Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2005-12-20 01:40 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2005-12-20 01:40 pm
100_women: First Born Son
Title: First Born Son
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theladyfeylene
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character: Trisha Elric
Prompt: .061, birth
Pairing: Hohenheim/Trisha
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1024
Summary: Trisha Elric gives birth to her first son.
Author's Note: Yes, some aspects of childbirth were glossed over in this. I'm well aware of that and did it intentionally.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Elric is causing quite the commotion outside…”
Trisha Elric turned her sweat damped face to the midwife, struggling to untangle the words and force them into some semblance of sense in her mind. A disturbance? What sort of disturbance? Was something wrong? She closed her eyes and strained, aware now of the noise on the other side of the door. Oh. Yes, that was a disturbance, wasn’t it?
“Let me in! I’m going to see my son born! I‘m going to be there!”
Trisha smiled weakly, the pain making it difficult to think. She felt as though there was no break between contractions now, the pain constant and intense. Silly Hohenheim, he was so certain it would be a boy. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed if it wasn’t. She doubted he would be. He’d been wonderful ever since she announced she was pregnant, doting on her and preparing for the baby with a fervor that rivaled any young mother’s.
“I hear,” Trisha said quietly. “Let him in.”
“What? Mrs. Elric, it’s highly unconventional for the father to be present at birth. This is women’s work…” The midwife was clearly distressed but Trisha didn’t care. She could hear her husband arguing outside, insisting on being present. And what was the harm? This was his child, too. What good would it be to let him pace nervously outside, and how would that be right? This was something they should share, together, along with every other step.
“It’s alright.”
The midwife simply nodded, tight lipped. Trisha gasped as the pain eased suddenly, the contraction ending. But beneath it was a strange and unfamiliar feeling inside. She tensed on the bed, the cool cloth on her forehead slipping. It was righted by a large hand and Trisha opened her eyes.
“They say it isn’t going to be long now.”
“You were yelling outside,” Trisha said, wincing as another contraction rolled over her. At the crest of it there was a sensation of burning pain. Hohenheim’s hand was around hers and she squeezed it tightly. The midwife was silent, going about her business and ignoring the man who was in a place where she felt no man had any right to be.
“Can I do anything for you?”
“You can sit there and be quiet,” the midwife snapped and Trisha only smiled. The pain was evenly spaced now, and Hohenheim brushed at her damp hair and held her hand and blanched each time she cried out. Didn’t he know that childbirth was painful? The midwife was beside her now, pressing a sweet smelling cloth over her nose and mouth. The pain faded and her mind grew fuzzy. She knew Hohenheim was beside her, fretting and fussing, and that things were happening now. It was blurry and dull, as though she weren’t quite there. It was almost frightening, this strange detachment as she gave birth to her first child.
And then it was over and there was no more stretching or tightness and she could hear a child crying loudly. Her child. Their child. She felt Hohenheim hug her tightly, squeezing her on the bed.
“What… is it?” Her voice sounded weak even to her, as though coming from far away. Hohenheim was holding her tightly.
“It’s a boy,” he said, and she swore she could feel him grinning against the top of her head.
“You can’t know that.” Her words were warm. She felt tired, drained.
“It’s a boy,” the midwife confirmed. The squalling, red newborn was held up for inspection and Trisha laughed as Hohenheim turned away with a look of nausea. A boy. Hohenheim had been right.
“I thought they were… cuddlier,” he said, sheepishly, looking down at the floor instead of at her.
“That’s what they look like at first. Help me sit up.” Trisha shifted, her limbs feeling heavy and asleep. When was this going to wear off? Hohenheim slid an arm under her shoulders, easing her up onto the pillows. She could still hear the baby crying, and the sound humbled and delighted her. Their son. She laughed suddenly, and flushed. She hadn’t meant to.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m happy,” Trisha said, resting her head against Hohenheim’s broad shoulder.
“And this little one’s all cleaned.” The midwife returned, the child wrapped in blankets and looking pink and soft and everything newborns were supposed to look like. Trisha held out her arms to take him, another small laugh escaping as she held him close.
“He’s perfect,” Hohenheim said, reverence in his voice. “He has hair.”
“He looks like you.”
“Really? You think? I don’t think he looks like either of us…” Hohenheim squinted down at the baby who made small noises in Trisha’s arm.
“Yes he does. Just like you. He has your eyes, see? He’s going to grow up and look just like you. I can tell. And he’ll be smart and kind and honest. He’ll do wonderful things someday.”
“Of course he will,” Hohenheim agreed firmly, as though there was no doubt in his mind. “He’s our son.”
“He needs a name.” Trisha was having trouble keeping her eyes open, sleep creeping in at the corners of her mind.
“He does, doesn’t he? Here, let me hold him. Please.”
“Of course!” Trisha gladly handed the boy over to her husband, her eyes heavy. But she kept them open, watching as Hohenheim held their child as though it were the most precious thing he had ever held. The awe in her husband’s eyes touched her, and the way Hohenheim cradled the baby in his large arms. She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes suddenly, a radical change from uncontrollable laughter. That was their son. They had made that perfect, tiny little life.
“Edward,” Hohenheim said, suddenly. “What do you think about Edward?”
“Edward Elric,” Trisha said softly as she lost her battle with sleep. “I think it’s a perfect name.” Her eyes closed finally, and the last thing she saw before sleep was Hohenheim holding Edward on the bed beside her, father and son both wide eyed and in awe of one another.
Author:
theladyfeyleneFandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Character: Trisha Elric
Prompt: .061, birth
Pairing: Hohenheim/Trisha
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1024
Summary: Trisha Elric gives birth to her first son.
Author's Note: Yes, some aspects of childbirth were glossed over in this. I'm well aware of that and did it intentionally.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Elric is causing quite the commotion outside…”
Trisha Elric turned her sweat damped face to the midwife, struggling to untangle the words and force them into some semblance of sense in her mind. A disturbance? What sort of disturbance? Was something wrong? She closed her eyes and strained, aware now of the noise on the other side of the door. Oh. Yes, that was a disturbance, wasn’t it?
“Let me in! I’m going to see my son born! I‘m going to be there!”
Trisha smiled weakly, the pain making it difficult to think. She felt as though there was no break between contractions now, the pain constant and intense. Silly Hohenheim, he was so certain it would be a boy. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed if it wasn’t. She doubted he would be. He’d been wonderful ever since she announced she was pregnant, doting on her and preparing for the baby with a fervor that rivaled any young mother’s.
“I hear,” Trisha said quietly. “Let him in.”
“What? Mrs. Elric, it’s highly unconventional for the father to be present at birth. This is women’s work…” The midwife was clearly distressed but Trisha didn’t care. She could hear her husband arguing outside, insisting on being present. And what was the harm? This was his child, too. What good would it be to let him pace nervously outside, and how would that be right? This was something they should share, together, along with every other step.
“It’s alright.”
The midwife simply nodded, tight lipped. Trisha gasped as the pain eased suddenly, the contraction ending. But beneath it was a strange and unfamiliar feeling inside. She tensed on the bed, the cool cloth on her forehead slipping. It was righted by a large hand and Trisha opened her eyes.
“They say it isn’t going to be long now.”
“You were yelling outside,” Trisha said, wincing as another contraction rolled over her. At the crest of it there was a sensation of burning pain. Hohenheim’s hand was around hers and she squeezed it tightly. The midwife was silent, going about her business and ignoring the man who was in a place where she felt no man had any right to be.
“Can I do anything for you?”
“You can sit there and be quiet,” the midwife snapped and Trisha only smiled. The pain was evenly spaced now, and Hohenheim brushed at her damp hair and held her hand and blanched each time she cried out. Didn’t he know that childbirth was painful? The midwife was beside her now, pressing a sweet smelling cloth over her nose and mouth. The pain faded and her mind grew fuzzy. She knew Hohenheim was beside her, fretting and fussing, and that things were happening now. It was blurry and dull, as though she weren’t quite there. It was almost frightening, this strange detachment as she gave birth to her first child.
And then it was over and there was no more stretching or tightness and she could hear a child crying loudly. Her child. Their child. She felt Hohenheim hug her tightly, squeezing her on the bed.
“What… is it?” Her voice sounded weak even to her, as though coming from far away. Hohenheim was holding her tightly.
“It’s a boy,” he said, and she swore she could feel him grinning against the top of her head.
“You can’t know that.” Her words were warm. She felt tired, drained.
“It’s a boy,” the midwife confirmed. The squalling, red newborn was held up for inspection and Trisha laughed as Hohenheim turned away with a look of nausea. A boy. Hohenheim had been right.
“I thought they were… cuddlier,” he said, sheepishly, looking down at the floor instead of at her.
“That’s what they look like at first. Help me sit up.” Trisha shifted, her limbs feeling heavy and asleep. When was this going to wear off? Hohenheim slid an arm under her shoulders, easing her up onto the pillows. She could still hear the baby crying, and the sound humbled and delighted her. Their son. She laughed suddenly, and flushed. She hadn’t meant to.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m happy,” Trisha said, resting her head against Hohenheim’s broad shoulder.
“And this little one’s all cleaned.” The midwife returned, the child wrapped in blankets and looking pink and soft and everything newborns were supposed to look like. Trisha held out her arms to take him, another small laugh escaping as she held him close.
“He’s perfect,” Hohenheim said, reverence in his voice. “He has hair.”
“He looks like you.”
“Really? You think? I don’t think he looks like either of us…” Hohenheim squinted down at the baby who made small noises in Trisha’s arm.
“Yes he does. Just like you. He has your eyes, see? He’s going to grow up and look just like you. I can tell. And he’ll be smart and kind and honest. He’ll do wonderful things someday.”
“Of course he will,” Hohenheim agreed firmly, as though there was no doubt in his mind. “He’s our son.”
“He needs a name.” Trisha was having trouble keeping her eyes open, sleep creeping in at the corners of her mind.
“He does, doesn’t he? Here, let me hold him. Please.”
“Of course!” Trisha gladly handed the boy over to her husband, her eyes heavy. But she kept them open, watching as Hohenheim held their child as though it were the most precious thing he had ever held. The awe in her husband’s eyes touched her, and the way Hohenheim cradled the baby in his large arms. She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes suddenly, a radical change from uncontrollable laughter. That was their son. They had made that perfect, tiny little life.
“Edward,” Hohenheim said, suddenly. “What do you think about Edward?”
“Edward Elric,” Trisha said softly as she lost her battle with sleep. “I think it’s a perfect name.” Her eyes closed finally, and the last thing she saw before sleep was Hohenheim holding Edward on the bed beside her, father and son both wide eyed and in awe of one another.