January 25th, 1891 — Ari & Dionisia's Bartonburg Home

In speaking to Zelda she had promised to do the right thing and tell Ari the truth, except two nights had passed and Dionisia had not been able to find the opportunity nor the words to confess to her wrongdoings. In truth, there was part of her that feared Ari would be inconsolable rather than angry; she had never disappointed him before and she knew what an impact it would have on her to see tears in his eyes that she'd caused. She was, however, still terrified that he might yell at her, or divorce her, and possibly take Elliott with him. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. He wasn't that type of man, and she knew that... and yet, the fears persisted.

Thursdays was the one day she only spent half a day at work, so she'd spent entire afternoon and early evening preparing for him to return home. She'd cooked dinner (not to butter him up but rather to keep busy) and spent the last hour of daylight managing their herb garden, and had finally sat down on the loveseat once Elliott had gone to bed for the evening. It was nearly 9 o'clock by the time she heard the familiar sound of Ari's footsteps growing louder as he neared the sitting room.

She did not even give him a moment to greet her before she cut him off.

"I need to talk to you about something." Her voice was stiff and hoarse, probably from going half the afternoon without a tip of tea or water from the anxiety.

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Ari Fisk

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   Cassius Lestrange

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The greeting died on his lips at her tone, all the events of his work day dissipating from his head at once. He shed his smile as he sat.

Bad news, then. It was best not to speculate if he wanted to stay calm, Ari knew that much, for maybe it would not be as bad as he thought. And even so, his mind supplied the possibilities, floating a few before he could quite tamp down the dread. Dionisia had changed her mind about divorce, then; she had decided to take Elliott and go, because she was so unhappy; else, she had slipped up and told someone the truth about him. There was not an option among them he could pretend he was looking forward to.

Still, he wanted to say something to reassure her, sincerely, he did: but he would feel particularly foolish asking is everything alright? when it was already so clear she was concerned.

“Alright,” Ari said evenly, steeling himself to some sort of patience. I’m sure it’s fine, he wanted to say - to reassure her in advance, to practice the sentiment no matter what came - but he only managed it in his eyes, he thought, as he met her gaze, waiting.

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   Aldous Crouch

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Good and straightforward. No questions, no chattering, no requests for reassurance that all was well. Ari would have been the perfect man for her if only he was capable of loving her—but he wasn't, and she would mourn that for the rest of their time together.

Though she had always prided herself on her directness, she found it difficult to speak the words that she knew she must. I told Elliott's father he exists. It was a simple string of six words that she had no trouble pronouncing, no trouble mentally repeating in her head, yet refused to leave her lips. She could already envision his disappointment, his anger. She'd told another persona bout the circumstances of their marriage—or at least that Ari was not the father, which was practically the same thing—and she had told Ari that they would pretend all was paradise in their home. She could do this. She had to.

No, she couldn't.

"I want another child." The words left her lips too quickly to change her mind, even mid-sentence. More troubling was that it was a complete lie. She had never, ever thought a second child would do them any good, even though they'd convinced more than half of Hogsmeade that they were so very in love. But worst of all, the want of another child—a want that did not exist—came with other implications: the matter of Ari's aversion towards women, infidelity, and the idea that Dionisia had grown more comfortable in her role as a mother. She opened her mouth to explain herself, but the words unhelpfully died on her lips, and she was left staring at him uncomfortably.

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   Aldous Crouch, Ari Fisk, Benedict Sterling, Reuben Crouch, Roberto Devine

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He had heard that wrong, surely.

All his guesses, all his theories - as much as he had been avoiding thinking about them, he felt he would have at least known what to say to them. This, however, was not something he had envisioned her ever saying, so...

But she had not corrected herself - in fact, she had not said anything else but that - so there was not much to do but digest it, mouth fallen open in shock. “You... you do?” Ari echoed, unable to hide quite how flabbergasted he felt. “I, um,” didn’t see this coming at all, he wanted to say, but what good would that do? He had thought they had begun to understand each other better, particularly with having gotten what they had out in the open... and, as good a mother as he thought her (she had always put Elliott before herself, before anyone; that was a sacrifice she had not necessarily needed to make), Ari hadn’t been quite convinced that motherhood itself was from where she drew her happiness. He had almost thought he enjoyed feigning fatherhood more than she liked being a mother.

“Right,” Ari said, a little dazed. Though it had come out of nowhere, it was not necessarily a bad thing, he told himself: it was a less damning confession than any he’d expected out of her mouth. Not divorce. Not leaving. He had told her he would do anything, after all, and that she ought to do anything she wanted. Was this what she wanted? “Alright. Okay. Are you sure?”

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   Benedict Sterling, Cassius Lestrange, Dionisia Fisk, Reuben Crouch

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Though she sat in silence she could almost hear her conscious screaming out to her to backtrack, to amend her statements. She did not want another baby, but to say that would be to directly contradict herself, and then Ari would wonder what was really the matter... No, there was no other option but to go along with her own assertion, however impulsive it had been.

"I know..." She struggled to speak right, to breathe right. One lie after another, she would have to work her way through this situation until it made sense. "I know it is sudden, but only because I feared your reaction. I know—I mean, I don't expect you to..." But is that not what she was implying? Or was she supposed to mean, by admitting this to Ari, that she fully intended to seek out another man to give her another child? Of course she meant neither, but she needed to have her story straight before she was caught in one line, for surely it would lead to her admitting to her other lies. She took a deep breath, collected her senses, and looked back at him.

"I would like a daughter." It was not wholly untrue. There had been part of her that hoped Elliott would have been born a girl, so that she might raise her with the reassurances that Dionisia was not afforded as a child, but a son had proved convenient by offering Ari an heir. That being said, the thought of having a daughter in addition to a son was one that sent off a panic signal to her mind. She had to get it together.

She turned her head away from him and looked down at the floor. It was easier to lie when not looking in his eyes.

"I only meant to discuss how I might... manage such a feat," she managed. And for perhaps the first time in her married life, Dionisia hoped this conversation would not end with Ari taking her to bed.

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   Amelia Evans

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A daughter.

Unconsciously, he bit down on his bottom lip as he let the idea wash over him, sure that Dionisia was watching for any sign of a reaction and not wanting to look either too pleased or too panicked, particularly not if she had feared his reaction. Best to keep an even keel, then: to somehow consider how the addition of a daughter would shift the state of their lives and the balance of their relationship again, without getting carried away with the better or worse of it.

It was a bold commitment, though. He might’ve asked if she was truly sure again, but he scolded himself silently for it and held his tongue instead: she had always been perfectly honest with him, so he really ought to trust her on this. Dionisia must have spent a long time thinking before telling him so seriously, too. The way she had floated it did not much make it seem like a passing whim.

He exhaled. “And I want what you want,” he said steadily, glad at least that affirming that was easy. Whatever made her happy. But if only she would look up again, Ari thought, twining his hands together on his lap - it had to be better to have a conversation of this magnitude being able to look each other in the eye, however awkward or unexpected it was.

That said, he might have stolen a glance up at the ceiling before tackling the next issue. “Did you mean... with me?” Ari ventured finally. “Or...?” Perhaps this was actually an attempt to tell him that she had found someone else she wanted to be with, that she was thinking of embarking upon an affair of some kind? If that was why she had worried so, she oughtn’t have. He had already told her as much that he didn't mind, hadn’t he? (In that case it would have been a strange broaching of the subject, though, to make it about a daughter if she did not want one.) And he would be surprised if she did mean him, but that wasn’t to say he would turn her down if she did - he did not have much of a right to refuse anything she wanted, all things considered.

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And there was the Ari she knew, ever the selfless. She couldn't hurt him with the truth and she knew that now, but maybe, just maybe, she should not have covered the truth up with a lie of this magnitude. She was not sure where to go from here; she could demand that Ari be the father and then tell him now wasn't the right time of the month, which would allow her some time to walk herself out of the lie. Another option would be to say she intended to find a gentleman so he would not be forced to lie with her, and then later she could say that she just couldn't find one...

Clearly she had options. Now she only had to decide which one would do the least harm.

She finally found the strength to meet Ari's eyes, and to loosen the tension she tried to smile. "That is my concern," she said, shaking her head. No, she didn't want Ari to bring her to bed, not while knowing he didn't want to be there. "I only want what makes you comfortable, and—well, I only meant to ask your permission to seek out someone willing to help me. The last thing I wish to do is spring a child on you with no prior knowledge." She let out a breath. This was good. This made sense.

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   Melody Crouch

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Something about this felt - off.

He did not know whether that had something to do with Dionisia tonight - at her abrupt desire to be a mother again - or whether it was his own fault, for feeling some vague discomfort with the whole idea. Discomfort that settled oddly in his stomach, discomfort that he did not know quite what to do with.

“It’s not that it would be uncomfortable for me -” he interjected, a little flushed, and cringing internally a little at the possible ways to put it, none of which were any more flattering, really. ‘It’d be fine, really.’ ‘I could manage it, practically speaking.’ ‘But, er, sorry again that I’m not attracted to you, I’m sure you’re very attractive to plenty of people.’ If she wanted another child that badly, he could put up with the awkwardness.

But if this was actually, underneath, about her looking for sex or passion or romance, she might, understandably, get a little more pleasure out of it elsewhere, with someone who was attracted to her. That was well and good - by all means, he would encourage it, because then he would feel a great deal less guilty about seeing Ben behind her back.

But for another child? “I...” His brow was furrowed now, as he tried to untangle thoughts in a still-shellshocked brain. “How would you do that, seek out someone willing to - ? Did you have... someone in mind already?” An affair, that was easy enough... what he was more worried about was that she would tell the man her whole plan - and risk exposing him, them, the rest of it. Or that she would say nothing, that she would fall pregnant by it as she apparently wanted and they would just raise the child as Elliott’s sibling, leaving whatever gentleman she chose blind and unsuspecting to his part in it. Her first pregnancy had been accidental, so there had been nothing to be done for it; but creating that situation with yet another man hardly seemed ideal, either. Ari did not quite know how to put that into words, just yet, so he stayed quiet.

Merlin. As if things were not already complicated enough.

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   Reuben Crouch

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The logistics of this entire situation were far more complicated than she'd considered. Even if she'd fooled Ari into believing she could want another child (which she wasn't sure she'd managed yet. He still seemed unconvinced.) she hadn't yet considered just how she intended to accomplish it—or how she would intend to accomplish it if she had any intention of it at all.

His insistence that he wouldn't mind fathering her child didn't make this situation any easier, because denying him would make it seem like she didn't really want a child that badly, or that she was absolutely repulsed by him. Which she wasn't; she just didn't want with lie with him knowing his feelings (or lack thereof) towards her.

"I will not tell any man that I wish for a child," she said, frowning. "I would not put you at risk." It would be unwise even if she actually intended to go through with it. Men would fear for repercussions if the affair was ever made known, or on the flip side they may get unnervingly attached to her at the thought that she was carrying his child. Slowly, she began to think her way out of the situation.

"But I know plenty of men, some who rather wish I'd never married at all." That was not necessarily a lie; she did know a great deal of men, and there was always a chance some of them wished she had never married. "And I'll admit... there are some that I might have taken an interest in, had my situation been different. Would it be so terrible if I... took an interest now? Until it is no longer wise to continue?" Until she had a child, is what she meant to imply.

(She felt bad for asking Ari to have an affair, but she had to remember: she had no intention of actually having one.)

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   Ari Fisk

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She seemed thoughtful, a little nervous still, but everything she said made it sound as though she had thought it all through. How she might manage (- how had she put it? -) such a feat did not sound terribly difficult to achieve at all. But I know plenty of men, Dionisia had just said; if he had been a real husband to her, Ari supposed he should have been jealous, or offended - instead, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards briefly, if only at the oddity of this whole conversation, that unfiltered honesty.

But he was happy for her - he wanted to be happy for her, and for her to be happy, whatever it took - and if this was what she honestly wanted, who was he to question it? He ought to be relieved she saw a glimmer of happiness in this route ahead. Perhaps he already was rather relieved.

“No,” Ari agreed, shifting forwards in his seat to reassure her, as she had reassured him. “No, it wouldn’t be terrible - it wouldn’t be terrible at all. As long as you are discreet -” for there was always a danger of some questions arising, some suspicions if her affair was unearthed (but far better in the scheme of things to be thought a cuckold with an unfaithful wife than to have his affair become public and ruin Dionisia and Ben alike); and she would be discreet, she wasn’t stupid, he trusted her beyond anything, so “- you must know I have no objections.”

He smiled at her, firmly, to convince her of it. “And I’m sure,” Ari added, trying to inject a more carefree enthusiasm at all this, throw himself into it on the bright side, “that Elliott would enjoy having a sibling.”

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Perfect. Despite knowing that are her lies were, well, just lies, the fact that Ari was so kind and understanding about all of this almost made her wish that she did intend to have an affair. If only he knew how much guilt followed her around at the mere thought of lying with another man.

"You're my family, Ari," she said, reaching across to place her hand atop his. The love they shared was subtle not at all romantic or passionate, but rather rooted in loyalty and protectiveness for the other. It was not like a love between brothers or sisters, or even close friends—it was uniquely theirs. "I would never do anything that I thought would put you at risk." The only thing she was willing to risk was his feelings, apparently. She would work that out later.

She pulled her hand away and scooted forward in her seat, as if she was about to rise. Except there was something to what he said, about Elliott having a sibling, that caught her off guard. It was not anything he implied or the way he said it, but the way she'd interpreted it. Elliott would enjoy having a sibling—but what of him? "And you, Ari? Would you love them—a child—just the same?" She did not know why she asked. She did not want a child. Still, it dawned upon her that in her lies she had not even considered that there was a part of Ari that might not want another child, and that simply assuming that he would go along with it... well, it made her feel worse than the lie itself.

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“I know,” Ari said, and he did. They had said it before to each other; but if he had needed more proof of it, that Dionisia had learned his secret and had kept it since then was good enough for him. And so it made no difference whether she had an affair or twenty, because at the end of the day he trusted her, found he did not mind placing that responsibility in someone’s hands. (If only he could do the same with the rest of his family, but that was - different. They had known him too long. There was too much to lose.) 

Squeezing her fingertips back in answer, he gave a wry smile at the question. Bewildered as he had been by her admission of wanting more children, now that he was over the initial shock of it, Ari found he was already warming swiftly to the idea. Perhaps it was because he’d come from such a big family, had been the eldest, might have been the only child and lonely forever if he had not been joined by Julian and Katia and the rest. Perhaps it was because, in always assuming he would not marry, he’d never imagined children would be something he would ever get to have, had not dared to picture it until it had happened, had not realised how much he would love it.

And what did it matter if they were his or not, anyway? “Of course I would. I love Elliott more than I even thought possible,” he admitted - and it did feel something like a confession, for he hadn’t ever said it so plainly before, though he felt like Dionisia must have gleaned as much from being around them - “and another child would be no different, I promise you. After all,” Ari added, a corner of his smile stretching a little further as he fought the temptation to laugh, with some strange lightness of finally being able to joke about it, “I’ve always been rather good at loving people I shouldn’t.”

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   Benedict Sterling, Elsie Kirke, J. Alfred Darrow, Lachlan MacFusty, Zelda Darrow

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It was times like these that Dio felt bad for feeling miserable in her marriage. Ari was, quite literally, the best possible match she could have made under the circumstances. Ari didn't love her romantically (which she kept reminding herself, as painful as it was), but he'd taken on the role of father willingly, which was an act of love in itself and more than she could have ever expected from Ben Crouch. Moreover, he loved Elliott, played the role of father better than hers ever had, and by extension she had a family of Fisks to call her own. As he squeezed her fingertips she felt the guilt swell up in her. It was too much. She couldn't tell him—she couldn't find the words—which meant she had to leave the room. She had to.

She smiled back at him, but felt hollow inside as she did so. He had always been good at loving people he shouldn't—but was terrible at loving the people he should, she thought bitterly. She stood up abruptly, her hand slipping from his grasped, and tried to pull herself together. She could treat this situation just like she treated watching a patient die on the field, something that rarely happened but still had, and on more than one occasion. Just smile, pull her feelings into her chest, and wait until she was in the privacy of her room to cry.

And now she had to figure out what to do about the baby she didn't want.

"I'm going to get washed for dinner," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder as she passed him. "The table is already set.'

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   Elias Grimstone

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