It was cold. The stars were gone now, covered up by dark storm clouds humming with electricity.

Quiet.

Utter silence.

Christian didn't like silence.

It reminded him all too clearly of that night.

Involuntarily, he remembered.

Christian, I'm sorry... I'm dying... I'm so sorry.

She kept coughing. Awful coughs that racked her body and made her shake. That terrible noise coming from such a beautiful creature frightened Christian.

I'm cold ... hold me.

He didn't know which was worse ... hearing that horrible sound ... or when it stopped.

You've got to go on without me, Christian ... you've got so much to give...

No, he'd protested. Not without you, though.

Write our story, Christian. Promise me ...

No.

Yes. Promise- promise me.

No-oh.

Yes. That way, I'll always be with you
.

He'd kept his promise.

And then she'd stopped. That terrible gasping, her pleas ... they stopped. He'd kissed her desperately as her blue eyes committed his face to memory, her soft, delicate hand skimming his cheek.

She didn't say that she loved him. They both knew there was no need. Christian had already seen it in her blue eyes, felt in her touch.

The show must go on.



He shook his head, furiously brushing at his eyes, ordering himself to stop thinking about it.

Continue to shake his head at himself, he walked briskly to his room.

He ate dinner alone.

He looked at himself in the mirror when he was done. He felt his beard. He didn't let it grow too long, he just let it cover his face, making him appear older than he was.

His mother wouldn't like it.

Mother's the reason you're going home at all, he reminded himself. And you know Mother won't like this.

Groaning, he took out his razor. He got some water and some soap and started to shave off his beard.

When he'd finished (with only one nick!) he looked at himself. He knew looked boyish and young.

A dim, faraway part of his memory thought: This is how Satine remembers you.

Christian cursed his mind and tried to banish the thought. He'd learned VERY quickly that it only brought heartache to think of her.

It was too late. His mind echoed with the delightful, silver sound of her laughter; he could slightly detect her sweet scent: a mix of her perfume, flowers, face powder, and something that was just Satine.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of her. It was better if he didn't think, it hurt too much. He'd found that out the hard way.

But it was too late. Like a nickelodeon, his mind played images of Satine.

Defeated, he resorted to the only thing that could stop him. He took out a bottle of absinthe, mentally cursing himself for packing it where he could get it. The last thing he needed was to show up in London wasted, proving that his father right, that Montmartre was a village of sin, forsaken by God and society. Not to mention the fact that his mother would be heartbroken. Brushing that thought aside, he took a sip.

The sweetly sour liquid trickled down his throat and he immediately felt a bit better. Satine's face wavered in his mind. Good, he thought. Make her disappear.

A few sips later he was buzzing. He was all tingly now.

A few sips more and a green light was starting to form, which Christian knew was the beginning of the Green Fairy. In the past two years, she had become Christian's best friend.

But this time, it was not his good friend the Green Fairy. She was wearing what the Green Fairy wore, she glowed like the Green Fairy ... but it didn't have her face.

The Green Fairy was not the Green Fairy.

She was Satine.

Christian shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

When he opened his eyes, Satine still floated there, hands on her hips, looking at him with that quirk of her eyebrow that Christian still found so charming.

"Tsk tsk tsk. You've adopted Toulouse's habits." she mock-scolded, shaking a finger at him. A brilliant smile spread over her face. Christian over looked the fact that she was green and about the size of his fist.

"Satine?"

"My darling, you're drunk. Go to bed, my love." Christian looked at her. If he went to sleep, this would wear off. Satine would go away. Ironically ignoring the fact that he had began drinking to rid his mind of her, he shook his head.

He stared at the small green fairy Satine for a few minutes. The longer he looked, the fainter she became, until she was gone.

It took him a few hours to realize that Satine never was there. It was the absinthe. He washed himself off and went to bed, knowing full well if his mother saw him with a hangover she'd send him on the next train back to Montmartre and never ask to see him again.

He drifted into a dream world where Satine's voice resonated through out.

~*~

He was chasing Satine through out the Moulin Rouge, trying to catch her before she went on stage to perform the final act of Spectacular Spectacular. He was running after her, money in his hand. He no longer wanted to give it to her, but he wanted to hold her and forget about everything but her.

She kept running and running.

He called after her, trying to get her to stop.

Finally she ran into the stage.

Christian attempted to reach her, but could not.

She performed, and then...

There was a bright white light and he heard her raspy breathing. Suddenly, all was quiet. No noise came from the people's lips, no music from to orchestra. Christian watched her. Suddenly, he heard a heartbeat. Not his, but Satine's. With each pound, he was closer and closer to Satine. Finally, he was up close with her, with small diamonds of sweat on her forehead.

Then he was very far away as he watched her crumple to the floor.

No one caught her.

He tried to break free of his invisible bindings, but he could not escape.

"Christian..." he heard her whisper before growing limp.

No one paid any attention to her still form, lying amongst the rose petals.