A/N: Here's the last chapter. *sniffle, sniffle*

CHAPTER 12

Dear Narcoleptic Argentinean,

            Well, here I am, back in Alcatraz. The guards finally gave me writing privileges! But besides that, things here are pretty much the same. I'm getting used to showering naked and trying to ignore Bubba. You'll never guess who my cell mate is . . . Xavier! The cops found him washed ashore in London and sent him straight back to Alcatraz. At first, I was really creeped out, but Xavier and I have grown to become friends. I suppose I can understand being tempted to do what he did so he could escape jail and make a little extra money. And guess what was in his pocket all along?! A MOUSE! The whole time I thought . . . Well, never mind that. I'm just glad it was only a mouse.

            And guess who else is here? The Duke! The rumor is he tried to hide out in London but they found the little bastard. I guess he couldn't bribe the police enough for his freedom. I nearly died of laughter when I saw him here. It's almost like sweet revenge. The best part of it all is that . . . well, I have seen him in the showers and . . . he barely has any talent at all.

            I have kept in contact with my darling Satine. She tells me that things are well in good ol' Paris. I miss her so much already! Well, I only have 24 years, 212 days to go. Do me a favor, Argentinean - keep an eye on her for me until then.

            As I was folding up the last letter I wrote Satine, I realized there was someone else that I should write to: you, my strange, Argentinean friend. I miss your bizarre, random comments and funny accent. You are a great friend. What have you been doing? Staying out of trouble, I hope. But, I must admit that I had been a little cross with you lately. I just don't understand why you told me that Satine was marrying the Duke when he was here all along. But, no hard feelings. In fact, I can actually appreciate that now because it made me try to get out of Alcatraz all the more.

            Though I am back here again, I was glad just to have spent one more day with my dearest Satine. You inspire me, Argentinean.

Sincerely, Christian

The Argentinean held the letter close to his heart with one hand and covered his eyes in shame with his other hand.

Argentinean: "I was so terrible to my dear, dear Christian. How could I do such a thing? I should've only wanted for his happiness. I knew he had hetero status from the start and I was just so selfish that I had to push him around and lie like I did. What have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?!?!?"

The psychiatrist watched as the crazy weirdo on the couch across from him babbled on and on and on. The Argentinean was beginning to cry all over again like he had been doing the entire therapy session, clutching the letter his friend had written him from jail.

Argentinean: "And now . . ." (biting his lip) ". . . And noooow!" (choking) "AND NOW HE'S IN JAIL AND IT'S ALL MY FAAAAAAULT! WAAA!!!"

Psychiatrist: "Er . . . it's not your fault. See, he even said he appreciated you in the letter . . . and, uh, you inspire him."

Argentinean: "He says this out of the kindness of his heart. I lied to him, I hurt him, it's my fault he was driven mad with jealousy and ended up killing his father. It's all my fault!!!!"

The psychiatrist sighed and rolled his eyes. This narcoleptic freak had only been his patient for a week and already the psychiatrist wanted to shoot himself. This guy didn't need a psychiatrist; he needed to be put away in looney bin. He was absolutely nutty! The psychiatrist was beginning to become very bored, but had to think of something to say. As he doodled on his note pad he uninterestedly asked,

Psychiatrist: "And how will you reply to Christian's letter?"

The Argentinean sniffled and looked thoughtful.

Argentinean: "I suppose it's only honest to tell him about my relationship with my Harold Poo-Poo."

Psychiatrist: "And . . . uh . . . how do you think that will make him feel?"

Argentinean: "Well it might surprise him at first. Even I didn't know that Harold swung that way. But it really was obvious, he was always such a shnazzy dresser and he wore that stage make-up after hours. Oh, my Harold Poo-Poo is such a cutie patootie!"

Psychiatrist: "Mmmhmmm . . ."

Argentinean: "Maybe . . ." (yawn) "Maybe I could help Christian. I could try to help that jail bird escape . . ."

 
Suddenly, the Argentinean's eyes crossed and he began to snore. The psychiatrist looked up from his doodles and sighed with relief.

Psychiatrist: "Oh, finally . . . YES!!!"

The psychiatrist dragged the snoring Argentinean out of his office and set him on a bench outside. He ran back into his office and locked the door.

Psychiatrist: "Phew! Glad that psycho's gone. Now to get back to my book!"

The psychiatrist settled on the patient couch and removed a small book from his pocket. It had a most slutty cover – a muscle-y, handsome, half naked man was holding a gorgeous, big boobed, half naked woman. The man had a large ball and chain attached to his leg. The two were in front of the Eiffel Tower, the wind sweeping by, blowing the woman's red curls everywhere to create a most appealing cover. The title read, "The Jail Bird and the Song Bird - A Story About Sex." And then below that was printed, "By, Christian James."

The psychiatrist smirked and thought aloud.

Psychiatrist: "I just can't get enough of reading about Sapine and Christopher getting it on. Even though everything is against them, their horniness prevails. It's so god damn romantic."

He sighed longingly.

Psychiatrist: "Maybe someday I'll meet my very own Sapine . . . or my very own Christopher. I don't care, whoever comes first."

The Psychiatrist eventually fell asleep drooling on his book, dreaming about having his very own Sapine or his very own Christopher. Christian's sexy tale of a jail bird traveling across the world to return to his lover went on to satisfy the guilty pleasures of lonely people and psychiatrists abroad. But that's not the point.

The point is, Christian kept his promise to Satine. And in doing so, he gave others faith in the power and strength of love. Because no matter how far he might be from her, no matter how many pounds of steel bars may separate them, they will always love each other.

THE END

"Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go."  - Herman Hesse

A/N: I couldn't resist ending it on a happy note. I'm going to miss writing this. Thank you so much, everyone, for all of the time spent reading this and your reviews. I love you!

Especially Crystal, Kattydid, Kellyanne, Schizo Elf Chick, Anne Parkington, Black Hawk Down, and MR Rocks. You guys have been devoted reviewers, thanks so much.

DISCLAIMER: The usual. Don't own any of the Moulin Rouge.