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Tea and Chocolate

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He was just trying to help. Just trying to make things easier for her, because that's what good boyfriends did. But Harry shot him a withering look and said, "I'm not sick, James, I'm menstruating. Billions of women do it every month, and we don't need to be coddled and treated like we're dying."

"I'm not trying to coddle you, Harry. I just want you to be comfortable until you start feeling better. Doesn't it sound like a nice way to spend a few hours, curled up on the couch with a good book? Doesn't it?" he cajoled. He threw in his patented puppy dog eyes that normally earned him a whole host of friendly benefits, but didn't seem to be working this time.

She glared at him and tried to find fault in what he said. She wasn't feeling terrible, but a few hours on the couch did sound nice. However, she wasn't sure yet if she should be offended at the presumption or pleased at the concern. She was tired, she was crampy, and she was in the mood for a little down time. What she wasn't in the mood for was being told what to do by someone who didn't even have a uterus. Stupid hormones. Stupid cramps. Stupid James. She sighed when she realised that he wasn't budging and wore his 'you're my damsel and you're in distress, and I must rescue you from yourself' look.

"You're just going to keep nagging until I do exactly what you want, aren't you?"

"I do not nag. I merely make suggestions that I'm sure you've already thought of and are considering because you're a smart woman who knows her own body."

"Fine," she grumped, and allowed herself to be led to the couch. She didn't have the energy to think of a retort, even though he was clearly playing her. Later. She would even the score later. James settled her down, pulled a throw rug over her knees and kissed her forehead.

"Here's your book, honey."

"Thank you."

"Can I get you anything else? A hot water bottle? Some chocolate? Tea?"

She had to admit, it was nice having someone care enough to look after her when she wasn't feeling one hundred percent. Now that she had decided to let him, she was in the mood for something sweet. "A cup of tea sounds lovely," she said, and was rewarded by his trademark grin. "And maybe a square or two of chocolate?"

"Coming right up," he said, and walked back into the kitchen to brew some tea.

It was actually very progressive of him, really. Most men she knew tried to ignore a woman's cycle; hell, her ex husband had treated her like she had the pox and practically vomited every time he'd seen an empty tampon package in the bin. Forget about pampering her or trying to make life any easier.

But James . . .from the very start of their relationship, when it became apparent that she occasionally suffered draining and painful periods, had been an altogether different kind of man than she was used to. After he'd stopped trying to force feed her chocolate and make her take baths, he'd gone into detective mode to find out exactly what he could do to make things easier. He'd found out her favourite chocolate and kept it stocked at both of their residences. He purchased a hot water bottle for his place, for those bad months, and extra strong Panadol. He actually researched herbal teas and found a beautiful chamomile and a red raspberry leaf tea that helped with bloating and pain, and ensured that there was a steady supply both at work and their respective homes.

Even those times when it was just an inconvenience, he went out of his way to be solicitous. He'd cook dinner or take them out to eat, offer to run her errands, or simply make sure Fry didn't bother her at work. If there was an award for Boyfriend of the Year, he would be in top contention.

Especially after a particularly hormonal and excruciating cycle that had

resulted in her throwing an apple at his head and him almost moving back to the States. He'd made an ill-timed and unappreciated joke about 'that time of the month', and she had just reacted. He swore he never would have said it if he'd realised how much pain she was in, and she swore she never would have thrown it if she'd known he wouldn't duck. She'd left a bruise on the side of his temple which he still played on to this day, and her guilt ensured that she made it up to him every time he touched his head and winced. She had felt terrible as soon as she'd thrown it, and felt even worse when it connected, so if makeup sex was her penance to bear, so be it. She had a feeling that she would be apologising for that for a very long time though.

She appreciated his efforts, she really did. But she appreciated him more, for never making her feel less than, simply for having reproductive organs that screwed with her life every so often. Stupid hormones.

"Here ya go, sweetheart," he said as he brought in her tea and chocolate. "You need anything else?"

"Just you," smiled, and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

As he kissed her back she thought she just might keep him.

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A/N: I was a teenager in the 80s, so I'm not sure how men actually reacted to menstruation back then, but teenage boys were horrible little turds! And they weren't much better into my 20s either, come to think of it. I wanted Dempsey to be better than that. I didn't want him to be one of those men who just ignored what was happening to their partner while complaining about mood swings. I wanted him to really know what some of us experience, and have compassion and sensitivity and awareness.