Roy stared at it for a long time. It wasn't doing anything particularly treacherous, just sitting there on his table. But it felt ominous. Roy took another drink. Then he reached out and picked it up. It was heavy. The seal of Amestris was embossed in shiny silver ink into the thick, black parchment, along with Roy's address and a return address of Central Headquarters. His hands shook as he opened it.
The letter inside was on regular military stationery, which bore the seal in dark blue. Col. Roy Mustang, it read, You are invited to attend the funeral of Lt. Col. Maes Hughes at 2 PM on Saturday, at the Military Cemetery in Central City. The late Lt. Col. will be promoted to the rank of Brigadier General for his ultimate sacrifice and commendable devotion to the safety of the people of Amestris.
Roy stared at the letter for a long time. He reread it three times before setting it down. It was well past noon. Roy got up and went over to the telephone. He dialed, and waited.
"Colonel Mustang's office, how may I help you?" said Riza's voice in a monotone.
"Hawkeye." Roy's voice was husky with drink.
"Colonel Mustang, sir." Everyone in Mustang's office stopped what they were doing and stared at the receiver in Riza's hand.
"Did you get one?" Riza stiffened, and thought back to the letter lying open on her table next to its black envelope.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly.
"And the others?"
"Yes, sir. They all got one, too." In unison, every single member of Mustang's team looked down at the ground, as though they'd all been struck with some invisible force simultaneously. Roy took a breath.
"Can you make arrangements for all of us to attend?"
"Yes, sir. Consider it done."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Oh, and Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Colonel?"
"Have my room set apart from the others."
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." Mustang hung up. Riza held her position for a moment, but then replaced the receiver on its stand.
"So," Havoc said after a moment, "what's the deal?"
"We'll all be attending the Lieutenant Colonel's funeral tomorrow. The Colonel has asked me to make the necessary arrangements."
"He's not coming into work?" asked Breda.
"No." The tone of Riza's voice made it very clear that that was the end of the conversation. She pulled the telephone directory out of Mustang's desk, and dialed their usual hotel's number. She reserved the rooms, making sure to include Mustang's request for a secluded one. Then she called the train station and booked tickets. She billed it all to Mustang's office account, just like she did with everything he told her to "make arrangements for". She called ahead to Central to let them know they were coming, and then got back to work. The team was quiet and industrious for the rest of the day. Hawkeye could tell that Falman had taken what she'd said to heart. At the end of the day, she reminded the team that they had only a few hours to pack for the weekend since she had booked the tickets for the 10:50 train, and told them not to be late to the station. Then she went back home and called Mustang. He picked up almost immediately.
"Hawkeye," he said. It was not a question.
"The train to Central leaves at 10:50, sir. Would you like me to pick you up?"
"Yes, Lieutenant, thank you."
"Of course, sir. I'll be there at 10."
"I'll see you then, Lieutenant."
"Goodbye, sir." Riza hung up, and began to pack. Mustang replaced the receiver, and finished off the bottle he held before beginning to gather his own things. He took a shower, shaved, and changed clothes, none of which he'd done since he'd gotten the news. At the end of his shower, he turned the water to cold to shock himself into sobriety. Then he got into his formal uniform, which was such a dark navy that it was almost black, and draped the sash of mourning over his shoulder. It wasn't a particularly cold night, but he wore his overcoat anyway. He thought for a split second about leaving the two bottles he had left, but his cowardice won out again, and he packed them up carefully so that they wouldn't break. When ten o'clock came, he was standing on the sidewalk in front of his apartment, as sober as he could be for having spent all but the last hour of the past four days drowning in whiskey. Riza pulled up in the standard, military-issue car, and Mustang got in without a word. He didn't even comment on the fact that Black Hayate was sitting in the back seat, wearing his leash.
The rest of the team was already assembled at the station. Riza picked up the tickets, and they found their train and boarded it. Riza had managed to get them a private compartment once again, and once again Mustang took a window seat and spent the trip staring silently out the window. No one dared to confront him about his pronounced absence from the workplace. Jean smoked even more than usual, constantly going in and out of the compartment. They finally arrived at ten minutes past midnight, and when they disembarked, there were two cars waiting for them. They were ferried to the hotel, where the innkeeper showed them their rooms. Mustang's was appropriately on the other side of the building from where the team slept. It made Riza antsy, not being able to conveniently listen for any trouble that may befall her Colonel, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she swallowed her worry and retreated into her room.
She let Black Hayate off his leash, and fed and watered him. She'd take him out for a walk in the morning, before the funeral. She undressed and got into her nightclothes, and then sat on the bed, watching her dog eat. She slipped into sleep after only a few minutes, but she found no real rest. Mustang undressed and hung up his uniform, and then got into his pajamas and sat on the bed, staring at the two unopened bottles in his suitcase. He reached for one, hesitated, then took them both and hid them in the bottom drawer of the small dresser in his room. He would not show up to his best friend's funeral drunk. He turned the light off and the fan on, and gingerly lay down on the bed. The hangover he'd managed to drown in alcohol for most of the day was beginning to manifest itself, and Roy tossed and turned for an hour or so before finally drifting off into an uneasy sleep. Central City was quiet that night, and the dawn broke crisp and early, filling the clear sky with pale, rose-coloured light.