Author's Note: Again, I am so thankful for all of the people who read my stories. This has all been so much fun and I really enjoy writing for Fan Fiction. I'm ecstatic that people would care to read and especially thrilled that they would bother to review. Reviews seriously make my day!

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

When Violet had told Tate to meet her at their house, he'd had absolutely no idea what she had up her sleeve. They had planned to meet down town that evening, but she had called him not long after two in the afternoon and asked him to come out and see her. She'd said it was urgent, and Tate was beginning to worry.

When he found her, in their room, tucked away in the corner, he was surprised by the expression on her face. She was beautiful as ever, clad in her usual apparel, her high tops only laced up half way, but her countenance was stormy and conflicted. He'd seen it before, of course, when she had left him the first time, and something in his stomach braced for the impact of whatever she planned to say. It was terrifying, to see that face again—so sullen and confused, so tortured and haunted. He wanted to smooth away the lines, kiss away her frown. But he knew that that wouldn't be the right thing to do. Instead, he sat down beside her, looked straight into her eyes, and prepared to hear what she had to tell him.

Her bag was fuller than usual, he noticed as she opened her mouth to speak, her soft, pink lips quivering as the words formed awkwardly. "I need to leave town." Violet said, looking down at her hands after having conveyed her sincerity with her big brown eyes. He was a fool for them, but he hated the way they looked in that moment. It took his breath away, and not in the way that he enjoyed.

"Why?" Tate stuttered, stumbled over that single, simple syllable.

With a sigh, it all came rushing out. "I can't do what I want to do here. I can't put them through it—my parents, I mean. If they never know, if they can't find me…it'll be better that way." Then she told him what she had sworn she wouldn't tell a soul, what she had known since she'd listened in on her mother's conversation the week she'd first spoken to Tate. "Vivien is pregnant, Tate. I don't want her to have to face my deterioration…I don't want her to have to clean up the mess either." He knew what she meant. "She deserves to put this behind her. I won't stop my mother from being happy, not when she had the new baby. By the time he's born, she'll have grieved enough. She'll be able to move on. Maybe she'll even find a way to stay with my father, to work things out…I don't know. But I'm just another problem, Tate—another problem they don't need."

In a way, it hurt him to hear her speak the words, as though she were some abomination, some expendable inconvenience to be disposed of. Violet wanted to take herself out of the picture in order to simplify her loved one's worlds. But how could her disappearance, her non-existence, ever better anyone's world. To him, she was everything. How could she ever be a burden? He didn't believe that she could. And, if Vivien and Ben really did feel that way about their daughter, about the girl that he loved, the girl he would die for, then he would hate them to the end of time. They wouldn't deserve happiness, not in Tate's eyes anyway.

"Why do you think you should leave? It'll be over soon regardless. We could just stay here. We could do it right here."

His desperate pleas only angered her, made her hurt more. It was like rubbing salt into open wounds. "I don't want them to find my body, Tate." The words were filled with venom, a threat. She was serious, and there was nothing he could do to change her mind then, he knew. So what did she want him to do?

"You're leaving me here, then? Is that it? That's the end?" Now, it was Tate's turn to be angry. He was more than angry, in fact; he was furious.

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like, Violet? Explain to me what exactly is going on in that head of yours. Because it's looking pretty grim out here." If he lost her, he would have nothing. There wouldn't be a single thing left in the world for him. He wanted to die right then and there, thinking of the pain of what it would be to watch Violet leave, to know that he would never see her again, never hear the sound of her voice. It was agony.

"I want you to leave with me, Tate. There's nothing to keep us here now. None of it matters." She was on a mission. This was what it came down to. "Run away with me." The request was softly spoken, gentle, a convincing line of thought that drew him in, quelled his fury. He could never be made at Violet for very long anyhow.

"And where will we go?" It was a valid question.

"Does it matter? We can go wherever we want, whenever we want. We'll be like ghosts, drifters; no one will be able to track us, know who we are. We'll be free, like birds." The way she described it seemed so beautiful. It seemed impossible for him to say no to it, to those words, that face, the sound of her pleading with him to come away with her. She wanted for them to escape, to spend their last bit of time, together, independent, as happy as they could possibly make themselves.

Tate thought. He wouldn't have to see Constance grieve over her disappointment in him. He wouldn't have to see the expression on her face when she saw him walking out the door to go meet Violet. He wouldn't have to live with the reminders of everything he could have been, everything he was supposed to have been. He could simply be what he was. The idea was delectable, irresistible. For the first time in his life, he could live in peace. Tate could not be judged, because no one would know him, and he would have the one thing that mattered to him by his side until the very end.

"Alright." he finally told her, taking her small hands in his and kissing them tenderly. "What time do we leave?"

And with a brilliant smile, Violet began to propose plans of action. This would be their beginning—the beginning of their perfect ending, their perfect tragedy.