Title: True To Their Story

Author: vegemite

Rating: T (just being careful)

Summary: The Duke visits Christian after his book becomes a best seller with a business proposal.

Disclaimer: You think I own? I wish!

A/N: First Moulin Rouge piece, so please don't be too mean! One-shot. Thanks to Scott/Spock from math, for his pencil! Also thanks to my dad for one of his really weird medical draft-thingies that I wrote this on the back of.

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True To Their Story

His book was a bestseller. Christian wasn't conceited, but somehow he'd expected it. The French really were glad to die for love, and they enjoyed stories of other people doing so even more. Besides, he knew the story was a good one.

He threw aside the paper. That wasn't what was important to him. Not now. All he cared about was that Satine's last wish was coming true—he'd told their story. People knew their story. Just yesterday he'd sat at a table at a small corner restaurant and heard a man and woman discussing Satine. But then another man had interjected, saying that she was just a common whore. Of course, Christian was then required by the laws of honor to sock him one in the face, before getting out of there as quickly as possible.

He supposed he should move out of this dingy little Bohemian loft at some point, but he couldn't bring himself to just yet. Not when he could still see the Moulin Rouge and picture her up on stage, singing her heart out, realizing her dreams of becoming an actress. Not when he could still see her Elephant, the place where'd they'd pledged her love, and imagine the look on her face when he'd first sang her song. Not when he could still see her on his bed, covered by nothing but one of his sheets, smiling over at him as only one in love could.

Perhaps he would stay in the flat forever.

There was a knocking at his door. He didn't really feel like talking to anyone right then. But it could be the landlady, come to collect his rent…

Christian opened the door and his jaw dropped. He was frozen and unable to stop the Duke as he walked in to his flat.

"Charming place you have here. I'm surprised you haven't moved on, though," he said, an obviously fake smile plastered across his face. "It could use some redecorating…" The Duke looked slightly disgusted at the grime level, but swept off the seat of the red armchair and sat, holding his hat on his knees.

"What are you doing here?" This was the last person Christian had ever expected to see again, but here he was. "Get out!"

"Now, isn't that being a little bit rash?"

"No, it's not! You tried to kill me! Speaking of which, where is Warner?"

"He's, uh, unavailable. Listen, you haven't heard what I've got to say yet—"

"I'm sure I don't want to!" How dare he come in here like this! The man that had stood in his and Satine's way, in front of their happiness!

"Just hear me out." Christian could see he wasn't giving up. Maybe this was the fastest way to get rid of him. He crossed his arms and leaned against to the very open (he made sure) door, glaring.

"I've seen your little novel climb the charts. It must be quite good."

"Have you read it?" He could feel his anger boil. He hadn't, had he? The nerve of him!

"No, but I've heard a lot about it. And I can imagine the rest. Although, I hear you cast me in a rather…negative light. He was studying his fingernails. Pompous bastard! "We'll, uh, have to change that."

"What are you talking about?"

"My boy, I want to convert your book into a play. A musical even! Just think, the story of the Moulin Rouge, traveling all of Paris. I might even get it throughout Europe, provided your script is, uh, up to par. All I need are the sole, unlimited rights to the story. What do you say?"

Christian stared at him blankly. "I knew you were a waste of time. Get out!"

"But I could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams! The theatre community will eat this up! I know a good thing when I see it, and this story is it! Returns at ten percent!" The Duke smiled a shaky fake smile, trying to make light of the situation. It wasn't his right to make light of it.

"No!"

"Fifteen percent!"

"NO!" Christian roared. "I will not change our story, and I will not sully it with your greedy hands!"

"I can make my own version, you know." The Duke's face was contorting strangely and he was speaking soft and fast, rage beginning to surface. "You don't own my memories of events."

"Satine should not be toyed with!" he yelled. "Her memory should be treasured. She should be preserved, just as she was, and that's what I've done!" He walked over to the Duke. "Now you can leave." The Duke stood up slowly, expression one of smoldering rage, not Christian's own, and walked toward the door. Christian trailed him with his eyes. The other man paused at the door, looking back.

"She didn't love you, you know." Christian merely glared icily. A statement that ludicrous didn't merit a response. "She was toying with you. We're in the same boat, boy. We both fell in love with a woman who took that love and used it for what she needed. She told me how she really felt about you. She said she 'indulged your fantasies' because we needed you. She meant it. She didn't love you." His face had a sickening look of enjoyment on it. "She used you to get ahead. She didn't love you. She could never have loved. She was incapable of loving. If she really knew what loving was, she would have seen that my lifetime of security is real love."

"The reason she loved me," he spat out between clenched teeth, trying to restrain himself from ripping the Duke's face off, "is precisely because I do not believe that."

The Duke gave him a withering look. "I'm sure." And then he was gone.

Christian would not let himself think about this—it was completely false. He knew she loved him. She had been willing to submit herself to sleeping with that disgusting ball of slime for him. She had been willing to give up the rest of her life for him. She would have died for him. She had loved him so much that it almost made him break down into sobs thinking about it, even now.

He would not dwell on the Duke's pathetic mutterings of nothing. Instead, he would think about the fact that people knew their story. Yes, some people were stupid and couldn't understand it, but some did. That was all that was important. People knew the truth of Satine's and his love. They knew their story.