Well I've gone and done it. Written a LND fanfic, AND made it Raoul/Meg to boot. But then, these are the two characters I admire the most in the entire show because while they're both flawed and selfish, they are the most interesting, and are selfish because of what's happened to them. So they should just end up together anyway, and leave Erik and Christine to be all Music-of-the-Night-Beneath-a-Moonless-Sky together. Just saying. I've changed some stuff...like Raoul not being a drunk, or a gambler, because that was the one thing that really bugged me. R/M and E/C. Read on if it pleases. - darthsydious

Marguerite sat at the end of the dock, her feet dangling off the edge as she looked out over the sea, the sun long gone now. In the distance, she could hear the cheers and applause from Phantasma. She felt her throat swell as she tried to quell her tears. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath, feeling herself nearly give way. It wasn't fair! In a moment of sheer anger, she decided she hated Christine. For one who claimed to be a helpless orphan, she seemed to have a terribly easy time of things. A husband who adored her, a child, and the man Marguerite loved more than anything else, still clung to Christine after ten years, ignoring all else. Even after being made to choose, Christine still was able to have her family, her career, and a musical genius writing the most exquisite music for her. No indeed, there was nothing that could make Christine unhappy now, surely. What did Marguerite have to be proud of? A brief stint at the Paris Opera house, so short that no one would remember a tiny, raven-haired dancer's solo in the ill-fated Don Juan Triumphant. And as for her 'career' in America…well, didn't that speak for itself? Half of Manhattan elite knew who she was, but for all the wrong reasons. The only thing she had of value was long gone now, the one thing every young woman keeps safe for her husband some day. But there was no other way. Wasn't there? She knows that answer. No. There wasn't any other way to keep them from sinking. No other way to buy time with the bank, with the press, with the construction, with the bill collectors. Marguerite listened to the quiet waves, lapping against the pier. Quiet. Calm. Deep and cool, and just within her grasp. She had so little control of her life; she suddenly realized here was something she herself could choose. Why should she continue? Why should she simply melt into the background again? It wasn't as if anyone would mourn her. Her mother perhaps. But even this thought did not comfort her enough to step away from the edge. Slowly, on wobbly legs, she got to her feet. Carefully, she unhooked the chain that stood between her and the open sea. She stood for a moment, finding herself alarmingly calm as she looked out to the midnight sky. The water beneath her feet seemed to beckon her. To sink beneath the waves, to let it bring her to a restful sleep she could not achieve anywhere else. She could swear it was calling her name…calling her name…

Marguerite…Marguerite!

There was urgency to it, one that worried her.

"Marguerite! Marguerite!" pounding footsteps and her name actually being shouted made her lurch. She grasped the post beside her.

"Not another step." She said to the figure behind her. "Please go away."

"I won't." the voice behind her said.

"Go back to your wife." She said quietly, forcing her back to the calm she had before. Her voice seemed to quake. How had he known she was here?! Who told him to follow her? "I'm just taking the night air."

"Marguerite." His voice was quiet and stern. "Marguerite, look at me please?" it was a question, not an order. Head bowed, slowly, she turned to him. The Comte stood in his eveningwear. Even in the harsh lamplight of the pier he looked quite handsome and Marguerite wondered bitterly why Christine could even be indecisive about her husband.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I would have thought you would be backstage, sharing in Christine's triumphant return to the stage." She did try to hide the jealousy in her voice, but if Raoul noticed, he did not comment on it. Instead he shuffled one of his feet, nudging a pebble over the edge of the dock.

"She…doesn't want me." Marguerite stared then, quite shocked. "Not backstage, nor onstage or anywhere else near her for that matter."

"What's happened?" Marguerite asked, absolutely shocked by his answer. Never in her life did she ever expect to hear Christine do something as stupid as push Raoul from her life. The Comte de Chagny shrugged.

"Many things, some of them my fault."

"The debt you mean." Marguerite said, before she could stop herself. Raoul looked up

"What debt?" then he nodded realizing. "Oh, yes. The papers would know of that by now wouldn't they?" he sighed, coming to stand beside her. "It is true, my family is destitute. My father, before he passed on, was invested in what seemed to be very good stock. Unfortunately he'd been swindled. By the time I inherited his title, it was too late. We've had to sell everything."

"I'm sorry then." She said quietly. He shrugged.

"It is not so much that I mind the money is gone. It wasn't father's fault. But I feel a great burden in being unable to care for my family. It does hurt one's pride, knowing my wife-" he paused, retracing his words, "knowing Christine had to return to the stage. The only reason we came here was because she had made a deal. Our debts erased if she sang for Him." Marguerite felt bitterness in her heart again. Her debut had been pushed aside because of Christine. She felt as if her words were stopped in her throat. With great difficult, she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"Judging by the noise coming from the theater, I take it she's done admirably well."
"Yes." He said. "Yes she sang beautifully."

"I would expect nothing less." She said, tears rolling down her cheeks. Quickly wiping them away with the back of her hand, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"I went to see her afterwards." He said, "She'd seemed so much like she was all those years ago in Paris, when we were first married. Happy and shining." His smile was bittersweet "But I seemed to be late in congratulating her. She was already…in someone else's embrace at the time." Marguerite turned to him then, appalled, shocked, and hurt for him and herself then. "I never thought it could hurt so very much to lose someone you love." He said quietly, looking out at the sea. "I have lost dear ones before, relatives, friends, and it did hurt." He said "But…it's all very different this time. I built a life with her…we have a child…for her to dismiss it so easily-" his palm over his chest, over his heart. "I always thought it was a turn of phrase, to say the heart aches…"

"One does learn to live with it." Marguerite replied, unable to stop herself, and he looked at her, surprised. She met his gaze now.

"How?" she found her eyes wet again,

"One…painful day at a time." Wiping her cheek again. "There are always distractions, yours I imagine might be more pleasant than mine." She didn't want to talk to him about her troubles. She felt she would embarrass him and push him away if she did. So she changed the subject. "What about Gustave?" This seemed to nearly break him then, and Raul took a moment to compose himself, turning away and then swiveling back to face her.

"Christine wishes for him to stay with her. She wants him to stay with both of them." His eyes were red and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, willing the hurt still so fresh not to break him until he was in private. "The debts are paid, that I have been promised. I have my dignity back now." He attempted a smile, almost laughing bitterly "I would take back all of my debts if it meant being a family again."

"Where will you go?" Marguerite blurted out. He looked over at her, shrugging.

"Once the papers are signed…" Marguerite realized he meant papers for divorce "I will return to France. I have enough now to buy a home. Live out the remainder of my life quietly and comfortably. I've always enjoyed the sea, perhaps I'll go to Trouville or Nice." He sighed heavily, resolve slowly creeping over him. "What about you? Will you continue at Phantasma?" The very thought of having to work in the same place as Christine, every day watching her and Erik happily living as man and wife made her sick and bitter. No. She couldn't bear that life. A life spent in the background, forever known as "The Opener for Christine Daae".

"I don't think so." She said, keeping her voice even. She put on a smile. "You know me…I'm a dancer…I'm sure there is work for me somewhere." Raoul looked at her suddenly. She was not as young as she was ten years ago. He knew quite well that the career of a dancer averaged eight or ten years. A slow fear settled over him that whispered she was lying. That she knew quite well her career was over and her purpose in coming to the pier as he suspected was not to take the midnight air.

"What about your mother?" he asked

"She'll stay here." Tears again in her eyes, it was not the first time he'd noticed either. "She's happy here. She doesn't have anything against Phantasma. A few…tiffs with the manager." She gave a watery smile. "Nothing she can't solve."

"They'll miss you terribly." She gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Me?! I doubt very much they'll miss me, monsieur." Her hand on the post, knuckles turning white as she gripped it. "They'll miss…the money I brought in. The money I earned offstage." A smile he couldn't read spread across her face. "The 'Oo La, La Girl' makes special performances, don't you know?" her smile turned into a grimace as she tried to hold back tears, tried to keep her composure. "Sometimes three times a night, Monsieur." Realization dawned, and Raoul could only stare, horrified at the shell that was Marguerite, thoroughly beaten and spat out by the workings of Fantasma. "I kept them all from shutting us down. Closing down his dream. I curried favor with the press, with the banks, with the investors…"

"Marguerite-"

"I did it because I thought…if I gave something so precious…he'd find a way to forget how she left. He'd realize that there are others who love him, who would move heaven and earth to hear him sing for me…the way he sang for her." Sinking to her knees, she held herself, rocking back and forth. Through blurry eyes, she looked out again to the sea. "Isn't it calm, Raoul?" she murmured. "Calm and cool and deep. How many times I've sat on this pier and wondered how long it would take for the sea to wash me away? Wash me away from the world. Would anyone notice, or even care?" She felt warm hands on her arms, drawing her up to her feet, pulling her away from the edge of the pier.

"I would care." He said quietly. Her face was still turned to the sea. A hand under her chin, he made her look away. "I would care very much." She looked at him, searching his eyes. She saw pity and love, and indeed truth. If there was anything in the world that she could be certain of, it was that Raoul de Chagny never lied. At this, she began to weep, head against him. His arms about her slender frame, he soothed her back. His cheek against her soft hair. He found himself wondering if this was the first time she had even been held by anyone other than her mother. The thought alone made him hurt for her. Ten years of servitude to a man that would never love her, ten years under his thumb, giving everything in the hopes that someday he might notice. Even Raoul could not say he had a life so upsetting as that. There were times that he and Christine argued, there were times when the worry that they would always be in debt seemed to swallow him whole. But his pain seemed to dim in comparison to Marguerite's. "Come with me." Raoul found himself saying, and he realized he meant it. Marguerite lifted her head, cheeks wet. Surprise evident, she blinked.

"What did you say?"

"Come away with me to France." He repeated. "There isn't anything for either of us here." He still held her as he spoke. "As soon as the papers are signed, we'll go away to France, or Spain, or Italy or wherever you wish to go. We'll start a new life, Marguerite. Together." She was quiet for a long time. He wondered if he'd insulted her. "What is it?" he asked, seeing her want to ask something but hesitating.

"Will…will I be your wife?" she asked softly. Raoul looked upon her, a little hurt that she would think him crass enough to only want her beside him as a mistress.

"Of course you will be." He said, letting the obviousness in his voice be heard. "How else would we live together?" relief washed over her, and she let out a gasping breath.

"I will be a wife." She said, this time tears of joy began to fall and she smiled. "A wife, I shall be your wife?"

"Yes, Marguerite."

"May…may I kiss you please?" she asked. He nodded, finding himself touched by her question. He'd never kissed anyone but Christine. Marguerite rose on tip-toe and he realized then how small she was in comparison to the soprano. Pressing her little mouth to his cheek, she settled back on her heels, blushing furiously.

They stood on the pier for some time, dreading going back to Phantasma. But at last, Raoul said they must, they would be looking for Marguerite, and he must collect his things from the apartment. He would stay at a hotel in Manhattan until the paperwork was finished. When they arrived at the park, they found things as they usually were. Much to Raoul's surprise, the only people concerned for Marguerite's wellbeing was her mother, and Christine. Spotting them, Christine hurried over, embracing her friend

"Oh Marguerite! We've been looking everywhere for you!" Christine said, "Your mother has been so worried!"

"I'm sorry." Marguerite said, somewhat numbly. "I went for a walk. But I'm fine now. Raoul brought me back." Christine suddenly looked at Raoul, realizing he was there and she looked terribly awkward and embarrassed.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you Raoul. That was good of you."

"I only came to return Marguerite, and to collect my things from the apartment." He said; his tone was unreadable; his eyes though were searching, penetrating Christine's obvious discomfort. She hid her own from him, nodding quickly.

"Yes. Yes of course."

"You have arrangements?" Marguerite asked suddenly, turning to him. "There is someone in Manhattan who owes me a favor. I could fix it."

"Arrangements have already been made for the Comte de Chagny." A voice said behind them and they all turned to see Erik in the doorway of his office. "I apologize for the delay in them of course, but I have a carriage waiting to take you to Manhattan to-day, as soon as you like. I understand the Waldorf-Astoria is known for its impeccable service." There was no malice in his voice, much to everyone's surprise.

"Indeed." Raoul said. "I am sure it's only rival has been that of the apartments here in Phantasma. You would be wise to open your own seaside resort here. I am sure many would be thrilled to reside in such a place." The tension was thick, and Christine stood between the both of them, gaze flicking from Erik to Raoul and back again.

"Thank you for returning Little Giry." Erik said, and then looked to her "Your mother was quite concerned. I trust you'll go and find her now and put her fears to rest before she has the pier drug for your body." He looked her over, hair mussed from the wind, her face white with cold. "What have you to say for yourself? You've caused your mama and Christine a great deal of worry." Marguerite couldn't speak for a moment, and Raoul saw her hands fold behind her back, nails digging into her skin.

"I'm sorry to cause any trouble." She said very quietly. "I'll go and find Mama now." Woodenly, she turned away, her gait measured and precise.

"I hope you won't be too harsh on her." Raoul said and Christine and Erik both turned to him. "She's had a trying night. After all it was her premiere too." He smiled comfortably, hiding his anger at the both of them. The carelessness that they exacted upon Marguerite was too much for him and he wanted dearly for them to understand how close they had come to driving her over the edge. "Did you see it?" he went on "She was very good. I shouldn't be surprised if she would have stolen the show, had Christine not sung. No one can outshine you, my dear." Christine looked ashamed then, and to his surprise, so did Erik. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and pack my things." And he left, bowing at the neck to Christine, and nodding curtly to Erik.

"I'll go and help him." Christine murmured. Erik grasped her hand, but she squeezed his fingers. "It's alright dear. I'll be back shortly." She smiled faintly "He never packs anything neatly. His shirts will be all a bundle." It was a lie of course. Raoul liked things neat and tidy in his trunk. But Christine needed to speak with him.