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. Thanks to Luthien Saralonde for beta-ing!

Old Friends

Joséphine awoke the next day, feeling utterly content. She turned lazily over to the right side, trying to recall the wonderful dream she had had.

Suddenly, she jolted upright in her bed. It had not been a dream; Erik had actually kissed her last night after they had returned from dinner. Kissed her and left her standing in front of his door. She remembered standing in the hall for some time after he had said good night, thunderstruck. Groaning, she let herself fall back onto the pillows.

"Will I ever understand this man?" she asked herself, shaking her head.

With an exasperated sigh, she finally got out of bed and called for Mathilde to help her dress. Mathilde was incredibly curious about last night, so Joséphine gave a short account of yesterday's events. Still unsure what to think about it, she left out what had happened after they had come home.

Clara was already seated at the table, her breakfast nearly untouched. She looked up from the morning paper as Joséphine entered the room, folding the journal, clearly eager for a report on the dinner. Joséphine ignored her, helping herself to a hot chocolate and a croissant. Finally, her stepmother wouldn't be ignored any longer and spoke up.

"So, did you and your sham of a husband have a good time?" she said sneering. Joséphine continued ignoring her, and took another sip of her chocolate.

"Tell me, did he embarrass himself in front of the Comtesse?" Clara continued probing for a reaction. Finally, Joséphine put her cup down and looked at her.

"Well, she was discontent that I did not marry a nobleman, but I'm sure she told my father the same thing when you two married," Joséphine replied, enjoying the side blow at Clara's provenance.

Clara had been the sister of her father's assistant, Pierre Rochat, a young man devoted to science. Their parents had owned a bakery before passing away, leaving Pierre and Clara with only a small amount of money. Pierre had just started working as Stanislas d'Escayrac's assistant, and had one evening introduced his sister to his employer.

Stanislas, having been a widower for some years now, was soon head over heels for the young woman. Clara also was fond of him, but she also sensed her opportunity at marrying well without having an acceptable dowry. They married soon after Joséphine's eighteenth birthday; nearly seven years after her mother had died from pneumonia.

Joséphine never saw her as a mother, for Clara was only a few years older than herself. They had never grown very close, but they had gotten along well, at least until Stanislas and Pierre had gone on the expedition to Africa from which they had not yet returned. Since then, Clara saw herself as head of the house, reigning freely over her husband's fortune and doing her best in getting Joséphine out of the picture.

But now, the tide seemed to have turned in favour of Joséphine. Clara paled at the insult, and left abruptly, having lost her appetite. Joséphine finished her breakfast undisturbed, then went to the library, putting up a letter to her friend Louisette to inform her of the latest events.

Erik had left early in the morning, intent on paying an old friend a visit. While in Paris, Nadir Khan resided in his flat in the Rue de Rivoli, in close proximity to the Tuileries and the Louvre. Erik stood across the building for about an hour, hidden securely in the shadows of a narrow passage, looking up at the windows, until he caught sight of his old friend.

Unseen, he crossed the street and entered, walking up to the second floor. For a minute, he stayed at the apartment door without knocking, not knowing how he would be welcomed on the other side of it. Gaining his resolve, he finally rapped two times.

Only seconds later, the door opened, revealing the Persian. The Daroga took one look at him with wide eyes, then motioned silently for him to enter. As soon as Erik had closed the door behind him, Nadir broke out in a Farsi tirade. Not having heard the Indo-Iranian language in some time, Erik had trouble understanding all, but got the gist of it: Nadir was mad at him.

Finally, the Persian stopped and reverted to his friend's mother language. "What in Allah's name made you do it?" He sat down on the fauteuil and waited for Erik to explain. Erik kept standing near the door, thinking of a way to justify his actions. Finding nothing, he bowed his head in defeat.

Taking pity on his friend, the Daroga stood up again and went to the built-in kitchen in the back corner. "Would you rather discuss everything with a cup of tea?" Erik nodded thankfully and sat down in an armchair.

Minutes later, a steaming cup of tea was in front of him and Nadir had retaken his place on the fauteuil. "Now, my friend, enlighten me," he simply said, waiting for Erik's account.

It took Erik some time to explain the events that had transpired at the opera in the last months. He found it not that hard though, since he had recently told everything Joséphine. Nadir listened without interfering, nodding there and then, especially when Erik showed some self-criticism.

Erik paused, having just told everything up to letting Christine go and leave the burning opera, and took a sip of tea. Nadir looked at him curiously.

"How did you fare since then, Erik? I would have thought you would have retreated to a dark place to mourn and wallow in self-pity, but here I find you looking rather well and quite elegantly dressed. What did you do now?"

His mouth suddenly dry, Erik gulped down the rest of the hot liquid before refilling his cup. He posed the teapot on the table and folded his hands in his lap.

"When I left the opera that night," Erik began, "I was broken. I thought I'd die. The fires of hell seemed welcoming compared to continuing my live forced to stay in the shadows, a perpetual outcast to society. I hid in a church, but was found by a young woman."

He paused, finding everything that had happened since he had met Joséphine much harder to describe. It seemed that he had already achieved some emotional distance from his life at the opera, at least now, talking about it to someone who had known him for years, he felt as if he were another man.

The Daroga raised an eyebrow. "A woman?"

"Joséphine, that's her name. Joséphine Perrault," Erik said, waiting for his friend to process what he had just heard.

It only took a few seconds before Nadir shot up from his sitting position, throwing his hands in the air. "Are you completely out of your mind? Have you learned nothing from your 'relationship' with Christine? How could you?"

Before Nadir could lose himself totally in his rant, Erik's voice boomed through the room.

"Stop it! I will explain, and then I want you to meet her." The Persian looked at him, anger and concern clearly showing in his features, but sat down again, waiting for Erik to continue.

"You just had to assume that I forced her to marry me, right? Now, I have to inform you that it was quite the contrary. She was forced to marry due to a contract she had made with her father. She knew who I was, and she saw my unmasked face, and she still proposed to me, offering me money, shelter and the possibility to stay in Paris in return," Erik explained.

"So she is rich?" Nadir asked unbelievingly.

"She's the only child of the Marquis Stanislas d'Escayrac. I stay with her and her stepmother in the family manor."

"Of all the things I thought happened to you, that is definitely not what I expected," Nadir said. Then, a thought occurred to him. "Why a contract?"

Erik gave a lopsided smile. "Her father wanted to see her married before she grew too old, but she was quite unwilling. So he made up the contract, promising her the whole heritage if she married before her twenty-fifth birthday. Then he left for Africa, and her stepmother," he spat the word, making it quite clear what he thought of her, "made her a prisoner in her own home. With two days left, she broke out, intent on marrying the first suitable man who crossed her paths." His smile became a grin. "She found me."

"She must have offered you quite the sum for accepting her proposal," Nadir assumed.

"She did, but I had no interest in that. I married Joséphine so I could stay close to Christine. As the daughter of a Marquis, she frequents the same circles as the damn Vicomte."

Nadir opened his mouth with the intention to reprimand him for his obsession, but Erik lifted his hand, indicating he was not yet finished. "But now…I am not so sure if it is still Christine I want," Erik admitted.

There, he had finally said it, voiced the concerns that had plagued him since Joséphine had kissed him the first time.

Nadir looked at him for a while; digesting all the news he had just heard. "If Allah would not forbid it, I might say that this is the perfect moment for some alcohol," he finally said. Erik looked taken aback by those words. "This woman, your wife…"

"Joséphine," Erik reminded him.

"Joséphine, she has seen you without your mask?" the Persian asked curiously.

"I already told you," Erik answered impatiently.

"So she accepts you how you are?" Nadir probed on.

"Yes, she does. Last week, she kissed me," Erik said.

"Did she now?" the Daroga asked, smiling. "How did you feel about that?"

"I ran out on her," Erik admitted shamefully.

"Why in Allah's name did you do that?"

"I was confused. She kissed me willingly, no one ever did that. I felt like betraying Christine by returning the kiss."

"Betraying Christine? Erik, she's with the man she loves, let her go. Stop holding on to something that was never yours," Nadir advised him.

"It seems that is exactly what I am doing, because last night, after we returned from a dinner with her friends, it was I who kissed her." It felt good to finally talk about his feelings with somebody.

"I took on this new life to get a chance to win Christine back. But I begin to realise that my chances at doing so are more than slim. The urge to be with her, to have her for me, diminishes every day."

"And what do you feel for your wife?" Nadir inquired.

Erik pondered a moment before giving his answer. He thought about the night he had first met Joséphine, how he waited for her to scream and run away, but she didn't. She had defended him time and time again, against the priest, the registry, her servants, her stepmother, even against her friends. She liked being near him, in spite of all his inefficiencies, and did not mind his touch.

"Honestly, I am not sure," Erik finally said. "I have come to care for her a lot in the last weeks, I enjoy being around her, and when you meet her, you will see how beautiful she is."

"I have the feeling you are already moving on," the Daroga muttered. "When will I have the pleasure of meeting your wife?" he then asked Erik.

"I already told her about you, so maybe tomorrow, if you aren't otherwise engaged? Erik offered.

"Tomorrow will be fine," Nadir replied.

They chatted amiably for another hour, then Erik left after having written down the address of his residence, and walked home to tell Joséphine.

A/N: I want Erik to play a song in one of the next chapters, one that fits his new situation with Joséphine. My beta and I already had some wonderful ideas, but maybe you, my dear readers, also have great suggestions. Put it in review or PM. Thanks for reading!