Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I'm just a poor little student who should be revising for her exams but this is waaay too much fun to not write, etc etc. :P

Author's Note: Okay, basically this is an AU fic – what if Nini hadn't told (or at least hinted broadly to) the Duke about Christian and Satine? Big thankies to Lisa for helping me out on this one – without her, this would have a completely different middle and end :)

On with the show!

* * * * * * *

Though nothing, will keep us together,

We could steal time, just for one day,

We could be heroes, for ever and ever

- Heroes by David Bowie

* * * * * * *

Stealing Time

By

Christine aka Piglitgirl

* * * * * * *

~~ Frith Street, London ~~

23rd October 1899

19th October, 1899

Avenue Jean Moulin, Paris

Dear Algernon,

I was delighted to receive your letter of the 30th and am glad that young Emily's first social went well. It is always imperative that the first event of such a kind for a young lady goes off without a hitch, and I am sure that you and Victoria must be thrilled at its success.

You wrote that your only disappointment was that Christian was not there to celebrate his baby sister's entrance into our society. You expressed worry that he would bring shame upon himself and his family, but let me assure that this is not the case.

After reading your letter I decided to visit Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge in an attempt to ease your mind when I wrote, and also, to a degree, my own. I have always found Christian a most charming, if romantic lad, and I do not wish that he should fail in his endeavours to find a place in the world.

I had heard rumours circulating that Harold Zidler (the proprietor of the Moulin Rouge: awfully flamboyant chap, but he has a good heart) had finally received the means to turn his beloved night-club into a theatre and thought that perhaps Christian had gravitated towards this new enterprise. You professed that you had not heard from Christian for a while and that Victoria feared the worst for her son. Let me ease those doubts. Christian was always an enterprising buy, and he certainly has landed on his feet here. I bumped into him just outside Montmartre, where after some initial surprise at seeing me, he reported that he had secured a job writing the show for the new Le Théâtre du Moulin Rouge!

I can just see your face old boy, but rest assured, Christian confirmed that the Moulin Rouge has left behind its dark days and will indeed be a legitimate theatre. He sends his love and apologises for not writing more often: he has been extremely busy writing and rehearsing with the actors. You may attest to Victoria that her son was a picture of health – I don't think I've seen him happier.

The play opens in three weeks and I certainly will attend. Christian says that he does not wish to interrupt Emily's 'coming out', and that he would be writing as soon as he finds the time.

In the meantime, if you wish, I am quite willing to keep an eye on young Christian's activities here…

Algernon Evans did not bother to read the rest of his old partner's letter. Old Thomas Deuteronomy may have a good eye for business, but in some other respects he was… vice-ridden, to say the least. Algernon read the last line again: "… I am quite willing to keep an eye on young Christian's activities…" Knowing Deuteronomy he would be keeping one eye on Christian and the other on brothel girls.

"As if he needed an excuse to go to Montmartre…" he muttered under his breath. He contemplated the letter for a moment. He was vaguely surprised to realise that the letter did comfort him slightly. He and his only son had not parted on the best of terms and he had feared that in a last act of defiance, Christian would indeed waste his life away with a can-can dancer. According to this letter though he was, against all the odds, doing well for himself. That at least was a huge weight of Algernon's shoulders. And he was actually writing… not just maudlin poetry and songs, but a legitimate play in a legitimate theatre (or however legitimate the Moulin Rouge could ever be) and that was a start. Who knew, perhaps if this play was a success Christian would return to London and write shows for the West End. Having a famous playwright in the family would not be quite so embarrassing as having a bohemian, doing whatever bohemians did for a living. It would certainly be unusual.

For a moment Algernon sat perfectly still, weighing his options carefully. Finally, he stood and opened the study door. His wife and youngest daughter stood, Victoria's fist raised as though about to knock.

"Oh, Algernon, there you are. We were just about to-"

Algernon cut her off. "Later, Victoria dear. I just got a letter from old Thomas Deuteronomy you might be interested in…"

He handed her the letter and Emily peered over her shoulder to read it. Both women's eyes widened as they read the opening lines, and a little later Emily squealed and clapped her hands.

"Oh, well done, Christian!"

"Emily," admonished Algernon absently, checking his wife's expression closely. Her green-blue eyes shone with unshed tears and she smiled up at Algernon. Emily was trying to look demure but could not stop herself rocking backwards and forwards on her heels, a smile tugging at the corners of her pink lip-sticked mouth.

"He's alright," whispered his wife.

Algernon nodded. "Now I know that we were going to the Carr's in three weeks but how would you feel about a quick trip to Paris on the way…"

* * * * * * *

~~ The Moulin Rouge, Paris ~~

10th November 1899

"…I will love you

Until my dying day!"

Christian raised his hands triumphantly and turned his head to see the expression on the Duke's face. This was the final run-through for the Duke, the last dress rehearsal before Spectacular Spectacular opened the next night. Everything was resting on this. The tension in the room was at a fever pitch. If the Duke didn't like it, or any tiny part of it… Then it would be a night without sleep for Christian, trying to rewrite the whole damn show. Not that he minded late nights rehearsing with Satine. He risked a quick glance up at her.

She's a very good actress, he thought absently. It was almost impossible to believe that this beautiful, still creature on the stage had last night danced happily around his miserable little garret, wrapped only in his old dressing gown. Shaking his head, trying very hard not to smile, he turned his attention back to the Duke. Nini, Mome Fromage and China Doll sat nearby, looking mutinous at not being in the grand finale. But it wasn't Christian's problem that they had turned up late for rehearsal. None of them were Christian's problem. Except of course –

"Ah. Yes. Generally it's… rather good," the Duke said, nodding his head. He was nearly knocked backwards by the sheer wall of noise that exploded around the hall as the cast and crew of the world's first totally Bohemian show cheered. Christian grinned widely and then laughed as Satie came rushing towards him to shake his hand, closely followed by the Argentinean who clapped Christian on the back and proclaimed "You see? I knew he had talent!"

Before Christian had a chance to reply to this Toulouse flung himself around Christian's waist. People were rushing about the stage and hall, congratulating each other, then dashing over to thank the Duke for financing the project and above all the din Zidler was shouting "Save yourselves for opening night, amigos! We haven't even opened!" There were nods and shouts of agreement, but the hustle and bustle continued regardless.

Disentangling himself from Toulouse, Christian searched the crowd, looking for the one person whose happiness and approval meant more to him than the whole world's put together. He saw her, gliding down the stage steps, smiling widely at him. She reached her hand out for him – and the Duke, looking distinctly ruffled after being embraced by so many relieved performers, took it. Her smile cracked but she quickly recovered it.

"My dear Duke," she purred. "I'm so glad that you enjoyed our little production."

"My dear, how could I not? You were… spectacular." He kissed her hand and Christian fought the bubbling feeling in his stomach that always seemed to surface when he saw the Duke and Satine together. Satine giggled flirtatiously but her eyes flew to Christian's. Please, they said. Understand. Christian nodded and swallowed. He could put up with this and more if it meant having Satine by his side.

"If it pleases you, my dear girl, I have arranged a splendid feast for us in the Gothic Tower tonight."

Satine's eyes opened wide and her red lips parted in a silent "oh". She looked quickly at Christian who tried not to look disappointed or jealous. You promised her…

"Oh my dear Duke, we were going to have one final rehearsal tonight, to… work out any… bumps."

"Well, I didn't see any 'bumps'," smiled the Duke. He turned to Christian. "It was wonderful. I knew it would be from the beginning of the rehearsals." The last part he said with a touch of smugness that made Christian want to scream or wring the Duke's wormy neck. The image of this was so strong that Christian was surprised and horrified at the black pleasure it gave him.

Satine started to reply, but Zidler appeared behind them and clapped his hands.

"Well, squirrels, everything is ready for you tonight. I'm sure everything will be as you… desire." His voice lowered, and he gave a great booming laugh.

"Oh, Harold," said Satine quickly. "You know that we were going to rehearse tonight –"

"Nonsense, chick-pea! You were perfect! The others can rehearse without you tonight. I'm sure Christian can find someone to stand in for you." He looked at Christian, who coughed and looked at Satine helplessly.

"If mademoiselle Satine would like another dress rehearsal, then I… perhaps, for her own benefit-" he began slowly but once again, Zidler cut him off.

"Pumpkin, you don't need another rehearsal! You've been working entirely too hard for this whole production. Relax. Take tonight off! We don't want you collapsing on stage tomorrow!" His laugh thundered out across the quickly emptying theatre. He shooed Satine towards the stage where Marie was waiting. Satine glanced back, smiling at the Duke. Her eyes flicked to Christians, and he could read in them her disappointment. She turned and went with Marie. Christian swallowed and nodded his head. The Duke smiled broadly at him and Zidler.

"Well, I'd better go get ready. Don't want to be unprepared for her…" Zidler laughed and Christian smiled tightly, the image of his hands around the Duke's neck flashing compelling in front of his eyes. The Duke rushed off, motioning for his manservant to follow. Christian coughed again and turned to Zidler. He was surprised at the look on the older man's face. He stared at Christian for a moment, mouth very thin, eyes glaring. It was a stark contrast to the sparkling jovial eyes, the big fake smile that Christian had always associated Zidler with. He tried not to blink.

"Just remember, boy. The Duke holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. He is a very powerful man. If anything goes against his wishes, he could destroy us all."

"I-uh-" spluttered Christian, not quite sure how to respond to this new side of the usually blustering amiable man. Zidler looked up at the stage.

"Just remember what is at stake here," he said absently and, without looking back at the writer, he climbed the steps and disappeared backstage, the slump of his proud shoulders making him look very old and tired. Christian blinked and looked around. Everyone else had gone, probably back to Toulouse's apartment. Not really wanting to go to another Bohemian party without Satine, Christian bent and picked up the pages of the script scattered about on the floor and then hurried backstage to find her. What he would say to make everything all right again he wasn't sure, but it didn't worry him.

When faced with Satine, Christian was always inspired.

* * * * * * *

"… you're certain to do well!"

"What?" said Satine distractedly. Marie had started talking as soon as they'd got backstage but Satine had not heard a word. All she could think about was him. He was such a large part of her life now she didn't have to think of his name. He was so simply and gloriously there in every part of her, names, words even, weren't needed. She was thinking about his eyes and how hopeless they had looked when the Duke had taken her hand, especially compared with the pride and happiness they had shone with moments before. His eyes are like music, thought Satine absently ducking her head beneath a low beam. They sing out to me –

"Have you heard a word that I've said?" asked Marie sharply, opening the door to Satine's dressing room and cutting Satine's train of thought.

"I'm sorry, Marie," said Satine smiling slightly, feeling irritated inside that her reverie had been interrupted. "I was just…thinking."

"I'll bet you were," said Marie in a satisfied sort of way. She pulled Satine down on the chair and pulled off the Hindu courtesan's elaborate head-dress. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," called Satine, pulling her earrings out. As the door clicked open, Satine glanced up to the mirror to see who it was, and he walked in, clutching some papers in his hands rather nervously, head down, as though he was embarrassed to be walking into the room. Satine couldn't (and didn't want to) stop the flush that rose in her cheeks and the smile that followed it. She hoped that Marie would interpret her smile as welcoming and wouldn't notice the flush in the dim lighting. She turned in her seat to look at him for real and not in a reflection.

"Yes?" asked Marie sounding more than a little impatient.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to check that Satine was clear on one of the scenes, since she w-won't be attending rehearsal this evening."

Satine looked down at her hands. She hated the way his voice caught on the word 'won't'. It made her feel horribly guilty, like she had just kicked a puppy. Stop it, she scolded herself, you have to do this, the Duke could destroy everything…

"Which scene?" said Marie, tilting her head suspiciously at Christian.

He looked directly at Satine, speaking slowly so every word was impregnated with meaning. "The scene where the penniless sitar player tells the courtesan that he loves her, no matter what she has to do to save her kingdom."

Satine nodded and inclined her head higher. "And she tells him that she loves him in return. Come what may." He smiled then, a real jewel of a smile. Marie glanced between the writer and actress and raised her eyebrows. Satine fought to keep her face impassive.

"Well, she knows it. Now get on with you, she needs to get ready for the Duke!"

The smile and confidence that he had exuded just an instant before evaporated. He blinked and shuffled on his feet for a moment and coughed, looking a little lost.

"Um, yes, of course, I'll-" He offered half a smile, a ghost, and then exited the room, shutting the door rather harder than it needed to be. Frowning, Satine turned back to the mirror. Marie started unpinning her hair then stopped when she saw Satine's expression.

"What is it, love? You can't be nervous about seeing the Duke…"

"Oh, I don't know Marie. The Duke, he… he has so much power over us. I don't like it." Or him, she thought bitterly.

"That's the way things go," replied Marie, her mouth pressed rather thin, pulling the pins out of Satine's hair. "There are always going to be people with the power to make or break us around. That's what being a creature of the underworld is about."

"I don't want that, Marie," whispered Satine, staring at her birds in the cage above her dresser. "I want to be free."

"You will be, ducky. Just weave your magic on that Duke today and then on stage tomorrow and you'll be the next Sarah Bernhardt." She picked up the hairbrush on the dresser and smiled at Satine's reflection for a moment. "Much prettier than Sarah though."

Satine giggled and looked at the photo of her role model. "You really think so? That I could be as good as the great Sarah?"

"Why not." It was a statement, not a question. They were quiet for a while, Marie brushing Satine's hair, Satine staring at the photo.

"I won't sleep with him tonight," said Satine suddenly and then bit her lip, wishing she hadn't said it.

"No," said Marie calmly. "That's tomorrow night." She caught a glimpse of Satine's unhappy reflection and added hastily. "He knows that, love. He won't try anything tonight. He knows the rule of the game."

Satine rolled her eyes and puffed her cheeks out. "Great," she said moodily. "Just great."

* * * * * * *

Christian sat nervously outside her dressing room. Perhaps 'sat' isn't the right word: in truth he was lurking. He had an idea that nobody, not Zidler, not the Duke and certainly not Marie would be very happy to see him there. So he lurked in the shadows behind a beam, hoping that Marie would come out soon. She would go straight from her dressing room to the Gothic Tower and, although she had comforted his heart in the brief moment they had spoken in her dressing room, he still needed to see her.

Christian smiled ruefully remembering his father berating him: "You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer!" How true. Except that this wasn't a wasted life. This was…sublime. Wonderful. Glorious. Spectacular. Nothing could describe how he felt around Satine. Words just weren't enough. Words, he was discovering, were no longer even needed –

The sound of footsteps broke him out of his reverie. He glanced up the corridor and saw a flash of a red jacket. Zidler.

Quickly, Christian ducked deeper into the shadows. Zidler approached the door, knocked once and entered with the brazenness that can only come with familiarity. Christian heard his great voice cry out "dearest!" and then the door was shut. Christian let out a long breath and slumped slightly against a beam. After a moment he sank down onto the steps that lead to the male performers dressing rooms.

He had no idea how long he waited there. He knew that he should have gone back to his garret, talked to the other performers. Tomorrow night, his dream of being a writer was to be fulfilled. A play written entirely by him, performed in a real theatre. He should have been happy and thinking what to write in the letter to his father, explaining how he was now the voice of the children of the revolution. Unless of course Old Deuteronomy had already told him. Which is very likely, reflected Christian. A pity. Deuteronomy enjoyed a good gossip and had probably thought it was his duty to write to Algernon Evans for Christian's benefit. And his own of course.

Christian looked at the curved lettering spelling out her name on the door. He must have been gazing at it for longer than he realised, because it came as a great shock when quite suddenly, the door was pulled open and Marie and Zidler stepped out, smiling cheerily. As soon as the door shut behind them, the smiles collapsed and they hurried down the corridor talking rapidly.

"…getting worse…"

"The doctor said…"

"…she mustn't know…"

Christian's heart flickered slightly in his chest. Were they talking about Satine? For a moment he considered following them, but then Satine's door opened again and she stepped out, dressed in an elegant black dress and long satin gloves. A veil covered her lovely features. In his haste to get to her side, Christian tried to stand and walk at the same time, causing him to practically fall out of the shadows and at her feet. She jumped and gasped.

"Christian!"

"…I didn't mean to startle you," said Christian somewhat breathlessly.

"That's alright," she said quietly. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Christian-"

"I don't want you to sleep with him," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "Tonight or any other night." She stared at him, her face etched with worry.

"I have to."

He shook his head.

"Yes. You knew what I was… what I am."

Christian looked away, down the corridor where Zidler and Marie had disappeared. His chest was so tight he could barely breath. "You don't have to – "

"Yes, I do!" cried Satine. Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears, and she caught his hands in her own. "I'm doing this for us – he has so much power over us, Christian."

"Why?" whispered Christian fiercely, hearing his own voice crack and hating it. Be strong for her… "Why can't we just leave?" She was shaking her head now. "Why not?" he asked, louder, desperately.

"The Moulin Rouge is my home, Christian. It's my home. I can't just leave it." She was getting angry now, her eyes and lips narrowing. He knew that she wasn't really that angry with him, but it hurt him anyway.

"I left my home," he said, voice raising.

"Well, maybe that's the difference between us."

"What do you mean by that?"

"We're too different, Christian! Look at us! You're from some wealthy London family and I'm… I'm nothing but a glorified whore!"

"You're not."

"I am! And that's all I'll ever be, unless-"

"-you sleep with the Duke."

"Yes." She was crying now, all her frustration, fear and sadness running down her face. Christian wanted desperately to put his arms around her, but she stepped out of the reach of him. "It's not just for me or you. What about Nini? Mome Fromage? Chocolat? They want, they need this production or they'll be out on the streets." She stared at him wide-eyed, waiting for him to respond. He did not. "He's waiting, I-"

"No." His own tears were threatening to spill now. He felt the resolve within him, that he would not breakdown in front of her, start to crumble.

"Yes. I have to," she repeated but she sounded less convinced at her own words than she had been. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "I have to go-" She turned.

Christian caught her arm and took her hand. He looked at her hand, a pale little thing, soft and as cool as mint in his own. He felt her step back to him, leaning against his body, one hand on his chest. Her breath was against his ear. He shut his eyes.

"…Come what may," she sang softly, nuzzling his cheek gently. He opened his eyes and looked at her face, so close to his. She was searching his face for some level of understanding. Christian swallowed and nodded. This is for everyone, her eyes sang. This is for us…He hoped that she could read in his eyes that he understood. He hated it but… he understood.

He kissed her cheek and looking away, turned and walked away from her as quickly as he would allow himself, his heart threatening to give out with every step, his jaw set unnaturally tense. He could not look back.

She loves you.

Think on that and nothing else.

* * * * * * *

Satine watched him walk away and shut her eyes. Turning on her heel, she walked slowly in the opposite way to Christian. Her breathing was threatening to give up on her as it had done so often recently. It's these silly corsets, she thought, quelling the fear in her mind. Nothing more.

She turned back to where he had gone. She remained motionless for a moment, then turned around again and continued down the corridor.

"Why live life, from dream to dream?" she sang softly. She paused in front of a mirror and looked at her reflection. Carefully, she lifted the veil from her face and pulled her handkerchief from a hidden pocket on her dress. She dabbed away the tears from her eyes, trying not to smudge her make up. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the veil over her eyes. She tilted her chin up defiantly.

"For him", she told her reflection proudly. "For his love. That is everything."

As she began to walk, she found that she could only summon the will to take each step by thinking of him and his love. Whatever the Duke did, he could never take away that.

We love each other.

I'm doing this for us.

Think on that and nothing else.

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I know… nothing much happens in this chapter :P But I promise, things get more interesting :)

Reviews are much appreciated!