There is a boy on her doorstep, a little boy, with dark hair and dark eyes and an even darker expression. She can see him through the peephole in the door. He shivers in the rain, even with a blanket draped over his shoulders, and he glances up at the police officer looming above him but doesn't say a word.
Chris Mustang doesn't ordinarily trust the police, but the police don't ordinarily show up at her door with a toddler. She pulls open the door and raises an eyebrow.
"Mrs. Mustang?"
"I'm not a Mrs."
The officer looks confused by that. Chris rolls her eyes. He's not one of the officers that regularly comes by to harass her establishment. She at least has an understanding with those. This one looks young, barely old enough to be wearing the uniform.
"What do you want?" she asks testily. The little boy still doesn't move. Or speak. Chris doesn't know much about children, but she thinks that's unusual.
The police officer licks his lips. "You were the listed next of kin. For-"
"Xavier. You're saying something happened to Xavier. And this…" she frowns down at the child. " Roy ?"
As soon as she says his name, his eyes flicker toward hers. The fearful look doesn't go away. She hasn't seen him since he was an infant. He's grown into his mother's looks, since then. How old is he, now? Three? Four?
She grabs Roy's hand and pulls him in out of the rain. The officer follows. They sit in the bar, at one of the tables tucked into the corner, Roy sitting next to her because she doesn't trust him with the officer, not now that she knows he's hers. They share blood . She and Xavier hadn't really talked since he got married - he hadn't approved of how she makes a living - but they share blood.
"I understand if you can't take him in, M-"
"Madame. If you need to call me anything."
The officer nods. "Madame. It must be a shock, having a child just show up. And…" He doesn't say anything else, but Chris can see the way he looks around the bar, and the stairs that lead to the private rooms upstairs, and if he pays any attention at all to the talk in the police barracks, he'll know full well what this place is. But-
"I'm keeping him!" Chris snaps. "I won't send Xavier's son to some orphanage like unwanted trash."
Roy actually looks surprised at that. Some ghost of hope, or happiness, flickers over his face. Chris squeezes his hand.
The police officer nods his understanding. "There will be some paperwork to file. Records, and the like. But you can do it all at the station in the morning."
"That'll be fine," Chris says, laughing a bit inside at the idea of going into a police station to file paperwork, like a woman with a legitimate job.
"I guess… I'll leave you alone, then."
Chris watches the officer let himself out. She looks down at the boy. "Let's get you out of those clothes, at least. You must be freezing."
She takes him to her little apartment, which is across a narrow alley behind the bar. It requires going out in the rain again, but Roy is already soaked through, so Chris doubts he notices. She sits him down in an armchair (it is so big, and he is so small, that he looks swallowed by it). Only then does it occur to her that she doesn't own any clothes for children. She ends up wrapping him in a towel and setting his wet things atop the heater so that they will hopefully be dry in the morning. They can buy more tomorrow, after the police station.
She sits down across from him, on a straight-backed wooden chair. "Roy?" she asks gently. He looks at her. This time, he at least doesn't look away. He holds her gaze, expectant. "I know you don't remember me," she says. "I know you're scared and lonely and you don't know what's happening (And does he know what's happening? Has anyone told him? The officer hadn't mentioned a cause of death, maybe she'll find out in the morning. Was Roy there? Did he see it?). But I just need you to know you're safe here, Roy-boy. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Okay?"
He stares at her for another long moment, and then he nods.
"Okay. Let's get you to bed then."
She tucks him into her bed, sits at the foot of it and watches as he fights sleep, until she puts her hand on his back and strokes his spine with her finger, up and down. Up and down. He squirms and settles and eventually his breathing slows. Chris takes a deep breath, watching him, and then returns to the living room, pulling out a bottle of gin. She stares at it more than drinking it, though. A child ? She doesn't know the first thing about kids, except to know she never wanted any.
Roy whimpers and thrashes in his sleep, making more noise in this action than he has all night. Chris is instantly on her feet. But he's calmed again before she even makes it to the open bedroom door.
She watches him sleep for a few more minutes, just to be sure, then settles in for a night on the couch. She'll have to figure this out. He can't sleep on her bed forever. And what about school? Is he old enough to go to school? He can't stay in the bar all day. And who'll watch him while she's working?
And… Xavier. They hadn't talked, but he was her brother, and with both their parents dead it was just them left. And now it's just her. Will there be a funeral? Will she have to be the one to arrange that, too? Will Roy want to go? The idea of that little boy standing at his father's gravestone breaks her fucking heart.
She pours another drink, trying to steady her nerves and quiet her mind.
The morning sunlight spills over her, blindingly bright even through closed eyelids. Chris groans and rolls over and then remembers why she's sleeping on her couch and instantly snaps to full alertness. Roy is sitting on a barstool at her kitchen counter, still wrapped in the towel. Chris hands him his clothes and points him to the bathroom.
As she manages to put together some scrambled eggs, she hears water splashing in the bathroom sink, the toilet flushing. A couple minutes of quiet shuffling around, and then Roy returns to the kitchen. His hair still needs combing, but other than that he looks surprisingly put together. And now that she's looking at him in proper light, she can see aspects of Xavier in him. The way he bites his lower lip is all her brother, the straightness of his posture even at three (maybe four? She'll really have to find out) years old is something that has to be learned, and Chris has no doubt that Xavier the Military Academy graduate would have taught his son to be polite and proper.
Chris sets a plate on the counter and Roy climbs up onto the barstool. He eats cautiously, the same way he's done everything else, all night. When he's done, she takes his plate and he looks into her eyes and says, very calmly, "Thank you."
Chris' heart squeezes in her chest. She reaches out to ruffle his hair. "You're welcome, Roy-boy."
He smiles at her, he actually smiles.
Chris thinks that, for him, she can handle this parenting thing after all.