Instead of black, Bianca wears white. David scolds her for it, says it isn't appropriate, but Bianca hasn't forgotten poor Beau and how Addie always tried her best to live up to their mother's approval—good riddance to Tate, since she thinks he's just as bad as her!—to have any inkling on being appropriate for her mother's funeral, regardless of being the only surviving child of Constance and Hugo Langdon. The memorial service at the home she resided in is filled with people that Bianca doesn't know, but using her cane does she make her way into the living room to find little Michael, dressed in his Sunday best, sitting all alone. "Can I take a seat?" Bianca asks softly. Michael's blue eyes tear his gaze from the carpet and nods, moving over to give Bianca room to sit. Using the cane to support all her weight, she lowers herself on the plush cushions, giving the little boy a soft smile. "I'm Bianca."
"I know," he says. His voice is so soft, but very articulate. "Nana has pictures of you." Bianca isn't certain where he got the name 'nana' from, but she's too shocked that her mother kept anything of hers. She figured once she was written out, she was written out for good. The little boy's face is wet, but he clasps his tiny hands in Bianca's, giving a gentle squeeze. For some reason, Bianca has a sense that she's known him for all her life, but she can't put her finger on why. "Who will take care of me now, Bianca?" He asks those blue eyes piercing and wide, mystified. "I miss her."
Bianca isn't certain why anyone would miss someone like Constance Langdon, but keeps her mouth shut and pulls him into an awkward embrace. Beau was better at hugs, so was Addie. God, what she would give to feel their arms around her once again. He hugs her back, tightly, and the dampness on her blouse can only be because he's finally crying. Bianca's own kids are in New York staying with David's parents, a boy and a girl; one is starting her first year of High School and the other is in Alaska to train to be a Coast Guard. It's been a while since she's been around someone as young as Michael, but something inside her screams for her to watch over him. Make sure to erase any darkness her mother implanted on his soul with something better. "I'm not too sure about that, kiddo. I do know your sister is here…um, Vanessa, I think?"
"Violet," he corrects softly, his sobs now are mere hiccups. "I never met her before. I'm scared she won't like me. She has a little girl my age. Nana doesn't like her because she's different."
"That sounds like my mom."
"I don't care, though," Michael says after a moment, giving Bianca's hand another tight squeeze. "Different is cool."
Being in her late thirties isn't too old to raise a five year old, is it? Because for the mere five minutes she's been with this little boy, Bianca can't see a life without him in it.
"Different is always cool."
"This isn't a good idea," grumbles Violet. "I mean, I'm supposed to take Adelaide trick-or-treating with mom and dad—"
Tate can't stop the pout from forming on his lips, even if he wants to. "We should be doing that, not them." He says, insufferably. The fact that Violet left Adelaide with her parents instead of venturing around the cold, dark, dank basement with him and Violet is also something to put him in a sour mood. He supposes he should be happy that he talked her into venturing around her old house at all.
They talk about anything and everything; the talk about superficial things to ease the tension, and speak about the big things. Tate's heart thuds against his chest and swells when she talks about their daughter. He loves how her eyes twinkle and she smiles with those dimples he aches to kiss when she speaks about her accomplishments, how she's finally speaking in semi-full sentences, and how Violet thinks she's pretty much the only kid in the world she can tolerate full heartedly. "She loves that toy truck you gave her, by the way."
He knows this. He's read about it in Violet's letters to his mom like a religious man reads his bible. He doesn't tell her he has stocks of the photographs Violet has sent, intending for Constance to have, only to make their way in Tate's possession. Oh, how he has spent the last five years pouring over her image, wishing the three of them could be a unit. A family. "Does she know who I am?"
Violet exhales a shaky breath, before giving a tiny nod. "The picture I have of the two of you is on her nightstand. She brings it whenever she has to stay the night somewhere that isn't her home. She's pretty solid with some change, but there has to be something familiar around to help her out." She rubs chapped lips together and Tate once again fights the urge to kiss them. "I tell her that the guy in the picture, you, is her dad, but I don't think she really understands what a dad is."
"She will," he pipes up, hopefully. "I—we—just have to ease her into it. Let her know it's okay, that it's safe, and protect her."
She flinches, but she doesn't stand up to move away from him. She just leans her head on his shoulder and cuddles closer to his warmth. Despite Violet's bravado, he can see how tired she really is, and it kills him that he had to fuck it up for himself in the first place to make everything the way it is. "I know you don't want her here, I get it, but she needs a dad. Plus, your dad is a shrink, right? He can help her with stuff. I lived with Beau and Addie for years, I'm cool around kids with disabilities." He doesn't mention Bianca. Bianca left him, Beau and Addie and didn't keep in touch like she promised. She's just as bad of a liar as their mother is—no, was: as their mother was. "There's Michael, too, you know? I mean, don't you want to be around your brother? Maybe Addy and Michael can play together?"
Cousins. Not siblings, but cousins, because Tate still can't say that Michael is his.
Violet doesn't say anything. Tate would be upset, but she isn't saying no, either.
"She'd hate it in here. She goes ape shit if something is too dark; we have a night-light and I have to make sure her closet light is on before she goes to sleep." Violet observes after a moment, and Tate can't help but to feel a tad bit hopeful.
"I was scared of the dark, too."
He'd protect them both from the darkness, he would! If only Violet will give him a chance.
Bianca isn't a religious woman at all, but she thanks God for David every single day. Just because he's fifteen years her senior, or the fact he used to be her Professor, never mattered to Bianca: from the first day they met she knew he was special, different. Regardless of how Constance painted the picture of Bianca to her friends, growing up the youngest female Langdon had a few boyfriends, nothing serious, but they still only saw her disability. David never has. They finally meet up with the lawyer once most of the attendants clear out, and apparently her mother got that house she coveted ever since she lost it years ago, just shortly after her father left. Fully paid for, even the bills, and Bianca has to wonder where the hell Constance got all that money to pay for it. Apparently, due to its reputation, the price lowered significantly, making it one of the cheapest houses in Los Angeles. Also, according to her mother's will, Bianca and David are named the guardians of Michael Scott Langdon.
"I understand if this is too sudden…" the portly lawyer says, nervously. "This would mean starting over, jobwise, as well as the hassle of moving and, of course, taking in a child you barely know. I should warn you, however, that if you do not take in the child he will become ward of the State of California."
"We realize that," David replies, squeezing Bianca's hand gently, reassuringly. "I, unfortunately, dealt with the 'system' when I was a kid; it's designed to help, but most foster kids just become a meal ticket than an actual child. Of course, that's just my experience."
If Bianca didn't know it now, she knows she never would: David Olson is a diamond in the rough.
"We'll do it."
David looks at Bianca, more bemused than shocked, but he doesn't say anything against it. "I mean, I figure I can exorcise some demons out of that old place. Besides, I kind of miss the sun."
"It seems you found Miss Addy." Vivian replies, cradling Jeffrey to her chest. It's been half a decade since the Harmon family murders; no one recognizes them and those that do, well, they write it off as coincidence than anything. Vivian makes her way to sit beside her husband on the porch swing. He's cradling a sleeping Adelaide in his arms—she can't help but be in awe at how much she's grown!—while she's cradling little Jeffrey. "Yep, but now she's out like a light, drooling on my suit." Ben answers with a simple, serene smile, before his face falls in something like discomfort. Vivian knows this look; this is the look when he has to tell her something that he knows she isn't going to handle well at all. "I saw Violet talking to Tate. Adelaide found them."
Take a deep breath, she tells herself. It's just talking.
"And?" She pries, trying to sound calmer than she felt. "What happened?"
"Bunnies," Ben answers, receiving an amused snort from Vivian's part. "I asked Adelaide what they talked about, but the only thing she got was bunnies."
He has that look again.
"She's with Tate right now. Alone. Talking in the house."
Oh, God.
"Viv," he begins, sensing a storm that's inevitable but tries to quell it anyway, "I've been working with Tate for almost six years, now. I don't fully trust him and, no, I don't condone them resuming any sort of romantic attachment, but they have a child together; it's hard to erase any connection completely with that factor between the two."
"I still can't forgive him," Vivian tells Ben honestly. It makes her feel so very guilty, but it's true. She can't. Out of respect for her and Ben, the two are invisible to each other and keep out of their respected ways. He raped her. She doesn't care the intent or circumstance, he still raped her, and while she would give the world to Michael, who only sees her as a stranger than his mother, she can never, ever let it go. Not only did he rape her, he helped Hayden make her look unstable. Too many sins against her person for her to ever, ever look at that damaged boy in anything but a bad light. "And you know he'll try to get Violet back into that house and with her, Addy. She can't be in that house." It meant only seeing her daughter and granddaughter through video chat online, but Vivian knows it's worth it if only for their safety.
Ben says nothing. Vivian almost worries that her tone might have escalated to the point it would rouse Adelaide from her nap, but the little girl merely twitches before settling back into her grandfather's chest, sighing peacefully. "I just don't want Addy to be hurt, Ben. She doesn't deserve to experience what we have."
Ben brushes his lips against her temple. "Did I ever tell you that you're amazing?"
"A few times, but I can always hear it again." She teases, flashing her husband a toothy grin. "No more talk about that house, Tate, or any of that—let's just focus on the one night of the year we can try to be normal, with our granddaughter. Okay?"
Adelaide chooses this moment to stir away, rubbing sleep from her eyes with her tiny fists. "Addy go home now?" She asks with a pout. "Addy miss home. Not mommy said there are bunnies in bad house," she figures that's Adelaide's intelligent observation about the house next-door than Tate's, but listens all the same. "Addy likes bunnies, but Addy miss home." Addy peers at her uncle, her attention now solely focused on the sleeping infant as her dark eyes twinkle in wonder. "Baby."
"Jeffrey," Ben gently corrects, placing a kiss on the crown of Adelaide's head. "That's your uncle, Addy."
"No uncle, Grandpa," the little girl replies with a scrunched up face. "Baby."
Vivian suppresses a giggle; she knows Adelaide is sensitive about people laughing at her when she intends to be serious. Vivian always tries to give her granddaughter that respect in only laughing when it's intended, the same as Ben. "Are you excited about trick-or-treating?"
Thank you all for the amazing reviews! I'm trying to make chapters a bit longer, be more plot focused, and as promised there will be gore and Violate goodness (just not solely the two characters: it isn't their story, after all, it's Michael's and Adelaide's.)