Title: It Won’t Rain All the Time
Author: Susan ([email protected])
Rating: G
Notes: My sincere apologies to everyone I’ve stolen from.  The title and most of the dialogue of this story comes from a song by Jane Siberry called “It Won’t Rain All the Time.”  It was on the soundtrack to “The Crow” in case you’re interested.  Christian, Satine, and the surroundings belong to Mr. Luhrmann.  Thanks for letting me play with them, Baz. I promise I’ll play nice and put them back when I’m done.

Italics denote Christian’s writings. 

Three months, two weeks, one day, four hours, and twenty-six minutes.  Christian had unwillingly counted seconds, minutes, and hours since Satine’s death, unable to find any other way to cope.  In all reality, he hadn’t been coping at all.  Since the moment she slipped away from him, he had been miserable.  He had wanted to die. 

He stood now in front of the small window of his flat, Satine’s small bird chirping happily into the still night air.  Since the closing of the Moulin Rouge, Montmartre had become lifeless.  Dead, almost.  With Satine died the liveliness of the entire area.  The Sparkling Diamond truly had been the light of everyone’s lives. 

“We walked the narrow path beneath the smoking skies,” Christian whispered to no one in particular.  “Sometimes you can barely tell the difference between darkness and light.”

“Do you have faith in what we believe?  The truest test is when we cannot see,” an all-too familiar voice answered him.  At first Christian thought he was hearing things again.  He had done a lot of that since her death.  A few times, he even thought he had seen her walking the streets below.

Christian ignored the hallucination again and went about watching the few people move listlessly through the streets below.  He could hear the footsteps echo off the old buildings, up to his window where he stood, reminiscing of all the times they had stood in that very window together, feeling like they owned the world because they had each other.  Somewhere in the distance, a woman’s voice cried out as the rain started to fall into the still Parisian night.

“I hear pounding feet in the, streets below,” he whispered, blowing a tendril of smoke out into the air,  “and the women crying. The children know that there's something wrong.”  A shudder wracked his body and he leaned against the windowsill, his tears starting to fall again. “It's hard to believe that love will prevail.”

“It won't rain all the time,” the voice breathed again behind him.  This time Christian caught a faint trace of her perfume, turned, and his breath caught in his throat as Satine stood behind him, almost shimmering in the darkness. “The sky won't fall forever,” she continued. “And though the night seems long, your tears won't fall forever.”

Christian stared helplessly at her, unable to move.  She smiled at him, extending a hand to draw him away from the window.  Slowly, he found his feet and his voice. 

“When I'm lonely, I lie awake at night and I wish you were here,” he cried, nearly running to her, stopping inches away. 

“I miss you,” she whispered, a sad smile playing on the corners of her lips. 

“Can you tell me, is there something more to believe in? Or is this all there is?” he asked, reaching out for her, but hesitating. 

“In the pounding feet, in the streets below, the window breaks and a woman falls…” she started. 

“There's something wrong.  It's so hard to believe that love will prevail.”  Christian’s tears fell freely as he stood mere inches from her, wanting so badly to reach out for her, afraid she would disappear if he did. 

“It won't rain all the time, Christian.”  

“The sky won't fall forever, I know.” 

“And though the night seems long, your tears won't fall forever,” she said, extending a hand and brushing her fingers across his cheek.  Christian felt a cold wind where her fingers brushed, her kiss to his forehead causing him to shiver.  He reached out for her helplessly, grasping nothing but the dark, damp air as she stepped away.  “Tell our story, Christian.  Move on.  Believe in what we had, but don’t let it hold you back.  I love you, and I will always be with you.”  With that, she was gone. 

Christian took a deep draught from the bottle in his hand and slid down the wall, resting his head on his knees.  He stayed that way for more than an hour, trying to calm his breathing and stop the tears that were blinding him. 

Then it hit him.  He climbed to his feet and strode over to the typewriter, pulling off the cover and sitting down behind it for the first time since her death. 

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. 

He paused and wiped his eyes, then took another drink. 

The Moulin Rouge: a nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello...  Ruled over by Harold Zidler, a kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld.  The most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Satine.  A Courtesan. She sold her love to men .They called her the Sparkling Diamond, and she was the star of the Moulin Rouge. 

His breath hitched, and the tears came again. 

The woman I love is dead. 

Christian re-covered the typewriter and crossed the room again.  Before he could stop himself, he crumbled to the bed in tears.  He had been so close.  She had really been there.  But she was gone, having left behind her only darkness.  The rain tapered off as he cried himself to sleep again. 

~ + ~ 

When he woke, the sun was shining.  She was still gone.  Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes.  But Satine was right…it wouldn’t rain all the time.  In the light of the morning, it all felt like a dream.  He stood and went to the window, looking out into the streets, surprised to see two children playing ball in one of the alleys.  A few streets over, a girl was selling flowers.  As if by some miracle, life was coming back to Montmartre.  Christian had a pretty good idea that it was because of more than just the rain. 

“Last night I had a dream,” he said quietly, turning to take stock of his room.  “You came into my room, you took me into your arms; whispering and kissing me, and telling me to still believe.”  Moving slowly across the room, Christian uncovered his typewriter, now thankful that Toulouse had mustered the sense to buy it back for him.  He was going to need it.  “But then the emptiness of a burning sea against which we see our darkest of sadness…” he tapered off, sitting behind the machine again. “Until I felt safe and warm… And when I awoke I cried again for you were gone…Oh, can you hear me?”  He looked out into the morning sun.  “Cant you hear me, Satine?”  You’re right…it won’t rain all the time…  I will always love you, and its going to be hard…but my tears won’t fall forever.” 

I first came to Paris one year ago…

~Fin~

© Draickin und Phoenix
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