It was nine in the morning when a knock came at Colonel Roy Mustang's front door. He had been preparing to head into the base; technically, he didn't need to be in until noon, but there was paperwork to catch up on, as there so often was when Fullmetal had finished a mission. The young alchemist did seem to think that property damage was a problem for other people.

He answered it, and standing there was a young boy, no more than seven. His clothing was clean but threadbare, and his dark hair curly with a hint of tangle. He looked up a moment after the door opened, and Roy caught sight of narrow, dark eyes.

The boy mumbled a greeting and, with a bland expression, Roy raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I, uh, I. Are you... um, Colonel Mustang?" The boy had a faint lisp, apparently due to his two missing front teeth.

"I am."

Shifting uncomfortably, the boy muttered, "I'm Sam. Um."

Roy waited. When Sam seemed unlikely to continue, he prompted, "Can I help you with something, Sam?"

Sam's narrow eyes were lowered, cheeks red as if with shame. His words, when they came, came in a burst. "Look, I don't think this is a good idea but my momma says we gotta, the Fuhrer's had to raise the taxes 'cause of the rebellion in Lior and she said to go to Colonel Mustang and ask him for money 'cause he'd give it and I hate it, it's like begging, I hate-"

Gently, Roy put a hand on Sam's shoulders. The boy's voice cut off, his expression tight and miserable. "It's not begging," he said. "Your mother was right to do this, and you can tell her that."

Slowly, the flush faded from Sam's cheeks, and he nodded.

Roy went back into the house and counted out a wad of bills. "Here," he said, handing them to the boy at the door. "That should last her another four months under the current taxation. If she's not back on her feet by then, you are welcome to return."

Sam clutched the roll of bills to his chest. "Why?" he asked, and his voice was young. "Why do you care?"

"Because," Roy said, and did not say anything else on the matter. "Say hello to your mother for me, and that I hope she's well."

Roy watched the boy leave, down the steps, down the lane, out of sight. For a moment, he passed a hand in front of the eyes, felt wistful and old and empty. Then he turned, locked the door behind him, and headed to the military base.