Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or Inuyasha.

"HONEY, I'M HOME!"

The first thing Detective Roy Mustang took off as he walked through the door was his badge, not his coat. then came his gun, which went in the locked dresser upstairs, but Riza came first.

Roy was sick of his job. He had meant to use the force as a stepping-stone to a political position, not really realizing whose asses he would need to kiss to get there, but he tried to do his job. Roy was a man who believed in improving people's lives, and finding murderers and mobsters was the best he could do with the life that he was leading. Of course, those criminals usually happened to have money, something his superiors wanted. Therefore, he couldn't do anywhere near as good a job protecting the people as he wanted to.

However, the force had given him one thing: (former) detective Riza Hawkeye (now Mustang) owner and proprietor of Hawkeye shooting supplies and Mustang's only love. With the possible exception of a good cigar being a close second, of course.

A good cigar, like the one he smelled as he hung up his coat.

Riza didn't smoke.

Roy's hand went for the Glock on his hip, fumbling with the safety just as he heard someone all too familiar.

"Come inside, Roy." it was a light, slightly feminine rasp, like a little boy's voice mixed with fingernails across a chalkboard. "And leave the gun in there, on the floor. I'm a lot quicker than you and a much better shot than you, especially in the dark. Come in."

Roy set his pistol down and walked into the kitchen, the only visible light the end of a lit cigar. His cigar. There were shards of glass on the floor, the light bulb turned to powder in its socket.

Alphonse Elric, dressed casually, reclined with his feet on the table, only his hairline and teeth and eyes visible from the glow, although the streetlight outside glinted off of the blue steel of a sawn-off shotgun on his lap.

"Where's Riza?" Roy tried to make himself seem calm, although the result was more of a spitting sound as he tried to keep his teeth from clenching around his tongue.

"At her store. She sends her love." Al sighed a bit. "You could have gone places, Roy."

And that was when Roy knew he should have done something different with his life if he didn't want to answer to criminals when they called.

Thoughts are electric shocks that flitter across the lump of tissue and blood kept imprisoned in our skulls. One would think that if we have mastered electricity to the point that we have now, we would be able to save them. To preserve them. To prove that we can, if nothing else.

If we could, the lumps of bloody tissue that were scraped off of the kitchen floor not twenty-four hours later would be more than just waste matter, they would be vital information, the last few thoughts rocketing across his dying brain. Did he think of his wife? Did he think of his childhood? Did he think of what he did, and didn't do?

But we can't, and so it was scraped off of the floor and bagged in plastic, its last electric hopes and dreams and memories forever unseen.

But, that's the way it goes: sometimes you're the guy with a gun, and sometimes you're the mush on the floor.

Such is life.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I would just like to mention a few things:

You're probably angry at me. I did just kill off one of the series' most beloved characters and turned another into a psychopath. This sort of thing is going to keep happening, and if you're offended by reinterpretations of characters, then you're going to hate the rest of this story so you should probably go read something else.

Sorry about that.

If you're still here, I would like you to know that this is in a slightly different canon than Tell Me About The First Man You Ever Killed. The characters are the same, the cards just fall in a slightly different way.

Also, I'd like to deeply thank the people who read my previous work (There aren't a lot of fics in this category, so...Thanks for checking!) because I'm almost certain that they will be the only ones reading this(though if anyone else chooses to jump in, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do!) Stay with me, guys!