******Just so everybody knows, I don't own FMA or any characters that are in it. This is just a fanfic I wanted to start for fun... and if anyone wants to sue me, I'm sorry but I don't have anything to offer anybody but a bunch of pencils... so... I don't think it's worth it honestly...

But anyway, this is my very first time posting here, and I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing. I guess I'll see how it goes over and if you guys like it then I'll post the other parts.

Well, enjoy!******

Riza wasn't feeling very well that day, but she knew she had to be professional at all times. Her heels clicked as she walked down the hall to the Fuhrer's office, and her stomach ached from throwing up twice that morning. Black Haiatai stared at her crooked headed and worried as she arched her back and hurled everything she had eaten the night before into her toilet. He even strutted over both times and lay on the bathroom floor with her when she rested her head on the toilet seat and gently he licked at her thighs. After a while she scratched his head as a thanks, and vowed that he would be the only man in her life because he was the only one who knew how to treat a woman the right way.

Her face was white, hands clammy, and she figured she should have been in bed or resting instead of working right now, but she also knew she had to be there for Mustang. It was so vital for him to do a good job now that he had been newly appointed to run the country, and she was very aware that she in many ways was his voice of reason. A stupid little flu was nothing that could keep her away from helping him.

She brushed away a piece of sweaty hair that draped in front of her eye and tried to snap herself out of feeling this ill before she reached for the handle to Roy Mustang's office door. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about one of his subordinates when so much more was at stake.

He needed to successfully turn the country into a democracy, and there was more to doing that then just making a few speeches and kissing a few babies, there were MOUNDS of paperwork he had to tackle, and hundreds of other leaders to meet with. Riza was usually the one who scheduled all those appointments, and made sure they didn't constrict his social life, and she was also the one who wrote half of the newly appointed bills he wanted to call into order. She was convinced that if she took one sick day the country would surely fall apart.

He was slumped over his desk reading some document when she opened the door and stepped inside. The light from the morning sun sprayed into the room from behind him and made Riza feel a bit sick again. Ever since she had been down beneath the city she had a some what issue with the light and she got headaches fairly easily, but they only lasted for a few moments and were nothing of concern.

She couldn't help but think about him when she saw him in this lighting…

"Good morning sir!" she announced, standing in front of his larger then life desk.

"Oh, Brigadier General Hawkeye, I didn't see you there." He must have been engulfed in his work and not have noticed her because the way he shot up from his papers insinuated she had scared him.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you Fuhrer Mustang," she said coldly, but meaning it. Above all else, she tried desperately to look normal and unaffected by her amazing stomachache. She stood up straight and locked her knees when she felt them start to buckle, and constricted her jaw into a look of strength to try to show him how healthy she was.

When he looked up at her his face got serious with curiosity as he took his new glasses off and set down the paper he was reading before.

"Riza, are you feeling alright today?" He only called her by her first name when he really believed there was something wrong, and that only happened once in a blue moon. In all truth, she felt the pang of feelings against her chest whenever he did this, and it was one of the reasons she preferred him to call her by her military status and last name, as she did him.

She could hide the pain in her gut, and stand up straight all she wanted but there was nothing she could do about the beads of sweat that built up around her hairline, and as she knew, when it came to her at least, the Fuhrer was very observant.

"Yes sir," she replied thinking of a quick and believable lie. "I think I ate some bad food last night, that's all." He cocked his brow, knowing she was lying.

"Are you sure?" he teased. "I didn't think you ate last night when you were here with me almost the whole time… besides the rice, which we both ate… and I'm not feeling ill."

Her eyebrow twitched in pain for only a moment. She had forgotten about that.

"Miss Hawkeye, it's ok to take a sick day," he reassured gently. "In all the days we've worked together you've never taken one."

"With good reason sir," she cut him off before he ended speaking, knowing she was going to have to find a bathroom pretty soon. "I am still capable of work; I give my word to you."

"Very well Brigadier General," he concluded, figuring she was too stubborn to listen to him anyway. He put his glasses back on and picked the papers up again. "But if you get me sick, you're fired!"

She made a small smile at his joke, glad that the conversation was over.

"I will try my best sir," she replied turning to leave.

When she got into the hall and closed the door behind her, she peered down both sides of passage, making sure there was no one in sight. When she was sure the coast was clear she sprinted to the nearest bathroom and threw up the eggs she had tried to eat that morning before work.

Little did she know, she had no reason to worry about losing her job, not only because Mustang would never think of giving her up, but also because the sickness she had was something he could never catch.