To Build Upon Sand
After their first night spent in the Dieudonné household, Christian had been next to banished from spending too much time with Satine—while the doctor noted himself to be perfectly sympathetic of their situation, he had also pointed out to Christian that Satine was highly contagious. Christian had returned with the argument that the doctor himself was allowed in there, and after that had failed, went on to state that if it was contagious, then he was likely already sick himself.
Dr. Dieudonné, however, was not convinced, and so for the next week, while Satine was kept under observation by the man, Christian was forced to find other ways to occupy himself. As promised, he had retrieved his typewriter from the pawn shop when he went to trade in part of Satine's jewelry to help pay the doctor's fees (though that was something that still had not yet been fully discussed), having found the Underwood waiting patiently there for his return. Following that, he had spent a good deal of his time writing—when he was not busy arguing with the doctor to let him see Satine—once again channeling emotion into creative thought.
Christian had become well-liked by all the Dieudonné family, particularly following his 'exile' of sorts into residence upon the couch in the doctor's office, though Sophie in particular was 'quite enamored' of the young writer, as described by her grandmother, and Christian often found himself with the energetic eight-year-old for company. He had always been good with children, and the girl reminded him much of his own younger sister, whom he had practically helped raise in the absence of their mother and constant distraction of their father.
Sophie was a highly talkative little girl, and in the course of the days he spent there, Christian had learned that Sophie and her brother Philippe had been orphaned, both their parents having died within only a year of each other, and that was how they had ended up living with their grandparents. And in all truths, the forged friendship was good for both of them—Sophie found company, as her twelve-year-old brother was always off with his friends, and Christian found a distraction from his worry about Satine.
She also gave him creative input on his writing, and delighted quite a bit when he took to telling her stories.
"So, the princess—" In this retelling of the tale, the courtesan had instead become a princess, which seemed altogether fitting to Christian in any case, "—tells the knight that she does not love him, and that she is instead choosing to marry the king of a foreign land."
"And then what happens?"
"Well, after that, the knight is heartbroken. He doesn't believe that the princess could truly mean such a thing, so he goes to the castle the day the wedding is supposed to take place, and—"
Christian's words were cut off, however, by the entrance of Dr. Dieudonné into the office after a brief knock on the frame of the open door.
"Sophie, go help Grandmère with supper."
Sophie looked prepared to protest, but gave a little nod at seeing the grave expression on her grandfather's face. "Oui, Grandpère," she offered simply, then got up and exited the room.
Dr. Dieudonné closed the door, then turned back to face Christian, who had risen from his position before his typewriter, nervously straightening the cuffs of his shirt. He knew the doctor had just come from seeing Satine, and was unable to hide his trepidation over seeing what the man had to say—he had, after all, promised Christian a diagnosis within a week.
"Monsieur James," the older man began with a faint sigh, "Mademoiselle Satine is a very sick woman. In fact, it is surprising that she had not already succumbed to her illness when you brought her to me."
Christian hesitated, pushing back the nauseating sensation of bile rising in his throat, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I-is she going to be all right?"
"Only time and proper treatment can tell that. Her consumption went untreated—and I can only hope as an explanation, unnoticed—for a long while, and she continued to exert herself with normal activity, which took its toll as well. Progress has recently been made in treatment methods, and she seems to uncannily have regained strength since you brought her here."
"Then—what can we do?"
"Mademoiselle needs a proper atmosphere for recovery, somewhere away from the crowded and dirty city, as well as the correct medicines, and—"
Though realizing, with an increasing feeling of pressure against his heart, that the doctor was more or less trying to tell him, although not unkindly, that he probably didn't have the ability to properly help Satine recover, Christian still shook his head and interrupted the man. "What do you recommend, then?"
"My recommendation to you would be that you take Mademoiselle Satine to Egypt."
"Egypt?" Satine questioned an hour later, after the doctor had finished explaining everything to Christian, and actually allowed him into the room with her.
"Yes. The climate is arid, and it's supposed to help your breathing." Christian paused, hesitating. "The doctor said that it won't be an easy journey . . ."
"We'll make it," she responded with a faint smile, some color seeming to have returned to her face since he'd entered the room to tell her what the doctor had said.
Christian returned the smile with one of his own, then began pacing up and down the floor alongside the bed in an anxious motion. "Dr. Dieudonné has an English colleague there that can take care of you."
Now it was Satine's turn to show hesitation. "But how much is it going to cost?"
"Don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything."
Another week went by, and Dr. Dieudonné informed Christian that Satine was in as good a condition for travel as she was going to be. Travel arrangements were made, and their things were packed in preparation for the journey that lay ahead, though Christian said nothing of where he had gotten the money to do such a thing, simply confidently forging ahead as necessary. Satine had become increasingly nervous about things, however, and such anxiety was visible as she sat on the edge of the bed, twisting the lace-edged handkerchief around in her hand, the material threatening to give if she tested it any further.
Christian looked up at her from where he was making a few final preparations, loading his typewriter—one of the few personal effects he had left to take along, as much of it had been left behind at his garret in Montmartre—into its case. "You look nervous, darling. If you don't feel up to making the trip after all—"
"No, no," she interrupted before he could finish, and offered a reassuring smile. "It's all right. I was just sitting here thinking."
"About what?" Promptly putting down the typewriter, now secured within its case, in order to lend her his attention, Christian straightened to gaze thoughtfully at her.
"Everything. These past two weeks, I've had a lot of time to think."
He gave a gentle smile. "Yes, well, you can blame that on Dr. Dieudonné, since he wouldn't let me in to see you."
Satine laughed softly, but soon shook her head and looked away. "No, really—I've been thinking about a lot of things." Her smile turned wistful and almost melancholy then, sapphire eyes shifting downward to the material of the handkerchief entwined in her fingers.
Christian furrowed his brow, canting his head to the side as he studied her face, trying to read her expression. But as he had on many prior occasions, he found it difficult to tell what she was thinking. "Satine?"
"Christian, are you sure this is what you want?"
He frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but she continued without allowing him to answer.
"I'm a courtesan, I have no money, nothing to offer you . . ." She trailed off, considering this, but added solemnly, "Except my love."
"And that's enough," Christian responded with a vehemence uncommon to the young writer, reserved for discussions such as these that had to do with love.
Satine sighed faintly at this, then began to sing softly.
"Come here, pretty please,
Can you tell me where I am?
You . . . won't you say something,
I need to get my bearings.
I'm lost, and these shadows keep on changing . . .
I'm haunted,
By the lives that I have loved,
And actions I have hated.
I'm haunted,
By the lies that wove the web
Inside my haunted head . . ."
She paused, drawing in a breath. Christian moved over to sit on the side of the bed and take her hands in his, tilting her chin gently back to face him as he sang in return.
"Don't cry, there's always a way.
Here in November in this house of leaves,
We'll pray.
Please, I know it's hard to believe,
To see a perfect forest through so many splintered trees.
You and me, and these shadows keep on changing . . .
I'll always want you,
I'll always need you,
I'll always love you . . ."
Satine smiled slightly, lifting a hand to caress his cheek.
"I'm amazed, the places you're taking me to . . ."
Christian leaned in and kissed her softly, though Dr. Dieudonné had, if not in so many words, prohibited such contact, then pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers. "This is what I want, Satine . . . I've never wanted anything more than this. Come what may."
Author's Note: Songs used are "Haunted" and "Amazed" by Poe. Christian would be most distressed to learn Word notes "come what may" as "verb confusion," by the way. Also, when I posted revisions to chapter three, Fanfiction.Net decided to rearrange chapters one and two—so in case anyone read them during that period and ended up confused as a result, the correct order is Tempt Not a Desperate Man, followed by A Word and a Blow. Sorry about that—and thank you for all reviews!