A/N: Bear with me. This is a crazy joke of an idea turned brutal reality. My attempt to stick a plaster on the abyss that is Love Never Dies.
In short: Christine and Raoul are happily married with happy children. Circumstances bring them to America where they meet the Phantom. Shit goes down and Christine finally gets to do what we all wanted her to do: Stand up for herself and speak her mind!
No abusive Raoul, no prostituting Meg, no push-over Christine.
No distorted characterisations and plot-twists that completely throw everything we thought we knew about the characters we love over board. No destruction of the character's developmental arch for the sake of having a ship work. No unnecessary deaths. Just everybody getting what they actually deserve.
If this hasn't scared you away yet then I welcome you to indulge in my brain-barf and enjoy my feeble attempts at medning the disgraceful "sequel" of the show I love.
*
The first chapter(s) still take place between the events of PotO and LND.

Hot tears were burning in Christine's eyes. She sat in the gondola and was shaking from head to toe, trying her hardest not to break out into sobs. Raoul stood in front of her, pushing them along with a long pole, his eyes stoically fixed ahead. Only occasionally his gaze would flit down to her, reassuring him that she was still there, that she was still with him. That she was safe.

Christine pressed her hands against her mouth to stifle a sob that hitched in her throat. Trembling lips touching the space that – only moments ago – had been occupied by a heavy ring, so cold against her fingers. She thought she could still hear the maniac laughter, the screams of pain and fury echo through the canal walls, following her. They would always follow her. She wanted to hold her ears and close her eyes, slowly sink away and forget. Instead she looked at Raoul, standing at the end of the boat, calm and collected. She thanked him for his unwavering strength, for being the pillar in her storm.

Despite being the one that – in a way – had saved his life and that of the Persian, she didn't feel strong. Without him she would have never made it out of this hell – that she was quite certain of. Watching him now calmly navigate the waters kept her focused, kept her from dissolving in the sea of her emotions.

When they docked he reached out his hand and held her in his strong grip. He didn't let go. Not when her feet touched solid ground nor when they searched their way out of the cellars. His hand was always around hers, warm and reassuring.

Only when they had fled the opera, when they stood out on the open plaza, did he dare lose his composure. He pulled her towards him and buried his face in her hair, gripping her tightly as if he were afraid that they would both fall apart if he loosened his hold.

That was when she heard his sobs. She felt them shudder through his body with each breath. He was crying from relief.

"Thank God you are safe," he whispered, his voice roughened by emotion.

She pressed her face to his chest and joined him, finally letting go. Her hands dug into him, desperately clinging to his shirt for a secure hold. Together they cried for the fear they had endured – both for their own and the other's life – for the horrors they had forced to be a part of, for the utter relief that they had managed to escape.

Finally the tension fell from their bodies, washed away, and left them weak and trembling.

When Raoul pulled away his eyes were red and puffy, his hair tousled, and his shirt dirty and torn. Yet when he looked at her his gaze held such love, such warmth and devotion, that Christine felt able to cease her own crying and simply know that he would be there. He would always be there.

The ride home was spent in silence. They held on to each other, not wanting to be parted for even a second for fear that they could lose the other again. Only when they rolled up in front of Christine's apartment were they forced to separate.

"Please come with me, Raoul," Christine begged against his chest. "Don't leave me alone tonight." Raoul brought up a hand to stroke her hair.

"You have to rest," he murmured, almost apologetically. Christine leaned back to look him in the eyes and shook her head.

"I will not be able to close my eyes if you are not with me," she whispered. "I will be too afraid on my own to catch even a moment of sleep." Raoul sighed, holding his hand to her cheek.

"Then I will not leave you, I promise." With this he ordered the coachmen to return to the Chagny mansion without them and let Christine lead him into her rooms. He insisted on sleeping on the sofa and had to swear that he would stay right where he was, only a room away. Reluctantly Christine bid him good night.

Raoul fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning on the narrow space the sofa offered. In the middle of the night he was woken by muffled cries. They were coming from Christine's room. He rose from the sofa and checked the door. When it was unlocked he carefully let himself in.

Christine was curled up in the far corner of her bed, face pressed into her pillow to stifle her sobs, though it did nothing to hide the shaking of her frame. Without another thought Raoul climbed into the bed with her and curled his arms protectively around her.

"Shh, Christine," he murmured softly and began to stroke her back. "Don't cry. I'm here for you. Nothing will happen to you ever again, I promise." Slowly Christine calmed down and snuggled her head into the crook of his neck. Her fingers tightly twisted into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close to her. After a while her breathing evened out and she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep of pure exhaustion.

Raoul renewed his proposal three weeks after they had last left the opera behind them. Christine was still plagued by nightmares – waking up in tears, scared and shivering – but under his care they diminished in number and severity.

Of course she said yes – again. There was no one else Christine could even imagine wanting to spend the rest of her life with as much as with him. He pulled himself up and hastily pressed his lips against hers. Frantic. That's how their kisses always were lately. As if they still feared each kiss could be the very last one.

They pulled back, lips swollen and out of breath, broad smiles lighting up their faces. All would be good. They would stay together and all would be good.

Their marriage was a personal thing. Not many people attended, but they couldn't care less. When they had each other there was no one else they needed.

When he saw Christine walk towards the altar Raoul's breath caught in his throat. She was radiantly beautiful. A stunning appearance dressed in white.

'If an angel were to look down upon her,' Raoul thought, 'it would fall out of the sky in envy.' His heart beat against his ribcage, almost painfully. Seeing her like this he could scarcely believe his luck. He felt as if he would never again experience a glum day if only she stayed by his side. In this moment she was all he had ever hoped for and all he knew he'd ever want and need.

'I must look like the most foolishly love-struck idiot,' he thought. 'But I don't care. Not as long as she is the reason I look this way.' When she caught his gaze and smiled he swore he could have dropped dead right that instant. If possible his heart beat even wilder and he feared it could jump right out of his chest. He beamed at her and thought he was never going to be able to stop.

He barely listened when the priest spoke his words. All his attention was consumed by his Christine. He noticed her hands were trembling when he slid on her wedding band. He searched her face and found the same giddy, love-struck joy he felt, gleam from her eyes.

Upon the priests word he leaned in to kiss her. Their first wholly calm kiss. There was no more need for fear. They were bound to one another, they had promised to care for each other and never leave, and in this kiss Raoul verified all the vows he had spoken.

He did so again in their wedding bed. Two lovers entangled, all sweet love and clumsy shyness on their first full encounter with the other's body. They gasped their vows into each other's ear, breathed them against their skins, wanting the words to last forever.

They fell asleep wrapped up in each other's arms. Two hearts conjoined. From that night on the nightmares rarely returned.

A newspaper article caught her attention. Christine was sitting opposite of Raoul in a corner of the grand living room, contentedly reading a book in the warm silence that engulfed them. She had looked up with a smile when Raoul commented on something in the news article he was reading. Her smile froze when her eyes caught sight of a small section of the page that faced her.

"Raoul, what is that?" She tried to keep her voice calm, though it sounded forced.

"Hm?" Her husband looked up from behind the pages and eyed her with raised brows. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"That article – on the back of your paper." She reached forward and took the pages from his hand. Raoul protested lightly but fell silent once he noticed the rigid expression on his wife's face.

"Christine, is everything alright?" Worry creased the edges of his voice and he bent over with a slight frown on his face. "Christine?" Her gaze shot up to meet his, troubled and distracted.

"It-it's the opera..." She swallowed thickly before scanning the small article again. It didn't even cover a quarter of a page. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly as she read, crumpling the thin paper.

"They found him," she whispered, barely suppressing a tremble in her voice. "Raoul, they – they found him. H-his corpse –" She broke off and looked at him with wild eyes. Raoul felt an uneasy clenching in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard before he dared to speak.

"Are you sure?" He knew it sounded empty but in that moment he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes I'm sure!" she snapped backed, fueled by agitation. She immediately regretted her sharp tone when she saw Raoul's hurt expression. "I'm sorry," she whispered and dragged a shaking hand through her mass of curls.

"The – the body... it wore his ring." She handed him the paper. The article held a picture of a skeletally thin corpse and a close-up on its right hand, on the ring that sat on his little finger. It was the Phantom's. Unmistakably. While skimming the article he noticed that it even hinted at the man's supposed identity. So it was true, the Phantom was dead.

With a light feeling in his chest Raoul looked back up to see Christine trembling. Her arms curled around her thin frame for protection while she stared ahead unseeingly. Raoul lay the pages aside and sat down by her side. He took her in his arms and held her tightly against his chest.

"He's gone now," he whispered soothingly." There is nothing you have to be afraid of anymore. He can't get you." He felt something wet on his shirt and realized that she had started to cry. Her soft sobs were muffled against his frame. He rocked her gently and stroked her hair. Though he had to admit that he did not exactly know what she was feeling at the moment he was determined to be there for her.

Christine shivered against Raoul's warm body. Her heart twisted painfully as sobs and tears tumbled from her. She was confused. On the one hand she was crying out of her relief that now she was finally truly freed from the Phantom's bonds. On the other hand... her Angel had been her closest musical companion after the death of her father. He had been a genius beyond measure and even though he had hurt her, even though he had been murderous, deceiving and vindictive, she had never wanted him to die. Not like this. Not alone in his ready-made grave. For in the end he had attempted to redeem himself and deserved better.

She was torn between mourning such a waste of talent, feeling sorrow for the loss of what he could have been, and feeling an indescribable relief. He would never be able to haunt her again. She was safe at last. Truly safe. No more murders, no more crimes, no more nightmares. Only her and Raoul and their chance at a new life, free from the ghosts of the past. Wasn't that exactly what she had wished for?

It was. And snuggling against Raoul, feeling his strong arms around her and hearing his soft, reassuring voice, she only felt strengthened in her conviction. Erik was dead. It had happened for a reason – that's what she told herself. To give her and Raoul a chance to breathe.

It were these thoughts and Raoul's presence which finally calmed her. She leaned back and wiped at her wet face.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I just didn't know how – what to..." She shrugged helplessly.

"It's alright," Raoul murmured and gently raised her face with his hand under her chin. "I understand. You were feeling overwhelmed." He smiled reassuringly before pressing his lips against hers in a short kiss.

"Don't worry about it."

Christine sighed and leaned back against him. She listened to his steady heartbeat and felt him resume his careful petting of her hair. A small smile crept across her lips. She loved Raoul, she truly did. And she was so incredibly thankful that he was hers. That he was here to calm and reassure her. Always.

"Christine... are you satisfied?" Christine stood on the balcony, looking out into the garden, when Raoul approached her. She turned in surprise.

"Of course, darling. What makes you think I wouldn't be?" She had heard the doubt that swung in his voice. Raoul drew his hand across the back of his neck and sighed.

"I was just wondering if – that maybe you..." He broke off, looking for a sensible order to bring out his words in. Christine watched him expectantly. Raoul huffed softly.

"I hear you sing sometimes. And when you do, you get this look in your eyes and I wonder if you miss the opera." He looked at her with a smile, though his eyes were full of insecurity. Ever since they had fled from the fifth cellar that night they hadn't shared another word about the opera. Christine had pushed away all thoughts of music – at least she had tried – they reminded her too much of what she had been through. Raoul had respected this and so music had never been mentioned.

But Christine had never managed to keep music from her mind completely. It was too much a part of her being. Music defined her. She needed it like a plant needed water and sunlight. Without music she withered.

And Raoul had noticed. Of course he had.

He had seen the emptiness behind her eyes, noticed how they began to lose that glow he so loved. He heard her soft sighs and caught the wistful glances she would absentmindedly cast the locked closet that kept all her scores. He felt her retreat further into herself as her soul slowly starved. He realized that – contrary to what they had both believed – she didn't need the absence, but the all-encompassing presence of music in her life to heal her. He saw it when her eyes lit up again as soon as she would hum a small tune. Often she wasn't even aware of it herself and as soon as she realized what she was doing she would shy back into an abrupt silence, scared. Then the light in her eyes would flicker out again.

Christine bit her lips and cast a glance at the side. Unconsciously her arms snaked around her waist to hug her middle.

"Don't worry, Raoul," she murmured softly. Her voice sounded small and unconvinced. "I – I don't want to go back..."

"Christine..." Raoul stroked a finger across her cheek. She met his gaze with scared eyes. "You don't have to be scared to admit that you miss it. – I know that you do." She turned away and shook her head.

"I don't." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. A shudder shot down her spine. "I – I can't."

"But Christine, if you love it so –" He wanted to take her back into his arms but she cut him off when she shook her head firmly and stepped further away.

"You don't understand Raoul."

"Then help me understand. Explain it to me." He let his arms fall to his side and watched his wife with a confused expression. Christine bit her lip and stayed silent. Raoul tried again:

"If it's the opera house then I'm sure we can find another place for you to sing. It – it doesn't even have to be the opera." He took a tentative step toward her. His eyes were carefully trained on her face, studying it for any sign of distress. When she still refused to look at him he sighed helplessly.

"I wish I were better at music," he admitted quietly. Now it was his turn to look at the ground. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably when he felt Christine's eyes on him. "If I were better – if I could play... I would play for you and you could sing..."

"Oh Raoul..."

"You need music, Christine, I can see that. No good comes from you denying it. And I wish I could give it to you – but seeing as I can't I want to make sure you can get it yourself..." He raised his gaze to meet hers again. She smiled at him but it was a sad smile.

"I can't go back. There are too many memories that I don't dare touch again." Her voice was full of regret. Raoul noticed how much it pained her to give up on music like this.

"No," he said firmly. Christine cocked her head and frowned questioningly.

"I won't watch you wither." He straightened his back, suddenly determined. "You don't have to perform. Sing at home if you will. But please – sing!" He breathed deeply and looked her straight in the eyes. "I miss hearing your voice." His voice was softer now.

"I miss the way your eyes glow when you sing." He stretched a hand out to caress her cheek.

"I want you to be as happy as you can be. And for that you need music." He smiled briefly when she leaned against his hand. "And if you are scared I will be there, don't you forget that. You never have to be scared alone. – You don't even have to sing alone. If you want we can find an accompanist for you. Or... I can learn to play the piano. Though you would have to excuse my utter lack of talent." His mouth twitched when Christine chuckled. Following an impulse he pulled Christine against his body and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her hair tickled his nose.

"Thank you."

He almost didn't hear her whispered words, muffled by his chest. He smiled again and squeezed her a little tighter.

Christine couldn't tell why she was so reluctant to sing again when her entire being ached to feel the melodies. It was a cold fist gripping her heart. Erik's ghost still held power over her. In ways he still commanded her voice. She was scared that if she sang he would find a way back to her, that he would somehow find a way to take hold of her thoughts again. She knew it was ridiculous, that Erik was dead. And yet she couldn't help her wandering mind.

But Raoul was right. It hurt her to hold back her voice like this. And no matter how hard she tried, she often found herself humming under her breath. No number of times of stopping in silent shock and scolding herself would change that.

As she leaned against Raoul's sturdy frame now and felt his strong arms around her, her worries slowly melted away. Raoul was right. She needed music to get better. She would take back the control over herself and her voice and finally dispel Erik from her mind.

She swallowed and breathed a shaky sigh. With Raoul by her side she could do it.

A/N: That was actually quite sweet, wasn't it? Risk-of-getting-diabetes-when-staring-too-long-at-it sweet. Some of it is still stuck in my hair.

*
I can't say how often I'll update, but it shouldn't be less than once a week. The second chapter is basically written and the rest is meticulously planned out. I already filled half a note book in my frantic mission to purge myself of all the ideas I had - only a quarter of which actually made it into the final cut.
I debated not uploading anything until I was done, but then I couldn't wait. At least its all planned and should be running smoothly.

Update: I am a procrastinating fool and realized that no amount of planning can help me. Updates will take longer.