This is dedicated to Griselda Banks, inspired by her absolutely amazing drabble fic Till I'm a Hundred, You Idiot, which is basically parental Roy/Ed to the 100 Edwin themes. Like I said, amazing. So I wanted to try my hand at it, except this one is just for Mustang in general, not always with Ed or Riza or anyone else. Though they will pop up from chapter to chapter, I assure you.

Disclaimer: Do I look like a cow to you? Ahem. On second thought, don't answer that. No, I'm not Arakawa-sensei, and therefore no, I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

I do not even pretend to be British, I really don't, and I seriously doubt I ever sound that way. American here. And so saying, excuse my use of 'Mummy' here, it just seems to me that little Roy would call his mother that rather than 'Mommy.' If that makes sense. Personal preference, I guess. Anyway, moving on.

I will also say that in any given chapter there will be NO YAOI.

Enjoy. XD

Theme 1: Introduction

Three years old wasn't very big.

Big was Mummy and Dad. Big was the house. Big was Trevor, the boarhound that lived with them at the house.

Big was this strange place with ladies in pretty dresses and another lady holding his hand. She'd said to call her Chris. Little Roy wasn't quite sure what to think about that.

Big things were supposed to stay. So where was Mummy?

"Who's this, Madame Christmas?" one of the ladies asked.

"My nephew, Roy. He'll be living with us from now on."

"Oh, I heard about your brother…" Roy shuffled his little loafered feet away from the scary-looking sticks under her shoes, like Mummy would wear when she and Dad went somewhere special. "…I'm so sorry, his wife too?…"

Where was his Mummy?

Little Roy bit his lip and stared down at his shoes. The left one was scuffed near the toe, where he'd been kicking a rock over and over when the big lady—Chris—had stood near by a big hole in the ground. Why had they been burying boxes, anyway? The clothes Chris had put him in were uncomfortable, and Roy wiped his nose on the scratchy sleeve. He shuffled his feet again. Did anyone care that he had to go potty?

"Cwiss?" Roy said softly, leaning close into Chris's leg. The murmuring far above his head stopped, and his call was answered as she knelt down.

"Yes, hun?"

Roy blinked at her and sniffed slightly. Hun? Was that a person or a thing? Was that him? "I—I gotta go potty," he whispered forcefully, because Mummy always frowned when he said it loud in front of other ladies.

"Of course, hun," Chris said, and scooped him up. Roy squeaked and wriggled, uncomfortable in this lady's arms. He didn't even know her—where was Mummy?

Roy held on tight to her neck all the same as they moved around a table to the back of the room. Chris opened a door and let him inside, helping him until he was done. She carried him back out; he didn't really like being held by Chris, but he especially didn't like the ladies' shoes, so it was better up here.

The murmuring started again with some different ladies, and Roy was close enough to hear this time, but they used weird words like 'funeral' and 'orphan' and 'adopted' along with sad voices, so he stopped listening. After a while, he yawned. Today had been a strange, long day and for once he actually wanted it to be bedtime. Mummy would sing him a lullaby and then maybe he wouldn't have to keep being picked up by this Chris lady.

Uncomfortable with the strange territory, he began squirming again. "Cwiss," Roy whined, "I want Mummy."

Again, the murmuring stilled. Roy was burying his sniffling nose into Chris's shoulder, and so he didn't see the stricken expression on the woman's face who stood by, or the saddened one that had drifted onto Chris's own features.

"Shh, hun," she whispered, gently bouncing him in a way that Roy figured was supposed to make him sleepy. He already was, anyway, but why? "It's gonna be okay."

"It hasn't sunk in yet," the other woman said quietly. "He doesn't understand why she's not here."

"He's three years old, Karen, give him a break," Chris admonished, then sighed. "I just hope it doesn't take too long for him to realize that his Mummy's not coming back."

"I want Mummy," Roy pouted again, his voice muffled by the black material of the dress Chris had worn to her brother and sister-in-law's funeral.

"It's all gonna be okay, Roy-boy," Chris whispered. "You tired?"

Sullenly, Roy nodded, pulling his face away from Chris in order to rub a fist at his eye. "I'm sweepy. Where's Mummy?"

"She's not here, baby," Chris sighed. "She's not here. Let's go put you to bed."

Ten minutes later, Chris had him tucked in a small room that she'd prepared for her nephew. Little Roy was still sniffing at the injustice of being deprived of the presence of his beloved mother. Should she sing a lullaby or not? She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard one, much less sung one herself. In the end, she decided she'd go find a couple she could sing to the boy, but tonight, the night when he probably needed it most, she wouldn't.

Well. He'd probably need it most when he finally realized his parents were gone.

"You and me were designed to be lonely, weren't we, Roy-boy?" Chris sighed down to her nephew—foster-son, really. He blinked up at her blankly and she looked up toward the ceiling, in the general direction of a god she didn't believe in.

"Welcome to Madame Christmas's brothel, kid," she said quietly. "This is your new home until you can get a life of your own."

I don't have a set update schedule for this, but I imagine that there won't be more than two weeks between updates except for really impossible themes.

Drop a line if you feel so inclined. XD

~UnAdulterated