A/N: I'm not positive about this one, but then agin, I'm never positive about my writing. Enjoy, misses and misters.
Words: 599.
Paring: Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon.
Date Written On: December 10, 2011.
even angels have their wicked schemes,
but you take that to new extremes,
but you'll always be my hero, even though you've lost your mind.
…
…
Shifting on the floor, you readjust how you were holding her hand, smiling in contentment. Sure, she had just realized she was dead, and that her body was a rotting corpse in the basement walls, but at least she was here, with you, forever and always.
It couldn't be so bad, could it?
But she's still in shock, you think, because she's just lying there on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling, looking everywhere but you.
"Vi?"
She jumps a little, and her hand slides from your's. The rush of cold air on your hand makes you lean on your elbow, looking down on her. She looks like a little girl, far too little for her actual age.
"Yeah?" she says, licking her lips, but still refusing to look into your eyes.
That hurts a bit.
"Are you okay? I—I know it's a lot to take in, but…" you trail off lamely.
She sighs, a loud heaving sigh that you can only vaguely remember your father doing before he left when you were six.
"Leah once said the devil could be beautiful."
That's all she says before leaning up, glancing at you, and walking over towards her bed. She sits on it, kicking off her boots and tossing her cardigan over the chair. The sentence confuses you, because that wasn't the answer you were expecting. You don't know really what you wanted her to say. "Hold me" would have been nice.
"I love you, Vi."
It's a feeble attempt to get her to open up more. Though, to be honest with yourself, you like saying it. She stares at you before breathing out through her nose. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What would you tell my dad? In the sessions. In your psyche notes, he always said something about a war."
"You read those? They're private."
"You're a ghost, Tate, and you've been in my house since '94. Please, this is all I'm asking."
She looks you in your eyes this time, and her own are pleading. Maybe this could give her closure, you have no fucking idea. Standing up from the floor, you walk over to her bed, taking the place on the left side that you've come use to over the past few weeks, and cover yourself under the blankets, looking at the roof. You feel the bed shift and the covers are pulled up, and Violet lays under them as well. She's resting on her stomach when you fold your hands over your chest, glancing at her from the side of your eye.
"Well — 'I prepare for the noble war. No one can stop me, not even myself'."
"That's it?"
"There's more, but I'd rather not elaborate. We have forever to do that."
Smiling, you face her. She smiles weakly back at you before whispering, "I'm tired."
You laugh as you position yourself behind her, draping your arm over her waist. Her breathing's even, and you can tell she's nearly about to fall asleep, and to you it feels so right to have your arm over her waist, both here forever, no matter what anyone else wanted.
She was dead, you were dead. You would both be in this house for all eternity.
"I love you," you hear her say, barley higher than a whisper. Maybe you misheard, maybe you didn't.
But then again, everything's been weird around here lately. But it's never been more perfect.