A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift!fic for the excellent Liberty Flight. It will be three chapters long and hopefully fully-uploaded by the New Year. Inspired by their story "Get In Your Places (we'll be a perfect family)". FF doesn't let you link, but look it up, it's a brilliant one-shot that imagines Grumman taking custody of Riza after her back is tattooed. This is a similar AU but with some tweaking. Hope you all enjoy!

Opening the pantry, Riza took a moment to notice exactly how full it was. Dried herbs bunched with twine, root vegetables, jars filled with spices she'd never heard of before…

It was all a little overwhelming.

Deciding to stick to what she knew, she pulled out some onions, carrots and potatoes. It didn't take long to find a knife, and as the water boiled on the stove, she peeled and cut the vegetables, leaving the skins and scraps on the counter until she had time to find the composting pile.

She climbed onto the step-stool and scraped the chopped vegetables from the wooden board into the pot. She vaguely noticed the sound of footsteps in the background, but paid no attention until a voice spoke behind her.

"What are you doing?" She turned, knife in hand, to see the grey, wrinkled proprietor of the house.

"Get away from there!" he barked, eyes wide as he lunged toward her. She narrowly managed to side-step his flailing arms, and his hand almost broke the knob of the stove, twisting it hard until the flames under the pot disappeared. Within another couple of seconds, the knife was out of her hand, clattering loudly on the counter. Her feet were lifted from the stool as he hugged her to him fiercely.

Riza barely knew the man she was supposed to call grandfather, but she supposed the hug was more for him than her, so she fought the urge to struggle free from his grasp. When he took her from her father, she had panicked. She had just lost her mother, and until then she had thought her father the only family she had left in the world. But he hadn't objected when this man told him he'd be taking her away. Riza simply had to trust that her father knew what was best.

That didn't make it much easier, though. George Grumman was acting as if she'd done something unthinkable. It was only a few vegetables. Riza had been cooking ever since her mother got sick over a year ago, she knew how to make a basic stock.

Her grandfather's knees trembled as he crouched and lowered her until her feet touched the ground, but he did not release her. "We have a cook," he said, kindly but firmly. "Her name is Sandra. You don't have to cook your own meals ever again."

"Okay," she replied, because it seemed like the right thing to say. It seemed to work, he loosened his hold on her and straightened, hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her with a sadness in his eyes. It was understandable, Riza supposed. He'd recently lost his daughter. Though Riza was eight years old now and never in her whole life had her mother mentioned him.

He smiled gently, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I should have told you a little more about how things work around here," he lamented. "I've enrolled you in school, starting in the fall. We'll have to get you a uniform." He fingered the fabric of her t-shirt, which was tight around her arms, and frowned. "Looks like you've outgrown your clothes too. We'll have to fix that soon."

"Okay," she repeated, even though she felt she could get at least another month or two out of the clothes she had.

He stared at her for a moment, before his bottom lip trembled, causing his mustache to wiggle strangely. He hugged her to him again, but his hold didn't hurt her rib-cage quite so much this time.

"You're safe now," he said quietly, voice shaking.

Riza wasn't aware that she was ever unsafe to begin with.

Central was far busier than she was used to. There were more shops, more restaurants, and a lot more people, all of them strangers. Riza held on to her grandfather's hand as they walked through the streets, worried that if she let go, she would be swept away by the crowd. His other hand held some shopping bags, which brushed gently against her hip with every swing of his arms.

He stopped quite suddenly, and Riza almost walked right into the back of his legs. He looked down at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry to do this to you darling, but I have to make a quick stop. We won't be long, I promise."

She nodded her assent as he opened the door of the building and ushered her inside.

It was dark, or dim at least. Riza charged forward, navigating past the mostly-empty tables and chairs until they came to the counter. A bar, she realized when she saw the plethora of glass bottles lining the shelves behind the long counter. Grumman dropped the bags he was holding on the floor and sat on a bar stool. He gestured toward another stool, and Riza climbed up until she was seated beside him. She could see properly over the bar from this height, and she noticed a woman with black hair and a fur-collared coat, bent over and slicing lemons. A cigarette hung from between her lips and a heavy gold necklace rested on her collarbones.

"Surely you have some other girls to do the grunt work for you," her grandfather said in a warm voice.

When the woman looked up from her work, her eyes caught Riza's instantly, and widened in surprise.

She recovered quickly, taking a long drag from her cigarette and focusing on the aging man. "Grumman…"

"I know." His tone was suddenly far more serious.

She stood up properly, placing the knife on the cutting board. "You trying to draw attention to me? I don't need people asking—"

"I know. I'm sorry, Madame, but you know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't necessary."

Madame muttered something uncouth under her breath, before looking at Riza again, a softer expression on her face and a fake smile on her lips. Riza was attuned to adults trying to pretend that everything was fine. She got enough of that at home while her mom was sick.

"There's not much here I can offer you, kiddo. You want some juice?"

Riza shook her head.

"Soda?"

"No thank you," she said quietly.

"There's tea in the back. You know how to work a stove?"

Riza paused, remembering the last time she tried to use the stove, and her grandfather's reaction. She looked over at him, a question on her lips.

Grumman nodded kindly. "Go ahead. I'll come get you when it's time to go home."

Sliding off the stool, Riza ducked under the counter, following the vague directions Madame muttered to her until she found a small kitchen.

When she had finished making her tea, she looked around for some honey to sweeten it, but when she couldn't immediately find it, she didn't feel comfortable snooping further. She'd have to go without. She almost returned to the bar, but her grandfather had mentioned coming to get her, so that implied she were to stay in the kitchen. So she sat at the table, looking around idly. It was strange to be alone in a new place, but she supposed that everywhere was a new place now.

She missed her father, and her kitchen, and her bedroom with the blob of mold that was shaped like a star on the wall. She missed knowing the names of people she saw on the street.

She missed her mother.

Before she could think too much about it, she heard a crashing sound behind her. She turned around to see the door open, but nobody was there. There was, however, a mess of envelopes and a broken bowl on the floor beside a small end-table. The bowl had previously housed keys and coins, which were now scattered across the floor. Riza watched a coin spin on its edge, slowing down gradually until it no longer had the momentum to stay upright. The silence that followed it was thick.

"Hello?" she ventured quietly, watching the door. She waited a few moments but got no reply. She looked at the floor by the door again.

"I can see your shadow!" she called out accusingly.

After a few seconds, a head slowly peeked out from behind the door frame. It belonged to a boy. He looked about her age, maybe a little older. He had messy black hair that covered his forehead and stuck out in funny directions. His warm skin tone was overshadowed by pink cheeks. The irises of his eyes were as black as the pupils, and his eyes were wide, mouth hanging ajar. He looked at her like he'd never seen anything like her before in his life, and she very quickly grew uncomfortable when it was clear he wasn't about to speak.

"Haven't you ever seen a girl before?" she snapped, and suddenly the wonder in his eyes turned to panic. He looked away, swallowing audibly. She could see his muscles tense, as if he was getting ready to run away any second now. She bit back a sigh, deciding to take a gentler approach.

"Do you live here?"

He nodded, but still didn't look at her, instead focusing on the mess on the floor. His cheeks grew redder and he looked like he wished he were anywhere else in the whole world.

She didn't mean to make him so frightened, but she wasn't about to apologize to him for it. And if he weren't about to make an effort with the conversation then she didn't see why she had to do it. So instead of placating a stranger, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Where do you keep the honey?"

"You're slacking again."

"Am not."

Riza huffed a tired sigh and looked up from her notebook. She fixed him with a blank stare that he countered with an innocent smile. "You haven't turned a page in twenty minutes," she said flatly.

Roy's smile widened, though she could plainly see the guilt he was trying to hide behind it. "I already know all this stuff anyway," he muttered.

She almost questioned him on it, but Roy was an exceptionally smart boy—a genius, maybe—and she knew if she challenged him and he proved himself right, he would be insufferably smug about it. Instead she brought her attention back to her notebook.

"You said you wanted to come over to study," she said. "Not pretend to read."

"Well I lied. I wanted to come over because we haven't hung out in forever."

Riza gripped her pencil a little tighter, but didn't look up. "We see each other all the time."

"Yeah, for like a few minutes between classes. That doesn't count!"

"Well, it's not my fault," she responded primly, scratching an answer into her notebook. She didn't much like math, but she enjoyed the feeling of finishing a long equation, even if she weren't too sure if she had gotten the answer correct.

Roy released a knowing chuckle. "You tone implies that you think it's myfault."

Riza looked up at that, blinking at him. "You still haven't turned the page."

He frowned, opening his mouth to no doubt call her out on her obvious change of subject. He seemed to think better of it, instead dragging his gaze to the book in his arms reluctantly.

His concentration lasted all of twenty seconds.

"What is the point in learning all this stuff anyway?" he moaned. "School only teaches you a little bit of everything. It's for people who don't know already what they wanna do when they're older."

Riza thought about not responding—sometimes Roy could be ignored into focusing on his work—but curiosity got the better of her. She put down her pencil and looked over at him again. He looked painfully bored, regarding the book with a hatred he usually only reserved for when he was sat in front of brussel sprouts.

"Do you know what you wanna do when you're older?" she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He looked up at her with a grin. "Sure. I'm gonna quit school as soon as I'm able and find a good alchemy teacher!"

Riza paused. Even after five years, alchemy was still a sore spot for her. She only ever knew one alchemist; her father. She often wondered if he was okay, and if he was taking proper care of himself. But one thing she never wondered was whether or not he was still researching his passion. The last time she spoke to him before Grumman arrived, he had decided to pursue alchemical manipulation of fire. He told her that fire was easy to understand but not much research had gone into controlling it. She could still hear the passion in his shaky voice as he spoke about it.

There are more unknowns in this world than knowns, Riza, he'd told her. An alchemist's job is to tip the scales in humanity's favor.

It had seemed like such a noble pursuit, so much so that when he hadn't been by her mother's side when she finally died, Riza told herself that there was nothing he could do for her anyway, and that he was working to help those who were still alive.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and set her jaw stubbornly. "Is Madame Christmas okay with that?"

Roy rolled his eyes. "She already told you; you don't work for her. Call her Chris. And yes," he said, stretching the word out indignantly. "It wasn't like she wanted me to inherit the bar or anything."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "It's not really the kind of place that looks good if there's a man working there."

Riza scrunched her nose. "That seems unfair."

"Works for me. I've lived there most of my life, I don't wanna be there forever."

"Still, dropping out of school is a big decision."

"Well I've thought a lot about it. And this stupid book just proves my point." Roy waved the textbook in front of him. "We're learning about the different religious afterlives. What a useless thing to study! Even if there is a life after death, it's never been proven. And if it were, what's the point in knowing about a whole different plane of existence when we barely know about this one?"

There are more unknowns in this world than knowns…

"Besides…" Roy continued before Riza got a chance to dwell on the past. "It's not like I don't know most of this stuff already. I won't be missing anything." He put his hand in his chin, pondering for a few seconds, before a mischievous smile broke through. "Though I will miss the girls."

Riza huffed a sharp breath through her nostrils. In truth, that was most of the reason she didn't spend more time with him at school. During recess and as soon as classes were over, Roy was always accosted by some girl or another. Even though he was now fifteen years old, Riza could still see features of the boy she had met years ago. But those features were steadily being overridden by his approaching adulthood. His cheeks were still chubby and his hair was still messy, but he'd grown tall and his shoulders had broadened proportionately. He was a little on the lanky side, but given another year the descriptor would probably change to "lean". There was a cuteness to him that exuded friendliness, mixed with a handsomeness that girls in the school were beginning to notice more and more.

Of course, she'd never tell him any of that. And she was sure he would talk to her if she approached him, but the girls he talked to were his age, a couple years older than her, and something about being around an older student made Riza feel intimidated.

Except Roy, but he didn't count.

"They'll miss you too, I'm sure," she said, though her teeth were clenched and she didn't want to analyze why.

Roy's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her reaction, and Riza decided quickly that she no longer wanted to look at him. She picked up her pencil and turned the page in her notebook, beginning to write out a new equation.

"You jealous?" he asked, though not in the teasing tone she had expected.

"Of you quitting school? No. I like school."

"Pfft. Wait 'til you have to learn all this afterlife stuff and see how much you like it then. But that's not what I meant," he drawled, the unspoken and you know it hanging in the air.

Roy seemed to expect some kind of response from her, but she never did anything just because Roy expected it, and she wasn't going to start now. She stopped herself from chewing on her lip—a habit Roy once told her she did when she was thinking too much—and instead rifled through her pencil-case for a sharpener.

Roy wasn't in the letting it go mood today. "You know, you're getting a bit of a reputation yourself, Knockout."

Riza glared at him sharply. She had earned the nickname "Knockout" after she had thrown a punch at a boy for trying to play keep-away with her schoolbag. He had been unconscious for maybe twenty seconds at most. The only reason she didn't get in trouble was because he was too embarrassed to admit he'd been knocked out by a girl. But either the teachers were blind or they were not paid enough, because once word got out among the students, Riza couldn't walk down the corridor without hearing someone echoes of the nickname.

"Will Foster had it coming to him."

"Didn't say he didn't. But for real; you're starting to get some—ahem—attention around school. Even some guys in my class have asked me what your story is."

The sharpener slipped through her fingers and back into the pencil case quietly. Riza was glad her momentary shock wasn't punctuated by it clanging on the table. "Really? Who?"

Roy's eyebrows instantly scrunched together, and for a moment it looked like he was scowling at her. But a lazy smile quickly replaced his hinging jaw. "Why? Should I tell them you're interested?" he teased.

"No," she snapped, maybe a little too defensively. "I just wanted to know who can't find a girl their own age?"

"Do you think two years older is too old?" his expression didn't change but he leaned forward slowly, suddenly looking very interested in her answer.

After a few seconds, she shrugged. "I guess not," she mumbled, and his shoulders loosened instantly as she spoke. He leaned back again, tipping his chair until it was balancing on two legs and clasping his hands behind his head.

"You shouldn't be so surprised to hear guys are asking after you. You're very…" His eyes swept lazily from her head to her collarbone and back up, and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to decide on a word. He settled for: "…interesting."

Riza felt her cheeks heat up, which was as good a sign as any to change the subject.

"If you're not gonna study, at least stop talking so I can get some work done," she said firmly, picking up the sharpener again. "And if you're planning on leaving school, you should be trying to learn as much as possible before you go."

"You should be trying to spend as much time with me as you can. I'm allowed leave once this year is up and then who are you gonna try and avoid at recess?" he teased, though she could hear the hurt leak through. She didn't think he'd take it so personally. "Come on, I bet Sandra would let us have some hot cocoa with cream if we asked her politely enough."

Riza opened her mouth to object, but really, hot cocoa didn't sound like a bad idea. "Five minutes," she said with a point of her finger, before closing her notebook.