Three days passed, and things seemed to be falling into place with the play. The cast had finally been fully selected, including dancers and background characters, and the script had been finished. Of course, with Harold Zidler around, who knew how many revisions would be required, and so Christian's job was far from over. Not only that, but Zidler had insisted that Christian stay and help out with the direction of the play. "You wrote it, boy, you know what it should look like!" He wouldn't take no for an answer, and so Christian had resolved himself to being involved with the play in a larger capacity than he'd planned.

The third day after his and Alyse's nighttime stroll, Christian sat in the seats of the theatre as the cast gathered onstage for a read-through of the script. He was true to his word, he would not go onto the stage--just looking at it made him feel sick.

Jerome had placed himself next to Alyse right away, and she was trying to be as polite as possible to him without giving him any ideas. Christian would have laughed at how uncomfortable she looked if it didn't irritate him so much that Jerome wasn't getting the idea. And then whenever he realized he was irritated at Jerome, he grew even more annoyed with himself at how protective he felt of Alyse. It was irrational, really, when he thought about it. He'd known her for less than a week, hadn't really spent that much time with her, aside from walking her home at night and every now and again when she poked her head into his room to see how his writing was going. He supposed it was all part of being her friend, to be concerned when he saw a unsavory character trying his best to win her affections.

Zidler called for a break, and Christian jumped up from his seat. He had to get out of the theatre, if only for a few minutes. He felt stifled half of the time he was there, as if he couldn't breathe for all of the memories that crowded in on him at the oddest moments. Watching everyone up on the stage, scripts in hand, took him back to a time when Satine had been the star, her flame hair shining in the lights as she played her role of the Hindu Courtesan. He shook his head, wishing he could forget, just for one second, the smile in her eyes. He shoved his way out of a door on the side of the building and fumbled for a cigarette.

Alyse had seen Christian slip out the out of the door, and she'd truly had no intention of following him. He had looked like he needed time to himself and she certainly could understand the feeling. But then she saw Jerome descending upon her out of the corner of her eye and decided that maybe she would go talk to Christian after all. She quickly made her way down from the stage and over to the exit.

She pushed through the door and saw Christian standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, head tipped back, eyes shut. She could hear him muttering "damn it, damn it" over and over as his trembling fingers held a cigarette to his lips. Alyse considered stepping back inside and giving him his privacy, but she couldn't stand to see him so obviously upset. She moved toward him slowly and said uncertainly, "Christian? Are you…are you all right?"

He didn't seem surprised to see her as he turned his head in her direction and opened his eyes. What she saw in them was a knife to her own heart. They were red, as if he'd been fighting tears, and filled with so much anguish and pain that she couldn't help herself, and laid a hand on his arm. "Oh, Christian," she whispered.

His muscles tensed slightly at her touch, then relaxed. He never spoke of Satine to anyone, not even Toulouse, but one look into Alyse's sympathetic eyes and the words were spilling from his lips. "It hurts so much to be here. So much…it's not all the time, mind you, just every now and again…I feel as if I see her everywhere, it's like I can hear her voice, and the pain is just suddenly so strong…" He could usually find words, but right now it was enough of a challenge to just breathe.

He turned his head away and she could see him scrub his hand over his face. Her heart broke once again as his sad eyes met hers and he attempted to smile.

"You must think I'm crazy, to still be so…so upset over this. It's been s-seven years…"

Alyse squeezed Christian's arm and once again couldn't stop herself as she reached up and touched his cheek. "Grief has no time limit, Christian," she told him softly. He looked at her with that bleak expression, and then he did something that shocked them both.

He hugged her.

She was so surprised that for a second she couldn't figure out what to do. Then she recovered her senses and slid her arms around his waist. He let his chin rest on the top of her head for a moment and closed his eyes. It had been too long since he'd held a woman in his arms, and he tried not to think too much about how good it felt. Satine was nowhere in his mind for those brief seconds, and when he realized that, it felt like both a blessing and a sin.

They both let go at the same time and stepped away from each other. Christian cleared his throat and mumbled, "Th-thank you for listening."

Alyse nodded and made an effort to calm her racing heart. That had been the last thing she'd expected, and possibly the most pleasant thing that had ever happened to her. She searched her mind for something to say and came up with, "It was no trouble, really. I mean, I suppose I know as much about you as anyone…" She trailed off with a little wince.

He saw it and looked at her curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Well…" she said, not meeting his eyes. "I just realized that I know so much about your life, from reading your book, and it's unfair, really, because you know so little about me…I just feel strange, knowing all about your past and I'm a virtual stranger to you," she finished in a rush.

He leaned against the wall once more, this time facing her. His face was calmer now. "So, tell me about your life, then," he said.

She laughed. "Not now! There's no time. We both have to get back soon."

Christian considered this. "True," he agreed. "You could come to my room tonight and tell me your life's story, then."

"Really?" Alyse asked, somewhat surprised that he'd really want to know anything about her.

"Yes, really," he said. "Whenever you feel like it. I'm sure I'll be there." I've got nothing else to do…

"Well, okay, if you're sure…" He nodded and she smiled. "Are you coming back in?"

"Yes, soon," Christian replied. "I just need…" He shrugged and gave a faint smile. "Just another minute to myself."

His face was sad again--he looked like a lost little boy, and she fought the urge to touch him once more. It just wouldn't be smart, she knew. That hug had rattled both of them, though she knew he wouldn't admit it. She gave him another smile and said, "Well, I'll see you inside, then," and went back into the theatre.

Christian felt like banging his head against the wall. What had possessed him to hug her? All he could tell himself was that she'd caught him in a vulnerable moment. He'd needed human contact and she'd been there. That's all he could believe, anyways. He wouldn't let it be anything else.

He closed his eyes again. "Please come now, I think I'm falling, I'm holding onto all I think is safe. It seems I found the road to nowhere, and I'm trying to escape. I yelled back when I heard thunder, but I'm down to one last breath. And with it, let me say…" He sighed, and in the barest of whispers, sang, "Let me say, hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking, maybe six feet ain't so far down…" He pushed away from the wall and made his way to the door.

Alyse scurried away from the doorway when she heard Christian's footsteps approaching. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but as she'd been walking away, she'd heard his quiet singing and couldn't help but listen. She only hoped that he hadn't seen her.

* * *

Later that day, as the daylight faded outside his windows, Christian sat at the little table in his garret with a pencil and paper. He'd moved the typewriter out of the way for now--he preferred to write out poetry and songs before he typed them up. The words he'd sung to himself earlier had worked themselves around in his mind all day until he'd finally given in and written them down. Now he had the better part of a poem, or maybe a song, written out. Which it was, he didn't know, but he was fairly pleased with it.

That was how Alyse saw him when she paused in his doorway. He was hunched over the table, pencil in one hand as he read over whatever was written on the paper in front of him. Tousled black hair hung in his face, and she could imagine herself walking over and brushing it out of his eyes…She shook herself as Christian looked up at her and smiled.

"Come in, come over here," he invited. "I've got something I want you to read."

She walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned and handed her the paper he'd been writing on, then got up and ambled over to one of the windows, lighting a cigarette on the way.

Alyse focused on the paper in her hands. His handwriting was neat, yet crowded, as if he couldn't get the words written down fast enough. The first lines were the words she'd heard him sing earlier, then he'd added more:

I'm looking down now that it's over, reflecting on all of my mistakes / I thought I found the road to somewhere, somewhere in His grace / I cried out heaven save me, but I'm down to one last breath / And with it let me say…let me say / Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking / That maybe six feet ain't so far down / Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking / That maybe six feet ain't so far down…

Alyse couldn't fight back the heat that stole into her cheeks as she finished reading and looked up at Christian. He was watching her, his eyes full of amusement.

"What do you think?"

She felt tongue tied. "It's beautiful, Christian, it really is. So expressive and honest and…and you saw me earlier, didn't you? I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to invade your privacy…"

Christian laughed as he held up a hand to stop her. "Invade my privacy? I wasn't exactly in private, remember," he pointed out. "I don't mind, really. I'd have let you look at it anyways, so it's all the same."

"Really?" she asked, taken aback that he would want her input.

He paused, as if thinking over what he'd said. "Yes, I would have." He shrugged and added, "It's not finished. I can't figure out how to end it…when I do, you can read it again." He stubbed out his cigarette and then announced, "Toulouse brought down some soup earlier, and it's still warm, would you like some?"

"Toulouse cooks?" Alyse said, surprised again.

"Oh, yes, he's a man of many talents," Christian said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. He searched around for bowls and utensils and served up the soup. He brought Alyse a bowl and set his on the table, then asked, "Something to drink?"

She met his mischievous eyes and couldn't contain a giggle. "Yes, but no absinthe for me, thanks," she said. He held up a bottle of wine and she nodded. He poured two glasses and brought them over. They settled in to eat, and he asked her to tell him about herself, her life.

"That's why you came over, not just for soup," he teased.

She took a moment to figure out where to start. "My parents were never very loving. I was mainly raised by my nanny and our maids and whomever they hired to amuse me. They were very social people, you see, and having a child interfered with that, so they made sure that I had good care so that they could continue on with life as it was before me." She stopped, sighed, took a drink. "I think I was an accident, though neither of them would ever admit it. I don't think they'd ever intended to have children, so I know that there was never any question of siblings for me. That would have really hindered their lifestyle. My father is very upper class, with a rich family, and my mother came from good blood as well--" her voice mocked her words "--which I'm sure you realize means she had money, and she was beautiful, and their families thought they would make a lovely couple."

"No love there," Christian guessed.

"None that I ever saw." Alyse sighed again. "Though I rarely saw them. They were always out of the country, or off to social events that children weren't allowed to attend, or something like that. They seemed to think that giving me everything I wanted made up for not having their love and attention…" She paused again to clear her throat. She set her bowl down and held her glass with both hands. "When I told my mother I wanted to learn to dance, she sent me to dance lessons, even though my father insisted it was a waste of time and money. 'It will make her happy,' she told him, which even then I knew meant that it would keep me out of their way. When I said I thought I might like to sing, they sent me to the best music school they could find, where I learned all about singing and music, and I learned the piano. When I came home, they suddenly realized I was worth something. They could brag to their friends. 'Look at our darling daughter. She's so lovely, so talented.'"

Christian heard the bitterness in her voice and reached across the small distance between them to take her hand. She glanced up at him, her eyes questioning the gesture, but he urged, "Go on." He could understand how she felt. He'd felt the same--his father had only been proud of him when he did things that reflected well on him. If Christian had done anything to please himself, it had been looked down upon with scorn. How could he not reach out to her when he could practically feel her pain? He'd asked her to tell him about her past, and it was clearly hurting her. She'd helped him earlier--he supposed it was his turn to offer a little comfort.

And his hand, warm and strong around hers, did help. She continued, "I knew from the time I read your book that I would be leaving my home as soon as I possibly could. It took me years to get the chance, to find the courage…I didn't like my life, but I was scared to be on my own. It was comfortable." She paused again, took another drink, and looked down at their hands. His dwarfed hers. She suddenly felt very small and cared for, and she hadn't felt cared for in too many years, not since her parents had decided she was too old for a nanny and sent away her beloved Elizabeth. "When I told them I was leaving and coming to Paris, they both laughed at me. I didn't mention it again until the day I was to go. I had my bags packed and was heading out the door before they finally realized I'd meant what I'd said. My mother begged me not to go--" The world is such a scary place for a young girl, she'd said, fake tears pooling in her eyes "--and my father went on and on about how preposterous it was for me to be leaving them, and what would I do for money, and where would I live, and what would their friends think when they found out that I'd run off to Paris to live in some village of sin?" She and Christian both laughed at that, and she smiled up at him, knowing he'd had the same type of lecture. "I'm sure they let it drop because they figured I'd be back quickly. My father gave me some money, and--" she waved her free hand "--you met me on my first day here."

"Your life sounds a lot like mine did," Christian said. "See, I knew more about you than you thought."

Alyse gave a little laugh. "I suppose so," she said. Once again she looked at their hands. They were resting on her knee, and she was dreading the moment when he would take his from hers. "I should thank you now, for listening…"

Christian's fingers squeezed hers, and he replied, "You listened to me before, I did the same for you. That's what friends are for, right?"

The word friends seemed to echo between them for a moment. Alyse met Christian's eyes and said softly, "Yes, that's what friends are for." He smiled at her, and her heart tripped in her chest. It occurred to her that she wasn't doing so well in regards to her goal to think of him as just a friend, which was clearly what he wanted. At that moment they both let go of each other's hand She clasped hers together, and he raked his through his hair. Neither said a word for a moment. They both felt the loss of the connection, small as it may have been, deep down inside. And they both refused to think about that fact as they said their goodnights and climbed into their separate, lonely beds.

[Christian's poem/song:

One Last Breath-Creed]

[a/n: Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews, I really appreciate them. They make this worth putting out for everybody ;) For the person who asked about Jerome--yes, I took the name from The Pillow Book, but I don't see the characters in my head as being the same at all--I loved PB Jerome ;) And there's no such thing as being too obsessed with Ewan! Thanks again, everyone!]