat. Aileen looked up at him and smiled.
"Think it over." She repeated, walking out of the room. Christian sighed, letting himself over.
"Think it over." He mumbled, shaking his head.