Many thanks to my faithful reviewers. This chapter is extremely short, and for that I apologize. Hopefully the next chapter will not be so long in coming. So far the pace has been somewhat slow in this story, but it will, with any luck, pick up in the next few chapters. As always, please please review and tell me what you think, let me know whether I've botched anything, or say if something simply doesn't sit right with you.

In case anyone was wondering, I'm pretty certain Joelle's name is pronounced "Jo - EL."

In this chapter, I own everything but Erik and his past.

And now, if you'll remember, Joelle had left the apartment to go to market.


The grey dress she wore had black trimmings, and it flattered her at the same time as toning down her presence so that Joelle blended in very nicely and would have been difficult to find if you were looking for her. Joelle's substantial shoulders were square and her back was straight and proud as she stood at the store counter, but her head was humbled by a large grey hat with a black mesh veil that she had pulled down past her chin.

"I'm afraid those are all too common measurements for a Parisian, madame," the old tailleur was explaining to her. "We've been overrun with customers, and I don't think we have much left that would fit him that's already made. But I'll have a look around in back and see what's come in."

"Thank you, monsieur." Whenever she spoke, she tilted her head downward, disguising the action as a polite sort of nod, and causing the large hat to completely obscure the view of her face.

The old man disappeared through a door and somebody bumped in to Joelle as she stood at the counter. She turned, insulted, to see who it was and give them a verbal lashing. She met a man who stood about 6'5", with large shoulders and wavy blond hair.

"Oh," she said, exasperated, swiping a gloved hand across his chest in a scolding sort of way. "Alexei. What are you doing here?" Joelle did not bother to tilt her head down when she spoke to this man, but she also did not look up to his face.

"Buying clothes." He said simply, his bold blue eyes dancing.

She sighed and turned back to the counter. "What do you want?"

"I have a job for you. I signaled you an hour ago in your apartment and you did not answer." He moved away from her about a pace, and pretended to be interested in picking out a tie.

"I told you I'm not going to be working for you for a while. At least for the first week. And what were you thinking signaling me in my apartment? What did you expect - for me to throw open the window and shout down my price with a guest right in the room? What would he have thought?"

"You have a guest." Alexei said, interest peaking in his voice. "So you did find him."

"Yes and thank God. He was suicidal."

"You're obsessed with the man, you know that."

She let out another exasperated sigh, and rolled her eyes. "Haven't we discussed this before? I'm not obsessed, I'm -

"You're worried." He continued for her, tiredly. "And why shouldn't you be? He was like your brother, after all." He knew the speech by heart.

"Don't mock me." Joelle said, turning over her shoulder and looking him straight in the eye, whereupon he threw up his hands to show he knew he had overstepped his boundary. But the jest was ever in his posture. "You're just jealous because you never had a family." She said, turning her attention back to the counter.

"Neither did you, Joelle." He retorted, trying to point out the ridiculousness of her thinking.

"Yes I did, Alexei. In him I did."

Alexei bowed his head and shifted away from her.

The tailleur returned with a shirt and a pant, and laid them on the counter. "It was all I could find," he said. "But you may leave the measurements with me and I should have at least part of a wardrobe done by next week."

"Thank you, monsieur, that will do very nicely." Joelle said, fingering the fabric on the shirt.

"That will be twenty francs, plus some sort of down payment for the clothes to be made."

Joelle paid the man forty francs, waited for him to box the clothes, then put the box under her arm and headed out. Alexei followed.

"Look, I'd still like to have dinner with you this week sometime, Joelle." He told her once outside the shop.

"I don't know if I'll be able to get away."

"He's a grown man, I'm sure he can handle himself for a few -"

"I have a job, Alexei, remember? A real and legitimate job, unlike you, and with jobs like that comes certain obligations, but I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"What's wrong, Joelle?" He asked quietly. "You usually don't snap at me so much."

She sighed and wrapped her gloved fingers around the back of his immense arm. "I'm sorry. This has been a very trying week. I'm tired and my judgment is impaired." She began to cross the street, and he followed. "Oh, by the by, what was the name of that costumer the opera house fired a couple years ago?" Joelle browsed through a fruit vendor's wares until she found some grapes.

"I worry about you, Joelle. You've run yourself ragged for a man who you say was so close as to be like family to you for many years... but Joelle, does he even remember you?"

"Of course he does, you big Russian. I taught him almost everything he knows." She paid the man for the bunch of grapes and started away from Alexei to continue her shopping.

"Henri Lorres," He called after her. "And calling me by my nationality is not a very good insult, by the way. Parisienne!"

She merely put her free hand in the air as a wave and continued through the market.


Erik opened the door to the closet and found, much to his amusement, a piano. Joelle's various blouses and skirts hung over it, skimming the keys. It was on a dolly, and easily rolled out into the room. He stared at it with some longing, touched the keys lightly with his fingertips, but would not play. No, he could not play. Too many emotions were connected with his fingers, and if he allowed his hands to make those emotions audible, he knew he would be unable to bear it. He kicked the dolly and pushed the piano back into the closet, closing the doors tightly as though he were afraid it would come to life and jump across the room at him. Frustrated and emotionally stuck, Erik paced the room. Eventually he turned his attention to the book case, and found a copy of Beowulf, reclined on the only chair and began reading it. He had only read a few pages when Joelle unlocked the door and entered.