They asked for a Boy

Summary: "My parents died in a car crash, no magic or wizards involved. How old do you think I am?"

She took a Boy, he named him Roy

Colonel Grumman met a kid at a brothel. That was uncommon but not too surprising. Sometimes protection wasn't used and abortion wasn't an option. Sometimes there wasn't any other option. The boy with his distinctly foreign features and green eyes that were almost black, bore a striking resemblance to Madame Christmas.

Madame Christmas claimed she was barren.

It was as if the boy was looking for him specifically. As soon as he entered the bar, a small hand tugged at his coattails.

"Are you Colonel Grumman, sir?" He asked, peering through a messy mop of black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Why, yes." Grumman said, crouching down to the boy's eye-level. The boy's clothes were baggy yet modest. He moved with a childish innocence that suggested he wasn't in the business. Besides, this was Madame Christmas's bar, she wouldn't place a child in that situation. "And who might you be?"

The boy ignored his question, instead grabbing his hand and dragging him through the bar. With a slight stumble in his step, Grumman relented. He could have easily dug his heels and brought them both to a halt but this was just a boy, there wasn't much he could do with him.

The boy led the soldier through the back rooms, passing moaning doors and creaking frames without even batting an eye. He waltzed through the hall with the sort of grace and familiarity a five-year-old would have when pulling an adult into a game of pretend.

His little escort stopped behind one of the doors, indistinguishable from the rest. If his memory served correct, though, this was Madame Christmas's office. He gently rapped the door.

He was an odd little boy, Grumman noticed. The boy was three at youngest, seven at oldest, yet lacking the overabundance of energy that a child his age was known for. He was obviously familiar with Madame Christmas, so her son possibly. But the colonel had known the woman for years. He had been the one, after all, to smuggle her into Amestris with nothing more than the clothes on her back. No name, past or identity to speak of beyond what she made for herself in the backstreets of Central.

The door cracked open and there was Madame Christmas, dressed in a fur coat and pearls in a style more suited for a much larger woman. Her face was thin over a wiry body with a sour expression that only communicated annoyance. Maybe if her features were softer, her body less forced, she would have been a stunning beauty with emerald eyes and blonde roots peeking from underneath black dye.

"I brought the Colonel." He said, chest puffed with pride.

Madame Christmas puffed her cigarette in response. "Did you drag him off the street?"

"No." the boy almost yelled with a slight whine. "He was in the bar."

"Dragged me straight from the entrance." Grumman added, earning a look of betrayal from the boy. "Didn't even have a chance to grab a drink."

Madame Christmas shot the boy a stern look. "Is that true?" She didn't wait for an answer, the deflation in the boy's posture spoke for him. "Such behaviour is rude and inconsiderate. I taught you better than that."

"Yes Madame Christmas. Sorry Madame Christmas." The boy said in a monotone drone.

The woman's gaze softened to something almost motherly. "Just remember your manners next time." She said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Now run along, I think James might be bothering Lily again."

With a half-hidden cheeky smile, the boy nodded and left the two adults to whatever Madame Christmas had tasked him. Grumman was no fool. There was no 'James' or 'Lily' under the woman's hold. It was the code of the mistress of the house. She had developed it almost immediately after arriving in Amestris and he had yet to crack it.

"What are you waiting for?" Madame Christmas said, opening the door to her office. "Come in."

They made small talk over some cheap whiskey. Madame Christmas hadn't been expecting him while Grumman had no idea why she wanted him here. Even so, they were in an office and there was a deal waiting to be made. The topics shifted almost randomly from politics to the weather, the state of business to local gossip and even to owls for some odd reason.

After several glasses, lips began to loosen or at least they pretended they did. Grumman knew the Madame was a prideful woman but she was beyond taking favours. She just had a hard time asking them.

"Pretty energetic kid you've got running around." Grumman finally said, taking a sip from his glass. Money was flowing, business was good and no one had any beef against the woman. It had to be that boy.

Madame Christmas quashed her smoke in an ashtray before downing a mouthful of alcohol. "He gets it from his father, probably. That man was always a trouble maker."

"A one night stand?" The resemblance was impossible to ignore, the eyes especially. Though behind thick lens they looked a black-brown, he had glimpse the emerald green, almost identical to those opposite him.

"No. Love." She dropped the jovial fake-drunkenness and stared down into her drink. "Hated each other back in school but as soon as graduation came along…"

Grumman nodded, placing his glass down. A childhood sweetheart…

"…next thing I know, I'm invited to a baby shower."

Grumman nearly slipped out of his chair. "The boy's not yours?"

"The boy's my nephew, my sister's only child." Christmas said, slightly amused by his misconception. "She and her husband were…alchemists, or something similar at least. She was being targeted by a terrorist at the time and told me to flee the country." She reached out for the bottle but snatched her hand back. The wounds were still raw and the woman obviously didn't want to be sober at the moment. "We had been…fighting for some time. It had seemed so important then but now it's just petty."

He offered her the bottle. "Drink?"

"No. This is important. You deserve to know the truth, or at least a shade of it." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I didn't heed her first warning, she was my crazy little sister out to break any sense of normality I had. The terrorists and his followers attacked. They killed my fiancé and were planning on using me as leverage against my sister. But even though I hated her, she still cared about me. A…teleportation array, for a lack of better description, was hidden in my house. It activated and…"

"And then you came stumbling across the western border."

Not for the first time, Grumman cursed his country's isolated nature. The nations beyond those that bordered Amestris were a complete mystery, nothing was known about them except the vague fact that they existed. Teleportation was something that was so alien, declared impossible, to Amestrian alchemy but to think it were possible elsewhere.

The glasses and alcohol were packed away. This wasn't a simple social meeting anymore. Best case scenario if this was found out would have the woman and her nephew charged as illegal immigrants. Worst case would spark a war a completely unknown enemy.

"I haven't heard from her since. That was until her son appeared on my doorstep three years ago over the same 'array'." Madame Christmas sat up, straightening her posture. Grumman did likewise. "I need you to forge legal documents. Adoption papers, identification, everything to make it look as if he were a native Amestrian."

"His appearance though. It would be easy to tell that he was a foreigner." Grumman pointed out. He didn't want to play devil's advocate but they had to be practical. "Yours too. Not to mention your accents. It sounds almost Creatan, enough to get you accused of being a spy."

"Bah, don't worry about me." She dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I know how to keep my head down but the boy will be a trouble maker, I'm sure of it. He has his parents' spirit and fire." There a glow in her eyes, a queer combination of hope and nostalgia. Madame Christmas expected the boy to do great things.

Grumman smirked. Yes, watching that boy grow would be interesting. "I'll have the papers sorted by the end of this week. You will need to come to my office to sign them, tomorrow or the day after that." He said. Then something occurred to him, an obvious little fact that he should have noticed earlier. "What is the boy's name? I can't leave the space black."

"Can't say it."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't." The woman said firmly. "Part of their 'alchemy' can lock onto a person's name. If it was placed on the boy's name, simply speaking it would alert those murderers of his location."

Locating someone by merely saying their name…Grumman repressed a shudder. This foreign alchemy was something to fear.

"But you need names." Grumman said. "'Madame Christmas' might work for you but you can't keep calling him 'Boy' his entire life."

"Sure I can." Christmas said lightly. "Put me down as 'Chris T. Mas', aunt and legal guardian of 'Boy'."

The soldier snickered. "How about 'Christine Mustang' and 'Roy'? At least it sounds like your trying."

"Fine, fine. Whatever floats your boat." The lightness had returned, genuine and not forced this time. With a gentle almost sly smile, the newly named 'Christine' leaned over the desk between them. "Now, for all your troubles, what do you want out of this?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't play fool with me, Grumman." The woman said. "You won't go through all this trouble out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want out of this?"

Grumman hadn't forgotten. Forgery of such important documents would be enough to get him court martialled.

"Should Roy ever show interest in alchemy, have him seek out Berthold Hawkeye."

The Madame was sceptical. "What makes you so sure he would want to study alchemy?" 'Why waste a favour on something baseless?' was her underlying question.

"Alchemic skill isn't genetic but quite often the children of alchemists will show interest in the art." Grumman said. "I've had my eye on Hawkeye for several years now. Having an insider will hopefully lessen the animosity between him and the military." Between myself and my own family. Maybe it was a bit underhanded to use a child to bridge the gap between himself and his son-in-law but any connection to his estranged family was better than nothing.

'Fine but don't be so certain that he'll latch onto that magic."

"Alchemy is science, not magic."

Grumman had left several hours later, slightly tipsy from another round of drinks but not too intoxicated to not make his way home. Despite the lightness of his head and heart, something weighed on his mind. Madame Christmas's final warning.

"If you see anyone running around in robes armed with sticks, treat them seriously. Do not take them lightly and consider them as dangerous as State Alchemists.