The Story Of Alphonse's Birth

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One halcyon night in Rizembul, Trisha Elric was stomping her feet on the ground, where she'd laid a long strip of bubble wrap that she'd stolen from the post office. There was a mad, borderline senile grin on her face as she slammed her feet and listened contently to the cacophony of popping noises that followed.

Her two-year-old offspring, christened Edward but informally known as Batman, waddled over to his mother with a happy grin showing from beneath his blond bangs.

"Eddie play," he said, getting on his knees and extending his arm to playfully whack at the bubble wrap. He emitted a jovial squeal at the sonorous sound the bubbles made when under pressure.

"No, shoo!" Trisha scolded, roughly pushing her son away with the tip of her heeled shoes. "Back to your cage!" She snatched up her bubble wrap and held it out of Edward's reach.

"Mummy bad," Edward said with a scowl as he toddled across the room and crawled into the old metal cage that Trisha had pilfered out of their neighbors trash bin. "Bad boy. Bad boy, Mummy."

"Hey!" Trisha snapped. "If you don't drop that 'tude with me, boy, I'mma bust a cap in your ass and roll your cage down the stairs again. Is that what you want, Edward? To roll down the stairs again?"

Just as Edward opened his mouth to respond, the door to the Elric's house swung open, and a weary, dirt-clad Hohenheim stepped into the room.

"Lucy, I'm ho-ome!"

"Ho-ho!" Trisha cried, running to her husband and enveloping him in a hug.

"Ho-ho-Papa!" Little Edward dashed out of his cage and across the room to snuggle his father's leg, babbling incoherently all the while. "Papa home! Eddie big boy now, Papa! Drinks'a juice and waterlemons! Eddie pee on floor! Eddie pee in s'ooes!"

"Oh, Trisha," Hohenheim moaned into his wife's neck, completely ignoring his rambling son. "Oh, my Trisha, how I— great Scott! What the hell did you eat today? A fetus?"

"No," Trisha replied, pulling away from her husband to gently rest a hand on her enlarged stomach. "Well, yes, but that's not the point. I'm pregnant, Hohenheim! I'm having another baby!"

Hohenheim gaped, blinking at Trisha. "But— pregnant— how? W-We haven't held hands or nothing in months! And I've been living in the tree fort in the backyard for two years, and I never saw the stork go into the house, and—"

"Hohenheim," Trisha interrupted in the serious tone she used when addressing a subject that confused her husband. "Babies aren't delivered by storks. Don't you remember the conversation we had before Edward was born?"

Hohenheim paused to think. "No," he replied slowly. "But I remember when we snuck over to the Rockbell's place one night and wiped poo on Pinako's face!" He chortled at the memory.

"No, Hohenheim," Trisha said. "The conversation we had about intercourse. Remember that night when we made love to Chuck Berry's music on the Rockbell's table? And then I told you I was pregnant? That's how babies are made."

Hohenheim blinked at this neophyte concept.

Edward, noticing that his mother and father's attention was no longer focused on him (not that it was ever focused on him to begin with), tugged on his father's trousers. "Ho-ho-Papa! Ho-ho-papa! Make'sa sam'ich! Eddie pee on fwoggie! I's eated a cateh-pigger!"

Ignoring her child, Trisha clasped Hohenheim's hand in her own and looked into his deep, perpetually discombobulated eyes. "Oh, Ho-ho, won't it be wonderful. We're going to have another child. We'll have another beautiful being to love and care for, and add to our wonderful fam—"

"Eddie! Eddie wan'sa turn! I's pee on fwoggie!" Edward yelled, brusquely interrupting his mother.

"Edward!" Trisha snapped, "if you don't shut up, I'll lock you outside for the night! Shame on you for ruining Mummy and Daddy's special moment! Go and sit in your cage!" She yanked the child off of Hohenheim and shoved him in the direction of his cage.

"No!" Edward wailed, his little face twisted in anger. "Eddie no like Mummy! Eddie no like Ho-Papa! Bad boys, bad boys!"

"Edward! Go to your cage, or I'll run you down with Daddy's car!" Trisha barked. Scowling, Edward begrudgingly stomped out of the room and toward his cage, where he crawled through the diminutive door, locked it shut, and then sat down on his blankets with a defiant look on his face.

"Oh, Trisha," Hohenheim sighed, drawing his wife's attention. "I wish you wouldn't treat the house cat like that."

"House cat?" Trisha repeated. "Ho-ho, Edward is not a house cat! He sleeps in a cage. He's a dog."

From within the living room, a little voice piped, "No, Eddie not doggie. I's a ickle boy!"

"Well, what do you know, Batman?" Hohenheim retorted. "You're just a house cat!"

"Hohenheim, I think I know what species my son is. He's a dog," Trisha corrected.

"No!" Said multi-specie son replied. "Eddie not doggie. I's a ickle, ickle boy! I pee on fwoggie!"

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A few months after Hohenheim's unceremonious return, the family was sitting at the table early one morning, enjoying their breakfast. Hohenheim was settled into a comfortable position on the master chair, his dirty boots propped up on the table. In one hand, he held a newspaper, in the other a mug of coffee.

Trisha moved slowly and tentatively around the kitchen. Her stomach had expanded a lot, making her actions awkward. She hovered over the griddle, an apron tied around her waist and a spatula in her hand. The griddlecakes on the griddle were just starting to bubble.

Edward sat beside his father, his little bottom resting on two thick Alchemy books. He had to surrender his high chair (against his will. His mother had to threaten to cut all his fingers off in order for him to relent and let go) to his sibling, who, at this point, could be born at any given time.

"Eddie eat waterlemons," Edward said, holding up a slice of watermelon. He took a bite, juice dribbling down his chin as he chewed. "I's big boy. I's eati'g waterlemons."

"Shut up, Batman," Hohenheim muttered from behind his newspaper, where he was reading an enticing article about squirrels. "You're spoiling the mood."

Edward fixed his father with an ingénue grin. "Ho-Papa like waterlemons. Eddie share!" He plucked a slice of fruit off his plate and reached over the table to benevolently place it beside Hohenheim's mug. "I's big boy. Eddie-Beddie share waterlemons."

Hohenheim glanced over his paper and donned a look of disgust. "Ugh. Trisha!" He exclaimed to his wife. "The little bastard is cramping my style again." Wrinkling his nose, he picked the watermelon slice between two fingers and tossed it onto the floor. "Ew, gross."

When Trisha did not respond, Hohenheim looked up and found his wife keeling over next to the griddle, her face contorted in pain and arms wrapped around her stomach. The griddlecakes sizzled from behind her.

"Something wrong, Trisha?" the man asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you ovulating?"

Edward leaped off his chair and knelt next to the discarded watermelon. "Papa bad boy! No eats his waterlemon! Eddie-Beddie be big boy an' eats it. Num-num-num." He picked it up and took a bite, seating his rear on the floor.

"Damnit, Batman! This is no time to panic!" Hohenheim snapped as he rushed over to his wife and bent over next to her. "Your mother is very constipated and you aren't helping!"

"Ho.. Hohenheim…" Trisha mumbled through clenched teeth. "You.. you imbecile. The baby… the baby is coming."

Hohenheim gasped. "Trisha, you're pregnant? Since when? Sweet Marilyn Manson! Who's the father? Why didn't you tell me? Dear God, I thought you were a virgin!"

"Ho-hen-heim," Trisha rasped out. "We've already d-discussed this. R-remember, Chuck B-Berry and Pinako's sh-shitty face?" Pain thrummed through her lower abdomen, and she cried out in agony. "L-Labor! I'm going into l-labor!"

"Just a second, butter-muffin," Hohenheim said with a smile as he took the spatula and flipped over the griddlecakes before the bottoms could burn. "We don't want our breakfast burning, now do we?"

"Hohenheim!" Trisha screamed, eyes widening as she felt the pain increase. "Please, please for the love of Scar's sexy sunglasses, run next door and go get Pinako!"

Hohenheim was caught between assisting his agony-induced wife and ensuring his breakfast did not burn. In the end, the griddlecakes dominated. "Hey, Batman!" he hollered to his young son, who was finishing off his watermelons. "Go get the senile old hag for your ma! Tell her she's ovulating something fierce."

Edward glanced up from his breakfast, wiping the juice off his chin with the sleeve of his pajamas. "Mummy sick?" he asked, getting to his feet and waddling over to his mother, who lay on the floor, convulsing in pain.

"Oh, no! Mummy sick!" Edward cried. "I's big boy, I's getted Gwanny. Lots'a sam'iches, lots'a juice." The little boy trotted out the door and headed for, what Trisha hoped, was the Rockbell residence.

Several long minutes later, Edward vaulted through the door, flailing his arms and babbling hysterically. "Mummy, Mummy! Eddie-Beddie fin'a mousey on s'ooes!" He rushed over to Trisha and stuck his pajama slipper in her face, exposing the tiny remains of a bloody, mangled rodent that was stuck to the bottom.

"Ahh, it on my foots! Put it off, Mummy! Put if off!" Edward demanded, waving his foot at his mother. Trisha cried out in pain, whapping her son away with her hand. "Hohenheim!" she pleaded to her husband, who stood above her, nursing the griddlecakes. "Hohenheim!"

Suddenly, Trisha's water broke, and streams of liquid leaked out from under her maternity gown. Edward squealed when he saw the liquid seeping from his mother. "Mummy pee! Bad boy, Mummy! Pees in potty, not onna' floor!"

"Please, sugar-cookie, I'm trying to make breakfast," Hohenheim replied absent-mindedly as he flipped another batch of cakes on the griddle. "I know it hurts when you pass a bladder stone, honey, but you're going to have to put up with it until it comes out."

"Hohenheim, for shit sake, I'm giving birth!" Trisha yelled, her voice punctuated by agonized screams as the white-hot pain in her abdomen escalated. "And if you don't get me a doctor this instant I will rip your testicles off with my bare hands and make you eat them!"

"Yes, yes, darling. I understand that menstrual cramps hurt, but aren't you being a little melodramatic." Hohenheim said as he scooped up the griddlecakes and stacked them neatly on a plate. He turned and headed toward the table with his breakfast. "I mean, honestly. You women act like it's the end of the world every time you ovulate. It's ridi— ahh!"

Suddenly, Hohenheim slipped on the damp floor. The griddlecakes flew from his hands as he fell and descended heavily on his wife. His bottom rammed into Trisha's gut, evoking her to howl in pain. Griddlecakes rained around them.

A small, wet bundle of pink shot out from underneath Trisha's skirts. The three paused in their hysterics to watch the little creature rocket across the floor, leaving a trail of slime in its path. It flew across the kitchen and into the living room, where it finally rammed into a wall and lay motionless against it.

"Football!" Edward cried in delight, scrambling after the little bundle.

Trisha emitted a ragged sigh of relief. Hohenheim rolled off his wife, and turned to send her a look. "What'd I tell you, honey? Once that bladder stone passes, it's all uphill from there."

Trisha turned to gaze at her husband, who had once again proven himself as a valiant husband by assisting her with her second birth. With his bronzed hair hanging limply down his shoulders and his spectacles askew on his tanned, chiseled face, Trisha had never felt more attracted to Hohenheim than she did at that moment.

"Oh, Ho-ho," she murmured, planting a chastised kiss on Hohenheim's cheek. "My dearest hubby, your heroicness never ceases to astound me."

Hohenheim feigned a heroic chortle, which emitted as more of a ragged gasping noise. "Well, I do try, butter-ball," he replied with affection, bending down to return Trisha's kiss.

"Mummy! Mummy!" Edward cried from the other room, once again interrupting his parents. "Looks'a baby! Iz'a baby onna' floors! Aww, he so bootiful!"

"Well, Hohenheim, let's find out if we did as good this time as last time," Trisha said, gently pushing strands of hair out of Hohenheim's face. "Oh, and put that other kid back in his cage, alright? He's beginning to piss me off."

Hohenheim obediently got to his feet and headed for the living room, where he could see Edward crouched on his knees, looming over his new sibling with his little face gleaming in delight.

"I's big bruvver now! I's lobe my new bruvver! Eddie-Beddie lobe him foreber!" Edward reached down to tentatively poke the baby. "Lookie! He smile at Eddie! He lobe me, too! I's call him… I's call him Awphonse! He my new bruvver! Eddie pee on him!"

"Hey! Scram off!" Hohenheim hollered, roughly shoving Edward away with his hand. "You want to infect the baby with your stupidness and inability to form coherent sentences albeit that's normal for your age!"

Edward looked at his father in shock, his lip quivering slightly. "But he my bruvver baby! I lobes him!"

"Shut up!" Hohenheim snapped. "Your presence makes me want to strangle homunculi. Go sit in your cage!"

Scowling, Edward stood up and made for the other room, where his cage was situated. As he walked away, Hohenheim beamed the boy on the back of the head with his shoe. "Nobody likes you, Edward," he said, fixing his son with an antagonistic look.

Once Edward was out of his sight, Hohenheim examined the little bundle on the floor. He poked it, in a manner reminiscent to how Edward was earlier, and rubbed its fuzzy blond head with his finger.

"Trisha!" he exclaimed into the kitchen. "I'd like to introduce you to our little bundle of joy; Robin Elric!" he waited for the cries of happiness he expected to hear from his wife, but instead, was met with a dull silence.

"Oh, Hohenheim," Trisha sighed in exasperation as she slowly stumbled to her feet. "Not this again. Please. Haven't I already told you that no one is named after superheroes from comic books?"

"But there can't be Batman without Robin!" Hohenheim contradicted. "That's… that's against the law of physics!"

"No, Hohenheim. We are not naming our son after a superhero." Trisha bent over and got to work picking up the dirty griddlecakes littering the floor. "And no amount of whining or begging is going to change my mind. We're going to have to think of another name."

Hohenheim huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'd like to see you come up with something better than Robin! Seriously, that other kid wanted to call him Alphonse. Alphonse! Can you imagine, a kid called Alphonse. What a joke!"

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It's official; I have no life. I decided to proceed with the Edward's Balomi series after reviewing the fanfic and, despite the atrocious grammar mistakes, found it humorous enough to continue. Thus, this oneshot was conceived. The story of Alphonse's birth; the sequel to The Story Of Ed's Birth

And to answer the questions that I can sense lingering in my reader's minds: Yes, I do realize that Hohenheim is not as stupid as he was before. Yes, I did notice that Hohenheim called Edward by his christened name at the end. No, christened does not just apply to a name given to a Christian. I don't know why little Edward is so abused; I just felt like being cruel when I wrote this. No, I don't hate Edward. No, I don't like Batman or Robin. Or the Joker. Yes, I will update soon. And, yes, there will be more oneshots.

(DISCLAIMER: (Even though it should be at the top.) Full Metal Alchemist and its characters belong to the articulate cow. The words waterlemon, bootiful, and abuse of third person belong to my three-year-old cousin. Batman and Robin belong to some old guy who has no life.