Disclaimer: The names of the characters, the setting, the entire Moulin Rouge story belongs to a brilliant genius named Baz Luhrmann, (and a bunch of other people, companies, etc. I'm sure…).

Before I even start, I want to disclaim that the song Christian sings is not mine.  It's sung by Michael Bublé on the Down With Love soundtrack, called Kissing a Fool.

Author's Note:  I think I've got to dedicate this chapter to Norah.  :o)  I kept asking about minor characters' lines, and she was so very helpful.  I'm sorry about all the Toulouse lingo you have to decipher – I dislike writing him for that reason.  I've tried not to make it dreadfully confusing or inaccurate…let's see if I succeeded.  I know full well it's melodramatic, so I shan't even go there.  This is, by the way, the second to last chapter.  Enjoy.  Oh, and you know I love constructive criticism.  ;)

Chapter 9

"You want giveaways, you've come to the wrong place, pumpkin."

Satine's original tactic had failed miserably – she should have known Harold wouldn't fall for the pleading damsel-in-distress act.  Begging was definitely not her style, nor her forte – she was sure she hadn't performed very convincingly, as she had slipped in a, 'Fine, I don't need it anyway!  Have it your way, I'll just leave!' whenever her independent image was at stake.  On the other hand, she wasn't one to give up, either.  She had to admit that the 'God, you're not dead yet?' wasn't exactly a warm – or encouraging – welcome, but the sentiment seemed to be unanimous throughout the bordello, which itself was struggling financially, at best.  Infuriated, and…yes, hurt, Satine had returned a fraction of an hour later to try her attack from a different angle.

"You've never done anything for me.  You owe me," she said, accusation stinging in her voice.

Harold glared at her, and Satine fought the urge to take a step back.  "We gave you everything, and what do you do,"—he was fairly barking now—"you run off—"

"I got you everything," she sneered back.  "The publicity, the financer…the bloody talent, for Christ's sake!  Without me, you'd have had nothing."

He stared at her.  Satine was contorted with fury; her face might have glowed as red as her hair, did her head seem ablaze by her crown of it.  Her eyes flashed dangerously, awaiting his answer.  He didn't deny what she had said.  "But you got what you wanted," he said coldly.

"You said I'd be a star."  The 'you' she spoke of was originally intended to be plural, before she remembered what Dominatrix had called to her upon her arrival.  ("He's dead, y'know."  "Who?"  "Yer Duke.  How's it you ain't?")

"You were the star!" Harold insisted.

"Of a show that failed," she spat in return.

"It failed because of your damned writer!!"

"My writer?" Satine cried incredulously.  Then she said dryly, as if remembering something highly insignificant from years before, "Oh yes, that's right, you mean the one I just left."

"A little late now," Harold growled, and, growing weary of the argument, began stacking coins on his desk distractedly.

Suddenly, Satine felt ill.  She moaned, concealing a gasp as the breath caught in her throat.  But she wasn't going to let him off so easily.  Recovering quickly, she swept the coins from their pile with a swipe – he looked up bewilderedly.  "I had no control over him!" she screamed, now that his full attention was fixed on her again.

Harold wondered fleetingly if she was enjoying this.  He stared as the last coins rolled along the wooden floorboards and then clinked dully as they fell.  Then he stood slowly, his voice rising.  "If anyone had control over him, it was you."

"Then I guess nobody did."

"Guess again, poppet.  Anyone could tell from the start that boy was infatuated with you."

"Well, that didn't stop him, did it?" Satine snapped.

"You didn't stop him, did you?" Harold shot back, meeting her fierce glare.

"I had no idea!"

"Neither did he."

Satine was taken aback.  "What?"

"You think he had any sort of idea what would happen when he sold that play?  He's naïve, gosling."

Satine turned, silent, her breath coming in threateningly short gasps.  Finally, she hissed over her shoulder, "I don't see how this is my fault."

"Nor is it mine," Harold finished darkly.  "You want money, I've got you a job.  Be ready in the Elephant at eight."

Satine's heart nearly stopped.  "The…."

He exited the room, only commenting, "I don't doubt Nini would accept a night off."

As if on cue, Nini slid in the doorway as soon as Harold was out of sight, sporting a brazen smirk.  "Brave customer, eh?  Pay yeh to fuck 'em, even if it kills 'em, too."

~*~

Christian awoke late in the morning to sunlight dancing across his face in a soft pattern, as it filtered through the lace that hung from the window.  Its glow provided a warmth otherwise lacking in the room, and Christian knew before opening his eyes that he was alone.

It didn't take him long to realize what had happened.  (After all, one can hardly ignore the dull emptiness of a missing heart.)  And while Christian didn't understand it, he was morosely unsurprised by Satine's absence.

Silly to think he'd ever truly known her.

"You are far…when I could've been your star.  You listen to people who scared you to death, and from my heart…strange that you were strong enough to even make a start."

Perhaps it was Christian's pessimistic side – the one he had probably inherited from his father, but that he refused to admit existed – that had been sure of failure all along.  And yet…there was sometimes a spark of honesty in Satine's eyes, he was sure of it.  Only part of her had wanted this all along.

"You'll never find the peace of mind 'til you listen to your heart."

But after all, what sort of relationship began in the belly of an elephant?  And one of Satine's predictions had been accurate, at least; she had had enough of his silly love songs.  In truth, his singing wasn't much brightening Christian's mood at the moment, either.

"People will always make a lover feel a fool."

Christian slid to the floor and stepped, barefoot, to the window.  "But you knew…I loved you."

It all seemed like such a horrible waste.  A show that no longer mattered, an escape from the place to which she was returning.  (As to where, there was no doubt in his mind.)  "We should have shown them all…we should have seen love through."

~*~

Nini circled around Satine indecisively, half desiring to simply leave her there on the floor, before she gave a frustrated snort and grabbed the other woman's pale wrists.

"I'm too good to yeh, ya know that?" she said irritably to a limp, dragging Satine.

"Nah," she reconsidered with a grunt, "You don't know nothin'."

~*~

Christian, still at his window, stared off in the direction of the Moulin, and felt as though he could practically see it through the distance.  Somewhere over there was the woman he'd serenaded the evening before.  His mind replayed those events, losing the bitter tone to be replaced by a sad sort of remorse.

"Fooled me with the tears in your eyes.... Covered me with kisses, and lies…."

That was it, he decided.  He'd tried.  He had done his best, and failed miserably.  A déja vu-like feeling had settled into his stomach, and he thought back to the poem Satine had found lying about weeks before.

"So 'bye...but please don't take my heart…."

~*~

Satine awoke sprawled awkwardly across a plush red bed, staring up at an all too familiar ceiling.  For a moment, she even wondered if perhaps Christian had been merely a figment of her subconscious imagination; wondered what customer she'd just served, and why it was so light out; wondered when rehearsal would begin and if the Argentinean was fit to fill his role of the Swiss poet/goatherd this morning.

These musings burst like a bubble when she rolled to see, not an empty red room, or even a slumbering man, but Nini, preparing to leave.

Hearing Satine's movement, she turned with a smug smile.  "Eh, yer awake.  Tha's good."

Thoroughly confused, Satine sat up slowly, her hand pressed to her throbbing head.  "W-…what do you want?"

"Y'know, their jokes are gettin' lame now.  E'ryone knows yer supposed to be dead an' gone by now, but I must'a had five people snortin' that you'd finally done yerself in when I dragged yeh up here, lookin' all pale.  Not that wakin' up's done yeh much good in that respect…yeh might try rouge'n them cheeks some.  Look healthier, you would…."

But Satine didn't seem particularly worried about her coloring at the moment.  "All these years, you've never given a…a shit about me…well, save for your jealousy," (The latter was an offhanded side note, but it caused Nini to scowl) "and now you mean to say you brought me all the way up here and are worrying about my…my cheeks?  What do you want?"

Nini shrugged, and headed once more for the door.  "Can't real well take my customer unconscious, can yeh?"

~*~

"You are far…I'm never gonna be your star.  I'll pick up the pieces, and mend my heart.  Strange that I was wrong enough to think you'd love me too.... You must have been kissin' a fool."

That was when realization struck.  Christian would never forget Satine.  And, 'I was made for loving you' didn't leave room for short-term relationships.

"But remember this, every other kiss that you'll ever give, long as we both live: when you need the hand of another man; when you really can't surrender, well…I will wait for you, like I always do!  There's something there that can't compare…with any other…."

Christian pulled on his clothes and bounded out the door.

~*~

Satine went, purely out of habit, to her old dressing room in search of a proper mirror, avoiding as well as possible all the nauseatingly familiar faces that seemed to take delight in staring at her as if she were the living dead.  The way her head was spinning, she barely noticed them, nor the ramshackle state of the dance floor-turned-theatre-returned-dance floor…nor the nameplate foreign to the door she entered, nor strangely-toned makeup that had replaced her own.  Everything cleared the moment she looked into the mirror, unfortunately.  Certain her hollowed eyes were deceiving her, Satine blinked at her own reflection.  She wasn't sure Nini had the right idea – two bright spots of color stood out oddly on her cheekbones, which seemed more prominent than usual.  On the other hand, other than the dark bluish shadow under her eyes, her skin was indeed a ghastly white.

Satine shakily pinned up her hair, but immediately let it fall again, only further displeased with her frail, porcelain image.

Her own expertise with a powder brush had the life back in her face in minutes, though it gave her a slightly unnatural coloring, not being her own.

Satine's thoughts, as can be assumed, were entirely elsewhere.  She hadn't even considered the possibility of returning to her previous occupation – it hadn't even posed as an option in her mind.  Who on earth would take the risk?  Besides that point, even she cringed at her own reflection.

All she had wanted was money for medicine.  She had held out this long…with treatment, she figured, maybe it wouldn't be impossible for her to live her dream, become the star she'd fantasized about for so long.  Perhaps she would recover, and travel the world, touring as Satine, second only to the great Sarah Bernhardt.

Not, she thought bitterly, a show or two in Paris in between minding children.

But…a customer?  Tonight?  Why, the idea was abs—

"Satine!"

A dark, bearded head popped inside the door, not far above the knob.  "Satine, it is you!  You'we back!  I bawely bewieved 'em when they told me you wewe hewe – thought they must have been puwwing my weg – but…. Oh, look at the time!  It's aftewnoon alwedy, I'm supposed to ask whewe you awe.  Wehewsal stawted half an houw ago!"

Satine giggled at him.

"Weww, what awe you waiting fow?  Come on, then!"

~*~

Christian glanced hastily at his pocket watch, after stepping from the carriage onto the pavement.  It was only nine.  He would still have time.

And he began to climb the stone steps.

~*~

Satine had always prided herself in being a fast learner.

It helped that she was refused the spotlight and made to dance a rendition of the can-can as Nini sang and danced with a flare and burning fire Satine wondered if she'd ever possessed.

Jealously was not foreign any longer.

Nini watched Satine from her perch on the trapeze with an inexpressible sense of triumph.  Oh, how glorious was the turning of tables!  And the heated glare she was receiving only made the moment more beautiful.

Satine got through their performance that evening, entirely to her own – and everyone else's – surprise.  Though, her dizziness had returned and had yet to subside, along with the ache in her back and hips.

"You're in the elephant tonight, pumpkin!" Harold had called her as a reminder in the midst of the whirling chaos.

"With whom?" she'd asked.

"Man named Jean Dupont."

Satine paced in the red room.  She didn't even want to think any more.  Jean Dupont…she pictured the man, shaking hands merrily with Christian.  The idea made her sick.  It seemed far preferable to simply get the night over and done with, then take the earnings and escape the Underworld as quickly as possible.  Better yet, maybe she could attempt a flight off the elephant before he arrived.  Or maybe, she thought desperately, Christian would come save her.  To see his face would be reassuring, she had to admit, even after only a matter of hours' separation.  Yes, that seemed like something he'd do.

Then she laughed.  And leave his precious play?

~*~

"You are far…you're always gonna be my star…."

Christian sighed.

~*~

…Besides, he was too late now, anyway; she'd heard a sound, and then a tap on the door.

Pulling what was left of her act together, Satine opened the gold-plated door, and met the eyes of her customer.