Title: Just to Love
Author: Sarah
Rating: PG
Part: 7
Fandom: Titanic and Moulin Rouge.
Archive: My site, fanfiction.net, Red Windmill, Penniless Poet, any Titanic fic archives, anyone else who wants it, really. Just let me know.
Disclaimer. All recognizable characters copyright of their respective creators- BL and JC. Feedback: Most welcome.
Status: Work in progress.
Summary: A Titanic/Moulin Rouge crossover. What if Calvert's first name was Christian?

***

The fuzzy warmth of sleep held Rose still, and she blinked drowsily, fighting the morning light. Stubbornly curling back into the blanket's warmth, she tried to conjure a few further moments of peace and warmth before the day demanded attention. However, the sunlight had a way of sneaking around corners and through cracks, and reluctantly she lifted the corner of the blanket from her face to meet Christian's slightly bashful gaze. Crouching back on his heels, his expression was fixed in an awkward smile that seemed to both offer warmth and beg understanding.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Christian searched for the words, the tone of voice that would clear the tension from the air-words that would shape his muddled thoughts into something less threatening.

"Good... good morning."

"Christian?"

Her tone was one of gentle bewilderment as she rubbed her eyes sleepily, trying to piece together fragments of memory from the night before.

"You're still here? What...?"

The silence between them was suddenly draped in an awful tension. There was an edge to her words, an edge that communicated to Christian that he'd done the wrong thing.

A white flash of anger was all it took to transform Christian's undefined confusion into sharp-edged irritation. The pause, the judgmental tone- they set his teeth on edge. Why did he feel suddenly that explanations were demanded of him alone? Last night had drifted along, coming together without warning, and now she spoke as though everything that had happened had been at his command. Did she expect him to simply overlook the confessions and confidences of the night before? Did she not realise that his early morning thoughts had been filled with uncertainty also?

The words leapt from his mouth before he had time to consider their consequences, harsh and sarcastic in the hum of early morning.

"Well, you didn't seem particularly keen for me to leave last night."

A swift flash of anger banished any trace of sleep from Rose's eyes. Christian didn't miss the gesture, and recoiled slightly, regretting his sharp tone.

"Well, I don't recall asking you to stay, either."

They held each other's gaze for long moments, resentment crackling between them until Christian could take it no longer. Scrambling to his feet, he flung a cushion aside clumsily, tripping over it as he grabbed his coat from the corner.

"Fine, Rose. Fine. I'll leave. Have it your way. You obviously don't want me here-"

Rose opened her mouth to respond, but the words that might have helped refused to rise from the mire of tangled emotions, and Christian stormed on, oblivious.

"You're impossible, you know that? You're stubborn and headstrong and you're running scared from something and I don't know what it is."

"Christian..."

"I've been honest with you Rose. You know everything- everything, and you..."

He paused, teetering on the edge of a threshold from which he could never return.

"...you didn't even tell me that you were engaged."

The words escaped almost unbidden, spurred by helpless anger; anger that he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable, anger that Rose had betrayed that trust. Rose's face collapsed, not in tears but in a defeated expression that told Christian all he needed to know.

"It doesn't matter. Just forget it, none of it matters. I'll just..."

Glancing up, his eyes met hers, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"...I'll just leave. Forget it."

"Christian! Wait-"

The sound of the door shutting echoed around the room, and it was only as Christian's footsteps faded down the hall that Rose allowed herself to burst into tears.

***

Cal replaced the telephone, a grim smile on his face.

"Problems, Sir?" Lovejoy's gravel-edged voice dripped with the certainty that there wasn't a problem Cal couldn't overcome by some means.

"Problems? Heaven's no."

Pausing, Cal ran a finger along the table top in contemplation.

"No, not problems. Just a sudden need for a little.... persuasion, perhaps."

***

The street was bustling by the time Christian stepped over the threshold. People everywhere, happy, laughing, busy people-could he ever relate to them again? He felt like he was watching from behind heavy glass, a mere spectator. A woman in front of him smiled wryly as her toddler jumped enthusiastically in a muddy puddle; an elderly man chatted with the shopkeeper as he picked out apples from a stall. The world seemed determined to prove the insignificance of his loneliness and despair. A long ago phrase flit through his mind; The show must go on. The show had gone on, and here he was- a lonely figure, huddled on the sidelines.

The sunshine that had woken him had vanished, and it seemed only fitting that the first, heavy drops of rain splashed his face and shoes. He hadn't been sure where he was going as he stormed out of Rose's apartment, and his plans were equally shapeless now. He didn't even know why he had reacted so violently to what amounted to mere tone of voice, a certain colour in Rose's eyes. All he knew was that every word she had spoken had stirred the confusion in the pit of his stomach to boiling point.

Slamming the door behind him, he shrugged defiantly. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He would just finish the play and get the hell out of this city.

Never go back. That was why the very thought of returning to Paris had filled him with doubt. That was the message in all the sleepless nights, the rumbles of concern he'd suffered at the thought of seeing his old haunts again. Never go back. It was conventional wisdom, wasn't it? Now he knew why. Just being here had pulled him back under and knocked aside the flimsy walls of his new life. It was this city, this apartment, these damn memories that refused to loosen their hold, even after ten years.

Never go back.

Shrugging his shoulders hopelessly, he pulled his coat closer as the rain fell in earnest, pelting the streets until they shone. Alone and unnoticed, he trudged down the gleaming street.

To be continued.