Tate watches while Ben sweeps up the debris from last night's scare tactic at ridding the house of new potential owners: a Hispanic couple caught with baby fever with a teenaged boy set to graduate in the Spring. Tate didn't help out one bit because he simply does not care; he hasn't cared since he last saw Violet, last kissed Violet, and last held Adelaide in his arms. He doesn't know why she left, why he couldn't see it when it was there in plain sight, or why he spent days waiting for her to return back with an explanation for everything so he can wrap her in his arms and excitedly show her the crib he made. It was black with a pink comforter for Addy to sleep on. How he wanted to give the nineties-grunge theme for the nursery instead of the sickly sweet one Patrick and Chad made. Now? Now what was supposed to be Adelaide's nursery is now Jeffrey's: the baby that was born stillborn, that Nora decided she didn't want, as a replacement for Vivian and Ben Harmon from missing their daughter.
"Why did she leave?" Tate asks, his voice breaking as the words fly out of his dry mouth. "She told me she was going to come back."
Ben doesn't face him. Ben continues to sweep, his back muscles stiffen to let Tate know that he does, in fact, hear him. "What makes you think Violet would want Adelaide to grow up with a man that raped her grandmother?" He asks, acid dropping from his voice. He turns around, then, glaring daggers at Tate. "Yeah, Tate, she knows. She knows what everyone else now knows: you're a psychopath. The worst kind, too; you're charismatic, compelling, and a compulsive liar—"
"That's your diagnosis, then?" It shouldn't shock him too much; he's read about psychopaths and sociopaths online, before. He used to think he fit them, but then Violet comes along and something he's only shared with his siblings awakens for her. Love. "I'm a psychopath?" Maybe if he says the word, psychopath, he'll get better? He has to. He has to prove to Ben, then maybe Violet in turn, that he's better. Ben just stares at him and for once Tate doesn't care that someone else has the upper-hand. He's too tired to want control—he has been for a while. Hurting others hasn't given him a real satisfaction since Violet. If he's honest with himself, it hasn't since he died. That's what he thinks, anyway, even if his human life is blurry at best. "Will Addy or the other one be like me?"
"I can only pray that what your mother failed with you, she doesn't with my son." It isn't his son, Tate realizes, but he only respects Ben even more for taking that title when he doesn't have to. He's heard Vivian worry about the boy's development off and on, only to have Moira or Ben comfort her that as long as he's far, far away from this house he should be fine. "As for Addy, not that's any of your concern because a sperm donor doesn't entitle you too much, Jill says she might have Autism—" Tate's eyes widen with worry, he can feel his heart beat wildly in his chest. "Is she okay? Was it the house? Is she healthy?" He asks in one breath, but as soon as he steps towards Ben to implore further, he feels the cold metal of a rifle under his chin. "Ben."
Ching-chic goes the rifle and Ben's face is hard, his knuckles are white, and Tate can see a few stray tears fall from his face. Angry tears. "You know, Tate, I thought you were just a troubled boy: I thought you were like me. I thought I saw you change, especially when Violet was pregnant, and even if there was a part of me that wanted to hurt you for what you did to her, I couldn't, because I saw myself in you. I thought that the little girl could give you the strength Violet gave me." Once again, Tate realizes that Ben Harmon is a far better man that he ever gave credit for. Tate knows he wouldn't be so forgiving if it was Adelaide. "Look at your tears. It's like you give a shit, but you don't. You can't even say what you've done out loud. It's always someone else, never you."
"When I was alive I was killed by a SWAT team for murdering fifteen of my classmates," Tate answers, pushing the rifle's tip away from his chin, hearing it fall to the wooden floor with a loud thud. Thankfully, no shot is heard, because he knows Jeffrey is sleeping, even if he doesn't need it, and he doesn't want to wake him. Plus, it would scare Beau, Margaret and Angie and that hardly seems fair. "I looked it up on that goggle thing. I lit Larry on fire when he was seeing my mom. I killed Chad and Patrick because they wouldn't give Nora a baby. I killed the people that broke into your house while you were gone to protect your wife and daughter." He sucks in shaky breath, feeling snot run down his nose as his eyes continue to let tears fall. "I raped your wife so Nora could have a baby. I helped Hayden terrorize her so she'd be sent off, so Violet could stay here. I probably did a shitload of other stuff, but there you have it."
Ben doesn't do what Tate wants.
Ben just claps.
"Bravo, Mr. Langdon," he says with an almost cruel smile be-painting his countenance. "Well played. Really. You think that'll make me forgive you? I can't. You don't deserve it, Tate." Tate hears how he doesn't believe in Psychiatry. How he throws back his relationship with his mother at his face and it makes Tate feel like vomiting. "You son of a bitch."
"No, that's you." He quipped back, albeit immaturely, but he continues to sweep up the mess they've made and for what seems like hours, Tate speaks up: "Can we, I don't know, maybe hang out together sometime? I know you hate me. You have every reason to hate me, but I think you can help me."
Ben says nothing; Tate is going to take that as a good sign for now.