Erik stalked out into the night. The rain had increased from a light drizzle to a downpour, and it quickly soaked through his clothes to his skin. He ignored the wet drops, ignored the cold wind, ignored the way the last of his makeup was being washed from his face.

Though his heart was aching with worry for Christine, he had to keep his mind clear. She had only been injured to distract him, to throw him off. He had to keep his thoughts on the moment at hand, not the injured girl lying so still behind him, nor the anger that begged to be unleashed.

Bahram never did anything without a reason, so Erik had to remember to distance himself from what was happening around him, or else he would focus on the wrong thing and miss the killing blow coming for him. He was certain now that all the accidents, all the danger to Christine had only served to divert his attention, to make him stressed and preoccupied. And it had worked. This fight would have been an almost certain win normally, but now he was tired, his nerves on edge, and he had driven away the ones who cared most about him in his anger and fear. He had to face this alone, and almost entirely unprepared and outmatched.

His fiery gaze scanned the shadows as he stepped along the roof. For anyone else, the dress shoes he wore would have been a hindrance, but he was an expert in this, and he had not been unprepared. The soles of his shoes had been scuffed to increase grip, the leather soft and worn enough that his steps were silent, and the fit good enough he could be certain in his movements.

He pulled off his jacket and threw it behind him. It didn't matter anymore, and it would only be a hazard. His tie followed, and he turned slowly as he continued to advance with care. This was not a moment to be rushed.

"Finally," a voice said eventually from the darkness. "I was almost afraid you'd stay inside to soothe your little pet. You've gone soft, Erik." The voice was deep and familiar, the words spoken smoothly in fluent though still accented French.

"You underestimate me, Bahram," Erik responded, still turning and staring around himself. The wind stole the words as soon as they left his lips, but he knew Bahram would hear him. "Your mind must be failing in your old age."

A laugh sounded, and under it came a whispering, whooshing noise.

Erik raised his hand swiftly to eye-level, feeling the loop of coarse rope fall over his head and arm. He responded with his own dark laugh, keeping the lasso loose with his hand and ducking easily out of it. He tried to grab hold of the rope, but it was swiftly retracted and he let go rather than be dragged off balance. "You really think you can use my own weapon against me?" he demanded with another humourless laugh.

"Your weapon?" Bahram's disembodied voice responded, sounding bemused but not in the least put out by the failure of his attack. "Don't forget where you learnt to use the Punjab lasso, boy, nor who taught you."

"Taught is a rather strong word," Erik replied, still fruitlessly searching but not allowing his frustration to show. "Demonstrated, perhaps."

Another laugh. "Always so arrogant, so proud. Tell me, did your genius save the girl from injury? Or get her to love you? Thank you so much for causing that scene by the way; I really couldn't have dropped that chandelier without your distraction."

Erik knew he was being baited, knew Bahram was trying to distract him because one slip-up would be all it took. He made sure to keep his burning anger below the surface, but also needed to keep the hitman talking so he could pinpoint his location. He truly regretted few things in life, but right now he was cursing himself for teaching ventriloquism to many of the Shah's other employees. "My pleasure," he answered evenly. "It's the least I can do really, given you seem unable to come out and fight me like a man."

A snort hinted at Bahram's hiding place, but it wasn't enough to act on. "That's rather rich, coming from you. I don't remember you ever finishing a job with a fair fight; you always had so many tricks up your sleeve. I'm betting you set up traps all over your theatre and apartment as soon as you knew I was in Paris."

There was a pause, and Erik said nothing, so Bahram continued.

"Yes, I know you realised I was here: suddenly you started to hide. It took you a very long time though; I'm almost disappointed." Another pause. "Did you work it out yourself, Erik? I'd be very impressed if you actually spotted me, especially with your attention so fixated on that little singer. Or was it Nadir? Did the faithful old Daroga save your skin again? Well, he's not here to save you this time.

The lasso was thrown again, and again quickly pulled back after failure. It was almost like he was playing with Erik, and Erik knew the other man would have moved after each attempt while he was distracted with the lasso and his balance, keeping him guessing at his location.

"He's gone," Erik responded, hoping that at least if he didn't make it out of this fight, Nadir might have a chance to escape. Erik owed him that much, and more. Maybe he should have called him before leaving the ballroom, should have warned him… But it was too late now; he couldn't show his uncertainty. "He left Paris a couple of hours ago.

"No, he didn't. I know our dear Nadir, and he certainly wasn't about to leave when I popped over to his apartment before coming here." Bahram paused again, and Erik could almost feel his grim smile. "Now you're wondering just how far I went, aren't you? You're wondering whether I actually went to see him or if I just observed from a distance. You know that Nadir would have done anything to warn you if I had visited, so that must mean that either I didn't, or I made sure he could never warn you of anything again."

"You're bluffing," Erik said, his tone more certain than his thoughts. Bahram definitely knew how to get into his head; he just had to hope that he was more of a priority than his friend.

"Are you sure?" Bahram's voice was teasing. "You know Nadir isn't as good at fighting as you are. Maybe you're wasting time chatting while your oldest friend is bleeding out on his floor. Maybe I left him unconscious and tied up, waiting to starve to death. Maybe it was quick and clean and he's already dead. Or maybe I haven't touched him yet, and I'll sort him out after I've put you down. If that's the one you believe, you'd better kill me soon, Erik, or I might just get bored and go sort him now."

Erik didn't respond to the taunts, the threats. He barely even heard the words anymore, focusing all his acoustic knowledge to locate the source of the other man's voice. Then he lunged.