A/N: Squee! Guess who's back! –starts singing Eminem despite herself-

He tapped the end of a black pen pensively on his clean-shaven chin, peering down through thick spectacles at the accounts laid out before him. Occasionally he would lower the tip to the paper and scratch out a number or two, adding scribbled notations in the margins. A roaring fire glowed in the hearth, sending ripples of warmth throughout the small room. So perfect was the silence in the Persian's study that he could hear the muffled chirps of night bugs in the small, unkempt alley behind his apartment.

When the front door flew open with a reverberating clatter Nadir leapt impulsively to his feet, knocking over his ink pot, losing his spectacles, tripping over his robes, and sending his desk chair toppling to the floor in the process. There was a brief pause before pounding footsteps stormed down the hall, and a powerful fist came crashing against the opposite side of the study door.

"DAROGA!" A familiar voice roared.

Nadir groaned, picking up the chair and trying in vain to find his spectacles through dizzyingly blurred eyesight. "Damn you, Erik," he grumbled, "If they're broken…"

"Open this door at once!" Erik bellowed, his voice bordering on hysteria. Nadir sighed, finally finding his spectacles and perching them on the end of his nose. He turned to the closed door with a roll of his pale green eyes, smoothing out the creases in his hand-woven robe.

"Have you no sense of etiquette whatsoever, man?" he retorted irritably, flicking a speck of dust from his shoulder. "If I did not know the genius that lies beneath that thick skull of yours, I'd think you had been raised by gorillas."

Erik responded by smashing his fist into the door again. "I am not in the mood for your taunts, Daroga! Let—me—in!"

Nadir sighed and sat down heavily in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin— partially to adopt a look of jaded aggravation, and partially to prevent strangulation by a single, deft flick of catgut should Erik's temper prove to be exceedingly violent this time.

"It's unlocked, Erik. Did you even try the handle?"

There was a brief pause before the knob bent and clicked. A half-infuriated, half-sheepish looking Erik stood behind it, looking extremely reluctant to enter the Persian's study despite his command only a moment prior. Nadir watched him with raised eyebrows, waving one hand in a brief motion to sit before returning it warily to his chin. He schooled his expression into a neutral stance as he awaited an explanation for this unexpected intrusion. Erik neither sat on the proffered divan nor met the Persian's gaze, but did, in fact, take an uncommitted step over the threshold. And there he stood— his hands balled at his sides, his eyes ablaze but unfocused— perfectly still except for the hastened rise and fall of his chest.

This is going to take awhile, Nadir realized with an internal sigh.

He leaned back leisurely in his chair after a moment of lingering silence passed between them, lifting his right hand for examination before proceeding to fuss with a hangnail on his thumb. There was no sense in trying to force Erik to do anything; he could suggest, inquire, and openly beg for an explanation until he turned blue in the face, and it would make absolutely no difference whatsoever. The Persian was well-versed in the ways of his eccentric, arrogant comrade, and knew that when he was ready to speak, he would do so.

Until which time he would feign complete boredom, as if sitting through a tedious, lengthy conference. He understood that half of Erik's frequent rampages were composed of an instinct drilled into him from birth to constantly be the center of attention. Erik's mother had tried her best to ignore and oppress her son since the day he left her womb, from what Nadir could decipher from the bits and pieces of Erik's life story collected over the years. Erik's flair for the outrageous and dramatic was justifiable for this reason, he supposed, but he had learned to ignore it over the years. When he looked upon his friend in times like this he saw a deprived child seeking solace and advice from the mentor he never had. Of course, Erik would never in his life admit to such, but Nadir recognized and appreciated it all the same.

Twelve minutes slipped by without incident as each man became lost in his own private thoughts. The night bugs, which had fallen silent after the startling crashes from the previously serene apartment, resumed their cheerful song amongst the overgrown weeds. Two houses down, a young infant began to wail for its bedtime feeding. The echoing clatter of wooden wheels on cobblestone came and went. Still Erik showed no inclination to speak.

Nadir sighed absently, torn between boredom and an unquenchable curiosity. Of course he already knew the source of his friend's temper— who else but Christine had ever affected him so? He remembered vividly the night of the fire at the Opera Populaire, when Erik had stumbled through his door, doubled over with sobs. His recollection of the night's events had been jumbled at best— although Nadir had picked up on very few of the details, he recognized a single repeated word: "Christine." The rest was superfluous. Fortunately this was one of the very few instances in which he had the upper hand to his ingenious friend; he did not suffer the delusions of love.

This was not to say that he had never loved; his wife and son had been more precious to him than anything in this life or beyond. Ironically, it had been Erik's cool execution of murder in the face of Nadir's own incompetence that had freed little Reza's tortured soul. Despite the bitterness that clung to the unmentionable subject, he was forever indebted to his masked friend. Now Erik was undoubtedly faced with a similar ordeal, but selfish, ingrained instincts prevented him from knowing precisely how to love unconditionally. Christine Daaé was his first and last love, Nadir was sure of that much. It was his obligation now, as on the night of the fire, to assist and guide the overwhelmed and puzzled Erik to the best of his abilities.

Granted, he could only help Erik if he knew the specific problem.

Twelve minutes quickly turned into fifteen. Then twenty.

Nadir's stomach grumbled its protests vociferously. He had been working nonstop since noon, and it was nearing eight at night. He continued to study the vacant, stony expression on Erik's face for a minute more before climbing slowly to his feet.

"Come with me to the kitchen, Erik, and I'll make us some supper."

He did not wait for Erik's approval. Not that it mattered anyway; he followed at Nadir's heels like a shadow, silent and obliging.

Unfortunately the cramped food preparation space was terribly unaccommodating for more than one person at a time. He spun to face his dour guest with a nod of his head toward the small table in the adjoining dining room. This time Erik obeyed his wordless command, slumping into the chair and burying his head in his hands.

Nadir did his best to maintain the role of a good, cheerful Persian host, bustling around the kitchen as he began to prepare the evening meal.

"How does bademjan sound? It's essentially beef, eggplant, and tomato…"

"I'm not hungry," came Erik's half-whispered voice for the first time in nearly half an hour. The Persian turned to face him with a scowl, but the expression faded at the tortured expression on the man's face. "You don't have any brandy, do you?"

"Muslims are forbidden to consume alcohol."

Desperation began to surface in Erik's voice. "Opium? Morphine?"

Nadir pursed his lips, debating whether or not to allow his friend to artificially escape this state of overt torment. He had seen this infidel sink into the deep, unfeeling serenity of a drug-induced stupor day in and day out for years at a time. The addiction had quickly spiraled out of control; it was a miracle Erik had not discovered some of the other, more lethal drugs available in Persia's black market.

Finally, he offered a slow, severe nod. The top cupboard above his stove was crammed with narcotics and herbs and remedies of all types— he sifted through several vials before finding the correctly labeled one. With a deep sigh, he filled a long syringe with the potent drug and flicked the tip to remove any excess air. Palpable relief and gratitude shone from Erik's stunningly green eyes as he handed over the source of temporary relief.

"You will eat supper too," he insisted firmly as Erik inserted the needle into a vein in his left arm and slowly injected the opium. An absent murmur of agreement rose from Erik's hunched form as he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes rolling shut.

"Allah, forgive me," Nadir muttered as he returned to the food preparations. He didn't notice when his unorthodox house guest slipped from the kitchen area; only when the tortured pounding of piano keys reverberated throughout the apartment did he whirl about to find Erik gone.

High as a cloud, and he still moves like a ghost and plays like an angel, he mused with a shake of his head

Another half an hour and his stomach was positively roaring for satiation. The smell of slow-cooked meat filled the small apartment, making him feel a great deal more ravenous than he actually was. Erik seemed to have taken no notice; lost in his opium and his music, he had not moved from the piano. Vaguely Nadir began to wonder what Christine was doing. He frowned slightly at the thought while he ladled the supper into two large bowls. It was not safe or proper to leave a defenseless young woman alone in those dark cellars. Any sort of riffraff might accidentally stumble upon Erik's lair to find her asleep and vulnerable. The thought of anyone violating that sweet, delicate girl made him shudder, and he hurried to fetch a tray and bring the meal out to the living room. Hospitality only went so far; Erik had had ample time to brood and lick his wounds— it was time for him to explain himself.

He told him as much as he set the tray on the coffee table, waiting for his guest to take the customary first taste. At first Erik didn't notice his presence— not until Nadir physically placed himself between the musician and his instrument did he look up with clouded, angry eyes.

"What the hell do you think you're—?"

Nadir cut him off by shutting the lid over the keys and pointing to the couch. "Sit and eat. I've given you plenty of opportunity to think things over, Erik. Now I want an explanation."

The visible side of Erik's face curled in a sneer. "And I want to fuck Christine until she can't move, but we don't always get what we want, do we?"

His green eyes were delayed in their shock as Nadir grabbed him roughly by the front of his shirt and shoved him onto the couch. The Persian's own eyes glittered dangerously as he towered, flushed and panting, over his old friend. He knew better than to strike the self-appointed Angel of Doom; intoxicated or not, he could still snap his neck with a single jerk of the Punjab. Erik still bore the scars of a whip, a club, broken glass, his mother's belt… needless to say, he did not take well to being struck. Nevertheless, Nadir's rage was powerful; he would not hit Erik, but he could certainly shove him around without the slightest flicker of remorse.

"I don't care what vile drug is coursing through your veins right now, Erik," he hissed. "You will watch your language and treat the Vicomtess with respect in this household!"

"Why bother?" Erik spat. "This is all a game, Daroga— a filthy, sick game. And I refuse to lose it again."

Now we're getting somewhere! The Persian sank into his armchair as his fury ebbed a bit, wrapping one finger around his chin pensively. "But she came back," he said slowly. "Christine returned to you."

A small, humorless laugh escaped Erik. "Not for long."

"Why?" Nadir frowned. It took a great amount of force to keep from asking: What did you do to her? Instead he said, as meekly as possible through his still-present anger, "What happened?"

Erik's expression sobered as he lay back on the couch, closing his eyes. After awhile Nadir began to think that perhaps he had fallen asleep— his breathing was shallow, his thin form completely relaxed. Just as he was about to rise and take his dinner from the coffee table, however, his opium-calmed friend began to speak quietly and steadily.

"If it wasn't Rome, it would have been something else. I should have realized that from the very beginning."

"Rome?" Nadir pried. "What about Rome?"

Erik unfurled his fingers elegantly in a gesture of dismissal. "I made her career and destroyed it. She's leaving with the Girys at the end of the month."

"To Rome?"

He raised his eyebrows in annoyance, the lids still lightly closed. "Your cunning never fails to impress. Yes, you idiot, to Rome. Italy. Italia. Sarà diva— una stella. Nessuno mostro sarà in grado di fermarla questo tempo."

Nadir fumbled in the depths of his memory, trying to conjure up what little Italian he had learned in his travels for the shah. Something about a diva… a star… that was all he could get. Partially exasperated and partially intrigued by Erik's loose tongue, he rested his chin in his palm and continued drilling him with prompts.

"Have you spoken to her about this?"

"I am not so heartless as to crush her dreams a second time."

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Erik opened one eye and glared at him. "And what would you have me do, Daroga? Beg at her feet not to leave me again? Make an absolute fool out of myself for the second time in a year?"

A faint smile lifted the Persian's lips. "They say only fools fall in love; you have nothing to lose."

Erik sighed. "It wasn't a choice. I've never known such helplessness in my life. It's as if… as if she drains the intellect from me with a single glance."

"And you love it."

"Sometimes," he agreed. "Other times I… I don't know…"

"You're frightened by it."

Silence. Nadir had hardly expected him to respond in the affirmative, but the understanding was there nonetheless.

"So what will you do? Simply…" He waved his hand in circles, "Let her slip through your fingers again? Because we both remember how well that went the first time!"

Now both of Erik's catlike eyes were open, but narrowed. "Who am I to keep her locked underground?" He sighed again. "She is so full of life, Daroga. The Living Corpse has no right to claim her for his tomb."

"As I recall," Nadir said with a slight smile, "Hades managed to find a compromise."

He shook his head sadly. "I am no god. If Christine has taught me one thing, it is that."

The Persian was quietly impressed. Erik's ego was legendary— this was a remarkable woman, indeed, if she had managed to tame it. "So you've decided, then. May Allah grant the Vicomtess an enjoyable, prosperous career in Italy." He spread his arms in a gesture of defeat and stood, taking the supper which called to his churning stomach. Once he had shoveled half of the bademjan into his greedy mouth, he glanced up to find Erik glaring daggers at him.

"What?" he asked around a mouthful of eggplant.

"I'm waiting for the catch."

"What catch?"

"Don't play stupid!" Erik growled. "You can't have spoken your peace."

Nadir raised an eyebrow in amusement, swallowing another bite before suggesting shrewdly, "Perhaps you're waiting for me to convince you to keep Christine at your side so that the blame rests on my shoulders, not yours, if the plans fall through?"

"I did not say—"

"In so many words," he finished smugly before draining the rest of the bowl's contents. When Erik did not object, he leaned forward at the hips and pressed his fingertips into a steeple again. "Very well, Erik. I'll try again." He drew in a deep breath as he collected an argument.

"Do you love her?"

"Do you enjoy asking ridiculous questions?" Erik countered.

"Evidently. Answer me."

"Yes, Daroga, for God's sake!"

"And does she love you?"

Erik was silent for a long moment before answering in a whisper, "How could she?" There was another extended pause before he continued, "I was so sure she hated me after Don Juan, but she came back… and then I was hopeful until you told me of her miscarriage… my aid was needed, not wanted. But then… she kissed me…"

"She kissed you?" The Persian perked up suddenly, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "When?"

He licked his lips absently, studying the intricate rug between them. "Once when she had a nightmare, once in the middle of the night, and then an hour ago…"

"Wait a moment!" Nadir flung his arms into the air, his expression one of utter bewilderment. "She kissed you? Just now… just before you came?"

"How many times must I say it? YES!"

"Then why in the name of Allah are you here?"

Erik sat up, his features twisted in a scowl. "I did the honorable thing, Daroga. She was… willing… to lie with me…"

Now the Persian was positively incredulous. "And you left her there?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"It was those goddamned teacups!"

Nadir blinked once, completely lost. Had the opium made him delusional? His heart sank as he began to wonder if perhaps this entire ordeal had been a fabrication of Erik's intoxicated mind…

"Teacups?" he echoed hopelessly.

"I swear, Daroga, if I have to repeat myself one more time…"

"Alright, yes, yes, teacups. What about them?"

Erik sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "We were on the bed, kissing… heatedly…" A faint blush tinted his cheeks as he spoke, as if he could hardly believe the words himself. "And she accidentally bumped the table. Two teacups fell to the floor and smashed. It took me a moment to acknowledge the sound, but when I did, I thought of Meg, which made me think of Rome…" He trailed off, waving one hand and shrugging.

"… And?"

His eyes snapped up to meet the Persian's irritably. "What do you mean 'and?'"

"And… remind me why you left again?" Nadir prompted in bewilderment.

"ROME, Daroga! Must I explain every last detail to you? Christine—is—leaving—me—at—the—end—of—the—month. Forever!"

"Did she say so?"

Erik's conviction wavered slightly before he frowned again. "She doesn't need to. Why would she pass up an opportunity like this?"

The Persian buried his head in his hands with a groan. Silence ensued for a minute before his shoulders began to shake. Laughter seized his aging form, squeezing the air from his lungs until tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. Erik's demands to know what precisely was so funny only made him laugh harder until he was doubled over the arm of his chair.

"What the hell is so goddamned funny?"

"You!" Nadir howled, slapping one knee for emphasis. "Erik, this might be the most ridiculous problem you've ever come to me with."

"Well I'm so glad I could entertain you with the decay of my love life," Erik said stonily, rising to his feet. "But if you don't mind, I think I will decline supper and—"

"Oh, sit down, man! You wanted a reason to keep Christine, and I have come up with the most legitimate motive in the world."

"Fascinating. Unfortunately, by this point I don't believe I even care anymore…"

"Has it ever occurred to you," he said to Erik's retreating back, "That perhaps she was planning on declining the offer of the ladies Giry…"

"I already told you, it's preposterous!"

"… because she is in love with you?"

This bold suggestion stopped Erik in his tracks. The quiet chirps of the night bugs were the only sound in the room for a long moment before he turned, his green eyes wide with a combination of hope and hesitation.

"Do you… do you truly think so?" He sounded so much like a child in that moment, asking for the reassurances of a parent. Nadir was only too happy to give them to his yearning friend.

Rising to his feet, he smiled warmly. "Who initiated the kisses, Erik?"

"… She did."

"And who did Christine turn to when her world crumbled?"

"Me." His voice was barely a whisper.

"It would seem, my friend," Nadir said, placing a hand on Erik's shoulder, "That you have every means to fight for her love." He looked his old friend squarely in the eyes. "Go back to Christine. Tell her how you feel. Talk to her about Rome! Women love to give vent to their ideas and emotions, Erik— you have only to make a chip in the concrete before the whole dam breaks. If you express how much she means to you— how much you need her— my every instinct tells me she will give her heart to you."

"But I did," Erik whispered. "I already did. Don Juan Triumphant…"

"Was a demand. You were a fool that night, Erik. Threatening Christine's childhood friend was not the way to go about winning her heart. I know there is more to you than violence, and I believe she, too, has begun to see the nurturing, tender side of you over these past few weeks. For Allah's sake, don't ruin it! Be gentle… respect her side of the argument even if you don't agree with it. She has been offered a great opportunity. Do not twist my words and fall prey to arrogance. Let her tell you that she loves you— don't tell her."

Slowly, Erik nodded. After a pause he asked quietly, "But you truly believe it, Daroga? That she might… she might be able to love… someone like me?"

"You have a good soul beneath that cold mask of yours, Erik," the Persian told him kindly. "No one has ever been able to beat it from you, praise be to Allah. Christine is a fortunate woman to be in such fine company."

His words seemed to be exactly what Erik needed to hear. A deep gratitude shone from his green eyes as he nodded. It would have been unnatural for the two men to embrace, but in that instant Nadir seriously believed Erik might wrap his arms around him. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, however, and instead they clasped one another's hand firmly before a familiar restlessness seemed to coil like a spring in Erik's form. The opium had run its course, leaving his eyes bright with anticipation.

"You'll forgive me, Daroga, if I ask to join you for supper another time? A beautiful woman is waiting for me at home, undoubtedly wanting an explanation for my hasty departure."

"Oh dear," Nadir sighed with a wry smile, eyeing the remaining dish of bademjan. "Whoever will I find to finish up the rest of this food?" His growling stomach seemed to answer the question.

"I'm sure you'll manage somehow." Erik retreated into the hallway, bowing his head politely. The Persian returned the gesture, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Have a pleasant evening, Erik."

"For your sake, let's hope so," he replied, his eyes glinting jestingly. His expression sobered after a moment, and he hesitated before saying two astonishing words: "Thank you."

Nadir tried not to show his surprise as he nodded, and Erik slipped out into the street. He watched from the window until César and his rider disappeared into the night.

A deep, lingering sigh escaped him as he returned to his warm, quiet study. Seconds later his quill began to scratch rhythmically across the account spreadsheet as if it had never been interrupted. He smiled and shook his head as he worked, offering a silent but heartfelt prayer:

Allah, may your bountiful mercy touch this poor infidel. He has never known love, and this woman might be his last chance. Please, for the sake of your humble servant, bless him tonight.

A/N: I. Love. Nadir. SO MUCH! –huggles him- This story just wasn't the same without him, so I had to give him a guest appearance. He'll be back, I promise!

As for those of you pining for E/C goodness… your wait is nearly over! Sometime this weekend, methinks. :D Does that make up for me being evil and torturing you? –pouty smile-

Top of Form

Bottom of Form