A/N - Thanks for being patient! This is the second to last chapter! Sorry it's a little on the short side, the next one will be longer.

Hughes refused to look after Riza as the door shut gently behind her. He'd seen the glares she'd been shooting him, it wasn't like she was being overly subtle with her displeasure. He sighed angrily. He was just as worried about Mustang as she was, but he had a better grasp on the severity of the situation than she did. He didn't want to push Mustang any further than he had to, but getting caught now would be disastrous for all of them.

On the couch, Mustang shivered. Hughes put a hand to his forehead and winced at the heat rolling off his skin. Hopefully, whatever medicine Hawkeye was getting would help bring his fever down.

But until then, there wasn't much Hughes could do other than keep Mustang comfortable. He touched Mustang's arm gently, hoping to get his attention.

"Roy?"

Mustang's eyes opened and focused dizzily on Hughes. He mumbled something that Hughes couldn't make out, but he decided to take that as an indication of Mustang's understanding.

"Do you think you could drink any water?" Hughes asked, without much hope. Once Mustang threw up, it was nearly impossible to get him to put anything else in his stomach anytime soon.

Sure enough, Mustang shook his head emphatically.

"Are you sure, Roy?" Hughes asked gently. "It's not like the wine, it's not going to be nearly as hard on your stomach. And it'll make you feel less dizzy, it'll help your head…."

Mustang shook his head again. "It'll make me throw up, Maes," he said pathetically. "I swear…."

Hughes regarded his friend for a few moments. He was well accustomed to determining whether Mustang was being stubborn and melodramatic, or whether he would actually throw up if he tried to drink. Unfortunately, he thought this was the latter. Mustang looked horrible, sweaty and dull-eyed, face drawn with pain.

"Alright," Hughes said finally. "No water for now."

He reached forward and tucked the blanket more firmly around his friend, hoping to ease his shivering some.

"Can I...can I have another blanket though?" Mustang asked. His voice was trembling badly, and Hughes felt his chest constrict a little.

"Roy, I don't know if that's a good idea," Hughes said skeptically. Mustang was radiating enough heat that he felt like Hughes' own personal furnace, and Hughes couldn't imagine that a blanket was going to help anything. "I know you feel cold, but you're burning up…."

Mustang shook his head miserably. "I'm freezing, Maes, I swear…."

"You feel cold, but you're not, I promise you," Hughes said. He tried out a weak smile. "You're all sweaty and gross, Roy, I guarantee that you're not freezing, no matter what it feels like."

Mustang didn't say anything else, just frowned and clawed at the blanket a little bit, trying to draw it tighter. He groaned slightly with the movement. Hughes could only imagine that even the slightest pressure on his shoulder hurt like hell at this point. Hughes hadn't seen the injury itself in hours, not since before the dinner, but at this point he wasn't sure that he wanted to. It must be impossibly swollen by now, his whole shoulder was probably shiny and pink….

"You're going to be alright," Hughes said firmly, trying to convince himself as much as his friend. "Just wait for Hawkeye, she'll be back soon and she'll have medicine for you. Don't worry."

Mustang mumbled something unintelligible, but he looked so weak that Hughes didn't have the heart to ask him to repeat it. He just smoothed Mustang's damp hair back from his face again, trying to get it out of his eyes.

Last time he'd tried that, Mustang had protested, albeit weakly. This time, he just stared at Hughes with glassy, unfocused eyes. It was a testament to how unwell he felt that he didn't mind being cared for like a small child. Hughes swallowed hard. He hoped Riza was hurrying up with the medicine.

As though his thought had summoned her, there was a knock at the door and Riza bustled in, clutching a small paper bag and looking worried. She immediately glanced towards the couch, as if she was expecting Mustang to have somehow vanished.

Mustang blinked slowly at her, clearly not processing her entrance. Hughes felt his stomach twist, and thought he saw a similar expression cross Riza's face.

"I got you some medicine to help you sleep, sir," she said gently. Mustang just kept staring at a spot slightly over her shoulder.

"Roy?" Hughes said, putting his hand on Mustang's uninjured shoulder. No response, and he moved to Mustang's forehead.

"Roy?" he said again, stroking Mustang's forehead gently. Mustang's eyes flickered with recognition, and he blinked.

"What issit, Maes?" he slurred, and Hughes smiled at him cheerily to conceal his worry.

"The Lieutenant got some medicine," Hughes said brightly. "Let's get you up and you can take some, okay? Then you can get some sleep."

"Don' want it," Mustang mumbled, but Hughes was already hauling his friend to a sitting position. Riza was beside him, propping a pillow behind Mustang's back to keep him upright. Mustang flopped back against the pillow, breathing heavily and looking as though he were about to pass out.

But he didn't, and his breathing slowly leveled off. He rolled his head over to look at Hughes, wincing as he did so. Hughes frowned sympathetically, knowing that the pain in his shoulder had to be almost unbearable.

Riza pressed forward, clutching the bottle of pills. She tipped two into her hand and Hughes offered her the glass of water. She took it, and moved towards Mustang.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye is gonna give you some water now, okay?" Hughes said, and Mustang's eyes tracked vaguely across his face. He didn't reply.

"Water," Hughes said, slightly louder. "We need you to take some pills, okay, Roy? Just swallow the water."

Mustang narrowed his eyes, then shook his head slightly. "No," he mumbled.

Hughes was a little relieved that Mustang was fighting him. That probably meant that he knew what was happening.

"Please, Roy. It'll make you feel better. Trust me." Hughes silently willed Mustang to cooperate, idly wondering if they could successfully force the pills down his throat. He didn't think it would work, and he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"No," he whimpered, turning his head to the side, away from Hughes.

"Roy, come on-" Hughes said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. As exhausted and weak as Mustang was, Hughes doubted he was going to get any sleep at all if he didn't get some medication in him to bring his fever down, and Mustang needed sleep more than almost anything else at this point.

"Colonel," Riza said sharply. Then, as Hughes watched, she grabbed his face in her hand and turned him forcefully towards her. "You need this medication, and you are going to take it. I'm giving you a sip of just water now, and the next sip will have the first of the pills in it. You are not to spit it out."
Hughes' eyes widened slightly. He hadn't realized Riza had it in her to talk to Mustang like that. He'd thought she was too gentle with him, to willing to let him run her over. But maybe he'd read the whole situation wrong. Suddenly, he suspected that Riza had always been the one with the real power here.

She tipped the first sip of water down his throat, and obediently, he swallowed. Immediately, he started coughing and spluttering, and Hughes was a little worried he was going to get sick. But he caught his breath again, and stared up at Riza with betrayal in his eyes.

One pill at a time, she got the rest of the medicine into him. He had some struggle swallowing, even though the pills were small and sandwiched by sips of water. She tried to get him to drink the rest of the glass once she was done, but he could only handle a few sips.

"Please drink more, sir, the fever is dehydrating you-"

"I don't want any," he whined, sinking further into the pillows. Hughes felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment roll over him. He was normally very proud of his capable best friend, and he had rarely seen him look so horribly pathetic. He was glad there was no one else here to see the Lieutenant Colonel like this. He was like a small, petulant child.

"Fine," Riza sighed, setting the water down on the desk. "Maybe we can try again later."

Mustang sank backwards into the pillows. His head was throbbing. His shoulder felt white-hot. He was shivering miserably under the blanket Hughes had given him, aching with a cold that went all the way down to his bones.

Riza said something to him. He knew she had, but he had forgotten to force the words to take shape, and now he couldn't figure out what it was that she had said.

"What?" he croaked. Even though he had just had water, his throat felt so dry it might as well be made of sandpaper.

"Would you like to lie down again?"

He nodded slightly. He felt Hughes' hand on his good shoulder, and then he was being leaned forward slightly. His stomach twisted unhappily at the movement, and his head pounded sharply. He screwed his eyes shut against the pain, feeling a small whine build low in his throat.

Then he was being laid sideways again, and he blinked slowly, trying to get his vision to focus. Riza was kneeling in front of him.

"You should be able to get some sleep now, sir," she said gently. He blinked at her, the words taking time to filter through the fogginess in his head.

Sleep sounded good, he thought. He was tired, he could feel it in the way the world seemed to spin every time he turned his head. And as long as his shoulder stopped hurting quite so much, as long as his stomach calmed down just a little, he thought he would be able to sleep.

Mustang closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, waiting for the medication to level the nausea in the pit of his stomach. It wouldn't take that long, he told himself. He just had to give it time to work.

"It's not working," he mumbled a few minutes later, trying his best not to whine.

"You have to give it time, buddy," Hughes told him from somewhere above his head.

"No," Mustang said miserably. "I don't like it."

"Try to stick it out, okay?" Hughes said, sounding sympathetic. "It really will help you."

Mustang didn't entirely believe him, but he lapsed into silence. Suddenly, talking seemed like far too much work. He opened his eyes, and his surroundings seemed slightly blurred, as though something was out of focus. He thought it might be him. The medication was starting to do its job after all.

But for all that it was working in one way, Mustang could feel his stomach roiling with every swallow. He was starting to genuinely worry that he was going to throw up.

Mustang tried to tell Hughes what was going on, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a muffled groan. He frowned. That's not what he had meant to happen….

He tried again, but he still couldn't find the words he needed. Hughes looked down at him, and he said something in response, but he might as well have been speaking in Drachman. Mustang blinked at him in dazed confusion, then decided it was too much work to decipher and closed his eyes again. Above him, Hughes continued to talk, but the sounds didn't get strung together into meaning.

Mustang whimpered quietly as his stomach lurched again. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to control himself. All he had to do was last long enough to fall asleep. If he had successfully stomached the ceremonial wine, he could do this no problem. He gritted his teeth and tried to breathe deeply.

Riza eyed Mustang with a sense of relief. The medication seemed to be working at least fairly well. His eyes were closed now, and he looked slightly more relaxed than he had when she'd forced the medicine down his throat. His breathing had been tight with pain ever since the dinner, but now it had eased a little. His shivering had calmed some too, it must have at least brought his fever down a bit. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. As she had suspected, he was hot, but not as hot as he had been before.

"Lieutenant," he groaned suddenly, voice weak.

"What is it?" she said quickly, but he didn't respond and his eyes didn't open. He seemed to have periods of relative lucidity mixed with the delirium, and they could come and go between one breath and the next. She continued to stand in front of him. All she had to do was wait for him to rouse a little bit, he would answer the question eventually.

"Is he asleep?" Hughes asked from beside her. Riza shook her head. She could see his eyes flickering restlessly under his closed lids. His arm twitched a little under the blanket like he wanted to move it but lacked the drive or the strength.

"Lieutenant," he finally whispered again.

"What is it, Colonel?" she said softly.

He groaned again, still struggling to find the words he'd been trying to get out for several minutes now. The drugs had really done a number on him. He'd been delirious before, but now it was as if he was moving in slow motion while the rest of them had stayed the same. She watched as he fought to wrench his eyes open, head rocking back and forth uselessly. The whole thing was pitiful.

"Going to...throw up," he whimpered.

"You are not going to throw up, sir," Riza said firmly. To be completely honest, she didn't even think it was possible at this point. There couldn't be much in his stomach aside from pills and a glass of water. The medicine was just messing with his head.

"I...am…."

Riza sighed. She could hear real fear in his voice, as misplaced and pathetic as it was. She didn't want him to worry though, she wanted him to be able to sleep. Silently, she walked to the corner of the office and took the metal trash can that he had there. She set it in front of the sofa, near where his head was. By the time she returned, his eyes had fallen closed again. She tapped his hand to remind him she was there.

"Here, Colonel. I brought you a trash can. Don't worry if you need to be sick."

He made a soft, unintelligible noise to indicate that he heard her. She went to sit in the sofa opposite him. Hughes followed her. She eyed Mustang carefully, hoping his drooping eyelids would close all the way and she and Hughes could get some well earned rest.

Hughes frowned as Mustang's head lolled back onto the pillow. Something was off about his friend. Sure, he was sick, and now he was drugged, but even apart from that, Hughes thought something was wrong. Hughes had spent years with Mustang, and he knew his best friend.

"Roy? Are you...okay?" Hughes asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice. Hopefully, the drugs had kicked in by now, and Mustang wouldn't even reply. But at the sound of Hughes' voice, Mustang turned blearily towards him and blinked, confused.

Hughes repeated his question, but Mustang just stared at him owlishly. Then, he opened his mouth, and Hughes expected a reply for a split second. Instead, Mustang puked over the side of the couch into the trash can that Riza had placed there.

Hughes moved towards him immediately, expecting Mustang to begin whining. He knew how much his friend hated throwing up, and in this state, he probably wouldn't be able to conceal his displeasure.

But Mustang just lay there, eyes saucer wide and fixed on Hughes. He whimpered a little, then threw up again, mostly making it into the trash can. As before, he didn't try to move, didn't try to stop himself. If Riza hadn't laid him on his side, Hughes thought he probably would have choked.

"Should we get him up?" Hughes said, asking Riza without thinking.

"I don't know," Riza answered, joining him by Mustang's side. "He should be alright, he's on his side. But we should watch him."

That wouldn't be an issue. There was no way Hughes was going anywhere, not until Mustang stopped looking at him with that pathetic pleading in his eyes. Hughes reached out, cupping the back of Mustang's head with his hand. He could give him a little more support, ensure that he wouldn't roll to his back, and comfort him all at once.

"It's okay, Roy," Hughes said soothingly. "I know this sucks, but it'll be over soon."

Mustang's throat muscles worked, and he threw up again, moaning miserably. Hughes rubbed his thumb across Mustang's neck, hoping some part of him could feel the gesture.

Mustang's sweat-soaked hair fell into his eyes, and Hughes reached up his free hand to brush it away. Mustang just lay there, eyes still wide and fearful.

He threw up for the fourth time, just stomach acid now, and Hughes saw his face wrinkle as the bile burned his nasal passages. To his horror, he saw tears stand out in Mustang's eyes.

"Aww, Roy, don't cry…. You'll be okay, I'll take care of you, I promise…." As he said it, Hughes was painfully aware that up to now, he hadn't exactly done a great job of taking care of Mustang. But he couldn't focus on that now. He wiped the tears off Mustang's face gently.

Mustang began to sniffle, then coughed as his throat and nose protested. More tears flowed down his face, and Hughes felt something twist deep inside of him. He had seen Mustang miserable before, he had seen him in far more pain than he was in now. But he wasn't sure he had ever seen his best friend this pathetic. The fever and the drugs were making him helpless, and all Hughes wanted to do was to make him better.

Mustang murmured something unintelligible. Hughes wanted to ask him to repeat it, it would make him feel better to know Mustang was still coherent and able to speak. But part of him knew Mustang wasn't even conscious enough for that, he wouldn't be able to answer and his delirious mumblings would just make Hughes more worried.

"Hey, you're alright," Hughes whispered. "Riza and I are here, we'll take care of you, don't worry…."

Mustang began to twist under Hughes' hand, rocking back and forth fitfully, eyes still open and sightless. Hughes bit his lip and moved his hand to Mustang's back. He tried his best to avoid the tender skin around the wound itself, but his first priority was to keep Mustang from rolling onto his back and choking. He felt his fingers accidentally brush the inflamed skin, and Mustang emitted a low moan.

"I'm sorry," Hughes whispered quickly, keeping his hand firmly on Mustang's back. "I'm sorry, buddy, I'm not trying to hurt you, you just need to stay on your side in case you throw up again-"

"Make...it...stop…." Mustang muttered, words so quiet and slurred Hughes almost couldn't be sure he had really heard them. To his horror, Hughes realized he was starting to tear up again.

"Oh my god," Hughes heard Riza whisper from behind him. "I can't believe we did this to him, this is…horrible-"

Hughes craned his neck to look back at Riza. She had a hand covering her mouth, and was staring at Mustang with an expression of mingled pity and horror. Her eyes were wide and guilty.

Hughes made a small noise low in his throat. "No, Lieutenant, this isn't your fault. It's just...I thought this was going to work too, and we really did need to bring his fever down…."

"I can't believe we did this to him," Riza whispered again. "I thought...I didn't realize he really still felt so sick…."

Hughes opened his mouth to say something else comforting to Riza, but he was interrupted by the sound of gagging. Hughes felt the muscles of Mustang's back tense under his hand again, and he quickly turned back towards his friend. Mustang was retching again. He dry-heaved painfully a couple times, then brought up a few small mouthfuls of bile. His eyes were half-lidded by this point. He looked unhappy, but Hughes wasn't sure he really understood what was going on. He didn't even have the strength to lean over the trash can.

"He's so sick," Riza said from behind him. To Hughes' horror, she sounded a little panicked. "I'm not sure he can make it through the night."

"He'll be fine, he's almost done," Hughes said firmly. "He just needs sleep."

As tenderly as he could, Hughes lifted Mustang's head and wiped the side of his face with his sleeve. Mustang didn't even react. His eyes flickered slightly, but that was all.

The drugs had finally done their job. Mustang was close to sleep now; the nausea and the pain were no longer strong enough to fight off the medication. He really would be able to sleep now, Hughes thought. They would just need to watch him, because he clearly wouldn't wake up if there was any sort of problem.

Hughes brushed Mustang's sweaty hair out of his eyes one last time. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, and moved the trash can a little closer to the sofa. Then he sat back on his heels, determined to watch his friend as long as he needed to to let him get some sleep.

Riza watched as Hughes tucked the blanket closer around Mustang, fingers gentle on his injured shoulder. He placed his hand on Mustang's forehead, and whispered something to him that she couldn't quite catch.

Maybe she'd misjudged the Major. She still thought that Mustang's health was more important than his career, but she knew that Mustang wouldn't agree with her. And over the past few hours, Hughes had shown her that he did care about his friend, just as much as she did. By trying to keep Mustang out of trouble, he was making a different choice than she would have, but it didn't necessarily mean that he placed any less importance on Mustang's well-being.

Hughes sank to a sitting position in front of Mustang, staring intently at his now-sleeping friend. He fought back a yawn, and Riza stirred.

"We have an extra blanket and pillow. You could get some sleep," she offered, suspecting the answer.

"No, that's okay," Hughes said, still watching Mustang. "I...I don't want to sleep right now. But there's no reason for both of us to have to stay awake."

Riza paused. She knew Hughes had to be just as exhausted as she was. "I'll sleep," she finally said. "But only if you switch with me later. We won't be any use to him if we're exhausted."

Hughes didn't reply, and at first she thought her tentative olive branch had been rejected. But then, she saw his shoulders relax slightly and he nodded.

"Okay. I'll wake you up halfway through the night."

Riza set up the blanket against the opposite wall of the office and lay down. It wasn't exactly a feather bed, but it was much better than Ishval. She closed her eyes and tried her best to let go of the stress of the day.

She was drifting off now, and the words twisted themselves into her dreamstate. "Sleep well," she heard, and she did.