Title: Just to Love
Author: Sarah (sfrench@austarmetro.com.au)
Rating: PG
Part: 5/7
Fandom:Guess that would be Titanic and Moulin Rouge.*g*
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.
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. This has been neglected, I realise, but if anyone is still actually reading it, I have a plan all mapped out and I've started the later chapters and know how it's going to finish, so bear with me, it will be completed pretty soon!
They walked together through the night as the shadows lengthened and moonlight dripped from the trees. They stood side by side, close, but not too close, lost in companionable silence. The alternative would have demanded explanations. It would have led to awkward questions and words that could not be unsaid. Dangerous words, soft words, gentle words. Words that gave life to the past. Given the choice, silence was preferable.
Rose shivered slightly; wrapping her arms around her and regretting the coat left at home.
Glancing towards her, Christian noticed her shiver, and an old shadow darkened his face. Oh, but time and memories were liquid, flowing together so effortlessly that the past and the present became muddled until he wasn't sure what was real and what was merely memory willed into life. A moment. A cold, dark night. Someone beside him who would accept the offer of his coat with grateful smiles and mild protest, finally consenting to huddle beneath it the rest of the way home. There had been so many nights, just like this, filled with whispered conversation and ringing laughter. After years of building walls and avoiding shadows, how was it that he had come full circle?
"Do you want to borrow this?" His voice was quietly gruff as he shrugged out of his coat, fighting back a helpless sigh and faintly hating himself for falling deeper into memories and dejavu.
With a grateful half-smile, Rose wrapped the coat tightly around herself.
"Thank you.' It was a shadow of an answer, floating in the air between them.
Rose looked to the ground as she stolidly placed one foot in front of the other. The images came in sharp flashes, replaying themselves into infinity until she thought she might go mad. Jack. Jack walking beside her on deck, talking softly. Throwing his coat around her shoulders after he noticed her shivering. He lived again in those seconds, and his presence enveloped her. They had laughed and laughed that night, laughed at his gallantry and at their stumbling, tuneless song.
"Come Josephine, in my flying machine..."
Christian's eyes snapped to life as they met hers.
"You... you sing?"
Rose shrugged her shoulders, embarrassed. She shrunk further into the voluminous coat, searching for a place to hide.
"No, no, I don't sing." The moment was warm, it was a moment for confidences, a moment in which to share secrets.
"At least, not usually." She paused, reluctant to continue. A sigh, and the words escaped before she was sure she'd even thought them.
"Someone I knew used to sing that song with me."
He held her gaze for just a moment as she blinked rapidly, beating back the tears with gritted, clenching force of will. But they fought back, and she tore her eyes away furiously, her feet flying down the street, beating a steady rhythm of determination and embarrassment. Running to catch up, Christian felt an inexplicable need to counter with confidences of his own.
"It's just that... she used to sing too."
His voice cracked on the final word, and Rose shivered involuntarily. After all those years, his voice was still strained with pain, still full of tremulous, trembling emotion whenever he spoke of her. His eyes refused to meet hers, as though afraid that any contact might shatter the serene surface of his grief.
Stretching out a hand to gently touch his shoulder, her voice cut through his thoughts and he jumped.
"I know, Christian. I read your book. Remember?"
"Oh. Of course." Clipped, brittle words, punctuated by self-conscious laughter. "Silly old me. How could I forget that?"
Glancing up at her, he spoke ruefully, his voice tinged with regret. "I guess you pretty much know as much about her as I ever did, then."
Shaking her head gently, she avoided his eyes. They were so full of unspent pain; they burned into her and seemed to magnify her own grief. It must feel strange, to find his shadowy love coaxed back into life after so many silent years. To speak of her, to relive it all through the simple fact that she knew their story, knew about her.
"Tell our story, Christian. That way, I'll always be with you."
She had been right, Rose reflected. She was with him- she was in the soft looked that still flooded his eyes whenever he spoke of her, in the smile that managed to fight through the pain. Satine's plea echoed in her ears like- like what? A warning? An outstretched hand, offering salvation? Would Jack really be any more present, here and now, if she were to draw up a chair and hand Christian the shards of her broken heart?
Her sigh was audible; her eyes stared straight ahead and saw nothing. Could she possibly find the words to make anybody understand, anyway? None of it had made any sense, even as she had lived it. It had simply been-crazy, foolish love, giggling in dark corners and sharing kisses. Secrets and whispers and furtive meetings. Then, just as all the giddy moments were starting to melt together so that they filled her world, it was gone.
Yet, somehow... somehow she didn't think that it would take many words to make Christian understand, but she couldn't open that door. She couldn't let Jack's memory out of her safekeeping yet, couldn't quantify her great tragedy into neat phrases and recognizable emotions. She tried to imagine herself forming the words that might make Christian understand, and failed miserably. Right now, she didn't want understanding beyond that which Christian was already offering- a friendly face, a sympathetic ear and the knowledge that sometimes silence was enough.
*********Rose fussed around, lighting gas lamps as she tripped around the room.
"There!" She spoke wryly. "Home sweet home!"
Christian glanced around, his expression misty and lost. "This place always looked better by lamplight." He laughed, a genuine laugh this time. "More, you know, bohemian. The perfect home for the penniless poet."
Rose laughed at his boyish expression, wondering again what he must have been like before fate contributed its verse to his story. Wondering if that person still existed beneath the layers of bitterness and regret.
"This was…" He glanced up at her, his voice coloured by a thousand memories. "I was so happy here for awhile. Oh, it was old and shabby, and I lived in constant fear of the roof collapsing completely-"
Rose giggled at that, glancing up nervously.
"I'm kind of glad that somebody got around to fixing that."
His smile acknowledged her words, but he was lost in the warmth of the past.
"The door was never locked. I used to sit by that window and write all evening. Friends would come and go and we'd sit and talk. There'd be wine and poetry and so much laughter. And then…"
A pause. A simple intake of breath that spanned a thousand tears.
"Then there was Satine." His voice disappeared as he met her gaze deliberately.
"Rose? You know, don't you? Not just about Satine and I, but about…everything. You understand."
Rose didn't answer straight away. She gazed at the floor, tracing patterns in the dust with her index finger as she fought the lump in her throat. Her voice finally escaped in a strangled whisper.
"Crazy love- the type that shouldn't be but is. Love that… that… sets your life on fire and fills your world." Her voice rose slightly, and a single tear traced a track down her face. "Love worth fighting for."
The room suddenly felt very still. Christian saw himself, as in a dream, crouch down beside her. He reached out to her, cupping her face in his hand and gently running his thumb down her cheek.
She returned his gaze, unspent tears glittering in her eyes.
"Christian…" Her voice was an uncertain whisper, but it seemed to pull him from his reverie. He stumbled backwards on his heels, mumbling an apology.
"God, Rose, I... I... I'm sorry, I don't know what I…"
Rose shook her head, collecting her dizzying thoughts. Her skin tingled where his hand had sat. The warmth of it remained, the gentle pattern that his fingers had traced.
"Christian… it's alright. I…I… just…. There are things I haven't told you-can't tell you, I just don't know how, and you've been so kind and I'm not sure if I…"
She bit her lip painfully, unable to find the words to speak further. He was so very close to her still, and suddenly his proximity was dizzying. She felt torn, torn between the past and the unrelenting memories and the longing to just give in to whatever might be. It was cold here, and she felt so cold inside. It would be so easy just to let him hold her and fall headlong into a moment in time.
Almost silently, she inched herself closer to him. Christian's voice sounded hoarse as it broke the heavy silence.
"What was his name?"
Vulnerability and deep sadness were etched into every feature. "Jack. His name was Jack."
Christian nodded, unwilling to push any further.
The warmth of his body next to her, the gentle, hypnotic pattern of his breathing-they seemed to draw Rose closer to him. A sob fought its way up from deep within as she leaned her head against his chest, drinking in his warmth and the solidness of his body against hers. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, stroking her hair. "Please don't leave, Christian," she mumbled, and he nodded soundlessly.
The lamplight threw shadows across them, as they stayed there, tangled in each other's arms. Pulling back slightly, Christian met her eyes with a shy half smile. Gently pushing a stray curl from her eyes, he whispered.
"Is this-" He bit his lip, uncertain. "Are you okay?"
Slowly, she nodded. Lamplight danced across his features, creating shadows and valleys, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. Breathing in deeply, she could smell the warm, sweet scent of him.
His lips met hers gently, hesitantly, a kiss floating between them. His eyes fluttered open briefly, and she leaned closer, tangling her hands in his dark hair and pulling him to her as she captured his lips with her own. Their embrace was soft and gentle, but he held her tightly and his warmth enfolded her completely.
Her breath tickled his face as he pulled away slightly, one finger tracing the outline of her lips.
"Christian," she whispered shakily, her voice gusting against his hand.
"Was that- did I do the right thing?" Uncertainty clouded his eyes briefly, but Rose nodded, quelling any doubts. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she breathed him in, calmness and serenity settling about her like a blanket.
"Hold me, Christian." Her voice was tissue-thin, a shaking whisper, but the haunted expression was absent from her eyes.
Without question, he put his arms around her again, holding her in the flickering lamplight. Time slipped by quietly, the shadows danced and the room was all but silent. Lulled by Christian's heartbeat against her ear and his breath against her cheek, wrapped in his warmth and soft caresses, Rose drifted into a dreamless sleep.