Gustave's POV

My papa rushed around as if he didn't know what to do with me. I was standing here itching and crying because of how uncomfortable it was. Though, like the inexperienced man that he was, Mister Y simply rushed me to the nearest hospital. The air outside was cold, making my spots itchier than they already were. Though, it had all been a waste, for the doctors couldn't do anything for me. They simply told my papa that he would have to keep me in doors and to sponge bathe me in oatmeal until my spots faded. I couldn't sleep that evening, for I was so cold and so uncomfortable. I was told not to scratch, but it was nearly impossible, once the itching became too much to bear. When I began crying because of how uncomfortable I was, Mister Y came running in with the sash of his robe tied tightly around his waist. I knew he was exhausted, but I also knew that he wanted to keep watch over me.

"Child, you need to stop scratching." He barked, taking notice to some blood stains that were seeping through my shirt.

"I can't!" I cried. "They itch too much."

"I'll go to the store at first light and get you something to help with it, Gustave. But for a few more hours you have to have some control."

What made matters worse, was that my face was beginning to itch as well. I was so tired and all I wanted to do was sleep, and yet, it was impossible.

"It's all right, Gustave, just lay back down and close your eyes."

"I can't sleep, Mister Y. I'm so tired and yet, I can't sleep."

"I'll go make you a tea that will help." He said, rising to his feet.

As he made his way to the door, I called for him.

"Mister Y?"

"Yes, Gustave?"

"The doctor said children die from chicken pox."

"So they do…"

"Does that mean that I'm going to die, Mister Y?"

Mister Y ran his fingers frantically through his scalp. "No, Gustave, you're not going to die. I won't have it. You're going to be just fine in a few days. You'll see."

"But…"

"No buts…Now, just lay back and close your eyes until I return. When I do, I'll give you that tea, and then you will go to sleep."

I knew Mister Y was worried. I knew mother had made him promise her that he would watch over me, but how could he protect me from something such as this? It was extremely hard for me to lie there and not scratch, but I tried my best. It hurt worse, when I would cut one of the red spots open from scratching, which was why I tried so hard not to. When Mister Y returned, he seemed even more exhausted than he already was, placing down my tea and fixing the blankets that were covering my body.

"Are you tired, Mister Y?"

"Extremely." He said, placing the steaming cup into my hands. "Though, I refuse to rest until you're comfortable."

"When I was sick back in Paris, mother used to sing to me. Will you sing to me, Mister Y?"

I sipped on the peppermint tasting beverage and looked up at him with heavy eyes.

"Not tonight, Gustave. I'm too tired to sing."

"Will you sing to me tomorrow then?"

"Of course."

He took the empty glass away and sat there at my bedside, brushing his fingers through my dark locks.

"I'm itchy."

"Yes, I know you are, but you have to be strong, Gustave. You can't scratch your spots…They'll hurt worse."

"I'm cold, too."

Mister Y didn't waste a single second in pulling the folded afghan off the end of my bed and covering it over my body.

"Close your eyes, Gustave. Everything will be all right within a few days."

"I still can't sleep when I'm so itchy."

"Maybe not, but closing your eyes will help. Tomorrow as soon as the sun comes up, I'll go to the store and buy you something to rub on your spots, something that will take away the itchiness you're feeling."

"Did you ever have the chicken pox, Mister Y?"

"No, Gustave, I didn't. I didn't live in a place long enough to catch them. I caught colds and other illnesses. I was lucky, I guess."

After I closed my eyes, Mister Y stood from where he was sitting and approached the door.

"Try to rest, Gustave, and if you should need me, I promise I'll be out on the couch resting. Just sleep, son, it will help."

Erik's POV

I wanted to rip out my soul! How could this have happened to my boy? How could he have come down with such a horrible illness such as this? The entire day, while my boy lay in bed suffering, I tried to burry my worries away in my work, but it was nearly impossible. Work always cured my worries and fears, but now, it was hardly doing that. I stayed close to his room in case he needed me, always listening. Though, I believe the child slept all throughout the day, for he barely made a sound. This scared me, for I rose to my feet once an hour to check on him.

"Erik, don't do this to yourself," I heard my angel say after a while. "Children get ill all the time."

"Not like this, Christine." I barked. "Kids get colds, kids hurt themselves, get scrapes and cuts…Look at him, angel! He has spots all over him!"

"Erik," Christine placed her hand against my back to calm me down. I took a few breaths, before rising to my feet and heading towards the kitchen to start dinner.

"What are you making?" she asked.

"I don't know…pasta."

"Erik, you should make him chicken broth. He'll probably be too tired to eat as it is."

"Christine, I can't do this, all right…"

I pressed my eyes closed and braced the countertop with my fists. Oh, how nervous and frightened I was!

"Erik, sit," Christine instructed. "I'll make it for you."

It felt good to sit for a few moments and rest my weary mind. I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep.

"You should try to work on your music tonight, Erik." Christine said after a while. "It will take your mind off of everything."

"I highly doubt it, Christine."

"Just try, Erik."

And that I did. When Christine was finished making dinner for Gustave, I peeked into his room to find him still asleep. Deciding not to bother him, I kept his dinner in the oven incase he were to wake later that evening. While he was sleeping, I ran out to the store, purchasing some ointment to take away his itchiness. I wasn't sure what time it was, when I sat down at my desk, but after beginning to fill out papers for Phantasma, I heard my child's voice.

"Mister Y, I can't sleep."

I looked up from my work, taking notice to my child standing before my desk clutching his stuffed bear close to him. Oh, he looked terrible! His face and hands were covered in spots, red and irritated.

"Oh, Gustave, look at you."

I placed down my pen and scooped him up into my arms.

"Come on, I think you should get a bath."

After placing him on the sink, I reached over and started the water, adding some oatmeal to it in order to take away his irritation.

"How did you sleep?" I asked, turning to undress my child.

"I had a hard time sleeping." He whimpered. "Everything itches."

"Yes, I know it does."

I placed his clothes into the wash bin and turned to put Gustave in the tub.

"Will you stay with me, Mister Y?" he asked. "I don't want to be left alone."

"Of course." I said, taking a seat on the side of the tub.

"This water is really icky, Mister Y." Gustave said. "It feels weird."

"It's going to stop your itching, Gustave. You'll feel better the longer you stay in that tub."

"I wish mama were here."

"I know." I said, dipping a wash cloth into the lumpy water. "But, everything will be all right. I think your fever has finally come down a bit."

I took the wash cloth and dabbed it over Gustave's spots, making sure to get every crevice.

"That hurts, Mister Y!" Gustave yelped.

"Shhh…It's all right, Gustave." I cooed. "This has to be done. I don't want your back to become infected. I'm being as gentle as I can."

My son's eyes filled with tears and he began to sob uncontrollably. Oh, what was I going to do now?

"I miss mama…"

"Gustave," I lifted the boy out of the tub and stood him up, wrapping a towel around his body and gently drying him off.

"I know it hurts, Gustave, but everything will get better."

This seemed to stop his crying for a few moments, giving me enough time to carry him into my bedroom and sit him on my bed.

"Now, I have something that will make you feel better."

I reached over on my night table for the bottle of pink ointment and poured some onto my hands before rubbing it all over his sore and itchy flesh.

"It's cold…" he cried.

"I know, but it's going to take away your itchiness."

"My skin is turning pink…"

"Hold up your arms."

My son did as I asked, and I continued rubbing the ointment all over his skin. When he was completely covered, I opened my wardrobe and pulled out one of my shirts, placing the garment over his head.

"There," I said. "Now don't scratch yourself."

"I'm still itchy."

"It'll go away, Gustave." I assured. "Just give it some time."

My son yawned, and rubbed his eyes. I quickly pulled his arm away, causing tears to well up into his eyes once more.

"Gustave, I told you not to rub yourself. And stay away from your eyes…The last thing I need is for one of your spots to burst around your eye. It'll hurt you."

Knowing that he was too tired to walk on his own, I carried him downstairs and sat him at the kitchen table.

"Are you hungry?"

"A little." He whimpered. "I'm just tired."

I heated up his dinner, and placed it down in front of him.

"Here, eat up."

"I don't like broth." He said. "I don't like the way it tastes."

My blood was beginning to boil, as I sat there beside my son. Oh, so much for Christine's opinion.

"Erik, just tell him to try it." Christine replied, standing behind me. "He'll like it, this I promise you."

"Gustave, just try it at least."

My son pushed the bowl away and placed his head on the table.

"I don't like the way Raoul's cooks used to make it."

"Well," I paused, trying to think about what to say to him. Oh, being a father was harder than I first thought it to be. "It's your mother's broth."

His eyes glanced up at me for the first time that evening.

"Really?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes, your mother's broth is ten times better. You'll like it."

To grab his attention, I pulled the bowl over to my side of the table, ready to indulge myself into the broth.

"Wait," Gustave replied, pulling the bowl back over to his side. "I'll eat it if it's mother's broth."

Without another word, Gustave began to eat his dinner, something that took a lot off my mind. I heavily sighed and watched him eat.

"I miss mother's cooking." He said. "I loved when she used to cook for me."

"My cooking isn't terrible though, is it?"

He shook his head. "No, but sometimes you do burn the food."

"What can I say, I try, child…This is all new to me as well."

"You do your best, Mister Y."

Gustave's POV

"What do you miss most about mother?" I asked as I sipped on my dinner.

Mister Y shrugged his shoulders. "Just about everything. Your mother was a wonderful woman, Gustave, she was the light in my life and my way in darkness. Believe me, if I could change places with her I would."

I just nodded, knowing that he would do just that if he could.

"What about you, Gustave?" Mister Y asked. "What do you miss most about your mother?"

"Everything." I confessed. "I miss her smile, her beautiful eyes, her laugh…Even her scent."

"When I was your age, I missed my mother too. Yes, she wasn't nice to me, but she was still my mother. In all the years of my childhood, all I wished for was a hug."

"Your mother never hugged you?"

Mister Y looked down at his hands and shook his head.

"Never, Gustave. She was disgusted by my mere touch."

Feeling terrible for Mister Y, I rose from where I was sitting and embraced him, his breath being caught within his throat. Yes, we had hugged before, but no hug we had shared was as long as this one was. I buried my head into his shoulder as his hands came down over my back and embraced me.

"You're a good boy." He choked. "Such a good boy."

"Mother said I took after my papa…I never understood her, but now that I know who my real papa is, I understand it a thousand percent."

Mister Y chuckled and lifted me up into his arms.

"Come along then, it's time for bed."

Mister Y carried me to my room and laid me down in bed.

"I do hope you sleep better tonight, Gustave." He replied.

"I hope so too."

"Well," he reached over for Don Juan and held him up. "You have company."

I smiled as Mister Y pressed Don Juan's furry muzzle up to my cheek, planting hundreds of fake kisses to my itchy flesh.

"I'll cure you Gustave," Mister Y played, impersonating Don Juan. "I'll give you bear kisses."

I giggled as Mister Y continued playing with me. I tried to hide my face, but he continued pressing Don Juan against my cheek.

"Don't hide from the bear kisses, Gustave!" he chuckled. "Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!"

It was wonderful having a father playing with me, for Raoul never even tucked me in, let alone played with me. I always begged him to play, but he would always yell at me. I loved having Mister Y here beside me and playing. It warmed my heart and reminded me of how my mother would play with me. Some nights she would take Don Juan and tease me with him. I only wished that she were here now. When Mister Y finally stopped, he placed my bear into my arms and tucked the blankets around me.

"Just sleep, Gustave. I think I'm going to try and sleep up in my own bed tonight. If you should need me, you'll know where to find me."

Mister Y was to the door, when I called for him.

"Yes, Gustave?"

He spun around waiting for my answer.

"Do you think we'll ever be whole without mother?"

"Whole?" he questioned. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "Happy?"

"We are happy now, are we not?"

"I know you're not as happy as you would be if mother were here. I know this because I feel the same way. Yes, I know I have memories and pictures, but I don't have her scent, or her warmth…Not even her smile staring me in the face. I'm starting to forget what her hugs even feel like."

Mister Y approached my bed once more and took a seat at my side.

"You know how I'll always have your mother, Gustave?"

I shook my head.

"Because," he said, running his fingers through my dark locks. "I have a part of her sitting right here beside me. When I look into your eyes, I see your mother. When I see you smile, I see your mother's smile…You may look like me, but I see her in you too."

Feeling the need to be hugged, I crawled into Mister Y's lap and snuggled my head against his chest.

"Mother used to hold me like this until I fell asleep."

Mister Y wrapped his arms around my body and patted my shoulder. It was then, that he began to recite a beautiful, yet upsetting poem.

"We thought of you with love today, but that is nothing new.

We thought about you yesterday and days before that too.

We think of you in silence

We often speak your name

Now all we have are memories and your picture in a frame.

Your memory is our keepsake with which we will never part.

God has you in his keeping

And we have you in our heart."

I began to sob into Mister Y's shirt, for I missed my mother more than anything in the world.

"Where did you hear that poem?" I sniffled.

"I wrote it for you mother when she was a child mourning over her father. I wrote it for her and recited it to her one evening when she was praying for him."

"And did she like it?"

Mister Y nodded. "She asked me to recite it for her every night for the next four years. She said it gave her hope."

"I liked it, Mister Y. It's sad, but I loved it."

Mister Y placed me back into bed and rose to leave, heading towards the door.

"God may have mother in his keeping, Gustave…" Mister Y began.

I wiped away my tears. "Yes, he does, but we have her in our hearts."

Mister Y smiled, and turned out the lights, leaving the door cracked like he usually did.

"Always remember that, Gustave. Goodnight."

I snuggled down beside my bear and whimpered a simple "goodnight," before closing my eyes.

Mama might have been in God's keeping, but I was in Mister Y's and that wasn't such a bad thing after all…

AWWWWWW Adorable...Anyway, please review!