Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own POTO, and neither do you. (Probably not, anyway...)

4. Denying Truths

Raoul sighed and let his head fall back against the back of his chair as the sound of a child's tantrum rang through the large house. Honestly, he didn't know if all babies cried as much as little Gustave did, or if he and Christine had just got lucky. Or unlucky... Running his hands through his hair despairingly, he listened and prayed that someone would calm the boy down before it was left up to him to do it himself. Any time when Raoul was forced into interaction with the child, the mere thought of it terrified the Vicomte.

Try as he might – and he had tried – he simply couldn't feel any connection to Gustave. Nothing at all. There had been nothing when the woman the doctor had sent to assist with the birth had passed the newborn child to him, and now five months later, there was still nothing. Surely, Raoul thought to himself, surely there had to be something...some feeling of joy or pride or love... But all Raoul ever felt when he looked at Gustave was a feeling of resentment. The kind of feeling he'd had when he was a boy playing with one of Philippe's carved toy soldiers – Philippe had never cared for them; why didn't they belong to Raoul instead? The feeling always made Raoul uncomfortable and so he quickly found ways to limit the time he spent around the child.

Finally, the noise of the crying stopped and Raoul could hear Christine's soothing voice coming from the next room. Quite inexplicably, Raoul suddenly felt a deep wave of sadness wash over him and he reached for the bottle that was now always on his desk. Christine thought he didn't notice the looks she gave him every time it was left to her to calm the child down; she thought he didn't care... He knew it. Well, he did. At least, he cared as much as it was possible to care. It broke his heart that every time he looked in Gustave's face he found nothing of himself reflected there; that the last time he had tried calming the boy down during one of his tantrums he had been rewarded with nothing but a battered ribcage, courtesy of the child's flailing fists and feet.

As Raoul drank, his mind drifted back to the day Christine had announced her pregnancy to him. He had ignored the all-too-familiar sense of doubt inside him and had been truly happy at the news. At last, it seemed to him that they could finally get on with their lives. As a family. Those seven-and-a-half – even now that fact still bothered him – months between her announcement and Gustave's birth had been the happiest months Raoul had experienced in a long time. He and Christine had spent their days deciding names, planning the life their child would have, and he had personally converted their second sitting room into a playroom for the expected child... Raoul took another gulp and wiped his eyes, clearing the tears that were building inside them. He knew it was probably wicked of him to wish such a thing but he couldn't help it. He wished with all his might that Gustave hadn't been born, that he and his wife could just spend eternity in those months of planning and preparation. Or, if the child had to be born, that he would be born differently. Not too differently, so that Christine would still adore him as much as she adored the boy now, but different enough. Different enough so that Raoul could feel certain – so that he was sure no one else could claim Gustave as his own, except him.

(Eh... I'm not overly thrilled with this chapter. I knew what I wanted to write but I couldn't seem to get it down on paper... Anywho. Basically, this is just because honestly I don't think Raoul was stupid enough to be totally convinced that he was Gustave's father. And just so you're aware, this idea will be expanded on in later chapters so if you like idiot!Raoul, you might wanna stop here.)