Hughes looked at Mustang's stricken expression and patted his friend's (good) shoulder sympathetically. Mustang looked like he was about to cry, pass out, or possibly both. This new hurdle was too much for his exhausted brain to handle.

"Hey, don't worry," Hughes said consolingly. "I'll help you with the uniform. Just stay there and rest, okay?"

Mustang nodded gratefully and let his head slip down to the desk. Hughes let go of his shoulder and made his way over to the closet, where the uniform was waiting. Just as Riza had promised, it was ironed, pressed, and ready to wear. Lieutenant Hawkeye was certainly good at her job.

Hughes retrieved the uniform and brought it back over to Mustang's prone form. He examined his friend's current uniform and shrugged. The change of clothes was probably for the best. Mustang's pants were torn and bloody, and the right shoulder of his jacket had started to turn darker as his wound seeped through the bandage. Surely someone would have noticed.

"Hey, Roy, can you sit up for me?" Hughes asked, inwardly cringing at the wording. He sounded like he was talking to a toddler, and ordinarily Mustang would have bitten his head off for "patronizing" him.

But today, Mustang obediently raised his head off the desk and lurched to an upright position. He looked up at Hughes expectantly, waiting to be told what to do.

"I know this is gonna hurt," Hughes told him. "I'll help as much as I can, okay?"

Mustang nodded, eyes ever so slightly unfocused. But when Hughes began to unbutton his friend's jacket, Mustang moved to help, his left hand fumbling with the buttons.

"Hey, you can just rest for now," Hughes said, swatting his friend's hand away from the jacket.

"I'm alright," Mustang said, continuing to work at the buttons. He blinked, head drifting forward a little bit as if accosted by a sudden wave of dizziness. "I'm alright…."

Hughes silently grabbed Mustang's left hand and deposited it in his lap, then continued unbuttoning the jacket unimpeded. Once it was udone he started easing it over Mustang's wounded shoulder, trying to be mindful of the place where the blood and pus from the wound was stuck to the fabric. Mustang winced slightly as Hughes worked at the jacket, but didn't react other than that.

Hughes felt his stomach drop a little. Mustang was really out of it. This morning during the parade it was the pain that was the biggest problem, but now, it was the fever. Mustang was struggling to even hold his head up, and Hughes had no idea how he was supposed to make it through an entire dinner.

"How are you feeling now?" Hughes asked cautiously as he continued to peel his jacket off.

"I already told you, Maes, I'm alright-"

"Really, Roy. I need to know what's going on with you. The Lieutenant and I will be at the dinner too, but we need to know what to watch for or we won't know how to help you. You feel worse than this morning, don't you?"

Mustang nodded slowly, avoiding Hughes' gaze. His voice was small. "It's my...head, mostly. And my shoulder-"

"You can sit up through the dinner though, right?"

"Yes, Maes, I can sit up through the dinner." His voice was still weak, but he sounded a little irritated now. Hughes thought it had been a valid question. Mustang was leaning heavily on both the back and arm of the chair, and Hughes suspected if either of them were removed Mustang would fall.

Hughes eyed him skeptically. "Do you think you can actually eat any dinner?"

"No," Mustang said, shaking his head vehemently. "I...I don't need to eat anything, do I Maes? I didn't think that was part of it…."

"Just...try to look like you're at least picking at your food," Hughes said, frowning slightly. "So it won't be suspicious."

"Okay," Mustang mumbled, dropping his eyes. "I'll try."

He didn't sound at all convincing, and Hughes felt his own stomach twist a little. He didn't think he'd be eating much at the dinner either.

Riza knocked on the door again, but didn't wait to be told to enter before she hurried into the office. Mustang was sitting at the desk again, dressed in his formal uniform. He was swaying slightly in his chair, breathing heavily, eyes closed in pain. Hughes was hovering behind him, hand placed lightly on his uninjured shoulder.

"Breathe, Roy," Hughes said encouragingly. "Come on."

Mustang squeezed his eyes tighter and managed to steady his breathing slightly. Hughes patted his shoulder firmly and pulled his hand away.

Riza stepped forward with the water. "Sir, can you drink anything?"

Mustang shook his head miserably. "No."

"Please try, sir, I think it'll make you feel better," Riza said, shooting Hughes a desperate glance. Mustang seemed to listen to him, maybe he could get him to drink something.

Hughes caught her eye and nodded. "Come on, Roy, just one sip…"

Mustang shook his head again, but more half-heartedly this time. He was wavering.

"One sip, sir," Riza cajoled, pouring the water into a glass and handing it to him. He took it, fingers trembling slightly. She watched, worried that he would drop it, but he tightened his grip and raised it carefully to his lips.

Riza and Hughes watched with bated breath as Mustang drank. Riza frowned as he tilted the glass, allowing barely any water to pass his lips. He swallowed carefully and sat for a moment, then raised the glass again. He took another few sips, then set the glass on the table.

Riza frowned again. The water level in the glass had barely decreased at all, Mustang had hardly drank anything. She opened her mouth to ask Mustang if he could drink any more, but Hughes grinned widely and ruffled Mustang's hair.

"Good job, Roy!"

Mustang smiled weakly, looking inordinately proud of himself. Riza considered arguing, but a glance at her watch showed her that it was almost time for the banquet.

"Alright, Colonel, are you going to be able to stand up?" she asked him. Abruptly, she was rather unsure, and him being completely unable to walk under his own power would make this entire thing impossible. She swallowed hard.

"Where is the feast being held?" he asked.

"What?"

"I mean…," he hesitated slightly, "how far of a walk is it?"

Riza frowned a little. "It's going to be held in the third conference room, sir. Not a very long walk. Do you...do you think you can make it?"
Mustang closed his eyes carefully. It appeared that he was doing some very careful calculations beneath his closed lids. Finally, he nodded slightly.

"I can make it."

He put his left hand on the desk and began using it to leverage himself to his feet. Riza grabbed his good shoulder to steady him, and Hughes was around his other side just as fast, taking some of his weight. Mustang wobbled dangerously as he struggled to catch his balance, and emitted a low groan as his shoulder was jostled slightly. But he was standing, and when Riza and Hughes let go he was still standing. And that, Riza supposed, was the most that they could ask for.

Riza glanced at her watch again. "Major Hughes, you should go on ahead. They'll be waiting for you already, and there's no reason for you to be late. I'll bring the Colonel, don't worry about that."

Hughes hesitated briefly, looking like he wanted to fight her on it. But then he nodded, and left the room. Riza turned her attention back towards Mustang.

"Alright, sir, are you ready?"

"Do I...do I look alright?"

Riza swallowed down a smile. Only the Colonel would be so worried about his appearance at a time like this, when he was nearly too sick to stand and just trying to make it through the next few hours without collapsing.

But then she looked over at him, and realized that the question was likely as much about not drawing attention to himself as it was about his pride. She had gotten somewhat used to his appearance, seeing him so much over the past few hours, but he really did not look good. His skin was pale with a faint greyish cast to it, his eyes were hollow and dull. He was so sweaty the collar of his uniform was already clinging to him a little, and his hair was pasted awkwardly to his forehead. Someone who didn't know him might think he was simply rather a mess, but anyone who had seen him before would be able to tell that he was ill.

"Well?" Mustang asked with mounting desperation, weakly pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Riza looked at him and sighed.

"Would you like me to slick your hair back and get it out of your face?" she asked, as gently as she could. Mustang nodded unhappily, and she glanced at her watch again. They still had a little time, and it would probably make the Colonel look more presentable. She didn't have any hair gel, but his hair was sweaty enough at this point that it would stay where she put it. She combed his hair back quickly, then shooed him out of the office toward the banquet hall.

Mustang concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, a little alarmed at how much harder it was now than it had been this morning at the parade. He was only trying to walk to a room a few minutes away, he could make it easily. But every step sent a spear of pain through his shoulder and twisted his stomach viciously. Not to mention the tipping motion that the hallway seemed to be making around him. He was worried that he would fall, and not even Riza hovering behind him could catch him in time.

But somehow, he made it to the banquet without falling on his face, or even unduly alarming anyone that he passed. He slipped into the room as quietly as he could, letting Riza take the lead. His eyes felt far too unfocused to find his name on the table, but Riza would do it for him. She always would.

Riza stopped walking, and Mustang almost ran into her back, stopping himself just in time. She nodded to the seat on the right of the one she was standing behind. Mustang pulled the chair out and slumped gracelessly into the seat, noting with dismay that an Aerugan sat on his other side.

Thank god he'd already met the man, he wouldn't have to shake hands. Mustang thought that if he had to move his shoulder now, he'd pass out. Or throw up. Either one was a distinct, and unpleasant, possibility.

Hoping to deter the Aerugan beside him from conversation, Mustang turned his attention to the place setting across from him. To his relief, his bleary gaze was answered with a worried look from Hughes. He couldn't deny that Hughes' presence was comforting. Besides, he would have to endure less small talk.

"So, Lieutenant Colonel…."

Damn it.

Mustang turned back to the Aerugan man beside him and did his best to smile. He would rather moan and crumple into his empty plate, but he thought that might be suspicious. Smiling it was.

"How long have you been serving in East City?" the man asked, smiling back. Mustang blinked. The question required thought. He knew the answer, he knew this wasn't even a particularly hard question, but he couldn't quite find the words.

"About two years," Riza said firmly. Mustang nodded, trying to appear as though he knew what was going on.

"This is my aide," he said, hoping that the man would leave him alone and talk to Riza. "Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

The Aerugan nodded, but seemed unimpressed. He returned his attention to Mustang and prepared himself to ask another question. Mustang swallowed hard. Beneath the table, he felt Riza gently touch his leg, just a comforting reminder that she was there.

"Do you enjoy working here in the East?"

Mustang blinked slowly at the man, forcing his addled brain to process the question. Just say something. Anything.

"I do like working here," Mustang finally said. "The weather is pleasant most of the year, but it can get a little hot in the summer sometimes. And it doesn't rain that often, which is good because I don't like rain very much. Makes my alchemy not work. It's hard to make a spark when your gloves are all wet."

Mustang lifted his left hand up, meaning to show off the gloves, but found that his hand was bare. He stared at it for a second, surprised, then decided the best course of action would be to wiggle his fingers.

He felt Riza squeeze his leg slightly. He suspected she was trying to send him some sort of signal, but he was altogether too tired to try to figure out what it might mean. He put his hand back down on his lap and tried to remember what he'd been talking about. Something about living in the East.

"The weirdest part about living in the East is definitely that it's so close to Ishval. You live kind of far away, so I'm not sure you would have heard what happened in Ishval. But it was a big problem, and I...I don't really like living so close to it I don't think. Basically there was this group of people, and the government, um, they thought they might do an uprising, so all these alchemists were sent in to just sort of get rid of them. I was there, it was pretty-"

"Sir," Riza said firmly.

Mustang stopped speaking immediately, staring at her, trying to figure out what it was that she was referring to. She was looking at him with an expression of vague horror on her face. He couldn't remember what it was that he'd said.

"Anyway-"

Mustang was interrupted by the arrival of dinner itself. A waiter set a plate down in front of him, and he immediately forgot whatever he'd been talking about before. Mustang hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours now, and this was the nicest food he would have access to for months, far beyond what his paycheck could support. He wished the thought of eating didn't make his stomach turn over. It would be nice if he could force something down.

Mustang saw Hughes eyeing him from across the table. Hughes looked anxious. That made Mustang kind of sad, he didn't want Hughes to be anxious. He tried to smile a little, so Hughes would think he was alright. He wasn't sure how well it worked.

The Aerugan next to him shot him an odd look, but began eating. Thank god, Mustang wasn't sure that he should continue talking to the man much longer. Riza and Hughes both seemed worried, which probably meant he was doing something wrong.

Mustang looked back at his dinner. Everyone around him was eating now, and he knew he'd draw attention to himself without at least looking like he was eating. And it wasn't like he wasn't hungryt, he was starving. But as much as he wanted to eat, he wanted to avoid throwing up more. He had a horrible suspicion that the only thing keeping him from throwing up was that there was nothing in his stomach to throw up.

Mustang picked up his fork in his left hand and poked at his food sadly. He shoved the rice around his plate, trying to look like he was just about to take a bite of the expensive and no doubt delicious dinner.

"The meat is quite savory," the pesky Aerugan said to him. "You should try some."

Mustang blinked at him in horror, his foggy brain struggling to decipher what he'd said. Finally, he decided just to nod and smile. Before the Aerugan could say anything else, he turned to Riza and looked at her with desperation in his eyes.

Riza leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "Sir, could you try to eat something? Anything?"

Mustang wasn't sure what she'd said. To buy himself more time, he nodded enthusiastically. She looked surprised, but pleased. Maybe he'd done the right thing?

"You can eat something?" she asked. He frowned, finally processing what she'd said.

"I'm sorry," he muttered to her. "I can't. I…." he trailed off, glancing at his plate in frustration. He wished he could eat, he really did. But his stomach was coiled in pain, telling him in no uncertain terms that that was not an option.

Next to him, the Aerugan diplomat poked his arm, and Mustang stiffened. He didn't want anyone touching his right arm, not so dangerously close to the shoulder. As out of it as he was, he knew that wasn't good.

"Excuse me, Colonel Mustang, but are you going to eat that?"

Mustang squeezed his eyes shut and forced his tired brain to process. His eyes flew open, and he shook his head slightly at the older man. He instantly regretted the motion as dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to stay upright.

"I'm...I'm not hungry," he said, trying not to slur his words.

The Aerugan diplomat shrugged, as if to say "to each his own." He leaned closer, and Mustang resisted the urge to lean back.

"If you're not going to eat it…it seems a shame to let it go to waste…." The Aerugan stared at Mustang, cocking an eyebrow expectantly. Mustang just blinked at him in confusion, too tired and sick to decode subtext.

The Aerugan sighed. "Can I finish it for you?"

Oh. Mustang smiled slightly, the Aerugan having unknowingly solved his biggest worry at the moment. "Be my guest," he said magnanimously, pushing the plate over to the older man.

Riza touched Mustang's left arm gently, trying to get his attention. He either ignored her or more likely simply didn't notice. He was still staring dazedly at the plate of food he had just given the Auerogan diplomat, in possibly the most distressingly confusing interaction she had ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

"Colonel," she whispered sharply, leaning in close to him. He looked over at her, seeming startled enough that she wasn't sure he had remembered she was there.

"How are you doing?" she breathed. "Do you need to leave?"

He looked at her with an expression of almost wounded shock. "I do not need to leave."

Riza sighed softly. "Do you think you could...stop talking then?"

"What?"

"Colonel, you're...you're not making any sense. If you keep on this way, you're just going to draw attention to yourself. The dinner is almost over, alright? Just...try to stay quiet."

Mustang nodded obediently.

"Did you understand what I just said?"

An expression of confusion appeared briefly on his face, then he shook his head. Riza groaned.

"Just don't say anything," she pleaded, not sure if his fever-addled brain would understand any better the second time around. "Please."

His hair was coming undone a little, and she reached her hand up and surreptitiously slicked it back again. He simply continued to stare at her with glassy eyes.

Riza looked desperately across the table and made eye contact with Hughes. He was watching their interactions with an expression somewhat akin to horror. Riza didn't think Hughes was close enough to be able to hear what she and Mustang were saying to each other, but based on his face Mustang must look pretty bad, even to an outsider. She wondered how the Aerugan diplomats were viewing this whole thing. They must have noticed something, but did they just think the Amestrian military was somewhat of a mess? Would that make this better, or worse?

She glanced over at Mustang. He was looking down at his lap, eyes unfocused, breathing ragged. He didn't look great, but at least he wasn't talking. Maybe Riza could finally turn her attention to her own dinner for a minute….

"No," Mustang said suddenly, and Riza snapped her head up. The Aerugan diplomat must have said something to him, but Riza had missed it. All she could do was pray that "no" had been the right answer.

"No?" the diplomat said, his voice confused and tinged with the possibility of anger. "You don't think it's nice that our two countries finally have the possibility of better relations?"

Riza resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands. But she didn't. She simply turned towards the Colonel and the diplomat, mind spinning as she tried to figure out what she could do to salvage the situation.

"No," she said quickly. "That isn't what he meant. He's just unhappy that it's only a possibility, that the relations didn't improve years ago…."

"He does not require an aide to speak for him, he can speak for himself," the Aerugan said sharply.

Riza bristled, and even as fevered and ill as he was, she felt Mustang stiffen beside her. She swallowed hard, trying to think of anything to say.

Luckily, they were interrupted by the doors opening, revealing waiters bearing cups of wine. Riza stared at them blankly, trying to remember what the next part of the ceremony was.

At the head of the table, Grumman stood. "And now a toast, to celebrate such a pleasant and successful dinner with our Aerugan friends. Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, if you would lead us?"

Riza felt her stomach drop. From the look on his face, Mustang was equally horrified by the news. Which at least meant he had understood it…. That was a good sign, right?

Mustang turned to her, his eyes large and pleading. She gave him a semi encouraging nod, hoping that he would be able to pull himself together, even a little.

Otherwise, everything was going to end right here.