A/N: Um, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that this idea came to me while I was quite inebriated, and I actually wrote most of it in the same state, so this was a bit of an experiment. By the way kids DO NOT do this if you are under 21. I'm 23, and therefore cleverly disguised as a responsible adult.
Disclaimer: Flying is the art of flinging yourselfat the ground and missing.
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Names
Roy stared intently at the brass nameplate that sat ominously on the edge of his desk.
Lt. Col. Roy Mustang, he read silently to himself. He couldn't help but think how stupid it was for his desk to have a nameplate on it. It wasn't as if people just randomly popped into his office. If someone came to this part of HQ it was specifically to see him, so the careless brandishing of his name and rank seemed unnecessary.
He let out a soft snort as he took a sip of his whiskey. A needless expense. Look everyone, your tax dollars at work, identifying people everyone already knows.
Another sip of his drink sent his thoughts in a different direction as he glanced at his name once more. Names are funny things, Roy thought as he slouched slightly in his chair and looked around the empty office. Every name has a meaning, he thought, trying desperately to remember what Roy meant. His parents had told him once, but his hazy brain refused to remember.
Looking at the vacant desks he thought about the possible meaning behind each of his subordinates' names before he shook his head clear and tried to focus on the papers in front of him. Those papers contained names as well, many he didn't know, but some he did. He stared at the names for a long moment before chuckling to himself and raising his now empty glass to his lips. He stared at the glass for a moment, cursing it for its lack of liquor before reaching for the near empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the corner of his desk. Glancing at the name on the bottle, he paused.
Jameson. Good name. Strong name. Wonder if it's a family business? he thought as he scanned the label with a critical eye. he thought absently before pouring the last of the bottle's contents into his glass. Staring at the amber liquid he tried once again to remember the meaning behind his name, but to no avail. Out of nowhere a verse from an old text infiltrated his mind.
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet." Chuckling again to himself he decided to add to the verse. " And a Roy Mustang by any other name would still be alone and drunk in his office in the middle of the night."
The humor he thought he would find in the amendment faded fast as he stared at the glass of liquor with a hint of contempt. "Y'know," he slurred, " If it weren't for you I wouldn't be this way."
His drunken gaze then swung to a picture sitting on his desk. It was an old photo, taken years before when he was a lowly Major in Ishbal, fresh from training and seeking glory. It was a chance photo taken by a hapless soldier with a new toy. He was sitting on a crate with Maes Hughes standing next to him. Both men were holding a can of beer and smiling nonchalant smiles, seeming to have not a care in the world.
"Or maybe it's you," Roy thought with a frown. "Maybe it's you who did this to me."
His best friend's face continued to grin at him, unfaltering under Roy's scathing glare. The anger Roy had felt just a half-second before faded and he shook his head, his expression shifting instantaneously from anger to grief.
"Sorry Maes," he mumbled and redirected his gaze at the papers in front of him. The seemingly endless list of names that stared back at him jarred his mind back to his previous thoughts on the meanings behind them.
His mind drifted to a conversation he had had with his mother when he was a small boy and had been upset about a group of kids who had made fun of his last name.
"They called me pony and horse-boy. They even said I smelled like a horse," he wailed, rubbing at his eyes with a tiny fist.
"They're just jealous, Roy," his mother cooed, setting him in her lap. " Mustangs are proud, strong, and noble creatures, just like our family."
"Really?" he sniffled.
"Really. Being a Mustang it something to be proud of."
"Okay," he chirped, feeling better, then pausing. "Mama, what does Roy mean?"
A soft chuckle escaped his mother. "Names have different meanings to different people."
He couldn't remember the rest of the conversation, but those last few words stuck in his head. "Each name holds its own meaning to each person," he mused aloud.
Looking back at the picture of him and Maes, he pondered what the name meant to him.
Maes Hughes: Loving, intelligent, dedicated. Best friend. The greatest man Roy had ever known.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, he stood from his desk and wandered around the office, only stumbling a little. He looked at the desks of each of his subordinates, musing on what the names meant to him. Catching the pungent scent of cigarettes, he read a name.
Jean Havoc: Unassuming and calm. Sometimes awkward, but always honest. Friendly rival. There was a sense of irony in the name Havoc, considering that the man who bore the name was rather laid back
Moving on to the next name, he couldn't help but smirk. If Havoc's name didn't quite fit, then Kain Fuery's was downright ludicrous.
Kain Fuery: Quiet, shy, timid, and compassionate. These were not the things you would associate with a name like Fuery
Moving on he examined the next two desks. Breda's was a bit of a mess, but he was not the most organized of men.
Heymans Breda: A bit disorganized and sloppy, but consistent. And reliable. He could count on Breda to do his job when he needed to.
Next to Breda's desk was the neat and organized workspace of Falman.
Vatto Falman: Like Breda and the rest of his men, he was reliable. Regulation and by the book. He was the classic textbook example of a soldier in the lower ranks of a specialized field.
Havoc, Fuery, Breda, Falman: Dedicated and loyal. That was what those names meant to him.
Passing by Falman's desk he caught sight of a name on one of the reports. Elric. There was a lot of meaning behind that name. He paused and stared out the window, taking a moment to sort out his thoughts.
Elric: Edward and Alphonse. Brothers. Children. Innocence taken too soon. Aggravation and, though he would only admit this to himself, worry. It was a feeling akin to that a father would have for his children, or of a much older brother left to look after his siblings. There was also regret and frustration because he was unable to help them the way he wanted to. Yet, behind these more distressing aspects was an intense determination he admired. They meant hope, something to look forward to.
Another name on the report caught his eye and he felt his knees go weak. That one name forced him to stagger back to his chair and sink into it.
Rockbell: Intense guilt. Regret. The name of ghosts that would forever haunt his conscience.
This triggered another memory, and another name that made bile rise in the back of his throat.
Ishbal: Death and destruction. Blood and fire. Nightmare
Roy's head began to pound and his vision swam as he tried to regain his composure. Cradling his head in his hands, he took deep breaths, willing his body to cease its shaking.
"Sir?" he heard from somewhere in the distance. Bringing himself back to the present, he looked up into the face of a worried Riza Hawkeye. "Sir, are you all right?"
He felt frozen, unsure of what was real and what was an alcohol induced hallucination. He finally jolted back to reality when he felt the firm pressure of her hand on his shoulder.
"Hawkeye," the colonel breathed, then shook his head in an effort to collect himself. "Lieutenant," he said with more composure, "I'm fine. I was just thinking."
"Oh, about what?" she inquired.
"Names," he answered and at her slightly perplexed look continued. "I was contemplating the meaning of names and if they fit the people they were given to."
Nodding, Hawkeye wisely decided not to pursue the subject at the moment. Roy watched as her gaze shifted to the empty whiskey bottle and her expression took on a hint of admonition. Having sobered up just enough to see the scolding coming, he quickly changed the subject.
"What are you doing here so late, Hawkeye?"
"I needed and address for an urgent letter, but I left my address book here."
Roy nodded at her answer and stood, reaching for the coat he had draped on the back of his chair. "Come on, I'll walk you home."
He swayed slightly as he stood, but was immediately steadied by her hand on his forearm. Smiling a bit sheepishly, he righted himself and straightened his coat before looking back at the woman that was always by his side.
Riza Hawkeye: Support, undying loyalty, protection, strength. A friend, and a reason. His guardian angel.
He allowed a soft smile to grace his lips as he took a moment to gaze at her. She returned the smile and headed towards the exit with him only a step behind. He paused before shutting off the lights, coming to one final conclusion. Individually, each name held its own meaning, but when they were all combined they really only meant one thing to him.
Family.
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A/N: (shrugs) Meh…
For those who were wondering, the most common meaning for Roy is "red" although in French it also means "king"