Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Vivien found Violet in the attic, curled up in the corner as she usually was when she was particularly conflicted. She'd had a bad day, her mother could see, or at least one filled with choices and adversity. There was only one thing—one person, rather—in the house that could make her look so gaunt, and that was Tate. She expected the worst, but when she stepped a little closer, she was pleasantly surprised to see a small smirk distorting the features of her daughter's face. She wondered, at first, if it could be some strange new expression of pain, but there was hope there in that smile and it made the woman grin herself.

"What're you doing up here? It's a nice day. You should go out to the gazebo. You're dad's playing poker with Travis. I think he might win." The lighthearted nature of the atmosphere was lost once Violet heard the sound of her mother's voice. It was a reminded of what Tate had done to her, what she had done to her. She had betrayed her mother by loving him, by giving him a second chance. How could she ever do something so horrible? But she felt selfish. She didn't want to stop, because all happiness certainly came at a price and, perhaps, Violet was willing to pay it. She wasn't sure.

"I'm sorry, mom."

Sorry for what? She didn't have the slightest idea. "What is there to be sorry for, honey?"

The tears began to pour down her cheeks which, just a moment earlier, been lifted in a show of satisfaction. Vivien hated to be the cause of such an outburst. Her little girl had so little joy in these days, after her life had ended. She wanted to see her the way she had used to be, before all of the darkness had invaded their lives. She wanted to see her smile and joke and poke fun at the world. Though, she doubted that she would even be given that pleasure. It was too late for all of that, because it had been so horribly destroyed that neither of them believed that it could ever be reassembles. Violet could pretend, and Vivien could push towards the happily ever after that she had dreamed of, but they would never move forward—not a one of them. This was their forever, and it was centered directly in the fiery pits of hell on Earth.

"I scared the new girl…Bethany. I wanted to scare her, just to watch her flip out. It was supposed to be fun." Violet choked over her words, remembering how she had thrilled to the sound of her victim's heartbeat, how she had reveled in every little catch in her shallow breath. "Tate found me. He ended up talking to her. They talked for a long time, about stuff—I don't even know what. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but I was and I kind of got caught up in it. They seemed so at ease. It reminded me of us, in a way, but Beth's too goody-two-shoes…either way, they seem to like each other."

Quickly, a picture was being painted in Vivien's mind of just how everything had happened that day, while she had been off with her husband, entirely unsuspecting of what the younger spirits in the house were up to. It was easy to see where the story would lead. She understood. "You got jealous." It was a simple statement, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of all people, Violet's mother could understand that—what it felt like to possess someone, to believe that they were completely yours only to discover that they never had been and, perhaps, never would be again.

With a nod, she continued on. "I cried. I didn't want to, but I did, and Tate heard me. He found me. I don't even know how it happened, but before I knew what was happening we were kissing and…"

There was no need for her to finish. "You slept together." Vivien said, simply stating the facts which she knew to be true. There had only ever been two ways for that story to end and, taking into consideration that small remnant of a crooked smile, she was sure that she was right to assume that they had been together. But she also now understood why Violet was crying, why she had said she was sorry. Where her loyalty lied was uncertain—whether it was primarily to herself or to the woman who had given birth to her. If she chose to honor her promise to never forgive the boy that she loved so dearly, she would so Vivien right, but she would suffer. Likewise, it was widely known that, should Violet truly want to be contented in her eternity of torture, she would need Tate by her side. Curling into her daughter's side, Vivien took a deep breath and spoke. "Don't feel guilty. I've already forgiven him, you know. He's just a boy…a very confused boy. Your father feels a little differently, but I understand. He takes it more personally than I do, only because he's never had a lengthy conversation with Nora. If you ever did, you would understand how she convinced him. She'd loud…very compelling. Her soul is the most demanding of any of them, and Tate is weak. He always has been Violet. Time here, in this place, it only made his illnesses worse.

"I don't know if he would have killed all those people anyway. If he'd had a good home, a mother and a father, if he'd been born somewhere else, who knows what would have happened to him. But if you've met Constance you can understand how a strong argument can be made that she ruined him. Either way, what you have to ask yourself is whether or not it matters? Do you love him anyway?" Violet nodded reluctantly, looking ashamed. "If we weren't dead…" and she snickered at this. "I might be a bit concerned that he could harm you, but we are dead and I don't think he could do much damage to you physically. Even without him, you do a pretty good job of it yourself. The options are to put yourself out there and see what happens, or to let it go and wonder. Tate isn't going away, and neither are you. Do you really think you can spend the rest of forever hiding from him, pretending that you don't have feelings for him?"

Violet shrugged, buried her face in her palms and breathed in shakily. She knew she had a point, but she didn't understand it. "How can you not think I'm awful for loving someone who could do all of those things." She could see that she was dark herself, but she sincerely hoped that he mother couldn't. In fact, she prayed that she would never be able to piece together the reasons that she and Tate had always been so harmonious—why they still were. They were so much alike, but that was a hideous truth to accept. He was a coldblooded killer.

But Violet couldn't believe that that could be the truth. She had been inside of his heart, filled it, felt it beat quickly under the palms of her small, frail hands. His soul was beautiful in her eyes, so how could he ever be truly evil. Even if she was, she doubted she would be able to see him as ugly. She felt her mother's hand on her back and stiffened under her touch. "We don't get to choose who we love. We just have to make the best of it.

These words rang true, and Violet only hoped that she would be able to live by them. She wanted Tate to come to her, and long after her mother had left, there she waited for her knight in shiny, black rubber armor—no pun intended, as unfortunate as that was.

Tate awoke in her bed alone to the feel of the sun warm on his back. He felt empty suddenly as his arm sprawled across the space where she had laid, bare in his arms where he had believed her to be safely tucked away. He cursed himself, cursed Beth and all of the reasons why Violet had cried. She'd run out on him again. She hadn't stayed, hadn't waited around or lingered after their time together. What else could that mean but that she regretted it?

Hot, steamy tears stung his eyes as he propped himself up against the headboard. They dripped onto his naked chest, ran over the places where the bullets had left their marks, scalding his heart like fiery branding irons. There was no pain worse than this, worse than being pulled back and then pushed away. He only wanted Violet, but she would never allow him to have her.

He thought about going to look for her, thought about seeking her out. There was still time. He could make her see reason. And so he found himself climbing the stairs to the attic, holding his breath, his dead heart having ceased to beat in those slow moments before he would face either his future or his ultimate demise. But something stopped him from taking the last step. It was a hand, light on his shoulder, pulling him backwards. When he turned to see who it belonged to, he met large, blue eyes, gazing up at him curiously.

"What are you doing?" Beth asked? He shied away from her touch, remembering how Violet had reacted the last time he had interacted with her. Though, in the end, this only spurred him on. He had made her jealous, and some part of his ego was inclined to this. He liked to see the effect he had on her, see the way her face contorted in a sort of animalistic hatred for a girl who really didn't deserve it. She did not interest him in the least, but there was something about the attention that he, quite naturally, enjoyed. Tate was only human after all.

"I need to talk to Violet. We need to talk…" he explained, shaking his head to dispel his memories of what they had done after Bethany had left. He was growing uncomfortable as his mind refused to leave the topic alone.

"You two…you're not right, you know. I don't think she understands what she's missing. There's nothing wrong with you, Tate. You know that, don't you?" But there was so much wrong with him. By this time, Violet was listening in again. It was becoming something of a habit—a habit which she abhorred, but that she couldn't seem to resist the temptation of regardless.

The urge she felt to slowly rip Bethany to pieces was hard to ignore. She despised her, because she could see what Tate couldn't. He knew that she took interest in him, but he did not understand that she was slowly pulling him closer to her, reeling him in. Her words were poisoned, seeing into his ears and corrupting his thoughts. Tate was brilliants in many ways, but relationships were not his forte.

"She wants to change you, Tate. You shouldn't let her do that. Because, if you love someone, you should love them the way that they are…you should forgive them when they make mistakes. Violet wants you, but she'll never forgive you. I had someone do that to me once, and it didn't work out well at all." Violet couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. Her hands shook with rage and she wondered briefly if this was what Tate felt like before he killed someone. He didn't like to look his victims in the eyes, because he did have some measure of a soul, but he never relented. Was it this sort of blinding fury that spurred him on? It seemed entirely plausible.

"I like you. I like you just the way you are, even dead. I think you're a good guy…and handsome. Danger can be hot too…" Tate watched her blush, watched her bat her eyes, but Violet could hear it. She didn't need eyes to know how Beth would look at him, the way her eyes would smolder. Violet stumbled down the stairs then, fuming with anger. The girl had no idea what she was getting herself into, yet she didn't seem to mind so much.

As Violet stalked forward, feeling the darkest thoughts and desires ebbing through her, she watched as Bethany shrank away, backed up until her back came into contact with the wall, their faces just inches apart. The words on Violet's lips seethed, burned with the threat she felt in her heart. "Who do you think you are? I can hear everything you say. If you want to bad mouth me, do it to my face. But, I promise, you will be sorry…so very sorry." It was as though she could see herself from outside of her body, watch herself pushing her adversary to her limits. Of course, it was all jealousy, all possessive, territorial instincts—not that Violet would ever admit that. Happiness was fragile, and she needed to defend her few opportunities to possess it.

Tate could feel the darkness building inside of her. She was a magnet, just as he was. They were open to the evil powers of the house, and they would easily be used as its tools in causing pain, suffering. It could feed off of that energy, trap it there forever, reinforcing its hold on the victims it retained. But Violet would feel guilty if she did any real damage, so Tate wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, pulling her back gently and whispering the words 'let it go' softly in her ear.

She clutched at his hands, pulling against the restraints, but eventually surrendered. His arms were where she wanted to be, after all. It was where Bethany wanted to be, for reasons that Violet could only half-understand. She had felt the same way, even when she had been alive, but she had been different. This girl only flirted with the danger, then shied away from it when it became too great of a threat. Violet had thrived in it, dwelled in the depth of it.

"You're not worth it." Violet hissed under breath as he lead her up into the attic, pulling her by one of her still-shaking hands.

When they found themselves alone, Tate began to pace and she followed his motions with her eyes. He was worried now, worried for what was happening to the girl that he was loved. She was slowly slipping into the grasp of those forces that had destroyed him, and he couldn't watch any longer. He couldn't let it continue, because he knew the consequences. He had escaped once, but he wasn't sure that he could do it again—no when Violet was pulling him back to that same place. They could never be happy there. That place was designed, engineered, to make them empty.

"Vi, you need to stop. You need to control your violent urges. They're escalading and it's very dangerous. I don't want the darkness to take you away from me, from us—even your mom and dad. They'd miss the old you, Violet. You can't give in to it." He knew he sounded like a hypocrite, but it was the truth, the only way he could think to present it to her.

"What are you talking about?" She asked the question, though she already understood. She could feel herself changing, feel her sanity slowly slipping away into the nothingness. She did not know those parts of her mind, those shabbily lit corners of her soul that were entirely new. They had expanded, and she was afraid of what that would mean. There was an infinite amount of time for them to consume her, but she didn't want them to.

"You're becoming what I became." Tate told her simply, his brow creasing with concern and almost a hint of crazed panic.

So, faced with this new adversity, Violet decided that she would tell the truth—the entire truth and nothing besides. "I need you to keep it away, just like you need me to keep it away. We're lost without each other, I think. Our darkness seems to cancel one another out. That's the only way I know to keep it in check. I want to be together, but I need you to understand that it's hard for me to forget. It's hard for me to forgive you, but I'm trying."

Tate nodded, his eyes growing wet and swelling with tears. He hated that he had done this to them, hated that his very existence had caused her pain. He had wanted to give her everything, but instead he had taken everything away. He had destroyed her life, and, for that, he could not even forgive himself. How she ever could do so baffled him. "I don't expect you to forgive me—I never did—but I want you to. I need you to so badly. I want you to look at me the way you used to. You used to look at me like I was the whole world. Now…you look disappointed." Her eyes killed him with every glare, every sad, questioning glance. He hated the depth behind them, hated the meaning.

"I am disappointed." she conceded, taking his hands in hers and kissing their fingers where they intertwined. "But you're still my whole world. You would be, I think, no matter what you did. And it's hard for me to admit that. You know." He cracked a smile, laughed tensely. She always made him laugh, even under the most dire circumstances. "I want you forever, even if it takes forever for us to put ourselves back the way we were. It's all I have…you're all I'll ever have. But you're all I'll ever want, too. It may be inconvenient, but you don't get to choose who you fall in love with."

She smiled at him exuberantly, and he pulled her lips to meet his. This was not the sort of reconciliation that she would have imagined, but it was good enough for her—better, in fact. This was what she had dreamt of all along, every night since she'd sent him away. When she would fade out into the empty voids, she would see that moment, and it would always make her cry. Now, it only made her smile wider.

Violet was home, safely tucked away in the darkness that was her only light.