A/N: I know that it seems like I'm starting a lot of stories and not finishing them, but I promise that I am working diligently on them (between studying, of course). I wrote this as a prompt I received when I asked for suggestions to what I should do for reaching 999 followers on Tumblr. Thus, this fic was born! I'll respond to reviews for my other fics very soon, and promise to update either Ignite, Brilliance, or Like Family next. Thank you and hope you enjoy!

It had been five days since they were taken. What started out as an organized recon mission quickly turned into a disaster. The criminals they were after somehow knew about the mission, and they had come prepared. It seemed that only he and Hawkeye were the ones captured, and strangely, the thought comforted Edward. He knew that, at the very least, they had people that were hellbent on finding the two of them…

When he had awoken after being knocked out, Edward discovered that they had at least been 'smart' enough to remove his arm. And without anything within reach that could be used to draw a transmutation circle, he was essentially useless.

Gritting his teeth agitatedly, Edward twisted his wrist around in his shackles. After working at it for the last day and a half, he was finally able to move it more freely. In time, he figured, he would be able to draw enough blood and sweat to slip his wrist through. And when it came time to do that, those bastards that took them would have hell to pay…

He looked up again to check on Hawkeye, seeing if she had moved at all. Instead she remained seated in the same position he had last seen her in, her head bowed and her face hidden beneath her unkempt golden hair. They had taken her a few times and always brought her back completely exhausted and worn down. The last time she came back she could hardly stand, barely managing to stumble into the corner she had chosen to occupy.

And each time her words and responses grew shorter and more drawn out, to the point where it would take minutes for her to reply to a simple 'yes' or 'no' question.

Edward didn't know what they did to her. All he knew was that he had not been called on at all… and that she had taken care not to turn her back to him. He had voiced that observation once and Hawkeye told him to 'not think too much into it' causing him to assume the worst - that whatever they were doing to her, it was double. Part for her and part for him.

Catching a glint of red out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a small puddle of blood seeping out around her. His eyes widened as it continued to grow bigger and bigger…

"Hey Hawkeye," he called in the hopes that he could get her attention. "Hawkeye!" When she did not stir, he began to grow anxious. Twisting his wrists in his shackles again, he cried her name with more desperation. "Hawkeye!"

When she shifted, he felt his heart leap in his chest. He prepared himself to receive an answer from her, though it never came. Instead, she swayed uneasily before collapsing onto her side.

"Hawkeye!"

Twisting against his restraints fore forcibly, Edward was at last able to slip his wrist out of his shackle. His legs felt like jelly after having been seated for days on end, but that would not stop him. Stumbling and staggering over to her, he collapsed by her side and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Hawkeye, answer me," he pleaded as he shook her gently.

Her head lolled side to side in response, telling him that she was somewhat awake. He heard her mutter something soon after, but it was difficult to hear her.

At the very least, though, she was alive…

As relief flooded his gut, he decided to check her over in order to find the source of the blood, in the hopes that he would be able to stanch it. He didn't have to look far, however. When his eyes wandered down to her back, his stomach lurched.

The cloth of her black turtleneck was nearly disintegrated, torn to shreds by god knows what. The loose strands that were held together by thin lines of fabric clung to the perspiration and the blood that was continually seeping from the wounds that were inflicted upon her.

Deciding that her wellbeing was more important than anything else, he ripped the back of her shirt further in order to gain easier access to the cuts. His desperate teasing and tearing stopped momentarily, however, when he saw skin deep red lines that were laid out in a more uniform pattern. As his eyes followed them, down her back to the apex of one of the curved lines, his heart sprang with recognition.

There, in the center of her lower back, was the telltale red salamander of Flame Alchemy…

Before his mind could even begin to process what that would mean, the Lieutenant shifted and gasped, clawing at the cement floor as she began to writhe with pain.

"Hawkeye," he gasped as he put his hand on her untouched shoulder. "It's me—"

"Edward-," she breathed as she tried to push herself up onto one hand and knees, keeping her other arm protectively crossed over her chest in order to keep her shirt secured to her body. When she got halfway up, however, her arm buckled and she crashed back down onto the stone floor.

"Hey," Edward yelped as he scrambled around to her head, "Are you—"

"That blanket…" she wheezed as she raised her shaking arm and pointed at the corner of the small cell, "Bring it here… Please…"

Edward obediently staggered over to the blanket they had provided her and grabbed at it until he at last managed to grip it. When he turned back to her, she was already pushing herself up again. "Lieutenant," he began as he draped the scrubby old blanket over her shoulders, "What—"

"It's nothing," she panted as she pulled the blanket more tightly to her body and leaned back against the wall. "It's… nothing."

Realizing that she meant the markings on her back, Edward shifted around so that he was in front of her. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he muttered, "I'm not concerned about that right now. What I'm more concerned about is your condition." Moving his flesh hand up, he pressed it against her forehead and instantly had to draw it back, surprised by how warm she felt. Pressing it against her sweat-drenched forehead again, he said, "You're burning up."

"Have been… for a while," she breathed as she leaned her head back against the cement wall and closed her eyes, "Must be an infection…"

"Then we need to tell them," Edward stated. "Because we'd be dead otherwise. They're keeping us alive for something. If we tell them, then they'll treat you."

She rolled her head side to side. "Not for long," Hawkeye quietly admitted. "They found what they were looking for... Edward. Our lives now hang in the balance.

"But," she murmured as she removed the hand she had crossed over her chest before and held it out to him, "You can escape." When she opened her hand, he caught the glint of metal. Moving forward, he found that it was a silver key. "A spare," she explained, "That was on one of the men… Use it to unlock the door.

"All I ask," she continued as she closed her eyes again, "Is that you destroy what you saw on my back before you leave me here. That will… will assure that you will not be fol—"

"No way," Edward snapped, cutting her off. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"You have to," she weakly argued. "I'm only dead weight at this point. Leave me and find the Colonel. He'll know what to do…"

"I refuse," he countered. "I refuse to leave you here to die. The way I see it, there are only two options: You and I stay here until they decide to come back, or the two of us try to escape. Either way, we aren't splitting up." When she opened her mouth to counter again, he rose to his feet and braced his knees. "Besides," he added as he thrust his thumb toward himself, "According to the military bylaws, I'm still a Major and you're still a Lieutenant. And without the Colonel here, you're required to follow the command of the next highest in rank."

Her eyes snapped open and she looked up at him in surprise, and then shook her head and sighed. Casting her glare down at the floor, she gripped the blanket tighter to herself and said, "Edward, I'm giving you one final warning... Not as a lesser ranking officer but as a friend. Please listen to me and—"

"Sorry, but that's something I can't do," he said as he shook his head. "Because I can't take orders from a subordinate officer." Extending his hand toward her, he said, "But I'll gladly reiterate my orders from before… And promise that one way or another, we're both going to get out of here."

She paused for a moment, her brown eyes holding his in silent debate. He had seen her play this game with Mustang before, often times with the latter losing. But this time it would be her that would throw in the towel.

"Besides," he added, "Don't you want to see the look on Mustang's face when we show up on Central's doorstep?"

Her eyes faltered and the silent debate was over. Edward knew that appealing to her using Mustang would work. Between that and his faux 'orders,' he knew she would essentially crumble.

She sighed heavily. "Alright, but…," she said as her eyes steeled and she extended a hand toward him, "If there is a time where you must leave me, I want you to promise me that you will destroy what you saw on my back and leave me behind."

This time he faltered, his knees beginning to weaken again at the very thought.

"Promise me."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he internally decided that if agreeing to her demand was what it would take, then he would do so that they both would escape. Grasping her hand with his, he agreed to her conditions, silently concluding that there was no other option to be had.

After juggling Hawkeye and the key to the door to their cell, Edward felt as if his energy were nearly spent. Having only one arm made the situation of carrying her on his back all the more difficult. He was thankful, at least, that the direction he took through the labyrinth of stone walls and dark corridors was devoid of any of the men that had taken them.. though it was also devoid of any windows or doors as well. During his time there he had only seen three different faces, suggesting to him that it was a small-scale operation. While it was good that they were few in number, Edward knew that it also meant that they would be harder to track. It made sense that Mustang hadn't found them yet…

When he heard a voice, Edward froze; pressing his side against the wall as he strained to listen. Easing his way forward and tightening his grip on Hawkeye's wrists as they hugged around his neck, he paused near the corner and focused this senses on what was just around it.

From what he could tell, there were two men around the corner from them. Their voices were not carrying, suggesting that they were stationary. Taking a deep breath and quietly exhaling, he reminded himself to use the rest of his senses.

A moment later a cold draft wafted around the corner and past them, sending a shiver up Edward's spine. He heard one of the men scoff shortly thereafter, complaining about the cold leaking through the door.

Door…

So there was a door just beyond that corner. If he could distract them somehow, then they should be able to get through it and outdoors…

Looking around him, he saw that there was a piece of a brick lying on the ground. Bending at his knees, he muttered to Hawkeye to hold on as he let go of her wrists. Scooping it up, he slowly rose back to his feet and inched over to the corner. After taking a deep breath, he looked around it to see the men conversing with each other and between them… the door.

Drawing back, Edward glanced down the hallway to see another corridor beyond them. If he could angle it right, he could possibly cause enough noise to draw one or both of them away. Tossing it up and down a few times in his hand, he determined that the distance was enough where if they both ran, he'd be able to get around quickly enough to reach the door. And if only one of them went, he still liked to imagine that he could take the one that remained behind quickly enough to turn around and subdue the other one.

After making up his mind, he gripped the rock tightly and whispered his plan to Hawkeye, urging her to brace herself in the event that he'd have to put her down to take care of the guards. When his explanation earned a feeble nod from her, he decided to move forward with his idea. Raising his hand up, he measured the distance once more before lobbing it toward the second hallway.

"Hey!"

Slinking back to conceal himself in the darkness, Edward shrunk against the wall and held his breath as the sound of two pairs of boots thundered toward them. Then, he saw the two men rush past them without a glance in any other direction.

Without a moment's hesitation, he whipped around the corner and sprinted toward the door, his hand grasping Hawkeye's wrists with a death-like grip. Skidding to a stop in front of it, he threw one quick glance over his shoulder to make sure they were gone, and then quickly began to unlatch the door. Pulling it open, he leapt outside and pushed it closed behind him, moments later hearing the satisfying sound of it latching itself closed. A few moments later a sharp tingle shot up through his bare feet and distributed throughout the rest of his body.

A strong gust of icy wind whipped past them, forcing Edward to turn toward the outside and see that it was snowing heavily, with mounds already beginning to build up in the field that was sprawled out before them.

He felt Hawkeye tremble against his back, but he knew that if they went back inside both of them were as good as dead. He had made a promise, though, that they would get out alive. That they would see the smug expression on the Colonel's face when they showed up at the front door of Central Command.

His legs trembled as another burst of cold air blew past them, showering them with flakes of snow. There was no other option now. They had to keep moving forward because… Because he promised…

Making sure that his grip and Hawkeye's was adequate, he leapt forward and began to run, not once looking back over his shoulder…

As soon as they had crossed the field and entered the dark and densely wooded forest on the other side, a round of gunshots could be heard echoing throughout the valley. Gripping Hawkeye's wrists tighter, he quickened his pace and ignored his muscles as they screamed in agony from his relative lack of use over the past week.

When he heard a gunshot that seemed relatively close to them, he changed direction and ducked beneath a low hanging branch. Another gunshot. This time he could feel the air around them shift, the bullet missing them by inches. He heard a voice calling for them to stop, but he refused to.

He swore and dove behind another tree as a third shot buried itself into the wood. As he tried to catch himself, the ground beneath him gave and they fell. His face slammed into a pile of snow, and then was reexposed to the cold air surrounding them again and again. It took him a few moments to realize that they were tumbling down a hill. Before he could brace them, they hit the bottom, eliciting as surprised gasp from Hawkeye and himself.

He rolled once again, thankful that throughout the entire ordeal she had managed to hang on. But just as he was about to lift her and himself, a sharp pain erupted through his flesh leg. With a loud yelp, he crumbled into a heap and instinctively let go of Hawkeye's wrists, reaching down toward his fractured leg.

Realization hit him like a freight train. They were trapped with the lone gunman standing at the top of the hill. His leg was broken, his automail arm gone, and Hawkeye was unable to run for herself. He cursed again and tried to rise, producing the same result as before.

Grabbing a fistful of snow, he shuddered as the cold began to prick and poke at his metallic joints, slowly moving up and through his body. The feeling wouldn't last long, however.

When he heard the crunch of snow beneath a pair of boots, he gulped and turned his head to find a pair of brown eyes watching him, causing his heart to drop. He had promised… Promised that they would make it out. Promised that he would destroy what he had seen on her back. Promised that they'd reach the Colonel again.

All of those promises were now broken…

He could clearly see the sadness reflected in her eyes. She too knew that it was the end of the road.

The crunch of the boots on the crisp white snow had grown louder, and he knew that they had made it to the bottom of the hill. Using what little of his strength he had left, he pushed himself upward and angled his body so that he was partially hiding the Lieutenant behind him. After all, giving her a few additional moments of life was the least he could do…

Steeling himself, he paused, hearing the sound of the footsteps stop next to them. In one last act of defiance, he willed himself to look their captor in the eye. Turning toward him, he stared the man, and the barrel of the gun, down.

He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction of seeing them, despite how difficult it was to hold them back. It was the end of the line. There would be no rescue. There would be no light. Alphonse would be left to wonder why, alone in the world as he struggled to retrieve his own body, his only brother leaving him behind…

When the man, steel-faced and unwavering, clicked off the safety, Edward bowed his head and closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable impact.

A single gunshot tore through the darkness, plunging the rest of the wood into a cold, dead silence.