DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. They are all the property of Baz Luhrmann and are used without permission. Please don't sue!
Author's Note: This may seem like a cliche, but please read it anway. Comments are always appreciated. This is my first Moulin Rouge fic, so be kind.
"Seldom, except in books, do the dying utter memorable words, see visions, or depart with beautified countenances, and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and as simply as sleep."
--Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
'Til the End of Time
Satine woke up slowly, shivering in the damp cold. She tried to sit up, but ragged coughs tore from her chest, and she collapsed backward, hacking violently. A few spots of red lay on her white skin, but by now she had gotten used to the crimson drops. After the coughs subsided, she lay limply against the pillow.
Instantly he was by her side with a glass of water. "Here. Are you all right?" Concern was etched into every feature of his face, and she longed to kiss away his worry. Instead, she took the water and sipped a little to make him happy.
"I'm fine," she said, smiling weakly. "You don't need to worry so much."
"Of course I do, Satine." He sighed and looked out the window. A barren landscape met his eyes -- broken-down tenement houses and dirty streets lay as far as the eye could see. "I should never have taken you to this place."
"Christian, what else would we have done? We couldn't stay in Paris..."
Still gazing out the window, he said, "But the doctor said that we should go to the country...that the fresh air would do you good. And here we are, in the middle of New York City."
"We don't have the money to go to the country. Christian please," she said, touching his arm gently, "don't be like this. You're taking such good care of me."
He turned and smiled sadly at her. "I love you, Satine."
"I love you too."
Their eyes met, and for a moment they were consummed by their love for each other, swept away by the magic as they had been at the Moulin Rouge. In his eyes, she saw the sweet, romantic, innocent boy she had fallen in love with so long ago.
And then another spell of coughing overtook her. She doubled over, coughing violently. His hand gently patted her on the back until it had passed. She sank back onto the bed, exhausted. The magic was gone; now he looked tired and worn. There was no more magic in his eyes.
"I need to go. I have to be at work in an hour."
She nodded. Christian had found work as a singing waiter. He belonged to a union, and every weekend night he went and waited around at the union headquarters for a job to come in. They rarely did. During the week, he had a regular job as a waiter elsewhere.
"You look handsome, dressed up like that," she said.
He smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead. She longed to throw her arms around him and kiss him soundly, but she was too weak to move. All of her youth and vivacity had been drained out of her, and she felt like a dry shell of her former self.
'We've both changed,' she thought. 'I'm so tired and sick all the time...and Christian is so worn and tired. He works too hard and worries too much. And we're both too cold and hungry all the time.' The money they had gotten from selling her diamonds had gotten them to New York and allowed them to rent a poor apartment. Christian's salary barely made enough to support them, especially since most of their money went into medicine and visits to the doctor for her.
"I'll pick up more medicine for you," he added, taking the empty bottle with him.
"You know how I hate that stuff," she told him. "I don't want you to spend all of your money on it."
"The doctor said you have to take it or else you'll die," he reminded her.
She didn't want to tell him the truth, that he would be better off leaving her to die. He deserved so much more than scraping by from one day to the next, living on stale bread and water. He should be a famous writer, watching his plays being performed for the richest men of Europe, not a poor waiter who had to spend every last penny on her.
But she couldn't bring herself to say that. She couldn't imagine being without him. It was selfish, but she didn't want him to leave her.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised as he shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the cold apartment.
*****
When she woke up, he was sitting hunched over his typewriter.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"You're awake," he said. "Are you all right? Do you need anything?"
She waved away his concern. "I'm fine." Slowly she got out of bed and walked across the cold floor to him. " 'Just then an unconscious Argentinian fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed as a nun.' " She stopped, laughing. "What is this?"
"I'm writing about us," he answered. "About our love."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Well, because it's the only story I have to tell right now. Because I love you, and I want the whole world to know that."
Her face was serious. "Our love isn't a story, Christian." She stared out the window. "This isn't the way it should have happened."
"What are you talking about?" He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her. "We're together. That's all that matters."
"Christian, look around you! We're living in a crowded, dirty apartment in New York, thousands of miles from home. We're cold and hungry and..." She pushed him away. "You would have been better off without me," she whispered.
"Satine, how can you say that? I love you. I could never love anyone as much as I love you.
"How wonderful life is
Now you're in the world."
"Stop that, Christian! This isn't a play! This isn't one of your silly stories! This is reality. And in the real world, things don't always end with 'and they lived happily ever after.' Things don't always work out the way you want them to." Her voice softened as she added, "Sometimes love isn't enough."
"Satine..." The look on his face changed. "Satine..." He picked her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed. "Satine, are you all right?"
She tried to answer, but his voice sounded like it was coming from far away. She felt hot and sweaty, and she could barely focus on the room. The last thing she remembered was his concerned face before she closed eyes and let the darkness swallow her.
*****
When she woke up, it was to the sound of the tapping of Christian's typewriter. "Christian..." she moaned.
He was instantly by her side. "Satine, are you all right? Don't try to speak," he added hastily. "Here. The doctor left you some more medicine."
She obediantly opened her mouth, but the bitter taste of the thick syrup made her gag. When she had finally taken enough to satisfy him, she leaned against the pillows. "What time is it?"
He glanced at his watch. "Seven o'clock."
"Shouldn't you be working?"
He paused before answering. "Shhh, don't talk. Just rest."
"Christian..."
"I quit the union." He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't have the money for the dues, and I hadn't been able to go to work in a long time, so I was fired too."
"Christian!"
"You've been asleep for days, Satine. I had to take care of you."
"Days?"
"Four days. You only woke up for a few hours at a time, long enough for me to feed you a little and give you some medicine."
She struggled to absorb all of this information. "Then I'm dying?"
"Yes, Satine, you are." He spoke so quietly. "But Zidler said that you were dying months ago, and you're still alive. If you take care of yourself, maybe..."
He sounded so hopeful. 'Sweet boy,' she thought. 'Sweet, romantic Christian.'
"But what about your job? What will we do?" she asked.
"I've saved up a little bit of money. We'll be all right until you feel better. Now rest."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to hold onto hope that things would be all right, that one day life would be wonderful again. She didn't want to wake up and see the truth.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
*****
The next time she woke up, it was the next evening. The dusky light threw long, dim shadows through the apartment. Christian sat hunched over his typewriter, writing furiously. Stacks of paper covered the floor. He looked so much scruffier. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and he sat in a dirty undershirt, pants, and his overalls. He no longer resembled the sweet, naive boy she had met. This Christian was far worldlier, and she wanted to cry for the end of his innocence.
She sat up slowly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overcome her. "Christian?"
He jumped up. "Satine, how are you? Do you need anything?" He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You," she whispered, pulling him down beside her. She smiled at his look of surprise as she leaned over and kissed him.
He pulled away. "You should rest, Satine. And I need to finish my book."
"Christian, stop." She took a deep breath. "We both know that I'm going to die soon."
"Don't talk like that! You don't know...you could get better."
"Christian, please." She sat up and leaned against his back. "We have to face the truth. I'm dying, and there's nothing anyone can do about it." She turned her head and stared outside at the bustling street below. "I should have let you go. That night when I came to tell you it was over, I should have gone. I should never have broken down like that. I should have been strong enough to do what I knew was right."
"How could that be right? How could our being apart ever be right? I could never have let you leave me and go to the Duke." He turned to face her. " 'Jealousy has driven him mad,' " he whispered, quoting from the play.
She smiled a bit, but remained firm. "Then I should have died quickly. None of this dragging out life." She touched his rough cheek with her white hand. "I can't bear to see what watching me die like this has done to you." She looked down at the pale sheets. They were stained red with her blood. "It shouldn't have been like this," she whispered.
"Please don't say that," Christian pleaded. "I love you."
She coughed, drops of blood falling onto her skin. "How will you write this in your book? This isn't a very poetic ending," she whispered, "my dying here in New York, thousands of miles away from everyone we ever knew. Not exactly an ending fit for bohemian revolutionary's writings."
"What do you mean?"
"You bohemian's write about happily ever after," she explained. "You don't write about things like this," her gesture encompassed his dirty shirt, the apartment, and the crowded streets below. "We deserve a happily ever after."
"How can it be happy if we aren't together?"
"We should still have a proper bohemian ending."
"I can't think of an ending for this. I don't want this to end, because when it ends...I'll be alone." There was so much pain in his voice. He buried his face in her hair.
She struggled not to cry. "Well, then I'll think of one. I...I will leave you, outwardly for the Duke but really to save you. You will be driven mad by jealousy, and you sneak into the theater on opening night, to...to..."
He raised his head. "To pay you," he suggested. "To pay my debt...and I've sold my typewriter."
"Not your typewriter, Christian!"
"I've been driven mad, remember?" He smiled sadly.
"All right, then." Despite herself, she smiled. "But I refuse you, begging you to leave before you are discovered."
"And I chase after you..."
"But the Duke's manservant chases after us with his gun..."
"And before he can get us..."
"What?" she laughed. "What happens next?" The old sparkle was in his eyes.
"We burst onto the stage!" She laughed in delight. Eager to please her, he drove forward. "I throw the money at your feet...and you cry as I march out of the theater!"
"No, Christian!"
"But -- at the last moment Toulouse falls from above, crying, 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.' And you raise your tear-stained face up and you sing our secret song."
"And you come running towards me, singing, promising to love me forever."
"Yes," he smiled, kissing her.
"But what about the Duke?"
"The Duke...ah...well, just then Toulouse falls down from above, knocking the gun out of the servant's hand. And there is a frantic scramble for the gun, ending when it flies into the aisle. But then -- "
"Yes?"
"The Duke, in his rage, grabs the gun and races towards us, pointing it at us...no one notices, all eyes are on you and me, until..."
"Yes?" she urged him again.
"Out of nowhere, Zindler comes up and punches the Duke right in the face, knocking the gun far away from the Moulin Rouge!"
She smiled at him. "That's a good ending for us...nice and bohemian. But that can't be the end of it, Christian."
"No I suppose not." He got up and walked towards the window, staring out as though he could see all the way back to France and the Moulin Rouge.
"The curtain falls, and I am so happy that I have you again. But you collapse, and I hold you in my arms, and it is then that I realize the truth, that you are dying..." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and continued. "I hold you in my arms and beg you not to leave me...but you tell me that I have to go on without you...and there in my arms, you die."
He turned back to her. "Is that a proper ending for us?"
There were tears in her eyes. "Yes, I think that will do."
"And how will things end here in reality?" He moved and sat down next to her.
She was silent for a long time. Finally she said, "You will hold me in your arms and lay me down in this bed, and I will close my eyes one last time...and I will smile and say 'I love you, Christian.' "
He fought back tears as he lay her down. "I love you, Satine," he whispered as he kissed her.
"I love you Christian."
And when she had closed her eyes for the last time, he stroked her hair and sang softly:
"Never knew I could feel like this,
Like I've never seen the sky before.
Want to find it inside your kiss
Every day I love you more and more.
Listen to my heart,
Can you heart it sing,
Telling me to give you everything.
Seasons may change winter to spring
But I love you
Till the end of time."
Author's Note: Since I have never been to New York, I used the book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn has a reference. The idea for Christian's working as a singing waiter came from Johnny Nolan. All of the parts of the novel are from Moulin Rouge, as are the songs. The first, brief part is from "Your Song," the one at the end is from "Come What May."
I hope you liked this. Please r/r!
Author's Note: This may seem like a cliche, but please read it anway. Comments are always appreciated. This is my first Moulin Rouge fic, so be kind.
"Seldom, except in books, do the dying utter memorable words, see visions, or depart with beautified countenances, and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and as simply as sleep."
--Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
'Til the End of Time
Satine woke up slowly, shivering in the damp cold. She tried to sit up, but ragged coughs tore from her chest, and she collapsed backward, hacking violently. A few spots of red lay on her white skin, but by now she had gotten used to the crimson drops. After the coughs subsided, she lay limply against the pillow.
Instantly he was by her side with a glass of water. "Here. Are you all right?" Concern was etched into every feature of his face, and she longed to kiss away his worry. Instead, she took the water and sipped a little to make him happy.
"I'm fine," she said, smiling weakly. "You don't need to worry so much."
"Of course I do, Satine." He sighed and looked out the window. A barren landscape met his eyes -- broken-down tenement houses and dirty streets lay as far as the eye could see. "I should never have taken you to this place."
"Christian, what else would we have done? We couldn't stay in Paris..."
Still gazing out the window, he said, "But the doctor said that we should go to the country...that the fresh air would do you good. And here we are, in the middle of New York City."
"We don't have the money to go to the country. Christian please," she said, touching his arm gently, "don't be like this. You're taking such good care of me."
He turned and smiled sadly at her. "I love you, Satine."
"I love you too."
Their eyes met, and for a moment they were consummed by their love for each other, swept away by the magic as they had been at the Moulin Rouge. In his eyes, she saw the sweet, romantic, innocent boy she had fallen in love with so long ago.
And then another spell of coughing overtook her. She doubled over, coughing violently. His hand gently patted her on the back until it had passed. She sank back onto the bed, exhausted. The magic was gone; now he looked tired and worn. There was no more magic in his eyes.
"I need to go. I have to be at work in an hour."
She nodded. Christian had found work as a singing waiter. He belonged to a union, and every weekend night he went and waited around at the union headquarters for a job to come in. They rarely did. During the week, he had a regular job as a waiter elsewhere.
"You look handsome, dressed up like that," she said.
He smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead. She longed to throw her arms around him and kiss him soundly, but she was too weak to move. All of her youth and vivacity had been drained out of her, and she felt like a dry shell of her former self.
'We've both changed,' she thought. 'I'm so tired and sick all the time...and Christian is so worn and tired. He works too hard and worries too much. And we're both too cold and hungry all the time.' The money they had gotten from selling her diamonds had gotten them to New York and allowed them to rent a poor apartment. Christian's salary barely made enough to support them, especially since most of their money went into medicine and visits to the doctor for her.
"I'll pick up more medicine for you," he added, taking the empty bottle with him.
"You know how I hate that stuff," she told him. "I don't want you to spend all of your money on it."
"The doctor said you have to take it or else you'll die," he reminded her.
She didn't want to tell him the truth, that he would be better off leaving her to die. He deserved so much more than scraping by from one day to the next, living on stale bread and water. He should be a famous writer, watching his plays being performed for the richest men of Europe, not a poor waiter who had to spend every last penny on her.
But she couldn't bring herself to say that. She couldn't imagine being without him. It was selfish, but she didn't want him to leave her.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised as he shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the cold apartment.
*****
When she woke up, he was sitting hunched over his typewriter.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"You're awake," he said. "Are you all right? Do you need anything?"
She waved away his concern. "I'm fine." Slowly she got out of bed and walked across the cold floor to him. " 'Just then an unconscious Argentinian fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed as a nun.' " She stopped, laughing. "What is this?"
"I'm writing about us," he answered. "About our love."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Well, because it's the only story I have to tell right now. Because I love you, and I want the whole world to know that."
Her face was serious. "Our love isn't a story, Christian." She stared out the window. "This isn't the way it should have happened."
"What are you talking about?" He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her. "We're together. That's all that matters."
"Christian, look around you! We're living in a crowded, dirty apartment in New York, thousands of miles from home. We're cold and hungry and..." She pushed him away. "You would have been better off without me," she whispered.
"Satine, how can you say that? I love you. I could never love anyone as much as I love you.
"How wonderful life is
Now you're in the world."
"Stop that, Christian! This isn't a play! This isn't one of your silly stories! This is reality. And in the real world, things don't always end with 'and they lived happily ever after.' Things don't always work out the way you want them to." Her voice softened as she added, "Sometimes love isn't enough."
"Satine..." The look on his face changed. "Satine..." He picked her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed. "Satine, are you all right?"
She tried to answer, but his voice sounded like it was coming from far away. She felt hot and sweaty, and she could barely focus on the room. The last thing she remembered was his concerned face before she closed eyes and let the darkness swallow her.
*****
When she woke up, it was to the sound of the tapping of Christian's typewriter. "Christian..." she moaned.
He was instantly by her side. "Satine, are you all right? Don't try to speak," he added hastily. "Here. The doctor left you some more medicine."
She obediantly opened her mouth, but the bitter taste of the thick syrup made her gag. When she had finally taken enough to satisfy him, she leaned against the pillows. "What time is it?"
He glanced at his watch. "Seven o'clock."
"Shouldn't you be working?"
He paused before answering. "Shhh, don't talk. Just rest."
"Christian..."
"I quit the union." He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't have the money for the dues, and I hadn't been able to go to work in a long time, so I was fired too."
"Christian!"
"You've been asleep for days, Satine. I had to take care of you."
"Days?"
"Four days. You only woke up for a few hours at a time, long enough for me to feed you a little and give you some medicine."
She struggled to absorb all of this information. "Then I'm dying?"
"Yes, Satine, you are." He spoke so quietly. "But Zidler said that you were dying months ago, and you're still alive. If you take care of yourself, maybe..."
He sounded so hopeful. 'Sweet boy,' she thought. 'Sweet, romantic Christian.'
"But what about your job? What will we do?" she asked.
"I've saved up a little bit of money. We'll be all right until you feel better. Now rest."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to hold onto hope that things would be all right, that one day life would be wonderful again. She didn't want to wake up and see the truth.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
*****
The next time she woke up, it was the next evening. The dusky light threw long, dim shadows through the apartment. Christian sat hunched over his typewriter, writing furiously. Stacks of paper covered the floor. He looked so much scruffier. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and he sat in a dirty undershirt, pants, and his overalls. He no longer resembled the sweet, naive boy she had met. This Christian was far worldlier, and she wanted to cry for the end of his innocence.
She sat up slowly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overcome her. "Christian?"
He jumped up. "Satine, how are you? Do you need anything?" He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You," she whispered, pulling him down beside her. She smiled at his look of surprise as she leaned over and kissed him.
He pulled away. "You should rest, Satine. And I need to finish my book."
"Christian, stop." She took a deep breath. "We both know that I'm going to die soon."
"Don't talk like that! You don't know...you could get better."
"Christian, please." She sat up and leaned against his back. "We have to face the truth. I'm dying, and there's nothing anyone can do about it." She turned her head and stared outside at the bustling street below. "I should have let you go. That night when I came to tell you it was over, I should have gone. I should never have broken down like that. I should have been strong enough to do what I knew was right."
"How could that be right? How could our being apart ever be right? I could never have let you leave me and go to the Duke." He turned to face her. " 'Jealousy has driven him mad,' " he whispered, quoting from the play.
She smiled a bit, but remained firm. "Then I should have died quickly. None of this dragging out life." She touched his rough cheek with her white hand. "I can't bear to see what watching me die like this has done to you." She looked down at the pale sheets. They were stained red with her blood. "It shouldn't have been like this," she whispered.
"Please don't say that," Christian pleaded. "I love you."
She coughed, drops of blood falling onto her skin. "How will you write this in your book? This isn't a very poetic ending," she whispered, "my dying here in New York, thousands of miles away from everyone we ever knew. Not exactly an ending fit for bohemian revolutionary's writings."
"What do you mean?"
"You bohemian's write about happily ever after," she explained. "You don't write about things like this," her gesture encompassed his dirty shirt, the apartment, and the crowded streets below. "We deserve a happily ever after."
"How can it be happy if we aren't together?"
"We should still have a proper bohemian ending."
"I can't think of an ending for this. I don't want this to end, because when it ends...I'll be alone." There was so much pain in his voice. He buried his face in her hair.
She struggled not to cry. "Well, then I'll think of one. I...I will leave you, outwardly for the Duke but really to save you. You will be driven mad by jealousy, and you sneak into the theater on opening night, to...to..."
He raised his head. "To pay you," he suggested. "To pay my debt...and I've sold my typewriter."
"Not your typewriter, Christian!"
"I've been driven mad, remember?" He smiled sadly.
"All right, then." Despite herself, she smiled. "But I refuse you, begging you to leave before you are discovered."
"And I chase after you..."
"But the Duke's manservant chases after us with his gun..."
"And before he can get us..."
"What?" she laughed. "What happens next?" The old sparkle was in his eyes.
"We burst onto the stage!" She laughed in delight. Eager to please her, he drove forward. "I throw the money at your feet...and you cry as I march out of the theater!"
"No, Christian!"
"But -- at the last moment Toulouse falls from above, crying, 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.' And you raise your tear-stained face up and you sing our secret song."
"And you come running towards me, singing, promising to love me forever."
"Yes," he smiled, kissing her.
"But what about the Duke?"
"The Duke...ah...well, just then Toulouse falls down from above, knocking the gun out of the servant's hand. And there is a frantic scramble for the gun, ending when it flies into the aisle. But then -- "
"Yes?"
"The Duke, in his rage, grabs the gun and races towards us, pointing it at us...no one notices, all eyes are on you and me, until..."
"Yes?" she urged him again.
"Out of nowhere, Zindler comes up and punches the Duke right in the face, knocking the gun far away from the Moulin Rouge!"
She smiled at him. "That's a good ending for us...nice and bohemian. But that can't be the end of it, Christian."
"No I suppose not." He got up and walked towards the window, staring out as though he could see all the way back to France and the Moulin Rouge.
"The curtain falls, and I am so happy that I have you again. But you collapse, and I hold you in my arms, and it is then that I realize the truth, that you are dying..." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and continued. "I hold you in my arms and beg you not to leave me...but you tell me that I have to go on without you...and there in my arms, you die."
He turned back to her. "Is that a proper ending for us?"
There were tears in her eyes. "Yes, I think that will do."
"And how will things end here in reality?" He moved and sat down next to her.
She was silent for a long time. Finally she said, "You will hold me in your arms and lay me down in this bed, and I will close my eyes one last time...and I will smile and say 'I love you, Christian.' "
He fought back tears as he lay her down. "I love you, Satine," he whispered as he kissed her.
"I love you Christian."
And when she had closed her eyes for the last time, he stroked her hair and sang softly:
"Never knew I could feel like this,
Like I've never seen the sky before.
Want to find it inside your kiss
Every day I love you more and more.
Listen to my heart,
Can you heart it sing,
Telling me to give you everything.
Seasons may change winter to spring
But I love you
Till the end of time."
Author's Note: Since I have never been to New York, I used the book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn has a reference. The idea for Christian's working as a singing waiter came from Johnny Nolan. All of the parts of the novel are from Moulin Rouge, as are the songs. The first, brief part is from "Your Song," the one at the end is from "Come What May."
I hope you liked this. Please r/r!