Gustave's POV

All through the night, I vomited into the bucket Mister Y had placed at my bedside. I was ill, so ill, that I didn't even get up the next morning when I was supposed to. I didn't have the strength, and therefore, I stayed put, never emerging from my bed. Twenty minutes later, Mister Y came walking into my room and placed his hand against my forehead.

"You're burning up, Gustave."

Indeed, I was. Though, for how hot I was on the outside, I sure was freezing on the inside. As I shivered, Mister Y tucked the blankets tight around my body and scooped up the bucket of vomit that was placed at my bedside.

"Let me get rid of this and I'll be right back."

I didn't say a word, only laid there and listened to Mister Y cleaning out the bucket. When he returned, he took a seat at my bedside once more and brushed his fingers through my locks of hair.

"You're going to stay home today." He cooed. "You need to get your rest, pal."

"I'm freezing, Mister Y."

Mister Y worked quickly, leaving my room and returning with three more blankets. I felt much better after he threw them on my bed. At last, I felt warmth, but my stomach was still killing me.

"I wouldn't suppose that you're hungry? Yes, you did vomit all through the night, but then again, I'm sure your illness is making you feel like this."

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Very well, Gustave." Mister Y stood. "I'm going to work on some things for Phantasma. If you should need me, I'll be just down the hall."

"Don't leave me." I begged. "I don't want to be left alone. I would feel much better lying on the couch in the family room."

Mister Y didn't answer, he simply scooped me up into his arms and carried me, my blankets, and my bear to the couch.

"There, now…" he mewed. "Just close your eyes and get some rest. In the meantime, I'm going to fix you up some tea to help bring down that nasty fever of yours. Until then, just close your eyes."

"Mister Y, could you sing to me please?"

Mister Y seemed taken back by my request. "Why do you wish to hear me sing?"

"Mama used to sing to me whenever I wasn't feeling well. Please, Mister Y."

"All right."

Satisfied, I closed my eyes and listened to Mister Y sing me a soft lullaby. I would have thought it would make me feel better, but it didn't. Halfway through Mister Y's song, my stomach began to churn, so much, that I didn't even have time to run to the bathroom. No, it happened so fast. One moment I was lying there with my eyes closed, and the next, leaning over to vomit on the floor. Mister Y immediately stopped singing and rushed down the hall to grab the bucket he had sitting at my bedside. Though, it was too late by the time he arrived back, for I was finished vomiting. Oh, there fluid was all over my clothes and blankets…I felt horrible, so horrible that I began to sob uncontrollably. Surely Mister Y was going to be furious, but before he could yell, he picked me up and carried me up the stairs, shushing me from sobbing as he worked quickly at removing my clothes.

"You need to get a bath, Gustave." He replied. "You're covered in vomit."

My body was freezing even worse after Mister Y removed my clothing. I wrapped my arms around my body as he ran the water in the tub, filling it up with hot water.

"Now, you get washed." He set me down in the warm water, rising to his feet and picking up my pile of ruined clothes. "I'll be back up in a few minutes with a fresh pair of pajamas."

"Mister Y, I don't feel so good." I groaned.

"It's all right." He assured. "Don't cry…"

When Mister Y left, I worked on washing out my hair. I was so tired, that I could hardly keep my eyes open while doing so. A few moments later, Mister Y came back, carrying a small pile of folded clothes and a towel.

"I have some cleaning up to do downstairs, but I think it's best if you continued resting in your room. I'll come in and work if that would make you feel better."

I didn't argue as he lifted my naked body out of the tub and dried me off.

"Oh, Gustave, you're shaking."

My papa carried me out into his bedroom, where he sat me down on his mattress and began dressing me in my fresh pair of sleep trousers. After buttoning my shirt, he still took notice to how violently I was shaking.

"Oh, this won't do…not at all."

Without a moment to spare, Mister Y went through his wardrobe and pulled out a heavy, black robe.

"This is the warmest garment I own." He said, slipping my arms into each sleeve. Yes, the sleeves were a little long, but my body was finally starting to get warm again. "You can wear it until you feel better."

I didn't argue, only snuggled my head into his chest as he picked me up into his arms and carried me back downstairs to my bed.

"I threw your clothes in the wash bin downstairs. Your blankets are in there as well. As soon as they're dried, I'll bring them back in here for you. For now, you'll have to be satisfied with just your quilt."

And after covering me up, he brushed his fingers through my hair one last time before making his exit.

"Rest, Gustave." He warned. "As soon as I'm finished cleaning up, I'll come and join you in here. But, in the meantime, if you should need me, just call."

I could only nod, and when Mister Y was gone, I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Erik's POV

I didn't know what to do with the child…My poor Gustave was lying nearly on death's door, and here I was, mopping away vomit from the floor.

"Erik, you need to do something." My Christine argued. "He really is ill, you know."

I sighed and looked up at her from the floor that I was currently scrubbing. "I know, Christine. I'm going to keep an eye on him for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, if he hasn't gotten any better, I'll take him to the doctors myself."

"Erik, this is Coney Island." Christine replied. "Doctors here only treat freaks."

"I'll take care of it, Christine. How much different can the doctor's here be from the ones in the city. You anger me…"

"And just how do I do that?"

"You act as though us freaks are some sort of alien…that we're nowhere close to being human."

"I didn't say that, Erik."

"Yes, Christine, you did…You know how I feel when you say something like that. What makes me any different than you?"

"Nothing…"

"Just leave me be, Christine." I growled. "I have lots of cleaning up to do, and then, I must work. I swear, if the child throws up one more time, I shall go insane. My floors shall never be the same again."

After mopping up, I carried the bucket of dirty water to the sink and emptied it, washing it out before heading down to the basement to wash Gustave's clothes. Being a father was harder than I first thought it to be, for the child needed constant attention. When the floors were spotless, and the clothes cleaned and hanging up to dry, I grabbed my paperwork and entered Gustave's room to find him fast asleep. Satisfied, I took a seat at his desk and began to fill out my forms quietly, hoping that when the child awoke, he would be feeling ten times better. Though, that was a dream and nothing more, for when he opened his eyes, he was feeling worse than when he started.

"I don't feel well, Mister Y." he groaned. "I feel like throwing up again."

"Best be in the bucket that's beside your bed." I barked. "Don't miss."

"My body aches."

"Yes," I rose to my feet. "It's going to."

I prayed to God that Gustave's fever would be gone, but when I placed my hand against his forehead and felt the intense heat of his fever, I groaned. Oh, this was going to be a long night.

"I think in the morning I'm going to take you to the doctors."

"I hate the doctors, Mister Y."

"Yes, but you need medicine, medicine that only a doctor can supply."

I left the room for a few moments and returned with a cool compress, placing it firmly against Gustave's burning forehead.

"It's cold."

"Yes, and it'll bring down your high fever. Rest, Gustave."

"Mister Y, I'm really tired."

"Good." I replied. "Close your eyes and get some rest. I'm going to go out into the kitchen and make you some of that tea I talked about earlier. Afterwards, I'm thinking about making you a broth to eat."

"I don't want to eat."

"Whether you want to or not, Gustave, you need to keep your body hydrated. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday, therefore, you need to eat."

When I left his room, I hurried into the kitchen, only to find my angel standing there. I ignored her and began to boil some hot water over the stove in order to make Gustave his tea.

"Erik, I'm sorry, all right?"

"No, Christine." I growled. "It's not all right. At the moment, all I want to do is make Gustave his tea, his broth and then, tuck him in for the night."

"And what afterwards?" she questioned. "Work? Is that what you're going to do?"

"What's it to you, Christine? After what you said to me, I could care if you ever spoke to me again. You're dead, remember? Perhaps you should start remembering it too…"

"You're angry." Christine snapped. "You truly don't mean that. Just a few days ago you were going to kill yourself to be with me."

"Was I? Forget it, Christine. Just leave me alone for the remainder of the night. You know what? Why don't you leave me be for the rest of my life? I don't need you anymore…I am perfectly capable of raising Gustave on my own."

"Erik, after you're finished with Gustave, I need you to come back out here in the kitchen."

"Why?" I snapped. "So you can insult me again?"

"Never…Please, Erik, just do as I ask."

I didn't disagree, nor did I agree. Instead, I stirred up Gustave's tea and carried it into his bedroom, lifting his head to assist him in drinking it.

"I don't like this." He cried. "It's too hot and too spicy."

"It's going to take away your fever, so drink it…"

"Couldn't I have some hot chocolate instead, Mister Y?"

"Absolutely not, Gustave. It'll only make your stomach feel worse. I believe I've cleaned up enough vomit for one day. For now, I only want you to finish your tea and go to sleep."

While Gustave was finishing his drink, I hurried down to the basement to grab his dry blankets, bringing them back up the stairs and placing them on his bed.

"There, now you'll stay warm all night."

"Thank you for the robe, Mister Y, it really is warm."

"Yes, well, I hope you stay that way the entire night. When you're feeling better you can give it back to me."

"All right."

"Good." I tucked him in and turned out the lights. "The bucket is at your bedside should you be needing it. I hope not… But rest, Gustave and I hope you feel better in the morning."

My child yawned and rolled over. "Goodnight, Mister Y."

"Goodnight, Gustave, sleep well."

After closing his door halfway, I ventured out into the kitchen to meet Christine. Though, to my surprise, she was placing down some sort of stew in my usual spot.

"Truce," she mewed, pulling out my chair for me. "Please sit…"

I didn't say a word, only took my seat and began to devour my delicious bowl of soup.

"Good?" she questioned.

"Delicious." I cooed. "Thank you…"

"Raoul never cared for it. I made it for him during the winter, but he always complained. Always said that I either left out this, or put too much of that in it…"

"That man is an imbecile…" I growled. "He never knew what he had, or how good he had it. Sometimes, I believe that to be my fault…"

"Erik…"

"No," I argued. "I'm the one who left you after making love to you that night. Oh, you must have felt like a whore…God! And I didn't even pay you…Is that what I should have done?"

"Erik, it hurt me when I woke to find you gone, but I knew deep down that it was the right thing to do. Yes, I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you, yes, I would have gone anywhere you led, but I knew in your heart you knew where I belonged. Oh, I wish things could have been different. If only you weren't a wanted man. If you were better behaved and not wanted by the police…"

"But what would the Opera Ghost be without hassle in his life, Christine? I shouldn't have left you…I should have waited until morning. Oh, I was afraid to see your eyes, afraid to see your fear."

"There wasn't any fear, Erik. Your face meant no horror to me…not anymore. When I woke, I was hoping to find you there beside me, your face shining with the morning sunlight. I missed it for ten whole years, ange…"

"I'm sorry, sorry for everything…Please forgive me. Perhaps if I hadn't left you, you wouldn't have died. Gustave would have known his father from day one…I could have tried to provide you with the best life I could have given you. Please believe me, ange…"

"Erik," Christine caressed my cheek and smiled. "I know you would have worked five jobs to give me the life I should have lived, but we can't harp on things that never were."

"I know, Christine. I would have done anything for you…"

"I know…I was about to stay with your forever, Erik. You know I would have stayed with you. It's all I ever wanted."

"Please sit down, Christine."

I motioned to a chair and she took a seat, placing her hand over my own.

"You're a wonderful father, Erik, you know that, don't you?"

"If you say so, Christine."

After eating, I rose from my seat and washed out my bowl, deciding to turn in for the evening. After walking up the stairs that would lead me to my room, I closed the door behind me and began to undress.

"I never cleaned up so much bodily fluid in one day."

Christine giggled. "It's something one must get used to."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to something like that."

"Oh? The infamous Phantom is afraid of a little boy's throw up? The Phantom, who has seen more blood in his entire life than any other normal being?"

"Christine, I'm warning you," I playfully hissed. "Don't tempt me…"

But as Christine continued laughing, I wrapped my arms around her and swayed her about, causing her laughs to become louder.

"Let me go, Erik…"

"I think not…"

I spun her around like a normal man who was deeply in love would do. Oh, how her laughs made my heart leap with joy!

"I love you, Christine." I murmured.

Her giggling had stopped, and she was looking me in the eyes, her lips placing themselves against my own. Life! It was as though life was being breathed back into my very lungs! Life, that was being pushed back into my lifeless body. I was alive! Alive, and with my angel.

"Christine, please say you'll come to bed with me…" I begged. "Please say you'll share this with me again…"

Christine's smile faded, leaving me standing there staring at her uncertain expression.

"Have I said something wrong?"

Christine shook her head. "No, no, nothing…only…"

"Only what?"

My Christine didn't say a word, only placed her lips back against my own and moved me towards my bed. My angel crawled on top of me, her kisses never fading as my hands snaked up her arms and shoulders. Bliss! This was pure bliss! It had been ten years, ten whole years since I last felt the pleasure of a woman…an angel!

"Oh, Christine…"

I was about to reach for the lacings of her dress, when I heard tiny footsteps coming towards my room. Christine quickly maneuvered herself from off my lap, sliding off the bed and fixing her dress. What for? No one but me could see her…

"Mister Y…" That voice belonged to my son, but it sounded different…His voice was hoarse and exhausted.

"Gustave…" I reached over for my lamp, turning it on and spotting my son entering my bedroom. Though, something was most certainly wrong with him. He was pale…Well, paler than usual, and his eyes seemed bloodshot.

"Mister Y, I can't sleep." He groaned. "And I'm itchy…"

Gustave was standing there scratching his chest through his shirt. Why? Why would the boy be itching? Curious, I stood up from my bed and approached him, taking his shirt into my grasp and unbuttoning the first few buttons to gain access to his chest. Oh, and when I saw his flesh, my heart stopped within my chest. His flesh was red with rash, a few red spots already visible around his ribcage. No…This couldn't be happening…But it was. I knew what my child had; for many children around New York come down with it…My child had the chicken pox!

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