The next time Violet saw Tate, months later, it wasn't in the basement. It was actually in the last place she'd ever expect him to be. As she walked through the house after a late-night game of chess with Patrick in the living room, Violet heard a worryingly familiar voice coming from his old bedroom. Her old bedroom. The bedroom that was now shared by the two Littman girls, Holly and Ginger.

"Did your Daddy teach you to pray?"

Standing by the doorway in a mixture of anxiety and curiosity – both worried for her tiny friend and just secretly, stupidly happy to see him again – she peeked in with interest, watching in absolute silence.

"Does it work?"

"It works for a lot of people I know. You could give it a try."

"How?"

Tate and Holly were together at the side of the little girl's bed, both in the same position – on their knees, each pair of hands linked together on the mattress; Holly's eyes were closed tight, her expression serious and tear tracks visible on her chubby cheeks.

"What do we do now?" She asked quietly.

"You just talk to her. Tell her anything you want."

"You first."

What in the name of all fucks are they doing? Is- oh, wow. Is Tate really praying with her? Why? What even- okay, I have to talk to him after this is done. So many fucking questions.

"But I don't know her. I can talk to my girlfriend, is that okay?"

Oh my. Violet couldn't help but come a little closer, interest peaking.

"Your girlfriend is an angel too?" Holly turned to him with a suspicious expression, sniffling. "Was she sick like my mommy?"

"In a way, yeah. Now, remember… They can't answer us, but they're listening. You with me?"

The little girl nodded solemnly, and was met with a smile. But when Tate turned to give her that smile, he also caught a glimpse of the door… And if there was one ghost thing Violet would probably never be able to master, it was becoming invisible to other dead people. Humans? Piece of cake. Ghosts? Impossible. Which is why she was left with no option but to stare back at him with the dumbfounded expression of a child caught in the act.

"Hey there." His dry chuckle, brief as it was, rendered the blonde unable to leave the room. Sighing softly, she went over to the pair and made herself comfortable on the bed, eyes on him.

"I made a new friend today. Her name is Holly. I think you'd like her." He smiled, and Violet did too. "Anyway… Things down here suck without you, I gotta be honest. The other day I was going through some things and I found those baby pictures. Remember the baby pictures? And I just had to see you. So I visited the place where we met last and just sat there. You wouldn't come. I know you had all sorts of fun there, but you wouldn't come."

Well, fuck. Tate. Don't lose it in front of the kid. Biting her lip, she reached out a hand to take his, giving it a soft squeeze. It wasn't for him, it was for Holly. At least that's what Violet would keep telling herself.

The way he immediately trapped her hand between both of his and pressed his face to it, eyes closing so tight it seemed like he was clinging to his only chance of waking up from a nightmare, obviously had nothing to do with it. Obviously.

"So… All I can say is I miss you. And I love you. And I hope you're happy up there, doing your angel stuff."

After a long moment of silence – each of the three completely immobile, Tate still clutching the blonde's hand as if letting go would bring about a disaster – it was Holly's turn to speak. Her bottom lip was trembling when she began.

"Mommy? Can you hear me?" She spoke in a tiny voice. "Mommy, I miss you. If you're up in Heaven and you're happy, it's okay. I hope Scotty's up there with you. And I hope you have an umbrella because Heaven's in the sky and that's where they keep all the rain."

Without freeing herself from the boy's grasp, Violet reached out her other hand and placed it on the girl's head. Sure, she wouldn't know what she was feeling, but she'd feel something, and if that something made it better, it was enough.

"Mommy, I start school tomorrow. Ginger says it's boring but there's nice people. Are you gonna watch? I hope you watch me. I'm gonna wear the yellow hoodie Daddy bought that was too big. It's good now! I'm big! Daddy says I'm tiny but I'm real big!"

"It's working." Tate whispered, too quietly for the younger girl to notice.

"I know."

"… And I love you and miss you and I'll talk to you tomorrow night. And the night after that. And the night after that!"

With a satisfied smile, Holly turned to the boy beside her and pressed her face to his side. Only then did Tate let one of his hands release Violet's so he could pull Holly into a side embrace.

"Mr Ghost, stay with me?"

The big brown eyes met the smaller pair, and Violet raised a brow at him. Since when did he need her approval? She gave it nonetheless, and in a brief moment Holly was nestled against his broad chest, sleeping soundly with a thumb in her mouth. The blonde couldn't help but find the scene absolutely endearing.

"Now tell me what that was all about."

"She couldn't sleep. Kept crying because she missed her mom." Tate shrugged, his eyes locked almost irreparably on Violet's. "I appeared, she got scared and started to cry harder, then I told her she was dreaming and all she had to do to wake up was tell me to go away. Said I wouldn't hurt her. She believed me, didn't tell me to leave, and that somehow led to the whole prayer deal."

"Why'd you do it?"

"It never worked for me, but a lot of people seem to find comfort in it."

"I mean, why did you come to help her? You're not usually…"

Violet let the sentence trail off on its own. Truthfully, she had no idea what he'd been doing or where he'd been since she sent him away. When they weren't together, he could be anywhere. Doing anything. She wouldn't know – she didn't want to know. Not yet. If she ever forgave him, if she ever saw her angel again beneath the filth and evil, they'd have all eternity to make up for lost time. For now, the more ignorant she remained, the better. The safer.

"Honestly? She's kind of the reason you and I started… You know… Doing the thing we do in the basement or in the attic. She kinda helped you save me. I'm not one to be ungrateful. Well, I am, but not- not anymore. Trying not to be, at least. It's a start, right? Isn't it a start? I mean, I'm trying, Vi. I- I really am. I think."

His breath hitched, pace becoming frantic as he held the child closer for some semblance of reassurance. Heart racing, eyes shutting tight, Violet did all she could do – really, all she knew how to do at this point.

"Let's tuck her in and go down there. It's time for another session."

Through the tight knot in his throat, Tate was able to mewl out a "thank you" that Violet was sure would have killed her with a broken heart if she hadn't been dead already.

Only when they got to the basement… She couldn't.

Oh, she tried. Rather, she tried picking someone whose death to avenge. There were still fifteen murders left to choose from – holy shit, fifteen? – plenty of which could be reasonably recreated without much noise. But as Violet paced around the basement, whispering things to herself and occasionally stopping to look at him, she knew it was a lost battle.

"Damn it, Tate!"

"What?" The groan startled him, even though he'd been watching her with a fixated stare for almost a half hour now. Back and forth, from corner to corner of the dark room.

"I can't do it like this! Fucking forget it. Tomorrow. We'll do it tomorrow. And- and you stay away from my Holly!"

The old Tate, the one she knew, would have had a reaction more intense than a humorless chortle, but it was all he could manage now, and she didn't dare look in his eyes yet. The beads of dark brown had turned to liquid, in a whirlpool that would suck her in if she wasn't careful.

"Why should I stay away from her?"

"Because you're bad news. You- you do this! You're there looking all human and sweet and nice and then we come down here, still with fifteen fucking murders to deal with, and look at me! I can barely stand still. You're too good at this. At- at making people think you're good. But you're a monster, you know that? A fucking heartless monster."

"Not heartless."

There it was. Finally, a change in his demeanor, a glimpse back at the Tate she'd fallen in love with. It rose something inside of her, and she didn't know whether it was good or bad – but there was no denying its power.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" She spun around to find him an inch away from her, lips pursed, eyes piercing as a low groan escaped him.

"I'm not heartless. You gave me a fucking heart, Violet. Don't you dare deny it – maybe you didn't want to, but you gave me a heart, you made me feel things, and it hurts! I have to fucking live with myself every fucking day knowing exactly what I am, and that I'll never be enough for the one person I've ever given one fuck about my whole damn life, and it's not some heroic movie shit, it's because I'm a goddamn monster! But don't you fucking dare call me heartless, 'cause if I were, it'd be one hell of a lot better to sit around this fucking house and maybe forget you ever existed!"

In her entire life, and afterlife so far, Violet hadn't carried anything as heavy and painful as the single moment of silence that followed his outburst. Later she would notice her own cheeks becoming wetter and the catch in his breath, but for that moment, all that existed were his eyes. Red. Brown. Sharp. Wounded. Spiteful. Panicked. So panicked. Violet watched as it outgrew everything else there could possibly be in those deep brown orbs, as it seemed to outgrow Tate himself, overpowering him in an almost pathetic way as it brought him down to the ground with deep, sharp breaths and silent tears rolling down his face.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No. That wasn't it. I promise. It wasn't it. I'm sorry. Fuck. I'm so sorry. I didn't. I never. Fuck."

She didn't stay to hear the ends of any of those sentences.

That night, the younger Littman boy – Taylor, seven years old and enough dinosaur paraphernalia to start his own little museum – was taking his nightly pee when he heard the sounds of objects breaking downstairs. Curious, the boy clutched his stuffed velociraptor and sneaked his way down to the basement, only to come back up as fast as he could a minute later.

Taylor would never tell anyone, not even his father, about the scene he witnessed. He hadn't been harmed or even touched – in fact, Taylor wasn't sure he had even been noticed in the basement. But he knew that among the shards of glass and porcelain and so many things he couldn't name, there was a man. And there was blood. And even though the man couldn't see him, curled on the floor with a book pressed to his chest and his eyes squeezed shut, Taylor wouldn't take any chances.