Erik's POV

It was hard for me to move when I needed to. Standing up was another task all its own, for walking with only one leg was something much harder than it looked. Christine was always at my side while I walked, bracing my shoulders with her hands in case I lost my balance. My knee was killing me, but I couldn't lay in bed any longer.

"Angel, stop." I raised my hand in protest as she helped me to my desk. "I need a break."

Christine sat me down, running her fingers through my hair.

"Better?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Erik, Dr. Gangle suggested making you something to help." Christine replied. "He said he could make you a metal leg, one that would feel and work like a real one."

"No!" I growled. "I told you before about the way I feel about people in my business."

"Erik, he made Miss Fleck one…"

"She has a brace, Christine!" I snapped. "She has her leg…Gangle just made her a brace. My entire leg is missing, for crying out loud! No…"

"I already agreed to it."

Oh, how my blood was boiling. How dare she! How dare Christine get into my business!

"Erik, it will make you feel better. When I was in town a few days ago, he approached me about it. Oh, Erik, it will make you feel so much more independent."

"Just go away and leave me alone." I cried. "I don't need your help…"

I was so angry about her being in my business, that I stood from my seat and hobbled away from her, falling to the floor as I attempted to do so.

"Erik!" Christine ran to my side, helping me up. "Erik, stay still, let me help you."

"Oh, Christine, look at me! Look at me!"

Christine's hands embraced my back as she tried to lift me to my feet, but I forced her away from me.

"Please, Christine, please…"

"Erik, don't be like this." She begged. "I'm trying to help you."

I sat down at my desk, burying my face into my hands. Gustave had been sleeping, but he was now wake, coming towards me to embrace me.

"Mister Y, don't cry…" he begged. "Don't cry."

"Erik, you stay here…" Christine cooed. "I'm going to get you some tea."

When my Christine left my side, I wiped my eyes and looked down at my work. There were checks to sign and forms to fill out. Gustave hopped up onto my desk and looked at me, handing me my pen.

"I can help you, Mister Y." he said. "Just tell me what to do."

I looked out the window, feeling cabin fever already getting to me. I needed to get out of this studio, but it was nearly impossible with the condition that my body was in.

"I need some fresh air." I replied. "I'm tired of staying inside."

"Well then," Gustave crawled across the desk to the window and cranked it open to let in the fresh air. "Perhaps this will make things better."

The sun was shining outside, the cool breeze blowing inside the window.

"Hey, Mister Y, we should go to the beach." Gustave suggested, pointing to the ocean. "There is nobody there."

"No thank you, Gustave." I said, picking up my pen and signing my final paychecks. "It would be nearly impossible."

"Nothing is impossible, Mister Y. You told me this yourself."

"Not today, Gustave."

"But you said…"

"Enough…Please, I have to work."

As I sat there filling out forms, I heard Gustave rummaging around. He was crawling around my desk, making a mess of my forms. At one point, I dropped my pen and looked up at him, grabbing him by the back of his shorts and lifting him up into the air.

"What are you doing?"

"Making paper air planes."

"Well do it on the floor." I said, placing him down off my desk.

"Look, Mister Y!"

As I was writing, I felt something hit me in the head, only to look over and realize that Gustave' paper air plane had crashed into me.

"Gustave, I'm trying to work."

"Can you play with me? Oh, please, Mister Y!"

"No, Gustave…"

"But…Oh, papa never played with me. Please play with me, Mister Y."

"And what do you suppose we do?" I questioned. When I heard that Raoul never played with Gustave, it hurt me to the core. I was in a lot of pain, but I didn't want to disappoint my son. "There isn't much movement I can do."

"I have an idea."

My son ran to his box of belongings, bringing out a small deck of cards and placing them down on my desk.

"I don't mind sitting." He said.

"And what is this?" I questioned, raising a brow.

"Do you know how to play cards?"

"Cards? What are cards?"

"Well," Gustave picked up the deck and began to shuffle them. "There are a lot of games you can play with cards. I think we should start off with an easy game though…since you don't know how to play. Raoul taught me to play poker at one time."

"Poker?" I growled. "As in the casino game?"

Gustave nodded. "Yes, we used to play for peanuts. Those were the good days with him…"

Gustave began to deal out some cards, my hand reaching over to pick them up.

"Don't let me see them." He warned, picking up his own cards and placing the deck in the center of my desk.

"And what game are we going to play?"

"Crazy eight."

"Crazy eight? And just why is it called such a thing?"

"Because the eights are crazy."

I rolled my eyes, not particularly being interested in playing such a childish game. But, for my son, I would try anything once.

"The whole point is to have all the eight cards." He stated, placing down his matches. "I'll let you go first."

And then, for the first time in my entire life, I played cards with my son.

Christine's POV

After putting Gustave to bed that evening, I changed into my night attire and approached the couch. I had expected to find Erik still wasting away at his desk, but instead, he was sitting on the couch, sipping on a glass of red wine.

"I thought you would have gone to bed?" I softly called out.

"Yes, I would have," he began. "But unfortunately, my body is in dire agony. The morphine hasn't done anything to help; therefore, I turned to the all mighty invention: alcohol.

I crawled into his lap, placing my face into his nightshirt.

"Why do you have to be like this?" I cried. "You push me away as if you have no one to help you."

"You're trying to talk me out of drinking this glass of wine!" he snapped, placing the glass down on the side table. "I'm not your husband, Christine. Even men like me enjoy a drink every once in a while."

I knew I had angered him, for he clumsily stood up and braced the couch for support as he hobbled across the room.

"Don't be like this, Erik." I pleaded. "I didn't say a word about the wine."

"But that's what you were thinking."

"Erik, enough!"

"No, I refuse to stop, Christine."

Erik plopped down on his piano bench, moving documents aside and tearing music scores in half.

"Destroying your music will do you nothing."

"It will make them look like me! Half finished…That's all I ever am, Christine."

After tossing the torn pieces of parchment aside, he placed his face into his hands and cried. I knew losing his leg had given him scars, scars that would never vanish. But I would not abandon him, not now, not when he needed me the most. During the day while my angel played cards with Gustave, I went through his wardrobe and hemmed the left legs of all four pairs of trousers, cutting the excess fabric and sewing the pant legs closed. It would at least make him feel normal until Dr. Gangle was finished with his new leg. Afterwards, no one would even suspect that my angel was missing his leg.

"Erik," I sat down beside him, placing my hand over what was left of his thigh, gently rubbing it. "Don't ever think that you're half finished. To me, you are complete."

"How could you think that, Christine?" he cried. "Look at me…All my life; I've been without a face, unfinished in my appearance. Now that I have only one leg, it's ten times worse."

"Oh, angel… You are complete. Please…look at me." I pried his hands away from his face, caressing his deformity and smiling at him. "Your face is beautiful to me."

My Erik didn't say a word. He simply sat there looking at me as silent tears ran down his cheeks.

"Come here, Erik."

I stood him up and helped him back to the couch.

"What are you doing?" he questioned as I crawled back into his lap.

I closed my eyes and sighed into his chest. If there was one thing I loved, it was being curled up with him.

"Relaxing."

A few moments later, his hand placed itself in my curls, making me feel ten times better.

"Do you truly wish to stay with me, Christine? Stay with me forever?"

"Of course."

"Oh, Christine we must leave this place, leave this very studio. I will make us a life, Christine, make you and I a wonderful life."

I turned over onto my back, looking up at my angel.

"You must first make this life on paper in order to explain everything to the press."

"And I will." He assured. "As soon as I'm feeling better, I will, Christine."

And with that, I slipped off to sleep in Erik's embrace….Perhaps our life would be wonderful after all.

Gustave's POV

It was strange when Mister Y got his metal leg. It made him seem robotic in a way. He cursed around the studio the first day he had it on, complaining about how uncomfortable it was to wear. I couldn't blame him, for it seemed that way. Though, when he wore his pants, you couldn't even tell he was missing a leg, except for the fact that he walked with a heavy limp. After the contraption was on, Mister Y still couldn't walk unless he had the assistance of a cane.

"Oh, Christine, I can't bear to wear this uncomfortable thing!" he growled, throwing his musical scores around.

"You'll get used to it, angel." My mother caressed Mister Y's shoulders and pressed a kiss to his unmasked cheek. "Give it time."

I wanted to make my father feel better, and therefore, while my mother went into town for milk, I decided to act on it.

"Mister Y?"

He was sitting at his desk, hunched over his work and looking agitated.

"Mister Y, could I talk to you?"

"Gustave," he painfully pressed his eyes closed. "Just leave me be. I'm in no mood for games."

"The sun is really shining outside." I continued. "Look…"

I crawled across his desk, knocking over trinkets and papers to make it to the window.

"Gustave!"

I knew he was just upset over his leg, that being the reason for his ill temper.

"Let's go outside, Mister Y…Please…Oh, please."

"Gustave, I can hardly bear to stand up with this blasted contraption on my leg. Now go and play somewhere until your mother returns."

"But, Mister Y…"

"Go…"

I scurried off his desk and went rummaging through the closet where mother kept my beach ball and bucket. I pulled them out and took a seat on the floor beside his desk, rolling the ball to his feet to grab his attention. The ball would hit his leg and then roll back. I would then proceed to push the ball against him again and again.

"Gustave… You're really trying my patience."

"We could do this outside, Mister Y."

"I said no."

I rolled my eyes and plopped back against the floor.

"I'm so hungry."

"Your mother will be back soon enough and start dinner."

"That's hours away." I groaned. "Oh, could we please get some ice cream?"

"The parlor is closed for the winter." He said, writing on a piece of parchment.

"How about a pretzel then?"

"Gustave, Coney Island is finished until spring. In the summer this place is the eighth wonder of the world, but in the winter, it's as silent and as dead as a graveyard."

"Well," I began. "If one wanted to go out and eat, where would you go? Surely there are restaurants open during the winter?"

"There is an adult restaurant on the other end of Coney Island for the rich…"

"And?"

"And Tonto's Pizza parlor on the other side of Phantasma."

"Oh, pizza!" I gasped, sitting up. "Can we go? Please, please,please? I'm so hungry."

"Your mother would kill me if you weren't hungry for dinner."

"Just one slice." I begged. "Please, Mister Y?"

Mister Y groaned and placed down his pen.

"You're really not going to let me work are you?"

"Well, I could just continue playing with the ball." I teased.

Mister Y placed down his pen and stood up, a look of discomfort stretching across his face as he grabbed his cane.

"All right." He agreed. "We will go to the pizza parlor for one slice…One and I mean it, Gustave. If your mother finds out that I fed you before dinner, she would surely have my head."

Satisfied, I followed Mister Y out the door as he and I walked side by side. I knew he was having trouble walking, but I didn't run ahead, I walked at his pace.

"Does your leg really hurt that much?"

"More than being without it."

"Why?"

"The metal is rubbing my flesh raw. But then again, what can I do?"

"It is helping you walk."

"I'll just be happy to sit down again."

When we arrived at the pizza parlor, I ran to a nearby booth with a window view while Mister Y ordered our snack. When he returned with my slice, he sat it down in front of me before sitting down.

"Now eat up." He said. "Enjoy…"

"How come you're not eating a slice?"

"Because I wish to enjoy your mother's delicious meal at dinner. If I simply fill my stomach with a slice of greasy pizza, I surely won't eat dinner and then it will make your mother believe that her cooking is horrible…"

I rolled my eyes. "You make everything out to be so difficult."

"That's because it is. Life is difficult, Gustave. Besides, I can't eat comfortably without removing my mask."

"Well, how about just a bite then?"

"What?"

I folded my slice of pizza, and held it out towards Mister Y's mouth.

"Take a bite."

"No, Gustave."

"And why not?"

"Because."

"Haven't you ever eaten pizza before?"

"Can't say that I have…"

Mister Y shifted in his seat, grasping his side in pain.

"Are you all right, Mister Y?"

"Not really." He cringed. "I shouldn't even be out."

"Have a bite, Mister Y."

"You're not going to leave me alone until I do it, are you?"

I giggled as Mister Y took the end of my slice and placed it into his mouth, the piping hot sauce burning his mouth.

"Ahhh,"

"It's extra hot."

"Are you happy now?"

"Good isn't it?"

"If you say so, now eat your pizza so we can go home."

I bit into my slice, the sauce staining my lips.

"Mother made me a bed of pillows and blankets on the floor. She said it will be my temporary bed until we find a new home. Is it true that we're going to be getting a new home Mister Y?"

"Someday, Gustave."

"When?"

"When I feel better."

"Look at the seagulls, Mister Y!"

I pointed out the window and Mister Y turned his gaze to what I was pointing at.

"Mister Y, will it be boring here in the winter?"

"I never consider Coney Island as "boring."

"Perhaps, but without the attractions being opened, what will I do?"

"You will be schooled by me and learn everything there is to know. I will teach you everything, Gustave."

"Could you teach me more music?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"And how Phantasma is ran?"

"If you wish, but Phantasma is not important. Reading, writing and arithmetic is most important to succeed in life."

"So boring…"

"Well, you need to know how to read music, write music and know how many beats there are in a single libretto, now don't you?"

My eyes widened in excitement, causing Mister Y to produce a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

"That's what I though."

As I finished up my slice of pizza, Mister Y pulled his pocket watch out of his pocket and gasped at the time.

"Oh no, we should really be getting home."

He put his watch away and looked up at me, gasping at the sight of my sauce stained mouth.

"Your mother is going to have my head if she sees the mess you made of yourself."

He reached across the table for a napkin and rubbed it against my cheek.

"Oh, why isn't this working?" he cursed, noticing that the stains were not coming off of my lips.

"It's because it's not wet."

He rolled his eyes in frustration. "And just how am I supposed to wet it? We're in a pizza parlor, not at the beach…"

"Mother wets it with her mouth."

"She does what?"

I nodded.

"Oh, that's just… well, just unsanitary."

"That's what I always said!" I cried. It was amazing how alike Mister Y and I were. Great minds do think alike.

"Oh, the time." Without another word, Mister Y licked the napkin and wiped it around my stained face.

"But what about you just said?" I barked.

"Be as it may, Gustave, but we must get home and sauceless, unfortunately."

And with that, Mister Y and I made our way back home to meet my mother. But I had succeeded… I had gotten Mister Y out of the studio and had fun.