We're almost there, readers. This is the penultimate chapter of 'Tate's Conscience'. It's been more than a blast to write this, and I love every single person who has read, commented, subscribed and stuck with this little creation. I promise it won't be long until I post the final chapter.

Dear Tate,

I don't know if you're getting my letters. I guess not, because you'd reply, wouldn't you? You wouldn't just… not reply. I didn't do bad, did I? I don't even know what to say, Tate. I love you. I don't know when we'll be together again… they won't let me see you. Worse, they tell me I don't want to see you. They act like they know me, like they can get inside my head. I know they can't, because if they could all they'd see is you. You're on my mind all the time. All the goddamn time, Tate. I want to be Mrs Langdon. I mean, it's bullshit, all of it. They don't understand what we've been through, and you're right.

All those times you told me no one would understand us, you were right. So I'm sorry. Tate, I'm sorry I ever made you punish me, and I'm sorry for causing you pain. You'd be free if you hadn't come back for me, but you stayed and you saved my life. I tried telling them that, but they just looked at each other and not at me.

I'll write to you tomorrow.

I love you,

Violet Langdon

The days were dragging; the only reason I even bothered to wake up was to check for letters from Tate. I didn't even know if they let prisoners write letters, but I couldn't give up.

Morning, Violet," the same nurse that brought me my breakfast every morning entered the room, careful to wait for the door to click closed and automatically lock before moving away. I was still a flight risk I guess, even though it had been over a week and I'd only tried to run once. I didn't have anywhere to go. I had to wait for Tate. He'd find me when he got out. He'd get out.

"Hi," I didn't want to talk to her, to anyone really, but if I wanted them to stop treating me like a head case I'd have to at least make small talk.

"How're you feeling today?"

"Better." It was the same conversation ever day, as though I were on a loop. My life was nothing without him.

"Nothing today, darling," she volunteered at my hopeful, expectant expression, which fell instantly.

"Oh."

"I don't think they let him write…" she squirmed a little under the penetration of my stare, interested now in the little information she let slip.

"Has he been getting my letters?" She bit her lip.

"I don't know. I know they get delivered because they never get returned here, but if they ever reach him personally, I don't know." She was being honest, I could tell, and I suddenly felt an unexplainable attachment to the woman.

"Would you sit with me, please?" I asked, injecting as much sweetness into my voice as I could manage. She smiled, obviously encouraged by my 'progress', and perched on the edge of my bed. "They think I'm crazy, don't they?" I asked, sighing.

"Not crazy, Violet. They think you have Stockholm Syndrome. It can make you think you're in love with your captors. It can be pretty serious, I think."

"I know. I've heard them mention it. Even mention it to me," her smile turned sad, pitying, and I tried to close up.

"Look, I'm no doctor, and I can't give you a professional opinion, but if he's what's been keeping you going in here, hold onto him." I nodded, touched by her acceptance of the way things were, and she got up.

"Could you?" I broke off, unsure how to ask her and how far I could cross boundaries.

"I'll enquire about your letters, Violet. I'll see you for lunch." She waved her fingers as she left the room and I rested my head back against the pillows, feeling the peace that comes with progress for the first time in weeks.

I wondered and wondered about Tate. All the time. I just wanted to know he was okay. I mean, he's in prison, so it's not going to be five star luxury or anything, but I'd just like to know he's safe, and I'd like him to know I'm still here for him. Most people would find the way I love him terrifying, but our relationship is the only thing I've ever done right in my life. If people knew the Tate that I knew, they wouldn't lock him up. They'd let him be free, like a bird, the free he needs to survive. When my mother asked me if I'd known what he'd done, I said yes. When she asked if I'd been frightened I'd said yes, but only because I wasn't afraid of him. There's nothing scarier than that moment when you realise you're not afraid at all.

'But Violet honey, he tortured you.' It's never that simple though, is it? He loved me in the only way he knew how.

'Ms Harmon, you'll never recover from these injuries.' He left me with the gift of a thousand memories tattooed across my skin. How could that be seen as anything but beautiful to anyone who understands what kind of place the world really is?

'Violet, for god's sake, you need to forget about him!' Forgetting Tate Langdon would be harder than forgetting to breathe, and just as painful… just as suicidal. My father had stopped visiting after that outburst. After he'd gripped me by the shoulders and tore enough stiches to make me bleed crimson through the material of the gown, and he was escorted from the premises. My mother came less and less, as I knew she would. Supporting Ben would always come before the daughter she'd neglected, especially as I was broken, now. They could have more children; true love comes but once a lifetime. As Tate said it would. Everything happens as Tate says it does.

'It's just me and you, Violet. Forever and always.'

'They're not going to let me see you again, Tate.'

'Come on, you're smarter than they are. You know that's not true. Nothing can keep us apart.'

'How do I find you?' He was so calm, speaking as though whispering his comfort right onto my brain, and I knew he was there, right there, with me.

'I'm right outside, Violet.'

'They won't let me leave. They lock the door, Tate, like I'm a criminal.'

'They only lock the door to stop you from getting to me. From being free.' His voice was gone with the clack of the door opening, and I snapped my head around to glare at the intruder before softening at the nurse from this morning. She placed my lunch onto the table rather than on my lap, and perched on the edge of my bed again.

"I talked to someone at the prison, Violet." Her voice wasn't happy, and that killed me.

"And?"

"And… he's been replying. The doctors haven't been giving you his letters, they thought it would confuse you when they're trying to make you better." I felt my eyes bug out, and I sat up straight.

"You have to get me those letters, you have to!"

"I… I could lose my job," she mumbled, edging backwards. I scrambled over the sheets after her, gripping her forearms in my hands.

"Please. Please. I'll die without him, I know I will." She pressed her lips into a harsh line, pressing the blood out of her mouth.

"Alright. I'll try. I'll try." I beamed, feeling genuinely happy for the first time since the last time I'd seen Tate, praying that I'd be reading his thoughts soon.

They switched my nurses; the next morning the woman came and went without a word, three times a day, every day, for sixteen days.

"Where did the other nurse go?"

"Away." One word, one, ambiguous word that left me gnawing through my lip until I choked on my own blood. I welcomed the foam of it in my throat, hot and slick and so much like relief.

"Violet!" It was her, the nurse from before. She was wearing her own clothes instead of her uniform, face solemn. I felt myself pushed forward and I coughed blood onto the floor. "What are you doing to yourself?" Her lower lip quivered and I frowned, because she was acting as though she cared about me when she didn't even know me, not really.

"Why do you even care? You went away." I tried to look away from her but it was impossible, her face settled the queasiness in my stomach.

"I got fired, for taking the letters from-"

"Tate?" I prompted and she nodded. People don't mind doing bad things so long as their not acknowledged, I guess.

"I went to see him, too." My heart dropped into my stomach before lurching into my throat.

"Oh my… how was he?" I sat up, the bloody mess down my front and the wooziness in my head forgotten.

"He's okay. A little beaten up, but okay. He's not being tried as an adult based on the fact that his accomplices were much older than him and are taking the fall for it." His cock-sucking mother and her boyfriend finally did something noble then. Good.

"Do you have the letters now?" I asked, hopeful without daring to hope.

"Yes. It wasn't easy to get in here, and I think you should know I read them. I had to, for my conscience's sake." I nodded, making grabby hands for the bundle of papers she was pulling out of her coat. "I don't know when I'll be able to get back here. Look after those." She stood.

"Thank you," I managed, overcome with how much I owed her. She'd given up her life for a pair of dysfunctional criminals.

My Violet,

Of course I've been getting your letters, love. I'm guessing you're not getting mine, which means either the prison isn't sending them or the hospital isn't letting you have them. I don't know why, seeing as I'm getting mine, but I'm so glad I'm getting yours. Your words are the only thing keeping me alive. I hope you're safe. I hope you know how much I love you… how much I will always love you. Violet you're my whole world, nothing will change that. They can keep me locked up until the day I die and I will still recite your name every day. I'll die with 'Violet' on my lips, whether I ever get to see you again or not.

I'd like to tell you to move on. If I don't get out, to find a nice guy and to fall in love and to have a family. But I'm just not that fucking selfless. I need you to need me like I need you or I'll die for sure. You're the most beautiful person that has ever lived, and I'm the luckiest man in the world for having known you, let alone had the privilege to call you mine. Nothing has made me happier than reading you sign your name 'Violet Langdon'. Whether it's legally binding or not, you're my wife, and whether they let us or not, we'll always be together. I know I'm rambling and repeating myself, but this is all I think about. You have taken over me completely. If I'd had the chance, I'd have spent every day proving to you that I can be a good person. That my crimes don't define who I am, who I am through you.

I don't know whether you get the news, but there's hope for us yet. Constance and Larry have come forward about Leah's murder, and they've confessed. I did little more than help them. Maybe for once, Constance's corruption won't have ruined everything that's ever made me happy. Maybe this time there will be justice.

I have to stop here if I plan on making it to the mailbox today. I love you more than life itself, you remember that. You're not alone, I'm with you. I'm right there.

Eternally yours,

Tate

I felt my tears spill over, his declarations and his hope sustaining the tiny flicker I'd dared to allow kindle. He could get out. He could really, truly get out. If Constance and Larry went down for it, his involvement could be minimal. He's under 18, he could get away with five years imprisonment. Just five years. We could both wait five years. I could get out of here, convince them that I'm better, and visit him every day.