Hello, new and old readers alike!

As a quick explanation—although this story was begun nearly two years ago, I was recently writing the next chapter when I realized that I didn't like how the past chapters had turned out and so decided to subsequently rewrite everything from the beginning.

This fanfiction is going to be on the longer end in word count so you'll have to be riding the wagon for a while, but hopefully you'll enjoy the journey. The story is canon, but I've taken the liberty of adding some original details on the science behind flame alchemy as well as OC supporting characters.

To my dear old readers: Updates will be coming a lot quicker than previously—at least up to the part that I had left off. I'm so sorry for having left you guys off in the middle of a fight! But the rewrites are for the best—none of the plot information will be changed, the story will be more cohesive, the chapters longer, and the writing just better in general!

Anyway, without further ado…enjoy!

Prologue

(when everything is said and done)

A kick to her chest and a knock to her head were more than enough to force the restrained tears out of place from behind her eyes.

"I'll ask you again. Where is your father's research?" the man demanded, cocking a black-barreled gun to her head.

But the threat of a bullet was a lie—she knew they wouldn't dare kill her.

After all, she was the only connection they had.

"I don't know," she said firmly, biting back her lip, the taste of tear and blood on her tongue.

She only saw the man's mouth turn into a sneer before he cracked the muzzle of the revolver against her head and commanded for the rest of his group to search her home…

Fuck, she cursed in her head.

I'm still so weak.

…

She came back to consciousness when Mustang called her name.

"Yes," she replied, even though she was numb and sore, and her vision hadn't cleared yet.

She felt Mustang kneel down to lift her up.

She heard the falter in his breath—the quiet groan in his chest that he did not let out, taking her weight upon his weary shoulders.

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That, four years ago, was precisely when she had told herself that she needed to protect her own damn self.

She joined the military right along in Mustang's footsteps, determining her life had only two purposes: to protect the information carved on her back and to make sure the only other man that mattered in her life was safe.

She made him burn the flames off her back so that if in case she was captured, he wouldn't have to worry about her—he'd just have to worry about himself and nothing more.

Or so she thought.

Chapter One

(the ending that we knew would come has finally begun)

Always a light-sleeper, Hawkeye was easily rustled awake at the step of an unwelcome boot on the hardwood corridor floor just beyond her bedroom door.

It was enough cue for her to grab hold of her bedside gun, the rest of her slim body hurling over the edge of her mattress, bare feet silent landing on the ground.

She had six bullets at hand—the closest back up gun was in another room, and she didn't have any extra cartridges left in her nightstand's drawer.

The new moon wasn't cooperating—no light streamed in through the window and she was only able to make out the audible details of whoever the hell had intruded her home.

But even upon just hearing the sound of shuffling boots, she could tell that there was much more than one person, even more than three people.

And they were coming towards her—just a few feet behind her closed door.

Six bullets was not going to be enough.

Keeping a steady finger on the trigger, she crawled quickly to the telephone, dialing the only number she had ever taken care to remember. She pursed her lips, dragging her finger along the knobs and grooves of the phone—each click of the swiveling dial resonated so loudly in the dead silence and she was fighting between dialing slow enough so the racket wouldn't be heard beyond the door and dialing quick enough so that she'd actually be able to call in time.

"Yo," came his voice from the other end.

"Colonel, I'm so sorry to bother you," she quickly explained, but a strong hand covered her mouth and pulled her away before she was able to say anything, phone dropping to the floor.

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She never called in the night when she knew he was asleep.

In fact, she never called at all unless it was something urgent.

And the thud on the other side of the line couldn't possibly foreshadow a good thing.

"Shit," he muttered, leaping out of bed. Scrambling, he questioned why he even cared to find something to wear, settling on the previous day's work shirt and brigade pants.

He just had to get to Hawkeye as soon as possible, he urgently thought, hands automatically dropping to piece together the first button on his shirt.

Fuck buttoning shirts, he cursed, releasing his fingers from the fabric and reaching for his gloves before jumping out the window of his second story apartment.

He prayed this wasn't a repeat of what had happened four years ago, landing and breaking his hard fall to the street with a tap of his right foot, rolling the rest of the momentum in his run toward Hawkeye's place.

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"Where is your father's research?" one of the men standing before her snarled.

Hawkeye attempted to keep her cool, even with at least four pistols pointed at her head. Her eyes searched desperately for her gun in the dark room, but she found it having been kicked off to the far side of her room.

No good—her hands were nowhere near able to retrieve her weapon; they were held behind her back.

Two hands were brought down on her shoulder and the man crouched down to her level, his rotten breath descending over her face. She felt him chuckle darkly.

A canine yap sounded behind him.

Hayate growled and barked angrily, ready to pounce at his owner's offenders.

Hawkeye closed her eyes, hoping that Hayate wouldn't try to save her and end up getting killed himself, but to her dismay, Hayate went ahead and pulled at one of her enemies' pant leg, attempting to pull him off Hawkeye.

"Get off, dog," the person behind her snarled. She heard the click of a gun.

Oh god, no.

A gunshot and Hayate jumped back, whimpering. "Out of my way, pup; we have no business with you," one of the men commanded, slamming her bedroom door, leaving her dog to scratch viciously at the door, yapping loudly.

Her hair was roughly pulled back, and a rough voice demanded harshly straight into her ear, "Just tell us where the hell the research is."

She gritted her teeth, unwilling to give them anything.

"There's only one other person still alive that knows about the alchemy," the stern voice threatened. "You risk him if you say nothing. Give us what we want and you can be sure nothing will happen to him."

But she couldn't trust these bastards, and she wasn't going to help them.

She kept her mouth shut.

"Bitch!" one of them yelled in frustration, and she felt a metal-tipped boot hit her lower back.

The kick forced a hiccup out of her and a small cry of pain escaped her lips, but she sucked in the throbbing agony and closed her eyes, unheeding.

"Keep at it," another voice ordered. "She'll eventually give it up."

Breathing in sharply, she bit down on her tongue and vowed never to utter a word.

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Slamming open her apartment door, he slapped on the lights.

"Lieutenant!" he called, immediately heading towards the closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

He almost tripped over the ecstatic ball of black and white fur.

"Hayate?" the flame alchemist questioned, kneeling down to rub his hand over the dog's head.

Upon hearing the dog whimper, Mustang immediately re-approached the door, right hand held up in the air ready to snap up a fire.

Once throwing it open, the first thing he saw was her open bedroom window, stale night air billowing in through the curtains.

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