A/N: Hey guys, sorry about the rather, er, lengthy hiatus. I had a lot on my plate when I was originally writing this, but now I've graduated and I have a lot of time on my hands. Thank you to anyone who comes back to this, hope fully there's still some of you around!

Chapter 4

Violet's POV

"What are you doing sulking around here?" Violet looks up to see Chad pacing the parlor with a sour look on his face. "In here of all places. I suppose it's fitting, it's hard not to look dreary with that demonically tacky mural exposed." He takes a seat on the ottoman across from the faded leather chair she's been curled up on for the past half hour. "Why did your mother ever unearth this dreaded thing, anyway?"

"She said it added character." She replies curtly. "Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn't you be looking through Interior Design for the billionth time?"

"You never answered my first question, Vi." He crosses his legs and rests his chin on his hand as if he were actually interested in the reasoning behind her slightly higher than average amount of gloom.

"Don't call me Vi, only my parents call me that."

"Tate calls you that." She shoots a high powered glare his way. "Oooh, yeesh. If looks could kill."

"Don't talk about Tate." She crosses her arms in a pathetically poor attempt to seem cool and aloof at the mention of Tate. The truth is, she'd love to hear him say her name again. After that small taste of his arms around her again, she's not sure if she'll have the will to keep him away anymore.

"Okay, okay!" He waves his arms in defense. "You know, we're a lot alike, you and I."

"Ugh, why haven't you left yet?" He's testing her patience. That's the type of person he is, always trying to find buttons to push, even if he doesn't mean to. She hasn't interacted with him much, but she knows he can be a little shit.

"Just think about it, V." As if that little nickname is much better. "We're both trapped in a house with the man who stole our hearts and we just can't get them back to save our lives." She purses her lips, trying to keep her frustration at bay. "It's a shitty feeling, isn't it? Being bound like this."

Violet remains silent for a few moments to take in what Chad revealed to her. She never thought about him that way, how he has to share this house with the man who broke his heart, probably because she never really talked to him unless he was informing her of the bags under her eyes. She never thought of the spirits in this house as human, it's easy to forget that they were once mortal, just like her. Chad wasn't always a bitter, sarcastic dead guy—He was a man. Albeit, a bitter and sarcastic man, but a man nonetheless.

"It is a shitty feeling." She finally responds, looking up at him for the first time since they started talking. "I thought if I pushed him far enough away, he wouldn't be here, but…"

"He's always there." He finishes for her, patting her knee.

She nods, biting her lip, furiously trying to hold back a sob. She wants Tate to be gone, but she also wants him to hold her tight in his arms and tell her everything will be alright. She hates herself for the way she feels about him, she should be ashamed, but she's not. Death was supposed to bring her peace, not this shit.

"Makes you want Rocky Road, doesn't it?" He lets out a nostalgic sigh. "Oh, Rocky Road."

Violet smiles, the truest smile she's had in a long time. "Yeah, I'd give anything for even vanilla ice cream at this point."

"It's settled then, shopping on Halloween. We'll stock the freezer up with all the ice cream we can steal."

"Deal." Violet grins, welcoming the sudden change of topic. This has probably been the first (semi) positive conversation that she's had in a very long time. "…Thanks."

"I'd say you're welcome, but I have to confess…I did this more for me than you. I need a friendly face around here."

"Me too."

Tate's POV

Tate paces around the dark, musty basement. He's used to that smell by now, that stench of death and dust. A small part of him has come to like the scent, sometimes it even brings him comfort, but not today. He has to come up with a plan to steal that damn baby. It'll be hard with the Harmons attached to him all day and night like Velcro, but how will he be with Violet if he doesn't?

"Whatcha doin' down here?" Hayden asks, her voice making Tate's brain itch with anger. It's a strange feeling that's led to more problems that he'd like to take credit for, a light scratchy feeling in the back of his head telling him to explode. "Little Tate, always thinking, always brooding. Are you scheming? I love scheming."

"None of your goddamn business Hayden, now go away, you're always fucking things up." He can't concentrate, he's too frustrated. How hard can it be to steal a fucking baby, and a weak one at that.

"If I recall correctly, I believe you've done your share of fucking up, mister." She's so patronizing, so cocky, so not what he needs right now. "Your face is all red Tate. Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you a little bit angry?"

He hates her, he absolutely one hundred percent hates her. There are a lot of things he truly hates, but she's the closest to him. He grabs the first hard object he sees, a rusty old wrench, and charges her. Unfortunately, he didn't catch her off guard and she puts up a bigger fight that he hoped.

"C'mon, Tate!" She laughs. "Break my bones, make me bleed, see if I care!" He swings the wrench down at full force against her extended wrist. Crack. She laughs. Crack crack crack.

Tate blacks out. When he comes to, he's straddling Hayden's bloody body, the only movement coming from her torso when she coughs up blood. He hardly recognizes her face it's so cracked and split, it's beautiful. He feels that sweet relief that spreads through his body and mind after a black out, something he could never find in any drug. He stands up and wipes the sweat from his brow, smearing his face with blood in the process. He leaves the spurting body behind and retreats to the little crawl space that houses Violet's rotted corpse and sits at the edge. A feeling of tranquility washes over him and he can finally think.

He knows how he's going to get rid of that baby.

Violet's POV

Chad's little visit was enough to keep Violet occupied, but once they were done trying to make each other laugh with crude jokes, she found herself alone in the parlor again. She's almost mad at him for leaving her so soon, does he really have anything better to do? For once she just wants somebody to stay with her for a while, even if it's just to make penis jokes. Her mind drifts to Tate again. She wonders what he's doing, who he's doing. No, she won't let Hayden's little comment get to her. She's a lying skank, always has been always will be, the craziest of all crazy bitches. Still, it doesn't seem that unbelievable, does it? She pushed Tate so far away, what would've stopped him from finding something new to keep him occupied?

No. She saw the look in his eyes when she invited him back. He missed her, he longed for her, and he waited for her. Violet can't help but remind herself of what her dad put her mom through. He waited for her, but that didn't stop him from getting a little something on the side from Hayden. She clenches the leather arm rests until her knuckles turn white, trying to suppress her tears. What's so special about that psychotic little bitch? How could she have the power to steal Violet's father and her boyfriend? She sucks in a loud gasp of air, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle her sobs.

She thinks about when she was happy, which only makes her cry harder. She used to be daddy's little girl, mommy's shining star, now what is she? She's a fuck up, just like the rest of them. If her mom had been happy with the family she had, this wouldn't have happened. The miscarriage, the affair, the house—none of it would've happened and Violet would be okay. Instead, her family is so broken that she no longer fits into their puzzle.

"Are you alright, Violet?" A familiar, soft spoken voice asks. Moira, the poor, cursed maid and one of the few souls in this house Violet doesn't distain.

"Yeah, I just…"

"I know." She replies. "It's good to see you cry, Violet." Violet looks up, confused and almost offended. "I haven't seen much emotion from you lately, I was beginning to worry."

"You don't have to worry about me."

"Well, someone has to."

Tate's POV

When the clock strikes ten, Tate makes his way back to the main part of the basement, leaving Violet's remains to rest. He's pleased to see that Hayden hasn't stuck around, the only presence lingering is the occasional scrape of Thaddeus's nails hitting the floor somewhere in the darkness. Good, he doesn't need that ornery witch interfering. He's just happy to have her filthy blood off his skin.

"Nora?" He asks, looking around the room. It's not long until she's standing in the middle of the basement, looking rather lost. "…Nora?" She has a glazed look in her eyes, nothing like the sharp, perceptive gaze she had before.

"This isn't right, where is my baby?" Tate let's out an audible groan. "This…this isn't right, this is all wrong. Why are you in my house?"

"So much for that." His shoulder's slump. "C'mon, Nora, you have to snap out of it, I need you!" He puts his hands on her shoulders, shaking her violently. "You promised to help, wake up you loony bitch!" Her eyes well up with tears. "Don't you fucking cry again, I'm not putting up with this." He pushes her back, disappearing up the stairs and leaving her alone to sob.

He storms upstairs, though he has no idea what he's supposed to do. His plan is ruined, he needed Nora. His tranquil state from earlier is long gone and he can feel the frustration building up against his skull. He wants to…he wants to…He glances over at the parlor, Violet's curled up figure breaking him out of his momentary madness. She's reading a book, but he can tell she'd been crying. Her eyes are red and her face is puffy. He wants to hold her and tell her it's alright, but she doesn't want to see him. On top of all that, he's still embarrassed from their encounter earlier. At one point when he looked into her eyes he saw disgust. He disgusts her.

He feels that stupid pressure behind his eyes, tears begging to escape. He's such a cry baby, that's what Adelaide always called him. She never cried, she was so much stronger than him in so many ways. Poor Addie, she deserved so much better than she got.

He takes tentative steps towards Violet, resisting the urge to cower back to the basement. "…Violet?" He asks, as soft as he can, trying not to startle her.

She looks up at him, he can't seem to identify the emotion behind her eyes. She's neither angry nor forgiving, neither sad nor joyed. She seems…content…or simply emotionally drained. Either way, it worries him. He's used to that fire in her eyes, he fell in love with it. She's not like him, but she has the potential to be, that's what scares him. She has a darkness in her, but she still has a light. A light that Tate fears is fading very, very fast.

Violet's POV

"Tate?" Violet's not sure how she's supposed to respond to her new visitor. On one end, she's been waiting all day to see his face and hear his voice, but on the other she wishes he would disappear for eternity. She thinks back on what Chad said, about how they're forced to spend the rest of their afterlives in the presence of a man they can't have. Why can't she have Tate? For what he did to her mother? Vivien Harmon isn't Violet's mom anymore, she's Mason's, she's made that rather clear, so why can't she indulge once in a while?

She gets up from the chair for the first time in hours, her legs feel a little weak and her head's a bit dizzy, but she manages. She walks up to Tate and looks into his eyes, trying to find something, though she doesn't know what. Something good, maybe? Something sane.

"Vi?"

She smiles a little at the sound of her name on his lips. She lets herself forget the terrible things he's done for just a few indulgent moments until she can't bear to look at his face anymore. She rests her head on his chest, closing her eyes as his arms wrap around her. He's wearing his wool sweater, it's scratchy against her skin, she loves it. She wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes her eyes shut, forcing out a few left over tears. He strokes her hair, soothing her. For the first time in a long, long time, she lets herself feel good.

"Tate, follow me." She takes his cold hand in hers, gently leading him upstairs, to their special space in the attic where nobody can find them. Beau is up there, but he seldom appears, she's not too worried about him. She wants to be with Tate again, this time without all the guilt and confliction. This time she's just going to be selfish.

Tate pulls the ladder up behind him, sealing their fortress shut. "What di-" Violet doesn't give him a chance to finish that sentence. She cups his cheeks and presses a firm kiss against his lips. She pulls away to take one final look into his eyes, just to make sure that she doesn't change his mind. They're still empty, still black as night. They're perfect.

She pushes his sweater off his arms, letting it fall to the ground. This is the point of no return, there's no going back now. She peels off her shirt, revealing scars from a former life, pale and purple against her skin. He responds by removing his own, leaving himself so vulnerable and exposed, so pale and cold. She runs her finger tips down the center of his torso, eliciting a jagged shudder. In this moment she feels in control of at least this one aspect of her life. For once in her life she's truly powerful. She curls her fingers around the waist of his jeans, feeling extremely pleased when his hips push forward ever so slightly.

"Violet…" She looks up at him, a little irked that he interrupted her, but she lets him continue this time. "I missed you so much."

"Tate." His eyes widen expectantly. "No talking." His mouth promptly shuts. She's in control.

She removes her hands from his beltline. She likes this feeling, she wants it to last a little longer than it probably should. She brushes her lips against his collarbone, just barely running her fingernails up and down his sides, tracing the slight outline of his ribs. A soft sigh from Tate is enough to give her to confidence to be a little bolder. She kisses the crook of his neck, slowly working her way up, working with not only her lips, but her tongue and teeth as well. When he turns his head to expose more of his neck, another rush of excitement flows through her. She lets out a small, barely audible moan when he presses his hardening bulge against her. She's in control.

She backs away just enough to unclasp her bra and drop it at her feet. She allows Tate to take in her half naked body, even run his thumb across her nipple, causing her to shudder. She can't let him keep that power, though, she needs it. She takes his wrists and leads his hands away from her body, pressing herself close against him as they were before. She wants to play with him, just for a little be longer. She wraps her arms around his back, trailing her fingers up his spine. He leans down, his cold breath against her ear as he leaves soft, gentle kisses against her neck. She closes her eyes and lets out a content sigh, but it can't last. She slides her hand back in front of him and unbuttons his pants, pulling down the zipper at a painfully slow pace. For Tate, that is. She's in control.

She slides her hand down his jeans, taking his firm cock in her hand. He moans in a way she's never heard before, as if she's the only woman in the world who can make him feel this way. This idea only excites her even more, but she wants to take this slow. She strokes him slowly and deliberately, leaving the occasional trail of kisses along his neck and collar bone.

"You fucked up, Tate." She doesn't know what's gotten into her. "You fucked up really bad and there's no way you can make up for it." For some reason, this causes him to grunt and thrust forward just a little bit. And for some even odder reason, this turns her on more than anything. "You raped my mom, Tate, you raped her and left behind that little demon spawn that killed my mother." She shoves down his pants along with his boxers, exposing him completely. She's in control.

She pushes him down onto the bed and takes one more moment to look into her eyes. He's turned on, that's for sure, but there's something else. Just a hint of shame. She shakes her head and unbuttons her jeans, taking pleasure in the bewildered look on Tate's face. He doesn't know her next move, she's unpredictable, she's in control. She slides down the rest of her clothes and stands naked before him, sort of wishing she shaved before she died, but it doesn't really matter at this point. She crawls in top of him, inhaling sharply when her naked body comes into contact with his. She grinds against him, leaning down to kiss him. She can feel the occasional moan vibrate against her lips, usually responding with a moan of her own. She pulls away, taking hold of his wrists again and holding them above his head. She's in control.

"You're bad, Tate, very bad." She says, gripping him with her spare hand. "You hurt a lot of people and you should be ashamed." She leads his cock into her and she slowly pushes herself all the way down, burying him inside of her, eliciting a synchronized moan from the both of them. "You...you're fucked up." She begins to rock her hips methodically at first, but she quickly sinks into a natural, unbalances rhythm. "Uh, fuck, you're a fucking psychopath." She quickens the pace, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "Mmm, y-you…you…"

"What, Vi? Uh, tell me." She opens her eyes to see a hunger growing in his features, something she's never seen in him before, not even when they first had sex. Her heart rate quickens to a whole new pace and she can feel a fire rapidly burning in her belly.

"Y-you hurt me, Tate!" She cries out, her movements becoming rigid and shaky. She places her hands against the headboard to balance herself out, she doesn't even protest when his hands grip her waist to steady her. She can hear him under her coming undone. His breath is ragged and his voice is hoarse when he says her name. She squeezes her eyes shut again and bites her lip, riding out her orgasm along with his. She lets her hands fall from the headboard as her body leans down to mesh with his. She rolls over onto the bed, weak and exposed. A small, guilty tear falls down her cheek. She's not in control.

"Shh." Tate says, brushing the tear away with his thumb. "Life's too long for so much sorrow."

A/N: Thanks for reading! I-I don't know what happened there. Let me tell you guys, when I started writing this I didn't expect it to lead to emerging dom!Violet by any means. Hell, I didn't even expect there to be sexy times. It just goes to show that your story doesn't always go where you think it might go. I hope to update more often now that I have more time on my hands. Please review, tell me what you think!