Roy was working late that night. He had some extra paperwork to clear off of his desk before he could go home. He had read and signed and underlined and edited and examined until all hours of the night, and he was irritated as hell with it all. He'd just dropped off the last blasted document and gotten back to his office to retrieve his things and head out when the phone rang. Mustang picked up the receiver.

"There's a Lieutenant Colonel Hughes on hold for you. He claims it's urgent," the clear female voice of the operator said.

"Of course he does," muttered Mustang. "Put him through." Mustang waited until he heard the click of the line being connected, and then he spoke without giving Hughes the chance to say anything. "Look, Hughes, I don't have time for daughter stories." There was silence on the other side of the line. No, not silence... there was the faint sound of breathing. Labored breathing. "Hey, Hughes." Nothing. "Hughes. You okay? Hughes!" The line went dead. Mustang looked at the receiver. He had a horrible feeling in his gut, but there was nothing he could do now. He sighed, and set down the receiver. "It's probably nothing," he muttered to himself, and put on his hat. He walked out of the office, down the hall, and out of the building into the night air of the East City. It was a warm night, but Roy shivered as he got into his car and drove to his apartment. He just could not shake the feeling that something terrible had happened. And that phone call… why hadn't Hughes answered him? Damn, he thought. That crazy fool had better have a good explanation tomorrow.

Roy slept badly that night. He couldn't seem to get comfortable. It was too hot in his apartment, the covers were too heavy, and the air was too damn dry. It all reminded him of Ishval, and that didn't help his sleep any, either. It was practically morning by the time he finally drifted off, and a few hours later he was awoken by the damn irritating radio alarm. Roy cursed it as he groggily rolled out of bed. He didn't even bother to turn it off. After he got out of the shower, he pulled on his uniform pants and sat on the edge of his bed to dry his hair. Half of his brain was still fuzzy, and the other half listened apathetically to the morning news.

"So look forward to another hot day in East City, folks, and now back to you, Carla." The voice on the radio switched to a dull female one. "Thanks Dave. We have some tragic breaking news this morning, I'm afraid. A military officer was found shot dead in a phone booth in Central late last night." Roy froze. The announcer's voice faded into muffled sound waves as a billon different thoughts raced through Mustang's head all at the same time, culminating in a rushing, booming, single word. Hughes.

Mustang vaulted off the bed and threw on a shirt. He pulled on his boots without bothering to put on socks, grabbed his jacket, and ran to his car, terror welling up inside of him. The car roared into life, and Roy tore through the streets to East Command, weaving in and out of traffic at top speed. He screeched to a halt in front of the building, not bothering to park or lock the car. He shoved the key into his pocket and grabbed his jacket, pulling it on over his badly buttoned shirt as he ran up the steps into the main foyer. He sprinted through the halls to his office, where his team was already assembled, waiting for him. Without bothering to observe any formalities, he said curtly,

"Come on, we're going to Central. No questions," and he ran back out the doors. His officers followed him and piled into his car. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but Roy didn't care. If I hurry, we can make the 7:50. Mustang raced to the train station and actually managed to park this time. He stalked through the station, half running, his face warning anyone who tired to stop him that there would be hell to pay if they delayed him. He didn't even bother to buy tickets. When he arrived at his desired train, he walked onto it without even glancing at the porter. When the man began to protest, Riza took him aside and said pointedly,

"A military officer has just requested passage on this train. Will you deny it to him?" The man shook his head timidly. "Good," she said, "now go and tell the conductor that we want top speed, and if we don't get it we'll know. Also, this just became an express train to Central. No stops in between. Any objections? Good. Go tell the passengers." The man nodded, and ran off towards the front of the train. She caught up with Mustang, who had commandeered a private car without objection. He was sitting by the window, fists clenched on his knees.

"Colonel-" Hawkeye began, but Mustang cut her off.

"No questions, Lieutenant." She sat down.

"Yes, sir." The train pulled out of its station at 7:50 precisely, a first for the Amestrian train system, and it picked up speed at an alarming rate as it left the station. The trip seemed to take forever, even though it only took about 45 minutes in reality. Havoc was constantly going out into the corridor for smoke breaks, and one by one, each of Mustang's subordinates went out to join him and discuss the reason behind Mustang's sudden fervor. None of them knew anything.

When the train finally began to slow, Mustang stood without a word and swept into the corridor to stand by the exit. His officers all followed him, much to the annoyance of the passengers, although no one said a word. Before the train had even come to a complete stop, Mustang had opened the door and dropped to the platform. He went straight to the street and found a taxicab.

"Get in," he told his officers, who obliged. To the driver he said, "I'm commandeering this vehicle for important military business. Give me the key." He held out one ungloved hand. The man thought about protesting, but instead just grumbled and handed over the key. Mustang slid into the driver's side and had pulled away from the curb almost before he'd closed his door. None of his officers said anything as they raced through the streets of Central, heading straight for Central Command. The closer they got, the harder Mustang's heart pumped. The terror was beginning to take him over, and his hands trembled on the steering wheel. The feeling in his gut tore at him, and he prayed that he was wrong. When they finally reached their destination, he stopped the car in front of the steps and vaulted out of it, not even bothering to turn it off. Riza grabbed the steering wheel and scooted over into the driver's seat to take control of it before it could start rolling away.

"What's come over the Colonel?" Breda asked.

"I don't know," said Riza, "but when he says jump, we jump." She went to go park the car, and then followed the trail of confused faces her commanding officer had left. Mustang had run up the steps to the main entrance, and sprinted straight to Hughes' office. When he reached it, he slammed open the door.

"Hughes!" he yelled, and then stopped breathing altogether. There were several somber-faced officials methodically going through Hughes' office, cleaning it out. Roy's vision wavered in and out, and every sound was steeped in a persistent ringing noise that Mustang could not shake. One of the officials recognized him.

"Colonel Mustang? Colonel Mustang, sir, are you all right?" Roy snapped back halfway into reality at the words, realized what he was seeing, and whispered,

"No." Still dazed, he turned and staggered back the way he came, breaking into a run as he repeated the word, "NO!" He ran through the halls in the opposite direction, heading straight for the morgue. When he got there, he was winded and out of breath, but he fought off the officers trying to restrain him and shoved open the door. Maes Hughes was lying on the table, pale and cold. Mustang moved forward.

"Hughes," he said, reaching out for his friend. The doctor tried to stop him and Mustang threw him out of the way. "Hughes!" He reached the table and grabbed his friend's shoulders, shaking him. "Get up Hughes, this is no time for you to die, dammit! Hughes!" He slapped his friend's face, trying to revive him. "Hughes! God damn it wake up! Hughes! Don't you dare do this to me!" Mustang slapped him again. "God damn it! Hughes! Get up this instant! Don't you dare die on me! I won't allow it, dammit! Get up! Hughes! Hughes, no! NO!" Several officers had come into the room and were attempting to drag Mustang away from his friend. He fought them off, ignoring all their shouts, until he heard one voice.

"Colonel Mustang Sir!" It rang out clearly above the rest, and Roy stopped moving. He didn't need to look at the doorway to see that Lieutenant Hawkeye was standing in it with a pistol pointed at his head. But he wasn't concerned with that just now. He turned back to Hughes' body.

"Maes," he said, grabbing the dead man's lapels, "how could you do this to me? Get up, please. Maes. God please don't die." He slumped to the floor, one hand still holding onto his old friend's shirt. "Hughes," he whispered as Hawkeye stepped forward and put away her gun.

"Let's get you out of here, sir," she said gently, and lifted him up onto his feet, placing one of his arms around her shoulders for support. Then she slowly led him out of the morgue, past the stunned faces of her team, through the halls, out the door, and down the steps to a small sitting area outside. She lowered him onto a bench and sat down next to him as he slumped forward, face in his trembling hands. She looked at him, but remained silent. Her own grief was too great and too near the surface for her to trust herself to speak. When she and the team had walked into Command to try to catch up with the Colonel, she had asked the nearest person which way he had gone. When she had noticed that he was dressed in black, however, she had asked him the reason for his attire, and he had told her about the Lieutenant Colonel. The entire team had been stunned. They all knew how close he and the Colonel had been, and quite suddenly the reason for Mustang's eccentric behavior had become clear. They had all been close to Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, simply because Mustang had. The news of his death had affected them all greatly. Feury had begun to cry right then and there, and even Falman had needed to sit down.

Riza leaned back against the bench and looked up into the treetops, trying to regain some self-control and push her sadness deep into her heart. Seeing Mustang like that had hit a chord in her that not even the news of Hughes' death had. If she had to, in public at least, she could deal with her friends being killed in the line of duty, being snatched away from their families, dying long before their time was due. But seeing the Colonel in such a state had almost been too much for her to bear. She had never seen him so distraught in all her life, and she had known the Colonel for quite a while, and through some very tough times. But the utter despair that consumed him now ate at her soul, and it was all she could do to stop herself from joining the Colonel in tears.

They sat next to each other for a long time, Riza looking up into the treetops, and Roy crouched over, tears streaming silently down his face and into his palms. After a while, Mustang's tears ceased to flow so heavily, and he let his hands fall to his knees. He too leaned back and looked up at the sky without really seeing it. Riza looked over at him.

"Are you all right now, sir?" Mustang closed his eyes and slowly hung his head.

"No," he whispered. An aching pain swept through Riza's heart, but she locked it away before it could take her over.

"With respect, sir, you look awful." Mustang laughed weakly one or two times, but it turned into just more shuddering tears. He lifted a hand to his eyes, and sat for a while, shaking a little with each breath. After a moment, he lowered his hand.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye-" His voice broke. "Riza," he whispered.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

"Please, take me home."

"Of course, sir." Riza stood, helped Mustang to his feet. She slowly walked him out to the car he'd commandeered. She helped him into the passenger's seat, then leaned down.

"Just a moment, sir. I'll go inform the team." Mustang nodded, and reached for the door to shut it, but his hands were shaking so much that he could hardly keep his arm extended. Riza shut the door for him, and went to go get the rest of Mustang's team. They somberly followed her back out to the car, and got in. No complaints were made about the lack of space.

They drove in silence back through the streets of Central. Roy was quiet, his head bent so far down that Riza couldn't see his eyes. His bangs were covering them partially. She could see that his hair was still a bit damp from the shower he had taken that morning. He looked so utterly hopeless, so despairing.

Riza turned her attention back to the road. She would not allow herself to be overtaken with grief again. She pushed her emotions deep down inside of her, and concentrated on driving. After a few minutes, she pulled over and parked the car on the side of the road in front of the train station. The man whose car they had taken was still standing by the roadside. Riza supposed that he hadn't really had anywhere else to go. She helped the Colonel out of the car, and gave the key to Havoc to return to the taxi driver with apologies. Then she sent Breda to go buy tickets for the next train back to East City.

They waited in the station until the train came, then quietly boarded with the other passengers, and found their car. Breda had gotten them a private car again, and Riza shot him a grateful glance as she lowered Mustang to the seat. There was complete silence in the compartment as train rolled out of the station at a leisurely pace. Mustang did nothing but stare out the window for the entire journey. When the train finally rolled into the East City station, the cluster of officers disembarked with all the other passengers, and they walked slowly back to the place where Mustang had parked. Riza drove them all back to Eastern Command, and then turned around to take Mustang back to his apartment. The Colonel had not said a word since Central, but somehow Riza didn't see fit to break the silence, so she drove quietly until they reached Roy's apartment building.

"We're here, sir." Mustang didn't respond, so Riza turned off the car and got out. She opened Mustang's door for him, and helped him stand again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm helpless right now, I can't even walk…"

"Not at all, sir. Come on. Let's go." She locked the car and supported him up the stairs to his apartment. He hadn't even locked the door; it was still half open from where he'd rushed out. She nudged it open with her boot, checking to make sure that the room was empty before entering. Then she led the Colonel inside and removed his arm from around her shoulders.

"Just a minute, sir, I need to go clear the rest of the apartment." Mustang nodded. Riza set the car key down on a table, took out a gun, and moved through the rooms. There weren't many of them. She cleared the bathroom and the closet on the right side of the hall, and then moved into the bedroom on the left side. It was also empty. Everything in the house was neat and orderly, just as would be expected from a military man, but the bed was unmade, and a towel was thrown carelessly across it, as were pajamas. The alarm radio was still on. Riza turned it off. She came back into the main room, where Mustang hadn't moved a muscle but to lift his head to stare at the ceiling.

"Apartment clear, sir," she said, replacing her gun.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said softly, voice choked. Riza swallowed, pushing down the pain.

"Not at all, sir. Is there anything else you need me for, sir?"

"No, Lieutenant, you're dismissed," Roy said.

"Yes, sir," she said, and began to walk towards the door.

"You can take my car, Lieutenant," said Mustang in the same choked voice as before. Riza stopped, and looked at him.

"That's all right, sir. I'll just take the bus."

"Very well, Lieutenant." Riza nodded. She moved forward again, and had just walked past him when he caught her arm. She turned to face him. He had hung his head again, and she could see the streams of tears once more flowing down his face.

"Riza, I-" he whispered. "I can't-" He clenched his jaw as the tears flowed faster. Suddenly Roy embraced her, burying his face in her shoulder and clinging to her like a lost child. Riza was stunned for a moment, and just stood there wide-eyed as her Colonel sobbed uncontrollably into her uniform. Then she closed her eyes and put her arms around him, running one hand through his hair soothingly. They stood like that for a long time until Mustang's tears once more stopped, and his grip on her lessened slightly. He gained marginal control of himself, and pushed himself gently away from her, one hand on her shoulder, the other still touching her waist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just can't believe he's gone." Her hand tightened on his side, and she brushed his bangs out of his face so she could see his eyes.

"I know," she said simply, locking his gaze. He looked into her eyes and saw sadness there to match his own. He saw something else, though, which he didn't think she'd meant to show him. Concern. He broke the gaze, and lowered his head a bit, forcing out a small, brief smile.

"I'll be fine, Riza," he said. "Thank you." He let his hands drop to his sides, and she did the same.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," Roy said, straightening as much as he could under the oppressive weight he still felt. "You're dismissed. For real this time."

"Very well, sir," Hawkeye said and saluted. She turned to leave, but stopped at the doorway. "Oh and sir," she said, turning.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Take care of yourself, sir." Mustang smiled briefly again.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Goodbye sir."

"Goodbye Lieutenant." She turned away and closed the door behind her. Roy listened to her footsteps on the stairs until they faded away.