Beware, this fic may send you into absolute sugar shock. Also, I don't own FMA.

Best Medicine

It was really a good thing Roy Mustang was such a beautiful man. It meant that there were at least a percentage of his relationships that didn't end as soon as he caught a cold.

He didn't just want the standard "Oh, poor baby" that could be reasonably expected from a besotted woman. No, no. No no no. He expected hardcore, professional grade cosseting. A cosseting carefully tailored to him, personally, with his favorite flavor of cough-drop and pillow-plumping and foot rubs. Most women became rapidly too busy to do more than call and be sympathetic, and ditched him as soon as he began to recover. Others stuck around long enough to enjoy an expensive thank-you-sweetie dinner, but Mustang had a fatal tendency to make at least a vague allusion to knowing whom to call next time he was under the weather. Exit said woman.

Riza had a great deal of respect for his latest coddler-elect, who apparently actually said "If I wanted to take care of sick people, I'd be a doctor, and if I were a doctor, I would want you to die before coming to see me again" and walked out the door. At least so it appeared from the tale of woe currently being spun in her ear as she ticked marks in a standardized requisition form while listening to Mustang rant through the phone. She balanced the intense misery of caring for her boss for a few days versus a month of dirty looks, pouting, accusations of cruelty…

Unfortunately, Riza Hawkeye was Mustang's Preferred Coddler. Had she known as an affection-starved child that the joy of having someone be grateful to her for catering to his every need would be paid for by a lifetime of "but no one can make me feel better like you do, Riza" she might have reconsidered bringing her father's student all those hot water bottles and mugs of beef tea. Unfortunately, he was extremely charming and handsome in his gratitude, and it was years before she even realized how manipulative he had been. Bastard.

But she was an idiot, because she still had to squelch actual compassion when she saw him looking peaky and red-nosed, and he gave a happy smile followed by a long sniffle. "Riza." She was always 'Riza' when he was sick, never 'Lieutenant.'

"Hello, sir," she said as she came inside. She carried a shopping bag. Long experience had taught her that things went much more smoothly if she anticipated his demands instead of waiting for his elaborate request protocol. It began with a musing hypothetical about 'what might be nice' or 'I heard X was particularly good for'. This progressed to 'if only's and 'it would be too much trouble for me to ask you', after which all subtlety died a swift death and gave way to petulant demands. It was a grueling process. Fortunately he wasn't so foolish as to make the sort of demands she occasionally heard whispered about in the secretarial pool, the foot rubs being a prime example. Apparently he had actually given a small lecture on reflexology to claim one as necessary to his recovery.

"Here are some cough-drops – yes, they are honey-lemon – and I bought some orange juice – yes, without pulp – and a couple of boxes of tissue – yes, extra-soft with lotion. Have you had a fever?"

"Oh, it wasn't so bad." As soon as he had secured an attendant he could become less whiney. Could. Not necessarily would.

"You should probably change the sheets before you get back into bed, then, I imagine they're sweaty."

"Oh, they weren't too damp when I got up to answer the door, they've probably dried out by now. And my fever isn't much higher than a hundred and one, not that high, and my head's still a little woozy actually, I'd rather just get right back to bed."

Sigh.

"I bought some chicken soup – here's the receipt for all of this, by the way, you are paying me back. I'll start it heating on the stove, you keep an eye on it and have some orange juice while I change your sheets."

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Neither do I."

"Sheets are in the cabinet by the –"

"I know where you keep your sheets."

She started the soup heating, and inhaled the scent of lavender as she pulled out the sheets. It was a habit Roy had picked up when he lived with them – Riza's mother had always kept lavender in the linens, and Riza had continued it after she died. His bedroom showed all the signs of a sick Roy Mustang – empty glasses and balled up tissues among them. If he thought she was picking up his used tissues, he was delusional. She did take the glasses back to the kitchen, though.

Roy was doing his best to sniff the soup through his congested nose.

"Go take a wastebasket and clean up your nightstand, sir, it's disgusting. I'll bring in the soup."

He was terribly cheerful as he headed for the bedroom.

She knew where everything was located in his kitchen of course, and soon had the soup and some crackers and a glass of water on a tray. She mentally abused herself for being a sucker, but if she was going to play nursemaid, there wasn't much sense in doing it poorly. (There was a lot of sense in doing it poorly. Then he might not try to get her to do it again. )

He had changed from the t-shirt and sweats he had worn when he opened the door into pajamas, and was leaning back against his freshly plumped pillows smiling at her in a fragile-yet-brave way.

"Here you are, sir."

"Thank you so much for coming over, Riza."

"You're welcome, sir," she sighed. "I brought a few things for you to sign, as well."

"Ah. Of course."

"But you should eat first, sir. I have some things to work on myself. Since I left a bit early."

He gave her his most charming while still-conceivably-sincere smile. "Thank you, Riza."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the paperwork."

"Too true."

He began meekly on his soup as she started reading a proposal for a building renovation. She was quickly absorbed in the work, only look up every now and then to exchange a small smile with Mustang. She began taking notes and cross-referencing another report, and when she next looked up he was asleep. Bother. She needed those signatures, but he really was sick… ah well. She'd just stay until he woke up.

**

Roy Mustang was a clever man. He could put up with the twittering idiots he dated when he was at his best, but when laid low by a nasty cold his tolerance dropped. Thinking of inventive ways to annoy them into leaving at least provided entertainment during the first days of an illness. Then he would call Riza. And if he were very, very lucky, she would sit next to him while he slept, and he could pretend he was fifteen again.