Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom. Making no money. Please don't sue.

A/U: Yeah for snow! Two chapters up in one day!

Chapter Three: Do Ghosts Cry?

Nadir

I knew when he stood up he was in another rage. I merely sat there and decided to just wait it out. He hadn't had an outburst in a very long time. Perhaps, in its own weird way, this was a good sign. It was only when I heard his labored breathing that concern caused me to look up at him.

"Erik?"

His eyes fixed on me and I could see the hatred in them. Reasonably I knew that I was not the one that he was angry at, but the way in which he was looking at me I feared for my life. I watched in horror as he yelled an obscenity and overthrew the table in front of me. I quickly stood and retreated to the back of the couch, putting it between him and me. It seemed the movement brought him back to his senses and his eyes glistened and he fell to his knees.

I had seen him weep before. Ever since his obsession with Daae started, he was given to bouts of crying and terrible moods. But this was different. This was more than just a love sick man pining for a love he could not have. As I watched him wrap his thin arms around his equally thin frame, I realized this was a broken spirit.

"I loved her, Nadir."

It had been weeks since he had used my given name. Ever since that night I had been merely Daroga to him. I took comfort in hearing my name from him again. I did not know what I had done to regain favor in his eyes again, but I was thankful I was no longer "Daroga."

"I know you did, Erik." I made my way over to him and sat on the red carpet next to him. "Christine knew that too."

He shook his head. "No…not Christine."

To say the confession shocked me would be a gross understatement. I wracked my mind, trying to remember a time when he had mentioned a woman in the conversation. The only other woman I could remember was his mother, and I knew he felt no love for her. But it was the letter from Italy that sparked this outburst. And he never spoke about his ventures there.

"Who, Erik?"

"Luciana."

The name came out like a whisper, dripping with regret and pain. I crept closer towards him. My hand touched a cold, wet spot on the Persian carpet where his tears had fallen. His shoulders were still shaking but the tears seemed to have subsided.

"Who was Luciana?"

He took in a shaky breath. "She was his daughter. Giovanni was his name. I studied masonry and architecture under him. He was the first one to ever show me kindness and I didn't know how to react."

"How old were you?"

"When he took me in I was thirteen. I left when I was fifteen. She was the same age as me. I had no understanding of love." He let out a bitter laugh. "I suppose I still don't."

His reasoning seemed to be returning and I retreated a couple feet from him. "What happened?"

"I wanted to please her, but I didn't know how. She demanded everything of me and I didn't know how to give her anything. It was night when she asked me clearly for one thing. And I gave it to her."

My mouth had gone dry. "What was it?"

"She wanted to see my face. It enraged me only because Giovanni insisted that I do what she asked. I felt betrayed. Anger took over. I ripped the mask off, and she saw. I'll never forget the look on her face. The utter horror…she fled from me, or at least tried to. I knew the masonry was loose…I don't know why I didn't stop her from leaning on it. She backed up against it, trying to get away from me when it gave way…I can still hear it to this day."

"She died?"

Erik mutely nodded his head.

Immense pity washed over me. His own mother gave him a mask to cover his face and all he ever received from the world was their desire to see what was under the mask. Perhaps that was why we were friends. Not once had I asked to see what was beneath the mask. I respected him too much to ask such a question. But I also understood that curiosity often came before respect.

"Surely you don't blame yourself for that?" I told him that, hoping that it would give him some solace. "It was an accident, Erik."

"Sure it was," he said with a hint of coldness. "Just as the chandelier was an accident, right?"

"Erik, please."

"You're right," he wearily acknowledged. "I'm sorry you're stuck with such a dark creature as your friend."

"I'm getting used to it," I said, getting to my feet and dragging Erik with me. I figured it was safe now to ask about the letter. "Who was the letter from?"

Erik picked the table up effortlessly and set it back in front of the couch before returning to his chair. "The letter was from one of Giovanni's other daughters. Apparently she's carrying on her father's business but is having complications."

"What sort of complications?"

Erik shrugged. "She didn't say. I'm not even sure if she really exists. Giovanni never spoke of his other daughters to me."

I retrieved the crumbled piece of paper from across the room and unfolded it. Quickly I read through it and found it to be sincere. She spoke of Erik as a masked boy, which he would have been. She recognized that he only spent three years of an apprenticeship, which only someone in the family would have known. I had to admit that it took a highly intelligent woman to connect the Opera House disaster to Erik. But I suppose I did the same thing when I had found Erik in Russia.

"I think you should write her back."

Erik gave me a shocked and skeptical look that the mask could not hide. "You must be joking?"

"You can't stay here forever, Erik."

"Why not? I built this house with the full intention of staying here for the rest of my days. Surely I don't have that many days left."

I folded the letter neatly, and left it on the table in front of him. "Think about it. If you stay here, you're surrounded by memories that you would care to forget. I know you better than you think. You regret what happened with Daae and the Vicomte. You've done all that you can here in the Opera. I believe you will die soon if you stay."

"And I'll live longer if I leave?" he remarked.

"Yes. I believe you've survived for so long because you kept pushing yourself for many years. You've become stagnant in your knowledge and travels."

His gaze roved over the destroyed room and I sincerely hoped that he took my words to heart. From the first time I had met him, it was his constant search for knowledge that impressed me greatly. I had seen that slowly ebb away from him and I feared it would be his undoing. But I also doubted my role in this encouragement. If knowledge was power, then I was encouraging the most powerful man to acquire even more power. It was possible I was pushing another tragedy upon him, myself and the world. May Allah forgive me if that was the case. Erik seemed to have reached his decision and stood up, rubbing his long-fingered hands together.

"How soon can you be ready to go to Italy, Daroga?"

"What?! Erik, have you lost your mind?"

He laughed with true delight, a sound I thought I would never hear again and wasn't so sure I pleased to heed.

"You can't possibly intend to stay in Paris while I go off to Italy to meet this woman?" he pressed.

"Erik, I'm too old for this childishness."

"And I'm not too old for this childishness, as you put it?"

I sighed in defeat. The last thing I wanted was to travel with this irritating man again. Once from Russia to Persia was quite enough for me.

"I didn't think you to be one to go back on your promises, Daroga."

I merely stared at him with unhidden contempt. Only Erik would bring a threat to light and show it as a promise. I suppose it was just his unending plight to see how many things in this life he could twist to his purpose. I had promised to watch him for the rest of his days, to ensure that he never killed again. There really was no choice in the matter for me, Erik had seen to that.

"Give me three days, Erik. I'll be ready by then."