A/N: Yay! I'm so happy to be back. Lots of review replies to catch up on - sorry. Feel free to apply scroll bar liberally as needed. I will try to spread them out a little after this.

Twinkle22: Welcome! Glad you like it and thanks for reviewing. I try to update every morning, but life sometimes gets in the way (like today). Never fear, I pledge not to abandon this fic and leave you hanging. If you need something to keep you occupied between updates and you are a hopeless romantic/fervent EC shipper like me, you might want to check out my other fic. That one is complete. Once again, welcome aboard!

ackari smith: I think our dear Daroga will be able to explain for you in this chapter how our brilliant Erik could have been fooled by the desperate Vicomte. Erik is a very sensitive and emotionally passionate man. Though his mind is brilliant, the intensity of his feelings tend to cloud his judgment from time to time – think crashing chandelier...

Pertie: So glad to have you back, dear! Thank you for taking your valuable time to read and respond to my "creative efforts". And don't worry, I promised you at the beginning this was going to be a long one.

Jema Moda: Yes, there will be no sympathy for Raoul anytime soon. But he will pay, oh yes, he will pay for his scumminess, have no fear. Oh, and Christine will be rejoining the land of the living right about...next chapter. Sorry! By the way, you hit the nail right on the head when you said he played right into Erik's own fears. (See my response above to ackari smith.)

erikfan: That important detail we were discussing that I have not yet mentioned– I have included it in this chapter, just for you. It actually plays a very important role. Read on, and you will see.

The Eccentric Poet: Don't you just love Erik when he is verbally abusing someone? Twisted, I know. I too love the idea of minds locked in combat and all the psychological/verbal warfare. It is so much fun to write! And don't worry, I didn't take offense. Reviewing is for expressing your opinion. I just like to explain my rationale in response to other people's comments so you all know why I do things the way I do. You have given me so many wonderful compliments, I really cannot complain at all!

phantomann: Yay! My favorite reviewer is back! I'm not exactly sure what Erik plushies are, but I know other authors give them out on this site, so I am going to have to find some for all these loyal reviewers. And don't worry, Raoul will pay. (See my comments above to Jema Moda.)

When Fate is Denied

Ch. 7 - Letting Go

Nadir was worried. He raised his fist and knocked for the third time on the door of the den, but still received no answer. The Persian had watched from the hallway minutes before as the vicomte had carried the young woman away. Erik had been noticeably absent. It didn't seem natural for his friend to let something so important to him slip away so easily, especially considering the circumstances in which the young woman had arrived. Nadir had half envisioned a bloody confrontation in the foyer, ending with him being forced to dispose of the vicomte's body and then aiding Erik and his lady in their escape from the city.

He stepped back from the door, giving up the effort for the moment. Perhaps Erik was becoming more reasonable with age. Nadir snorted at the ridiculousness of his own thought. Erik would always be Erik – brilliant, but volatile. No, something the vicomte said must have convinced him that it was in Christine's best interest to let her go. That was the only logical explanation.

The Persian's forehead wrinkled in both thought and distrust. The expression on the vicomte's face as he had strode out the door with his prize had been far too smug, especially considering he had emerged only moments before from a heated confrontation with Erik. Nadir's eyes opened wide, as he began to wonder if his friend had been seriously injured, or even killed during the encounter. He knew Erik would never allow an enemy such a triumph as Nadir had witnessed on the stairs if it was in his power to avoid it. Normally, he would have wiped the insolent expression from his rival's face with his own blood.

Nadir returned to the door of the den and increased the forcefulness of his knocking, continuing to escalate the volume until he was pounding relentlessly on the fine, dark wood. He paused for a moment to shout through the door, "Erik! Erik, answer me or I will believe you to be injured and I shall be forced to break down your expensive imported mahogany door." He continued his pounding. "Erik!" When there was still no response, he shouted, "I gave you fair warning, my friend." Despite how angry he knew Erik would be even if he knew the Persian's efforts were intended to save his life, Nadir stepped back and lowered his shoulder, fully prepared to do what he had threatened.

Just as he began to race toward the door, it opened slightly. Having been prepared to meet three inches of solid mahogany, Nadir was thrown off balance as his shoulder met only air. He caught himself, however, before he could fall in an undignified heap on the floor of the den. Straightening, he stared with wonder at a completely composed Erik sitting unharmed behind his desk, looking placidly at the Persian as if he had most certainly lost his mind.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are not aware of our customs here in Paris, Daroga, but normally when someone does not answer the door, it means he or she does not wish to be disturbed." He lowered his eyes back down to the papers in front of him on the desk.

Nadir would not be deterred so easily. "You let her go."

Erik did not look up, but instead began to scrawl something on an envelope. "Obviously."

Nadir knew he was entering into dangerous territory, but he pressed on. "Surely you demanded first that he explain her condition?"

Erik's eyes snapped up. "Of course I did."

Nadir stared at him incredulously. "And you were satisfied with his explanation?"

Erik looked away, but his face remained unreadable. "Yes."

Something was not making sense. What possible explanation could the vicomte have given to make Erik release the most precious thing in his world back to him so easily after all that he had seen of her unhappiness? Nadir persisted. "And the scars on her wrists?"

Erik's voice was low, but held an unmistakable warning. "It is none of your concern, Daroga."

Nadir sighed and sat down heavily upon the fine leather sofa that the vicomte had vacated less than an hour before.

The Persian's voice was weary when he spoke again. "Erik, of course it is of concern to me. Did I not spend half the night helping you to save her life?" His voice softened. "And what of you, my friend? You are of concern to me as well. It must have been difficult for you to let her go."

Erik gave a hollow laugh, "Actually, I'm becoming quite good at it."

Despite his flippant manner, Nadir could sense the raw pain behind the words.

Erik stood up and walked to the window. Staring out at the street, he watched enviously as the happy families below went about their daily lives. He wondered if they were aware what a blessing it was to be normal. If only he had been born like them. How wonderful it would have been to be able to court Christine like an ordinary man - to take her out to dinner or for a walk in the park on a bright Sunday afternoon. Eventually they would have been married. Perhaps they would even have had children in time. They could have grown old together.

Erik drew back from the window and noticed suddenly the white reflection of his mask taunting him from the glass. But for what lay beneath it and the complications it had wrought, he knew without a doubt that he and Christine would have been soul mates. He could have made her happy. And he knew exactly why the vicomte had failed to do so: that ridiculous boy treated her as a china doll to dress up and admire, to display for the world to see. The dashing vicomte had never made any attempt to see who Christine was beyond the beauty of her face. He had never taken the time to listen to the dreams she had for her future, to look at her face as she watched the sunrise, or to understand how music filled her very soul. He wouldn't know that her favorite part of the day was the twilight just between day and night when the sunlight fell golden on the rooftops, or that she always twisted a strand of her hair around her finger when she was reading a particularly engrossing novel.

Erik shook his head in disgust. Christine would never be all she was meant to be with the vicomte. He would strip her of her music and all of her individuality. In time, she would become just another overdressed socialite, painted and primped on the outside, dead and hollow within. Erik' jaw clenched. It seemed such a cruel trick of Fate to grant him all the keys to her happiness and his own save one – a normal face.

In helpless frustration, Erik slammed his fist against the glass. He stood watching in fascination as a crack formed down the center of his reflection, making it appear even more fractured and asymmetrical. It seemed symbolic to him somehow. He was a half-breed, sliced down the center of his face and his very soul: a demon longing for heaven, an angel trapped in hell. Capable of such great love, yet his love held only the capacity to destroy.

He dropped his head into his hands, tears flowing through his fingers. The only person in the world who had ever earned that love would take her own life just to be free of him. The guilt and anguish of the thought nearly cleft his poisoned heart in two. Leaning his head against the fractured glass, his shoulders at last began to shake with sobs.

Nadir watched his friend's inner battle from across the room, knowing he had long since been forgotten. The Persian knew it would probably be best to leave Erik alone in his grief, but he also felt great sympathy for this complicated man who seemed so powerful and yet so fragile at the same time. True, Erik had innumerable faults and had committed countless sins, yet Nadir often wondered if there was anyone alive who had the right to judge his actions. Who could say what any man would become after enduring all that the man before him had been forced too? And how must it feel to always bear that suffering alone.

Knowing it could very well mean his doom, Nadir crossed the room to lay a wide, calloused hand on Erik's shoulder. To his astonishment, Erik did not pull away, but instead chose to confide his most recent burden. "It is not the Vicomte who is killing her Nadir," he whispered brokenly, "It is me. She...she fears me. My face haunts her dreams. She...she thinks even now I will take her away."

Nadir raised his eyebrows, but did not speak. Something about this explanation did not ring true to his ears. Certainly Erik's appearance beneath the mask was disturbing, but from what Erik had told him, he and Christine had spent a good deal of time together even after she had seen him revealed. He supposed it was possible that on the night of the opera fire, once she had been exposed to the more harsh and violent side of Erik's nature, that she had become frightened of him. Still, by Erik's account, even after she had been free to leave, she had returned alone to give him her engagement ring. That seemed more like an act of affection, or compassion at the very least - hardly an act of fear. And if Christine was truly afraid of Erik, why would she seek him out as she had done last night, especially without the knowledge of her husband?

Nadir's forehead wrinkled in thought. Erik was normally very clever at sensing the deception of another. However, the Persian mused, it was entirely possible that the vicomte had exploited the two chinks in his adversary's otherwise impenetrable armor of genius - Christine and his own insecurities.

After many moments, Erik raised his head and drew in a deep breath. He seemed once more to come back to himself, though his posture conveyed only weary defeat.

Sensing his chance, Nadir asked softly, "My friend, how can you be certain that all the Vicomte told you was the truth? Lies are frequently a weapon of the desperate – those who have the most to gain...or the most to lose."

Erik looked away, resignation evident in the slump of his strong shoulders. "What choice do I have? If Christine were to end her life because of me it would be as if I had plunged a dagger into my own heart a thousand times over." He sighed, then turned to meet the Persian's dark eyes with the sad gray of his own. "I have committed many sins during my lifetime, Daroga, but that is one that I will not allow of myself."

"So you are letting her go once and for all."

"It is what is best for her," Erik said softly.

Nadir patted him gently on the back and then walked to the door. He reached out to open it, then paused and turned back to look at Erik for a moment, a bemused expression upon his face.

"You know, my friend, up until now I might have agreed with you. But somehow the fact that you were willing to let her go, makes me think somehow you shouldn't have."

Erik stared at him in surprise, but there would be no further explanation for his cryptic words. The Persian turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.