We're back. Is that good or bad? We don't know. But it's time for the one, the only, drumroll please... CHAPTER 5!! Yay!! Read and review. 'Nuff said.

Chapter 5

As Satine lead Christian back towards the place she called home, Christian could not help but notice just how many people acknowledged Satine as they walked past.

"Bonjour, Satine!"

"Oh, bonjour, monsieur," she would always reply, smiling brightly, her eyes alight with pleasure and even a little embarrassment. Christian would just stand behind her, eyes averted to the ground, following her like a puppy dog.

"Satine! You were wonderful last week," another exclaimed.

"Oh, merci, I'm glad you liked it," she said, her lips curved into a small smile.

"Um, Satine," Christian finally said, looking at her.

"Mmm?"

"Well, there are- there are so many people, who- who know you . . ."

"Oh," she laughed, "It's a small world, I guess." She continued walking, as if trying to shrug off the topic.

"But, Satine-" he spoke again, this time touching her shoulder to stop her. The sensation of skin against skin was electric.

She turned around, recovering from the shock of his warm touch. He hastily pulled his hand back to his side. "They keep on congratulating you for something or another."

"Oh . . . well, I like to- to act. Actually, I love to act. And sing."

"So you're famous."

"Oh, heavens no, Christian . . ." she laughed. She felt her face begin to get warm. "I just- do it a lot. Around town. Different theaters and plays around Montmartre, you know? I guess you could say people know me for it, but it's really not fame."

"You must be wonderful," he said, smiling adorably at her.

"Oh," she said quietly, looking down at the ground, a beautiful shade of pink creeping up her cheeks. "Oh, not really . . . I- I don't even know why all these people recognize me out of those beautiful costumes and in these . . . these . . ."She trailed off, gesturing at her slightly dirtied dress.

"You're beautiful, that's why," he said softly. She blushed. Staring at one another, they were both at a loss for words. They were leaning closer . . . closer . . .

"We should go," they said simultaneously. Hastily composing themselves, faces red, they continued their journey in silence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Well, here we are," Satine said, gesturing with a hand at the fading white building, emblazoned with a large sign that read "L'Amour"- love. "Home sweet home. Here, follow me," she said, beckoning to him.

After getting his key from the landlady and paying her, he followed Satine silently up the staircase to his new home. She stopped suddenly at a door, and turned to him expectantly. He jiggled his key in the lock, and pushed back the door to reveal a dusty garret where he dropped his belongings.

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how helpful this was," Christian said, smiling a little at her.

"Oh, no problem." Satine shifted uncomfortably. "Um . . .would you like to come upstairs to where I'm staying? I could introduce you to Toulouse, my best friend."

"Oh, yes, of course," he said, and followed her out of the room and farther up the rickety stairs. Opening the door to yet another garret, they stepped inside to be greeted by not one, but several people. The room was small, and what space there was had been littered with canvases, paints, and all kinds of things leading to the idea that an artist dwelled there. Green bottles also cluttered the floor, the glass swept to the corners where they were untidily stacked. Four men sat on various broken chairs and sofas, talking and bantering about nothing at all. It was truly a bohemian abode.

"Oh, hello, Satine, back alweady?" asked one of them. "And . . . a fwiend?"

"Oh, yes, everyone, this is Christian. Christian, well . . . meet the bohos." Everyone laughed.

"Yes, Chwistian, welcome to Montmartre. My name is Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse Lautrec Montfa." Christian looked slightly overwhelmed. The man laughed.

"Call me Toulouse. This is Satie," he said, gesturing toward a bald man with glasses.

"Hello."

"And the Doctor."

"Hi," said a man with long, graying hair.

"And the Argentinean."

"Welcome," said a man with dark hair and a gruff, deep voice.

"Oh," Satine whispered, almost inaudibly to Christian, "he's narcoleptic, so . . .don't be surprised if he - you know, faints on random occasions." Christian smiled, and laughed softly.

"Okay," he whispered back.

"So, Chwistian, what bwings you to Pawis?" Toulouse asked.

"Well, I'm from London, and, um . . .I've always dreamed of being a part of the Bohemian Revolution." They all smiled at him.

"Spectacluaw!," Toulouse exclaimed, grinning widely, "Anything special you do?"

"Oh, well, uh," Christian said, fiddling with his shirtsleeve nervously, "I came to write-stories, songs, poetry-"

"What do write about?" Satine interrupted.

"Oh, lots," Christian exclaimed, his gray eyes shining, "Truth, beauty, freedom-"

"Love?" Satine asked eagerly, her deep blue eyes sparkling with alacrity and curiosity, "Do you write about love?"

"Oh yes," Christian breathed, "Love? Love . . .above all things I believe in love. love is like oxygen. Love is a many splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!"

They stared at him in wonder, exchanging furtive glances. 'Was it something I said?' he thought. He blushed, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Sorry," Satine said quietly. "That was beautiful. Christian, you would like writing as a career, correct?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. What was going on?

Satine sat down, motioning for him to join her. "Might as well explain it. You see Christian, I'm an actress, right?"

"Yes . . ." said Christian. Toulouse laughed.

"I'm suwe Satine said she wasn't that good."

"Toulouse!" exclaimed Satine, glancing at him with an embarrassed look on her face.

"She's amazing. Satine is the best actwess awound, and she'll nevew admit it. Too modest." Satine glared at him.

"I thought so," said Christian, grinning at her.

"Well," continued Satine, pretending as if nothing had been said, "I'm always out and about, while my real friends are here," she said, waving her hand about the room.

"We've always wanted to take part in a show, together," said Satie.

"An original one- not an audition for something someone else wrote. Something of our own that we didn't pay to get," said the Argentinean.

"I've always dreamed of becoming a famous actress. Not just Montmartre, but in Paris," Satine said dreamily, twisting a fiery lock of hair around her finger.

"We don't have enough money for our own theater, costumes, props, instruments, and whatever else we need for a good show," she continued, "so we gathered what little money we have, and put out an advertisement for a financier."

"We got a reply," said the Doctor eagerly, "just last week, from a very wealthy duke. Apparently he had recognized Satine from one of her shows around here."

"It was fantastic news to all of us," said Toulouse. "He actually only sent the lettew saying that he would do it about a week ago, and we want to stawt as soon as possible! But the only pwoblem is-"

"We need a show, and a writer," interrupted Satine.

"Will you do it?!?" they all asked at the same time, looking at him anxiously.

Christian was thrilled. So much was happening in so little time! Just a few hours ago, he was Christian from London, a good-for-nothing poet with a "ridiculous obsession with love." Now, he was being asked to write the script for a play, in Paris of all places! Of course he would take the job!

"Oh- oh, yes, I would love to!" Christian said, overjoyed.

"Wonderful!" the Argentinean exclaimed.

"This is gweat news-oh, thewe's so much to be done, we shall have a celebwation tonight!" Toulouse cried excitedly, getting up from his seat.

As Satie, Toulouse, the Argentinean, and the Doctor were making their way to the door, Toulouse said quietly to Christian, "Chwistian, Satine's a wondewful actwess and judge. Show hew what you got- we'll take cawe of the ewwands."

He nodded, and they left. Christian and Satine were alone in the garret.

Satine moved over to the couch where Christian sat, and paused to see if he would object. When he patted the space beside him, she sat down eagerly.

"You have no idea how much this means to me, Christian, thank you so much," she said, throwing her arms around him in a hug.

They almost forgot to let go, it felt so good.

When they finally did separate, they were both grinning sheepishly. "Uh . . .Toulouse told me to, um, show you some of my- writing" Christian said nervously. He didn't usually like to share what he wrote. Oh, but she was so different, so beautiful, so . . .

"Oh, well, go ahead!" Satine replied, edging away to give him space and smiling.

"Okay, um . . ." He swallowed.

"What are you going to do- I'm sure whatever it is, it's wonderful- a song, something you've already written, recite something for me-"

But before she could even finish, Christian had let the words that had filled his head ever since he laid eyes on her escape his mouth in a beautiful melody.

~My gift is my song . . .~

Satine's eyes were wide. His voice was like nothing she'd ever heard.

~And this one's for you~

~And you can tell everybody~

~That this is your song~

A song? For her?

~It may be quite simple but~

~Now that it's done~

~Hope you don't mind~

~I hope you don't mind~

~That I put down in words~

~How wonderful life is now you're in the world~

Satine inhaled sharply. Did he . . . was he . . . was he saying . . .

~Sat on the roof~

~And I kicked off the moss~

~Well some of these verses well they~

~They got me quite cross~

~But the sun's been kind~

~While I wrote this song~

~It's for people like you that~

~Keep it turned on~

Christian stood, taking her hands in his.

~So excuse me for forgetting~

~But these things I do~

~You see I've forgotten~

~If they're green or they're blue~

Satine smiled at him, then looked down at their entwined hands, embarrassed. Her stomach was being twisted in knots. . . so how did it feel so good?

~Anyway the thing is, what I really mean~

~Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen~

Christian began to dance with her around the room, twirling about and weaving a web of magic around them as they were lifted higher, higher, higher, into the starlit sky . . .

~And you can tell everybody~

~This is your song~

~It may be quite simple~

~But now that it's done~

They were on a floor of feathery clouds, the world around them melting as they danced. It was only them.

~I hope you don't mind~

~I hope you don't mind ~

~That I put down in words~

~How wonderful life is now you're in the world~

~I hope you don't mind~

~I hope you don't mind~

~That I put down in words~

~How wonderful life is now you're in the world~

And as soon as the last note left his lips, Christian swooped Satine up in his arms and twirled her around until he felt his feet, once again, on earth, where he tenderly placed her feet. He still held her, and as she wrapped her arms about his neck, her eyes full of wonder, his face glowed with happiness.

They were silent, relishing in the afterglow of their dance among the stars. He looked at her expectantly, his eyes wide, as if to say, "Well?"

"Oh . . . Oh, wow, Christian . . . that was . . . that was beautiful . . .was that for . . . for . . ."

"You?" Christian said. "Of course." He suddenly became self- conscious, letting go of her and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I- I mean, it was, um . . . it wasn't that good, was it, I mean, I can do better, for the show, I mean, you know, I'll - I'll get better songs . . . and- and I'll work much harder, I promise . . ."

"No! Oh, no Christian, that was . . .perfect," she sighed.

"Oh, um, thank you, er, you're welcome, er . . .uh . . . I should go." He started towards the door.

"Oh," said Satine, disappointed. "Oh, of course, well, I'll- I'll see you later, then."

"Okay, um . . . bye, then."

"Bye."

With that, Christian left Satine alone in the garret, with confused thoughts whirring dangerously fast through both their minds. One question seemed to rise above all.

What was happening to them?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

OOH!! Dun dun dun . . .Well, not really, since it's MAJOR FLUFF time, lolz. or, maybe not. maybe she hates him.. Will Satine love Christian? Does Christian really love her in the first place? What's happening to them? You'll just have to review to find out!!

Oh, and how much does it SUCK that my name doesn't get to be Satine in French class because my mom said I was too obsessed, and she would call my teacher if I chose that??? How much? Well, I'll tell you how much . . .

DiamondDog: Yo, Anna, party at Toulouse's.

RougeChic: Oh, hey Jessica, I was workin' on the post note. Talkin' on and on and on about stuff people honestly don't care about, you know? OOOH YEAH! Celebration party, right?

DiamondDog: In honor of their new writer, Christian darlin'.

RougeChic: Sweet! All reviewers get a personal invitation.

Bohos: REVIEW!! Then come drink Absinthe. Absinthe good.

DiamondDog: Don't want any drunk reviewers though. Easy on the alcohol, kay ya'll?

RougeChic: Seez ya laterz!!! Rock on, fellow fanfic writers and reviewers.