Title

Title: Just to Love
Author: Sarah French (sfrench@eisa.net.au)
Rating: PG just to be safe.
Disclaimer: Christian and Satine belong to Baz (although he could share Christian with me for a little while *g*) Rose and Jack belong to James C. I'm only borrowing them and remain in complete awe of the people who created these two wonderful movies :-)
Fandom: Titanic/Moulin Rouge
Feedback: Extremely welcome!
Pairing: Rose/Christian
Summary: A Moulin Rouge and Titanic crossover. Who exactly was Calvert? What if his first name was Christian...
Thanks to: The MR list for issuing this challenge, I have had lots of fun with it!

Part Two: Christian

Dusk was falling as Christian stepped of the train, a cloud of smoky air swirling around him. Thirteen years. Had it really been that long since he had stepped onto this platform for the first time? The years seemed to telescope into a mere blink of an eye. Yet surely the last time he had stood on this spot, he had been more… alive. Surely then, the world had seemed full of untold promise, had seemed to sparkle with possibility. Surely then he hadn't felt so...cheated by life.

Oh, life would go on. That much he had learned in the past thirteen years. Life would go on whether you felt like it or not. The sun still rose every morning, even when your heart was breaking and your dreams were crushed. "I believe in truth, beauty, freedom and above all things, love." The naïve voice of his youth echoed through the years, mocking him. At 34 years of age, he no longer found any solace in such ideals. How could he have pinned so much faith on such foolishness, when darker forces could step in at any time, snatching all that he cared for from his grasp?

He didn't want to be here. In fact, he could scarcely think of any place he would rather be less. Still, he had to eat and there weren't exactly many openings back home for middle-aged writers desperately trying to keep the wolves from the door. Especially writers who merely seemed to be going through the motions these days. At least this play was an opportunity to be involved in something worthwhile. And it had been almost thirteen years. Surely the familiar surrounds of Monmartre would no longer clutch at his heart with such ferocity? Surely, after so long, he could cope with the memories. Still, standing on the spot where it had all begun so long ago, Satine felt very real to him again, in a way that she hadn't in years. He almost expected to turn around and see her standing there, smiling and untouched by the passing of time. "How wonderful life is now you're in the world…" The words sprang to Christian's lips involuntarily, words he hadn't thought of or spoken aloud in years.

Satine. Oh, he supposed he had moved on. After all- the show must always go on. He had fulfilled her wish, pouring his soul, his heartache, his tears into his novel. Her novel. No doubt it now collected dust in some musty old bookstore. He had fled Paris, found work, a place to live, friends, lovers… all things that he supposed approximated a life. As the years passed, he found he thought of her less frequently, found that the sound of her voice and the touch of her skin against his were no longer burned into his consciousness. Yet nothing had felt quite… real since that dreadful day 13 years ago. It was as though he merely lived out some elaborate charade, burying his pain so deeply that he was no longer sure who he really was. It had become a habit, this inability to show his face to the world, and he gradually retreated further behind his mask. How ironic that he, who had once sought out truth, should have become so like those shadowy creatures of the underworld, caught forever in a strange half-life.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of his head with grim determination, Christian trudged on through the streets. He had to stop wallowing in memories that would only drive him mad. Shaking his head to clear the ghosts from his mind, he realised with a sudden gasp where his absent-minded wandering had taken him. It looked the same as ever in this half-light, shabby and downtrodden in a surreal sort of way. It seemed to Christian that perhaps it had always been like this. As though the glamour, the sparkling lights, the energy of the dance floor, had been nothing but a thin veneer, but that it was only now, stripped of his youthful idealism, that Christian was able to see it for what it was.

The Moulin Rouge. A place of dreams and nightmares. A place that celebrated the freedom of the bohemian world, yet had become Satine's final prison. An altar to beauty, to glamour, yet where all that was sordid in the human soul was given free reign. The place where Christian had learned of love and hatred, jealousy and desire, joy and grief.

Turning his head slightly, Christian could see the room where he had spent his days and hours. Happy times, when the warmth of Satine's affection had reduced the rest of the world to mere background noise. Desolate times when the only thing that could possibly block out the pain was an absinthe-induced haze. The window was dark, the apartment above boarded up and seemingly abandoned. Could anyone possibly be up there, living there anymore? Glancing at the decay and neglect around him, Christian couldn't imagine anyone staying long in such a forsaken spot. It couldn't hurt to climb the rickety stairs once again, to glance around the room in the forlorn hope of recapturing, just for a second, some of the peaceful joy that had filled him in those sunshine filled days.

Hating himself for his weakness, he crept cautiously along the passageway. It was exactly as it had always been; shabby, dark and slightly damp. It seemed uninhabitable- but then it always had. The all-too familiar door was slightly ajar, and it gave an unwilling creak as he pushed it gingerly.

The red-headed girl lying on the bed let out a half muffled scream and instinctively jumped up, trying to put as much distance between this dishevelled looking stranger and herself as possible. He could hear her saying something… screaming something, but the words swum together, became nonsensical and meaningless as he stared at her. The long red hair. The blue eyes. And in this room.. here, of all places. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Was he truly losing his grip on reality? "Sa.. Satine?" he whispered, his voice cracking on the finale syllable. "Satine is that you?" The room whirled around him once more as suddenly everything went black.