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The thing about Agatha and Rio is they know how to fight. They didn’t to begin with. They fought for each other, not against each other.
Nicky changed that.
Agatha has Rio pushed against a wall, arm against her throat. Rio almost enjoys it.
“I hate you,” she snarls.
“I know.”
“I hate what you did to me.”
Rio pushes back, slides out from underneath Agatha, grabs the collar of her shirt and pulls her so close the tips of their noses touch.
“I didn’t have a choice, Agatha!”
“You always have a choice, Rio!”
“He was my son, too!” She can’t help the way her voice rises, and she releases her grip on Agatha to slink backwards. “He was my son, too,” she repeats, softer.
All fight leaves her, and she collapses backwards onto the nearest solid surface. She thinks it’s a coffee table.
“I know you hate me,” she starts, unable to fully look at Agatha. “But if you think I don’t hate myself, you’re an idiot.”
“I-“
“Just don’t, Agatha,” she’s staring at the floor, kicking bits of debris with her toe. Agatha sinks into her eyeline, and Rio pulls her limbs in tight to her body, balling herself up as if it will protect her from her own vulnerability. She may not feel physical pain, but emotional turmoil is kind of her forte.
“I had to take him. No one else could. And I know that you’ll never forgive me for that - I’ll never forgive myself - but I didn’t have a choice. I don’t decide when it’s time.”
She knows she’s repeating herself, but she can’t find the words she wants to say.
“You hid behind the Darkhold. You wanted him back, I wanted him back, but there was nothing either of us could do. And you were so absorbed by your pain so quickly that you never gave me a chance to explain. Centuries you’ve been stewing in your own grief, not knowing or caring that I was doing the same.”
Agatha’s hands sit on her knees, tug until Rio begins to unfurl. Her cheeks are smudged black, and Agatha reaches out to clean them up, but Rio bats her away.
“You hated me, but I never stopped loving you.”
Agatha never did have much resolve when it came to Rio. She pulls her off the edge of the coffee table and into her lap. Her arms wrap round Rio’s torso, hands slide up her back to tangle into her hair. She presses her nose into Rio’s neck, breathes her in and whispers I’m sorry over and over until Rio melts into her, hugging her back.
They’re both crying, silent tears and soft sniffles, heart beats racing at finally giving in to the intimacy that was always a part of them. Agatha shuffles slightly, knees going numb at being folded underneath her and supporting Rio.
Rio slides off her lap, keeping as much contact as she can. It feels real and it feels impossible. That she’s here, now, and there’s something close to a truce sitting between them. Agatha shuffles to sit next to Rio, head falling onto her shoulder. She slips her hand down the length of Rio’s arm, twines their fingers together and tugs it into her lap.
“It still hurts.”
“I know,” Rio replies, because she does.
“And I don’t know if I’ve forgiven you fully, yet.”
Rio just hums. She knows this too.
“But my soul calls for you.”
Rio squeezes her hand so tightly it almost stings. She’s spent the better part of a few centuries yearning for Agatha. Trying everything she could to find her. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it. Agatha always was.
“So,” Rio uses her free hand to cup Agatha’s jaw, tilt her face up so they can look at each other. “What now?”
Agatha laughs, and goddesses how Rio has missed that sound.
“Now we try.”