A/N- Thanks for the reviews guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Love in the Afterlife

Chapter Six

At first, when he made his way out of the tunnel, it felt like passing under a waterfall. Peaceful. Refreshing. But the farther he crawled forward—and Tate felt like he must keep moving forward—the more difficult it became. The air was thick and stifling. It was so dark he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face, rather tentatively getting to his feet, unable to tell if he had adequate room to stand. There was nothing above his head, but the water steadily dripping down around him now was so cold it hurt his skin, and suddenly it began to gush down in torrents, like someone had just opened a dam above him. But he couldn't escape. It was all around him, the water level rising with alarming speed from his ankles to his knees to his waist then neck and finally over his head, as Tate took a deep breath and dove underwater, feeling out the slightly rounded stone wall with his hands and realizing he was trapped at the bottom of a cavernous well.

Soon he had no choice but to start swimming upwards. The water must be coming from somewhere. There had to be a way out. His lungs started burning from lack of oxygen, but he kept going, taking wide, broad strokes with his arms and legs, seeing a circular ring of light appear high above him, as if someone was moving away the stone covering the top of the well. The cold water burned Tate's eyes, but he forced himself to keep them open, not daring to look away when there was sunlight and warmth and air above him, if he could only make it for a few more seconds, if he could just keep going a little farther…

Suddenly, Tate saw the silhouette of a dark figure looking down at him, mercifully extending a hand to help him. It was Eli. Tate made one last push for the surface, his lungs feeling like they were about to explode before he could finally raise his head above water, gasping for breath and gratefully seizing Eli's hand. Eli hauled him out of the water and over the edge, onto a bed of grass. Tate was shivering and weak as Eli helped him lie down on his back, Tate turning to the side and coughing violently. Eli placed his hand on Tate's shoulder as he watched his brother try to regain his breath.

"Are you all right?" Eli asked quietly when Tate gingerly sat up, wiping off his mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Tate's teeth were chattering even in the blazing sunlight, his voice hoarse and strained. He ran a hand through his damp blond curls. "Thanks for saving me."

"Of course. You're my brother." Eli smiled, and it wasn't a smirk. It was a genuine smile, almost too big—the way a child smiles before the world teaches them to be self-conscious.

"I thought you hated me."

Eli shook his head. "All I ever wanted was to be like you. And I couldn't. And I hated that about you. I was never good. Or kind. Girls never liked me the way they liked you. And we both know mom would have been much happier if she'd just had you. Her perfect little angel."

"That's not true—"

"Yeah, it is. She just told me as much. But it's okay. That's all going to change now. Now we're both here, and we can go back together. Start over as a family."

"Go back where?"

"Back home." Eli said simply, looking over his shoulder at the bizarre sight of a doorway standing in the middle of the field.

"That's the way out of here? Back to the house? For good this time?" Tate's eyes lit up.

"I think so." Eli nodded with a smile.

"Violet…" Tate said under his breath, scrambling to his feet and racing towards the door.

Eli's smile fell. "That's why you want to go back? For her?"

Tate stopped with his hand on the doorknob, turning back around to face his brother. "Of course, for her. She's everything. She's the love of my life."

"You wouldn't even have a life if I hadn't helped you just now."

Tate sighed. "You're the reason I died in the first place, Eli. I wouldn't go applying for sainthood just yet."

"If you hadn't died that day, you never even would have met Violet. You should be thanking me."

"You're right." Tate clapped a hand to his chest, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thank you. Thank you for shooting up my high school and framing me for it. Thank you for pretending to be me and fucking my girlfriend before you tried to murder her. You've been a terrific brother. I should be more grateful." Tate shook his head in disbelief, turning back to the doorway and opening the door.

"You're not walking away from me!" Eli yelled, starting to cross the field towards Tate and the doorway. "You're my brother!"

"Goodbye, Eli." Tate walked through the doorway, closing it behind him. As soon as he did, it disappeared entirely. There was only enough space for one soul to pass through and sink into the bullet-ravaged body on the other side, back at Murder House, back in the world of the living.

Eli sank to his knees in the grass, weeping bitterly into his hands, finally knowing the truth. He had run out of narrow escapes. He had passed on. He was stuck here, alone, for eternity. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"The doctor said he seems completely lucid and aware of his surroundings, but swears up and down he's Tate Langdon." Constance smoothed her son's hair back off his forehead as he slept peacefully in his hospital bed, Billie Dean standing at the foot of the bed and looking him over thoughtfully. Constance looked up at her, apprehension in her eyes. "Tell me the truth. Is there even reason to hope that it's possible? That I really have my precious boy back?"

"Of course it's possible." Billie Dean nodded. "It's a very old magic, but that doesn't make it any less powerful. When a person dies in another's place, whether willingly or not, their souls are forever linked. And when there's a familial connection, the bond is even stronger. The souls of mothers who have died for their children are oftentimes the easiest spirits to contact, for example. I believe that Tate and Eli's souls were so intertwined by Eli's evil sacrifice of his brother that when Eli passed while in direct contact with the ghost of his brother, Tate's spirit entered Eli's body. The universe isn't uniformly cruel, Mrs. Langdon. Perhaps fate thought Tate deserved a second chance at life after his first one was taken away so unjustly."

Constance looked a little bored with all of this spiritual mumbo-jumbo, but eager to hone in on the point. "So the boy in this hospital bed right now is Tate?"

"His body is Eli's. His soul is Tate's." Billie Dean said in that maddeningly know-it-all tone, like she was always completely certain she was right even in the most outlandish of situations.

But Constance didn't want to argue with her this time, because she desperately wanted Billie Dean to be right.

"When were Tate and Eli born?" Billie Dean asked thoughtfully.

"June 3, 1977."

"Ah." Billie Dean gave her a sage nod. "Under the astrological sign of the Gemini. The sign of the twins. Historically represented by two boys— polar opposites, but mystically interchangeable. Forgive me for bordering on trite, but it seems this was written in the stars, Mrs. Langdon."

"Hmm." Constance didn't seem totally convinced, placing her hands together in her lap. "Thank you for coming by, Miss Howard."

"Of course. Please let me know if you need any further consultation."

"I will. And thank you again. You've been very helpful."

"Expect my bill." Billie Dean nodded with a small smile, leaving the hospital room.

Constance looked at her son for a long moment, resting her hand on his cheek. He looked like an angel when he slept. Maybe Billie Dean really was right.

But it couldn't hurt to get a second opinion.

"Hey, Lex. What are you doing out here?" Violet walked up to their on-campus apartment after her last final, her brow furrowed at the sight of Lexi pacing back and forth in front of their door on her cell phone.

Lexi hung up the phone, letting out a sigh of mingled relief and frustration. "Where have you been? I've been calling you for twenty minutes!"

"I turned off my phone. For my final." Violet crossed to her. "What's up?"

Lexi lowered her voice to a whisper. "Some weird lady came here looking for you. She said her name is Constance, and she was friends with your parents."

Violet snorted with laughter. "That's a stretch."

"She's totally bizarre. She's like wearing a gown. And she kept making all these comments about how small our apartment is. She looked in all the rooms, and like went through my jewelry while we were talking. It was creepy. I just stepped outside to call you." Lexi looked behind her nervously. "I'm kind of scared she's going to steal my stuff."

"I'll handle this." Violet shook her head.

"Okay. I'm going to go hang out with Chris. Call me later and tell me what's going on."

"I will."

Lexi gave her a little wave before pulling out her keys and unlocking her white Mustang with a little beep-beeping noise. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Violet walked into the apartment, finding Constance sitting at their kitchen table, looking through the new issue of Cosmopolitan Lexi had left out. Lexi subscribed to the magazine, but Violet secretly always looked forward to reading it when Lexi wasn't around. "Hey, Constance."

Constance didn't look up right away, seemingly engrossed in an article. She read the headline out loud to Violet. "How To Have a 15 Minute Orgasm." Constance set down the magazine, clasping her hands together. "Good lord."

"What are you doing here?" Violet asked, exhausted from finals and really just wanting to take a nap, but more than a little curious what was going on. "What happened to your face?"

Constance ignored her last question, rather self-consciously resting her chin in her hand to cover the large bandage over her cheekbone. She'd had to get stitches from where Eli had struck her and broken the skin, and Constance was terrified it was going to scar. She decided to address Violet's first question instead. "I need your assistance with something."

"What?"

"It's about Tate."

"What about him?"

"He's come back. For good this time."

Violet went slightly pale, but kept her expression neutral. "You saw him? In the house?"

"Yes." Constance seemed to be choosing her next words very carefully. "One week ago, Eli, Laurence, and I had a bit of a…family altercation. And…suddenly, I just knew Tate was there. I turned around and I saw him. Eli was dying, and…something happened between the two boys. Something I can't explain." She trailed off for a moment.

"Constance. Get to the point." Violet's voice shook her back to reality.

"Eli's passed on. And through some…miracle…Tate's spirit entered his brother's body. They've switched places. And it seems to be permanent."

Violet rubbed her forehead wearily. "Constance. I'm about to graduate. I'm moving next week. I don't have time to listen to your little fantasy."

Constance's eyes narrowed. "Spare me your charade of disbelief. I know you saw Tate during your very brief visit. Moira told me. After I was kind enough to fit you into the schedule at my place of business, you were still trying to keep my son all to yourself."

"If he'd wanted to see you then, he would have." Violet shrugged.

"Look, Violet," Constance rose to her full impressive height, "we don't have to be friendly. In fact, I don't really give a damn whether you like me or not. But, in light of recent circumstances, it looks like we're going to have to be in each other's lives, at least for now. We need to be there for Tate, together." She sighed, finally coming to the truth. "And he's been asking for you."

"How do you know it's not Eli? Maybe he's just completely lost it and thinks he's Tate."

"Come see for yourself." Constance countered. "Or you'll never know."

Violet was silent for a long moment. Finally, she took a deep breath, running a hand through her long dark hair. "Let me get my stuff."

"He's still weak and gets tired very easily. We try to limit his time with visitors." The nurse looked skeptically at Violet. "How do you know the patient again?"

"We grew up together." Violet said, not sure how else to put it.

"Well, I hope you coming here will help him. He still seems very confused."

Violet nodded, mumbling under her breath as she walked into the room—"He's not the only one."

The visual impact of seeing Tate or Eli or whatever Langdon brother this really was really sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed out of Murder House and in the real world caused Violet to stop dead for a moment, her chest constricting painfully. She felt suddenly dizzy, like she couldn't take a deep enough breath. She wanted to turn and run away. She wasn't ready to face this. But then she suddenly heard Tate's voice in her head, the week they had first met—

I thought you weren't afraid of anything.

Violet swallowed hard, stepping closer. When she stood over him, she could clearly see the long, jagged scar she had inflicted across his left eye. The person lying in the bed was more powerfully built than Tate, the muscles of his shoulders and arms straining the thin hospital gown even as he slept, and his skin was slightly more tanned. By all outward appearances, this was Eli Langdon. Her hand went unconsciously to her stomach, where her own skin still bore the scars of the last time she and Eli had met. Violet never went anywhere without at least wearing a camisole to hide her stomach so her scars would never accidentally show. It wasn't vanity—it was more like self-protection. She felt defenseless and vulnerable whenever she looked down at them, and she hated showing any sign of weakness to the outside world.

She had never let anyone but Tate see her scars, when they had spent the night together last week. Tate had cried when she had showed him, Violet's eyes burning with tears as well, Tate saying he was sorry over and over. She had told him it wasn't his fault. She remembered the feeling of his breath on her bare skin, his thumb gently tracing the longest of her scars as he told her how beautiful she was before he kissed his way down her stomach and then lower—

Violet mentally shook herself. This was not the time to remember any of…that. She was here for a reason. She'd heard Constance's version of the story. Now it was time to discover the truth.

"Can you hear me?" Her voice was quiet, but he stirred immediately at the sound, opening his eyes and looking up at her.

"Violet." He breathed out. "Am I dreaming?"

"No." She looked down at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. "Who are you? Really?"

"It's me, Vi. I swear."

"Don't lie to me." She shook her head, her voice a stern warning.

"I'm not. Eli's gone. For good." He sat up slightly in bed, wincing but needing her to hear him and understand. "I came back for you. And I don't know how…but this is where I ended up. I took his place. I didn't know it was going to happen. But I'm here."

Violet sank into the chair next to his hospital bed, putting her head in her hands for a moment, completely overwhelmed. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Tate's features softened with concern. "I'm sorry. I know this is a lot. I'm still trying to figure this all out too. But I promise you. It's me. I'm Tate."

Violet looked up at him. "Prove it. Tell me something only Tate would know."

He considered this for a moment. "One time, a couple weeks after we first met, we were hanging out in the basement and listening to some of my old records, and I played you a bootleg of Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love singing "Asking For It." You told me that you decorated your whole bedroom based on Hole's "Live Through This" album, and that you liked to tell people that your parents named you for that song "Violet." And then I told you that Kurt Cobain helped her write that whole album, and you got all pissed off and told me that he only sang back-up vocals on a few songs and that you thought it was bullshit that he should get all the credit for her best album. We got into a stupid argument about it, and you got really mad at me, and I thought it was so hot. I finally said you were right, and you started the bootleg over, and we ended up making out to it on the staircase, and it was the first time you let me go to second base, and I thought it was the coolest night ever."

Violet's lips curved into a small smile, her eyes slightly glassy. "If you live through this with me…"

"…I swear that I will die for you." He finished the lyric from "Asking For It." "I told you one time I thought we should get a tattoo of that and I could totally tell you wanted to but you just told me to stop being weird."

"I did kind of want to." Violet wiped at her cheeks, shaking her head. "This is so insane. I feel like I'm hallucinating."

"Me too. Like we're both going to wake up, and never see each other again."

Violet ran a hand through her hair, letting out a long breath. "So what happens now?"

"Then you believe me?" he asked hopefully.

She made him wait out an excruciatingly long silence before she spoke again. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

He let out a breath of relief, reaching out and taking her hand. "I love you. Violet, I love you so much. I don't care what happens from here as long as we're together."

She didn't say anything back right away, and before she could, the nurse knocked on the door, entering the room and giving Violet an annoyed look when she saw him sitting up and active. "All right, Eli. It's time for you to get some rest."

"Okay. Let me just say goodbye to my friend."

The nurse nodded curtly. "Then you rest."

"I will."

Violet raised her eyebrows when the door was closed again. "Eli?"

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Well, if I keep saying I'm Tate, they're going to think I'm crazy. I have to be declared mentally competent to not get sent back to the mental hospital. So I figured I'll just play along until they let me out of here."

"Right." Violet nodded. "I guess I should let you rest. Before she goes all Nurse Ratched on me."

He laughed. "Okay. Are you staying in town?"

Violet nodded. "I was actually planning on moving into an apartment here in LA next week. Some of my furniture's already there, and it's vacant for the time being, so I guess I'll just stay there for now."

"Thanks for coming." He squeezed her hand.

"Of course."

They looked at each other, Tate biting his tongue to keep from saying he loved her like fifty more times and Violet not sure what the hell she wanted to say to him.

"Okay, bye." She finally mumbled awkwardly, pulling her hand away and walking out of the room, nearly running straight into Constance who'd clearly been waiting for her outside.

"Well?" Constance held out her hands expectantly.

"It's him." Violet said without looking at her, pushing past Constance and into the nearest bathroom, closing the stall door behind her and falling to her knees in front of the toilet, gagging and finally throwing up the cheap hospital coffee and muffin she'd eaten earlier.

Violet leaned her head against the cool metal wall of the bathroom stall, feeling like the floor was spinning underneath her. This was too much. She'd never even bothered to wish for something like this happening because it seemed too impossible. Tate was here. Living. Breathing. Once he was out of the hospital, they could go anywhere. Do anything. They had a future. It was everything she could have wanted.

And she'd never felt more terrified.

"We've thoroughly searched the grounds and haven't turned up anything. It may have just been a random incident. But please don't hesitate to call us if you hear or see anything suspicious." The police officer, a tall blond woman with a gravelly voice who'd been the lead officer on the Murder House homicide and working with Constance for the last week, looked around the empty foyer. "Will you be all right here by yourself, ma'am?"

"Of course." Constance sniffed.

"All right. Call me if you need me." The officer's expression softened slightly. "And I'm very sorry for your loss. My father passed away in the line of duty a few years ago, and if it makes you feel any better…I think the ones who love us never really leave us."

Here's hoping. Constance thought to herself, but she forced a "it's tough, but I'll manage" smile on her face. "Thank you for saying that. Goodnight, Officer."

"Goodnight, ma'am." The police officer gave her a curt nod, leaving out the front door. Constance locked up behind her, walking by the kitchen and trying to ignore the little twinge of sadness in her chest as she looked at the empty table where she and Laurence always talked after everyone else had gone to bed. The house was vacant until tomorrow morning, when new guests would be arriving. She had shut down the bed and breakfast for the past week so the police could complete their investigation, and when they had predictably come up with nothing, they had given her the all clear to open back up for business. She had informed the new guests of what had happened, and it didn't seem to put any of them off in the least. One more soul claimed by Murder House, possibly at the hands of the infamous Rubber Man, just further added to the mystique of the place.

Life would go back to normal soon. Better than normal—Tate had returned to her. Violet would probably monopolize all of his time once he was out of the hospital, but at least he was back. The thought comforted her. One of her children had the chance to be happy.

And maybe even the chance to give her grandchildren. It seemed like such a normal, commonplace thing to hope for, but Constance couldn't help it. She loved babies, and she certainly wasn't going to have any more herself. Maybe Violet could finally be good for something. Constance smiled to herself. There was always a silver lining. Everything was working out so well.

Except for one thing.

She had no idea why Laurence still wasn't here. She had spoken with some of the other ghosts in the house, and they had all told her that their spirits returned to Murder House almost immediately after dying. She hadn't yet stooped to the indignity of calling out for him, but the loneliness was becoming unbearable.

And in her conversations with the ghosts, something Chad had said continued to haunt her—

"We're only seen when we want to be seen. Maybe he just doesn't want you anymore. Maybe he found clarity in death."

Constance and Chad had a long-standing vituperative relationship, and she tried to assure herself that he was just trying to get to her, only being cruel as he always was. Laurence had loved her for over forty years. There was no way he was avoiding her.

So then where was he?

She glumly made her way to the guesthouse addition in the backyard she'd had put in when she opened the bed and breakfast. She had chosen to live out here, much too avaricious to waste a room that could make her money on herself. She had everything she needed in the guesthouse—a kitchen, living room, luxurious bath complete with a claw-foot tub, and an elegant bedroom done in an Old Hollywood style. The only concession she'd made to Larry basically living with her for the last two years was two drawers in the closet for his clothes, and a medicine cabinet in the bathroom for his toothbrush, razor, and comb.

After Constance took her bath and got ready for bed, she put on her white silk nightgown and sat down at the vanity in her bedroom, pouring herself a drink from her decanter of gin and taking a hearty swallow before turning on the lighted mirror and gingerly prying off the bandage over her cheek. Constance grimaced at the sight. Eli deserved what he got for doing this to her. She hated how she looked without make-up, and now it was even worse. She leaned closer to the mirror, dabbing around the wound with a self-made scar remedy of lavender and Vitamin E. She would do her best, but she knew it would fade but never go away. Time continued to ravage her beauty, it seemed.

Struck with a strange masochistic urge, and with no one left to look pretty for, Constance took down her perfectly styled hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. There was no make-up on her face. Her hair was wavy and unkempt. Her scar was red and irritated. She could hardly recognize herself. If she wasn't beautiful, she wasn't Constance. She finished her glass of gin in another sip, finding a comforting familiarity in the way the alcohol burned going down.

She looked at her reflection for a long moment, seeing herself as the little girl who'd grown up on a farm in Virginia, who'd wanted so much more for herself and seen her pretty face as the only way she was going to get it. What had happened to that girl? If she had known what was to come, she wouldn't have even bothered to dream such ludicrous things. She hadn't become a star. She hadn't really made anything of herself. And the only person who'd ever really loved her might now be gone forever.

She put her head in her hands, not crying, just tired. And lonely. Above everything else, she was lonely. Laurence had been such a constant companion to her for most of her life. She had no idea how to run this place without him. And more than just his business expertise, she missed him. There was no reason to deny it anymore. She missed his company. She missed someone sleeping next to her at night. She missed having someone who wanted to hear about her day.

And although it seemed vulgar to even think such a thing, she missed sex. There was no one to judge her for it anymore, so why not face the truth? Laurence wasn't handsome. He wasn't the kind of man she would ever picture herself with. But no one else had ever made her feel the way he had when they were together. It didn't make any sense. She would never tell another soul. But her fantasies were all her own. And there was one memory in particular she often returned to on lonely nights.

So, for a moment, Constance let herself remember.

1982

"What do you think?" Constance stood back, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Larry, finding herself oddly hungry for his approval.

"I love it." Larry picked up her newest painting to see it better. She did all of her work in the dark, shadowy basement, and it was never carried upstairs. Constance didn't think Hugo would appreciate the admittedly dark subject matter of her works, and so this was a secret talent she had so far only shared with Larry and never indulged when anyone else was at home. "Orpheus, right?"

"Yes. Mourning Eurydice. I've been working my way through Greek mythology lately."

Larry looked up at her with a small smile, gently setting the painting back down on its easel. "I'm glad you let me be a part of this."

"You're the only one who would appreciate it." Constance looked at him for a moment, almost appraisingly. "Sometimes I feel like you're the only person on this earth who really knows me."

Larry blinked with surprise. Never, ever had Constance said something that sounded so close to revealing a shred of vulnerability. It took him a moment to find his voice. "I feel the same way. Like I fake it for everybody but you."

There was a long silence between them before Constance cleared her throat, looking away from him. "Tate's been drawing, did I tell you? His teacher said he has a real talent for it."

"Like mother, like son."

"I suppose. Only he draws nice things. Not death and destruction and mayhem like his mother. I suppose we all use art for our own purposes." Constance said with a small laugh. "It's the oddest feeling…he's such a sweet little boy, but I never quite feel like I can reach him. Like he's always somewhere else in his mind, imagining things. My little dreamer. I wish I was more like him. I wish I could look at him and see myself. But I don't. He's nothing like me. I was always…hard. Strong. More like his brother. Even as a child. I felt like I had to be. But I don't want that for him. I want him to stay innocent and gentle and kind, just so that I know that someone like that can even exist. Part of me just wants to shield him from the world, from all of its ugliness, so he never has to see things as they really are. I'm afraid he wouldn't survive reality if he ever really had to face it."

"Maybe he's stronger than you think." Larry shrugged.

"I hope so." Constance absently toyed with the string of pearls around her neck. Larry watched her, thinking that she looked so beautiful, wearing a crisp white shirtdress with chocolate brown boots. Larry smiled to himself, thinking that only Constance would wear a white dress to paint and not get a drop on it. "Will you help him, Laurence? If he ever needs it?"

"Of course." Larry said without a moment's hesitation. "Of course I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Constance reached out, her hand resting on his cheek. She leaned forward, Larry's eyes closing as she kissed him, briefly. A thank you. Nothing more. She pulled away after a moment, pressing her lips together.

"Laurence, I have to say something to you, and you're not going to like it."

"Uh-oh. Sounds ominous." Larry didn't sound too concerned. Constance made dramatic proclamations all the time, and they never really amounted to much.

"I've been giving this a lot of thought. And I think it's time we end this."

"What?" Larry's brow furrowed with confusion.

"This. Us. I feel like my family's coming apart at the seams, and I'm not helping anything by carrying on an affair with a married man."

"What do you mean, coming apart at the seams?"

Constance sighed, rubbing her forehead wearily. "Eli has some mental…issues that require professional care. Expensive professional care. Addy's barely making it at school, and needs private tutoring that we can't afford. Hugo's already drowning in debt trying to keep his business afloat and make the ridiculous payments on this place. Everything just feels like it's on the edge of breaking, and I feel like I have to be the rock for all of them now, and what I've been doing with you…it's selfish. It takes me further away from my family. I'm so sorry, Laurence. I do so appreciate everything you've done for me over the years. And I hope we're still in each other's lives. Just not…in the same way. Do you understand my meaning?"

Larry nodded, a white-hot anger flooding through him. "Oh, I got it. Loud and clear. We return to our separate miserable existences and just pretend the last six years never happened?"

"Don't be unkind about this. I'm trying to do the right thing."

Larry snorted with laughter. "Yeah, Constance. You're a real saint."

Constance raised her eyebrows. "What are you implying?"

"You started all of this! And I let you jerk me around for six years because I was stupid enough to think that one day you might actually give a damn about me. But clearly you don't. Clearly you never will. That's what I don't get about you, Constance. You never loved me. So why? Why start this at all? Why keep calling me? Revenge on your idiot husband? Just a way to pass the time? What the hell am I to you?"

"They're yours. Tate and Eli. They're yours, Laurence." It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She almost felt like he was right. She owed him at least this much. She owed him the truth.

Larry looked like he'd been punched in the stomach, taking in her news for a moment. Then suddenly he stepped forward, taking both her hands in his, his voice desperate. "Then leave him. Marry me."

Constance shook her head. "You're out of your mind—"

"Damn right I am. For you. Just say the word, and I'll leave Lorraine. I have the money to pay for this place, and Addy, and Eli, and Tate—I could take care of them. I could take care of all of you. I'm more of a husband to you than he's ever been. He doesn't love you. He's never been faithful. And you know it. So stop pretending you have this perfect family that I'm keeping you from."

"There's no such thing as a perfect family." Constance scoffed.

"But we could be a happy one." Larry looked over her face, letting out a long breath. "I love you, Constance."

"I know you do." She pulled her hands away. "But I don't love you. Not like that. And it would be cruel to lead you on any longer."

"Cruel?" Larry laughed out loud. "Cruelty's your art, baby. Why stop now?"

"I think we've both said everything we need to. And I think you should leave now." Constance smoothed down her dress, speaking in her most imperious tone.

"Don't do that. Don't talk down to me, you arrogant bitch." Larry growled.

"I was using you, Laurence. All along. I thought you knew that. I never had feelings for you." Constance spat her words in his face, proving his claims of her cruelty. "Never."

"Bullshit." Larry seized her by the shoulders, pushing her back up against the wall and kissing her with a force hard enough to bruise.

Constance turned her face away after a moment, breathless and furious when she spoke again. "Get your hands off of me. You're pathetic. You're nothing. Less than nothing."

"Keep talking." Larry laughed almost manically, gripping her shoulders tighter. "Keep telling me you hate me. I fucking love it."

"You're sick." Constance said, her voice shaking slightly, their mouths inches apart.

"So are you." Larry leaned closer to her. "You can play perfect housewife all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that I've been inside you. I've made you scream. And I'm the only one who knows how."

"And I'm the arrogant one?" Constance laughed, their mouths brushing.

"Just shut the fuck up for once." Larry kissed her again, and this time, Constance kissed him back, fury turning into something else, something so powerful that they literally started tearing at each other's clothes, Larry pushing her dress up to her hips to slide off her underwear, Constance hurriedly undoing his pants before they came together right there, against the wall, Constance gasping in his ear, one of her long legs wrapped around his waist, her hands sliding up his back to his shoulders. Larry held her up with one arm, his other hand on the cold stone wall as he moved against her. There was no other word for it but fucking, and he had never been like this with her before, ever. It was rough and nasty and quick, and in the end, the best orgasm Constance ever had from just sex, her final cry of release echoing through the cavernous basement. She collapsed back against the wall after they both finished, slightly dazed, opening her eyes and looking at him as if she'd never really seen him before.

But Larry didn't look quite as enraptured with the experience. He looked horrified with himself, gently releasing her and stumbling backwards, doing back up his clothes. "I'm so sorry," he finally mumbled under his breath.

Constance smoothed her dress back down, trying to maintain as much dignity as she could manage with her lacy, slightly torn underwear still around one ankle. "It's fine."

"Don't worry. I'll leave you alone from now on." Larry ran a hand through his thinning hair, turning to go.

"Laurence." Constance caught his arm. "The Roosevelt. Tomorrow. Meet me there at noon." She pulled him in closer, her lips against his ear. "And you can fuck me even harder if you want."

Larry turned to look at her, shaking his head. "You're out of your mind. You know that, right?"

"Hardly your worst insult today."

"So this isn't over?" He asked hopefully, not sure how being such an asshole had changed her mind but glad that it had.

"It's not over." Constance smiled slightly, resting her hand on his cheek again, kissing him slowly, and not just as a thank you this time. "I don't know if we'll ever be rid of each other, Laurence."

"I'll let you get back to your painting." He smiled back, kissing her cheek before he turned away, walking out of the basement and back to his house, leaving Constance alone and very inspired.

Constance closed her eyes, lost in remembrance, wanting it back, wanting to feel like she had that day, when she was young and beautiful, when they'd felt passion so strongly that it had consumed them entirely and made them act like savages, free from the rigors and constraints of their normal lives…

She let out a long breath, almost unconsciously sliding a hand between her legs. Maybe admitting she still needed this was a sign of weakness, but she was just too tired to care anymore. She'd been fighting her whole life—fighting for respect, money, power, fighting for her family, fighting her feelings for the only man she had ever really trusted—but there was no point anymore. There was no one left to impress. Perhaps the silver lining to loneliness would be the absence of any judgment.

Constance felt a thrill of triumph as waves of pleasure pulsed through her body from her own hand, the memory of being with him in the basement feeling as immediate as the room around her, her breath catching in her throat as she neared the brink, his name finally escaping her lips in a throaty whisper—

"Laurence…"

"Is this a bad time?"

Constance nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Larry's voice, frantically smoothing her skirt back down and hastily clasping her hands together on the vanity, knocking over her glass of gin in a futile attempt to try and look like she hadn't been doing anything untoward. "Y-You should have…announced yourself," she stammered, her cheeks bright red and her voice higher-pitched than usual.

"I didn't want to interrupt." Larry grinned, his hands in his pockets, stepping forward into the soft lighting of her bedroom.

Constance gasped at the sight of him in the light. "Laurence, your face…"

"Yeah, I know. Death becomes me, I guess." Larry laughed, rubbing his newly smooth cheek. There wasn't a trace left of the ravaged scar tissue from his severe burns. The once-ruined half of his face was now perfectly normal, his skin practically glowing in the warm light, both of his eyes dark brown again, and his once-limp arm resting comfortably at his side instead of cradled against his chest. He looked as if he'd never been burned at all. "Did you miss me, baby?"

Constance rose to her feet, crossing towards him, her lips slightly parted, her eye locked on his, and for one moment, Larry gave in to the vain imagining that it might really be this easy.

But as soon as she was close enough, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face, so hard that he nearly spun all the way around, clutching his cheek as a large red handprint formed on his newly unblemished skin. Larry chuckled to himself, leaning against the wall. "It's going to be one of those nights, huh?"

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded, embarrassment at being caught in the act quickly morphing into blind rage at his prolonged (and seemingly intentional) absence.

"I died to save you, and this is the thanks I get?" Larry shook his head with mock disbelief.

"Answer the question, or I'll kill you again." Constance snarled.

"I was adjusting to the afterlife, my dear."

"Bullshit. Tell me the truth."

Larry sighed. He had actually been keeping himself busy, even reconnecting with the ghosts of his two daughters and learning the ghost hierarchy of Murder House from Chad and Patrick. But it was much more amusing to let Constance think he had just been torturing her for fun. Which wasn't entirely untrue. "Fine. Maybe I liked it a little."

"Liked what?"

"Keeping you waiting for once."

Constance's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you were, what? Teaching me a lesson?"

"I thought it might be good for your character." Larry shrugged.

"Yes, well, I think lighting you on fire again may be good for your character." Constance sniffed.

Larry smiled, closing the space between them and taking her face in his hands, kissing her soundly. Constance remained stiff against him, but Larry didn't seem to mind. "I love you." He breathed out, beaming at her when they parted.

"I despise you." Constance said, her lips curving upwards into a smile seemingly against her will.

"Uh-huh." Larry slid one silk strap off her shoulder, kissing the side of her neck. Constance finally relaxed against him, slipping the other strap off her shoulder, her silk nightgown pooling around her ankles on the floor as she took off his jacket and pulled him back on the bed. He knew her body so well at this point that they had foreplay down to a fine art. Giving in to him tonight wasn't really losing, she tried to tell herself. Besides, she could always torture him tomorrow.

Once they were on the bed, she seized his collar, forcefully pulling him towards her, Larry's hand tangling in her blond hair as he kissed her again, Constance surprising them both by wrapping her arms around his neck as they embraced, seemingly not out to prove anything or get the upper hand, just letting herself enjoy a moment for once. When they parted a long while later, she looked up at him, out of breath, her skin flushed.

Larry smoothed her hair back behind one ear, and Constance had the sudden horrible notion that he was going to see her up close and not want her anymore. Here she was, with no make-up, not a stitch of clothing on, and her scar fully visible. But Larry didn't seem to even notice anything was different. He just looked at her like he always did, with pure and total adoration.

Constance couldn't make sense of his opinion not changing now that he had seen her as she really was. So she squirmed slightly under his gaze, reaching out for the lamp on her bedside table. "I'll put out the lights."

Larry caught her hand, kissing her palm. "Don't."

"Laurence—"

"You've never looked more beautiful."

Constance kissed him this time, and whether or not she would ever admit it, they made love that night, like a real couple, in their bed, back in each other's arms.

Back where they belonged.

Afterwards, Larry held her as she drifted off to sleep, startling her slightly when he spoke again. "Constance?"

"Go to sleep. You know I don't like talking after," she mumbled into her pillow.

"Can I ask you something?"

Constance sighed dramatically, looking over her shoulder at him. "What?"

"Are you ever going to say it back?"

She reached back, her hand on his now-perfect cheek as she twisted around slightly to reach him, her lips brushing his. Larry felt a thrill of anticipation. Could this really be it? After forty-plus years, was the wait really over? Was Constance finally going to tell him she loved him too?

"Never." She whispered with a smirk, rolling back over and almost immediately falling asleep—or at least pretending to.

Larry looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head with a small smile.

Oh well. Maybe in another forty years. After all, they had forever.

"What did the doctor say?" Violet got to her feet when Constance left Tate's hospital room.

"He'll be released this afternoon." Constance beamed. "Clean bill of health, physically and mentally. 'Eli' has had a stunning recovery."

Violet let out a sigh of relief, she and Constance looking at each other for a moment, almost feeling like they should hug or something. They ended up both just crossing the arms and standing there awkwardly for a moment. Finally, Violet broke the silence with the most pressing question of the moment. "So what happens once he leaves? Like where's he going to go?"

Constance took a seat in the waiting room chairs, motioning for Violet to join her. Violet sat down as well, stiffening slightly when Constance took one of her hands, looking at Violet with a very serious expression. "You love him, don't you?"

"Why are you asking me that?" Violet mumbled, wanting to pull her hand away.

Constance lowered her voice so they wouldn't be overheard referring to Tate as his real name. "Because I think Tate should stay with you. You've graduated. You have your new apartment. You're getting settled, and perhaps…perhaps he could even help you get everything together. He doesn't want to come home with me. And I'm not sure the bed and breakfast would be a good place for him right now. Too many memories. Too much attention from the guests. As I'm sure you know, he's practically a celebrity there. I just don't want to subject him to that when he's still readjusting to his new life."

"Makes sense." Violet nodded.

"Before he leaves today, I'm going to give him a check for enough money to help you out with rent and groceries and any other expenses you both may encounter as he starts rebuilding his life. And once he's settled, I'll bring by Laurence's old car. He wanted Tate to have it anyway." She clasped Violet's hand tighter. "Don't worry, dear. Tate will become independent again soon enough. And I promise to ensure that he won't be a financial hardship on you."

"I wasn't worried about that." Violet shook her head, feeling anxious but not quite sure what it was she was worried about. "I just want him to be okay."

"Then you agree? He can stay with you?" Constance smiled brightly.

Violet nodded, hoping she was doing the right thing for both of them. "Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

"Wonderful." Constance released Violet's hand. She'd accomplished her goal, so physical affection was no longer necessary. "Should we go tell him?"

"Maybe I should just tell him by myself." Violet suggested.

Constance looked momentarily annoyed, but veiled it with a smile. "Whatever you think is best, dear. I'm going to go call the house and tell Laur—um, everyone the good news."

Violet watched her walk away, Constance's high heels click-clacking on the cheap hospital tile. Now that Tate was back, it seemed more than likely that Constance and Violet were not going to be rid of each other any time soon, and Violet didn't know quite what to make of that realization.

There were still moments where it didn't quite seem like this was her real life. She had driven back to Berkeley for her graduation, but hadn't told her parents or Lexi or anybody what was going on back home with Tate. She had just fake-smiled all day, and moved in to her new apartment afterwards with her dad and his girlfriend's help. Ben's girlfriend had even helped Violet get a job at Starbucks—her son was the general manager of one nearby Violet's apartment, and Ben told Violet that it could be a great way to pay the bills until she figured out where she wanted to apply for grad school. Violet wasn't even sure she wanted to go to grad school, but it seemed to make her dad happy when she said she did, so she just went with it.

So now she had a new job starting Monday, a brand new apartment where most of her things were still in boxes, and, in a bizarre turn of events, a new baby kitten. Vivien had told Violet a girl who was single and in her twenties should always have a pet, because, as she so sensitively put it, "You don't just want to come home to an empty apartment every night, honey." So when Vivien was in town, she had gone with Violet to pick out a pet from the local shelter, and Violet, mostly just humoring her mother, had picked out the animal she thought would require the least work—a little gray tabby kitten that she had decided to call Rochester. Jane Eyre had always been her favorite book from the Bronte sisters, and something about this tiny kitten having such a big, proper name made Violet smile whenever she thought about him.

And now, apparently she also had a new…roommate? She had no idea what she was supposed to call Tate now. She'd come and seen him at least once a day since he'd woken up, except for the weekend when she was gone for graduation, and when she'd been gone, she thought about him the whole time. They didn't really talk about anything big or important when she visited him. They mostly just watched TV and hung out. Tate still seemed really tired all the time—getting shot twice and pulled back from the afterlife will do that to a guy— and Violet usually ended up reading a book while Tate was passed out asleep. But it seemed to make him feel better just having her there, and she felt oddly out of sorts when she wasn't with him now. They needed each other, just as much as they always had, but Violet had no clue what their relationship was supposed to look like as they moved forward into an actual life together.

She walked into his hospital room, finding the strange sight of Tate dressed in a gray sweater and jeans instead of a hospital gown. His wavy blond hair was slightly damp and artfully messy from just getting out of the shower, and with the weak sunlight coming in through the blinds, he looked so handsome that Violet felt suddenly very inadequate in his presence.

Tate looked up at the sight of her, smiling. "Hey. You look nice."

"Thanks." Violet looked down dubiously at her long-sleeved gray shirt with a human ribcage made out of chains on the front on it over faded jeans that had definitely seen better days. She always felt like she looked like crap and Tate always looked so cool, yet he always complimented her. Maybe all the pain medication he was on was making him delirious. "So, I didn't know if you heard, but we're busting you out of here today."

"I get to leave?"

"Yup. Eli Langdon has been declared mentally competent and physically rehabilitated. You're free and clear." Violet paused for a moment before continuing. "And your mom thinks it'd be best if you came home with me instead of her."

Tate looked a little nervous. "My mom thinks that or you think that?"

"Yeah. I mean, both of us. Both of us think that. It just doesn't seem like Murder House would be a good place for you right now."

"No, definitely not." Tate rested his hands on his knees, torn between being excited about the prospect of going home with Violet and worried that she was just agreeing to it because his mom pressured her. Or even worse, because she felt bad for him.

Violet stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I mean, I'm not really moved in all the way, but it should be fine with both of us there. My couch folds out to a bed, so…you know, you can sleep there for now."

"Right." Tate tried to disguise the surprise that he was sure briefly flashed across his face. What had he been expecting? Them to just pick up right where they had left off that last night in Murder House? Things had changed since then. It seemed like everything had changed. For her, at least. "Thanks, Violet."

"No problem."

They looked at each other for a moment, the silence oddly charged with all the things they weren't saying. Violet finally held out her hand to him. "So…you want to get out of here?"

Tate took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet, wanting to kiss her so badly it felt more like a need than a want but stopping himself because he was no longer sure if she wanted him back. "Yeah. Let's go."

two weeks later

"Hey." Violet walked into the apartment, Rochester leaping out of Tate's lap and rubbing up against Violet's legs in greeting, the kitten purring happily now that his whole family was home.

"Hey." Tate looked up with a smile. "How was work?"

Violet rolled her eyes, taking off her green Starbucks apron and black baseball cap. "Horrific. You wouldn't believe how worked up people get over a freaking cup of coffee. And it was my first day working the drive-through which is basically like being in purgatory for ten fucking hours." She collapsed next to him on the couch. "I'm sorry. But if you can't complain to the people you live with…"

"You're not bothering me. Complain away." Tate grinned.

Violet sighed, absently scratching under Rochester's chin when he curled back up on Tate's lap. "I'm starving. You want to order Chinese or something?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Cool. The take-out menu's in the kitchen, on top of all those cookbooks my mom gave me that I'll never use. I always just get Chicken Lo Mein. And tell them not to forget chopsticks. I'm going to take a shower. Do you mind ordering?"

Violet was talking very fast, and like she was about to come unhinged. Tate reached out, his hand on her leg. "Violet. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."

"Thanks. You're the best." Violet patted his hand with hers in a way that felt far too friendly in Tate's opinion. He felt a stab of dread in his stomach as he watched Violet get up and disappear into her room. They were getting dangerously close to the friend zone, and Tate suddenly had the horrible notion that if he didn't do something soon, they would just turn into platonic roommates. It wouldn't be long before she found somebody else and he'd have to watch her fall in love with another guy. Tate felt his hands clench into fists at the thought. Picturing her with somebody else was torture.

But what was he supposed to do? Violet seemed perfectly happy with things staying like they were. She was hardly home anyway- she was the new girl at work, and they were giving her the most brutal shifts, seemingly as some kind of initiation process. When she was home, she was so exhausted that they usually just hung out around the apartment. They watched movies. Ate a lot of take-out. Played with Rochester. Tate loved any time he got to spend with her, but he didn't think he could carry on the charade much longer of not wanting more from her than just friendship. And he thought it was totally bizarre that Violet was acting like there had never been anything between them. Maybe she didn't feel the same way about him anymore, after he'd ended up in his brother's body. Maybe he just didn't fit into her real life like she had hoped, and she was trying to think of a way to let him down easy.

Tate rubbed his eyes wearily. No. He refused to give up that easily. She'd loved him once. They'd been anything but platonic that night in her old room, and that had only been a month ago.

He had to make her see him that way again, now that everything was different, now that they were out of Murder House and in the real world. After he placed their take-out order, Tate opened her laptop sitting on the coffee table, clicked on the Google homepage, and started to work out a plan.

"So I was thinking we should go out on Friday night." Tate finally just decided to start the conversation during the commercial break of some sitcom Violet liked to eat while they ate dinner and see what happened.

"Go out where?" Violet picked up a bite of chicken with her chopsticks before turning to look at him.

"Like out on a date."

Violet raised her eyebrows. "You're asking me out?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know we live together and I see you all the time, but I just want to do something…special. Different, you know?"

"What would we do?"

"Leave that to me." Tate smiled in a way that he hoped read mysterious and suave instead of revealing the actual emotion coursing through him—mounting panic. He'd gotten a few ideas online, but nothing had struck him as just right. The only other date he and Violet had ever been on hadn't gone so well. And his high school girlfriend before he'd died had been more into getting stoned than going to the movies. He was hopelessly clueless about the ins and outs of actually dating someone, but if going on a date was what it took to make Violet see him as a boyfriend and not just a friend, then he would just have to learn quickly. "I'll pick you up here at six."

Violet shook her head, grinning slightly. "You don't have to pick me up."

"Come on. It'll feel more like a real date that way. Not just two people hanging out."

"You don't like hanging out with me?"

"Of course I do. But I…I think we need to do other stuff too. Date stuff."

Violet took another bite of her food, the implication in what he was saying making them both a little nervous. "Okay. We'll go out."

Tate swirled his fork around in his noodles, not as adept as Violet with the chopsticks. He felt suddenly emboldened by her agreeing to go out with him, and asked the question that had been plaguing him for weeks. "Vi…do you miss it?"

"What?"

"The other stuff. What we used to do when we were alone together."

Violet's cheeks turned red. She looked down at her food, her voice quiet when she spoke again. "It just…it makes everything so complicated."

"So you don't miss it?"

I don't miss you disappearing after every time. Violet thought bitterly to herself. But she didn't say it. She just shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know."

How can you not know? It's all I fucking think about! Tate wanted to slam down his silverware and yell it right in her face. But he didn't. And just then the commercials ended and the show was back on. Violet unmuted the television, looking away from him, seemingly grateful for the distraction as she tried to ignore a clearly hurt Tate who didn't say more than two words to her in a row for the rest of the night.

Friday

Tate waited in the parking lot of the apartment complex after he'd texted Violet that was he was here, feeling more nervous than he had ever been before in his life. He was standing in front of his new brown and tan car, Larry's cool old 1967 Cadillac, now freshly washed and polished, and Tate had even rented a tuxedo to keep up the Old Hollywood theme he had eventually decided on for the date.

He checked his phone to see if she had texted him back, but looked up at the sound of high heels coming down the concrete steps. Violet appeared, looking hot as hell, but different than he had ever seen her. She was wearing a black form-fitting dress with long sheer sleeves, the sleeves covered with cool, rock-star beading and chains. The dress hit just above her knees, but seeing Violet's bare legs, especially in the high strappy heels she was wearing, was incredibly and unexpectedly sexy. Tate had always thought she had model legs—long and thin and pale—but she had never really worn anything that showed them before. She was wearing dark make-up around her eyes, and she had done something different to her hair—it was down around her shoulders like usual, but messy and wavy instead of straight, and looked an awful lot like sex hair. Tate swallowed hard. If she really did want to be friends and nothing else, this was just mean.

"Hey." Violet said shyly as she walked up to him, holding a gray clutch in one hand. She hoped she didn't look like an idiot. Lexi had helped her pick out the dress and shoes, and had even done her hair and make-up, and Violet was worried it was too much.

"Hey." Tate breathed out. "You look beautiful."

"You look nice too. I've never seen you dressed up like this." Violet stopped in front of him, their bodies not touching, but the energy in the small space between them electric.

"I brought you these." Tate held out a full bouquet of black roses. "Thought I should step it up from our first date."

Violet grinned, taking them. "No black paint this time?"

"Nah. My methods have evolved." Tate shrugged mysteriously. It really hadn't been that complicated—he read online that if you put red roses in water mixed with black ink, they would turn black, and it had actually worked pretty well. But it seemed much cooler to let her wonder how he did it than tell her about his little science experiment. "You ready to go?"

"Where are we going?" Violet asked.

"Dinner and a movie."

Violet nodded, a little surprised at such a conventional choice. Wasn't he the one who knew she didn't like normal things?

"In a cemetery."

"What?" She laughed.

"Have you ever heard of the Hollywood Forever cemetery?"

"Sure, yeah. The one with all the celebrities buried there, right?"

"Right. Well, every month, they screen a movie there. And tonight they're showing "The Haunting." The good one from the sixties, not the shitty one with Catherine Zeta-Jones." Tate explained quickly.

"I love that movie." Violet's eyes lit up.

"Me too. It's totally awesome. Especially the end. So I packed a picnic dinner for us, brought a blanket to sit on…and it's BYOB, so I brought a bottle of wine."

"Fancy."

"First-class all the way, babe." Tate grinned. "And I mean, it's a nice night outside. It's supposed to be a full moon. Apparently these movies are always sold out, but if we leave now, we should still be able to get a good spot. Maybe under a tree or something, so we can just make out until the movie gets to the really good parts."

Violet smiled, blushing slightly. Their clothes, and the car, and the flowers—this whole night almost felt like she was dreaming, so she didn't feel nearly as nervous around him. "You want to make out in a cemetery?"

"Yeah. Who doesn't?"

"Normal people, I guess." She shrugged.

"Well, let's show them what they're missing. We never got to do high school stuff together—I thought this could be kind of like our drive-in movie. Only creepier." Tate took her hand, leading her around to the other side of the car and opening the door for her, trying not to stare too long at how much more of her legs showed when she sat down in the low seat of the car.

Tate closed the door after her, walking around and getting in the driver's seat, the car's old engine rattling to life after he turned the keys in the ignition.

"This car's actually kind of awesome." Violet looked around appraisingly.

"I know. It's like going back in time." Tate checked over his shoulder, shifting gears as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"I didn't know you could drive stick. I always wanted to learn."

"I'll teach you sometime." He smiled over at her.

"Okay." Violet smiled back. "I'm just impressed you remember how to drive at all after like twenty years."

"It's like a riding a bike. It comes back to you." Tate shrugged.

They stopped at a red light before pulling onto the highway, and Violet suddenly reached across the center console, taking his hand in hers. Tate looked a little surprised, but laced his fingers through hers regardless.

"I'm really glad we're doing this." Violet squeezed his hand tighter.

"Me too." Tate raised her hand to his mouth, kissing it. Then the light turned green, and he had to drive again, so they dropped hands, Tate putting on the "Mulholland Drive" soundtrack he'd brought along to set the Old Hollywood mood, playing the song "Llorando." Violet smiled to herself. They'd just watched that movie the other night, and she had commented on liking the music. Tate always did weirdly thoughtful things like that. She rolled down the window and let in the cool night air as they drove off into a beautiful summer night in the city of dreams.

"Did you have a good time?" Tate turned off the car as they pulled back up in front of their apartment after the movie.

"Yeah, definitely." Violet licked her lips, turning to Tate with a small smile. She'd nearly polished off the whole bottle of wine during their date, nerves making her eat less and drink more than she usually would, and the after-effects of the alcohol was now making her feel a little sleepy and a lot uninhibited. "So…you want to come up?"

"If you want me to."

"Nope. I'm kicking you out." Violet shook her head with a laugh, patting his leg before picking up her bouquet of black roses. "Come on."

Tate insisted on opening the car door for her before they walked up the two flights of stairs together in silence, holding hands, the air heavy with anticipation. Something was about to happen, but neither was exactly sure what. When they reached the door, Violet released his hand and dug through her purse for her keys, but just after she unlocked the door, Tate put his hand over hers on the doorknob.

"Hey. Wait."

Violet looked up at him, swallowing hard when she saw the way he was looking at her. The way Tate always looked at her. She couldn't find her voice for a moment, and Tate seized the opportunity to go on, seemingly needing to say something before he lost his nerve.

"If this was really a date, this is where we'd kiss goodnight."

Violet still didn't say anything, Tate finding her expression maddeningly hard to read. It almost looked like half-desire, half-fear. This would be their first real kiss of the night. Their first real kiss since Tate had come back from the dead. They hadn't actually made out in the cemetery. The one moment where it had seemed like it was going to happen, snuggled up on their blanket during one of the slower scenes of the movie, Tate had looked down at her to find Violet looking up at him, both forgetting for a moment that anyone else was around. Tate had gently moved over so he was on top of her, one of his legs resting between both of hers as he moved closer, his hand on the curve of her waist, almost unconsciously sliding up her dress as their lips barely brushed—

"Do you two mind? We came to watch a horror movie, not a porno."

Violet and Tate had snapped apart, Violet red in the face and Tate furious as they looked behind them to see a group of what looked like undernourished hipster film students had set up behind them at some point.

"S-Sorry." Violet had stammered, moving away from Tate and tugging her dress back down. What the hell had come over her? She used to hate those annoying couples who were all over each other in public, and now she'd nearly become half of one.

"Don't apologize." Tate shook his head, glaring back at them. "It's called a date, assholes. You should try it sometime."

"Fuck you, man." One of the hipsters rolled his eyes.

"Tate. It's not worth it. Let's just watch the movie." Violet mumbled, the mood totally ruined as they both turned back towards the projector screen in silence, Violet's cheeks still burning and Tate silently fuming beside her.

The hipsters had ended up moving to another spot when more of their friends had arrived, and Violet had laid back with her head on Tate's chest, and they both finally relaxed enough again to enjoy the rest of the movie, but the moment hadn't seemed right to kiss each other again.

Until now. Now they were finally alone, and there was no more denying that there was still something between them. They'd almost had sex in front of a crowd of people an hour ago—clearly there were still some unresolved feelings. Now or never, Tate reminded himself, taking a deep, steeling breath.

Tate leaned down towards her, Violet closing her eyes when their lips met, Tate feeling a shudder of arousal shoot through him at the small sound of pleasure she made when he finally, really kissed her. Tate felt her hand tighten on the doorknob under his as they embraced. It was a relatively short kiss, soft and gentle, but Violet let out a long, shaky breath when they parted, their eyes still closed as they leaned their foreheads together, Tate's other hand now resting on her hip, both feeling a little frightened by how intense even a brief kiss between them still felt.

If this went any further, everything would change. Maybe everything already had, tonight. This was real life, with nothing separating them or keeping them apart, and it was terrifying to be standing there together on the brink.

Violet raised her other hand to his cheek, Tate saying her name, their mouths almost touching again. "Violet…"

She barely had to close any distance between them to kiss him then, and it grew passionate quickly. It was as though all the pent-up tension from the past couple weeks had to come out somewhere, and soon they were making out like they were teenagers again, down in the basement, their embrace hungry and open-mouthed and unguarded, Violet finally pulling away reluctantly when Tate's hands started to go to more interesting places and she realized she didn't have both of her feet on the floor any longer. "Let's go inside before we get arrested." She mumbled against his mouth, finally turning the key in the lock before they stumbled through the door together, her purse and the bouquet of black roses tumbling to the floor unnoticed as they passed over the threshold.

Violet kicked out of her heels almost immediately, glad to be rid of them, Tate lifting her up in his arms to kiss her again when they both realized how much shorter she was without them, his hand at the back of her dress, fumbling with the zipper as Violet wrapped her legs around his waist, Tate carrying her to the overstuffed chair by the couch. He fell back into the chair and watched as Violet stood up over him, sliding her skirt up, sighing softly as Tate slowly slid off her underwear, his hands on her hips as she moved forward to straddle him on the chair, hastily undoing his pants. Violet's breath caught in her throat when she lowered herself down on top of him, Tate's hands tightening on her hips as he entered her, looking up at Violet as if he couldn't believe his luck. She kept his face in her hands as she moved against him in the chair, Tate trying to make sense of the fact that this was really happening, he was back with his dream girl, and at least for right now, she wanted him just as much as he'd always wanted her.

They'd never been together like this, with Violet completely in control, and Tate loved it. She kissed him, long and slow before she broke away, looking right into his eyes as she started moving her hips against him harder and faster, Tate finally unable to hold out any longer, collapsing against her shoulder with a groan as he finished, completely overwhelmed. They just stayed like that for a long while, until, without saying another word, he carried her over to his bed (or more accurately, fold-out couch) in the middle of the living room, Violet stretching out her arms as he laid her down on her back, Violet gripping the arm of the couch over her head as he went down on her, finally bringing her to a climax so powerful she was literally in tears at the end. Tate rested his head on her stomach after, listening to her labored breathing as Violet's hands tangled in his hair. After a long moment, Tate pushed himself up to lie next to her, Violet's hand resting on his cheek as they just looked at each other, silent tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"I love you so much." Tate said quietly.

Violet stroked his cheek with her thumb. "You're not going to leave this time right?"

"Of course not. I'm never leaving you again." Tate kissed her once more, Violet rolling onto her side afterwards, her back up against him as Tate enfolded her in his arms, falling asleep together in the rumpled sheets of his fold-out bed.

"Shit."

Tate woke up the next morning to the sound of Violet cursing under her breath, apparently having stubbed her toe on the coffee table trying to get dressed in the dark. She sat down on the edge of his bed, lacing up her Converse sneakers, already in her full Starbucks regalia.

"Hey, beautiful." Tate said sleepily, sitting up behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Violet stiffened slightly at his touch. "Don't, okay? I'm already late."

Tate kissed the side of her neck, his hands sliding up to her breasts. "So call in," he muttered against her skin.

"Stop." Violet jerked away from him, getting to her feet.

"Are you okay?" Tate looked up at her, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"Yeah. I'm fine." She said irritably, smoothing down her apron, her hair in a messy bun and traces of her dark eye make-up from last night still smudged around her weary eyes. "I'm just late. And really hung-over. So I'm sorry, but I just don't have time for this 'let's-spend-the-morning-together' shit right now."

"What is your problem?" He demanded, suddenly feeling ridiculous sitting there wearing only sheets.

"I don't have a problem." Violet shrugged. "But I get how this must be weird for you."

"What must be weird?"

"Me leaving you after we fuck instead of the other way around." She slung her purse over her shoulder, walking out the door and closing it hard behind her, Tate staring after her, stunned into silence as Rochester happily leapt onto the bed, oblivious to his owners' pain, instantly curling up on Violet's still-warm pillow.

"What can I get for you?"

"Uh…just a plain coffee, I guess." Tate put his hands in his pockets.

"Tall, Grande, or Venti?" The male barista asked with a smile.

"I…what?"

"What size?" the barista explained patiently.

"Oh. The first one, I guess."

"2.50."

Tate handed him a five-dollar bill. "And I'm actually looking for Violet Harmon."

"Oh, sure. She's in the back—she should be out in a minute." The barista, whose name Tate read off the nametag as being Brian, shook his head with a smile. "Let me tell you. I wish I had fifty employees like Violet."

"Are you the manager?"

"Yeah. She's the best. Always volunteering for more shifts. Gets here early, stays late. She's going to bankrupt me just paying her for overtime." Brian laughed, revealing blindingly white teeth. He looked like a young Jared Leto. Tate felt a sudden stab of jealous rage. It suddenly made perfect sense why Violet worked so much.

But Tate just nodded, his lips pressed together in a tight smile, his jaw clenched. "That's Violet. Always overachieving."

"Are you her boyfriend?" Brian asked with that maddeningly friendly smile, handing Tate his change.

"Why? You want to ask her out?" Tate practically growled.

Brian blinked with surprise. "No, man. Chill."

"Tate? What are you doing here?" Violet came out of the bathroom, pale and shaky, having just thrown up for the third time that morning.

"Just learning more about you, babe." Tate sad with that same tight smile.

Brian gave Violet a look, indicating the long line of people behind Tate. Violet sighed, stepping around the counter and grabbing Tate's arm, pulling him over into the merchandise section, her voice an angry whisper. "Don't do this here. Please."

"Why'd you lie to me about your shifts? You told me they were making you work this much."

"Tate—"

"Is it because you're screwing him?" Tate looked over his shoulder at Brian.

Violet rubbed her temples wearily. "You're being such an asshole."

"I'm being an asshole?" Tate laughed incredulously, people in line starting to notice their argument.

"Hey, Violet?" Brian walked around the counter and interrupted them, her hand on his shoulder. "How about you take your lunch break?"

"Yeah, okay." Violet mumbled, staring down at the floor.

"Don't touch her." Tate glared at Brian.

"Come on." Violet practically dragged Tate out the door, rounding on him the moment they were in the parking lot, shoving him hard back towards his car. "Dude, what the hell? Are you trying to get me fired?"

"Why'd you run out on me this morning?" Tate demanded.

"I told you. I had to work."

"Bullshit, Violet! Stop fucking lying to me!"

"Fine." She stepped closer to him. "You want the truth? I think last night was a huge mistake. I'd take it back if I could."

Tate shook his head, his eyes burning with tears. "You don't mean that."

"Yeah. I do." Violet's voice was cold, but unsteady. "I'm fine with being your friend, but—"

Tate hit his fist against the car. "I don't want to be your fucking friend, Violet!" The customers at the outdoor seating area were all watching them now, but Violet and Tate didn't seem to notice or care. Tate reached out, his hands on Violet's shoulders. "Look at me. I came back here for you. That's it. Nothing and no one else in this whole filthy fucking world means shit to me. I love you. I'd do anything for you."

Violet shook her head, her eyes filling with tears as well. "Tate, please—"

"But I can't just be your friend."

She didn't say anything, but when Tate kissed her, she broke away, her hands on his chest. "I can't do this." Violet shook her head miserably. "I'm sorry…I just can't do this right now."

Tate dropped his arms back to his sides, stepping away from her, no light in his eyes anymore, his voice hollow when he spoke again. "Fine. Then I'll leave you alone."

He didn't wait to hear her response, if there even was one, getting into his car and driving away without so much as a look back at her.

A/N- More to come very soon—the next chapter is already in the works! All those things I talked about in the Author's Note from last chapter is still forthcoming, and also— Tate goes home to Murder House to get some advice from an unexpected source, Chad and Patrick have an awkward run-in at the bed and breakfast with someone from their past, and Constance gives Violet some life-changing news. I love hearing your thoughts, and promise to post again quickly!