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. Big Hugs to my wonderful beta Luthien Saralonde, who's really stressed at the moment. I wish her all the best! YOU ARE GREAT!
Another big thanks to Protochan, who describes herself as pretty decent editor (she's damn fantastic, actually), and who did an amazing job editing this chapter! Thank you!

BACK TO LIFE

When Erik returned home, he found Joséphine still unconscious. Florence had once more given in to exhaustion, and was sleeping at the chair by the window, where someone had thrown a plaid blanket over her to keep her comfortable. Mathilde was has half asleep as well, sitting on the floor next Joséphine's bed, her head on the mattress. Nadir was sitting on the other side of the bed, observing Joséphine for any kind of change. When Erik came in, he rose to greet him.

"How did it go?" he asked in a whisper, as to not disturb the dozing women.

"It is over," Erik replied, fatigued. He took one look at his wife, then sat down heavily on the chair in front of the vanity, placing the bag next to it.

"What happened?" the Persian prodded.

"She confessed. When I left, the police were on their way," Erik told his friend.

Nadir's eyes widened. "How...I mean, what did she...?" He broke of.

"It is a wonder what effect a little threat can have on people," Erik said ominously.

"So did you..."

Erik smirked. "Oh, I did nothing. But the ghosts of Joséphine and her father were quite persuasive, I must say," he said mysteriously. "And the fact that the Raoul played along so well helped of course," he added.

"You have come to like him, Erik," Nadir said mischievously.

"Hell, no! I don't like him!" Erik shot back, careful not to be so loud as to wake the girls. He then added silently: "But I do respect him. He has more potential than I gave him credit for a few months back."

"Oh, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Nadir teased him, but suppressed his smile at the annoyed look Erik gave him.

"How is Joséphine?" Erik asked, changing the subject.

"She has not stirred yet, but the shaking has completely stopped, and she regained some colour. It seems she is recovering."

Erik felt some of the fear and tension that had occupied his heart after Joséphine had fallen unconscious lifting. Observing the people in the room, he was once more astonished by how much his life had changed in the last few months. And all this because in the spur of the moment he had accepted the marriage proposal of what he then thought was a mad woman.

He looked up and gave his friend a small smile. "Thank you Nadir," he said sincerely.

Nadir replied with a smile of his own. "Think nothing of it, my friend. I truly hope you and her will find the happiness you both deserve."

Erik squirmed slightly. Yes, apparently his wife would recover, but there was still the problem of her believing that he had betrayed and left her for Christine.

Quietly, he moved towards the bed and sat down, grasping Joséphine's small hand. Now that the trembling had subsided, she seemed so peaceful, lying there as if only asleep.

Erik bent down and gently pulled a strand of hair away from her face. "Joséphine, I don't know if you can hear me, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you like I did. Please believe me that I did not kiss Christine. I could never do that to you. I love you. And I am going to stay here and not leave until you believe me." He sighed, fighting back the tears that began attacking his face as he spoke. God, when did he turn into such an emotional wreck that cried all the time?

"Joséphine...kiss...Christine...leave..."

"Please, wake up. I don't want to be alone now that I finally found you." Giving into his emotions, he reinforced the pressure on her hand.

And almost jumped from the bed in surprise when Joséphine weakly squeezed his hand in return. Something between a gasp and a sob escaped his lips, drawing the attention of Nadir and waking Mathilde.

"Monsieur, when did you get..." the maid started drowsily, but was interrupted by the Persian.

"Erik, what happened?"

It took Erik a moment to calm his palpitating heart, before he was able to reply. "I felt her, she..." he finally choked out, not daring to believe it just yet.

Mathilde grasped Joséphine's right hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She broke into a broad smile when she felt her friend react to the stimulation. Looking at Erik, she saw tears streaming down his left side, not noticing that her own vision was becoming blurry with tears. "Oh Monsieur, she will be all right!" Mathilde exclaimed happily, pressing Joséphine's hand once more, and letting out another cry of joy when she felt Joséphine react.

"I guess it is only a matter of time now until she wakes up," Nadir stated, having to sit down on the chair of the vanity from his pure exhaustion.

"I hope so," Erik replied, gazing down on his wife, his voice full of emotion.

"Monsieur, what about Clara?" Mathilde asked, having calmed down somewhat.

Erik tore his eyes away from his wife's features and looked at the maid. "She confessed to the poisoning in the presence of me, the Vicomte a doctor and a nurse. She will either be sent to jail or the Salpetriere."

Mathilde's eyes widened. "How did you..."

"It is not important to know how," Erik interrupted her, "only that she will no longer pose a threat to this family."

Mathilde nodded understandingly. Sitting up, she noticed the sunlight breaking through the tear that Erik had made into the curtains earlier. "What time is it?" she asked, turning around. "The other servants must surely be awake by now!"

As if on cue, they heard voices coming from downstairs. Mathilde gasped. "Oh my, Camille will be wondering why her mistress is not home yet!" She sprung up from her position and headed for the door. She looked at Erik. "Do I inform them now about what happened?"

Nadir spoke up quickly, answering for his friend. "Don't tell them about the poisoning, just that Joséphine and Clara fell sick at the ball, and that Clara is in the hospital." Erik only nodded in affirmation.

"I will, Monsieur," the maid answered, curtsying automatically. "I will come back as soon as I can," she added, standing at the frame of the door. Looking once more at her friend before leaving, she closed the door quietly behind her.

Erik's attention returned to his wife. He gently stroked her hand and continued whispering soothing words into her ear. "Please love, come back to me. My life is meaningless without you..."

Soon, his vision became blurred once more from his tears. Closing his eyes and letting them fall freely, he failed to notice when Joséphine's eyes began to flutter open.

"Life...meaningless..."

The last thing Joséphine remembered was running away from Erik and this girl.

Seeing them kiss was the most horrible thing she had ever experienced. The moment she set her eyes on the couple, her heart broke into a million tiny pieces that pierced her body, pushed the air out of her lungs and made her ache everywhere.

As Erik looked at her, still in the embrace of the woman he loved, she felt as if a wave of misery and pain had crashed down over her, swallowing her whole.

Wanting to leave this place as soon as possible, she did not wait for any of them to say something that might hurt her even more, and rushed back inside and started looking for Florence, wanting to tell her that she really did not feel so well.

While crossing the room in direction of the corridor, she stumbled upon the last person she wanted to see at the moment. Well, not the last, Clara would have been worse.

Raoul de Chagny intercepted her, hoping to get the dance she had promised him earlier.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Monsieur le Vicomte, but I am really not feeling well, and I would rather pass and look for a carriage to bring me home."

"Then please, let me at least bring you to the door," the young aristocrat offered, noticing her discomfort.

Knowing that she could not decline his offer without appearing impolite, she accepted. After taking a few steps her vision blurred for a moment, and she gladly put her arm upon his.

Raoul started to inquire about Erik and she wanted to cry, thinking of what she had just witnessed, and fought desperately against the tears and the urge to tell the Vicomte of the events that had taken place. Still, she knew she would remain faithful to him until the end, never exposing him to anyone.

And after all, the Vicomte was to pity, for he was going to lose his young wife as well. He had seemed so enamoured with her, so she bravely masked her inner turmoil and tried to ease the Vicomte's suspicions. It was neither her place nor her wish to disclose his wife's betrayal at the moment.

"You are not the first to ask about the Opera Ghost when one sees my husband, Monsieur le Vicomte," she started explaining. Raoul looked at her, surprised that she would broach this subject so freely.

"I've been married to him for a while now, and I can tell you that the only thing Erik and this Phantom have in common is a mask. Erik is..." unable to continue, the grieve of having lost him now overwhelming her, and the tears finally falling.

Raoul was embarrassed, she seemed to be tired of having to answer questions like this time and time again. He really hoped he had not endangered her too much with his curiosity, for she seemed to be crying from frustration now.

Suddenly, she started trembling; tightening the grip she had on his arm.

"Are you alright, Madame Perrault?" the young aristocrat asked her, concerned.

"Yes. No, I feel..." Joséphine broke off, the shaking growing stronger.

Suddenly, the room started to spin uncontrollably, and the next moment, everything went black.

"...is meaningless without you. I love you."

Slowly, Joséphine opened her eyes, feeling dizzy and disorientated. It took her a moment to register that she was no longer in the Chagny ball room, but in her own quarters, laying on her bed. Every part of her body seemed to ache, especially her head, and her vision was blurry.

"What happened?" she asked, but no sound came out. Her throat was too dry, and she had the awful taste of garlic in her mouth.

Her vision was starting to clear up. The dark shade of a person to her left began to take on form. The moment her mind realized that Erik was sitting next to her, the events of the ball came crashing back on her: the feeling of being sick, the jealousy of seeing Christine's youth and beauty, Erik's betrayal and the pain that came along with it, the ache in her head and the vertigo before blacking out...

Yet by far, Erik's betrayal supplied the most of her pain. It hurt so much to think of it, even more than the pain her body was in. Her whole body tensed being so close to him, knowing that she had lost him once and for…but wait, what was he doing here? Did he come here to thank her for helping him win the love of his life back? To see if she was going to be all right? Why was he not with Christine? Had she, despite of the scene she had witnessed on the terrace rejected him and he was here to settle with the next best thing? She once thought that she was going to be okay with that, but it was no longer enough. She would rather be completely without Erik than sharing her life with him in the knowledge that he would never come to love her.

She tried again to say something, but only a croak escaped her lips. Still, it seemed to have done the deed, for Erik's eyes snapped open and focused on her. His golden eyes were looking at hers with an intensity that was almost too hard to bear.

When a small sound came from the person lying next to him, Erik's eyes snapped open to see Joséphine looking at him. Unmitigated joy built in his heart at seeing her conscious again.

"Joséphine!" he whispered. She reacted to her name by closing her eyes for a moment, and he started repeating her name over and over, getting louder every time, even waking up Florence with it.

"What…" Florence started, nearly falling of the chair in surprise. Nadir rushed to her side in an instant, steadying her.

"Joséphine is awake," he explained in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb the moment between his friend and his wife.

Clearly, Florence thought differently, for she bolted from the chair and hastened over to the bed, wanting to see for herself that her friend was among the living again.

When she heard her name fall from his lips, tears welled up in her eyes, and she closed her eyes, not wanting him to see in them the pain he caused her with his mere presence. A commotion to her right caught her attention. Willing her body to respond to her command, she finally managed to turn her head away from him and focus on it. Florence had sat down on the bed, grasping her hand, tears falling down her face. She looked exhausted, her otherwise carefully styled hair was disheveled, the ball gown she wore wrinkled. Had she been there all the time? How much time had passed since the ball? It took her a while to focus on the words that spilt from her friend's mouth.

"Oh my god, we thought we had lost you. I am so glad you are back with us, my dear." Florence babbled, overcome with emotion. "Everything is going to be all right now, you will be safe, and Clara will never hurt you again."

Clara? What did Clara have to do with all this? Joséphine's mind was too foggy to remember that her stepmother had already harmed her friend Mathilde, and that Erik had feared that she would plan to go against them. Erik. Why couldn't he just leave and leave her to her misery. She heard him repeating her name like a mantra, more silent now though, and it tore at her heart with every syllable. She could not take it any longer, she felt so tired and hurt.

"Leave me alone," she choked out, her voice rasp. Sadly, the wrong person responded to her plea, for Florence made to get up.

"Of, course dear, you need your rest. I will come back later, when you are better, love."

Weakly, Joséphine tried to hold on to her friend's hand, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

"No."

Florence gazed down at her, unsure. "Joséphine?" she asked hesitantly. When her friend squeezed her hand more tightly, she sat back down, looking at her quizzically. Slowly, as if it hurt her too much to move, Joséphine turned her head to face her husband.

"Erik, go," she said quietly, surprised by the hurt she saw in his eyes after uttering her wish.

'She's going to be fine, she is going to be fine,' Erik's inner voice jubilated happily. His eyes never left her face, taking in her wonderful olive green eyes. He felt more as he saw Florence approach on the other side of the bed, and saw Joséphine's head turn to acknowledge her friend.

When she said she wanted to be left alone, he hoped sincerely that she was talking to Florence, that she wanted to talk to him, to sort things out between them. But when she turned back to face him, he knew that she meant him to leave even before she repeated her request.

Although he had expected that sort of reaction from her, it hurt him nonetheless. But after all, the memory of seeing him in the arms of Christine was still too fresh in her mind, and since she had blacked out before he had had the chance to explain, there was no way for her to know that he had rejected his former pupil.

'But, maybe I could make her understand, tell her what happened,' he pondered silently. He opened his mouth to explain, but she started shaking her head, clearly distressed, repeating her wish.

"Go, leave me," she commanded, her voice stronger now.

Ignoring the strange look Florence gave him, he tried desperately to reason with his wife. "Joséphine, please, love, let me explain…"

"Just go, now!" Joséphine all but cried out, jerking her hand away from his grasp and turning her whole body away from him. Florence was there immediately and held her in a motherly embrace. Sobs whacked her strained body, and she repeated over and over that she did not want him here.

Erik jumped when he felt the Daroga's hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to get up and obey his wife's wishes. But he did not want to leave, he had to try and make her understand. "No, please, just listen, Joséphine, I…"

"GO!"

"Come, Erik, leave her alone for a minute," Nadir spoke quietly but insistently behind him, intensifying the pressure on his shoulder. "She is not ready yet, give her time," he added, trying to soothe his friend.

It hurt Erik to see her like this, knowing he had caused her pain. Broken, he stood, and let himself be guided to the door by the Persian. Before leaving, he turned once more, hoping in vain that Joséphine would change her mind and call him back. But it was not to be, so he left, with sagged shoulders and his head bowed in despair.

A/N: So, my plan to finish this story after two years in November '10 was not to be, there are still some chapters left (whacks her muse on the head for withholding inspiration). Sorry for the delay, but my life's pretty topsy-turvy right now.