The Greatest Thing

A Moulin Rouge! Fanfic


Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge! Belongs to Mr. Baz Luhrmann.


Author's Note: I got inspiration for this chapter by watching Phantom of the Opera (the one from 2004) last night, although I'm not really sure why. I guess it was because I was in a creative mood. At first, I was going to write a Phantom one, and then I realized I don't know that much about it. Then I read some Moulin Rouge! fics and I just got the urge to write since I know more about it and have seen the movie way more times. I worked really hard on this chapter so I hope you enjoy!

And don't forget to review, please! :)


Chapter Two

Until My Dying Day...

Christian carried Satine in his arms, in his one hand beside holding his lover, he held an umbrella to protect her from the rain. He was already soaking wet, his white shirt stuck to his skin; the young writer breathed normally, watching the steam roll out of his mouth from his breath colliding with the cold air. His feet, soaking wet in his brown leather shoes that were now filled with water, seemed to want to splash rhythmically through the puddles and through the rain pouring down on the cobblestone street in front of him.

He was carrying the young courtesan, too weak to walk for herself, back to his flat from the Moulin Rouge and would try, with some help from some of his friends, to take care of Satine and help her cope with her disease that the doctor called 'consumption'. Satine lay her head against Christian's shoulder and she had her eyes closed, not asleep but thinking about life, letting Christian carry her up the stairs to the second floor of the building to his garret.

The young poet opened the door with his foot, almost stumbling over with Satine in his arms, but he kept his balance and continued into the room, heading toward the bed to let his lover lay down and rest in. Christian lay Satine down on the bed and then dropped his soaking wet umbrella to the floor, not caring enough to take the time and shake it out.

He only sat by Satine's side, taking her hand in his own and this caused the young courtesan to open her eyes; she smiled at her lover and allowed for him to kiss her hand.

"Christian..." Satine whispered.

"Are you hungry, darling?" The young writer asked.

"Not really." Satine replied. "But the doctor said I'm dehydrated..." She paused, watching Christian look around his garret in search of anything that would please her, namely a drink in this case. But all he had were empty bottles that had, at one point, contained wine. "Do you have anything?" She asked him.

"Looks like I'll have to go and get something." Christian replied, realizing that he didn't have any money. But trying to seize a little bit of hope for him and Satine, he searched his pockets, however frantically. Then he knew he was completely out of money. "When I have means to do it, of course."

Satine then handed him a wad of money, having pulled it out of what seemed like nowhere.

She slid it into his hand, smiling at him.

Christian realized that this had been the money he'd thrown at her - or rather dumped on her - on the stage during Spectacular Spectacular, something he would feel terrible about and regret for the rest of his bohemian life. The young writer glanced at Satine and sighed, placing the money on the bed.

"I can't take this, Sattie. Just keep it."

They then heard the pounding of footsteps on the rickety, semi-broken ceiling in the garret upstairs; they both ignored this and had gotten close enough to share a small kiss. Christian knew that all of the bohemians were most likely upstairs milling around, all out of jobs due to the impending closure of the Moulin Rouge. He then wondered what he would do for a living now that they were out jobs, since he knew it was imminent that he would soon be too.

"No! No! Catch him before he falls!" Christian heard a familiar voice yell from above.

Christian looked to Satine as she glanced at him, wondering what could possibly be going on above them.

"You may want to step back." He said to her.

He began to put his arm out in front of her to stop her from getting hurt.

Christian's quiet moment with Satine was shattered when a man came crashing through the hole in the ceiling, followed by a shower of wooden splinters, and the two of them watched the man hit the ladder several times, tumble down and hit the hardwood floor beneath with a loud thud, ending in complete silence; Satine screamed, Christian leaping in front of her as to protect her the best that he could as though the man had been a monster.

This ordeal had nearly scared poor Satine to death since she was not used to this yet as Christian had become accustomed to this for everyday life.

The young writer sighed.

"Not again..." He whispered.

"Toulouse!" Christian shouted toward the ceiling.

"Yeth?" He heard a voice ask in a sing-song tone.

"The Argentinean fell through my roof... again! Come and get him."

"So sowwy, Chwistian." He said. "I wiww get Satie to get him."

Satine stood there, her hands clasped over her mouth in horror as Christian non-chalantly stepped over the man and headed toward his desk to sit down. Then a dwarf-like man's head appeared in the space of the hole left in the ceiling after the first time the man had fallen through; he had a thin, wiry black mustache, a scruffy goatee on his chin and golden-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked quite afraid, peering over the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose; he took a drink from the crystalline glass of dark greenish liquid in his hand and spotted Christian staring up at him.

"Toulouse?" Satine asked incredulously, staring up at him in horror.

Toulouse leaned slightly forward on the wood, causing it to creak quietly and he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, trying to get a better look at the person who was speaking to him. He took another drink of the greenish looking drink and pursing his lips, adjusting his glasses yet again.

"Ah! Mademoisewwe Satine!" Toulouse beamed at her, laughing heartily. "How do you this fine evening, faiw wady?"

"I am doing quite well, thank you." The young courtesan answered, putting her hand up to shield her face from splinters of wood that fell from the roof at that instant. "Yes... yes quite. And yourself?"

"Oh, you know. Just hangin' awound." He said with a wide smile on his face.

Christian walked past once again, not caring enough to look up at Toulouse for he had been through this too many times in the past and he was, quite frankly, quite sick of this going on above him all the time.

"Toulouse," He said in a stern voice; "Come and get him. Now. Please."

"Oh, yes! Of courthe, Chwistian. Wight away!"

"What is going on here?" Satine asked. "Does that happen a lot?"

Christian came up behind Satine and put his arm around her.

"It happens everyday."

Satine gave Christian a look of horror and she looked down to the Narcoleptic Argentinean who still remained there on the dusty floor, completely unconscious but everyone in the room could hear that he was snoring lightly. Then another man appeared next to Toulouse; he wore a colorful scarf, a bowler hat covering his bald head, gold-rimmed glasses and a thin goatee on his chin, like Toulouse's own.

This man, Satie, stared down at the Narcoleptic Argentinean, shaking his head in disdain and tsking his tongue. He lowered a rope down to the Argentinean which Christian tied around the man's foot, securing it tightly. He was a composer, and a brilliant one at that, for Zidler and the orchestra at the Moulin Rouge but lately had taken up the responsibility of hauling the man back up to the garret up above when he fell through periodically.

"You know, Toulouse, I should get paid for this."

"But, I haven't any money."

He hauled the Argentinean up through the roof and disappeared from sight.

Toulouse looked to Christian and Satine with a broad smile on his face.

"You two should come up here for dinnew tonight." He said. "Chwistian, I'm making your favowite... shwimp kabobs! They wiww be done any minute now!" He said triumphantly with a laugh. "What do you thay? Do you want to?"

Christian looked to Satine who smiled.

"What do you want to do, Sattie?" He asked.

"I think it'd be rude if you said no. Toulouse is being very generous. Why not?"

Christian kissed her on the cheek gently. He looked back up to his friend.

"We'd love to, Toulouse. Satine and I just need a minute to get ready."

"Gweat!" Toulouse said. "Thee you in a few minuteth!

Toulouse then disappeared and Christian could feel his blood pressure drop. He sighed.

"Christian..." Satine nearly whispered to him. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing." Christian said, bending down to rummage through some papers on the floor.

He threw them around as if they were nothing but leaves blowing in the wind.

Satine could tell that he was hiding something from her.

"No. There's something wrong." The young courtesan replied. "Please tell me." She glanced over to the walls, noticing that all of his writing papers had been torn off and were littering the space around his trash can around the ones that filled it. Her eyes made it to the desk that had formerly been his main place of work, knowing something was missing.

"Christian, where is your typewriter?"

She heard Christian, who was now laying on the floor on the other side of the room, his face covered in papers in exasperation, sigh audibly.

"I... sold... my... typewriter..." He said.

Satine gasped, exaggerating her surprise to get Christian's attention, having learned how to - quite professionally - get the attention of a man through her many years as a courtesan working at the Moulin Rouge. And she would try to get the attention of her lover as best she could in the only way she knew how.

"Sold your typewriter?" Satine asked.

Christian nodded sadly. "After you left me, I was going to leave for London. Then I went back to the Moulin Rouge to find you and give you the money."

"Oh, no! This won't do. This won't do at all!" Satine said, interrupting him.

"Please, don't try to cheer me up about it, Sattie. It's not going to work." He slumped down against the dingy wall on the opposite side of the room, touching his forehead in shame.

Satine tried to think of something to say as she sat back against the rickety rungs of the wooden ladder leading up to the room above them.

"But- but- you need it to write, Shakespeare. How are you ever going to keep your job at the Moulin Rouge if you don't have a typewriter?" She paused to take a breath. "Harold will be so very disappointed. You're the best writer we've had there in years!"

"Please, Satine. I can't take this right now." Christian said, slumping down in his depressive state even more.

"You'll listen to me if you love me."

Satine, trying to think of some other way to get him to pay attention to her, knew only of one way that would get it for sure. She whimpered loudly, taking a sad look on her face and stuck out her lower lip. This, however, failed to catch his attention. Dissatisfied, Satine got up from the bed, despite however weak she was, and she walked over to him, kneeling next to him. Using the paper over his face as a distraction, Satine climbed onto his lap and watched him gasp, the sudden motion of his head lifting off the floor enough to cast the papers away.

She then touched his cheek gently, smiling down at him.

The young courtesan let her fiery red hair down out of its neat bun and she gave him a seductive look.

"Oh, come now, dear Christian." She said. "Will you please tell Sattie what's bothering you?"

Christian smiled. "How can I resist you?"

"You can't." Satine smiled in return. "I'm the Moulin Rouge's Sparkling Diamond, after all. Now, tell Mummy what's wrong..."

"I don't have a job, I don't have money, I don't have a typewriter, and I almost lost the woman I love."

Satine silenced her lover with a gentle kiss on his lips.

"But you still have her." Satine said quietly.

"Thank God for you, Sattie. You're the only thing that's kept me from jumping out my window..."

"Oh, you silly boy." The young courtesan pressed one finger to his lips, which Christian kissed lightly, causing Satine to smile. "Do you really think the courtesan would let her sitar player do such a thing?"

Christian smiled and pulled Satine toward him.

The young writer and the courtesan shared a passionate kiss, feeling each other's emotions through it and Christian got up off the floor, taking Satine in his arms. They continued to kiss each other as Christian lay Satine down on the bed and the young courtesan began running her hands through his dark brown hair. Satine then slipped her hand through the opening in his shirt, letting her hands caress her lover's back gently, feeling his muscles move as he held her in his arms; she smiled, pausing their kiss, and she reached for Christian's collar, looking to undo it and she had gotten to unbutton his shirt when they were interrupted.

"Yoo-hoo! Chwistian! Mademoisewwe Satine!" Toulouse called from up above. "Dinnew is weady!"

Christian, panting at this point, separated his lips from Satine's own.

"Oh, great."

Then he turned to face toward the opening in the ceiling.

"All right, Toulouse! We'll be up there in ten minutes."

Satine giggled under her breath and the young writer looked to his lover.

"What is it?" He asked.

"You've got lipstick all over your lips." She said, giggling some more.

"Oh, well." Christian replied with a smile. "It doesn't matter."

Satine kissed him again, allowing him to begin to run his hands down the robe she wore; Satine unbuttoned Christian's shirt and allowed for her lover to place his weight on top of her. Satine giggled even more as Christian kissed her down her neck, something she had never experienced before. The two of them had just about gotten to the next step in their few moments of passionate love for one another when they heard Toulouse's voice from up above once again.

"They'we getting cowd!" He exclaimed.

"I guess we'd better go." Christian said.

Satine smiled, kissing him one last time on the lips.

"Yes. I suppose you're right."

Now came the task of the two making themselves look presentable for the bohemians on their first technical date they'd ever had. Christian got up off of Satine and slipped the dress's top back over his lover, placing a kiss on her forehead; Satine rebuttoned his shirt and his collar, wiping the lipstick off of his lips.

Christian got up off of his lover and glanced out the window, seeing the Moulin Rouge across the street, and he sighed.

"What are we going to do, Sattie?" He asked her.

Satine lay her hand on Christian's shoulder and Christian relished her touch like he had been touched by an angel. It was a warm, tender touch like that of a mother's own. But hers was also different; it was soft and gentle and Christian wanted to melt into her in that instant. Good God, it was insane how much he loved that woman and how she could love him in return.

"I could talk to Harold." She said. "He'd know what to do."

Christian turned to her and stared at the mahogany desk he had shoved into the corner; the little sad, neglected desk had been the one that he had formerly held his typewriter, his only means of having an escape from reality. The writer wanted to kick himself for selling such a necessity for keeping him alive and sane.

"Would that work?" He asked her quietly.

"I'm not sure. The Duke... has the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. But we don't need them. We can still survive."

"How will we do that?"

"We'll find a way, Christian." She nuzzled him, her cheek pressing up against his. "I know we will."

Christian looked to her, unable to believe that this was the same woman who had practically died on the stage of the newly converted Moulin Rouge after the curtain had fallen; she seemed so weak in what he believed to be her darkest hours but she had pulled through, despite the disease taking over her body. There was so much faith and spirit in her sparkling sky blue eyes. He couldn't believe this woman was his and that she would love him until his dying day.

He decided right then and there that if she was willing to save the Moulin Rouge, then so was he.

They would save it together.

Satine's eyes met his own.

"We'll have a wonderful life together, Christian. Once we get your typewriter back, that is."

They shared a passionate kiss and Satine was the first to climb up the ladder to Toulouse's garret upstairs, pulling Christian up after her.


Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed! It took me a couple of days to write this and worked really hard on it! :) Review, please!