A/N: Belle experiences her first period since before the curse. Rumplestiltskin helps her out. This was meant to be fluffy and fun, but it edged over into the hurt/comfort genre towards the end. Takes place between "Into the Deep" and "The Cricket Game." Written because in my head-canon, the Dark One would totally buy his girlfriend tampons. Also, if anyone liked my other story, In Wicked's Hands, I'm working on a sequel so be sure to look out for that.
Belle awoke to a whistle. She jolted from her dreams like a dog, responding to the cry of the boiled kettle with all the fealty of a beast to its master's summons.
The walls and ceiling of Belle's apartment, all painted white (chipped in places, but Belle never minded chipped things), reflected the sunlight, harshly, into her eyes. Groggy, disoriented, and all but blinded by the light streaming through the open window - fresh air coupled with the smell of frying breakfast foods - Belle flopped onto her belly and burrowed under the pillows.
Sun, fresh air, and breakfast.
Three things that heralded a very good day, and she could not summon her natural strength. Belle lay there, in the disorienting land between asleep and just barley awake, fatigued and aching. Why did she feel so drained?
Something clicked off in the kitchen, a flame died, and the kettle, silenced mid-whistle, moved to a cooler plot, though, Belle's kitchen did not allow for space.
In fact, two rooms contained the whole of her apartment. The main room had just enough space for a small kitchenette, a rickety table with a set of whicker chairs, and a bed shoved into an alcove. The second room incorporated a bathroom with a surprisingly large tub (Belle loved her tube; the luxury of having hot water, instant and clean, at the turn of a tap).
This morning, footsteps reverberated in the small expanse too; in uneven gait accompanied by the tap-tap-tap of a cane. The bed dipped beneath her.
"Belle."
Rumple.
Last night, after their first uninterrupted hamburger date, Belle invited him into her apartment. Rumplestiltskin trailed up the stairs behind her - following Belle's lead - looking unsure. Despite Rumplestiltskin's uncertainty, he passed the night hours in her arms.
Now, Rumplestiltskin's hand found her shoulder, thumb rubbing and kneading in soft circles.
Belle turned over, smiling. "You've made me breakfast," She said. "And tea."
"I have," Rumplestiltskin agreed. Belle noticed that apart from the tie and jacket (those hung over a chair), he wore the suit from yesterday. After spending the night on her floor, the fabric held a slight wrinkle. Devoid of his tie, Belle could glimpse the collarbone and the rise of his chest. Rumple had also rolled up his sleeves while cooking; Belle stroked his naked forearm with the tips of her fingers.
"You'll spoil me rotten," She informed him.
"Impossible." Rumplestiltskin bowed his head, kissed her softly.
Belle kept her mouth closed. Much as she would like to deepen the kiss, her breath needed freshening first.
Rumplestiltskin drew back, smoothing the mess of Belle's sleep mussed and tangled hair, back. "Are you hungry?"
Now that Rumple mentioned it, she did feel a little hungry. Belle's stomach lurched at the prospect of food; the apartment smelled so delicious.
Intent to shake of this sluggish feeling once and for all, Belle threw off the covers - and froze. The sheets, twisted at the apex of her thighs, bore splotches of blood. Of course she feels tired and achy. The blunt pain haunting her lower back, at the border of her hips and pelvis, suddenly made perfect sense.
Rumplestiltskin looks aghast.
Belle would like nothing more than to pull the covers up over her head and succumb to embarrassment. She compromises; tugging the plush duvet over her lap.
"Belle, you're hurt! Did I - last night when I was - "
"No!" Belle says quickly. She feels ready to weep for the tortured look on her lover's face. Her lover, the very definition of tender, considerate and sweet.
"Rumple, it's not that. It's my..." Belle fights back the urge to burry her face in the pillow, smother herself. She hides behind her fingers instead.
Never before has she discussed this - the blood staining her sheets, smeared on her thighs, the woman's curse - with a man. At court propriety forbade any contact with men during this time of the month. Belle's nurse had used the word unclean to justify why she locked Belle away once a month.
Belle's nurse imparted a good bit of motherly "wisdom" too, once Belle reached a certain age. Every word on the subject of "marital relations" proved false by Rumplestiltskin's hands, mouth, and loving ministrations.
Rumplestiltskin came from that same world too, filled with people who never dared to question, perhaps never thought they could question, the status quo. Filled with people who thought Belle, with her books and her ideas, funny and peculiar. Once Gaston tore a book right from her fingertips. He told Belle, "It's not right for a woman to read - soon she starts getting ideas and thinking," and no one had rebuked Gaston for it.
Rumplestiltskin tried to pull the sheets down. "Sweetheart, if you're hurt I can help - "
Belle took a deep breath. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. "It's my woman's time," Belle managed to choke out, peeking out from between her fingers.
Rumplestiltskin looks so relieved. "Is that all?" He pries her fingers gently away from her face. "Belle?"
"Is that all you have to say?" Belle asks, angry at how small her voice sounds, ashamed that she had listened to the nurse and lady's maids - women sent to fill her mother's role - when they told her she was dirty and untouchable.
"There's no need to feel embarrassed," Rumplestiltskin says gently. "Come and eat something. You'll feel better."
"It just came and caught me unaware," Belle says, pushing up into a sitting position. She has not needed to deal with her monthly bleeding since before the curse began. "I don't - I don't know what woman do in this land to keep the..."
"Oh," Rumplestiltskin says.
Belle nods.
"I can, um, magic anything you need, and I'm sure there are things. There are so many conveniences in this world."
"Could you get them for me?" Belle asks, voice still impossibly small. "These... things."
"Yes."
Rumplestiltskin does not hesitate. Belle can tell he worries about leaving her alone in such a state, but he goes, promising to return soon, kissing her on the cheek without a hint of squeamishness.
Belle takes a moment to put the food - a wonderful feast - in the oven on the warm setting before grabbing a change of clothes, stripping her bed, and locking herself in the bathroom. She throws her bloodied sheets and her nightgown in the tub; fills the porcelain and leaves it all to soak. It's only after that, standing in her bathrobe and a little too cool for comfort, that Belle remembers Rumplestiltskin had a wife whom he lost.
Common women did not hid away during their time of the month. They lacked the wealth, so they toiled besides their husbands. Rumplestiltskin had dealt with this before, and something that offended her delicate sensibilities must seem like just another fact of life to him. Suddenly, Belle feels horribly young and naive.
"Belle." Rumplestiltskin knocks lightly on the door. "I've returned."
Belle opens the door, taking the plastic bag from Rumplestiltskin's hands, kissing him on the cheek.
Rumplestiltskin brought her two different - the labeling on the side of the boxes dubs them both "feminine products" - items. The first are pads, which closely resemble the cloth strips from home that Belle had folded and placed in her underwear. The second box contains something called "tampons," which Belle decides to explore another day.
Belle opens the box, removes a pad and a little card with written instructions. She reads quickly - the pad is not so tricky to figure out - and the pad, despite feeling bulky amidst her thighs, seems to work well.
She dresses quickly, in the light blue flannel pajama pants and top, which cover every inch of her in soft warmth, taking the time to brush her teeth and hair. By the time Belle unlocks the bathroom door, Rumplestiltskin has removed their breakfast from the oven, and has begun to set the table.
Belle goes to him; wrapping her arms around his waist, turning her cheek until it lays flat against his back. "Thank you."
Rumplestiltskin raises her clasped hands to his lips. "You're most welcome, but it wasn't a great hardship."
"Well, you're still my hero," Bell tells him pressing a kiss against the blade of his shoulder. Rumplestiltskin tenses; she can feel his resistance to her words, but he turns to take her fully in his arms instead of arguing with her.
"Whatever did you do in the Dark Castle?"
Belle shrugged. "The castle just... knew. Everything appeared when I needed it to."
"I don't suppose you'd have wanted to ask the," He wiggles his fingers in mimicry of his old self, "monster."
"You're not a monster," Belle says, "And I didn't want to ask you now. It's so embarrassing."
Rumplestiltskin kisses her brow. "You don't have to feel embarrassed, sweetheart." His hands glide along her back, stroking and soothing. "This is just a fact of life."
"Not for me," Belle admits. "For my whole life, until I went to live with you, I didn't leave my chambers until it was over."
"That isn't too shocking," Rumplestiltskin says after a moment. "Our old world was rather primeval, don't you think?"
"For treating women like children?"
"For treating so much of what is normal as something unnatural. Even my wife, when she was alive, would not let me touch her during her monthly...situation. Not," Rumplestiltskin's tone grew a little strained, "That I had an... agenda. I mean, the most innocent of touches became off limits."
"That's silly," Belle agrees.
"It is," Rumplestiltskin says, drawing back from her a little. "Come eat something. You're a tad peaked."
"It all looks so good, I hardly know where to start." Belle leans up to kiss him, bridging the short distance between them and molding her mouth to his. "I hope when she wasn't plagued by her monthly, that your wife was kind to you. Welcoming."
"Why?" Rumplestiltskin asks. His arms go slack around her, and Belle knows exactly what thought runs the gambit of his mind. Why would Belle want another woman to have what she know must consider her own?
Rumplestiltskin might guard her as closely as she will allow, but if their roles somehow reversed and she had past lovers, Belle knows he would want those men to show her kindness, gentleness.
"Because you deserve to be loved, and..." Belle feels a prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes.
Rumplestiltskin has not told her much about his past lovers, and Belle has not asked because she knows they burnt him down instead of bolstering him up.
Finally Belle says, "I think that some of your past lovers may not have treated you with the care that you've always shown me."
Rumplestiltskin's mouth bends. "Oh, sweetheart. I think you're laboring under the wrong impression. It's not a very long list of women. "
"That isn't what I meant, Rumple," Belle says gently, heart aching a little.
Rumplestiltskin wraps her back into his arms, tucking Belle's face beneath his chin so she cannot see his expression. She can feel his pulse jumping under her palm. Her other hand winds upwards to cup the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape. Just the way Rumplestiltskin likes. "You have shown me so much kindness, Belle, so much... tender..." He rasps, his voice sounds harsh and hollow.
Belle sobs a little, clutching him tightly.
Rumplestiltskin presses a kiss to her crown. Sniffs. He draws back, catches her tears with his lips. "No more tears. Please, Belle."
"Yes," Belle agrees, batting at the last of them. They should not look back on days long past. She holds Rumplestiltskin's heart now, and that is a privilege Belle does not take for granted.
With one last wet kiss, Belle tells him to sit so she can make up plates for them both and fix the tea. After breakfast, she intends to drag Rumplestiltskin back to bed and cuddle him close - it is her turn to tend to him.