Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or Bleach, mmkay?

A/N: I happened to find this old fic that I had started but became too busy to continue, and since the first chapter was already done, I decided I'd post it. I have part of Ch. 2 done, so if I see some interest, (especially in the form of reviews ) I'll probably update it when I've updated my other stories and have some free time. This is a crossover between Bleach and FMA, and the main plot has to do with the Bleach universe, but it's set in Amestris. No one is named in this first chapter, so if you can guess who the "foreigner" is (which you probably will, if you watch/read Bleach), you get a basket of internet muffins. Or your choice of other pastries. X3

Chapter 1

"What the hell kind of game are you playing at?!" The tall, ruddy-faced inkeeper yelled, addressing someone who could only be assumed to be a customer. The customer in question appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties at the most. He was tall as well, almost as tall as the innkeeper, and rather thin. His clothes consisted of a simple shirt and a gray jacket with a matching pair of pants. On his feet were a pair of black walking shoes.

"What do you mean? I paid what you asked..." the man protested, snow-white locks falling over his face as he leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter.

This statement only seemed to infuriate the innkeeper. "This isn't money, you conniving bastard!" he shouted. He reached out a hand and slapped the white-haired man before him, leaving a reddish mark on his pale skin. "This is worthless! It'd be worth more if it was melted down for just the metal!"

The customer stood there in shocked silence for a moment--in all his years, he had never been shown such disrespect.

"What the hell are you gawking at? Pay up or get the hell out!" the other shouted.

"I don't...see what the problem is..." the elder man began slowly, "I paid you a rather large sum of money...I am new to this city, so if my currency is unacceptable to you, please at least let me stay the night, and I'll repay you later." Sure, he had never heard of a "mark" in his life, but money was money, wasn't it? And he had paid rather a good amount of it--far more than what was considered reasonable fare for a place to stay where he was from.

Especially considering the run-down condition of the inn in question. Some of the chairs were missing legs, and several of the tables had cracks in them. The sign with the name of the inn was so old, the paint was peeling. Cobwebs had formed on several places of the wall (which he had hoped wouldn't be too much of a problem for him, considering his lungs weren't exactly in tip-top condition). The very counter at which he was standing had faded from its original soft yellow to a pale gray-ish tone, and had several cracks all over it.

"So you think you can swindle me, you fool? Not going to happen!" he barked at the foreigner, slapping him again, "Pay me with some proper money or get out."

He was lucky the man had a gentle nature--any other in Central City would not have stood for being slapped twice in public by another man. Hell, most wouldn't stand for being slapped once.

The foreigner touched the spot on his cheek where he had been struck, rubbing it for a moment before he faced the ass of an innkeeper again.

"Please, sir!" he implored, "I only need this one night--I'll be out before dawn tomorrow morning and I promise to repay you with your currency. Have some compassion, sir, it's raining outside!" He did not like having to beg. He was an honest man, and what he wanted he would buy with his own money. How was it his fault that he did not have the correct type of currency--he'd never been within a thousand square miles of Amestris in his life.

"I'll tell you one last time--pay up or LEAVE," he snarled, not moved in the least by the man being forced to demean himself by begging like this.

"But please, sir--I've been traveling all day and I don't really feel well." Another stab in his pride right there, being forced to admit his infirmity in front of a stranger like this in hopes of gaining some sympathy. "Sir, if you could just--augh! Augh, augh, augh!"

The absolute bullheadedness of the innkeeper had gotten him agitated, and that unfortunately caused his illness that had plagued him for most of his life to flare up. A hand promptly flew to his mouth, shielding the blood that came out from the ass's view.

But perhaps the foreigner would have done well to forget about manners this once, and shown the innkeeper that he truly was ill. Lacking that piece of knowledge, the ruddy-faced man totally went off the deep end with rage, believing his customer to be faking.

"You think you can win sympathy with that little display, you filthy leech? Well, you're dead wrong!" This time, he threw a full-on punch at the foreigner. By the time the few seconds it had taken for him to recover from it and the bout of coughing passed, the other man advanced on him, and kicked him in the side, causing him to double over, and then erupt in another series of coughs that caused him to fall to the ground.

"Why keep up this goddamned act?!" he snarled, "No one's buying it!" He kicked the man in the side again, turning him over. The elder man tried to get up, but collapsed from the several times he had been struck, which only infuriated the other further. He pulled the foreigner up by his ivory hair, only to kick him once again, sending him flying into one of the few intact tables.

By this time, everyone in the inn was watching the scene. Some were horrified at the innkeeper's cruelty, others were faintly amused, others really didn't care either way and were simply curious how long it'd be until the other man either passed out or fought back.

But only one of them had the nerve to step in on the foreigner's behalf. He was a young-ish man, most likely in his late twenties. Short, raven-colored bangs fell neatly across his forehead, just above his matching eyes. Without a word, he stepped in front of the white-haired man before the innkeeper could strike again, giving him a defiant expression.

"So...do you make a habit of attacking defenseless customers?" he asked pointedly, nodding towards the man on the floor.

"This is none of your concern!" he growled, "Stay out of this, you nosy son of a--" He promptly silenced himself as a glint of silver from the man's coat pocket (which his gloved hand just happened to be in at the moment) caught his eye. Eyelids narrowed dangerously over the pale gray irises.

"The hell do you want, alchemist?"

The other simply grinned, walking up to the innkeeper confidently. That same hand came out of his pocket with some money. "This should cover the cost of his night here," he said simply, placing the money in his hand, "Oh, and get him a hot meal too." He looked back at the foreigner, and then added, "If he needs to rest longer than just the night, I trust you'll let him."

The ruddy face simply turned a brighter shade of scarlet at this. "What?!" he spat indignantly, "I can't just give a free room to someone! I wouldn't do it for anyone--not even the Fuhrer."

He wasn't fooling the other man at all. This one was a perfect suck-up. If the Fuhrer himself (god forbid) ever came to this ramshackle in, he would likely not only give him a free room, but a meal and likely a foot massage, or something to that effect.

"Right," he answered casually, voice as smooth as velvet, "My mistake. I do apologize--no hard feelings, eh?" He began to pace back and forth slightly. "Anyway, you seem like an honest man, trying to make an honest living here with this inn..."

"Yeah. So?" The innkeeper really did not like the way the other said that.

"Well, there have been some awful rumors going around about this place having dodged inspections for the last two years. I would just hate for you to have to close down...if those rumors were...leaked to the right people." The smirk never left his face. His opponent of sorts was trapped and they both knew it.

After glaring at him for a few more moments with a look of pure hatred in those gray eyes, he finally acquiesced. "Fine. He can rest tomorrow for free. But he has to be out the first thing the next morning!"

"Of course."

Still glowering and grumbling, the ruddy-faced man stalked off to find an available room and get the key for it. Two words could be heard as he departed company from the man who had outsmarted him:

"...You bastard."