July 27th, 1893 — Bartonburg, Hogsmeade

When Dory had first signed the lease on his small house, it was with the intention of remaining there permanently. It was small with its one bedroom and cubby sized office, but it was the perfect size for a bachelor with only the occasional lady friend. However, in the past year Dory had begun to consider whether or not he'd outgrown the space. His closet had grown cramped ever since Winnie began staying over more consistently, and she certainly required more than his meager single drawer desk for her midwifery business. And, while he was considering an additional office, Dory also wondered if a second bedroom would suit their purposes more than sharing a bed all the time. They could each have their own space and only share when they wished to.

All in all, Dory was mostly convinced a bigger house was the way to go. Only, Winnie and he had established an extremely delicate peace over the past seven months. He'd held true to his promise and kept the past behind him (however much it pained him sometimes to think about the friendship lost with Maple) and she'd remained close by. But, it wasn't more than that, and they hadn't ever talked about the half-proposal that he'd made last year. Truthfully, Dory was a bit terrified to bring it up, and he wouldn't bring it up either. Not when he was convinced any conversation like that would shatter the peace.

He had to mention possibly moving to her, though. There was no way around that conversation. Not when the motives behind moving all centered around her staying with him on a more permanent basis and them each having their own space. And now, as the first of the month approached, Dory had procrastinated the conversation for as long as he dared to.

He waited until after dinner, when they were both settled on the sofa with their respective drinks and books, to sit up a bit more purposefully and said as nonchalantly as he could, "my lease is up in a few days. I was thinking about looking for something with a bit more space."

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Winnie wasn't so foolish to think this little charade they were playing at would last forever, but she had to admit, she liked it. If only it could stay like this. She knew better, had given herself a six month deadline in which to figure out what it was they were going to do about the future, but as the date had flown by, she still hadn't mentioned anything and now they were settled on the sofa like a proper little married couple and it didn't make her panic, but she wasn't exactly comfortable with it either.

She was sipping on a glass of gin, a new publication on the trends in midwifery open for her to take notes on, when Dory's voice roused her from her focus. "Oh?" Now she felt the panic. Change would rock their gently sailing boat, but something had to give, she knew, she just wasn't sure she was ready for it. "More space?" She probed, wondering, hoping, the reason had nothing to do with her. Maybe he wanted a larger office, more of a study, a library for crying out loud, anything other than a consideration aimed in her direction.

Marking her place with her quill and notes, Winnie set them aside, ready to give him her full attention. Maybe an opportunity to work out these garbled feelings of hers would present itself in this conversation. Maybe it would help her choose a direction. Merlin she needed some guidance here.

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Already, Dory could see what a disastrous mistake this conversation was going to pan out to be. Catching her off guard and unaware was never a great way to start off something important, but how else was he meant to do it? Was he meant to have made the arrangements for a bigger place without her input? What if she didn't like the place? If they were meant to be a partnership (which he was now doubting they'd ever be) Dory couldn't just go making life decisions on his own.

"Another office was my thought. Maybe a second bedroom for if you wanted some additional space." He continued on, shifting away from her some as if to give her that very same space. "It's just a thought."

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Oh fuck.

Winnie's stomach dropped, the anxiety over their situation swirling unpleasantly once more. Their current status quo was fragile at best, even if it was comfortable. Win was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was clearly feeling it too, moving away from her and she hated that she made him feel that way. This was their problem, they danced around one another, afraid to hit a wave. "I don't need any more space, but a bigger office might be a good idea for you." Winnie didn't enjoy taking up too much space, his space. She left things here for convenience, but tried to keep it neat and organized, out of the way, tucked in a drawer or a closet.

This wasn't helping her sort her thoughts, but she did think it was a good opportunity to broach the subject of taking next steps. Gnawing at her bottom lip, she wished he hadn't moved away, she could use the contact she was used to now, but then again she couldn't blame him either. "I think we need to talk about what happens next," about that ring in the box in his bedside table that taunted her through the wood. "This," she motioned around her, meaning their quiet nights in, her semi-regular presence in his space. But that didn't give way naturally to a next step like it should and so she pushed on, "Is good, it's comfortable, but I think we both know it can't stay like this."

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The only way Dory would require a bigger office was if he ever got a promotion, which couldn't happen while Hatchitt was his boss. He thought to point out that very same fact but just as soon realized how inconsequential it was to this conversation. Winnie was only saying he needed a larger office because she didn't want one of her own. Or, if she did, she didn't want one of her own in a house shared with him.

Winnie didn't want anything more with him, that much was glaringly obvious.

Dory didn't look at her as he drained his glass and stood to pour another. No, they couldn't carry on like this forever, but what else was there? Wasn't his suggestion — a bigger space with separate personal spaces — the type of next step that made sense for them both? It wasn't marriage, wasn't a ring or expectations, or anything else. It was exactly what they had now, with her leaving the slums. What was so wrong with that idea?

"You're right. It can't." He replied from his spot across the room. Dory had already tried to offer his suggestion and had failed spectacularly, now it was her turn.

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Wincing, Winnie already regretted starting this conversation, but they had to start being realistic about this. She watched him drain his glass and move farther away from her. It was only physically, but she felt the emotional disconnection starting. Maybe it was selfish of her, to hold on like this, terrified to lose him altogether, but this wasn't fair to him. He wanted a life she wasn't sure she could give him.

Staring down into her own glass, Winnie instead cast it aside on the table. She needed to be completely sober to keep her tongue in check. She refused to let her temper get the better of her this time. "Dory," she started, stopped, looked at him helplessly. "I like this, I love this." She admitted with a weak smile. "But I don't know if I can give you more than this." The ring, the house with the yard, kids, a well-behaved ministry wife he could be confident about taking around his co-workers. She wasn't that, could never be that for him. He had to realize that.

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"I'm not asking for more than this." And he wasn't, really. Not tonight anyway. Marriage was a long way off for them, if it was to ever happen anyway, and even then he knew it couldn't be a traditional marriage. She was too free to be ensnared into the life of a society darling, but didn't she realize he knew that? Did she really believe he'd try to change the things about her he loved most?

"I'm not asking for children or you to quit your job or to stand on my arm at society events. That isn't you, nor do I ever expect it to be." He insisted. There were plenty of Fisk's around that he didn't need to be a father, had simply only ever wanted to do right by his child if it were to exist.

"I'm asking you to share a space with me. To stop trying to force yourself into the smallest corner and acting like it's an inconvenience to have you here. But if that's too much... fuck, I don't know. I just don't know."

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Watching him carefully, almost fearfully, she flinched at his tone, the ache in her chest growing with each word. She should have been placated by what he said, he listed out each fear she had ever made known previously, but she still didn't believe it was what he wanted in the long run.

Lower lip trembling, entirely unlike her, Winnie realized she was the hold up here. She couldn't just accept what he was saying, but it lingered, festering, and it worried her. "I'm sorry." It came out in a long sigh. "I don't know how to share a space with someone else." Her voice was small, unsure. Even though she now lived in the same house as Ivy, their spaces were separate. Separate rooms, closets, though they shared the washroom and living spaces, it was all meticulously cleaned, a mutual respect for the other person what was understood and followed. It was an arrangement of convenience, and her failsafe, knowing she had somewhere that was hers to fall back on.

"But you say that now, what about in two years? Five? Ten? Are you going to look back and regret that decision? You've been faced with the possibility twice of becoming a father, were ready to step up both times and you were disappointed both times. You can't tell me that doesn't mean something." There was a composure to her voice that even she was proud of, even if it tilted toward a little sad. She wrapped her arms around her knees, peering at him over the top. "I don't want to do that to you again."

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The issue here was more than her not understanding how to live with someone else — the past few years of sleepovers and cohabiting his place should have taught her the basics. No. Her issue was fear. She was scared to take any additional steps that might lead to something more meaningful than what they currently were. Dory didn't know how to talk her through that fear, didn't know what would be comforting other than we'll take the steps together, and somehow that promise didn't feel like enough.

Abandoning his glass on the side table, Dory resumed his place besides her but maintained a few inches of space still. He didn't wish to cross or overwhelm her when it was obvious she was struggling. "I would've stepped up because it would've been my responsibility to." Dory told her firmly. There had been so much panic in those few weeks with Maple, so much stress and anxiety that when the bubble finally burst he had felt a small amount of relief beneath all the heartache and guilt.

"Would I want a kid if you were to get pregnant again and decided to keep it? Of course, but I'm not waiting around hoping it'll happen. I like this too." His tone softened as he spoke, his hand reached across the space between them as an offering to hold hers if she so chose. "I'm not going to regret it because I love you, Winnie. There's nothing here I want more than you, and my wanting more space was only so that you would be able to have space that was your own while still being with me."

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She could feel herself softening, daring to think about the possibility. Looking at him, still more uncertain than not, she almost believed him and then— there it was. She linked her fingers with his, even if her heart sank a little bit. She knew it, she just knew it. He would be fine if it were to happen by accident, which meant he could see himself as a father. While Winnie was a spinster with no plans to have children, he still had hope. He was young enough to find a wife of child bearing years who could give him what he wanted, even if it was subconsciously.

Was she selfish enough to hang around long enough before he figured it out? Maybe she could. Maybe she could learn to share his space and soak up the time they had until he realized this really wasn't what he wanted. Winnie knew the fears would eat at her the whole time, but maybe she could stifle them as long as he was happy. Then when he woke up one day and wanted a different life, she could let him go.

Wouldn't that be easier now though?

Winnie closed her eyes briefly, as if it would give her some sort of guidance here. "Will you promise me someday, when you change your mind, that you'll tell me?" She wouldn't be mad or disappointed, she would have known it was coming eventually and maybe by then, she could be at peace with it.

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Dory felt as though he was pushing a boulder up a mountain, as if trying to convince her to try things his way was some kind of herculean effort. He could see her reluctance and disbelief, knew her well enough to know none of this was sitting well with her. And yet she was still going to go along with him. If Dory was braver, he might've called her out on it, he might've forced her to confront the fact that she was willing to suffer for his benefit. If he was at all prepared to lose her, he might've recognized that Winnie was willing to suffer because she was unprepared to lose him, too.

He could be happy without children. His sisters all had their families and gatherings were growing a bit overwhelming as a result. Dory didn't need his own children in the mix, he could be the fun uncle that allows dangers their parents refused. He could do all that because he'd have Winnie — his best friend and lover. The singlemost person he couldn't live without.

"I promise." He answered too quickly, despite knowing he'd never do any such thing. The opportunity to free her was now; Dory wouldn't trap her into a life of living together and more only to abandon her further down the line.

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Taking a deep breath, Winnie knew what she was singing up for, but she knew he was agreeing too quickly without thinking it through. They were going to be some sort of miserable some time down the line, but hopefully until then, the could enjoy their time together. She couldn't give him the children or the ministry wife, but she could be in his space and maybe one day, she would wear the ring.

"I'm going to hold you to that." She managed finally, smiling halfheartedly. Something told her he didn't mean it, that he likely wouldn't, but she also hoped that if or when the time ever came that she would be able to tell and then maybe she could do the hard part instead. "Can I paint my room green?" Win joked, desperately needing to break the tension.

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"Green, blue, that awful pinkish purple all the ladies prefer these days. Whatever color you'd like." He laughed. The tension between them wasn't gone completely — it likely could never be completely gone with their positions as opposite as they were — but it was paused for the moment. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they could live in the pause forevermore. Perhaps, the conclusion they'd come to tonight would allow them some happiness.

Smirking now, Dory held his hand out to her and asked, "want to go to bed?"

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beautiful set by lady