A/N: Thanks again everyone, for your continued support! Reading your reviews always makes me smile. A little shameless self-promotion: I've got a new story in the works, the first chapter should be up sometime this week. D.N Angel fans, keep an eye out!

I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of its characters

Ambush

He stalked the grounds, a quiet and careful shadow, staying low and sticking to the dark places. The nighttime was a constant companion of his, and so he could navigate it with relative ease. But he was still cautious, so very cautious; because he knew that what was hunting him was just as familiar with the dark, possibly an even older friend of it than he was.

Bright gold eyes, a pair of them that flashed in the dark like dull coins, scanned the surrounding area with hot resentment. On some baser level, he was supremely pissed about his sudden demotion on the food chain. It galled him, really, that he, who was so often the hunter, could suddenly find himself the hunted.

A sound to his left, a quick and quiet patter of feet, brought his head around. He tensed, adrenaline locked his muscles down tight, and he eased his body away from the sound of his pursuers. They'd found him quickly, much faster than he'd anticipated. Faster than they would have found him, if they hadn't had the help of someone who knew his every move. Betrayal was a hot and bitter blade in his gut. He'd never thought it would come to this, that he'd be fleeing from the same person he spent every day fighting to protect. Thoughts of vengeance danced gleefully inside his mind as he jumped from shadow to shadow, grinning images of just what equivalent exchange would detail in this particular instance.

Leather creaked as he found a convenient corner and crouched into it. His breath was light and quick, and several strands of hair had come loose from his heavy braid and were sticking to his somewhat sweaty cheeks. He reached up to push them back with cold metal fingers, taking a moment to curse the fact that such vibrant hair was hard to hide; it shone like a beacon in the dark.

He rubbed those same metal fingers together, and briefly debated whether or not alchemy would help him in this situation. He could transmute something; a cage to trap his chasers in, a giant rope to tie them all together, pillars of mud from the earth to stand in their way. But no; any use of alchemy would give away his position. While it was tempting, extremely tempting, this was a covert mission, and alchemy, in most situations, had about as much stealth as an air raid siren.

From his hiding place, he could see the parade grounds. Just beyond that, he knew, was a hill that led to the street outside the base. If he could make it, he could blend in with the pedestrians, or duck into a convenient building, and lose his hunters in the crowd. But the parade grounds were a long stretch of flat land, and even though the lights were dim at this time of night, they were still vaguely illuminated. He'd have to run, hard and fast, and hope that his pursuers were searching in another section of the base. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs in preparation for his mad dash, and lit out of his hiding place like a silent bolt of lightning.

Later, he would console himself with the fact that he did get at least halfway across the grounds. But then the lights flipped on, hot and white beacons that flooded the area. Shoved so rudely out of his shadow cover and blinking against the sudden illumination, he froze, caught in the glare like a deer sighted on the edge of the forest.

"There he is!"

"Get him, get him!"

He let out a snarl of frustration, and forced his frozen body to move again. He made it another ten feet before something solid and all-around huge crashed into him. A heavy metal shoulder buried itself in his stomach, knocking his breath right out of his lungs. He went down hard, rapping his head against the ground in the process. A whole galaxy of stars exploded before his eyes, and if he'd had the breath, his pained curses would have turned the air blue.

The giant figure that had taken him down clambered to his knees. He took a moment to shake his head at him, winded and spread out across the dirt like black and golden grass.

And then he turned its metal body around, and sat on him, effectively pinning him in place.

"Hurry," he warned. "I won't be able to keep him down for long."

That voice. He knew it as well as his own, every nuance, and the sound of it incited such anger, because of the betrayal it now associated itself with.

A figure stalked out the shadows, and he tensed, crushing his chest against metal legs. Another something he knew, and this one didn't need any outside emotions to prompt rage.

"Is this really necessary?" the figure purred, his predator's smile gleaming in the lights. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Go to hell," he wheezed. He may have been caught, pressed and pinned and unable to move, but defiance was as natural to him as breathing. He just wasn't one to surrender, no matter how hopeless the situation.

He began to buck against the legs restraining him, bruising what felt like a few internal organs in the process. His movements escalated to wild and violent struggles when his widened eyes latched on to the object the shadow predator held in his hand.

"Please, Brother," the metal figure entreated as the shadow predator knelt next to his head. "We just want to help you."

He refused to be swayed by that gentle pleading, even if it was delivered in the voice of the person who mattered most. He still snarled, still struggled, when strong fingers, wrapped in white gloves, clamped down on his jaw, prying his mouth open. Something cold bumped against his lips, and then he was gagging, his hands clawing at the dirt, as he tried to reject the poison they were pouring down his throat. They called it a cure, an antidote, something that would serve to make him stronger.

Oh, how they lied.

When it was over, the metal figure shifted his body, warily climbing to his feet. He sighed as he caught the enraged blonde missile that popped up after him, with the ease of someone long accustomed to such a display.

"Thanks for your help, Colonel," Al said. He had to pitch his voice over Ed's furious ranting. His brother was all but foaming at the mouth as he swore vengeance against them all.

Mustang eased back, just to be safe, and smirked at the twisting teenager. He tapped the empty cup against his hip.

"No problem," he said. "Fullmetal definitely has a talent for livening up a dull workday."

Al grunted a little as he adjusted his grip. Ed was still ranting, still raving, and his suggestions were growing more colorful, and anatomically impossible, by the minute.

"Come on, Brother," he finally said, exasperation winning out over amusement. "Do you have to be so dramatic? After all, I only make you drink one glass of milk a week. Is it really necessary to make us chase you around the base?"

Ed's furious shouting never faltered. Al heaved another giant sigh.

"Apparently it is," Mustang said, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Yeah." Al inclined his head to the Colonel, and the Colonel's men, who were wide-eyed and out of breath at Mustang's back. "So I guess I'll see you guys next week."