Mustang didn't stir for the rest of Hughes' watch, and as far as he knew, not for Riza's either. Riza woke him as the sun began to shine through the office windows. They had an early start today, but then the diplomats would be gone and they could figure out how to solve this problem.

Hughes rubbed sleep from his eyes and pushed himself off the office floor, wincing as his joints cracked uncomfortably. He walked over to Mustang's couch, hoping desperately that Mustang would somehow hear his approach and sit up, that the medicine would have broken his fever (or at least decreased it).

Mustang lay still beneath the blanket, unaware of their presence. Hughes reached down and shook him gently.

"Hey, Roy. You gotta wake up now, okay?"

Mustang didn't respond.

Hughes turned towards Riza. "Has he been like this the whole time?"
She nodded worriedly. "He...he's barely moved the whole time I've been watching him."

Hughes thought he might offend Riza if he reached out and took Mustang's pulse, which was the only reason he resisted. His friend looked dead. His face was pale, lips cracked from dehydration, bangs pasted to his damp-looking forehead. Hughes pressed his hand against Mustang's neck. The medicine had allowed him to mostly sleep through the night, but it seemed to have worn off now. Mustang's fever had spiked again, and he seemed all but unconscious.

"Help me get him sitting up," Hughes said. Riza knelt by his side, and together they grabbed Mustang's shoulders and hauled him into a sitting position. The blanket he'd had tucked around him fell off.

The movement did rouse him a little. His eyes flickered, opened for a few seconds and seemed to focus, then closed.

"Roy? Roy? Can you hear me?"
"Oh god," Riza whispered, putting a hand on one of his pale cheeks. "He's burning up-"

"Can we get him some more of that medicine?" Hughes asked. He had no idea how Mustang was supposed to make it through...any of the rest of the activities. He couldn't walk, he couldn't even stand. Anyone who was too close to him would be able to feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace. Hughes had no idea what they were going to do.

"You saw what that did to him," Riza said. "It knocked him out, and that was the best thing it did. You know he can't handle any more of that."
Hughes nodded. He could tell his friend was badly dehydrated, but he wasn't sure he could even keep down water now. He didn't want to keep picturing Mustang drugged out of his mind and crying as he threw up bile, but there was no way to get that image out of his head. Riza was right, they couldn't put him through any part of that again.

Hughes slapped Mustang. It wasn't a hard slap, just enough to get him to open his eyes again, to show Mustang that Hughes meant business. It worked, kind of. Mustang did open his eyes, and manage to focus on Hughes. He lifted one of his hands feebly, as if he planned to somehow retaliate. But then he just dropped his head and looked down at his lap. His breathing was ragged and shaky.

"Roy," Hughes said, as firmly as he could. He grabbed one of Mustang's hands, squeezing it tightly enough to give him a constant reminder of his presence. "It's time for you to get up. Do you understand me?"

"I can't," he said softly.

"Sir," Riza said. "With all due respect, I believe that you can. It is very important that you stay awake and pay attention. You only have a little longer left, and you are going to make it."

Hughes looked at Riza with more than a modicum of respect. But Mustang was avoiding both of their eyes, and nothing they were saying was really getting through to him.

"So tired…." he whispered.

"I know you're tired," Riza said firmly. "A few more hours, and you can sleep. Now, open your eyes."

Mustang didn't comply, and Hughes slapped his face again. "Come on, Roy," he said, and Mustang's eyes flickered open.

"Yeah, that's it," Hughes encouraged him. "Look at me."

Mustang's eyes slid closed, and he mumbled something unintelligible. Hughes looked at Riza, and saw her mouth set determinedly. He nodded at her, and hoping it was for the last time, hit Mustang's cheek lightly.

"Look at me, Roy," he snapped, and Mustang blinked at him, looking wounded. Hughes felt his heart twist in his chest, but if it took Mustang being upset to keep him alert, then that's what had to happen.

"You have to get up now. Do you understand me?" Hughes kept his voice harsh, and Mustang nodded at him, a trifle petulantly.

Working together, Riza and Hughes managed to pull Mustang to his feet. He swayed uncertainly in the middle of the office, head drooping slightly.

"I don't think he can stand on his own," Riza said, sounding miserable. "We'll have to help him."

With some trial and error, which Mustang weathered alarmingly well, merely blinking dazedly as they maneuvered him, they found a position that looked almost natural. Hughes and Riza were positioned on either side of Mustang, slightly behind him to support his weight. Hopefully, no one would look too closely.

"It's almost time," Riza said, not even bothering to look at her watch. "We need to go."

Hughes prodded Mustang in the back, and he mumbled something incomprehensible and stumbled forward out of the room, barely able to keep his balance. Hughes closed his eyes tightly and hoped for a miracle.

Mustang blinked, and the world blurred. He squinted, trying to clear his vision, but he couldn't seem to get his eyes to focus quite right.

Someone poked him in the left side, hard, and he opened his mouth to complain, but all of a sudden talking seemed far too difficult. And then something clawed its way up from the fever haze, and without really thinking about it, he turned left.

"Good job, Roy," someone whispered in his ear, and even though he wasn't sure what had been said, the tone of voice was reassuring.

And Mustang desperately needed to be reassured. Pain was emanating from his right shoulder, badly enough that it made it near impossible for him to focus on anything but the throbbing ache. His head was pounding. His throat hurt, he wanted water but he knew it would just come right back up.

"How much longer?" he asked, unsure if he could keep walking very much more. Or at least, that's what he meant to ask. Instead, all that came out of his mouth was a sort of muffled groan. He went to try again, but by that point he'd already forgotten what he was supposed to be asking.

Mustang took a step forward, and abruptly, he felt one of his legs buckle beneath him. He tried to catch his balance, but he was too weak. He pitched forward helplessly, and one of his knees hit the ground.

"Grab him!" he heard someone shout, but he didn't know if it was Hughes or Riza or maybe someone else entirely.

Then there were hands on his shoulders, hauling him to his feet. The ground still felt like it was lurching beneath him. He reeled dizzily sideways, and felt a second hand on his waist, another at his back. He was turned slightly, and then he was looking into the face of his lieutenant.

"Sir," she said. He had to focus very hard on her to make out the words, it was like he was listening to her through a badly-tuned radio. "Sir, can you hear me? Do you think you can keep going?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly. She was still looking at him, and he knew that she was expecting an answer. But he couldn't even process what had been said. He felt his knees start to buckle again, and if Hughes hadn't been behind him, both hands on his back, he would have fallen to the floor.

He blinked at her, slowly. Her outlines looked funny. She was blurry. And then she was getting darker. He wondered if he was about to pass out. His head felt very strange, and he tried to touch it to make sure it was still there, but then he remembered that his arms didn't work. The ground seemed to be rotating very slowly beneath him. He stumbled backwards into Hughes again, still unable to respond.

"He's not going to make it," Riza said. He stared at her mouth as she said it, wondering if the movement would make more sense than the words themselves.

"He just has to sit there. He doesn't even need to talk. And then it's over."

"Look at him! He's going to faint, he can't walk anymore. He can't even understand what we're saying."

"He can walk another two minutes and then sit in a chair for a little bit, that's all he has to do-"

His eyes drifted closed, and his head fell to his chest again. He realized his legs were shaking, very badly. He wasn't even sure how they were still supporting him.

Riza took his shoulders and shook him. He managed to open his eyes and look at her again.

"Sir, can you do this? Can you even understand me?"

Mustang didn't have a clue what she was saying, but she sounded worried. He nodded slightly, hoping that he'd given her the right answer.

"Lieutenant, I don't think we have much of a choice at this point. He's so close."

"But-"

"Lieutenant-"

"No, you're right…."

And they were walking again.

Somehow, they managed to get Mustang to the table without incident. Hughes didn't understand how, Mustang clearly looked horrible. He was worryingly pale, but sweat was standing out on his brow, no matter how often Hughes reached out to wipe it away. His eyes were half-closed, and Hughes couldn't get him to keep them open.

Hughes and Riza steered Mustang to the table and Hughes pushed gently on his uninjured shoulder. Mustang sank gracelessly into his chair, and Hughes tried to subtly prevent him from slumping forward as he took his seat beside Mustang. Riza sat on Mustang's other side, hands folded primly on the table, looking as though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

General Grumman stood from his place at the center of the table and cleared his throat. "I would like to take this opportunity to thank our Aerugan friends…."

Hughes tuned him out to a dull buzz, choosing instead to focus on Mustang.

"Roy, open your eyes," he hissed into Mustang's ear. Mustang's eyes remained closed, and he slipped forward slightly.

Hughes poked him. Mustang didn't react.

"I'm sorry," Hughes told him, then pinched his side as hard as he could. Mustang's eyes shot open at that, and he gasped a little in wounded anger.

"Stay awake," Hughes said in his ear, knowing that he wouldn't understand. Mustang continued to blink angrily at him, but at least he wasn't slumped on the table anymore.

Grumman continued to drone on, and the awareness slowly left Mustang's eyes. Hughes pinched him every so often, just to keep him upright. But as Grumman's interminable speech dragged on, Mustang responded less and less well to Hughes' attempts.

"Come on, Roy," Hughes hissed as he viciously twisted Mustang's skin. Mustang made a small "meep" of displeasure, but didn't react apart from that.

Grumman seemed to be winding down, and Hughes knew that Mustang would have to get up from the table as the diplomats left. If he couldn't stand, they'd be caught. They were too close to let that happen.

Hughes swallowed and muttered an apology to Mustang that he knew wouldn't be understood. Then, he reached up as subtly as he could and poked the skin around Mustang's injured shoulder.

Mustang's eyes widened, and for a horrifying moment, Hughes thought that he was going to scream and ruin everything. But he didn't scream, he just stared at Hughes like he'd stabbed him, which wasn't too far off.

"It's for your own good," Hughes told him. "Please, please just hang on a little longer, so I don't have to do it again."

Mustang just continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed slightly. It was hard for Hughes to read his expression, most of it just spoke of fever and pain. But Hughes thought that Mustang was also a little angry. Hughes wondered if he had crossed a line by touching the wound itself. But no, it was what had to be done, Mustang's eyes were now glassy with pain now but he was at least upright, and seemed more lucid than he'd been all morning.

Still. Hughes didn't want his best friend to be mad at him. He would apologize for this and all the other pain he had caused him once he was well enough to even understand the words.

Mustang blinked blearily a few times, and then actually managed to turn and focus his attention on Grumman. Hughes eyed him carefully. As much as he hated hurting him, he was fully prepared to press into the swollen skin around the wound again if it appeared that Mustang was starting to fade.

Finally, Grumman's speech ended. The next step was the last one, but also potentially the most difficult. The Aerugan diplomats would exit the room, and the more senior members of the military would follow them out and salute them as they left East City Command.

Hughes was not technically supposed to be there, since he didn't actually work in the East. He wasn't even sure that Riza was supposed to be there, it should probably only be the Lieutenant Colonel. But there was no way he could get there unassisted, so Hughes would just have to hope that no one caught them. It would be all three of them or none of them.

The Aerugan diplomats rose before any of the Amestrians. Grumman left the room, and they followed in small groups of two or three, not talking. The members of the Amestrian military left next, and Hughes let most of them exit the room before even attempting to get Mustang up.

"Alright," Hughes said, whispering in Mustang's ear so no one else could hear. "Come on buddy, almost done. Last thing."

Mustang didn't react. Hughes shook his good shoulder until Mustang managed to focus on him. He was blinking slowly, looking exhausted and ill, but at least Hughes thought he sort of knew what was going on. He stood, hoping this would prompt Mustang to as well.

Mustang got unsteadily to his feet, heavily supported by Riza on his other side. He almost fell as soon as he had to take any of his own weight, and Hughes had to wrap a hand around his waist to keep him from crashing to the floor.

"Come on, Roy," Hughes muttered, more for his own benefit than Mustang's. Working together, he and Riza managed to steer him toward the door and down the hall. Just a few more minutes, and this ordeal would finally be over….

Hughes tried not to watch Mustang too closely as they limped their way to the front steps of East City Command. Mustang was flinching with every step, and although his eyes were open, they were glassy and unfocused. Hughes couldn't do anything about it now, and worrying about it wouldn't help anything. All he could do was hope that Mustang could hold on a little longer.

The diplomats were standing awkwardly at the bottom of the steps, muttering to themselves in their own language. Whatever they were saying, Hughes hoped it wasn't "look at that Amestrian, what the fuck is wrong with him?"

They lurched quietly to the back of the Amestrian contingent and arranged Mustang in his proper place. "We're almost there, sir," Riza whispered to Mustang.

Mustang didn't respond, apart from a vague nod. Hughes didn't think he had the first idea about what was happening. He prodded his friend, just hard enough to attract his attention.

"You're gonna have to salute, and it's gonna hurt real bad, but then it's over. Okay?"

Mustang stared at him, uncertainty further clouding his already-dazed eyes. Then, he nodded, looking slightly afraid. Hughes thought he might have gotten through. Maybe.

Below them, the Aerugans bunched together in a formal-looking knot and, as one, nodded to the Amestrians gathered on the steps. General Grumman raised his arm in a salute, and, one by one, the rest of his soldiers followed suit.

Hughes saluted, and just as he thought that he was going to have to jab Mustang again, his friend gritted his teeth and raised his arm. Hughes placed his free hand on Mustang's back, trying to provide some modicum of support.

It wasn't a very good salute, as Mustang couldn't raise his shoulder nearly enough to meet regulations, and he was swaying lightly on his feet, but he didn't make enough noise for anyone to hear and the Aerugans were walking away. Hughes rubbed Mustang's back and watched them go.

They were taking their own sweet time, Hughes thought, but they passed the gates of Eastern Command and Grumman lowered his salute. With a sigh of relief, Hughes patted Mustang on his other shoulder.

"Good job, Roy. Really."

Mustang smiled softly and hit the concrete with a thud.

Riza had been holding onto Mustang's elbow, trying to help him balance as he gave the Aerugans a shaky salute and watched them leave Eastern Command. And then she had been feeling Mustang's arm suddenly slip through her grasp as his knees finally gave way and he collapsed to the concrete.

Riza felt what seemed like hundreds of Amestrian soldiers suddenly turn towards her. There was a sudden increase in noise as words flew between them like the whispers of wind. A few people were yelling. Riza paid none of this any mind. She was already moving.

She knelt down by Mustang's side. His eyelids were already fluttering, but she could tell he wasn't really awake. A few moments ago, she'd seen lucidity there, the occasional spark of understanding surfacing before it could be swallowed by the pain. Now, there was nothing. His eyes were open, to slits at least, but there was no recognition there. He didn't seem to realize he'd fallen.

"Medic!" she heard Hughes yell from somewhere above her. "Someone hurry up and get to the infirmary, this man needs a medic right away!"
Riza cupped Mustang's cheek in her hand. He was burning up, the fever so high she almost instinctively pulled her hand away. He didn't react to her touch at all. She sucked in a sharp breath.

Riza felt someone kneeling down beside her. She looked up, expecting Hughes, but to her shock and horror she saw it was Grumman.

"Sir," she stammered, completely unsure how to explain the situation to him in a way that didn't result in Mustang getting fired. "This was...I think it's just the heat, he's had a long few days and needs rest…."

"No," Grumman said. He laid his hand on Mustang's forehead, and Riza knew there was no way he was going to mistake the fever heat emanating from him in sick waves.

"Sir?" she said, stomach twisting with anxiety.

"I'm surprised he made it this long," Grumman said, sounding half as if he was talking to himself. "When I saw how bad he looked yesterday, I was sure he would never make it."

"You...you knew?" Riza said, trying to keep the shock out of her voice. "You knew that he was-"

"The bastard who accidentally attacked the diplomats, yes," Grumman said conversationally.

"The whole time?"
"At first I just thought he was unwell. But when he didn't ask to be relieved of his duties I became suspicious, and when I saw how carefully he was using his shoulder, my suspicions were confirmed."
"But...why didn't you say anything?" Riza said, still struggling to process what the General was saying.

Grumman shrugged. "There wasn't anything I could really do to protect him, and I couldn't let it affect the whole military. If the Aerugans had realized what was going on at any point, I would have had to discharge him immediately, and if they had even the slightest inkling that I had known about it, all our relations would have gone up in smoke. There was nothing I could do except hope that he would be able to pull it off."

Riza stroked the hair back from Mustang's face. He was blinking again, still looking dizzy and confused. His eyes passed over her as if he didn't even know she was there. "He could have died…." Riza whispered.

"Well, it appears he didn't," Grumman said, with a surprising amount of cheerfulness. "And look, here come the medics now. Let's get him up."

Mustang blinked at the ceiling in some confusion. It was a clean white ceiling, not at all what he had expected. He'd thought that prison ceilings would be grey and cracked. Dirty, at the very least. And he couldn't be anywhere else, not after collapsing in front of the entire staff of East City Command (at least that's what he thought had happened).

Mustang decided that the ceiling wouldn't give him any more answers and tried to push himself up. An IV line tugged at his left arm, and his right shoulder was tightly bandaged, nearly immobilized. A hospital, then.

He succeeded in rising and was greeted by Hughes' and Riza's relieved expressions. He blinked at them, still surprised that he wasn't cuffed to the bed.

"Did we…?" He trailed off, unsure what he was even asking.

"You did it, buddy," Hughes said. "Aerugo and Amestris are officially not at war."

Mustang nodded slowly. However, that didn't answer his question about his own job. Surely Grumman had noticed. Falling flat on his face couldn't have been exactly subtle.

He was just opening his mouth to ask Hughes about his future when the General himself appeared in the doorway. Mustang squeaked slightly, suddenly terrified.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang," Grumman said with some severity. Mustang resisted the urge to close his eyes and block his ears, instead doing his best to draw himself straight and take the news like a man. It might spell the end to all his dreams and aspirations, but he'd gotten himself into this and he would have to suffer the consequences.

Grumman cleared his throat impressively, and Mustang felt a wave of apprehension swamp him. Then, the General beamed.

"Excellent job, Mustang. Didn't think you could pull it off. You continue to surprise me, eh?"

Mustang sputtered weakly.

"Oh, I knew the whole time," Grumman said airily, waving a hand. "Glad you didn't make me have you court-martialed. Frightful waste of a good officer."

Mustang's sputters subsided into a confused silence.

"I expect you back at the office in a few days, so get well rather quickly. I'll have someone send flowers, maybe those will help, hmm?"

And with that, he was gone, leaving Mustang alone with his friends, his intact career, and his utter shock.

Hughes coughed slightly. "That's your grandfather, isn't it?" he asked Riza. All Mustang could do was blink silently.

Riza nodded. "On my mother's side."

"Well," Hughes said cheerfully, "he seems nice."