Alyse had always figured that when she fell in love, it would be a wonderful thing. She'd assumed it would be sunshine and roses, happiness and joy, true love forever.

She was quickly discovering that really falling in love was nothing like she'd ever dreamed.

Oh, she still felt all the swirling emotions, the giddy excitement--but it was tempered with the knowledge that she could never tell Christian of her feelings. She knew that as well as she knew her own name. Nothing had changed his opinions on love, and she doubted anything could. He didn't believe in it anymore, and she was going to have to deal with her emotions on her own.

She decided that the best thing to do was to get over him. But that was hard to do when she saw him every day, especially since he didn't realize that anything had changed. She felt like she was acting every hour of the day once rehearsals were back in swing. Onstage, she was Julia, the young woman in love with a man who couldn't love her back, and in real life…she was a young woman in love with a man who couldn't love her back. Each time she spoke her lines, the irony never failed to twist a knife into her heart.

Alyse sat in her dressing room two weeks before the play was to open. It had been pushed back due to the sickness of much of the cast, but nearly everyone had recovered and rehearsals were back on. Her strength was still not at one hundred percent, however, and so she was taking a much-needed break between scenes. She sat in her chair in front of her mirror and stared at her face. She wondered if she looked any different to anyone else, now that she was in love. She certainly felt different. Her heart had never felt so confused before in her whole life.

"I'm so scared that the way that I feel is written all over my face. When you walk into the room, I wanna find a hiding place. We used to laugh, we used to hug, the way that old friends do, but now a smile and a touch of your hand just makes me come unglued...it's such a contradiction, do I lie or tell the truth? Is it fact or fiction, the way I feel for you? It's so complicated, I'm so frustrated, I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away, I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay…should I say it, should I tell you how I feel? Oh, I want you to know…but then again I don't…it's so complicated…Oh, it's so confusing…I wish you'd just confess…but think of what I'd be losing if your answer wasn't yes…it's so complicated, I hate it, 'cause I've waited so long for someone like you…"

"Singing for your lonely musician?" asked a voice from the doorway, and Alyse spun in her chair to see Jerome posed in the frame, arms crossed over his chest. "Your penniless sitar player? Or is he just a penniless poet these days?"

She stared at him, struggling to keep her composure. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed and moved into the room. "Oh, Alyse, you think you hide it so well, but I can see it."

"Jerome, I really don't think--" she started.

"You mean to tell me that you're not in love with Christian?"

Alyse picked up her brush and began brushing her hair, willing her fingers not to shake. "Jerome, are you really so shocked that I don't return your affections that you would make up ridiculous stories to soothe your wounded pride?"

He laughed. "Oh, I don't think it's a story. You have no idea how your eyes light up when he looks at you."

She couldn't fight off the blush that stole into her cheeks at his words. "You don't know what you're talking about," she muttered.

"Ahh, but I do." Jerome moved in front of her and bent his face close to hers. "He'll break your heart, you know," he said softly, running a finger along her cheek. She fought the impulse to duck away from his hand and met his eyes steadily. "And when he does, you'll come find me." He straightened up and gave her what he must have thought was a meaningful look as he left the room, but all it did was make her skin crawl.

"Don't count on it," she said to herself, looking into her reflection once more. Was she so transparent? If Jerome could see it, who was to say that Christian didn't either? She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer that he didn't know. She would die if he did.

***

Christian didn't know what was wrong with Alyse, but he knew something was bothering her. At first he chalked it up to jitters over the opening of the show, which was fast approaching. But she knew her part, and knew it well. And she never seemed to be nervous on the stage. She only acted strangely around him, and he couldn't put his finger on the reason.

Though it shouldn't have come as a surprise, because he certainly felt on edge around her these days. He'd promised himself he'd think over his feelings about her once she was over her illness and life was back to normal, but every time his mind strayed toward that particular subject, he efficiently closed the door on those thoughts and focused on something else, anything else. Only at night, when he lay in his bed in his quiet garret, did he let himself think about her even the smallest bit. He'd grown used to being with her while she'd been sick. For one whole week, he'd spent each night in her room, listening to her breathe, move in her bed, make noises in her sleep. Now it was impossible to sleep in his own bed, in this terrible, oppressive silence. He missed knowing there was someone else nearby, someone else sharing the same space as him.

And he fought against those feelings of longing with every fiber of his being, because he knew they only led to heartache and pain.

The day that Jerome confronted Alyse about Christian, she had come home and gone straight to her room. It wasn't abnormal for her to do that; she didn't always come to see him right away anymore. He didn't like the change, but had decided that perhaps it was best all around. He didn't want to grow too attached to her, and maybe she felt the same. Nevertheless, he missed her, and so he decided he'd go to her room for once.

He found her sitting at her table, feet crossed under her chair, hands idly picking pins out of her hair as she scribbled away on a piece of paper. He watched her and indulged himself, just for a moment, in noticing the curve of her neck; her smooth, creamy skin that always seemed to hold a hint of a blush in her cheeks; the way her hair fell into her face as it tumbled free of the pins.

Then she glanced up and met his eyes. They both flushed--he, because of the thoughts he'd allowed himself to have, she, apparently because of what she was writing. She dropped her pencil and covered the paper, then must have realized that looked strange, because she then pulled her hands away and folded them on the table. She was still covering the paper, but managed to look less suspicious.

Christian couldn't help asking her about it, though. Perhaps it was to cover his own discomfort, perhaps it was nosiness, but she had him curious now. "What are you writing?"

Alyse cleared her throat. "Um, just some poetry," she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

"Can I read it?" God, he didn't know what was possessing him to pursue this conversation--it was clear she was uncomfortable, but some childish part of him wanted to know what she was hiding from him.

"Well, I…it's…just about love…"

He waved his hand. "Never mind, I'm sorry, it's none of my business." They were both silent for a minute, him staring out her window, her staring at him, and then he suddenly turned his eyes back on her and blurted out, "It's not about Jerome, is it?"

Her eyes widened as she burst out laughing. "Oh, Christian! Don't you think I have more taste than that? Jerome!" Suddenly she couldn't stop giggling, and the sound of it was infectious. His laughter mingled with hers, and for a few short hours, things were right again between them.

Christian should have known it wouldn't last long.

***

Harold Zidler decided to throw a party in the garden of the Rouge a little under two weeks before the play was to open. "Because we've all been working so hard, chickpeas, and we deserve a little playtime!" he announced at the end of rehearsals that day. He instructed everyone to change clothes and be outside as quickly as possible, then went dashing off to supervise the festivities.

Christian gathered up his papers and slipped quietly out of the building. He didn't feel like attending some party in the garden--too much noise, too many people. He thought he would just go home and spend some time alone. Not that he didn't get plenty of that, anyways, but--

"Christian!"

He turned at the sound of Alyse's voice, and stopped when he saw her dashing out of the Rouge after him. She was a little breathless as she came to a stop in front of him. "Where are you going?" she asked, grabbing a hold of his arm.

He ignored the heat from her fingertips and focused instead on answering her question. "Home," he replied.

Her grip tightened on his arm. "You're not coming to the party?" she said, pouting a little.

Christian looked down into her eyes and felt his resolve weaken. "Well, it'll just be loud, and lots of…"

"Fun, Christian! It'll be fun!" Alyse exclaimed, taking his other arm and shaking it. "You need to have fun every now and again, you know! Please? Will you come?"

He stifled a sigh. How was it he could never say no to her? "All right, I'll go," he said. "Just let me go drop off my papers at home."

Alyse gave him a stern look. "You had better come back, or I'll send someone after you," she said, letting go of him to put her hands on her hips.

"You're not coming to change your clothes?"

She smiled mischievously. "No, I have something here to wear," she said vaguely, then pushed at him. "Well, go on then, and hurry back!"

Christian laughed and made his way to their building, up the stairs and into his room. Once inside, he realized she was right: he didn't need to be cooped up in here all night, wallowing in self pity, when he could be enjoying himself just across the street with friends. He dropped his papers on the table and headed down the stairs and back across the street.

He could hear the party before he could see it. Loud music came from the garden--it sounded as though Zidler had brought the orchestra outside for the festivities. Christian stepped into the middle of the throng of people and looked around. Everywhere he turned there was dancing, and drinking, and food, and just for a moment the colours swirled around him, making him dizzy, taking him back seven years in time, to his first visit to the Rouge--back when his world was still innocent and young. Then he heard his name on a shout and he came sharply back to the present, turning in the direction of the voice and seeing Toulouse waving a bottle of absinthe at him. "Christian! Over here!"

Christian made his way through the scads of people and nearly fell into the chair that the Argentinean offered him. He laughed as Toulouse poured drinks for everyone at the table--the doctor was there, and even Jerome had pulled up a chair--and the men toasted anything and everything as the music throbbed around them.

He was on his fourth glass of absinthe in thirty minutes and was feeling quite pleased with the world when the music suddenly stopped. The group of people in the garden let up a collective groan, and Harold Zidler stepped up and waved his arms for quiet. Then, with a grin on his face, he whispered, "The can-can."

The music started again, music that hadn't been played anywhere near or in the Rouge in years, and the crowd of dancers and actors and musicians cheered. Christian stared as a group of women came out onto the makeshift stage in front of the orchestra. They were headed up by Nini--Christian sometimes forgot that she was still there, because they always took pains to avoid each other--and Alyse.

Alyse.

She was dressed up like a proper can-can girl--rather, a proper Moulin Rouge can-can girl. She wore the ruffly skirt with the layers of petticoats, the lace corset, the black hose and--oh, yes, she had on the right undergarments, as well, that was clear when she kicked up her legs. All Christian could do was watch and drink as she ran around the stage with the rest of the girls, flashing their skirts, dancing, shouting. Once again he felt the colours spinning around him, sucking him into the brightness and twisting him inside out, but this time he knew where he was, knew who he was looking at.

And she must have known he was watching, because she winked at him right before she flipped up her skirts as the song ended.

All the men at the table hooted and applauded except for Christian, who grabbed for the bottle of absinthe and splashed another generous helping into his glass. He drank it quickly, hoping the sting on his throat would shake him back into reality. Then he realized that all it did was blur the edges of his mind even more.

The Argentinean slapped him on the back. "Who knew she could do that?" he said.

The men all stared as Alyse talked with Nini and the other girls. Someone brought them all glasses of absinthe, and Alyse tossed hers back with reckless abandon. She laughed at something Nini said, and they both glanced at the men.

"See what I mean? Staring at you since you came out here," Nini repeated, inclining her head towards Christian. Alyse locked eyes with him and felt heat rush through her body. The look in his eyes…she hadn't seen it before, and her nerves leapt with excitement. Nini gave her a knowing smile and grabbed her hand, pulling her over to the table. "And how are you boys tonight, mm?" she asked, settling herself in the Argentinean's lap.

"Alyse, you were marvelous!" Toulouse exclaimed.

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Toulouse," she said, leaning down and kissing his cheek. Everybody hooted again, then Christian asked, "When did you learn to do that?"

"I've been teaching her, of course," Nini replied. "She picked it up real quick, all right."

Alyse was feeling brave--due to the alcohol, she was sure, but it didn't really matter why--and held out her hand to Christian. "Come on, Christian. Come dance with me."

He stared at her hand and then looked at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Tendrils of hair fell into her face, having slipped out of her bun while she was dancing. She wiggled her fingers at him and smiled, and he decided to throw all caution to the wind. He stood up, taking her hand, and spun her out onto the dance floor.

And they stayed there for the next few hours. If he was going to disregard all reason, he decided he wanted to do it right, and he didn't dance with anyone else but Alyse. She didn't dance with anyone else, either, and he knew he probably should be concerned that people would have a lot to say about this in the morning, but he was full of absinthe and just couldn't care too much. Not with her laughing face so close to his, her small body twisting and spinning in his arms, her smell drifting across his senses…

It was when Christian was holding Alyse close, dancing too slowly to an upbeat song, that he finally recognized the feeling that had been twisting his stomach into knots all night: lust. Well, no wonder he hadn't figured it out sooner--he hadn't desired anybody in years. But this…this was more than just simple desire, more than the need for skin on skin…this mingled with all of the feelings he'd been ignoring, the romantic notions he hadn't wanted to deal with. He supposed it made sense that he could think about this now, and feel somewhat unattached from it all--his head was swimming and his senses were on overload, so it was easy to admit that maybe, in some part of his heart that he'd locked away years ago, he was starting to feel again. Feelings…that sometimes, if the situation was right, could lead to love…

He suddenly realized that they weren't moving at all anymore, and the music hadn't slowed any, and his fingers were grazing over her bare shoulders…she was looking up into his eyes, and he knew if he didn't let go of her right now, didn't stop drowning in her blue gaze, he was going to do something insane, like kiss her in front of all of these people…

Christian cleared his throat and let her go. "I, uh…it's getting late, I think I should be going…"

Alyse blinked. What had just happened? She couldn't take the time to think about it, because he was backing away, and she didn't want to stay if he was leaving. She decided to play the only card she had left. "Christian, could you wait just a minute while I get my things? I don't want to walk home alone, I think…I've had too much to drink…"

He turned and looked at her, and she put on her best pitiful face. It was horrible of her, really, but she was a little unsteady on her feet, and she didn't want to walk home alone.

"All right," he said, and she dashed off as well as she could on watery knees to get her clothes and bag.

As she came back out of the Rouge and into the garden with her belongings, Jerome grabbed her arm. "You know he's only after one thing," he told her.

She yanked her arm away. "And you're not?" she hissed.

"At least I'm honest about it," he replied.

Alyse shook her head. "Leave me alone, Jerome. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She walked off before he could reply.

Christian must have seen the irritation on her face, because as she approached, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, let's just go," she said, slipping her hand into his arm. They left the garden and moved through the grounds of the Rouge, distancing themselves from the music. The night was quiet, and they made their way across the street and into their building.

By the time they reached the stairway, Alyse was giggling again. Her feet didn't want to cooperate and she was clinging to Christian's arm as they made their way up the steps.

It was quite innocent how it happened--her foot slipped as she lifted it--but all of a sudden she lost her balance, and fell down onto the steps, Christian falling with her as she still had a hold of his arm. They didn't hurt themselves in the tumble, but it was how they landed that was the trouble--she was sprawled on her back on the steps, and he was on top of her. The situation didn't strike her as anything but funny, and her head fell back as she laughed helplessly.

Christian glanced up at her and realized that this time, he couldn't fight temptation. He brought his lips to her neck, tracing a damp path across the soft, smooth skin, breathing in her scent--flowers and soft heat and…just her. He kissed the line of her jaw, soft little nips that drew a whimper from her. His mouth hovered over hers, just a breath away, and he captured her lips with his before reason could take hold of his alcohol soaked brain again.

For a split second she thought that maybe she was having an absinthe induced hallucination, but then little things told her that wasn't the case--the pressure of his body on hers, the trembling of his hand as it slipped into her hair, the sweet taste of his mouth. She didn't want to breathe, lest she disturb the absolute perfection of the moment.

But she must have, because suddenly he was pulling away, standing up, running his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling her up and taking his hand away quickly once she was standing.

"Sorry?" Alyse repeated, trying to understand.

"We're both--we've had a lot to drink tonight, and that was…that was a mistake, and I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…to take advantage…"

"Mistake?" she said. It seemed all she could do was echo him.

Christian met her eyes. "Yes. A mistake. And I'm sorry for it." He pushed past her and started up the stairs again.

She opened her mouth before she thought better of it. "Do you know what I think, Christian?"

He didn't stop walking, so she followed him up the steps. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

Oh, she would tell him, all right. "I think you're afraid."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes dark with irritation. "Excuse me?"

She should have heard the warning and stopped, but there was still too much alcohol in her system for that. "I think you're afraid of what you feel for me, to let me get too close to you because of what you could feel for me."

He shook his head against her words, wondering how on earth she could know what he'd been thinking earlier. "You don't know anything," he said.

"I know you think that love doesn't exist anymore, but I think you're just afraid of it," she said, still dogging his steps.

He'd reached the landing on their floor and turned to look at her. "What's love got to do with it?" he demanded, trying to push away his nerves. "What's love but a second hand emotion?"

Alyse shook her head. "Someone told me love would all save us," she said.

"But how can that be?" Christian replied, throwing up his arms. "Look what love gave us--a world full of killing, and blood spilling, that world never came."

"Christian…" Oh, well, she'd come this far, she might as well take it all the way and see what he would do. "Love is like oxygen."

He stared at her as his breath hitched in his chest. What in the hell was she doing?

"Love is a many splendored thing," she continued, keeping her eyes on his. "Love lifts us up where we belong." She paused, then finished. "All you need is love."

He was crossing the space between them as she spoke the last words, and his words came right on the tail end of hers. "Love is just a game!" His voice rose and shook on the last word, and he hated himself for it. Swearing under his breath, he pulled her against him and kissed her. He fought his emotions, fought her sweetness, and concentrated on keeping the kiss hard and cold.

Alyse pulled away, stunned, and he tipped up her chin, making her look into his eyes. "See?" he said in a cool voice. "Just a game."

He turned and started for his room, and had his fingers on the doorknob when she found her voice. "She wouldn't want you to live like this."

Christian's hand paused, and he turned slowly to look at her. "What?" he said, that deadly calm still in his voice.

Alyse cleared her throat. "She wouldn't--Satine wouldn't want you to live like this. You're letting fear run your life."

"Fear? Fear of what?" He asked, even as the emotion in question sprang up inside of him. She was too close to the truth for his comfort.

She sighed. "Fear of love, Christian. Of emotion. And that's not fair, to you or to her. How are you honouring her memory if you won't go on with your life? She would want you to find love again, to be happy. Why won't you?" She knew it was unfair, even selfish to ask him; she shouldn't have asked him. But she couldn't help herself. She was sick of hiding her feelings, and she suddenly just didn't care if he knew.

He stared at her for a moment, and she could practically see the fight drain out of him. He reached out for the wall behind him and then sagged against it. He slid to the floor and pillowed his face in his arms for a moment. She watched him, stunned into silence once again, as his body shook with memories.

Finally, Christian looked up, and the bleakness in his eyes broke her heart for the thousandth time. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and started again, his voice soft and edged with pain. "Have you ever held someone in your arms as they died? Someone you loved with all your heart…someone you would give your life to save? You can't…I felt her last breath, Alyse, I felt it shudder out of her body, I saw her eyes…she died in my arms, and you ask me why I can't…" He shook his head. "I can't love. It's not won't, it's can't. I can't…I never want to feel that way again. And love is too much of a risk…

Alyse sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly as he wept. She was suddenly very sober and very sorry that she'd started this whole conversation. His head rested on her shoulder, and she pulled back to tell him that she was sorry for hurting him, and he pressed his cheek to hers instead. She felt his salty tears on her face and couldn't stop herself from kissing his cheek, trying to wipe away the evidence of his pain. Maybe she moved, or perhaps it was him, but their lips met again, clinging, desperate, so bittersweet that she had to stifle her own sob. She knew what it meant, knew what he was saying even without the words, and she shook her head as he drew back. He rested his forehead against hers and spoke anyways. "I can't, Alyse, I just…I just can't. It hurts too much…"

She nodded, biting her lip against the acid tears that wanted to fall. She couldn't say anything, she just kept nodding.

"God…" he whispered, and his hands still betrayed what he was telling her by touching her face, running up and down her arms.

"Don't…please don't," Alyse finally managed to say around the lump in her throat. She shook her head and his hands fell away. "Please don't make it harder than it is…"

He was the one to nod this time, but then he spoke again. "If only we'd met some other time…"

"Christian, please," she said, her voice choked. "Don't do that, don't 'what if' this away. We could what if forever--what if you'd never come to Paris, what if Satine had never died, what if I were older, or you younger…" She broke off, realizing she was doing what she'd asked him not to do. "Nothing can change things, no matter what either of us says. You can't love, and I…I feel too much." She backed away from him, paying no attention to the painful scraping of the wooden floor against her legs, and stood up on shaky legs. He stood too, and their eyes met. Hers were brimming with tears, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe them away, but knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't say one thing and then do another. It wasn't fair to either of them.

"I'm…I'm sorry that I started this, I'm sorry…that I said anything…" She held her hand to her lips, and he did reach out this time, touching her arm, and she shook his hand off, just as he expected. "No, I…I have to…good night, Christian…"

She turned and focused all of her attention on making her feet work, on getting to her door, and then opening it. She didn't look back at him, but felt his eyes on her, and her fingers shook as she fit the key into the lock and then opened the door. The minute it closed, she collapsed against it, hands against her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that wanted to rip out of her chest. She didn't want him to hear her, and she knew he would if he hadn't gone into his room yet. The tears coursed down her cheeks, unstoppable, burning a hot path that told her at least she was still alive, even though she felt dead inside.

After a few minutes, the sobs lessened and instead, words poured from her lips. "Gee, but it's hard, when one lowers one's guard to the vultures…now me, I regard it a torturous hardship that smolders…like a peppermint eaten away, will I fight, will I swagger, or sway? Tee hee milady, she cries like a baby, scold us…see her tumbling down," she sang bitterly, tears trembling on her lashes, "see her tumbling down…"

"…wasted and sunk, he can only have Sunday communion," Christian sang as he leaned out of his window, staring out at Paris through blurry eyes. "He's got nicotine stains in his eyes, he's got nothing to protect but his pride…oh, smothered a kiss or be drowned in blissful confusion…see her tumbling down, see her tumbling down…"

--------------------

[songs used:
Complicated-Carolyn Dawn Johnson
What's Love Got to do With it-Tina Turner
Hero-Chad Kroeger feat. Josey Scott
Elephant Love Medley-Moulin Rouge soundtrack *don't feel like listing each song!*
Tumbling Down-The Venus in Furs feat. Jonathan Rhys Meyers *no idea who did the original, if anyone knows, tell me!*]