Title: Just to Love
Author: Sarah (sfrench@austarmetro.com.au)
Rating: PG
Part: 4/?
Archive: My site, fanfiction.net, Red Windmill, Penniless Poet, any Titanic fic
archives, anyone else who wants it. Just let me know.
Disclaimer. All recognizable characters copyright of their respective creators-
BL and JC. No, they're not mine; I made no money from this.
Feedback: Most welcome.
Summary: A Titanic/Moulin Rouge crossover. What if Calvert's first name was
Christian?
A/N: In response to a challenge on the M_R list to write a Titanic/Moulin Rouge
crossover. Sorry I've neglected this for months- me bad, I know.
Part four
…the greatest thing you'll ever learn…
The room was cold. Despite the late afternoon summer sunshine flooding the room it retained a slight chilliness, a dampness, as though the sun's warmth couldn't penetrate the darkest corners. Christian had spent enough nights in cheap hotels and fly-by-night lodgings to know such surroundings would always be cold. Cold because they were far from home, because they were lonely, cold because nobody cared and nobody stayed around long enough to make a difference. Cold in the same way that Christian had felt inside for so long.
Shrugging out of his coat, Christian let it slither to the ground in a heap. It added to the shabbiness of his surroundings, but he barely noticed. His heart had caught the infectious mood of the sunshine, and forbade him to sit still. Glancing about him, his eyes fell on his typewriter. Guilt took hold for the briefest of seconds-the auditions were today and the play was far from complete. But as his eyes explored the room, all he found were reasons not to stay inside. The dirty cups on the table. The unmade bed. The messy sheafs of paper, waiting to be edited and tweaked, melded into coherent words and brought alive. Oppressiveness blanketed the room and the air was dank and musty. It was impossible to imagine inspiration and imagination taking flight within these walls today, and the breeze at the window was warm and gentle, carrying the heavy scent of a beautiful summer's afternoon. Retrieving his coat from the floor, he headed towards the door.
He wanted to wander aimlessly, to let his restless feet take him where they would. But even now, Paris held too many scars to risk a casual stroll. Just as the sunlight couldn't reach every corner of the room, the passing of time hadn't been able to heal the very darkest corners of his heart. The memories remained buried there- the memories, the tears and the moments of fathomless heartbreak. Usually they lurked unheeded, but they were a part of him still, and around every corner lay buried dreams and unwelcome reminders. He needed to get outside, needed the fresh air and sunshine and time to let his mind wander at will, but he didn't want his restless stroll to denigrate into self-pity. Searching his mind for a destination to lend purpose to his afternoon, he suddenly found a direction.
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Marooned on stage, Rose was horribly aware of her isolation and felt self-conscious amongst a sea of empty space and solemn faces. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and cringed as the harsh noise bounced off the walls. Her shaking hands belied her nerves as she clutched the script. Her left hand twisted itself anxiously in the folds of her skirt, but her face bore a mask of restrained confidence despite the nerves seething beneath.
Breathing deeply, Rose glanced down at the script one last time. The words swum together, meaningless and incomprehensible. What was she thinking? Freshly arrived on the streets of Paris, and she was auditioning for a leading role? The sheer audacity of what she was about to do choked her, and her voice was lost in a wave of terror.
She didn't notice as a chink of sunlight fell across the dark floorboards, didn't hear the thin creak of the door opening. The intruder's stature wasn't imposing, but every fibre of him announced wealth and privilege and an unshakeable belief in his own right. Even the way he pulled the door shut behind him betrayed his character. He did not hesitate, did not question his right to be there, and made no attempt to apologise for his presence. Striding across the hall, his measured gait hinted at tightly coiled anger, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Rage simmered in his eyes as he leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed upon the lonely figure on the stage.
Glancing out across the empty seats, Rose saw only a dim shadow silhouetted against the wall, yet her mind leapt instantly towards the past. His stance, the cut of his clothes, the mixture of arrogance and gentility he exuded- all of these summoned forth a dimly recalled sense of unease.
In the front row, someone cleared their throat pointedly, and the shadows and memories in Rose's mind dissolved as quickly as they'd arrived. She opened her mouth to speak, but the voice that escaped sounded high and distant, her tone flat and expressionless. Surely everybody could see her hands shaking? Panic rose in her throat, and she glanced back again at the impassive figure at the back of the room.
Stumbling and tripping over her words, and gripped by a deepening sense of foreboding, she struggled through the rest of the audition. With bowed head and mumbled apology, she hurried from the stage.
----------------------------------
Cal could feel a sneer playing across his face as he watched her. Had it been tenderness, or sentimentality that had driven him to search for her again? Some genuine depth of feeling that surfaced once she was gone? Perhaps it was, and in the darkness of the night he had often allowed himself the weakness of admitting that he missed her.But here, in this dusty, echoing place, no trace of such affection remained. It had been replaced by mocking pity. What life was this, play acting and pretending at being an actress? Her greatest performance was the one she was providing for herself. The irony was amusing, and Cal couldn't restrain a smile.
Rose's head was bowed as she slipped out the stage door, clutching her bag under one arm. For a brief second, she looked small and pathetic and lonely, and Cal was flooded with an unexpected rush of tenderness, but as she straightened her shoulders defiantly, the Rose he had known returned. Argumentative. Headstrong and wilful, infuriatingly impossible to control. Anger boiled inside once more. How dare she play them all for fools? How dare she run around Paris, pretending to be some sort of actress, leaving him burdened with Ruth, abandoning him, shaming him?
Falling into step with her he followed her out the door.
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With the warmth of the sun playing across his shoulders, Christian felt at ease. The auditions would be in full swing by the time he arrived- just the distraction he needed.He allowed a jaunty whistle to escape his lips as he rounded the corner and saw the theatre up ahead. A vaguely familiar figure at the door caught his eye.
Quickening his step, the figure came into full view; red hair glinting in the sun, dressed simply yet somehow possessing an elegance that transcended her humble circumstances. For the second time in as many days, the ghosts were summoned from his past. But it was Rose who stood framed by the doorway, who at this moment looked scared and confused and very much alone. What was she doing here?
He was about to call out to her, when he noticed another figure, a little further back in the door's shadow. Slowing his steps, voices floated towards him.
"You always were a little fool, weren't you?" The man's face was hidden, but his tone dripped with derision. "Look at you. Play acting, pretending. What do you think you're doing?" His voice, equal parts mocking superiority and outright contempt, reached Christian's ears as he instinctively drew back, out of sight.
Rose struggled desperately to remain measured, but a half buried sob refused to stay hidden. "You can't…" her voice shuddered, and she took a shaky breath. "You can't hurt me anymore Cal. You can't… you have nothing over me now." She seemed to find strength in this thought, for her voice grew more forceful.
"You have nothing over me now, and you know it. I don't care anymore- don't care what you or Mother or anyone else thinks, and you know that's the only weapon you ever had!"
Hovering in the shadows, Christian felt distinctly uneasy. Should he get involved, try to help? Was it wiser not to intrude? What exactly was going on here? He didn't like the man's tone, but he barely knew Rose, and knew nothing of her past. He had no right to get interfere in what was clearly a buried secret coming back to haunt her.
From his vantage point, Christian watched her shadow as she turned to leave. He watched as, without warning, the man grabbed her arm forcefully. Christian flinched involuntarily, and heard Rose's horrified cry.
"You always did underestimate me, Rose. I have… ways and means. Don't flatter yourself. I'd just as happily leave you to run the streets of Paris with any gutter rat you choose. " A sharp intake of breath as Rose gasped and fought unsuccessfully to hold back a sob.
"I will not be made out a fool, Rose. I will not have my fiancé deserting me, deserting me for some foolhardy, romanticized, penniless existence. Do I make myself clear?" There was satisfaction in his voice as he delivered these words, as though settling a long-standing debt.
Hiding in the shadows, Christian was more at a loss than ever. Fiancé? She was engaged? She wore no ring. How many secrets did she have buried in her past? As he watched, the man took her forcefully by the shoulders, as though driving his point home. Rose's strangled cry was enough to convince Christian to emerge.
"Rose." Her head snapped up in shock, the fear in her eyes replaced with recognition and abject relief.
"Ch-Christian? What…?"
Christian struggled to keep his voice calm, to infer that he would stand for no nonsense. "Rose. Is something…" he let his eyes drift towards Cal. "…wrong?"
A forced laugh accompanied the words they both knew were lies. "Oh, no, I just…We just… he's just someone I used to…" Blushing, as though suddenly embarrassed at what he had witnessed, embarrassed at the obvious lie, her voice faded to a shadow.
"Friend of yours?" He gestured towards Cal, contemptuously, and Rose could barely conceal a small grin as she carefully avoided the question.
"I think he was just leaving. Weren't you, Cal?"
Cal's eyes flashed. Embarrassment was an unwelcome stranger to him, insulated as he was by layers of wealth and power.
"Oh, I'm leaving. I'm leaving Rose, but I stand by everything I said. Don't forget that."Christian could tell that Rose was shaking as they stood side-by-side, watching Cal's departing figure. As he turned the corner, out of sight, Christian turned towards her.
"Are you alright?" His voice was earnest; his expression gentle, as though trying to reassure her that she was safe.
Rose started to nod, trying to uphold her bravado for Christian's benefit, but she could maintain it no longer. Slowly the nod became an uncertain shake of the head as a sob clamoured to the surface.
"Ch-Christian…thank you…" she hiccupped as her words tumbled over each other, partially lost in tears. "Thank you. I… I don't know what he would have done if you…" Fighting to regain some control over her voice, she continued shakily. "He...I'm sure he would have done something to...hurt me... if you hadn't shown up." A weak smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. "Right on time!" The smile didn't last for long, wavering as her hands began to shake.
Awkwardly, he held his arms out to her, and she fell into his embrace, searching for comfort and warmth, wanting to be close to someone again. Her sobs eventually subsided, and still they stood there, his hand resting gently on her hair as she buried her face in his shirt. As the late afternoon shadows lengthened, the past and the present became mingled in Christian's mind, danced together to some unheard tune. He remembered another night just like this, when Satine had clung to him as though he were a rock in a dissolving world and promised him everything-a life that would never be, a dream that would never be fulfilled. The past felt so close that at that moment, he almost believed he could reach out and touch it. Change it. Live it.
Pulling away from Rose slightly, he turned his head so that she might not see that his cheeks, too, were tear stained.
"Come on, Rose. It's getting late. I'll walk you home."
To be continued!