A/N- Thanks for all the great reviews guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter about Violet and Tate- and just for clarification's sake, this one follows my personal theory about the connection Tate and Rubber Man—I have no clue what's really going to happen on the show, and this could be proven wrong in a week, but if they give a different explanation, this story will just go AU. And because this part of the story gets a little more involved, it will be two chapters. Hope you enjoy!

two

2011

violet and tate

"Hey, Leah?" Violet looked up from the textbook she was pretending to read in the school library.

"Yeah?" Leah looked up from doing the exact same thing. They were sitting together at one of the back corner tables, supposedly working on their joint history project.

"Can I ask you something? It's kind of personal." Violet licked her lips nervously.

Leah shrugged. "Sure."

Violet lowered her voice. "You and Ryan…have sex all the time, right?"

Leah grinned, tossing her long dark hair over one shoulder, and leaning closer to speak in a whisper. "Totally. I'm telling you, Vi, college guys are the way to go. They're so much better in bed than these little pathetic high school boys. Last weekend, no lie, he went down on me and I literally blacked out. I mean, we were both really high at the time, but still…it was so awesome."

Violet laughed weakly. "Wow."

"I know." Leah smiled proudly before her eyebrows went together with suspicion. "But wait. You're my good little virgin friend. Why do you want to know? You need some good wanking material?"

"No, it's not that. Besides…" Violet sighed heavily, examining her split ends and saying something so quietly Leah couldn't understand her.

"What?"

"I said, I'm not exactly a virgin anymore." Violet hissed.

Leah's eyes lit up. "No shit? Vi! Who is he?"

"Just…some guy."

"Does he go here?"

"No. He's older too."

Leah's eyes narrowed. "Not that freak from the basement, right?"

"No, of course not." Violet lied quickly, deciding to tell the partial truth. "He's one of my dad's patients. We started hanging out after one of his sessions, and it just kind of…went from there."

Leah laughed merrily. "You little slut! I love it!" She closed her textbook, scooting her chair closer to Violet. "So how was he?"

"Umm…" Violet twisted her hair through her fingers.

Leah cringed. "That bad, huh? What's the problem? Little prick?"

"No. No, it's not that." Violet said defensively. "It's just like, every time we're making out and stuff, everything's really good, but as soon as he really…" she trailed off awkwardly.

"Puts it in?" Leah supplied helpfully.

"Yeah." Violet's cheeks turned bright red, but she kept talking. "As soon as we start to actually have sex, he loses it in like fifteen seconds."

"Like he comes too soon or he can't stay hard?" Leah asked curiously, sounding just as comfortable with this topic as most people would be with discussing the lunch menu.

"The second thing." Violet mumbled. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"Depends. What do you do when it happens? Like just lie there?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"Well, hello. When it comes to sex, you should never just lie there. Go down on him if it happens again. Or at least give him like a hand job or something. Help him finish a few times and maybe he'll be less freaked. And give each other oral before you have sex. There's a reason it's called third base—you can't just go from making out to hitting a grand slam."

"So we're really running with the baseball metaphor here." Violet grinned, trying to sound flippant, deciding not to reveal that she'd never given a guy a blow job and would have no idea what she was doing. But hey—it couldn't be that complicated. Leah was pretty famous for her oral skills, and she wasn't exactly a rocket scientist.

Leah shrugged. "Mock me all you want, but you'll be thanking me soon. No man on this planet turns down a blow job, and once it's over, they like worship you. He'll be so hot for you after that his little problem will be a thing of the past."

"Okay." Violet nodded in her usual businesslike manner. "I'll try that. Thanks."

"Anytime." Leah shrugged. "And on Monday, I expect full details, you little sex monkey."

"Whatever." Violet laughed.

"So, dysfunctions aside, is he hot?"

"Yeah." Violet's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Definitely."

"Who does he look like? Give me a celebrity."

"He looks like Kurt Cobain." Violet grinned.

"Who?" Leah's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Girls?" Their teacher rudely interrupted. "Are we staying on task?"

"Of course, Mrs. Ryers." Leah flashed her brightest, prettiest smile, Violet smothering a laugh into her sleeve. "We're the task masters."

"Good. Because I'm giving you and Violet the first time slot for presentations on Monday." Mrs. Ryers smiled tightly before walking away.

Leah's fake smile faded the moment their teacher turned away. "Bitch. Just because she never gets laid, we're not allowed to talk about anything interesting?"

Violet wrinkled her nose. "She has kids. She must have gotten laid a couple times."

"Gross." Leah reluctantly opened her textbook again. "Okay. So who the hell fought in World War I?"

"Hey, beautiful." Tate met Violet at the bottom of the basement stairs as usual, giving her that sweet half-grin he always did when they met up at night after her parents were asleep.

"Hey." Violet took his face in her hands, kissing him, oddly purposeful, Tate stumbling back slightly at the force of her embrace.

He kissed her back, but looked nervous when they broke apart, quick to change the subject. "So do you want to go upstairs? I know you've been wanting to show me those WalkingDead DVDS—"

"No. Fuck zombies. I want to be with you, tonight. For real." Violet said boldly.

Tate's face fell. "Violet…"

"Come on, Tate. We can't just ignore this forever."

"I don't want to talk about it." Tate mumbled.

"Fine. We don't have to talk." Violet swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of what to do next. Playing any kind of seductive role rang totally false to her, but she really did want to fix things with Tate. Were you supposed to tell someone you were going to go down on them, or just like…go for it? Shit. She should have asked Leah more questions. "Just kiss me," she finally said, hoping everything else would just happen naturally.

But that was clearly not the case. Tate kissed her, but was obviously holding back, his arms at his sides. Violet sighed with frustration, pushing him back up against the stairwell, her hands tangling in his wavy blond hair. Tate finally seemed to come around, wrapping his arms around her as he finally, really kissed her back, Violet making a small, content sound at the feeling of his tongue tangling with hers. She started unbuttoning her blue flannel shirt, Tate eagerly helping her slide it off her shoulders, but when she moved her hands down to his jeans, undoing the top button and unzipping his fly, Tate suddenly stopped her, his hands over hers. "Don't, Vi. Don't."

"What is your problem?" she cried, exasperated.

"Can't we just hang out without all this bullshit? Why is sex so fucking important?" Tate shook his head, clearly exhausted.

Violet ran her hands through her hair, looking close to pulling it out. "Because it is! Because that's what people in a relationship do! Because you should be able to get hard for your fucking girlfriend, Tate!"

"I love you, Violet. I really do. And if you love me back, you'd believe me. Not make me prove it."

"Yeah, whatever." Violet spat, shoving him away from her. They had never said 'I love you' before, and she couldn't believe he was doing it now, in the middle of a fight. "I'm tired of this bullshit. I'm going to bed. Don't follow me."

She stormed out of the basement, leaving Tate alone at the bottom of the stairs, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Tate sank down to the ground, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, completely oblivious to the fact that a man in a black rubber suit had been watching their little lover's tableau all the while from his darkened vantage point in the basement.

"You poor girl…" the man muttered to himself, laughing quietly. "You poor, lonely girl." He slipped back into the shadows, and when Tate finally opened his eyes, wiping frustrated tears off his cheeks, the man was gone.

As he hid out in the basement, Tate could hear footsteps on the second floor landing, but he figured it was just Violet, pacing as she often did when she was pissed.

But he was wrong. Violet was in her room, laying on her bed and staring up at the ceiling, her eyes hot and stinging with tears as well, unaware of a black gloved hand turning the doorknob to her room.

Ican'tbelieveIwentonbirthcontrolforthatasshole.IguessI'lljustnever,everhavegoodsex.Ithoughtonlyoldguyshadthisproblem.IshouldhavesaidIlovedhimback.

Violet sat up in bed when the sound of her bedroom door opening interrupted her crazily careening thoughts.

"I told you not to follow—" Her voice died in her throat when she saw that a man wearing the black rubber fetish suit her dad had found in the attic was standing in her doorway.

Violet sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Tate, it was funny once. Now it's just weird."

The man didn't anything, stepping into the room and closing and locking the door behind him, staring at Violet unblinkingly through the holes in the mask. Violet shifted slightly on her bed. The intense way he was looking at her was making her very hot under her clothes. She swallowed hard, feeling like her heart was pounding in her throat. This was not the Tate she'd left crying in the basement ten minutes ago. Maybe it wasn't even him.

Violet got to her feet, wondering why she didn't feel afraid. "Tate?"

The man unzipped the back of the black mask, taking it off to reveal Tate's exact features—the same dark brown eyes, the same curly blond hair, everything. But there was something different about him now. He looked older. Stronger. It was like looking at her boyfriend with obvious mistakes. He even looked taller somehow.

This new, strange version of Tate stepped closer to her, his hands resting on her arms. "It's me, Violet."

He sounded like Tate, but with an unfamiliar deeper tone to his voice. Violet looked up at him, the man with Tate's face staring back at her so intently that Violet felt like her knees were going to buckle under his dark gaze. She cleared her throat, finally finding her voice. It had to be Tate. There was no other explanation. "So we have a fight, and your solution is to put on a fetish suit and sneak into my bedroom?"

"I thought you deserved some fun. For putting up with me." He smiled, leaning down and kissing her, his hand possessively gripping the back of her head. Violet rested her hands on his chest, kissing him back, struck again with the feeling that something was off. He was kissing her like he was trying to devour her, and it was hot in a weird, dominating kind of way, but it wasn't how Tate had ever kissed her before.

Maybe he was just trying something different. Maybe he was finally trying to fix their problem. Or maybe it just felt good to finally believe Tate wanted her as much as she wanted him. Violet didn't really care why this was happening, she was just glad it was. Eventually they ended up on her bed, and he climbed on top of her, lowering her hand to his huge erection, Violet's eyes widening with surprise. He had never gotten hard this easily before. Maybe this was their moment. Maybe they were finally going to get this right.

"You're going to feel it this time," he mumbled against her mouth, kissing her neck, his cold gloved hand sliding under her shirt to massage her breast. It felt good, but it wasn't what she wanted. "Come on," Violet muttered impatiently, sliding down her pajama pants and underwear. "I know, I know. You're dying for it," he mumbled, undoing the part of the suit that still separated them and entering her with a hard, thrusting motion that made Violet gasp with surprise. Her mind went oddly blank after that moment, clutching the slick black material covering his shoulders and closing her eyes as he moved against her, both breathing hard as it finally lasted long enough for Violet to lose herself in the moment. He didn't say anything, he barely even looked at her, but Violet didn't care. This was the way she'd always hoped sex would feel— out of control, powerful, all-consuming—and just when she thought there was no way it could get better, a final rush of pleasure flooded through her body with such force that Violet cried out, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he grunted with release against her shoulder.

Afterwards, he rolled off of her, the black suit squeaking against her sweaty skin as they moved apart. Violet stared up at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling rapidly.

"Tate?" she finally spoke, pulling her sheets up over her chest, her voice strangely small in a room that now seemed cavernous.

"Yes?"

"I love you." Violet turned onto her side, leaning over and kissing him, wanting to be closer to him, almost needing to be closer to him in the hazy afterglow of her first orgasm.

"I love you too, baby," he said with a disconcerting lack of emotion, moving away from her to do the rubber suit back up. "But I should probably go. You made enough noise to wake up the whole house, and I don't think your parents would be too thrilled to see me here." He gave her a smug smile. "Now you have something to think about when you touch yourself. You're welcome."

Violet blinked in surprise. Tate never joked around about stuff like this. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." He shrugged.

"You know, you can stay if you want. My parents are really heavy sleepers. They won't wake up. We could watch those DVDs." Violet sat up, not wanting him to leave.

"Maybe some other time." He stood up, picking up the mask from the floor and zipping it back into place.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Violet called after him, inwardly cringing at how needy she sounded.

"Sure. Tomorrow." He left without another word, Violet leaning back against her pillows and trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened.

"Tate?" Violet walked outside to the backyard the next afternoon, a light rain falling around the stone courtyard, Violet fiddling with her sleeves nervously as she looked around for him.

"Hey." Tate stepped out from behind one of the columns, looking much more like his old self in a green sweater and jeans, a downtrodden expression on his face that expressed none of the swaggering confidence he'd had in her room last night.

"Hey." Violet smiled a little shyly. Why didn't he look nervous? She felt like everything was different between them after last night, but Tate just looked depressed.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Tate put his hands in his pockets, kicking at one of the rocks in the courtyard.

Violet looked around, making sure they were alone before she stepped closer to him. "I just…I wanted you to know, I didn't just say that I loved you last night just because the sex was good. I mean, it was more than good, actually. It was amazing. But that's not why I said it."

Tate looked at her like she had just grown a third eye. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Last night."

"Okay, I can't tell if you're on something or just being mean."

"Tate, we had sex last night!"

Tate's eyes narrowed, trying to determine if she was playing some kind of cruel joke. "No, we didn't. I said I loved you, and you blew me off."

"I'm not talking about in the basement. I'm talking about later…in my room."

"I never came up to your room last night."

Violet and Tate looked at each other, both so confused by what the other person was saying that they couldn't even formulate a reaction for a moment.

"Did you have sex with another guy last night? Is this like…your way of telling me? Because it sucks." Tate stepped away from her, his dark eyes flooding with hurt.

"It was you, Tate," Violet said weakly, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. It was clear from the look on his face that she was wrong. "H-He looked just like you. He sounded just like you. Who else could it have been?"

"Ask her." They both jumped at the sound of Moira's voice, turning to find her listening to their conversation from the back door, Tate seeing the maid as a young, beautiful seductress and Violet seeing her as an old, embittered woman.

"Who?" Violet and Tate said in unison, confused enough to not even care that Moira had been eavesdropping.

Moira tilted her head towards Constance's house, Violet and Tate turning to see her big white Cadillac pulling into the driveway. Tate shook his head vehemently. Ever since Violet had told him the truth about Addy's death, he'd been avoiding his mother like the plague. "No. No fucking way. I told you, Vi, I'm not talking to her again. Ever."

"Well, then I'll do the talking." Violet marched towards Constance's driveway, surprising her as she stepped out of her car.

"Violet, angel!" Constance smiled falsely. "You here to ruin more of my children's lives?"

"Shut up and listen to me." Violet slammed the car door shut, making Constance jump. "You owe me some answers. Me and your son."

Constance laughed airily. "What are you talking—"

"I want to know about Tate's brother," Violet said, everything starting to make a sick kind of sense.

All the color drained from Constance's face, but she tried to keep a smile on her face. "I don't know what you mean—"

"No more bullshit! The truth!" Violet shouted, her voice shaking.

Constance let out a long breath, digging in her purse for cigarettes. "Tate's brother is gone. We had him sent away, years ago…"

"Well, he's back." Violet said simply, trying to keep her voice steady as the full implications of what had happened last night started to sink in. "And now you're going to tell us everything."

Constance held out a cigarette to Violet. "Go ahead, honey. You're going to need it."

A/N- To be continued! Next chapter, Tate and his brother meet again and Violet's fate at Murder House is sealed…I love reviews!