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.

THE TAVERN

They didn't talk during the walk to the tavern, Erik too occupied with his thoughts, and Joséphine too tired to make small talk.

When they arrived at the tavern's door, Joséphine halted him. "I suppose you don't have any money with you," pausing for a second to continue in a whisper, "Since you left quite hastily from your home."

Was she making a joke or was it just a bad way for her to express the obvious? Erik wasn't sure.

"No, I don't have money, everything I possess that wasn't at my 'home'," he emphasized the word, "is stored at the bank."

Joséphine nodded, then opened her purse, took out a few coins and gave it to him. Erik put them in the pocket of his trousers but didn't knock on the door. At the inquiring look of Joséphine he gestured towards his face. "I'm not sure the innkeeper will let me enter if he sees this."

She started to undo her shawl again, when he stopped her. "No offence, but this will just not do. I need something else to cover my face."

Joséphine stopped; then, suddenly she turned her back to him and walked towards a dark corner.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, bewildered.

Erik had his answer when he heard the sound of a fabric being torn apart. She came back to him holding a long strip of white linen, which she had obviously ripped from her undergarments, in her hands. When she lifted her hands towards his face, he recoiled. Blushing she dropped her hands.

"I wanted to make it seem like a bandage, but if you prefer to do it yourself, here, take it." She shoved the linen into his hands, than stepped back and leaned against the wall of the building.

Erik started to wind the strip around his head, masking the deformation as good as he could. He was amazed that she had once more been willing to touch him, even nearly touch his monstrous side. He appreciated that she didn't treat him for worse because of his deformity; indeed, she seemed to have grown accustomed to it, probably because she had only ever seen him like this. Still, the sooner he could lay hands on a new mask, the better.

Finished with applying the linen, he looked at her. Receiving a nod that he had hidden his right side as best as possible, he finally knocked on the door.

Only a few seconds later, the peephole was opened by a middle aged man with dark hair and a moustache, obviously the owner of the establishment.

"What?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

"My wife and I need shelter for the night," Erik told the man who looked at him curiously.

"What happened to your head?" he inquired.

"We were robbed in our home," Joséphine explained. "I don't feel save there anymore, so after reporting to the police and getting my husband treated, I convinced him to spend the night in a tavern."

This woman had no scruples whatsoever, Erik thought. The speed with which her brain worked to come up with such a story impressed him.

"Robbed you were, ey? Can you pay then?"

"Yes we can, the thieves left when I stood up at them," Erik replied. He took the coins out of his pocket and showed them to the man. He only nodded, than closed the peephole to open the door.

They paid the man and stepped into the tavern which consisted of only a few tables and a bar at the opposite end. On the left was a staircase to the upper floor, hosting the guest rooms as well as the private quarters of the owner and his wife, who at the moment was cleaning the floor near the bar with a broom. She looked up as the couple entered.

"Anna, show them to the free room at the end of the hall, they will stay the night," the owner explained to his wife, who put aside the broom, took a candle from one of the tables and went to the staircase, motioning for the two to follow her. Erik and Joséphine thanked the host and went after her.

The room they found themselves in a few minutes later was small but clean. A table with a stool was placed near the window, a cupboard next to it, a bed and a nightstand with a pitcher and a bowl was all the furniture.

One bed. Big enough for both of them, but still, they only knew each other for a few hours.

One bed. Both stood next to the door and stared at it. Finally, Erik spoke. "If you could spare a pillow, I will sleep on the floor."

Joséphine breathed a sigh of relief. She had feared that he would already claim his marital rights this night and she wasn't ready for this yet. She thanked him silently for not taking advantage of the situation they were in.

Walking towards the bed she grabbed the best pillow and a blanket, offering it to him. He took them from her silently and installed himself across the room.

With his back turned to her, she took off her robe, not wanting to crinkle it even more as it already was and slipped under the covers. She had never spent the night with a man before, but sensing that Erik was too occupied with whatever was going on in his mind to bother her during her sleep, she felt save enough.

She remembered her father telling her often that she was too trusting in people, but ever since she had seen Erik's face and still pleaded him to marry her, he had shown no anger or aggression towards her. He may be the Opera Ghost, a murderer whose obsession for a singer had ended in the downfall of the Opera Populaire, but she had decided to not judge the man by all the rumours she had heard about him, but by his behaviour. And up until now, he seemed quite tolerable. She found the deformed side of his face still appalling, but was determined not to let his looks interfere with her opinion of him.

In the church, he had accused her of being greedy, and maybe she was. She wanted to keep the lifestyle she had, she wanted to stay in the house she grew up in, but most of all she wanted to see Clara's face when she came home with a husband one day before her birthday, one day before everything had fallen to her.

Joséphine knew that Clara was never to find out Erik's identity, or she would have him handed over to the authorities. It probably was of no consequence to her as the contract had been fulfilled, but she owed it to him to help him as best as she could just as he had helped her by agreeing to this charade.

Blowing out the candle, she spoke into the darkness. "Good night Erik."

"Good night," came the quiet reply from the far side of the room.

Tomorrow morning, after retrieving everything he needed they would go to the registry and be lawfully wedded. She could only fathom what life with Erik, the Phantom of the Opera would be like, but sure it would be quite interesting.