Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agatha Harkness is 349 years old. Give or take, she’s losing count these days and often would rather not count at all. But the point is; she’s lived a long life. She’s lived through countless reigns, many eras of change, and experienced all the wonders and struggles in between. As a not-so-closeted sapphic, Agatha has always been faced with the age-old dilemma; how to signal that you’re attracted to another woman without knowing if she herself is attracted to you and jeopardising what you already have.

And now, as a 349 year old witch sharing a cabin with the most powerful being in the multiverse who would rather eat sugar snaps in front of a television playing sitcoms than perfect her immense power, Agatha is just as at a loss.

That’s not to say that she doesn’t know how to woo a gal and sweep her off her feet. Things are just different now in the age of modern technology where people fall in love over apps Agatha hasn’t bothered to look into yet. Back in the day (god that makes her sound old…), she had a myriad of tricks up her sleeve. 

As a baby witch in Salem, she expressed her feelings through the enchanting language of poems. Rio always melted for them, for the way an infatuated Agatha would compare her beauty to that of the moon, or the light of her smile to the stars in the sky. But first loves are not meant to be and she never picked up an inked feather ever again (she doesn’t think Wanda would enjoy her sappy writing anyway, the girl can’t even stand the sight of her erotic romance books that she swears are better than they look).

The years following her murder of her coven and abandonment of Salem, Agatha travelled to the ends of the Earth, living in now-fallen cities and witnessing revolutions rise and fall. In the 1790s she found a home in Rome, learning the emerging art form of neoclassicism and painting portraits of the wealthy in her free time. She was known for her bewitching nudes in particular and suffice to say, her bed was never cold. Having her heart broken by an engaged noblewoman was enough to make her pack her brushes away though and return her focus to the Darkhold (she supposes Wanda might swoon at a portrait of her beauty, but given the way she shies away at the sight of a camera, Agatha thinks it is rather unlikely). 

As the decades went by, Agatha scoured the pages of the Darkhold and perfected her dark magic. By the late 1860s, she found herself in Victorian Era England. Here, she became a governess looking for young witches and warlocks whose abilities had yet to be unearthed. London’s ton was a scandalous landscape, but Agatha had no problem navigating. The lonely wives quickly fell to her charms and she easily wove herself into the social scene. Here though, people didn’t speak with words. Courting was a complicated dance and Agatha learned to speak through the language of flowers. Bunches of morning glory were gifted to express her interest in a woman, and bouquets of striped carnations were awkwardly sent via courier for a blunt rejection. Shortly after, she met the lovely vacationing Richards family and soon returned to America to monitor the latent magical flame in their son.

Still, the unspoken flower language has never quite left her. To this day she still finds herself gifting myrtle to wish someone luck, and purple sweet peas to women who catch her affection but will never share a future with. And even now, as she watches Wanda sit by the lake under an orchid tree, all Agatha can do is hope that flowers say more than she ever can.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand why I have to learn this,” Wanda grumbles in the quaint basement of her secluded Transian cabin, already bored of Agatha’s magic lessons. It’s only been a week since she begrudgingly returned to Westview to enlist  the older witch’s magical guidance, and yet she’s already regretting it. 

“And I don’t understand why you even asked for my help if you weren’t going to listen,” Agatha snides with a roll of her eyes. She’s taught hundreds of children, both with and without magical abilities, and somehow a stubborn grief-stricken fugitive who could erase her existence in the blink of an eye is her biggest challenge. It’s only been a week and she’s already wondering if these daily tantrums are even worth regaining her magic.

“Just send me back to Westview and make me your little lap dog Agnes already toots, if this is how it’s gonna be.”

Wanda pouts. Like actually…pouts. Ever the drama queen, huh?

“I just don’t see why I have to learn the basics when I can already do so much more. I asked for your help in finding my children, not to be taught what I already know. I can already conjure things, look,” she complains as she opens her palm and makes a blood red apple appear in a flurry of scarlet and black magic.

Agatha inwardly sighs. Amateur witches and their undeserved power, am I right?

“Honey, you didn’t even know that this was ‘conjuring’ or what that even meant until this morning. How are we supposed to find your little demons if you don’t even understand your abilities?” 

The young protégé pouts again with a slump of her shoulders and it stirs something inside Agatha that she’d rather not dwell on.

“I don’t know how many times I have to go through this, toots. Yes, you have all that amazing power, congratulations, good for you. But you have no theory, no practice, no idea what you’re doing. If you keep going at this rate, you’ll probably obliterate the cosmos without even realising.” 

That makes her finally resign with a tempered sulk. 

“Did you at least read what I assigned you?” 

“I read the first page…” Wanda replies with a grimace.

“Good enough,” Agatha sighs, gathering the mental strength needed to school a moody witch at 9:00AM on a Monday without a sip of wine in her body yet.

“Conjuration is like a baby step to your chaos magic, which is why you need to perfect it first. Normal witches can conjure things that already exist by placing it in and summoning it from a pocket dimension, or teleporting it through a pocket dimension,” Agatha slowly explains and demonstrates by using the little magic Wanda granted her upon their agreement to conjure a small bunch of yellow alyssum and goldenrod, and white gladiolus flowers with a cloud of sapphire magic.

“You just casually have a bouquet of flowers lying around?” Wanda teases, as she takes the yellow and white bunch given to her and smells it.

“A magician never reveals her secret,” Agatha winks, pleased to see her apprentice instantly light up with the sudden gift before telling her to set it aside and returning to her lesson.

“You however, my little harbinger of chaos, can draw upon the energy both around and within you to create something entirely new. The processes are still relatively similar in practice, though,” she pauses, raising her brow in question to check if Wanda is following and continuing when the younger mage nods slowly.

“The reason your little freaks–”

“Don’t,” Wanda warns with that deeper accented tone of hers that she uses when she’s trying to be intimidating.

“–didn’t survive is because you tied their life source to that dead-end town. To no fault of your own of course, that’s what Auntie Agnes is here for now. The more powerful you get though, and most importantly, the more control over that power you have, you can tie small things to yourself and then eventually them selves and make them entirely independent beings. Clear?”

“Crystal,” the witch replies with a glare. She can’t say she’s enjoying having the older witch baby her like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Good girl, let’s try it,” Agatha doesn’t miss the way Wanda flinches and how her cheeks slightly flush. She notes the reaction away for another day. 

“You see that spellbook over there? Store it, then summon it.” Wanda slowly nods with understanding and lifts her hand. The book disappears in scarlet mist, as her eyes alight with fire, before appearing a beat later floating above her palm. 

Satisfied, she turns to Agatha with a cocky smile, but it instantly drops when she sees her mentor isn’t as happy with the result as she is. “What did I do wrong?” she pouts.

“Don’t just do it, work through it and understand why and how you’re doing it. I know you can just think something into existence, but take a few steps back for me, okay sweetheart?” 

Agatha walks over and stands behind Wanda. The witch raises her hand and hovers it above the back of Wanda’s heart, enflaming her palm with magic. “Feel it in your core, think of what you want. Imagine what you want your energy to do and concentrate it until it comes.”

Wanda closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Inhaling, she feels the chaos within her sparking. She envisions the spellbook on the other side of the basement and shrouds it with her energy. Slowly, she feels Agatha take the back of her hand and stretch it out towards the object. Slowly but purposefully, she calls upon the book and it appears in front of her, hovering in midair. 

As she opens her eyes, she finds Agatha still intertwining their fingers. Their magics have somehow fused, her scarlet and black mixing with Agatha’s sky blue to form a deep maroon. Suddenly, the older woman invades all her senses with her back pressed against her front and Agatha’s deep breath hitting that sweet spot behind her ear. 

For a second longer than appropriate, Agatha basks in the warmth of Wanda’s body against her and breathes in the scent of her cherry blossom shampoo, the proximity between them not lost on her. 

Instantly snapping out of the trance, she drops Wanda’s hand like she’s been burned and steps away from her the next second.

“Well hot stuff, congratulations. You’ve successfully passed your first lesson in Conjuration 101.”

She flees the basement before she can notice Wanda’s affected state.

Chapter Text

Agatha descends the stairs of their cabin’s back porch (funny, she’s not sure when ‘Wanda’s’ became ‘theirs’, but alas), and finds Wanda peacefully tending to her crops in their garden. The sun hits her still-ginger hair and alights it like fire as the girl looks…serene. She’s a sight for sore eyes and Agatha can’t help but stare, capturing the vision in her memory. In this moment, she’s not some all-powerful being destined to conquer or destroy the cosmos, she’s just Wanda.

“Is something wrong?” She ultimately teases, making her presence known and startling the younger witch.

“What…?”

“It’s 11:00AM on a Sunday and you’re not only awake, but you’re also out here gardening. Are you ill? Is it end of days?” 

“Ha ha,” Wanda chuckles sarcastically as she throws a handful of dirt in Agatha’s direction with a glare.

“I don’t usually see you ‘til dusk if I don’t drag you out of bed myself,” Agatha continues to joke.

“Is something the matter, sugar?” she inquires sincerely this time with a sharp change in tone.

The younger witch’s demeanour instantly stiffens. It’s clear that the subject is a little touchy. “I just didn’t sleep well is all,” she shrugs nonchalantly.

“Oh?”

Agatha had thought and hoped that her sleeping was improving lately. Ever since she more or less confiscated the Darkhold from her the day they made their agreement, the book’s corrosive hold on Wanda’s soul has slowly but surely loosened. 

“I dreamt about them again."

“Oh.”

“I heard them scream… I heard them call for me, and I couldn’t do anything about it,” Wanda shares quietly with a shaky voice. 

“I’m sorry Wanda.” Agatha knows the pain all too well. There are still nights when she is plagued by Nick screaming her name. It’s been centuries since sleep brought her any real solace.

She turns to Wanda, wanting to ask her if she’d like to talk about it. Sharing always helped Agatha. To talk through her nightmares and remember that they’re not real while sharing fond memories she had with Nick and Rio, so that their brief life together is not lost in time. If only she had anyone to share it with.

Agatha finds, however, that Wanda is no longer there with her. Her body is, but her mind is elsewhere. A lost and despairing cloud shrouds her eyes and takes her to a faraway place that Agatha cannot reach, but knows because she’s been there too once upon a time. 

Tears threaten to fall down the cheeks of the young witch who has seen too much loss for the short life she has lived. Agatha desperately wishes to pull her back from this mindscape where grief and desperation enslave the lost, but only Wanda can save herself.

So instead, she quietly picks up a trowel and gets to digging, crouching at the empty plot of dirt in front of Wanda. 

It’s therapeutic in its own way, there is peace in all of this. The two of them quietly garden, smoothing out soil and filling holes with seeds and seedlings on their own without speaking but still enjoying the precious moment. 

Most of their days not spent studying magic are like this, with both of them doing their own things, but still being near each other and enjoying one another’s presence. 

Simply…co-existing. 

Because even the loneliest creatures crave the warmth and understanding of another.

And so, they garden. Wanda tends to her vegetables and Agatha cultivates some flowers from the previously arid dirt. They dig and they plant until they can convince themselves that the marks staining their fingers is simply dirt and not a result of their own willing corruption.

Slowly, the day passes by and she feels Wanda’s soul relighting and her eyes clearing. She’s coming back to her.

The silence between them is suddenly uncomfortable. She can tell Wanda wants to say something but is holding back. 

“Spit it out, sweetheart. I’m all ears.”

Wanda takes a few seconds to piece together her curious but racing thoughts before asking, “What do you know about the multiverse?”

No.

“The Darkhold briefly mentioned it before it shut me out. Explain it to me.” Wanda instantly feels Agatha’s hesitation and musters all the courage left within her to ask (demand) for an explanation almost with the same tone that she used to intimidate Thanos, knowing that she won’t get the answers she’s hoping for otherwise.

Agatha sighs with a deep exhale. 

“I know that it is real,” she treads lightly, “but also that it is a dangerous thing that even you cannot and should not interfere with,” she warns seriously, desperate to keep the temperamental and impulsive witch away from the myriad of destinies of hers that she should not fulfil.

“I can feel them, Agatha. In my heart, in my soul, ” the brimming tears fall now. “I know they’re out there, somewhere. What am I supposed to do? Listen to their screams calling me for help and do nothing?!” Her voice raises in anger. Agatha can see herself losing Wanda again, but this time to the unforgiving corruption that could claim her eternally. 

“Know that they’ll be loved.” Her voice shakes with less surety than she’d like. The topic is hitting too close to home for comfort. 

“Know that they have their own mother, family and friends, who care for them as much as you do and will protect them in your place.” As she’s saying it, she doesn’t even believe herself. The words of advice never brought her any consolation in the years after she lost everything, but it has to be enough to keep Wanda in the light. 

“They are not yours, they cannot be yours and will never be yours. Your children’s souls may be out here somewhere in our universe, but not out there . Those boys belong to another Wanda, so you just have to accept the fact that she loves them enough for the both of you.”

Loose rocks and garden tools begin to shake and hover with Wanda’s increasing instability. 

“That’s not…that’s not enough for me,” she admits vulnerably as her voice wavers.

“I know, but it has to be.” After hundreds of years, it is for Agatha. One cannot live in the past with no regard for their future. She had to learn that the hard way and cannot let Wanda do the same. “It is as things are meant to be.”

Something clicks in Wanda. And not the kind of realisation Agatha was hoping for but a confirmation that her Wanda is lost. Her face falls and gone is the sadness that previously plagued her, replaced by an anger at the universe that can only be directed at Agatha.

“Now you’re suddenly a hero? You kidnapped my children and tried to steal my power, but now you suddenly have morals?” The enraged witch stands up dauntingly and inches towards Agatha, tilting her head in a show of power.

It always ends like this. They’re both too stubborn for their own good, both too proud and neither willing to yield. They both say things they don’t mean, but hurt all the same.

Agatha slowly gets up too and uses the few inches that she holds over Wanda as an advantage to level them, while trying to remember that the girl has not been apart from the Darkhold for long, making it that much harder to reason with her. 

Looking at the witch in front of her, not in fear but rather with caution, she can see her magical witch crown has already begun appearing. 

“I care because I can’t let you shatter the fabric of reality, and I care because I can’t let you take a mother’s children away from her,” she hammers.

The air begins to grow cold as Wanda is further maddened.

“As if you could ever understand the pain of a mother.”

And just like that, everything stops for Agatha. She sharply inhales, wounded by the cruelty of Wanda’s words.

Wow. Okay…that one hurt.

She’s never told her about Nick, which makes it hurt that much more.

“You know what,” Agatha scoffs. She’s really regretting ever coming to Westview. “Fuck you.” 

The crimson witch is taken aback by her sudden change in attitude and is instantly awakened. In the beat of a second, her crown dissipates and the atmosphere around them is restored as rocks and tools drop with a thud.

“Find those little rats on your own, annihilate the cosmos and see if I care.” She tosses the trowel into the dirt, an imprint of the handle left in her palm from the tension with which she had gripped it. “I know you’ll come running back the second you can’t wrap your head around a simple spell that even Scratchy could perform like the imbecile you are.”

This wasn’t the reaction Wanda had been hoping for. 

“Wait, I’m sor—“ 

She doesn’t get a chance to properly re-assess the situation and apologise as Agatha storms off, leaving clouds of light blue magic in her wake.

Wanda is instantly regretful and turns to the garden beds, seeing the magically grown patch of chamomiles, red carnations, and orange butterfly weeds that Agatha left behind.

Chapter Text

After spending the rest of the afternoon frantically flying around the Transian mountains in search of the older witch, Wanda finds her napping peacefully under a tree across the lake with Scratchy nestled in her lap. Unconsciously, she lets out a breath of relief as the sight tugs at her heart a little. 

When Agatha wakes up, she’s shocked to see Wanda patiently waiting for her and brushes off her profuse apologies, having already cooled off from their quarrel (and not wanting to show how deep Wanda’s words truly cut her). 

After all, it’s only one of many fights. They’ve had more damaging arguments over who gets the last strawberry pop tart. But no matter how many insults are thrown in either direction, they still find themselves coming back to each other. As hard as it is to admit, they still need one another (in more ways than the ones stipulated in their agreement). 

And so, the natural order is quickly restored as Wanda makes kartoshka for dessert and Agatha finally does her share of cleaning the cabin until it’s enough for both of them to stand the sight of each other again. 

They resume Wanda’s lessons the next day and act as if nothing happened, but Agatha’s reaction to her final comment continues to gnaw at Wanda and there is an underlying tension between them that she can’t ignore.

Months pass by steadily, as Wanda’s abilities and control improve drastically at a rate Agatha pretends she isn’t jealous of. Tensions between them have run especially high this week with the focus of Wanda’s lessons advancing from her ability to create inanimate objects to her ability to create life. Insults and taunts have been thrown around between the irritable mentor and mentee (as usual), but after a long and gruelling week, Wanda has finally succeeded. Out of thin air (more or less) appeared a fully autonomous and sentient black cat, who Wanda (obviously) let Agatha name Ebony.

So here they are, two magical fugitives cohabitating with their pet cat and rabbit in an isolated cabin in the middle of a Transian mountain range. 

But they’re not friends. 

Definitely not. 

Call them that and you’ll lose a limb (Agatha’s words not Wanda’s).

It’s a typical Tuesday night, the sun has set during Wanda’s nap and a calm breeze cools the living room through their cabin’s open windows as the clock hits 8:00PM. Groggily, she leaves her bedroom and stretches her arms in an effort to wake herself up. 

Instantly, she spots Agatha on the couch with one hand reading one of those awful erotic romance novels she can’t stand and the other hand stroking a sleeping Ebony resting on her lap (their living room is not so large and Agatha is the only other person in the room, but Wanda think her eyes would immediately find Agatha in any room). As much as she hates to admit it, her heart warms at the sight. 

In the moonlight, she looks so serene. Not like a mean old hag, but just…Agatha, who likes to tease her and calls her pet names until her cheeks blush as red as her magic, but also who rushes to her room when she hears Wanda scream at night and holds her until she falls back to sleep. 

She isn’t quite sure how and when they went from being enemies to something as close to civil friends without being friends, but alas.

Agatha perks up the second she feels Wanda’s presence in the room. “Morning sleeping beauty. Prince Charming finally give you that true love’s kiss?”

Wanda simply shakes her head and ignores the joke, as she usually does. They’d been training since dawn today, so she feels she earnt the little nap thank you very much. 

As she briskly walks towards the adjacent kitchen, Wanda can feel Agatha’s eyes trained on her following her every move almost with nervous expectation. The reason why becomes clear when she finds an enormous red and purple bouquet sitting in a vase she didn’t know they owned. Inspecting it, she thinks she can spot purple lilacs and asters, and maybe red gloxinias. 

Wanda’s never been good with flowers, she’s only ever picked a bunch of daisies from the garden outside the Avengers Compound as a gift to Vision to show him the beauty of plant life in their early months together (she doesn’t dwell on the fact that her heart doesn’t ache as much when she recalls the memory now).

“What’s this?” she questions, unable to suppress the wide smile on her face. In the same second, she can feel the nerves leaving Agatha as her posture relaxes.

“It’s a gift, for all your hard work and the progress you’ve made.” 

Oh?

A beat passes. 

“I’m proud of you.”

Oh.

Agatha Harkness. 349 years of age. Second most powerful witch on this Earth… is proud of her.

Oh indeed.

Wanda can’t do anything to quell the blush that flushes her cheeks. It’s rare for her to do something that doesn’t result in a quip about her abilities let alone earn a single word of praise, so the sudden affirmation makes her go redder than the scarlet of her chaos magic. 

“This isn’t an attempt to get me to give back your magic, is it?” she questions with a scrunch of her nose, desperate to draw attention from her cheeks and give Agatha even more reason to tease her.

“If I say ‘no’, will you give it back?” 

“What do you think?”

“I think I’ve been a good girl who deserves a little reward.”

Oh. my. fucking. god.

Wanda laughs nervously, but it’s more of a coping mechanism to hide the panic within her than a reaction to what was most likely not a joke. 

“T-that’s a hard no.” 

Damn it, Wanda. 

She doesn’t know how, but Agatha always manages to fluster her like this.

“That’s what I thought,” Agatha sighs insincerely, pretending like she isn’t pleased with the way Wanda’s voice shakes. She doesn’t back down so easily though and slowly places Ebony and her book aside as she stands up, stalking towards Wanda like a predator hunting its prey. 

“But you know…” 

Seemingly in a second, Agatha is in her space and she finds herself trapped against the kitchen table between the taller woman’s toned arms and body (not that she’s noticed her body…). 

“I can think of lots of other rewards, ones that I’m sure you’d also enjoy.” 

They don’t yet touch, but Wanda can feel Agatha’s breath igniting her nerves as she whispers into her ear. It takes everything in her to stay standing on two feet.

“I um, I-I think I b-better get started on dinner now…”

Look at her, she’s the most powerful being in the cosmos and she’s panicking over a few words from a hag.

“What’s the rush, sweetheart?” Agatha whispers with a smirk. “How about you and I head back to bed and skip straight to dessert instead?” 

Wanda almost chokes on air, a little too tempted to take up her offer, before regaining her composure and realising that she has to put a stop to this before they make a mistake and really can’t face each other ever again.

“Well, I was thinking I could make kartoshka again. Plus, I have some fresh veggies from the garden that I can use for paprikash so if you don’t mind…” Wanda slowly pushes herself out of Agatha’s arms and takes her first full breath in minutes. 

The older witch retreats with a proud smirk on her face, returning to the living room where Ebony and Senor Scratchy both sit silently observing the scene.

Wanda finally lets out a breath of relief and recomposes herself until she hears Agatha nonchalantly declare from the other side of the room, “The offer still stands, hot stuff. I know how long it’s been since you’ve had a night of fun.”

She’s really going to be the bane of her existence, isn’t she?

Soon, they quickly fall back into their comfortable silence with Wanda preparing their dinner and Agatha comfortably reading on the couch with their pets. The heated tension never leaves the room, but Agatha doesn’t attempt to make Wanda’s cheek blush an even brighter shade of red for the rest of the evening.

When the night ends and Wanda retreats to her room, she once again thanks Agatha for the red and purple bouquet.

Every Sunday morning afterwards, she wakes up to find a new bouquet waiting for her on their kitchen table. One of her favourites is a yellow and white bouquet of yellow tulips and acacias, and white honeysuckles and lily of the valleys. 

Agatha never tells her the names or meanings of the flowers though, and she never asks.

Chapter Text

On the cool summer’s day of May 31st, Agatha watches Wanda kneel solemnly in front of the makeshift grave they made for Vision on one of the mountains overlooking the lake and forest surrounding their cabin. 

It’s the sixth (first to Wanda) anniversary of The Snap and as such, Vision’s death. Six years ago, Agatha didn’t have anyone to lose, so the day is of little importance to her. But to Wanda, she can see it’s an unwelcome reminder of everything and everyone that the young witch has loved and lost.

Quietly, but not so quiet as to startle Wanda, Agatha ascends the mountain with a large red and pink bouquet in hand. She’s never been good with words (not since she bared her heart to Rio all those years ago) and especially with comforting, so she hopes the gesture and action of at least being here for Wanda is enough to offer her some sort of solace.

“Hey, angel,” she greets softly, slowly approaching her with the utmost care. “How’re you doing, hun?”

Wanda turns to her with a sniffle (not a great start). “I’m okay, not the best, but okay.” And that’s all that matters, she supposes; that we are as close to being okay as possible, no matter the multitude of ghosts haunting us.

“Are those…?” she wonders, pointing to the flowers in Agatha’s hand.

“Yeah, thought I’d get something nice for you…and him.” Agatha hands the bouquet to Wanda, who smells and inspects the flowers as her face lights up before placing them in front of Vision’s grave.

It’s the biggest bouquet that she’s given Wanda to date and she struggled with arranging it, but the older witch can only hope that the scarlet geraniums, pink petunias and yarrows, and white clovers and meadowsweets share the sentiments she is unable to put in words.

“Thank you Agatha, really,” Wanda thanks with a smile Agatha won’t admit she’s proud of coaxing out of the usually forlorn girl. “You didn’t have to.” 

(But she did).

Their usual comfortable silence overcomes them, as Wanda stares at Vision’s empty grave in thought and Agatha in turn stares at a pensive Wanda.

“I should probably leave now and let you have some time to yourself,” she clears her throat and excuses herself. Just as Agatha turns to make her descent down the mountain though, a soft hand catches her wrist and halts her escape.

“Stay,” Wanda requests, her voice small but full of desperation.

“Are you sure?”

“Please…stay here with me.”

And so she does.

For as long as you’ll have me , Agatha wants to profess but doesn’t.

With Wanda’s powers advancing more and more everyday, Agatha has started questioning just how long their agreement will last and what the future holds for them (and what she even wants it to hold). But she’ll happily make the most of peaceful moments like this in the midst of their chaos.

Wanda’s grip on her wrist slowly loosens as she shifts over and repositions herself, making room for Agatha who conjures a blanket for them to sit on. The now-brunette witch watches quietly as Agatha sits down beside her and instantly leans into the older witch’s side, resting her head on her shoulder as Agatha wraps her arm around Wanda and rests her own cheek atop her head as if it’s second nature. They fall together like two puzzle pieces fitting right in place. 

Agatha doesn’t push her to talk through her grief, but rather just exists in time with her. The leaves briskly brush against them as the light breeze cools them down from Transia’s summer heat. She almost falls asleep in the calmness of the moment before Wanda finally speaks up.

“I miss him,” she breaks the silence. “After all this time, after everything and everyone that I’ve lost, it doesn’t hurt any less and I never get used to it.” Her voice is shaky, but she isn’t crying and Agatha is glad for that. The girl has shed more tears in her lifetime than she ever deserved. 

Agatha simply tightens her embrace in response. “In time, that hole in your heart will fill. You won’t move on, but you’ll move forward and find love elsewhere that’ll make it all hurt a little less.”

“I don’t think I deserve to move forward though,” she confesses. “I could’ve saved him, I could’ve saved all of them. But instead, I only caused even more pain and suffering. And now somehow, after everything that’s happened, I’m the only one that’s left.”

The older witch’s heart aches at the girl’s admission. Survivor’s guilt is a curse on the remaining that Agatha knows all too well, but she can’t and won’t let it plague Wanda the way it did her. 

“You can’t think like that, sweetheart. You’ve atoned for Westview and no matter what you think or what the demons of the Darkhold say, there isn’t anything that you could’ve done to save your family,” she reassures. 

A beat passes as Wanda absorbs the words. 

“They would’ve wanted you to be happy and live without burden,” she comforts. “What matters is that Vision and your family will always live on in your love and memory. They are survived by and through you. As long as you remember them, they’ll always be here with you.”

A soft smile appears on Wanda’s face. “Since when did you get so wise?” she jokes, nudging her mentor’s ribs in jest and earning a whole-hearted chuckle.

“300 odd years will do that for you, darling.”

Their laughs slowly die down, as their comfortable silence returns. The clouds pass by throughout the day, as they spend hours cuddling together fondly remembering loved ones they’ve lost and sharing stories of the lives they’d lived. 

Agatha spends a little less time talking and a little more time just watching Wanda, though. In the months that have passed since they started training together, she’s witnessed the young girl slowly but surely heal, and for that Agatha is both proud and relieved. 

These days, she spends less time crying and more time laughing. Her sleep is much better and her nightmares are fewer and further between, evidenced by the lack of bags under her eyes and her brighter skin. And although the Darkhold marks on her fingertips will always stain her, as will Agatha’s, her mind is almost clear of its corruption.

A proud smile slowly appears on Agatha’s face as she gazes down at Wanda asleep on her shoulder, almost leaning in to kiss her on the forehead before stopping herself. Friends don’t kiss each other’s foreheads and while she isn’t sure if Wanda would consider them to be friends, she doesn’t want to cross a line when they’ve come so far in the past year.

And so instead, she leans back and hugs the sleeping witch closer as she quietly watches over their little nook in the mountain’s valley. Pink and white petals billow in the wind as they remain like this until the sun sets and dusk arrives.

Chapter Text

Solemnly, Agatha leans against the wooden post of their front porch, gazing through their living room window at Wanda in her full Scarlet Witch suit saying goodbye to Senor Scratchy and Ebony. Her heart tugs at the sight. The laugh of the youthful heroes behind her interrupts her daze and she glances at the teenagers taking up mantles beyond their age. How did she end up here?

After seasons of coaching the young witch as per their agreement, it seems that their time has come. The world is once again facing a universe-ending threat and Earth needs its mightiest hero of all. 

It is as things are meant to be (Agatha remembers telling Wanda this months ago, it hurts all the same).

Just this morning, the two witches were flipping through Agatha’s magical tomes searching for more definitive information about the multiverse. Days ago, they both felt a rift in time and space on a cosmic level, another blip of sorts. As Earth-199999’s nexus being, Wanda especially felt the fabric of reality tearing apart and the borders of foreign universes colliding.

Initially, they’d been hesitant to reach out to the Avengers (law-abiding heroes don’t typically welcome fugitives). To their surprise though, they received a knock on the door of their isolated cabin where no one should have been able to find them. And as it turns out, the Avengers came to them instead. Albeit…a little young.

Standing in front of Wanda protectively (as if the powerful harbinger of chaos needed any protecting), Agatha had opened the door with a blue sphere of magic ready to strike, only to be greeted by a group of ragtag teen heroes including a purple archer (hey, purple’s her colour), mini versions of Captain America and Iron Man, some sort of star girl, and most shocking of all, what looked like teenage versions of Wanda’s twins.

Complete silence filled their little Transian valley, so much so that you could hear a leaf blowing in the wind as none of them knew how to react. But even she felt the immediate connection.

The two boys were somehow, but undoubtedly, Wanda’s children from Westview or at least their souls were. It didn’t make any sense (but nothing has since the day she met Wanda).

These heroes (children? teenagers? young adults?) called themselves the ‘Young Avengers’ (very creative, gold stars all around) and explained that a man ruling over time and space had unravelled the multiverse and transported the adult Avengers to another dimension, leaving the multiverse hanging in the balance and Earth unprotected in their wake. 

Except for, as it seems, the Young Avengers who assembled in their place, Wanda who is Earth-199999’s nexus being and Agatha who (in a way that neither of them are aware of) is inextricably linked to Wanda.

And so, just like that, they once again find themselves in the face of another world ending disaster. Or as they like to call it, a regular Tuesday.

At least for Wanda it is, who agreed to help repair the shattered multiverse before the kids even asked. Because at her core and despite anything that she’s ever done to suggest otherwise, Wanda has always been a hero at heart.

But Agatha is not. It is not in her nature to make sacrifices for those she deems unworthy. She may help those in need in her own ways, but it is not her battle to fight. Wanda cannot bring herself to hate her for this and does not push her to come fight with her.

It is as things were meant to be (she’s really starting to hate the gods for the destinies they have placed on them). They were always on different sides anyway; Wanda is a hero, but Agatha is a villain.

So, they find themselves at a crossroads. It feels like the end for them and Agatha hates it. Just like that, months of whatever they had together comes to an end without the closure she desires. 

It’s not that she didn’t see it coming, she knew they would one day soon go their separate ways. After all, Wanda had learnt everything she had to teach. Whether she returned to being Earth’s hero or found her children (or both, it seems), Agatha knew she would no longer need her and leave (just like everyone else). 

(That doesn’t mean it hurts any less). 

A sniffle escapes her unwillingly. She refuses to cry, but as she stands on the porch watching Wanda saunter towards her in her scarlet supersuit and sharp wimple (god, she looks absolutely delicious), but also with that innocent and wholesome smile that reaches her eyes and scrunches her nose, Agatha can’t help but let a tear fall somewhere within her soul. 

For the words left unsaid, for her happiness for Wanda regaining everything she deserves, and for the sadness of losing something that was never truly hers to begin with.

The younger witch finally reaches her and envelopes Agatha in the tightest of hugs that conveys everything she hopes to say. 

“Thank you, for everything,” the hero whispers only for her to hear. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you and I’ll be grateful until the stars burn out.” 

In a cloud of dark violet, Agatha feels her stolen magic gradually returning to her core. She laughs cynically, for the joy of being whole again and for the pain of knowing that what tied them together has completely dissolved.

Within an instant, Agatha hugs her back even tighter if it were possible (maybe if she holds her close enough she won’t leave).

But Wanda does, pulling back to get a final look at her enemy turned mentor turned…whatever you call two lonely witches who find home in each other without ever voicing such thoughts.

“Here.” Agatha conjures a single blue forget-me-not stem and tucks it behind Wanda’s ear. The soft blue flower is a stark contrast from her intimidating wimple and unruly hair, which makes Agatha smile all the more. “For good luck.” 

And goodbye, and thank you, and sorry, and everything else in between (everything except the three words Agatha will never be able to say).

It’s Wanda’s turn to shed a tear, as she throws her arms around the older mage once again and kisses her on the cheek. She’s conscious of their audience, aware of the confusion in her twins and speculation from the other young heroes, but she savours this final moment between the two of them.

“So long, superstar.”

She chuckles at the pet name Agatha never fails to fluster her with.

“I’ll be seeing you, Agatha,” Wanda finally farewells, mimicking the last time they parted only under much different circumstances.

“Not if I see you first, hon,” Agatha waves, watching as the scarlet superhero takes her mantle and rejoins her children. None of the kids comment on how the formidable witch set to save the multiverse has a sweet blue flower tucked safely behind her ear.

In an almost hauntingly beautiful way, the star girl rips open a tear in reality, only increasing the ever-expanding distance between them. Without looking back, Wanda steps through the rift and in a blink, she’s gone.

The faint scent of forget-me-nots follow her soul and Agatha goes back inside exactly as she came.

Alone.

Chapter Text

Wanda Maximoff is almost 36 years old (or 36 years young, she likes to think. Considering the long and almost eternal life that she is set to live, 36 years pales in comparison). In her somewhat short life, she’s lived through countless wars, found and lost families she’ll always carry in her heart, and experienced all the fleeting wonders and debilitating struggles in between.

And now, as an almost 36 year old witch collapsing to her knees in exhaustion as balance is finally restored to the multiverse with the fall of the Conqueror and his variants, what aches most is her heart, heavy with yearning for one thing; home. 

For the cedar cabin lying peacefully among beech forests in Transia’s mountain range that she shared with Agatha and their pets. The soft couch by the fireplace that they cozied up on watching sitcoms she knew Agatha didn’t care for, but watched anyway. The sight and smell of the intricately arranged bouquets that occupied their kitchen table everyday.

She’s not sure when and even less sure of how, but slowly and surely, things became theirs. And ‘they’ became ‘us’.

A codependent unit of two lonely beings that came to be more than friends, but less than lovers.

And so, as the dust settles and Wanda finally gets a chance to process the events of the past few hours? days? (she’s been jumping between Battleworld and countless other universes where time runs differently from Earth-199999, how long has it truly been since she and Agatha parted?), she feels an overwhelming sense of dread deep in her bones, of regret. 

For not realising how she felt sooner, for not realising how much the older woman meant to her, and for all the time they’ve lost.

Against her tired body’s pleas, she presses her palm into the red soil of Battleworld and gets back up. Because that’s what heroes do, they get back up. There is still work to do, heroes to be sent home and collided universes to be repaired. She receives a few pats on the back from her fellow Avengers and hugs from the children she’s seemingly regained, but none of it fills the chasm in her soul.

The multiverse’s mightiest heroes begin to say their farewells and thank yous as Wanda, America, and some of Stephen’s variants use the last reserves of their energy to send them home, but her magic is on autopilot at this point. She glances at the few Agatha and Wanda variants who were summoned to Battleword and her heart aches.

In the battle to save the multiverse, Wanda travelled to several foreign universes and met multiple versions of herself. Some with Vision, some with a man she’s never met named Simon, and many with Agatha. Here, she saw things, things so similar to the life she’s lived herself, but most of all she saw flowers.

She saw flowers other Agathas left for other Wandas on kitchen tables, she saw flowers other Agathas grew around the cabins and suburban houses shared with other Wandas, and she saw flowers other Agathas tucked behind other Wandas’ ears.

She saw all of Agatha’s flowers that had been lost in translation and by dreamwalking into her other selves and accessing their consciousnesses, she discovered the Victorian language of flowers and finally understood everything Agatha tried but couldn’t say all this time.

The first bouquet that Agatha ever gave her when she taught her conjuration that had yellow alyssum and goldenrod, and white gladiolus, was to say she was worthy and strong and encouraging her to persevere. Because Wanda has always been impulsive and a little bratty when it came to their lessons, but Agatha always had patience and calmed her chaos.

The garden bed of chamomiles, red carnations and orange butterfly weeds that Agatha left behind when she stormed out after Wanda callously insulted the woman who she now knows had and had lost a son named Nicholas, were left to say that while he lived in her memory, her heart still ached with a grief that Wanda never realised she could understand (a thought that plunges her deeper into regret. They have always been so similar and always in the most painful of ways. ‘Same story, different century’, she reminds herself).

The massive bouquet that sat on their kitchen table after Wanda created Ebony that was full of lilacs, asters and red gloxinias as well as what she can now identify as white saxifrage and amaryllis, altogether said ‘I’m proud of you’ while also signalling Agatha’s growing affections for the younger witch (and if Wanda is honest with herself, there’s a reason why her cheeks instantly flamed up when Agatha called her a ‘good girl’ with that certain deep and husky voice of hers…).

And also all the other vases of bouquets that Agatha gave her week after week, including her favourite which was full of yellow tulips and acacias, and white honeysuckles and lilies of the valley. A variant of her Agatha gave another Wanda the same bouquet, so she learnt that this certain one meant that she was secretly and hopelessly in love, but that there was sunshine and happiness in Agatha once again (it’s still her favourite for that reason).

The meaning behind Agatha’s pink and white bouquet given to her on the anniversary of The Snap shatters her heart in even smaller pieces. A mix of soft geraniums, petunias and yarrow, with hints of white clovers and meadowsweets. ‘Do not despair’, Agatha had tried to say with the offer of comfort and promise of healing. But the white clovers and meadowsweets… ‘I hope you think of me in the ways that I think of you, and I will wait as long as you need.’ That one got her. “Stay,” she had asked Agatha that day. And she did, for as long as Wanda needed.

The final flower Agatha ever gave her both warms and wrenches her heart. A single blue forget-me-not, which quite literally meant, ‘Please, do not forget me.’ As if all the time in the world could make Wanda forget the moments they shared and memories they made in their little log cabin.

As she helps America open countless multiversal portals in a daze and basks in the new perspective that she has earned, her lips tremble and tears threaten to fall down her cheeks. 

As if she had read her mind (in a way, they are the same person so she really shouldn’t be surprised), Earth-14392’s Wanda turns to her with an understanding warmth in her eyes. She herself has experienced this debilitating moment of realisation and tightens her hold on her own Agatha’s hand.

The couple walks over to her and she finally snaps out of her daze, her magic continuing to maintain the multiversal gateways on autopilot. For the first time since the two were summoned to Battleword as their Earth’s guardians, Wanda finally sees them, truly sees them (and a part of her realises that this is her seeing beyond the illusion she cast on herself and truly seeing herself and Agatha). The pair look much older than her and her Agatha, they appear to have spent years perfecting their magic and likely years together.

“Thank you for your help,” she thanks, managing to offer a sincere smile. “We couldn't have done it without you.”

“It’s no worry, it’s our job.” This Wanda still has hints of her Sokovian accent, she notices. “We should be thanking you though, Wanda. You saved our universe and for that we are eternally grateful.” She also sounds so much more mature and it takes Wanda aback to hear herself (but not really herself, this is someone entirely different) in this way. 

She can’t help but glance down at the two lovers’ intertwined hands and it pulls at her heart. These two are so different to her and her Agatha, but the same in all the ways that matter. 

“Your Agatha…she is not here?” The Agatha of Earth-14392 asks, speaking up for the first time. “Have we not yet met, dear?”

Good to hear Agatha calls her pet names in every universe, she can’t resist the grin that breaks through and appears on her face.

“No, we have. It’s a complicated story, but we’re… friends and she decided to stay on our Earth to help wherever she could,” Wanda explains awkwardly, stumbling over the word ‘friends’ because even now, she doesn’t know what they are to each other.

“Ah,” is all the other Agatha replies. Whether it was the explanation about the whereabouts of Earth-199999’s Agatha, or the way she struggled to describe what they really are to each other, or the blush that Wanda knows flushed her cheeks at this Agatha’s use of the pet name, she’s said enough and this Agatha understands without her needing to say more.

“You should tell her,” other Wanda encourages, too sharing the mutual understanding. 

Wanda smiles a little to herself, pretending like she doesn’t fear that it’s too late and that after all this unknown amount of time that has passed Agatha either will not be waiting for her or simply does not care for her anymore.

“Thank you, again. But I think it’s time we get you home,” she replies curtly, skirting around the conversation she doesn’t have the strength to have. Every second that she stands here in front of the couple who are a literal manifestation of their ‘what could’ve been in another world, she finds herself falling apart more and more.

The three of them exchange hugs and as she allows herself to spend a second longer than appropriate in other Agatha’s arms, the older woman whispers in her ear, “It’s not too late, hun. You have all the time in the world.” 

Her eyes well up again, as the violet witch pulls back to kiss her on the forehead and discreetly places something in her left hand.

Performing the motions of a transportation spell and re-opening her link to America’s magic, Wanda bids farewell to the couple and watches them return to their home in a cloud of scarlet and blue shards.

Once they have left safely, she closes the portal and opens her left fist seeing what other Agatha had given her; another single forget-me-not.

Do not forget me, as I will never forget you.

A single tear escapes and falls down her cheek. Looking around and assessing the situation as was ingrained in her as a developing Avenger, she finds that there are few heroes left to be sent home. Sensing her anxiety, America and Earth-199999’s Strange make eye contact with her and nod softly, telling her without words that it’s okay to go.

And so, with a newfound resolve, she calls upon the delicate flame of chaos magic still alight in her core and makes the hand motions for a location spell, adding scarlet runes and canting “ inveniet domum meam…” to refine and strengthen the spell.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Concentrating, she closes her eyes and visualises what she wants to find; home (in a person, more than a place).

She visualises Agatha; her smiles that crinkles her eyes, her lazily using magic as a shortcut in daily life, her probably lazing around with Ebony and Senor Scratchy reading a cheesy book in a comfy cardigan (something Wanda really wishes she stole so she’d have a bit of comfort of her own right now).

And that’s exactly what she finds.

Suddenly, Wanda’s eyes open with a scarlet fire ignited within them. Her body is still on Battleworld, but her eyes and consciousness are on Earth-199999 in their secluded log cabin that she can see Agatha has since decorated with hanging lilac wisteria vines. Zooming in and finding exactly what she’s looking for, Wanda’s transported consciousness sees Agatha on their couch with Scratchy on her lap and Ebony sat on her shoulder, tending to a new bouquet of flowers awaiting Wanda’s return.

She’s home.

The second Wanda’s consciousness enters Earth-199999’s domain, Agatha flinches and she smirks knowingly, her magic immediately recognising its mate.

“Hiya, superstar,” she grins, looking ahead to where she can feel Wanda’s aura watching her.

In a beat of her heart, Wanda instantly teleports back home and appears in front of Agatha. They’re a sight for sore eyes with Wanda in her battle suit and sharp wimple and Agatha in her soft cardigan and slacks. But Wanda wouldn’t like it any other way.

“Agatha…” she whispers in disbelief.

And in another beat of her heart before Agatha can even comment on how her new refined suit hugs her curves, Wanda leaps into her arms and envelopes her in a bone crushing hug with the intention of never letting go. 

This is home.

“Missed you too, hot stuff,” Agatha chuckles sincerely instead, returning the hug and brushing her fingers through Wanda’s unruly hair. 

Conscious of how long this supposed hug between friends has lasted, Wanda pulls back and assesses Agatha, holding her face delicately and making sure that she’s unharmed and that her fight to save the multiverse has been worth it. 

It’s been so long for Agatha and barely days for Wanda. Being the immortal she is, Agatha hasn’t aged as much as time has passed on their Earth, but Wanda can see where she has matured and can spot where she has let her appearance change. The new white streak in her hair for one (that makes her look more like the other Agathas she met), but also the smile lines around her eyes that Agatha has let seep through her arrested aging. The young woman traces Agatha’s features and commits them to memory, scared of losing even a bit of her to the one thing she has no power over; time. 

A tear escapes as she mourns the time she has once again lost, tired of this trend of losing precious time with the ones she loves at the hands of men with more power than they deserve. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Agatha coos and holds Wanda’s face in her own two hands, wiping the tears with the thumb of one and caressing her cheek with the other. “It’s okay, everything’s okay. I’m here and I’m safe.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Agatha has always been here, her anchor to reality…her person.

Suddenly aware of their intimate proximity, Wanda steps back (she’s always been panicked in Agatha’s presence and now is not an exception) to the dismay of Agatha whose stained hands drop like she’s been burned.

An awkward silence fills the room as only the crackle of the fireplace and the slow winds banging against their windows are heard, and Wanda absolutely hates it. It’s suffocating and heavy and everything their precious silent moments never were. 

With more courage than it took her to take on Thanos and his army, she takes a deep breath and calls upon the chaos within her, mimicking the spells Agatha taught her all those months ago. 

“I have something for you,” she confesses, her voice as low as a whisper.

Holding her hand behind her back, a red and white bouquet begins to form in a mist of scarlet magic. Intricately, she takes her chaos and creates a bunch of flowers full of everything her heart wants to say and her soul wills to reality.

Red tulips and carnations as the bouquet’s main feature to declare her deep and pure love.

Pink phlox to accompany them and say, ‘Our souls are united.’

And finally, small garden daisies and baby’s breaths sprinkled throughout the bunch to signal that Agatha’s feelings of everlasting love are requited. 

Agatha is confused for a second, sensing the younger woman’s use of magic but unsure of what is unfolding.

The next second, Wanda reveals the massive bouquet with her right hand to Agatha’s surprise.

“For me?”

Wanda (still in her supersuit, she now realises) nods nervously, hoping the older woman understands what she’s trying to say. “What do you think?” she murmurs.

Confused and almost cautiously, Agatha accepts the bouquet and accesses it seriously. Slowly, the pieces fall into place and she translates each flower and their meaning. Wanda watches silently as a big grin appears on Agatha’s face, having received and understood her declaration and reply to all the other flowers Agatha gifted her.

“I think you better kiss me before you regret it,” she teases with a smirk.

And so she does.

Before Agatha can even finish her sentence, Wanda surges forward and brings their lips together, stealing her breath away. Agatha instantly reciprocates and wraps her hands around Wanda’s waist where they fit perfectly. Wanda pulls her in further with a hand behind her neck and fingers threaded in her wild hair, as if the nonexistent proximity between them is still too far and wide. Claiming her soft lips again and again, Wanda doesn’t let go until the need for air becomes too severe. 

Slowly, the couple separates and catches their breaths, albeit still tangled together (as are their souls now). Looking up at the older woman (for the first time ever, she’ll happily admit and revel in the fact that Agatha is a few inches taller than her), she gazes into her ocean blue eyes and melts just that little bit more.

“I love you,” she whispers for only Agatha to hear. “You know that, right?”

The brunette chuckles as her grip on Wanda’s waist tightens ever so lightly. “I had an inkling, toots,” she jests. “The flowers told me enough.”

Satisfied, Wanda smiles with a scrunch of her nose. The taller woman grins in return, placing a soft kiss on Wanda’s forehead and nose and cheeks, making her lover giggle sweetly. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” she professes softly, the first time she’s ever said those three words in over 300 years.

Wanda’s heart warms at the confession, as she magically changes her clothes into a more comfortable outfit and rests her head on Agatha’s shoulder.

And so, as the dust settles, the scent of flowers that mean more than words could ever convey calms the chaos within her, as she wraps her arms around the woman who was once a friend, and then an enemy, and now her home.