You'd Be So Easy to Love

Part 4 from Bragging Rights and Other Stories

Chapter One: A Little Bit Doris Day...

Disclaimer: I do not own part or parcel of Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter, or any of their affiliated companies.

She was returning to reopen the shop for the afternoon, after making her only delivery scheduled that day. She'd stopped by the baker's on the way back for a fresh pain au raisin in lieu of a proper lunch. Holding the sack of pastries with one elbow and balancing the umbrella between her chin and shoulder, the woman rooted through her pocketbook searching for the keys to the shop. She nearly overbalanced and dropped everything in startlement when a small, solid object suddenly collided with her knees.

The 'object' was in fact a little boy. He fell backwards into a puddle with a cry of surprise before she could reach out to prevent his tumble. The child hiccuped as he slowly looked up at her with tears leaking steadily from the corners of his wide, frightened green eyes. Dark curls were plastered close to his forehead in heavy, damp tendrils. The glasses he wore - slim, rectangular frames - had slipped to dangle haphazardly off of one earlobe. The poor thing looked thoroughly soaked and absolutely miserable.

She crouched forward, holding the umbrella a bit higher to shield the both of them from the drizzle that had begun to swell into a downpour. Leaning on the balls of her feet, with the hem of her skirt tucked up behind her legs to keep it from trailing in the puddle, bags balanced between her knees and chest, the woman offered her free hand out to the boy, palm up.

"I am so very sorry if I startled you, darling. Let me help you up - do you know where you last saw your mum and dad?"

Instead of taking her hand, the child burst into sobs.

"I - don-don't have a Mummy! I want my Papa - I've looked and looked b-but I can't find him anywhere!"

"Oh sweetheart," she soothed, "I'm so sorry. That sounds terrible - shhhhhh… Don't cry, darling, I know being lost can be scary. Why don't you come in my shop here, with me, out of the rain? It's warm inside; you look very cold. Please, let me help you dry off, and we can try and find your Papa together, alright? Shhhhh, please don't cry."

As she'd continued to coax gently, the child's tears had slowed. He finally drew in a deep, wet sniffle; the shopkeep winced when the boy scrubbed at his eyes ineffectually with muddied little fists and smudged his glasses as he straightened them on his nose. He nodded hesitantly when she asked him inside once again, and tentatively accepted the hand she still held out. His lip continued to tremble, but she finally brought the both of them to standing and lead the boy towards the door of the shop. Once inside, they trekked a wet, muddy path to the back counter, the woman flicking on lights here and there as they passed.

More concerned with the state of the little one, she dumped her own things unceremoniously on one corner of her work surface and quickly fetched a dry towel from a clean stack beneath the counter. Kneeling in front of him, she held the towel up for the child to examine, smiling reassuringly. Now that he was properly standing, she could make out the embroidered patch of a familiar green emblem on the pocket of the sodden pullover he was wearing.

"May I clean your face and glasses?" he nodded, sniffling piteously, now beginning to shiver miserably with chill. The shopkeep quickly snatched a second towel and pulled it snug around his little shoulders. "Will you tell me your name?" she asked and began to carefully wipe the dirt from his cheeks and from beneath his eyes.

No longer actively crying, the boy chewed on his bottom lip, and replied shyly "I'm Harry Hughes, ma'am."

She smiled brightly and held out her hand to shake in greeting. "I'm Gracia Langballe. It's so very nice to meet you, Mr. Hughes - you may call me Gracia, if you'd like?"

Harry smiled, small and bashful. He took her hand without hesitation though, and his reply was cheerful enough for all that he'd been crying less than five minutes ago. "You can call me Harry!" The tears seemed to be at an end at last.

"Of course - I shall, thank you Harry." He was obviously too young for proper classes. Gracia was sure she'd heard some remark about the larger military offices providing daycare services for officer's children a time or two. While thinking, her eyes drifted absently to follow the trail of small muddy footprints that meandered between Harry's shoes all the way to the front door of the shop.

"Oops… I'm sorry, Miss Gracia." The child was abashed, having followed her line of sight. She shook herself free of her woolgathering, and smiled in spite of the mess.

"It's quite alright dear, it won't take but a moment to wipe up. Though… Harry - would you mind sitting on the counter for me a little while? We need to dry your clothes and standing on a cold floor barefoot will make you sick."

She waited patiently for him to consider her request, and after appearing to think it over, Harry lifted his arms to be picked up, smiling sweetly as he did so.

"Okay!"

Major Maes Hughes stared in abject horror at the anxious nursery attendant who was trying, tearfully, to explain his son's sudden disappearance.

"And he just -" She flapped her hand ineffectually, frustrated but unable to find the words, "- he was there one moment and gone the next! Just like that - quick as a flash. Corporal Meier was as baffled as any of us. He'd just been leaning over the wall to wave - say 'hi!' to the littles, and to Mary, of course - they've been dating, you know?"

She blew her nose into her handkerchief before continuing, voice thick. "It wasn't just Harry - all the little ones are spooked. No one knows what's got them so frightened… Some of them keep going on about monsters stealing faces - goodness, Anne still hasn't been settled." She waved the limp handkerchief towards another minder who was attempting to comfort a weeping girl - walking back and forth with the young child in her arms in a far corner of the nursery. The woman who'd been explaining the situation stifled another sob.

Maes stared down at the small lunchbox he'd been clutching between his hands ever since he'd come down to the nursery to have lunch with his son - and found the entire place in noisy disarray. Harry had vanished, and he had just missed him by moments.

Maes had, for the most part, ceased going out for his lunch hour. Harry had so sweetly, innocently, told the nursery minders that he was saving half of his lunch for his Papa, 'because Papa only makes one!' They'd been instantly charmed at the explanation, even as they'd fretted over not being able to get him to eat the rest. Maes' heart had been full to bursting when he'd arrived to pick up his son that day and had been told about the incident. They'd made a special stop on the way home that very evening to pick out a new lunchbox for Maes - one with green and purple stripes that Harry had thought was very fetching - and from the next day forward, he always made sure to pack enough lunch for the both of them.

He'd made one of Harry's favorites today - roast chicken and tomato sandwiches with the crusts dutifully cut off. Lately Maes had been getting creative. He'd been reading magazines - there were magazines - about boxed lunches for inspiration. He'd been so pleased this morning when he'd successfully pieced together orange segments and slices of apple into a surprise for Harry; Maes was so sure his little boy would be tickled when he unwrapped it, and he'd intended to take pictures. He'd tucked a few of Harry's favorite chocolate jam biscuits in the corners of the box as an extra special treat for Friday.

It was now half past eleven and his sweet, thoughtful baby boy hadn't even eaten yet. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the sides of the pack lunch more tightly. Harry was missing - had vanished - and was now lost, alone - certain to be terrified - and hungry. Visions of his son lying abandoned in a rainy back alley somewhere crowded Maes's spiraling thoughts -

A hand fell suddenly on one stiff shoulder, squeezing gently to gain his attention. His mounting panic stilled somewhat, and he was able to clear his mind enough to pay attention.

"Major - Maes, what on earth is the matter? Has something happened - where's Harry?"

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stood before her friend. She'd only meant to stop and bid hello to the Hughes's, but had grown concerned when her inquiries had gone unanswered by the Major, and upon getting a glimpse of the dreadful expression on his face, was now beginning to fear for the worst.

Her fears were confirmed when Maes met her gaze.

"Riza, he's gone."

Gracia gathered two more of the towels she'd spread out to warm next to the space heater as she returned to Harry with two mugs of hot, sweetened tea. She set them down by the child and unwrapped the package of pain au raisin, bidding a silent thanks for the kind baker that included an extra pastry in her order as a gift. She set one over the top of each mug to let the steam warm them up. Harry was bouncing his heels distractedly on the cabinetry as he peered about her shop with interest.

"The flowers are so pretty! Did you grow them all?" Gracia smiled as she bundled him up with one freshly warm towel, and began to dry his hair vigorously with the second.

"Not all, no. Most of the ones in my shop I have to order from special farms or hothouses that are far away, because those flowers don't grow well around Central. I do grow some of them in a small garden behind the shop though. See there?" She pointed to bunches of feverfew and lavender hanging nearby to dry from rungs over the worktop. "I sell herbs like that - dried or fresh depending - to restaurants or home cooks and the like.

Harry goggled from beneath the towel at this new information. When she finally pulled the towel away Gracia had to stifle a laugh. What with all the fluffy hair sticking out every which way and with his eyes so wide with curiosity, Harry resembled nothing so much as a troublesome kitten. She rang out the towels over the basin and began setting them out to dry again.

"Uncle Roy has leaves and flowers like that at his house, but he doesn't put them in the kitchen." he said doubtfully.

Gracia looked over her shoulder as she continued her task.

"Is your uncle an alchemist, then?" Harry's assent was effusive.

"Uncle Roy makes fire - only, he says it's not really making, because all the bits he makes it with are already in the air. Sometimes he says he's going to melt all of Papa's cameras, but he never does it. I think Miss Riza will yell at him if he melts things without permission."

Gracia nodded seriously. "It's good he doesn't then - I'm sure your Papa would be sad if his cameras were ruined. Does your Papa take pictures for work, or does he work as an alchemist with your Uncle Roy?"

Harry shook his head emphatically, upsetting the glasses perched on his nose. "Papa doesn't do things like Uncle Roy. But that's okay, because Papa can make the best sandwiches! And he fixed Padwolf when his eye came off. Now he has two different eyes, just like the doggie we saw at the park. Uncle Roy isn't good at making sandwiches." Harry wrinkled his nose with distaste. "Or eggs." Harry's face grew worried. "Don't tell Papa that Uncle Roy just gets food on the telephone when I visit him…"

Ah, the candor of children.

"I shan't say a word about it, I promise." She swore solemnly.

Harry continued. "My Papa is the best! Know how I know? 'Cause he picked to be my Papa, because he said he wanted to - he reads me stories, and he sings to me sometimes."

Harry waved his hand at Gracia for her to lean in, and so she did, proffering her ear in confidence. He cupped his hands around his mouth to whisper. "I asked, and my Papa said he would even sing to me if I was big and not little anymore!" The boy threw out his arms and fell back against the backsplash of the counter with a happy sigh. Gracia feared that he would do himself an injury by hitting his head on the tile.

"Papa's the best."

Gracia chuckled and drew the child back up into a sitting position, reassuring herself that he was unharmed. "He sounds like an excellent Papa, Harry." He seemed about to extol more virtues, but was overtaken by a watery sneeze. Gracia snatched up a tissue and held it out obligingly.

"Oh dear - quick, blow your nose darling." Harry pouted, but did as bid anyway. Gracia's own nose tickled a bit as she perceived the scent of cinnamon, and she checked to see that their makeshift lunch was warmed, and the mugs of tea somewhat cooler. Both of their stomaches chose that moment to growl out in complaint, and they looked at one another, startled. Harry began to giggle, and Gracia followed him into joyful laughter.

Still chuckling a bit, she carefully passed one of the mugs to the boy with a napkin for the pastry.

"I'm sorry I don't have a proper lunch today. You can drink your tea now, but blow on it a little if it's still too warm, alright?"

Harry tested his drink, then dipped one end of the sweet bread in his tea and began to nibble on it. They were quiet while they ate - Gracia finished her own repast quickly and began to search out a pen and pad of paper one-handed as she sipped on her own brew.

"Now - you said your last name is Hughes, is that right?" He nodded vigorously, nearly sloshing his tea.

"Uh huh - My name is Harry Hughes and I'm three." He held up three fingers to make his point. "Papa says it's okay for me to tell people that, but that I shouldn't ask them how old they are, because it's not nice." Harry tilted his head as a thought occurred to him. "Have you ever met my Papa, Miss Gracia?"

She smiled a little wistfully and shook her head. "I'm sorry Harry, I've never had that pleasure -"

"Do you want to?" He interrupted her, eyes glinting mischievously from behind his lenses.

She blinked, somewhat nonplussed. "Ah - well! We can't meet with anyone unless we get in touch with them first." She cleared her throat. "Alright - I have a telephone, but I need to ask you a few questions before I dial the operator…"

Harry hummed behind his mug of tea as she began.

A phone sitting on a desk rang out in an otherwise silent office.

On any other day, the office was full of background noise - shifting paper where someone was flipping back and forth between translations of intercepted information as the checked their work, occasional distracted pen-tapping, and the gentle susurration of murmuring voices.

This Friday, however, every able body save one had been conscripted in the desperate search for the son of their division's supervisor. Just now, they were checking dark corners and hallways, spare cabinets, and overgrown bushes for the lost little boy.

The one member of the office team who had been left behind to answer the phones had made an untimely mistake: he'd eaten the stroganoff in the canteen for lunch.

He had retreated to the lavatory over twenty minutes prior, and was, even now, coming to regret a great many of his recent nutritional choices.

Of course, Major Hughes had chosen well when he'd appointed the beleaguered officer to attend the phones. The poor man had had the forethought to make a hurried call down to the switchboard and ask the operators to redirect all the phone calls to another office in Investigations across the hall.

It was a very bad turn of fortune that the message had been lost in the daily shift-change at noon.

The phone went unanswered, and the line disconnected after the customary seven rings.

So it was that through an unfortunate set of circumstances, a very important phone call which would have brought a swift, happy resolution (and would have saved a great deal of trouble for the entire facility all around) to the search for the missing child went unanswered.

Meanwhile, in another wing of Central Headquarters, an anxious father, a recently promoted Colonel, and the Colonel's talented aide were pouring over a map of the property grounds and surrounding streets just beyond the wall - frantically trying to determine just how far a toddler could accidentally apparate himself without injury.

Author's Notes: The title of this story is taken from the song "You'd Be So Easy to Love" (I recommend the version performed by Billie Holiday & Teddy Wilson and His Orchestra, don't ask me how many times I've listened to that on repeat while working on this story).

That said, I have *A Playlist,TM* for this story - I may put it up on 8tracks after I post the second chapter (in that case, the link will be available through my a03 account biscuit_tin)

Stay tuned, folks!

Please read and review.