a/n: Taken from the tumblr prompt: "If one or more of your OTP gets periods, imagine one of them caring for the other while they're on their period; laying their head on the person's tummy where they get cramps, and massaging their back and legs to distract them and relieve tension; fetching them warm drinks, comfort food, and hot water bottles and blankets; cuddling together with no obligation to move."
It happens like this.
She's fairly cognizant of the fabric of her trousers, nearly stuck to her, brushes it off as nothing but the cloying of sweat. It's the beginning of summertime; the air is humid, stifling. And she looks to be sure and sees the red streaking down the inside of her thighs and thinks, pants are replaceable. She doesn't care about the staining, she doesn't care about any of that which most others would undoubtedly find fault with. She does want an opportunity to clean herself, because the last thing she needs is infection. And she'll be damned if she's going to be staying in the infirmary again—not after what happened last time.
Truthfully, she's more than a little pissed because this kind of stuff just doesn't happen not to her. Give her the pain and nothing more, that is easy, because she's a soldier and knows what to do with it. She just needs time, she needs to recover. But she doesn't have time; more accurately, she wants to be doing other things, but it's just not going to happen. Not today, at least. She's not stubborn enough to do something foolish and push herself into injury.
Annie weighs her chances of confession over retaining some of her dignity. And keeping to the latter option is a very tempting offer, but she doesn't have time for such a luxury when she's bleeding all over the place. So she considers an alternative.
She heads to the infirmary—not in pursuit of taking up an extended residence—and keeps clear of the others, which is easy when they all fear her. It's not like she can just tell them her concerns, outright. She gets as far as the mess hall before someone calls out to her, but she keeps walking; maybe if she pretends she hasn't heard he'll just leave her be. But he doesn't.
"Where are you off to?" asks Eren.
He's too far to see the state of her, and that's preferable. Annie hesitates, knows she shouldn't, and yet…. She has nothing to fear, here.
"The infirmary." A half-truth won't hurt her.
"Really? So am I." He's keeping pace with her now, a few feet away. "Mind if I accompany you?" She shrugs. "It'll be a quick trip," he adds. "Just need some cleaning supplies, you know. I'm not technically on duty, but I figure it's best to be safe, you know?"
"How convenient." It comes out snappish; she shouldn't have said anything. She knows she ought to apologise or something before he gets the wrong idea. Eren raises his eyebrows.
"I don't see what's so…." He trails off, his eyes move down to her feet. Understanding dawns on his face. "How'd you get hurt?" Eren asks, suddenly quieter, exigent, and she knows he's trying to be helpful but he really isn't helping at all. So Annie just kind of shrugs noncommittally and starts walking again, hastens her pace. He follows her, and she feels the alarm in his gaze.
"I'll deal with it," she snaps finally, somewhat disingenuous. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding," he says sharply, "you're not fine."
"I'm menstruating," she corrects him, and immediately wishes she hadn't. Eren slows to a stop, taken aback, then exhales, and she cannot decide whether she's more irritated or appreciative for his attention at the moment.
"You might have started off with that," he mutters.
"Fine," she says, begrudging, "there you have it." She wishes he wouldn't look at her so earnestly. It makes her feel guilty; makes her feel a little less terrible at the same time, and sometimes she really doesn't know what she's supposed to do with him and all these conflicting emotions.
"Look," he says," "if we go together I can get you the stuff you need. Water, you know. And you can go take care of things."
So she just says: "That sounds reasonable."
He's pretty accepting about the whole ordeal. She can't help but wonder why. Nevertheless, it comes to this; she's alone with him in her cell, sitting on the edge of her cot with a bucket of water between her knees, a pile of rags and a lot of blood between them. It's not the best situation, but it's a far cry from whatever the hell Hange would most likely have tried to do. And maybe that private vendetta is all in her head, maybe she's only paranoid, but Annie's not going to push her luck, because she knows Eren won't try anything weird. He's quiet, keeps himself distant throughout the whole affair, and she steals a glance every now and then. He looks pensive, which is kind of funny, because she's probably more obligated to be so at present.
"Eren?" she asks.
He stirs from some unspoken reverie, looks up. "Huh? You need fresh water?"
She checks for the sake of it, and partially so she'll have an excuse not to look at him. Nothing but water and blood, a few bits of red-black gore swirling around. "Not yet," she decides.
Eren goes back to regarding his boots, hands folded, shifting back and forth slightly on his feet. She forgets to pretend her interest in the bucket and just stares at him, confused.
He looks up after a pause, uncertainly. "Um," he says. "Hullo."
Annie blinks a few times, slowly lowers her head back down. She doesn't know what to say. "You look awfully worried," she mutters to her feet, but he still doesn't look uncomfortable; this confuses her. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Don't you?"
"I expect there's enough people on duty to cover for us both."
She looks back at her feet. "Fair enough."
"And anyways, I'm trying to give you space. Do you need to be alone?"
She sighs. "I don't suppose you have a sponge or something similar?"
"I could probably get one for you." He pauses. "Sure you don't need fresh water?"
"Yes."
He looks a little more at ease.
A/N: So the nerd in me thinks I should explain some things. First off, the bloody pants. Way back then in the 18th-19th centuries, tampons weren't yet a thing, nor were disposable pads. American/European women generally made their own pads with old linens or rags (hence the expression, "on the rag", which technically originated in the 1940s but I must digress) something absorbent, and then attached the whole bulky thing under them with a belt and loops/pins, clasps, etc. Used pads were soaked in a bucket of cold water and then boiled in a laundry vessel once the blood stains were gone.
That's already kind of gross, but it gets better. And by better I mean worse. According to various sources around the web, the rural folk would just walk around bleeding everywhere and took baths when they could. But you've gotta consider that menstruation was not as commonplace - women often started menstruating in their mid to late teens. They were also pregnant much more often, and breast-fed their children. While both of these things have been known to stop menstruation, they don't exactly apply here. However, women were more likely to be undernourished and/or sick, which also can also put a damper on the whole menstrual process, and that probably does apply; at least, to some degree. Athletes tend to have less.
Now, given that this is a military operation and they have like, 200-300 soldiers, I'm willing to lean more towards the latter; mostly because they're swinging around on the ODMG and I would imagine you can't exactly do that as well when burdened with a belt on top of your harnesses. I know they don't always use the maneuver gear; but they wear WHITE PANTS. Frankly, I think this was a terrible oversight on part of whomever designs the clothing for these people. Like, those stains are never coming out. Clorox bleach wasn't a thing yet, just, ugh.
Okay, the lesson's over. That aside, reviews are always welcome. If I made some kind of historical error, don't be afraid to tell me so.