Chapter V: In the Rain

Christian was absorbed in carefully combing his hair. He watched his reflection anxiously for anything amiss, and then hurried back to his papers, checking them for the twentieth time. A flash of red caught his eye, and Christian whirled around to see a scarlet scarf fluttering in the breeze. Sitting down on his bed, he sighed and sang a little to himself.

How wonderful life is
Now you're in the world.

I can't stop thinking about her, he said ruefully to the air. And I can't imagine that she's thinking about me.

Was this love? This strange, dizzying feeling that left him breathless. He'd always dreamed about falling in love, but he'd never found anyone to love before. The other women he had met had all seemed . . . superficial, wrapped in conventions. But Satine. . . there was something about her that enchanted him.

The clock chimed and Christian glanced up with a sigh. Maybe he'd go for a walk before work. . . the sky seemed to be a pleasant pearly gray. Just right for him to think.

Satine found a thick chiffon veil and wrapped it about her hat. She wanted to be alone for a little while, and Warner was occupied with his breakfast. Satine allowed herself a momentary grin. Warner was forbidden from even entering the same house as Lady Adelaide, mostly because the last time he had been there, he had slipped in her dressing room. Satine privately thought he had been in the search of money, but Lady Adelaide had taken a different point of view, considering that he had seen her in a state of full undress. Satine was actually rather fond of the Duke's whimsical aunt. She had her oddities, but the woman was warm-hearted and outspoken. She reminded Satine a little of Harold Zidler.

Satine slipped out through a side door and gave a soft breath of relief. Free. Now, if she remembered correctly, there was a lovely little park just a few streets away. . .

Christian settled himself on a bench underneath some friendly conifers. He frowned and bent over his notebook. He had discovered this place shortly after arriving in London and had claimed it as his writing spot. It was tucked behind some upper-class townhouses, so it was rarely graced by the presence of another human being. A brook cut through a corner of the park and ran down to someone's garden. Christian took a deep breath.

The smell of rain, he wrote carefully. He stopped and bit the end of his pencil. The smell of rain is in the air. . . it's a little bit fun-- oh, blast. Why couldn't he get her out of his head?

Satine arrived at the park with a satisfied smile on her face and some hot buns and cream for breakfast. She took a cursory glance around the place to make sure she was alone, and then took a big bite of the bun. The sugared glaze melted in her mouth and left a delicate sheen of ivory around her mouth.

she sighed, heading for her favorite spot beneath the pine trees.

The sky is full of-- no, that's not right either. I dream of-- there might be some shaking--

Satine stopped in shock as she saw the young writer sitting on her favorite bench. His jaw did the proverbial drop as Satine turned an unbecoming shade of red. Oh, this was wonderful. She was standing there, with her hat tucked under her arm, her face half-covered in sugar. . . and in the middle of all her embarrassment, she noticed he was still as handsome as ever.

Mademoiselle Satine! Christian quickly shut his notebook and hid it underneath his hat. Pardon moi, je--

No, no need to apologize-- Satine stopped as her brain caught up with her. He had spoken to her in French. She stared at him, her face softening as she did so. You speak French?

The smile Satine gave him was genuine. Hearing her native language was always a delight, especially when it was coming from someone whose voice wasn't nasal.

Oh, lovely. she glanced about them. Is this a favorite spot of yours?

Yes. Oh, I'm sorry. He quickly stood. Won't you please sit down? Satine remembered that she still had sugar on her face. She rubbed it off quickly and hopefully unobtrusively as she sat. Christian gestured towards her face.

You still have a little by your mouth. Was he laughing at her? His blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth. Satine tried to find it, vigorously wiping her face off.

Did I catch it?

he hesitated. Did he dare? Let me. Satine held her breath as he gently touched the corner of her mouth and took the sugar off. She felt a shock run through her as his fingertips brushed her face.

she breathed, trying to get her heart to calm down. So . . . so what brings you here this morning? Christian glanced down at his hat with an apologetic smile.

Writing, actually. Or trying to, he finished with a brief scowl. Satine opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a chilly drop of rain on her nose.

Oh, no, she said, both dismayed and relived at the same time. It's starting to rain.

There's a shed! Christian took her hand and pulled her up. Over here. You'll never make it home in time, he added, trying to maintain the friendly facade in spite of himself. Satine let him pull her towards the ramshackle shed. Home. . .

The rain broke out in full force just as Christian pulled the door shut. Satine laid her hat down with a sigh and peered out through the cracks at the steady drops of rain.

Looks like we'll be here for a while.

Yes, it does, Christian said cautiously, pulling up a block for her to sit down on. His hand rested briefly on hers and she bit her lower lip in an effort to not say anything.

So tell me, Satine said desperately. Where did you get the inspiration for the play? Have you ever been to Paris? Christian shook his head.

No. . . but I almost went once. I was going to travel to Montmartre, but my family. . . my family needed me here. My father was afraid I'd end up at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer, he finished with a laugh that was tempered with a sigh.

Maybe you would have, Satine said lightly. Strange, how close he would have come to her. . .

Maybe. But I suppose the play's just my fantasy of what would have happened if I had traveled to Paris. And your character. . . Camille. . . I suppose she's the kind of woman I always dreamed I would fall in love with.

A French singer? Satine raised an eyebrow.

He glanced out a large crack in the wall to where the rain was steadily falling. In the rain. . . excuse me for a minute, won't you? Satine looked at him, puzzled.

Of course, she said gracefully as he pulled out a small notebook and scribbled a few sentences down. What are you writing?

Just an idea for a poem. Satine tilted her head.

May I see? He straightened and stared at her, his eyes softening as he did so.

Of. . . of course. He handed her the book. It's just an idea.

In the rain, the pavement shines like silver. All the lights are misty in the river. . . in the darkness, the trees are full of starlight. . . Satine read quietly.

Do you really like it?

Yes. . . let me know when you finish it. I want to read the rest.

Satine, I--

Yes? She took another step closer to him. Her name sounded so wonderful coming from his lips.

I just wanted to--

The world seemed to be spinning by in a torrent of raindrops and light and music. He lifted her face a little, almost about to kiss her. . .

Satine drew back from him abruptly with a shaky breath. What was she doing? The Duke-- just because he wasn't here didn't mean that she could dally with anyone. She quickly picked up her hat and gestured out at the park.

The rain's stopped. Christian's face fell at her words.



I'll see you at rehearsal, then.

Yes. . . yes, I'll see you. He opened the door for her. Until then, Miss Satine.

Satine whispered as she glanced back. He was still standing there in the doorway, his face thoughtful. Until then.

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Author's Note: Don't own them. Wish I did.

Songs used:
Your Song
Christian's poem is taken from On My Own from Les Miserables