Authors Note: Like the majority, I wasn't too excited about the finale of AHS. And, (spoiler alert!) reading interviews with Ryan Murphy and seeing that next season won't focus on Murder House whatsoever made me feel disappointed but excited for the challenge to muse over what they could have done for the Harmon family and the residents of Murder House in season 2.
And again, like the majority, I am a Tate/Violet fan, but I feel as though there are a lot of fics out there for them. So I'm not entirely sure what direction this fic is going to go to, but every character will make an appearance and Tate will have a big role. Hope you enjoy!
When Sawyer took the job she knew full well what she was up against; a 6 month old baby and a 3 year old toddler. But it was summer, school was out. She needed the money.
She also knew the stories behind "Murder House." She had been on the tour before. She only lived right up the street, grew up on it, actually. So she had heard the rumors. Heard the gossip. She had been there on the lawn with all of the other lookie-Lou's that watched in horror as the Harmon family (or better yet, what was left of the Harmon family) was taken from the house in white sheets. And although she would never admit it, she had seen things in the windows when the house was vacant. Shadows glaring at her through the windows. She had heard the crying.
But Sawyer didn't really believe in ghosts, so the idea of practically living in the old house for the summer as a live-in nanny for a busy LA couple didn't seem too scary to her. Even still, she couldn't help the involuntary shiver that chilled her spine when she first stepped into the foyer. The sprawling staircase could be seen skulking down the hallway. The Tiffany fixtures twinkled with sunlight.
The house didn't seem haunted to her. No, it seemed...magical. Like there were stories in the walls aching to be told. She didn't feel scared. She felt eyes on her. She felt watched. As she waited for Mrs. Grant to finish her phone call, she wandered the bottom floor, taking it all in. Her feet lightly rapped on the hardwood floor, gently sending click-clacks in the the echoing rooms. The house was still essentially empty. White sheets covered most of the furnishing and there were boxes stacked in the corners, ones that she didn't know who to assume they belonged to: previous or new tenets.
Sawyer heard a dull creaking from the top of the stairs. She paused, her eyes trying desperately to make sense of the dark shadows at the top of the stairs. She heard frantic whispering, one shadow leaning to another.
"There you are," Mrs. Grant said behind her, causing her heart to skip a beat. Redness rushed to her cheeks, embarrassed at her childish imagination getting the best of her. "Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee? Are you old enough for coffee?" Mrs. Grant was certainly beautiful. She was a retired sitcom actress, although retiring in Hollywood was a lot different that retiring in the real world. For one thing, she couldn't have been a day over 32. She had a gracefulness about her that Sawyer could only wish to have one day; an elegance. Flowy, long brown hair, dark eyes. She was Greek. Olive skin. Legs that wouldn't quit, some old fellow in the '40s might say. She was timeless.
"I am certainly old enough to have coffee," Sawyer smirked. "But I can't stand the stuff. Tea would be nice, though." With that, Mrs. Grant led her to the kitchen.
The kitchen was the in the process of being gutted. Counter tops were missing, cupboards deconstructed. An old stove was replacing a newer one. Mrs. Grant walked to it and put a pot of water on it.
"Please, excuse the mess. When we bought this place, I thought it had a lovely kitchen, but Richard thought that the kitchen threw off the historical presence of the house. Once a director, always a director, I say." Sawyer nodded, not sure what to say in response. She kept feeling like a hand was going to be placed on her shoulder at any moment. "We also met the housekeeper today. She's not trained to be a nanny but she will be handling other things around the house. Myra, I think she said her name was."
"Moira." An older woman with fiery red hair corrected from the doorway. Sawyer didn't mean to stare, but there was definitely something off about her. Perhaps is was her outdated house maid's outfit. Perhaps it was her lazy right eye. Whatever it was, Sawyer pried her eyes away from her and back to the stove, where the pot began to whistle thinly. Mrs. Grant jumped to get it. "Oh, allow me, Mrs. Grant." Moira insisted, hurrying ahead of her.
"Rebecca," Mrs. Grant corrected. Moira raised her eyebrows in confusion.
"My name is Rebecca. Mrs. Grant makes me feel so old," Rebecca chuckled. "So that goes for both of you. Call me Rebecca." The fact that Rebecca's beauty was only surpassed by his niceness made Sawyer sick. She had a habit of mentally comparing herself to beautiful women she came across. Sawyer was petite, small boned. That included small breasts and a small butt. That drove her crazy the most. She always expected that she would grow, but ever since 9th grade she never grew an inch in any direction. She felt frozen in a body she loathed. Sawyer was far from ugly. She had whimsical green eyes and long wavy hair that reached the middle of her back, a lot of it, too. It contrasted well with her beautifully tanned skin. But she always hated staring at people's knees. She was short, and for that she always felt disadvantaged.
"Anyway," Rebecca began again, "enough of that. Time to talk about why you're here, Sawyer." Sawyer shifted her weight in her chair as Moira placed a steaming cup of Earl Grey in front of her. She gently stirred, watching the teabag bob in the water. "I know it's going to be a grueling schedule, but that's what happens when you're in the biz," Rebecca smiled. "I need you to watch over Caden and Phebe at least 5 days a week, weekdays and some weekends. It's going to be a busy summer, but I promise you we will make it well worth it."
"I thought you were retired?" Sawyer wondered aloud. Rebecca sighed.
"Don't let anyone fool you. You can't retire from this career. You always crave it. Now that I've gotten my personal trainer and my body is coming back, I'm hoping to make a comeback. Believe me. It's a sacrifice. I'm going to miss those little guys so much this summer, but this is too important. Besides, between you and Moira I really don't think they'll be lacking in anything."
"Of course not, ma'am." Moira smiled. "And may I ask where your little ones are now?"
"They are with Richard for some quality time before he has to go out of town for two months to shoot his new movie."
"Must be a hard life to get used to," Sawyer mused. Rebecca stared out at nothing in particular.
"You have no idea.
He told her he was never going to leave her. And the sane part of him that still respected people and their wishes told him to do as she asked. They say that love means letting go; not to him. Love meant gripping, holding, needing. One day...one day she was going to need him. She was going to forgive him. He just knew this.
So he did exactly opposite of what she said. He did what he promised her from the beginning. He refused to make himself invisible to her.
He was there for her whenever she decided that she wanted him again. There was never going to be anyone else, although Hayden did try. And he almost caved. Being 16 forever made it hard to control his..urges. One day Hayden walked up to him out of nowhere and grabbed his crotch. It took the air right out of him. She was always showing up, half naked, killing him whenever he rejected (which was every time). He'd have to masturbate every time afterward. But all he could think about was Violet. Her skin. Her hair.
And he figured that it wasn't going to take long, but she never appeared to him. She stayed hidden. He was out like a sitting duck, waiting for her to finally appear to him, forgive him, make love to him again.
"What is it about being dead that makes me so horny?" He remembered Hayden saying. She was right. No inhibitions. But, as he figured out so tragically, there were still consequences. Ones he could never even forgive himself for, let alone assume she would forgive him one day.
Trouble was, no matter how much he loved her, he hated Violet Harmon. In the months since she left him standing there, tears rolling down his face, their lips had still be touching when she disappeared, his sadness had decomposed into a bitter anger that caused him to lash out more than he had in the past. He was frustrated. He was devastated that she could be so stubborn.
Mostly, he was mad that she lied. He thought they had a love that would transcend any hang ups, no matter how scandalous. But she couldn't take it. And it was only a matter of time before that Gabriel had moved in and she practically threw herself at him. If she was trying to get a rise out of him, she certainly succeeded.
So much was bouncing off the walls of his mind as he lay there, trying to remember what sleep felt like. Ain't no rest for the wicked. The dead don't sleep. He looked beside him. Hayden stared at the ceiling.
"I don't care how bored I get," Hayden said bitterly, "we are never fucking again." She rolled over to her side, facing him. "I mean...that was just sad." She didn't smile. Hayden never smiled. "I mean, you have tears in your eyes. You called me Violet. I honestly think that is the worst I've ever had." With that, Hayden popped up and began dressing. "And don't worry. I'm not going to tell your little flower. Not that it matters. You're not together. So you have nothing to cry about!" Hayden was becoming increasingly irritated with Tate's unresponsiveness.
"I'm not crying," Tate said defensively. Hayden leaned down and ran a finger down his cheek. She rubbed the moisture between her finger and thumb.
"Oh yeah? What do you call that?" she scoffed. "You're pathetic." Tate was besides himself by her cruel words. Hadn't she been lovesick before? Of course she had! Tate remembered her sneaking around the house to spy on Ben only months earlier. In fact, she was still guilty of it even now.
"You're a bitch," Tate sighed.
"A bitch?" Hayden raised her voice. "I'm not a bitch, I'm a realist! And even so, I'm glad I'm not a pussy! Buck up, buttercup. Get over it. She's not coming back. You fucked it up." Hayden slipped her jeans over her slender thighs and thought for a moment before a sly smile crept across her face. "Ya know, I did overhear the new owner interviewing a girl downstairs today. She's cute. About your age. Apparently she's gonna be the new nanny. Maybe it's time you get over that little Violet." With a wink and a shrug, Hayden was gone. And Tate was alone.
He liked it better that way, anyway.