I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.

COMING HOME

Erik had already deduced from the quality of her clothing that Joséphine came from one of the wealthy families that lived in the Faubourgs in the West of Paris. The neighbourhood they now passed through pointed out the same. The houses steadily became bigger; some could even be called mansions, with lawns and grounds around them.

Since it was still before midday, not many of the inhabitants of this quarter were out and about, the ladies of the houses either having a late breakfast or sleeping in, and the men out for business. Only some servants were on the streets, doing errands for their masters and casting sideways glances at the couple on their way.

When they passed through the Parc Monceau, Joséphine grabbed Erik and drew him to a bench somewhat of from the main walk. Bewildered, Erik looked at her as he sat down beside her.

"What is it?"

"We can't show up at my home without some background story about who you are. Clara knows that I needed a husband, but she will want to hear your reasons for marrying me. I take it that nobody is supposed to know that you are the Phantom of the Opera?"

She dropped her voice at that, and when he nodded in affirmation, she moved on.

"Then we need to explain your…condition, where you are from at what you do."

"That would be all?" Erik asked dryly.

"I am not asking you to reveal the truth about your past," she groaned, "but we must tell her something."

"Why does she need to know, you are married, she lost the money, and that's the end of it." Erik started to rise, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"We have been through this before, and you agreed to pose as my husband for a while. I don't want Clara to make the connection to the opera ghost. She will inform the authorities and they will take you away."

"That wouldn't be so bad for you, would it?" Erik accused her.

"What is your problem now?" Joséphine retorted frustrated.

"This whole thing was a stupid idea," Erik spat. "People look at me strangely with the bandage on my head, and they will become even more suspicious when I replace it by a mask. I will never be able to get close enough to Christine to…"

"Stop wallowing in pity Erik!" Joséphine yelled at him, then drew back, shivering under the infuriated look Erik shot her.

"I don't know what happened between you and this woman, but I heard some of the rumours. Did you ever consider that she refused you not only because of your looks but because of what you did or how you behaved? Playing a ghost at the opera, threatening the managers or God knows who else, murdering people: that is definitely not the way to a woman's heart!"

Erik shot up from the bank, fighting the urge to harm her for yelling at him like this. He walked a few meters, clenching his hands, trying to calm down. She was right, he had given her a promise. And what she said about Christine…could she be right about that?

He wanted Christine to see him as a normal man, worthy of her, able to walk among people. At the church he had been sure that this could work, but ever since the wedding was official and they had started traversing half of Paris in broad daylight, the constant stares of the people unsettled his already unstable psychic condition even more, and he started to see nothing but the flaws of this plan.

Erik stiffened when he felt Joséphine's hand on his shoulder. Softly, she turned him around to face her.

"I can only imagine how hard it is to expose yourself like this. You did this to help me, now please, let me help you." She lifted her hand to the bandage, when Erik didn't flinch, she touched it lightly.

"We say it was an illness, an infection you contracted somewhere. Have you been anywhere besides Paris?" she asked him.

"I've been in Persia," Erik admitted.

"Oh, that's…have you been to a harem? Have you seen…," she caught herself, knowing he didn't want her to pry, but he could see her mind spinning stories, and he asked himself how far they might be from the truth.

"I'm sorry, my curiosity often gets the better of me," Joséphine smiled. Erik had to nod at that, which made her blush. "I always wanted to accompany my father on his journeys, but I was never allowed to. There must be so many wonderful places on this planet, don't you think?" Erik said nothing, and she blushed even more, knowing she had become distracted from the subject at hand.

"Well, that is for another time. What will you say is your profession?" she asked him.

"Architect," Erik said truthfully.

Joséphine's eyes widened. "Are you an architect for real?"

When he nodded, she couldn't resist knowing more. "Are there buildings here in Paris you designed?"

'Besides the Opera Garnier?' Erik was tempted to say, but thought better of it. "The Bataclan is based on my ideas, as is the Theatre Marigny."

Joséphine let out a small gasp. "Those are beautiful, I….that's amazing, Erik." It felt good to get some recognition, even if it was just from one person.

"So, the only thing left is the reason why you chose to marry me," Joséphine concluded.

"That should be obvious," Erik said.

Joséphine didn't say anything, so he elaborated. "It's a marriage of convenience, you needed a husband, and I never thought to find a wife the way I look. Your stepmother won't expect us to have fallen in love, won't she?" Joséphine smiled.

"No, she won't. But between you and me, we could try for friendship for the duration of this union, right?" Erik nodded, and they left the park to finally get to Joséphine's house.

The home of Joséphine d'Escayrac was definitely one of the mansions in the neighbourhood. It was a two storied neo-classical building with a small front garden and iron-wrought gates.

"Your father is a scientist, how can he afford this?" Erik asked, impressed.

"Well, he's a Marquis, and his father left him quite the fortune," Joséphine explained sheepishly.

Erik looked at her, at a loss for words. Then suddenly he started laughing, startling Joséphine with the sound of it. "You are a marquise?"

"No, my stepmother is, I am but the daughter of a Marquis, and when my father dies, the title will die with him," Joséphine told him.

This was brilliant. Christine had left with a Vicomte and he went to marry the daughter of a Marquis. This whole adventure seemed to have some irony he couldn't explain to it.

"You are not going to tell me what is so amusing, right?" She didn't wait for an answer.

"Wait here for a moment, I'll be right back." Before Erik could reply, she had run off to the servant's entrance.

Left there alone on the streets, his self-awareness returned tenfold. Joséphine had become quite used to him in this short time, and ever since they had met the last night, she had never left his side. Standing here now, with a bandage to hide his hideous face, and the clothes from yesterday he felt completely out of place.

Thankfully, before his thoughts could walk further down that path, Joséphine returned, carrying a chocolate brown jacket and a cloth brush in her hands. "I asked my maid to get one of my father's jackets. It should look good with your pants," she explained, while starting to brush off his pants, carefully avoiding a certain part of it. The colour fit, but it was a bit too big. Nonetheless, it definitely improved his appearance.

Josephine threw the used brush in direction of the servant's entrance, than looked up at Erik with a sly smile. "Fine, this will work. Let's face the dragon, shall we?"

No sooner had they entered the house through the main door, as a tall and slender woman, in clothes even more expensive than Joséphine's appeared. She had to be in her early thirties, her blond hair was pulled back in the latest fashion and her make-up was perfectly applied. She was beautiful, but she had an air to her that made her lose all her attractiveness. Ignoring Erik, she walked up to Joséphine and slapped her in the face.

"You better not sneak out like this again," Clara yelled, her face contorted in fury. "Or I promise you I…," she raised her hand again, but Erik, stepping in front of Joséphine, caught her arm. It was only then that Clara seemed to register his presence.

"You better not try to strike my wife again," Erik said dangerously.

Clara paled and took a step back. "Wife?" she stammered.

"Yes, wife," Joséphine said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the confusion and then the anger that showed in Clara's eyes at the implications of this.

Soon enough though, la Marquise d'Escayrac regained her composure. "So, where did you find him?" Taking a turn around Erik to get a closer look, she drawled on. "Somewhere in gutter?"

"No, I had to beat him on the head to convince him to marry me, Clara," Joséphine replied sarcastically.

"How else would you find a husband, wouldn't you?" Clara sneered.

"Actually, he was the answer to my prayers, as if sent from heaven," Joséphine retorted. 'Or hell' thought Erik by himself.

"This…this will not work Joséphine, I assure you, you will not come between me and your father's money," Clara threatened her.

"Au contraire," Joséphine replied, "It is you who will not get between me and my inheritance. I fulfilled Papa's contract just as he wanted me to do. He didn't tell me who to marry, and I assure you, that we are legally wed."

She took Erik's hand and stepped up to the stairs at the right side of the foyer. "Besides, weren't you always the one who said you had fallen in love with Papa at first sight? Who says it wasn't the same between Erik and me?"

Leaving Clara speechless at the vestibule, the couple disappeared at the first floor.