Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A ghost? Really? Now that was low. It felt as if Agatha Harkness had been brought into this world to personally spite Death herself. She treated Rio as a pathetic pawn in one of her countless games. Three centuries of knowing Agatha Harkness. Three centuries of heartbreak, grief, sorrow, betrayal.. Emotions Rio never thought herself capable of feeling. Yet now, those feelings consume her, each one heavier than the last, more overwhelming than anything she has ever known. And right now, they seem to taint every other emotion she had ever felt, scars ripped open at their seams, leaving her bloody and raw.

You know the saying, “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.” Well, for Rio, when it comes to Agatha Harkness, it’s more like, “Fool me 836,258 times and Rio will still refuse to feel shame” - even if it slapped her right in the face (which, of course, it has.. more times than she cares to count).

It’s a choice, one she makes willingly, time and time again. To play as a pawn in Agatha’s twisted games, knowing full well that Agatha was always up to something that would, without a doubt, ruin Rio. It is the very definition of insanity. Yet, to know Agatha Harkness is to love her. So, call Rio crazy, because there is no universe in which she would ever choose otherwise- eternity be damned. In every life time, in every universe, she would do it all over again. Even if it meant being punched in the gut a million times by Agatha, to then be hit by a bus and dragged through three centuries while Agatha is driving said bus. But hey, three centuries? That’s a very short time when you’ve been around since the universe’s very existence.

Agatha never wants to see Rio’s face again, she’s made that abundantly clear. Rio can’t control much, but she can control this. If Agatha wants to play pretend as a mother to some random abomination she hasn’t even known for five minutes, far be it from Rio to stop her. After all, the sacred balance has been restored (a loophole that makes Rio seethe).

Despite everything in the green witch telling her otherwise, this time she will give Agatha what she wants.

-

Billy and Agatha were somewhere in the Midwest at a record store after another dead end in Billy’s “I wAnT tO fiND mY bRoThER’ quest. They were browsing while trying to kill time, when the front door chimes.

Agatha barely registers it. It wasn’t like anyone could see her, except Teen. She was still adjusting to her new existence as a fresh faced ghost. She had only just begun to make physical contact with inanimate objects, but her attempts so far have been nothing short of pathetic. Awkward and frustrating, each failure a stark reminder of how powerless she feels.

But..

She can feel her purple returning, slowly making its way back to her, a familiar sensation. Though it had taken a few wrong turns along the way, delaying its arrival time, but no need to worry, it will be home soon.

Teen doesn’t seem to mind Agatha’s lack of power; in fact he almost seems satisfied by her predicament.

He has developed a growing ego, fueled by his new found abilities and Agatha’s obvious lack there of. It wasn’t a good look. Nothing ever good came from cockiness. But she let it slide. He’d learn soon enough. For now, she’d lt him enjoy his delusional superiority complex.

“I love that album.” Teen says excitedly. Agatha looks up.

A young woman, maybe in her early 20s, dark brown hair, fair skin, light colored eyes, a bluish green with specks of brown. She stands a few feet away from Teen, her gaze snaps up from the album she was scanning.

Agatha saunters over and glances down at the album the girl is holding: The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess. She scoffs, “Fitting.”

Teen throws a quick glance at Agatha, then back to the brunette, making sure she’s oblivious to the spooky presence hovering nearby.

The younger woman looks up at him, smiling. Agatha rolls her eyes. “Duuuuuh,” the older brunette drags out, the sarcasm thick in her voice.

“It’s so good! I can’t stop listening to it,’ The girl says, her eyes returning to the album in her hands, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Have you heard Subway? It’s an unreleased track, but she performs it at every festival she plays at.”

The girl’s eyes light up at his question, her lips curling into a playful grin, her tongue presses into her cheek.

Agatha stills.

It almost reminds her of- no.

She’s not opening that can of worms. Agatha chooses peace, and she’s not about to ruin it with thoughts of her relentless ex….

An ex who hasn’t been very relentless for the last nine months. But who’s counting? Certainly not Agatha.. though she does wonder.

Rio’s too smart for her not to have figured it out by now. It’s not like Agatha was quiet about it. Since when is Agatha Harkness ever quiet about anything? Still, she expected hell to freeze over the second Rio uncovered that her dead ex was far from being completely dead.

In all fairness, Rio really hates ghosts. Agatha knows this, and she pretends not to be bothered by the fact that this cat-and-mouse game they’ve played for the last three centuries seems to be over- if Rio’s complete and utter silence for the last NINE MONTHS is any indication.

Lady Death has gone AWOL.

Was Agatha’s ‘I don’t want to see your face’ speech a little much? Maybe. Did dying and coming back as a ghost, and fully knowing how much the green witch despised ghosts add a nice, cruel little cherry on top? Probably. But Agatha never believed Rio would just sit idly by while she existed as one of the biggest banes to Death’s existence.

Agatha had been certain Rio would come after them, paranoid even, constantly looking over shoulder, always on the defensive, expecting the green witch to show up at any moment. She’d even warned Teen about the impending wrath they would face once Rio discovered her loophole. But one month turned into two, then three four and five… and still, nothing.

After the six month mark, Billy grew tired of Agatha’s fear-mongering and spat, “Have you ever considered that she wants nothing to do with you anymore? Can’t say I blame her.” Disgust written all over his face.

In that moment, Agatha wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around the kid’s neck and squeeze the life right out of his annoying little eyes. She tried, of course she tried but ultimately failed miserably. Billy only laughed at her helplessness.

And no, Agatha never once considered that Rio wouldn’t want anything to do with her. But here they were, nine months in to Agatha and Billy’s big adventure and still? Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Not a single sign of her ex lover. Agatha feigned relief.

She has no one to run from anymore, no one to make her life hell. Now, her life was quiet and maybe just a teeny bit less vibrant without Death stalking her every move. She took this newfound peace as a gift. This is what she wanted, right?

Peace had always been a stranger to Agatha. It was something she’d never known, her mother had seen to that. And then, there was Rio. For a while, Rio had been her one exception, offering a fleeting peace, despite her role as Death. That peace had been shattered when she lost Nicky, the son she had killed for, the son she had sacrificed so much to keep alive. And yet, even after everything, when he died, Agatha couldn’t bring herself to face him in death.

Now, with Rio wanting nothing to do with her and Nicky still beyond reach, Agatha sat with the quiet. Wondering if this peace was even real, or if it was just a reminder of the hollow absence of everything she’d lost.

Agatha wouldn’t deny that mentoring Billy had helped. It served as a distraction, a small, fleeting moment to make up for centuries of emptiness that she had tried, always unsuccessfully, to fill.

“And in four months if this feeling ain’t gone…” Agatha’s thoughts are interrupted as the young woman begins to sing, and Billy eagerly joins in on the next verse. “Then fuck this city, I’m moving to Saskatchewan!”

They both burst into laughter, their joy infectious. Agatha groans, loud and exasperated.

“Can we go now? This conversation is putting me to sleep.”

Billy ignores her and continues chatting with the girl.

After a few more agonizing minutes, listening to the two of them rave about… “gay pop” ? Agatha’s patience finally snaps. Frustrated, she strides over, positioning herself between Billy and the girl, and attempts (repeatedly) to knock a stack of records off the table. After several aggressive swings and a string of muttered expletives, she finally delivers a sharp, “HI-YAH!” She manages to topple the pile.

The young woman jumps back, startled, giving Billy a puzzled look. Perhaps sensing his lack of reaction, she mutters, “Weird.”

She crouches down to begin gathering the scattered vinyls, while Billy shoots Agatha an irritated glance before scrambling down offering his help.

Once they have finished cleaning up Agatha’s mess, the girl stands, glancing at Billy, “I never got your name.”

“She knows you’re gay right?”

Teen ignores her.

“Billy!” He smiles.

“Well, Billy, it was really nice to meet you…”

“Thank god,” Agatha mutters.

“But I need to borrow your familiar.” The young woman’s gaze fills with mischief as she steps toward Agatha, extending her arm to grab the collar of Agatha’s dress.

Before Agatha can react, the girl makes contact.

“HEY!” Agatha yells, but it’s too late. She’s already being yanked through a vortex.

Chapter Text

They tumble through the portal, landing with a jarring thud on the hard floor. Somehow, Agatha ends up sprawled on top of this nameless girl (she doesn’t care enough to learn it.)

“Get off me!” Agatha snaps, scrambling to stand.

She disentangles herself as she shoves the younger brunette, back down with unnecessary force- purely for her own satisfaction.

The girl’s, head thuds lightly against the floor, and she groans, pressing a hand to the back of her head.

As Agatha rises to her feet, she halts abruptly when she comes face to face with a mirror hanging on the wall just a few feet away. Her own reflection stares back at her, eyes unsteady and wide with disbelief. She freezes.

It can’t be.

Agatha hesitates, then slowly closes the distance to the mirror. Her breath catches as she takes in the image staring back at her. It’s her, but not as she remembers. Gone is her translucent, phantom form.

She looks… alive.

Her hair, once a dull gray, has returned to its deep brown, save for a single streak of silver. Her clothes are unfamiliar: a rusty tan linen suit paired with a white striped collared shirt.

“What?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Spinning around, she scans the room with frantic eyes, searching for something, anything solid, something she can touch. The girl is forgotten, her sole focus now on testing the impossible. Her gaze lands on a desk across the room, cluttered with books, journals, and scattered papers.

Bingo.

The girl stands now, brushing herself off with a quiet huff. Agatha’s focus set solely on the desk, she doesn’t spare the young woman a glance, as Agatha’s strides are heavy and determined, her mind consumed with testing her theory.

Without so much as a thought, she brushes past the young woman, Agatha’s shoulder knocking into the girl’s along the way.

The young brunette grunts, “Watch where you’re going, dude,” she grumbles. Her body (and now, a bit of her ego) feels bruised from Agatha’s unnecessary roughness as she rubs her shoulder, trying to soothe the ache.

“Get used to it, Young Adult. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you through a wall,” she flings out, eyes locked on to the prize in front of her.

The girl froze, her eyebrows shooting up, she squares her shoulders and shoots: “Young Adult?..…. Teen?…… For a nearly 400 year old witch, your nicknames really lack depth.”

Agatha doesn’t respond. Her focus narrows as she reaches the desk, slamming open hands onto its surface. Her flat palms curl into tight fists, the loose papers beneath her fingers crumple under her grip. She freezes, curling her fingers tighter as the realization hits her.

Her eyes widen in shock. “What?” she breathes, the word barely audible. Then louder, “WHAT?”

Spinning around, she stares at Y/A (Young Adult is a mouthful, she thinks), Agatha’s expression filled with a mix of disbelief and demand.

“I know this all seems a bit confusing, but maybe next time we use our big girl words to communicate that, instead of jumping straight to destroying my shit” Y/A mumbles, brows furrowed, as she steps toward the desk and quickly gets to work unwrinkling the papers Agatha crumpled.

Agatha looks at her, mouth agape, dumbfounded.

She had heard whispers of resurrection spells. A dark, forbidden magic, a taboo even among witches. It required vast, almost unimaginable power and, more often than not, a sacrifice. It seemed straightforward enough, but the real danger was in the catastrophic consequences that would follow. It was unlike becoming a ghost or finding an empty vessel to occupy. No, it was something far darker, a perversion of the natural order. A force so corrupt, that even the book of the damned warned against its chaos.

Yet here she stood, knowing no incantation had been spoken, no obvious sacrifice made. They weren’t even where Agatha had been originally laid to rest.

And the biggest indicator, no Rio.

Let’s be real: if a resurrection spell and Agatha Harkness’s name were ever mentioned in the same breath, Rio would definitely show up, flesh and bone, to deal with it. Even a fleeting thought of resurrecting Agatha Harkness would be enough for Rio to intervene. No witch who dared would get far enough to raise a finger, let alone speak the beginnings of the spell. And Agatha was no fool. She knew Rio had likely tamper-proofed her burial site, ensuring no one could disturb the rest Death herself so carefully prepared for her ex lover.

Agatha pretends it doesn’t sting. The thought that even after her death, Rio had to take measures to protect herself from Agatha’s disloyalty.

Rio was more than just the ferryman of souls; she was the keeper of the balance. No one would violate the sacred cycle of life and death. No witch had ever successfully cast a resurrection spell simply because Death had no tolerance for such deviance. She always intervened before any real damage could be done. She was, for all intents and purposes, the ultimate buzzkill, all work and no play when potential resurrection was involved.

“Can you think a little quieter? You’re stressing Brucie out.”

This snaps Agatha out of her daze. She glances around the room, her eyes landing on Y/A, who is now across the room with her back to her. Agatha, so lost in thought and confusion, hadn’t even realized the girl had moved.

The younger girl stands before a large glass enclosure, its sleek surface framed by dark, intricately carved wood paneling that adds an air of beauty to its sturdy structure. Agatha immediately recognizes it was designed for a reptile. Inside, the air appears thick and humid, the lush interior filled with life. Twisting branches and sprawling vines reach from the floor to the ceiling, resembling a miniature rainforest. As Agatha’s eyes examine the enclosure further, she notices faint carvings etched into the wood of nearly every branch. Runes, she realizes, filing the information away for later. Above the enclosure door, a worn gold plaque displays the name Brucie in elegant cursive, a little tarnished but still legible.

Y/A turns back toward Agatha, cradling a stunning green tree python in her arms. The serpent, about four feet long, has a slender, muscular body and a broad, triangular head. Its piercing red eyes gleam with an almost otherworldly intelligence. “Do you want to hold her?” the girl asks, offering the vibrant creature with a faint, knowing smile.

“No, I don’t want to hold her,” Agatha snaps, her tone dripping with mockery as she steps back. Her piercing blue eyes lock onto the girl. “Tell me who you are and what you’ve done to me,” she demands, her voice hard.

The girl smiles slyly, cradling the snake closer. “You like it, right? Personally, I think you’ve never looked better.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Try again,” she snaps, her voice loud and unyielding.

“I’m Sage,” her green eyes briefly flick to the side. When she looks back at Agatha, the playful smile on her lips fades into a downright shit eating grin. “I give to the undeserving.”

Agatha freezes, her mind spinning. The audacity of the girl using her own words against her sends a fresh surge of fury through her. Agatha folds her arms tightly across her chest, her stance rigid.

“Oh? You think you’re clever,” she spits, leaning forward and dipping her head to lock ‘Sage’ in an icy, unrelenting gaze. “Huh?” she barks, her voice cutting like a blade.

Sage doesn’t flinch. Instead, that same infuriating, shit eating grin stretches wider across her face. She nods enthusiastically, her tongue pressing smugly against her cheek. She rocks up onto her tiptoes for a fleeting moment before settling back down, as if struggling to contain her excitement. The girl looks like she might combust at the anticipation of poking the bear.

Agatha’s gaze shifts to the snake still curled in Y/A’s arms. It slithers up her chest, moving gracefully to the back of her neck, its head tucking into the hollow where her neck meets her left shoulder. The lower half of its body wraps comfortably around the girl’s bicep, coiling as if it belonged there.

Agatha’s shoulders sag, a strange, inexplicable comfort settling over her. It almost feels as though she, not the girl, were the one being cuddled by the snake. 

Brucie. Stupid name.

“Brucie has that effect on people,” the girl says sweetly, her finger gently stroking the snake’s head. “She can be very comforting. Isn’t that right, Brucie? Sorry the mean lady doesn’t want to hold you.”

“Stop talking.” Agatha pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting back an exasperated sigh. She turns sharply, distancing herself from this Sage person. She needs a moment to regroup, to clear her head, to try and make sense of this mess. The child, with her cryptic words and maddening attitude, isn’t helping.

She takes a moment to absorb her surroundings. The room is bathed in a shadowy green, with dark colored walls. Plants in various shades decorate the room. Books of all kinds -about history, science, magic, and more- are scattered haphazardly across nearly every available surface their pages well worn from frequent use.

It is as if the room itself was breathing. It’s all so… unsettlingly familiar.

Organized chaos, Agatha thinks.

A bed is shoved into one corner, its mismatched linens half hidden by a pile of neatly folded clothes. A desk sits nearby, just a few feet away. Above it is a window, one Agatha hadn’t noticed earlier, too distracted by everything else around her. She walks over to it, hoping it might offer some clue as to where she is.

She peers out, only to be met with vast fields and dense forest stretching endlessly.

Well then, no answers there.

Her gaze shifts back to the desk, it’s carefully constructed disarray. She scans the organized clutter, searching for something, anything, that might provide a clue. Her eyes land on a small, brown leather-bound journal tucked among papers, and she reaches for it. But just as her fingers brush the cover, a hand catches her wrist, Sage’s grip firm. It stops her.

“That’s my collection of graphic smut I’ve written over the years, so if you value your blue eyeballs, I’d suggest leaving it alone,” Sage says, her tone suddenly serious for the first time. “Nosiness doesn’t suit you,” she adds with a casual shrug, her grip on Agatha’s wrist still steady.

Agatha wrenches her hand free, her glare sharp enough to cut. “I want answers. Now!” she demands through gritted teeth.

“Well, maybe if you’d ask nicel-”

“You’ve exhausted my patience. Now, talk! ” Agatha growls, slamming her fist against the desk with a force that reverberates through the room.

Brucie reacts instantly, letting out a sharp hiss, her crimson eyes narrowing in warning, mouth bearing fangs like twin blades.

Agatha’s eyes widen and she jerks back unintentionally putting some distance between the two. The snake visibly relaxes and coils tighter around the younger woman.

“Fine, geez. Just let me…” The girl sighs dramatically, untangling the snake from her neck and lowering it gently to the floor. They both watch as it slithers away through the gap beneath the door.

The older woman stares blankly at the girl, Sage shrugs nonchalantly, “She takes care of the rodents.”

Agatha scoffs, “By the way, I’m no one’s familiar, and I’m not fucking nosey. Call me either of those things again, and I’ll rip out your fucking tongue.”

“Relax,” Sage drawls, rolling her eyes. “Pull the stick out of your ass and learn to take a joke. As for how you’re here, you’re… reanimated?” Perhaps struggling to find the right word. “Essentially, you’re not alive, but you have a physical presence.”

Agatha’s eye twitches, her wrath barely contained. She has to keep herself from snapping- she’s finally getting some kind of answers, and she doesn’t want to blow it.

“Which,” the girl continues, ignoring Agatha’s rising tension, “you were bound to figure out eventually. I just, como se dice , loosened the jar.” She makes a mocking gesture, twisting her hand as though opening a jar. “Resurrection? ….. Below me. It’s unnatural. Plus, I value my sanity.”

The phrase hits Agatha like a punch to the gut- another one of her own lines, twisted and thrown back at her. But it’s the last thing the girl says that truly grabs her attention.

“Another question, Madam President of the Agatha Harkness fan club?”

“Shoot.”

“You a green witch?” Agatha asks, holding her breath. The thought of Rio lingers at the back of her mind.

The girl pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, suppressing that same shit eating grin from earlier. “Something like that, yeah.”

Agatha scoffs. “Figures.” Resurrection was a taboo subject, but green witches, especially, had egos about it- like they were too good to even consider bringing someone back. Same old bullshit about the sacred balance.

She was about to press further when a door downstairs slams shut. Followed by loud tumbles and muffled yelps.

For the first time since their encounter, Agatha sees panic flash across the girl’s face. Agatha’s own heart races. “Who is that?” she demands, hearing footsteps begin to echo up the stairs.

The girl holds up a hand, her voice low but firm. “Now, you’re gonna listen to me, and listen well. She won’t be able to see you, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Agatha purses her lips, crossing her arms, ready to protest.

“Agatha, I’m being serious. It’s in your best interest to shut up so I can focus.” Agatha chews on the inside of her cheek, looking out the window but quickly glancing back to Sage. She relents, giving a slight nod.

Sage mutters something in Latin, her voice low and steady. She extends a hand toward Agatha, her thumb brushing lightly against her forehead. For a brief moment, the air around them seems to shimmer before Agatha disappears completely, as if swallowed by the space itself.

The world is no longer noticing her, though she can still see everything around. A ghostly familiarity that unsettles her deeply.

A knock on the door echoes through the eerily silent room.

Sage turns, “Com- ” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “Come in!”

“Nice save,” Agatha whispers sarcastically.

“Shut up,” the girl snaps, whipping her head around to shoot Agatha a glare that could kill, hissing through her teeth.

Then, the door creaks open slowly, the sound dragging out in the thick silence. Every second feels like an eternity to Agatha, her heart pounding in her chest as she holds her breath, staring at the door. The anticipation is unbearable, the tension in the air palpable.

And then, she sees her.

Rio. 

Chapter Text

Rio.

But they aren’t face to face. Her back is to them as she slowly pushes the door open with her left hand, retreating into the room in cautious, deliberate steps. Her cloak conceals her frame, its edges sweeping the floor. The hood is down, her dark hair visible, but her face remains unseen.

Agatha doesn’t need to see her face. She knows. She’s always known. Every detail of Rio, the way she moves, the energy she carries.. It all feels like a memory burned into her soul.

Her breath catches, and her body freezes in place, refusing to obey.

Run,  her instincts scream, but she can’t.

She doesn’t know if she wants to run toward Rio or away from her. She wants to fight, to demand answers, to scream. How could you walk away from me? The memory of their final kiss sears into her mind, it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Petal,” Rio drawls, her voice a low, dangerous rasp. She doesn’t turn, still stepping backward into the room. A broom juts out in her right hand, held at arm’s length as though she’s warding off some invisible plague, the broom trembling with her panic.

“Yeah?” Sage swallows hard, her tone wary, betraying a flicker of unease.

Rio steps further into the room. Bite marks trail up her left arm, fresh and bleeding, her grip on the doorknob white knuckled.

Agatha’s gaze darts to the end of the broom. Just beyond the doorway, Brucie, sits tightly coiled, her vibrant green scales gleaming in the dim light. At the sound of Rio’s voice, the snake jolts toward her, hissing violently.

Rio yelps, her voice shaking with fear, “Take her. Take her now!” Her words rush out in desperate panic.

“Okay, okay,” Sage mutters, making her way toward the angry snake. The moment Brucie spots her, the snake’s tense body visibly relaxes. Sage extends her arm, calm and steady, allowing Brucie to slither up with ease. The snake coils itself into the same familiar position from earlier, nestling snugly into the crook of Sage’s neck as if it had never left.

The broom the original green witch holds clatters to the floor.

As Sage moves past her, Rio flings herself violently against the wall, pressing flat to put as much distance as possible between herself and the reptile.

Agatha would’ve laughed, if this were happening under any other circumstances. She had never seen Rio scared of anything. Death herself, terrified of a snake? It was absurd. Comical, even.

And yet, the realization settles deep within her. She doesn’t know Rio anymore. The thought gnaws at her, mean and unforgiving. They had only spent a fleeting 24 hours together on The Road, just enough time to remind her of everything she had lost. And before that, it had been nearly two centuries since they’d last met. Two centuries Agatha had ensured with the Darkhold.

Agatha hid from Rio behind the Darkhold, but the destruction she left in her wake told a different story. Every life she took, every ruin she created, felt like a twisted love note to Rio- a silent confession whispered into the aftermath: I love you. I’m sorry.

I just saw too much of him in you, Agatha thinks. I couldn’t stand the sight. It was suffocating, coiling around my neck, tightening until I couldn’t breathe. It hurt too much… far more than I could bear.

I was a coward.

Yet here she was, standing face to face with Rio under circumstances so strange they defied reason. The questions churned in Agatha’s mind, unrelenting. Who was this girl to Rio? It was obvious they were familiar. Comfortable, even. What had made Rio deem her special enough to keep around?

Rio didn’t like people. She preferred solitude. Always had. Was she mentoring the young green witch? The thought gnawed at Agatha, stirring something uncomfortably close to jealousy deep within her. Yet, she couldn’t hold onto the feeling long enough to understand it. She had no answers. Worse, she couldn’t even begin to piece them together.

Because now, she could see Rio’s face. And just like that, her resolve unraveled.

The sight consumed her completely, leaving no room for coherent thought. Her mind, her questions, her anger. Everything faded, leaving only Rio. There was no quip to interrupt her, no sarcastic jab to pull her focus. For the first time in too long, she had the luxury of simply looking. Studying every detail.

She had all the time in the world. And yet, it still didn’t feel like enough.

Rio wears the same outfit she had on the day Agatha swore she never wanted to see her face again- only to be kissing her less than half an hour later. Then dying, clinging to life, and praying Rio’s face to be the last thing she ever saw.

Except now, Rio’s hair was disheveled, and her crown sat askew on top of her head. The raw, bleeding bite marks on her arm made it seem as though she had just stepped off a battlefield.

That explains the commotion downstairs earlier.

“How did you piss her off this time?” Sage’s words jolted her from her thoughts, yanking her back to reality. She glanced over to see the girl fussing over Brucie, carefully settling the snake back into her enclosure.

“How did I piss her off? I walked through the front door of my own house, and the damn thing fell on my head and attacked me!” Rio snapped, her voice fills with irritation as she gestured to the fresh bites on her arm.

Agatha quickly realizes Brucie’s antics were a distraction, giving Sage time before Rio could figure out what was really happening upstairs.

Though that isn’t what caught Agatha’s attention. 

My house.

They were in Rio’s realm- a place Agatha had never seen before, it was the middle ground between life and death. She had asked about it once, long before everything fell apart. Rio’s response had been firm: a curt no, followed quickly by an explanation that it was nothing but an endless green void. After that, Agatha hadn’t pressed the matter again.

Agatha feels her stomach sink, a heavy weight settling in her gut.

“I don’t believe that. She’s only ever been an angel,” Sage retorts defensively.

“To you. That thing hated everyone who ever touched it on the surface. If anything, it should be thanking me… I saved it from that 30 year old man-child living in his mother’s basement,” Rio snapped, her voice rising as if she were talking directly to the snake, demanding gratitude Brucie would never give.

Agatha vaguely recalls Sage offering Brucie for her to hold, the memory sharp with the girl’s playful smile. She scoffs internally, realizing Sage had known full well the snake wasn’t friendly and had likely known the older witch was going to be bitten.

Agatha watches as Rio moves with purpose, suddenly heading straight toward her. Startled, Agatha quickly side steps, and Rio brushes past her, completely oblivious to her presence.

Rio strides to the window, scans the view outside, and then turns sharply to Sage, who stands in front of Brucie’s enclosure, now facing Rio.

“Is someone here?” Rio asks, her voice cutting through the room like the blade attached to her hip.

Agatha’s breath catches, and she holds it tight, as though even the slightest exhale might give her away. It’s a fragile stillness, the kind that comes when you’re seconds away from shattering.

“What? Why would anyone be here?” Sage responds smoothly.

Agatha couldn’t help but feel impressed. Sage’s face never faltered, giving absolutely nothing away.

Rio saunters toward Sage, arms crossed, her tone casual but probing. “Oh, nothing. Just thought I saw someone up here with you when I was coming in… Caught a glimpse through the window.”

“Hate to say it, but you might be losing it in your extreme old age. Blind, senile… Take your pick,” Sage teases, her grin knowing.

Rio laughs, the sound low and rich, carrying an ease that feels natural between them.

Agatha forces herself to look away, pretending she doesn’t adore the effortless way they fit together, even as it stirs something deep inside her.

It’s like someone pounding on a door, shouting for her to wake up, the noise reverberating through her body and shaking something she’s not ready to face.

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Rio sing-songs, twirling a finger teasingly in front of Sage’s face. Rio taps the girl’s nose softly.

From where Agatha stands, she has a perfect view of both of them. Their easy dynamic, the shared history she isn’t part of.

Sage’s brow furrows, her tone genuinely offended. “What look?” She swats at Rio’s hand.

“The look you get when you’re hiding something from me, Petal,” Rio teases, her brows lifting and her chin tilting ever so slightly, a smirk plays on her lips. The original green witch is thoroughly entertained, patiently waiting to see what Sage will say next.

Petal. 

The second time she’s heard that nickname. It makes Agatha’s ears ring, a piercing note that won’t settle. She can’t keep up, can’t make sense of any of it and a part of her isn’t sure she even wants to.

“Well, I don’t hide anything from you, so ‘that look on my face’ doesn’t exist,” Sage declares. She purses her lips, her expression one of conviction, like she fully believes her own defense.

“Doesn’t matter. I know my daughter well,” Rio says with a calm certainty.

“Sh- ” Sage flinches, her hands shooting up to clap them over Rio’s mouth, but they freeze midway, trembling slightly between them, caught in indecision.

And there it was.

The answer Agatha had been unconsciously, perhaps deliberately, avoiding. The words hit her like a freight train, knocking the air completely from her lungs.

A daughter.

Her mind spins, a thousand questions colliding at once, an avalanche of disbelief. It’s too much, too fast, and the pieces refuse to fall into place. She can’t make sense of any of it. Agatha is stuck again, unable to move, her body betraying her as she watches everything unfold before her eyes. It feels inevitable, like fate mocking her yet again.

Another tragic ending to her on-again, off-again love affair with Death, she’s sure of it.

“What did you do?” Rio’s brows knit together at Sage’s reaction, confusion etched across her face. Her gaze sharpens as she catches Sage’s eyes darting to the side to where Agatha stands, only for a moment, before snapping back to her.

Realization dawns, dark and sudden. Rio steps back, putting distance between herself and Sage, her movements deliberate. She pulls her hood over her head, and in a split second, Rio is gone-replaced by Death, the air around her seeming to darken and shift.

Death pulls her cloak tightly across her chest, the movement swift and instinctive, shielding her black heart from the unseen blow.

“Get her out. Now!” Death’s voice booms, loud and commanding, echoing through the otherwise silent room. The sound makes both Agatha and Sage jump, their hearts pounding.

“Well, I don’t think I can really do that with the bomb you just- ” Sage starts, her words rushing out in a frenzy, but Death is already heading for the door.

“Now, Sage!” she roars, her tone leaving no room for argument. As she exits, a flick of her wrist sends the door slamming shut behind her, the sound reverberating like a final warning.

Sage turns slowly to face Agatha, her expression unusually serious. She lets out a long, measured breath, the air seeming to shift with the sound.

Agatha feels it immediately. The subtle shimmer of magic dissolving around her, the weight of the invisibility spell lifting. She’s exposed now, fully seen, and her heart pounds in her chest as Sage meets her gaze, unflinching.

“La petite mort,” the girl declares, dipping into an exaggerated curtsey. Her arms extend wide, her legs cross dramatically, and her head dips low, like she’s making a grand introduction to royalty.

Agatha exhales an exhausted laugh, rubbing her temples. “That’s not what you think it means,” she grumbles out.

Sage straightens with a smug grin. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I know exactly what it means.”

Agatha narrows her eyes, not sure whether to be amused or horrified. “Then you might want to rethink introducing yourself as The Little Death like it’s a badge of honor.”

Sage shrugs, “It’s poetic, isn’t it?”

Agatha groans, muttering under her breath, “Poetic, sure. Just pray no one speaks fluent French.”

The reminder that Sage is Rio’s daughter hits Agatha like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs once again. How? When? Why? The questions swarm her mind, relentless and unanswered. But one thought rises above the chaos, glaring and impossible to ignore, refusing to be silenced.

And in true Agatha Harkness fashion, she latches onto it, letting it consume her. Anger flares so deep in her chest it feels like she might burst into flames, the heat of it threatening to burn her from the inside out.

Agatha storms to the door, throwing it open with a force that makes it rattle on its hinges. She steps into the threshold, her head snapping from left to right as she scans the unfamiliar surroundings. Her frustration only deepens, she has no idea where she is or which way to go.

“Stairs are to the left!” Sage calls from her room, her voice carrying with an almost gleeful lilt. Without hesitation, Agatha pivots and follows the direction, her anger propelling her forward. As she steps further into the hall, she hears Sage whisper to herself, “Oh, we are so back,” followed by the sound of hurried footsteps scrambling after her.

By the time Agatha reaches the bottom of the stairs, she spots Rio with her back to her, one hand on the doorknob, poised to leave.

“Hey!” Agatha barks.

Rio freezes but doesn’t turn around, her posture stiff and unreadable.

Agatha feels Sage brush past her, the younger woman moving to what seems to be a living room,  leaping over the couch with casual ease and grabbing the remote to turn on the television. Sage’s focus shifting entirely to the screen, ignoring the tension brewing between the two older women.

Agatha’s gaze snaps back to Rio, who still hasn’t moved, her back facing her. She notices now that Rio has changed. Her imposing cloak and dramatic costume replaced by an unexpectedly casual outfit: a black hoodie, gray shorts, white tube socks, and tennis shoes.

Her hair catches Agatha’s eye next. It’s tied back in a ponytail, the color lighter than Agatha has ever seen- softer, more natural, as if it had been kissed by the sun. The sight is strange, almost foreign, yet unmistakably Rio.

Death pulls her hood up, the movement swift and deliberate, blocking any fleeting glimpse Agatha might have caught of Rio beneath it. It’s a shield, a barrier slammed into place, shutting Agatha out completely.

“Look at me!”

“Not happening,” Rio replies flatly, her posture still stiff as she keeps her focus on the door.

“Why won’t you show me your face?” Agatha’s voice cracks, desperation bleeding into her words, rasping at the edges.

In all the time they’ve known each other, never once has Agatha Harkness had to chase Death. And now, with the tables so thoroughly turned, she hates every fucking second of it.

Rio exhales heavily, her shoulders sagging slightly but still refusing to turn. “Do I really need to remind you of what you made me promise?” Her words are quiet, pointed, and laced with something that feels a lot like hurt.

“I- ” Agatha’s voice falters, cracking under the weight of her emotions. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, softer now, her words a plea.

“Oh, and you mean it differently, now?” Rio snaps, spinning around just enough for the edge of her hood to shift. Her arms are crossed, her posture defiant, like a child refusing to admit they’ve been hurt. “Make up your mind, Agatha.”

Agatha’s anger ignites, consuming every other feeling in a white hot rage. Her voice sharpens, venom lacing every word as she spits, “I want to see your face when you tell me what whore you knocked up and what made them so special… Special enough for you to bend the rules for your daughter when you refused to for my son.”

The words hang in the air like a slap, heavy and unrelenting, the bitterness behind them impossible to miss.

The reaction is instant, and exactly what Agatha had been hoping for. Even beneath the face of Death, she can see the sheer agony that flashes behind Rio’s eyes.

“Fuck you,” Rio snarls. She stomps toward Agatha, closing the distance between them in seconds. “I gave you all I had! And for the last fucking time, he was our son!”

With that, Rio shoves her, hard, the force knocking Agatha off balance, and storms out through what Agatha assumes to be the front door, slamming it behind her.

Agatha lets out a frustrated yell, her voice echoing in the empty space. She throws her arms down, willing her purple magic to spark, to flare, to do something, but nothing comes. The absence of power cuts deeper than she expected, and her legs give out beneath her, sending her to her knees. Exhaustion floods her body.

She deserved the shove. Hell, she deserved more, if she was being honest. She’d crossed a line, one she regretted the moment the words left her mouth. But wasn’t this what they always did? Hurting each other in ways only they knew how. A twisted pattern that neither of them could seem to escape.

Was it worth it?

Agatha doesn’t know anymore. The fiery satisfaction she once felt when her words sliced through Rio has dulled into a hollow ache. She’s fizzling out, the fight draining from her, leaving her tired, so tired. The intense energy that once fueled her, the spark that once burned for the chaos between them, feels like it’s slipping away, leaving only emptiness behind.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Sage’s voice slips through the air. Agatha looks over to where Sage had been sprawled casually on the couch moments ago. She’s standing now, arms crossed, disappointment etched clearly across her face.

“Please, spare me,” Agatha bites out, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “The last thing I need is another child following me around acting like they’re above me.”

Sage’s shoulders slump, a quiet exhale escaping her lips as she stares at Agatha with a look that’s both knowing and painfully sympathetic. She understands exactly what Agatha means, even if Agatha doesn’t want to admit it herself. Then, without warning, Sage’s face lights up, her eyes sparking as though a lightbulb has just gone off in her head.

“I can show you,” Sage says suddenly, her voice cautious, like she’s testing the waters.

Agatha’s response comes in a bitter laugh, “And what exactly could you show me?” she snaps, though the edge in her voice wavers with exhaustion.

“Memories,” Sage says, taking a step closer. “I can show you how this all happened. Yeah?”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Agatha doesn’t move. But there’s a flicker of something -curiosity, or maybe desperation- that dulls the sharpness in her gaze.

“You can do that?” she asks, her tone softer now, disbelieving.

“You just have to let me.”

There’s a beat of hesitation, the kind that stretches long enough to feel like eternity. Then, with a resigned sigh, Agatha rises to her feet. She crosses into the living room with purpose, her heels clicking softly against the floor, and stops in front of Sage.

Her nod is reluctant, but it’s enough.

Sage smiles wide, her tongue pressing into her cheek, a nasty little habit that Agatha now recognizes all too well. It’s one she inherited from her mother, and the resemblance stings more than Agatha wants to admit.

The sudden shift in energy jarring as she squeals with excitement. The sound grates against Agatha’s nerves, and she huffs, her patience fraying. “Just get on with it,” she mutters.

Sage’s hands are already outstretched, fingers wiggling, waiting. Agatha places her own into them, the weight of the moment sinking in as their fingers briefly touch.

Sage takes a breath, steadying herself. She gently lifts Agatha’s hands, guiding them until they rest lightly on either side of her own head. The moment Agatha’s palms make contact, a spark of energy courses between them, like static, quick and electric.

Then it happens.

Both of their heads snap back violently, as if pulled by an invisible force. Agatha’s breath catches in her throat, and Sage’s chest heaves as she gasps for air, each inhale short and ragged. Her eyes flutter, struggling to stay focused as they roll back, whites showing against the strain.

Sage’s grip tightens around Agatha’s hands, as if holding on was the only thing keeping her from drowning alive.

“Quit… fight… ing me…” Sage chokes out, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own labored breathing.

Agatha, instinctively resists. But Sage’s strained plea snaps her out of it. She closes her eyes, forcing herself to release the tension, to stop fighting.

The change is immediate.

In an instant, the room dissolves around them, reality shattering like glass. They’re swallowed whole, consumed by an endless void of green that pulses and shifts like living energy. The air feels alive, heavy with magic, as they’re carried deeper into its depths.

So it begins.

Chapter Text

Agatha and Sage stood in the void of green nothingness. The air was still, thick with a power that felt alive. It was exactly how Rio had described her realm. Beneath their feet stretched a cobblestone path, glistening faintly as though wet, though there was no water, no rain, no sky to speak of. Ahead of them, a figure cloaked in black stood motionless, its back turned.

Agatha’s chest tightened. Something about the figure was magnetic, a pull she couldn’t resist. Her feet moved instinctively. The closer she drew, the heavier the air became.

“Wait.”

Sage’s hand shot out, grasping Agatha’s wrist with surprising strength. Agatha stopped mid step, her heart pounding. She turned her head, brow furrowed, and found Sage’s face set in an expression of calm determination that felt out of place for someone so young.

“What are you doing?” Agatha hissed.

“Not yet,” Sage replied. Her voice was soft, but her grip didn’t loosen.

Agatha frowned and glanced back at the figure, who hadn’t moved an inch. A tangle of emotions churned in her chest, curiosity, dread, and an undeniable sense of familiarity.

“I think I should let you, you know, walk this road alone,” Sage said softly, her tone almost apologetic. “But I’ll meet you at the end when you’re ready, okay?”

Agatha blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “What are you talking about? Why would you leave me now?”

Sage gave a small shrug, “Because this is something you need to do without me. And, honestly…” She hesitated, her green eyes flicking to the figure ahead, “I don’t think I’d be much help if I came along.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened. She wanted to argue, to demand an explanation for this cryptic nonsense, but she knew Sage was right. There was a weight in the air, a burden that wasn’t Sage’s to carry or to interfere with. Whatever lay at the end of the path was Agatha’s and Agatha’s alone.

Still, Agatha couldn’t shake the unease curling in her chest. “And what if I’m not ready?”

Sage’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of her usual confidence returning. “Then I’ll wait longer.” A beat of silence and Sage continues, “But you have to promise me when it’s over, you’ll act like the centuries-old adult you are. No fighting, no mean words, no stupid decisions. Nothing. Just… try to handle it with some dignity, okay?”

Agatha huffed a breathless laugh despite herself, “No promises.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Sage smiles.

Agatha walks the path ahead and recognizes the figure immediately. It’s Rio. She’s wearing that dress. The one Agatha remembers so vividly from centuries ago.

Once, she had loved it. It was beautiful, a vibrant green that seemed to radiate life. It reminded her of a time when Rio, despite her role as Death, had still held onto pieces of herself that felt alive. She looked so young.

But now, Agatha can’t stomach the sight of it.

It’s the same dress Rio wore when she appeared at Nicky’s birth, when she stood silently in the corner, watching with that knowing expression. It’s the same dress Agatha imagines Rio wore the night she came to take Nicky away, like a thief in the dark, denying Agatha a chance to say goodbye.

Yet, this dress is different. Its vibrant green is gone, replaced by a mournful black that clings to Rio. It reeks of grief, of loss, of regret. Rio’s cheeks are streaked with dried tears, her face hollow with the weight of something unbearable.

This must be after she walked Nicky into the afterlife.

Rio’s head is bowed, her gaze fixed on something below. Agatha instinctively follows her line of sight, and her breath catches.

An infant lies nestled in a basket, surrounded by a bed of flowers that seem to bloom and curl protectively around it. The child’s tiny chest rises and falls with soft, steady breaths, and Agatha feels her heart twist in a way she isn’t prepared for.

She glances back at Rio, searching her face for an explanation, but it’s unreadable, a mask of indifference, though the tear stains on her cheeks betray her.

“My realm is no place for a child,” Rio mutters. She makes a small clicking noise with her tongue, as if to startle the infant away. “So scram.”

The baby’s response is immediate. Instead of fear, a high-pitched giggle escapes its lips. Tiny hands reach up toward Rio, fingers curling and uncurling as if asking to be held.

Rio steps back, her fingers twitching in the air as though trying to shoo the child away. “Go on now, run along,” she says, her voice softer now, her hands making quick dismissive gestures.

The child only giggles again, her laughter bubbling up like sunlight piercing through the shadows of Rio’s realm.

Rio groans, the sound low and frustrated. It’s obvious now, this child isn’t going to magically sprout legs and walk away. She exhales sharply, glancing around the endless expanse of her realm, as if expecting someone, anyone, to explain this absurdity. But there’s nothing. Just her, the void, and the infant.

This was uncharted territory. No one had ever stepped foot in her realm uninvited. No living soul had even tried . And yet, here this child was, arriving seemingly out of nowhere, mere moments after she’d walked her son into the afterlife. The irony wasn’t lost on Rio.

It wasn’t lost on Agatha either as she watches all of this unfold.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Rio kneels beside the basket. Her movements are hesitant, her usual confidence tempered by something quieter, more vulnerable. She reaches out, hands trembling, and gently lifts the child from the cradle of flowers.

Agatha stood frozen, watching the scene. The woman who commanded life and death with unwavering confidence now looked… unsure.

The moment the baby rests in her arms, Rio inhales sharply, a look of wonder and fear, as though the universe itself had whispered a truth only she could understand.

“Out of death,” Rio whispers, her voice barely audible, “life.”

Agatha’s heart twisted painfully. The way she cradled the infant, her touch so tender and careful. This was a side of Rio Agatha hadn’t allowed herself to imagine, let alone witness. Agatha had made sure of that when she banished Rio from her and Nicky’s life.

Rio’s whisper hung in the air, faint but heavy with meaning. Agatha’s stomach churned. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t untangle. Shock, bitterness, confusion, and jealousy.

Why is she so gentle now? The thought stabbed at her. Where was this tenderness when me and Nicky needed it?

The memory shifted slightly, the light around the scene dimming as Rio adjusted the child in her arms. Agatha’s eyes lingered on Rio’s face, searching for answers in the her tear streaked cheeks and haunted eyes. She knows, Agatha thought. She knows exactly what this means.

A wave of anger surged within her. How dare Rio act like she could give life? After all the destruction she’d wrought, after taking Nicky, after taking everything …

But the anger didn’t stay. It dissolved too quickly, leaving behind a heavy ache she didn’t want to name. Agatha clenched her fists, her nails digging nto her palms as she forced herself to keep watching.

Rio shifted the child slightly in her arms, her expression hardening as if steeling herself. Slowly, she let her face change. Rio’s heartbroken beauty replaced by the haunting face of Death. Her hollow eyes seemed to darken, her features skeletal, a grim reflection of the being she truly was.

Rio held the child out slightly, almost as if to push her away. It was a silent question, a desperate plea: This is the mother you chose?

”I’m a monster,” Rio whispered, her voice breaking as she cradled the infant tightly against her chest once more.

The infant giggled, its tiny hand reaching up for Death’s face. Agatha’s throat tightened as she watched Rio lean closer, her expression softening in a way that felt unbearable. This wasn’t the Rio she knew. This was something else entirely.

And it hurt far more than Agatha expected.

Agatha’s heart broke for Rio. For the first time, she saw it clearly. The weight Rio carried, the doubt etched into every movement. Agatha had made her feel this way, hadn’t she? Like she wasn’t worthy of being a mother, like all she ever did was take.

Rio’s face shifted back to its usual form, her features softening into something painfully human. She exhaled, a sound that started as a laugh but broke halfway through. A laugh so raw, so full of grief, that Agatha thought it might be the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever heard from the original green witch.

Before Agatha could process it, Rio flicked her wrist. The green void around them rippled, as though the air itself had been stirred. Then, like ink spreading through water, the darkness dissolved, giving way to something entirely new.

Fields of vibrant green stretched endlessly in every direction, dotted with wildflowers that danced in the breeze. Towering forests framed the open land, their leaves shimmering like emeralds under the sun. Suddenly, they found themselves standing on a porch, its wood sturdy. A swinging bench hung beside the door, swaying faintly. The house before them was quaint, warm, and radiated a quiet, inviting charm.

The sky above them shifted from its oppressive green hue to a soft, endless blue, dotted with white clouds. The entire space transformed into something breathtakingly alive, a perfect sanctuary. It looked like the kind of place where life could truly thrive, a place made for laughter, growth, and safety.

Agatha’s breath hitched. She recognized it immediately. This was the dream Rio had once shared with her, a vision of the life they had planned for Nicholas before everything fell apart.

Her chest ached as the memory surfaced unbidden: Rio’s voice, full of hope, describing the lush green fields, the forests where their son would play, and the home they would build together. But that dream had shattered long ago.

And yet, here it was, brought to life. Not for her and their son, but for this child cradled in Rio’s arms.

Their daughter.

Agatha watched as Rio stood, the child cradled securely in her arms, and walked through the open door. The wood creaked faintly under her steps, disappearing into the warm glow beyond. The door remained ajar, swinging gently as if beckoning Agatha to follow.

Agatha followed them without hesitation, her feet carrying her across the threshold.  The house was nearly identical to how it had been when Sage first brought her into Rio’s realm. The same familiar layout.

But the decor and furniture told a different story. It felt rooted in another time. It was unmistakable, everything matched the style of the 1750s.

Agatha knew there would be time later. Time to be angry, to grieve, to feel the desperate ache that was already threatening to consume her. But not now. Not here. Right now, all she wanted was to watch. To witness the life Rio had built with their child.

Her emotions could wait. For now, she would let herself watch. Later, she could break.

Agatha caught a glimpse of Rio passing the stairs, her steps purposeful as she disappeared into a hallway ahead. Without hesitation, Agatha followed, her curiosity outweighing her reservations. She watched as Rio turned left into what she presumed to be a bedroom.

Rio’s bedroom.

Rio’s bedroom was sparse, but every detail carried meaning. The bed was modest, accompanied by a single nightstand. Across from it stood a crib, painted a deep forest green, its craftsmanship meticulous. Agatha’s chest tightened at the sight. It was an odd, tender addition for someone who didn’t need sleep or children, yet it felt profoundly right in this space.

Though Rio didn’t need sleep, she had always loved naps, a way of grounding herself after the grueling demands of her duties. Agatha vividly recalled those days. Rio returning to her, cheeks hollow, eyes heavy and dark with exhaustion. She’d collapse onto Agatha’s bed, curling into the sheets, and when she woke, some of that weight would have lifted. It was one of the rare times Agatha could see Rio at peace, unburdened by her role as Death.

But what truly held Agatha’s attention now was the drawing resting in a picture frame on the nightstand. Agatha moved towards it. It was a memory rendered in exquisite detail. Agatha and Nicky. The scene was unmistakable: the two of them walking a winding road, Nicky laughing as he held the leash of a stubborn goat. The happiness on their faces was unmissable, their bond glowing through the delicate details. Agatha’s breath caught.

She remembered that day with startling clarity. She’d felt Rio watching from a distance, her presence brushing against Agatha’s senses. She’d ignored it, unwilling to let Rio’s shadow darken a perfect moment with her son. Time with Nicky had always felt borrowed, fleeting.

Agatha traced the edges of the drawing with her eyes, marveling at its beauty and detail. Drawing had always been one of Rio’s secret talents. Agatha used to spend hours watching her sketch, entranced by the grace of her movements and the life she could breathe into lines on a page.

This piece was no different. It was as if Rio had poured her longing, her love, her sorrow, into every line. Agatha couldn’t look away, her heart caught in a mix of ache and wonder. Even after everything, Rio still held their past close.

Agatha felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. She clenched her fists, willing the emotions back down, burying the flood of memories and the ache rising in her chest. She forced herself to tear her gaze from the drawing, turning her attention to Rio.

Rio stood by the crib, her movements soft as she gently placed the child inside. The cosmic being looked entirely human, delicate and vulnerable.

Rio’s voice was quiet, laced with affection. “Your mother isn’t very happy with me right now, Petal,” she murmured, brushing a stray curl from the child’s face. “But we’ll give her time, yes? Even now, I see her woven into every part of you.”

The words struck Agatha like a blow. She wanted to retort, to deny the truth in Rio’s voice, but her throat tightened, silencing her. Instead, she watched, feeling as though she were intruding on a moment far too intimate for her presence.

Rio lingered by the crib, her fingers brushing the edge as if anchoring herself. Agatha felt her resolve waver, but she forced herself to watch, the weight of everything pressing down on her, crushing her soul.

Rio stood silently, her gaze fixed on their child, an unreadable expression softening her features. Agatha could feel the faint hum of Rio’s thoughts.

“Salvia officinalis,” Rio murmured, her voice low, “When it blooms, it gets these little flowers, soft purples and lavenders, standing out against all that green. Like a splash of color where you least expect it.”

Agatha almost laughed, biting back a grin. Of course Rio was explaining plants to a baby. An infant who couldn’t tell her toes from her fingers, let alone a sage bush from a weed.

Rio leaned against the crib, brushing a gentle hand over the child’s cheek. “Its common name is Sage,” she said softly. “People use it to cleanse, to heal… to save. A mix of green and purple, here with a purpose. To heal.”

Her voice was thick with emotion, and for a moment, Agatha’s smile faltered. The way Rio said it, it wasn’t just a plant or a name. It was a wish.

A quiet, desperate wish that their daughter might heal what they couldn’t. That Agatha wouldn’t remain shackled by a grief so consuming it left her hollow, and that Rio wouldn’t drown in the anger and guilt of a life spent without knowing their son.

It was a wish for something better, for a chance to mend what had been broken between them.

The infant let out an excited squeal, a sound so bright and pure it shattered the heavy silence. Agatha’s gaze flicked to Rio, catching the way her brows shot up in surprise before a sweet, genuine smile tugged at her lips.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Rio cooed, leaning closer to the crib, her voice soft with affection. “Sage it is, then. If your mother doesn’t like it, I’ll just tell her you gave me no choice as it makes you so happy, after all.”

Sage stirred in her crib, her tiny body shifting before settling again, her eyelids growing heavy. Rio leaned down, her lips brushing the baby’s forehead in a tender kiss. “I’ll let you sleep, Petal,” she murmured softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made Agatha’s chest ache. Without another word, Rio straightened and left the room, her steps light and quiet.

The door clicked shut, and the room fell silent once more. Agatha hesitated, then moved forward, standing where Rio had been moments before. She looked down at the baby and reached out with trembling fingers. Her hand paused halfway, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

What if this is taken from me too?

Her breath hitched as she forced herself to continue, her fingers brushing through Sage’s soft brown hair. A gasp slipped past her lips. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.

She leaned forward, scooping Sage into her arms with a care that felt almost fragile. The baby stirred, her tiny body adjusting, but she didn’t wake. Agatha cradled her close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath.

Slowly, Agatha moved to Rio’s bed, sitting at its edge before sliding to the floor, her back resting against the frame. She held Sage against her chest, her head dipping forward as a quiet sob escaped her.

Years of running, years of hiding from her grief, her guilt, and from Rio. For what? She had missed so much. The life of her daughter that had unfolded in her absence. And now, here she was, holding a child she had no claim to, no right to.

Resentment clawed at her insides. Sage was here, alive and thriving, while Nicky was gone. Dead. Stolen from her. Almost three hundred years of Sage’s life gone, just like the years Nicky never had. Agatha could feel the anger rising, white hot. She hated it. She hated Rio.

But even as the anger burned, something else lingered beneath it. Love. Love for Sage, for Nicky, and even for Rio. How could she hate the woman who had given them two strong, resilient children? Two pieces of them that defied everything to exist.

It tore at her, leaving her raw and exhausted. Agatha tightened her hold on Sage, pressing a kiss to her small forehead as another sob wracked her body. For the first time in centuries, she didn’t have the strength to run. She could only sit here, tears falling freely, holding on to this fragile, fleeting moment for as long as it would let her.

The door creaked open, the soft sound cutting through the stillness like a signal that her time had run out. Agatha froze for a moment, her arms tightening around Sage instinctively. But reality came crashing back. This wasn’t permanent. None of it was.

With a begrudging sigh, she carefully rose to her feet, her movements deliberate to avoid waking the baby. She stepped to the crib, reluctantly lowering Sage back into her crib. The baby stirred, letting out a faint sigh before settling again.

Agatha lingered for a heartbeat longer, her hands hovering over the crib as if she might reach down and take Sage back again. Instead, she placed her palms on her hips, grounding herself, before swiping the back of her hand across her damp cheeks. The tears were gone, but their weight still clung to her.

She took a deep, steadying breath, squaring her shoulders. It was time to move on. The past wasn’t going to wait for her to catch up. With a final glance to Sage, Agatha turned and walked through the open door, bracing herself for whatever memory awaited her next.

Chapter Text

“Okay, Petal, time to let your mother know you exist,” Rio murmured to the child wrapped snugly against her chest. Sage responded with a burst of squeals and delighted giggles, her tiny hands batting at the fabric of Rio’s dress.

“Alright, alright, I hear you loud and clear,” Rio chuckled, adjusting the wrap with care before stepping out onto the porch. She descended the steps, following a worn path that cut through the yard.

Agatha, standing off to the side, froze. They were going to find her? She crossed her arms, biting the inside of her cheek. Obviously, whatever this plan was, it hadn’t worked. 268 years later, she was only now learning about her daughter’s existence. But still… curiosity gnawed at her.

How close had they come?

As they walked down the path, Rio glanced down at the baby nestled against her chest, her voice light but carrying an edge of nervousness. “Now, listen here, Petal. Your mother is still very, very angry with me, so you might hear some yelling. Don’t be alarmed.”

Sage gurgled softly, her tiny hands clutching at the fabric of Rio’s dress.

Rio sighed, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Hopefully, when she sees the very cute baby attached to me, we’ll avoid any… physical violence. But just in case, you’re my shield, alright? Be adorable. That’s your job.”

The baby let out a squeal as if in agreement, and Rio chuckled softly.

Agatha scoffed at Rio’s comment and trailed after them, keeping a cautious distance. The heels she wore pinched with every step, and with an annoyed huff, she bent down and slipped them off. Barefoot now, she padded silently along the path, her eyes fixed on Rio and Sage as they move ahead.

Rio came to a stop. Agatha watched as she reached to her hip, pulling her blade that had been hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. Rio muttered something under her breath, and with a sharp, deliberate motion, she sliced through the air. A glowing portal coming to life.

Agatha hesitated for only a moment before following. She wasn’t about to let Rio vanish without knowing what had happened all those years ago.

They stepped through and Agatha found herself surrounded by towering trees and dense greenery. The air smelled fresh, tinged with the earthy scent of moss and damp wood.

A forest. It felt vaguely familiar, though Agatha couldn’t quite place it. Then again, she’d been in plenty of forests before. They all blurred together in her memory. Places where she’d lured witches under false pretenses, stripping them of their power.

“Sage!” Rio’s voice rang out, cutting through the serene quiet of the forest. She spun around, her eyes wide and wild as she clawed at the empty wrap tied around her chest, her hands trembling with desperation. “Sage!”

Agatha froze, her heart lurching at the terror in Rio’s voice. In all the centuries she’d known her, she had never seen Rio look like this. Completely unmoored, stripped of her usual composure.

Rio didn’t waste a second. She turned and bolted back toward the portal, her flowing dress tangling around her legs as she stumbled but didn’t stop. Agatha snapped into motion, chasing after her.

Agatha dove through the portal just as it  shut behind her, cutting off the forest and plunging them back into Rio’s realm.

As they reached the porch, Rio froze, halting abruptly. There, in the same basket she had arrived in the day the universe birthed her, Sage sat, cooing softly, oblivious to the chaos her disappearance had caused. Relief crashed over Rio, and she let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the porch railing for support.

Agatha stumbled up behind her, out of breath. Her heart pounded wildly, her chest heaving as she bent over, hands braced on her knees. For  a split second, she thought she might throw up.

Rio’s attention was fixed solely on Sage. With cautious steps, she moved toward the basket, dropping to her knees in front of it. “Oh, Petal,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out, brushing her fingers gently over Sage’s soft cheek, her shoulders sagging with relief.

Agatha straightened slowly, still catching her breath. She swallowed hard, her pulse beginning to settle as she watched Rio with the child. The scene before her, the raw emotion on Rio’s face, the way she cradled Sage with such care, stirred something deep in Agatha’s chest. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the sharp pain in her legs.

“Next time,” Agatha muttered to no one, her voice hoarse, “try keeping better track of your kid.”

“Well, it looks like you won’t be meeting your mother today,” Rio murmured softly, She pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead, her expression calm once more. “But don’t fret, Petal. I’ll figure it out soon.”

With that, Rio carried Sage inside, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Agatha standing alone on the porch.

Agatha let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The tension in her body didn’t ease, though. Instead, it only twisted tighter as she processed what had just happened.

Then the sound of squeals and giggles reached her ears, bright and infectious. She whipped around, her eyes darting toward the source.

Another memory.

Agatha stepped off the porch, her bare feet sinking into the soft grass as she moved closer, needing a better view of what was unfolding.

There sat Rio, her hair loose and flowing, with the gentle breeze. She wore a white linen shirt and simple brown pants, her feet bare against the earth. Beside her lay a sketchbook and pencil, but whatever Rio had been working on didn’t matter. Agatha’s attention was completely captured by the scene in front of her.

Rio was on her knees, her arms outstretched, her face lit with encouragement. “Come on, Petal, you’ve got it,” she called, her voice soft yet excited.

Agatha’s gaze shifted to Sage, who was standing a few feet away from Rio. She looked older now, perhaps a year, her tiny hands reached out in front of her for balance.

Agatha gasps. Sage was about to take her first steps.

Then she noticed the child’s outfit, a rough, woven brown fabric that could only be described as a sack. Agatha had to bite her lip to stifle a laugh. Of course, Rio had no idea how to dress a baby. She probably thought functionality trumped all else.

Still, Sage stood tall, wobbling slightly, before lifting one foot and placing it forward. Then another. And another. Three unsteady, heavy steps carried her straight into Rio’s waiting arms.

Rio’s laugh erupted, full of unrestrained joy, the kind that echoed through the air and made the world feel lighter. It was breathtaking. Agatha’s chest tightened, her heart swelling with so much love in that moment that she didn’t even try to guilt herself for feeling it.

Sage squealed with delight, giggling as Rio lifted her into the air, holding her high above her head in celebration. When Rio brought her back down, she pressed their foreheads together, her laugh still bubbling.

Then Sage reached out, her tiny fingers grabbing hold of Rio’s cheeks. “Ma-ma,” Sage babbled, her little voice triumphant. “Ma-ma!”

Agatha froze, the sound piercing straight through her. She watched as Rio’s expression softened further, her eyes shimmering with a love so profound it seemed to envelop the moment. Her smile was impossibly wide, so full of pure, unfiltered happiness that it felt eternal, stretching across eons.

Agatha couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Her entire world narrowed to this memory, this perfect snapshot of a love that had somehow survived everything. It was overwhelming, beautiful, and devastating all at once.

The front door of the house swung open with a bang, the sound loud enough to make Agatha’s head whip around. She turned back toward the memory she had just witnessed, but it was gone. It vanished as if it had never been there. The air shifted, darkening, as storm clouds rolled in overhead, the distant rumble of thunder echoing in her ears.

Then she heard it.. cries, sharp and desperate, cutting through the silence.

Sage.

Without thinking, Agatha ran, her bare feet pounding against the ground as the rain began to fall. She reached the house just as the downpour started, slipping inside and following the sound of Sage’s cries. It led her to Rio’s room.

The door was closed, but that didn’t stop her. Agatha walked straight through it, the scene on the other side hitting her like a wave.

The room was filled with an oppressive amount of steam, so thick it blurred her vision. She winced as the heat pressed against her face, making her skin prickle, but she pushed forward. The air smelled faintly of herbs, earthy, likely a green witch’s healing magic.

In the corner of the room, a wooden tub sat filled with boiling water, the source of the steam. Rio stood beside it, Sage cradled tightly against her chest. The baby’s screams had softened into weak, pitiful whines, her little body shaking with hard, wracking coughs.

Rio swayed on her feet, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Sage’s back. “Shhhh, Petal,” she murmured, her voice soft but strained. “It’s no fun being sick, is it?”

Sage nuzzled further into her neck, her tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of Rio’s shirt as another cough shook her small frame. Rio’s expression cracked, and Agatha watched as silent tears slid down her cheeks, her shoulders trembling with the effort to keep herself composed.

“It’s times like this,” Rio whispered, her voice breaking, “that I wish your mother was here.” She glanced down at Sage, brushing a hand over her damp brown curls. “Im a green witch, and I never thought something as simple as a cold would be the thing that left me feeling so damn helpless.”

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. She stood frozen in the doorway, the vulnerability in Rio’s words cutting through her. This was Rio as a mother, scared and desperate, doing everything she could for her child.

She needed Agatha there and she wasn’t, not when Rio and their child needed her the most.

It was unbearable to watch.

It was as if the universe had heard Agatha’s thoughts. The door slammed shut in Agatha’s face, and this time, an unseen force physically pulled her into the next memory.

The scene shifted abruptly, and Agatha found herself standing atop a familiar hill. Her chest constricted as recognition washed over her like ice water. Her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces, knowing all too well what was about to unfold.

There was Rio, standing amidst the tall grass with Sage toddling nearby, the babbling one-year-old wobbling unsteadily but determined. Rio watched her closely, her presence calm but alert, ready to catch her if she fell.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes trailed to Rio’s outfit. The white linen shirt and brown pants were gone, replaced by the same outfit, black cloak and crown, she had worn the day Agatha kissed her for what she thought would be the last time. The day she had surrendered herself to Death. The sight was a dagger to her already fragile heart.

As if answering the question Agatha couldn’t voice, Rio’s voice floated over the breeze, soft and patient. “Astral projection, Petal. I promise I’ll teach it to you when you’re older.”

Before Agatha could react, Rio’s gaze shifted, her expression tightening as she caught sight of something. Agatha followed her line of sight and froze.

Rio wasn’t looking at her directly, but at her back—at the Agatha of the past. Sage squealed with delight and wobbled after the figure, her small hands outstretched toward the dark cloak that dragged across the ground.

Before Sage could make contact, Rio swept her into her arms, her movements swift. Sage let out a scream of frustration, writhing in Rio’s hold as the storm clouds began to gather, the air growing heavy with tension.

Agatha’s heart thundered as her past self turned, revealing the book clutched tightly in her hands, the Darkhold . The edges of her fingers were blackened, the corruption already creeping up her skin.

The storm unleashed itself. Wind howled and lightning split the sky as Sage’s cries became distant. In the blink of an eye, the child was gone, her screams snuffed out as though they’d never existed.

Yet Rio remained. She stepped forward, her form flickering between the astral and physical planes, until she became fully visible to the Agatha of the past.

Agatha, the Agatha of now, couldn’t bear it. This was the last time she had seen Rio before she vanished for two centuries. The agony of that moment, of that memory, was too much. She wanted to look away, to shield herself from the heartbreak she already knew was coming. But, of course, she couldn’t.

The universe wasn’t finished with her yet.

“Agatha, no! Please, don’t do this!” Rio’s voice cracked as she called out, her hand outstretched toward the woman she once called her wife.

Agatha turned around slowly, a devilish smile curling at her lips. Her expression was cruel, and it made Rio’s chest ache.

“Please my love,” Rio begged, her voice  desperate. She held out a folded piece of paper, her hand trembling slightly. “Before you do anything stupid just…. take this.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of hesitation in Agatha’s eyes. She stepped closer and reached out, her black tipped fingers brushing the paper in Rio’s hand. But as soon as she took it, the cruel smirk returned.

“See ya never, toots,” Agatha said coldly. Then, in an instant, she vanished, leaving only the faint echo of her magic in the air. The paper flew from her grasp, carried off by the wind.

The memory shifted. Rio was gone now, leaving only Agatha standing alone in the void of the past. The paper, tossed and battered by the wind, fluttered down in front of her.

Agatha stared at it for a moment, the world silent except for the storm raging in her chest. She bent down, trembling hands picking it up, and unfolds it.

Her breath hitched.

It was a drawing of Sage, sitting in the grass on the day she took her first steps, dressed in that ridiculous woven sack Rio had deemed acceptable. The details were immaculate. The delicate curve of Sage’s tiny hands, the determined smile on her face, the way the sunlight seemed to kiss her brown hair.

Agatha collapses, her knees hitting the ground hard, the drawing still clutched in her hands. Her scream tore through the silence, raw and guttural, echoing with all the pain she had buried for centuries. It was the sound of grief, regret, and self-loathing wrapped into one harrowing cry.

She sobbed uncontrollably, her tears blurring the lines of the drawing as the realization hit her with the force of a death by a thousand cuts.

Why had she been such a fucking idiot ? Why had she let her anger, her pride, her fear drive her to this? She had given up so much trying to run from her past that she had unknowingly sacrificed an entire future. A future with a child she never even knew existed.

And it was all her fault.

Her chest heaved as she curled over the drawing, clutching it to her heart like it was the only thing holding her together. For the first time in centuries, she let herself break completely.

Agatha felt the pull as Sage’s memories began slipping away from her.

“No! Please, I want more time!” she cried, her voice breaking as she begged into the void. “I want more time!”

But no one answered, and then, in a blink, she was back.

The familiar surroundings of Rio’s house came into focus, but her breath caught when she realized who was right in front of her. It wasn’t Sage. It wasn’t Death, cloaked and untouchable, but Rio. Just Rio.

She wore the same black hoodie and grey shorts she’d had on before slamming the door in Agatha’s face, except now her face was smudged with dirt, as though she’d been working in a garden. Agatha’s hands were still raised, frozen in the position they’d been in when she had held Sage’s head. Only now, Rio stood in Sage’s place, inches away, her expression hesitant, scared even, like she was bracing for Agatha to lash out after learning the truth.

Agatha’s gaze shifted, catching sight of Sage slumped on the floor nearby, groaning softly. Rio had been the one to rip her from Agatha’s grasp, pulling her back to the present.

But Agatha didn’t scream. She didn’t yell. She didn’t fight. Her chest rose and fell with the weight of her emotions, and for a long, quiet moment, she simply stared at Rio, her eyes scanning every detail of her face.

Then, with a steadiness that surprised even herself, she reached out and cupped Rio’s face in her hands.

“My love,” Agatha whispered, her voice trembling, filled with everything she couldn’t put into words… pain, regret, relief.

Rio’s breath caught, her wide eyes searching Agatha’s, unsure of what to say, what to do. But Agatha didn’t let go, her touch grounding them both as the weight of centuries hung between them like a fragile thread.

Chapter Text

Agatha doesn’t know how long she’s been standing like this, staring at Rio. Her face is cradled in Agatha’s hands, and Rio’s fingers rest gently around her wrists, like she’s afraid to hold on too tightly. Their touch is the only thing grounding them, the only thing keeping the silence from breaking apart.

For the first time in a very long time, the world isn’t spinning out of control. She’s afraid to move, terrified that if she lets go, Rio will disappear like smoke, and this fragile moment will collapse.

Before everything fell apart, Rio had a way of settling the fire in her chest, calming the chaos, even if only for a fleeting moment. But that was a lifetime ago. Somewhere along the line, Rio stopped putting out the fire and started fueling it. She became the spark that lit Agatha’s anger, the gasoline that kept her grief and guilt burning, and it turned into an unrelenting inferno she couldn’t escape.

And yet, here she is now, Rio’s face in her hands, her dark brown eyes gazing back at her. The fire isn’t roaring. It’s quiet. The silence scares the hell out of Agatha, digs into her chest in ways she isn’t ready to admit.

Agatha swallows, her thoughts racing. Every instinct screams at her to let go, to run, to ruin this before it ruins her. She’s never been good at holding on to what matters; she always leaves before she can be left. But before Agatha can pull away, before she can be the one to fuck it all up, Rio falters.

It’s subtle… a shift in her gaze, a flicker of hesitation. Rio clears her throat and gently steps back, breaking their fragile connection. Rio’s hands fall away, her warmth retreating. Agatha stands frozen, her arms dropping to her sides, her chest aching.

There’s no fire. It’s still quiet.

The silence doesn’t feel like peace anymore. It feels like absence. The feeling rips through her, hollowing her out as Rio steps further away, her expression unreadable. Agatha wants to call her back, to say something, anything, to make her stay. But the words won’t come.

She watches Rio turn away, and the space between them feels infinite. And in that moment, the truth becomes undeniable, sinking into her like a weight she can’t ignore.

Rio isn’t gasoline anymore. She isn’t fire. She’s the air Agatha can’t breathe without, and it’s killing her to let Rio go.

“Rio, I- ” Agatha starts, her voice trembling, but Rio cuts her off with a heavy sigh.

“Go to bed, Petal,” Rio murmurs softly, the words weighted with exhaustion.

Agatha registers that it’s dark outside now, the night pressing against the windows like a silent observer. But her sole focus is on Rio, who seems to be retreating from her, even though she stands only a few steps away. Agatha could reach out, could touch her if she dared, but the space between them feels vast, an unspoken gap she isn’t sure how to cross.

“But I’m not tired,” Sage interjects suddenly from her spot on the floor, her voice breaking the tension. She rushes the words out before Rio can stop her. To be honest, Agatha had forgotten Sage was even there.

“Sage,” Rio snaps, her voice sharper than intended, then immediately softens, drawing back. “Please,” she whispers, the quiet plea heavy with unspoken emotions.

Sage hesitates, her eyes flicking between the two of them, but finally listens. With visible reluctance, she rises and heads upstairs to her room, casting one last uncertain glance over her shoulder before disappears up the staircase.

The silence left in her wake is deafening, the air thick with everything unsaid. Agatha shifts on her feet, searching for something to ground herself, but all she finds is Rio, still there, yet impossibly far away.

“So, was the potato sack a fashion statement or a sign of questionable parenting skills?” Agatha quips, arching a brow as she tries to break the tension.

Rio’s shoulders sag, and she releases a frustrated huff, shaking her head. “Do you ever get tired of turning everything into a fucking joke?”

Agatha’s eyes widen, and she straightens her shoulders, caught off guard by Rio’s sudden outburst. The words sting more than she’d like to admit, but she doesn’t respond, doesn’t trust herself to say the right thing.

Rio sighs softly. “Goodnight, Agatha.”

Agatha watches her leave, the weight of the silence settling around her like a heavy cloak. She lets out a frustrated breath of her own, muttering as she changes out of the suit Sage had chosen for her to wear. She pulls on the pajamas that had mysteriously appeared after Rio left, along with a pillow and blanket waiting neatly on the couch.

Of course, Rio would do that.

“Neither of us even need sleep,” she grumbles to herself, bitterness threading through her voice. “You know…..Death and a ghost in physical form.” She punches her fist into the overly puffy pillow, trying  to make it comfortable. The effort feels pointless, her mind far too restless to entertain the idea of actually closing her eyes.

-

Blinking away the remnants of restless sleep, Agatha’s eyes land on the coffee table in front of her. A new outfit sits folded neatly: jeans, an oversized woven sweater, and even a bra and underwear.

She stares at it for a long moment, her gaze lingering on the folded fabric. The jeans and sweater are one thing, but the matching lacy black bra and underwear? That’s deliberate. That’s Rio. Agatha’s fingers twitch at her sides, her breath uneven as a hundred images flash through her mind.

Rio picking them out, her hands brushing over the delicate lace, the faint smirk that would tug at her lips.

It feels like an unspoken challenge wrapped in soft fabric. Agatha had spent centuries wielding power, bending the world to her will. But now? Now she has none. Now she’s the one being played, the one being tested.

Her chest tightens as her eyes drift back to the bra, its subtle elegance daring her. It’s not just clothing, it’s Rio’s voice in her head, low and teasing: Go on, Agatha. Prove it. Give up your control. Give it to me, for me.

The thought sends a heat rippling through her body. A desperate ache settles between her legs, her thighs pressing together instinctively. Her hands curl into fists, holding on to her control, though it feels pointless now. She bites her lip, trying to ground herself for only a moment before she whispers, “Fuck it,” and rips the clothes from the coffee table and begins to change out of her pajamas.

Then the sound of angry whispers coming from the kitchen rip from her thoughts.

She hurries to get herself dressed before anyone can walk in on her (she really should’ve asked where the bathroom is in this place). She could go find it if she really wanted to or even slip into Rio’s room, but she has other priorities.

Eavesdropping.

Okay, so maybe I’m nosey, she thinks, pulling the sweater over her head as she listens closely to the heated exchange coming from the kitchen.

“No! You’re not leaving,” Sage hisses in a sharp whisper.

“I have a job. Duties I have to take care of,” Rio replies, her voice low but steady.

“Have your minions do it,” Sage snaps back.

Rio sighs, the kind of heavy, frustrated exhale that practically radiates exhaustion.

Agatha smirks faintly to herself. She can already picture the scene: Rio calm but unyielding, Sage fuming.

Outside, thunder rumbles, low and sharp, as if echoing Sage’s rising anger.

So, Rio’s trying to leave.

Agatha rolls her eyes. The minions Sage refers to are what Rio dramatically calls the “Guardians of the Cycle.”

The whole system is made up of Collectors, Sentinels, Weavers, whatever Rio’s calls them now.  Agatha’s heard it all before. Rio delegates most of her duties to this network of beings, letting them manage the mundane tasks of the cycle of life and death. Lady Death only steps in when something significant happens or when she feels like it.

And clearly, today was one of those days.

“You promised! You promised me that if I asked you to stay, you would. And I hardly ever did. So I’m asking you now.” A pause, “Please, Mom.”

Sage’s voice cracked on the last word, and Agatha’s breath caught. Her heart twisted painfully at the sound of it, that single word burrowing deeper than she expected.

Mom.

Agatha shut it down, forcing herself not to linger on it. She couldn’t afford to think about that right now.

“Fine!” Rio’s voice rang sharp and frustrated through the house, followed by something… strange. A harsh guttural bark that made Agatha freeze mid motion.

Did she just… bark? At their daughter?

Agatha scoffs, shaking her head at even asking herself that question. Of course Rio would bark at someone. Barking at someone is exactly the kind of thing Rio would do. It’s absurd, but it’s so her that Agatha can’t help the faint smirk tugging at her lips.

Before Agatha could process it, footsteps approached, quick, stopping abruptly with a sharp squeak of shoes against the floor.

Agatha cursed under her breath, fumbling with the jeans she was trying to pull on. She was still in just the bra and underwear, the ones Rio had picked out for her, when she looked up and froze.

Rio stood in the foyer, framed by the dim light filtering in from the kitchen, her presence unrelenting. Her eyes immediately locked onto Agatha, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Rio made a point of letting her gaze travel, slow and deliberate, taking in every inch of Agatha standing there half dressed. From the curve of her shoulders to the lace of her bra, her eyes lingered just long enough to make Agatha’s skin flush before dragging up to meet hers again.

Agatha stands straight, squaring her shoulders.

Challenge accepted.

Then, with a dramatic pout, Agatha quips, “A promise is a promise, my love.” She has to tease her. How could she not? Look at her, powerless and begging for Rio’s attention, her words drenched in an ache she won’t admit out loud. Agatha hated how much she needed this, how much she needed her . Just one glance, one word, one moment where Rio acknowledged her, and Agatha would give anything.

Rio snarls, her expression twisting in irritation as she rolls her eyes. “There’s a bathroom down the hall,” then simply turns and walks away. The sound of the back door slamming reverberates through the house.

Agatha lets out a shaky breath, as she grabs the sweater, shoving it on roughly as if the fabric itself were to blame for the knot in her chest. She pauses for a moment, staring at the space Rio just vacated, and then she moves.

She follows Rio, each step purposeful, though she doesn’t quite know what she’ll say or if she’ll have the strength to say anything at all.

When she steps outside into the backyard, she’s met with a scene so startling it makes her trip over her own feet. The sheer expanse of it steals the air from her lungs.

It’s breathtaking.

The garden stretches endlessly before her, wild and vibrant yet meticulously cared for, as if every blade of grass, every flower, has been touched by Rio’s hand. A cobblestone path winds through it all, disappearing into the soft shadows cast by towering trees and vine covered arches. At the heart of it, a pond, its surface dotted with lily pads and koi fish that move in the water.

Everything about it feels alive, brimming with a quiet magic that hums in the air. It’s not just beautiful, it’s purposeful. The kind of place that could only be built with patience and care. Agatha grips the doorframe for balance, her heart racing as she takes it all in.

And yet, for all its beauty, it feels so deeply personal. It’s an extension of Rio herself. It’s almost too much to process, the overwhelming sense of peace stretching in every corner. Agatha exhales shakily, swallowing hard, pushing to move forward as the weight of it all presses against her chest.

It’s all very dramatic, Agatha thinks.

The patio is simple, paved with smooth stone that extends seamlessly into the garden just a few steps away. There’s nothing obstructing her view. Every flower, every tree, and the still pond are perfectly visible, almost within reach.

Agatha settles into a patio swing, with a circular intricate metal frame . The design is delicate yet sturdy, with floral patterns carved into the metal, forming an elegant circle as its frame, vines flowing through it like the garden itself had inspired its creation. The swing rocks gently as she leans back, the soft creak of the chains blending with the quiet sounds of the garden.

The swing sits at the perfect spot, close enough to feel like she’s a part of the space but just far enough to keep from intruding. Still, as her eyes follow Rio’s movements, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s teetering on the edge of something deeply personal, sacred.

Rio’s crouched near the pond, pulling overgrown weeds from the stones that lined it with steady hands.

Rio straightens after a moment, wiping her dirt covered hands on her white tank top. She’s wearing worn blue jeans, frayed at the cuffs, a baby blue baseball cap pulled low over her dark hair, and scuffed black converse, the soles covered with dirt.

She adjusts the brim of her cap and moves to the vegetable patch, pulling a ripe squash free with a smooth tug before stepping toward one of the arches where a basket filled with other vegetables sit. Her movements are calm, purposeful, as if every action is second nature.

Agatha could watch her do this forever. And for four straight days, she does. It becomes a routine, one that feels impossibly intimate despite the silence between them. Agatha wakes just before sunrise, early enough for Sage to still be fast asleep.

Each morning she finds a fresh sets of clothes folded neatly on the coffee table for her, along with a new pair of a matching bra and underwear set. Always perfectly chosen. Each pair more suggestive than the last.

It’s as if Rio knows the exact moment she’s changing. Without fail, Rio would appear from the kitchen, her footsteps unhurried, her gaze lingering far longer than necessary. She wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t even pretend to look away. Her dark, hungry eyes would sweep over Agatha, taking their time, drinking her in.

Agatha couldn’t muster a sarcastic remark or sharp jab, not with the way Rio looked at her. Instead, she stood there, head held high, letting Rio enjoy the view. She didn’t shift, didn’t break, but she felt the tension coil tighter in her chest each time. When Rio was done, when that dark intensity finally flickered and faded behind her guarded mask, she would simply turn and walk outside.

Every time Rio left, Agatha would find coffee waiting for her in the kitchen, perfectly made, just the way she liked it. It was never mentioned but the simple gesture lingered in the air, almost as heavy as the looks Rio gave her before disappearing into the garden.

These brief but intimate moments they would share in the quiet of the morning were the only thing that would get up her up in the morning. The only thing she would look forward to. Because the moment Agatha stepped onto that patio with her coffee, the endless turning of her mind would begin to consume her.

From sunrise to sunset, Rio worked in the garden, her hands moving with quiet purpose, her focus unshakable. And Agatha would sit on the patio swing, watching.

For four days, Agatha sat, thought, and watched. She thought about everything. She thought about herself, about Rio, about the tangled mess of their relationship. It was dark and so stained, and she wasn’t sure they could survive it. The next moment she would seethe with anger and jealousy over the life Rio shared with Sage, the time Rio got to spend as a mother.

It was time Agatha never had with Nicky.

Then the sorrow would creep in, sharp and suffocating, as she mourned her son. She thought of the life she couldn’t give him, the protection she had failed to offer.

Rio had taken her son. But hadn’t Agatha also robbed Rio of him? Robbed her of knowing Nicky, forcing her to watch from a distance for six years. Worse, she forced Rio and Nicky to witness as she took the lives of countless witches, desperate to grow her power, hoping to find some way to save him.

She sometimes lost herself in the search for an answer, spending precious time chasing salvation instead of making new, beautiful, memories with her son.

Agatha’s fist closed around her locket instinctively, knuckles white as if the metal could anchor her. The familiar weight of it pressed into her palm, and for a fleeting moment it almost hurt. She welcomed the pain. It was better than drowning in the guilt, the shame, and the overwhelming sense of loss.

On the second day, as Rio worked on the farthest edge of the garden, Agatha gave in to a nagging pull of a particular willow tree. It caught her eye the moment she stepped foot on to the patio, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that it demanded her attention. She approached it carefully.

A large stone, its edges softened and uneven, worn down by years of rain and wind, rested beneath its drooping branches. A fresh bouquet of white lilies arranged at its base. The inscription carved into it was faded and nearly lost to time but still legible. It stole her breath:

‘I bury my own heart

Here with you, my child

If one be gone, we carry on

But every mile I go

With every bend

Beyond the end

Your mothers love you so’

Agatha wanted to fucking puke.

It was excruciating. The heaviness of the words sent her stumbling back toward her swing. Rio’s gaze followed her, but she said nothing. She simply turned back to her tending.

Then there was Sage, always Sage, relentless and full of questions, an annoying voice with brown hair too much like Agatha’s own. Did Agatha want to play a board game? Would she like to quiz Sage on random subjects so the girl could show off her endless knowledge? Or maybe Sage could ask her questions about Agatha’s past as a young witch? The girl was on her constantly, asking about everything and nothing. She acted like Agatha’s shadow.

Agatha avoided her as best she could. She could hardly look at Sage without feeling like she might shatter under the gravity of all the memories. Sage’s memories. She convinced herself over and over that she could never be a mother to Sage. It wouldn’t be fair. She hadn’t been a mother to Nicky, not in the way that mattered.

Not in the way that kept him alive.

When the thoughts became too much and when Sage’s voice grated on her already frayed nerves, Agatha fixated on Rio.

Only Rio.

She didn’t let herself think too deeply. She just watched. And she was so damn grateful that Rio allowed her to see her face. Because if Rio had insisted on hiding her stupid beautiful face, only showing her the face of Death, Agatha was certain she would not have lasted the four days she did before she absolutely fucking lost it.

But we’ll get to that later.

On the third day, Agatha was more restless than ever, her thoughts devouring her. She didn’t have the energy to speak, though it was hard to avoid Sage. The girl had a habit of prying her open, unwilling and reluctant, she would have Agatha asking her random questions about botany, reptiles, history, and literature.

Never anything deeper, always surface level.

When Sage stepped onto the patio that morning, bright eyed and smug as ever, tongue pressed into her cheek like she was certain today would be the day she broke through, Agatha didn’t even glance at her. Sage took one look at her, the smirk falling, and without a word turned right back around into the house.

Minutes later, she was back. Agatha didn’t bother looking up until Sage blocked her view, ruining what little peace her morning coffee provided. Sighing, Agatha bit the inside of her cheek and glanced up.

Her jaw slackened.

Cradled in Sage’s arms, perfectly relaxed as though he belonged there, was Señor Scratchy.

For a moment, Agatha didn’t move, didn’t react, stunned into stillness. Then, almost reflexively, she reached up for him only to realize she still had her coffee cup in hand. Sage adjusted the rabbit effortlessly, reached down, and plucked the mug from Agatha’s grip.

“Mo- ” Sage started, but cut herself off, her face shifting. “I mean, uh, Rio took him when you… you know,” As she handed the rabbit over.

“Stop.”

The word slipped out, soft but broken. Agatha’s voice wavered as tears stung her eyes. She forced them not to spill over, but the weight of everything pressed against her.

How big of a bitch could she possibly be? To die, leaving behind an ex-wife who buried her with so much love and care, only for said ex-wife to rescue her familiar immediately afterward. And for what? So Agatha could return as a ghost, not because she had to, but because she couldn’t face what came after death.

Also maybe because she never wanted the chase to end.

Sage didn’t say another word. She moved to the far end of the swing, curling her knees tight to her chest.

That’s when the clouds rolled in, swallowing the sun in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t a storm. They were just thick, dark clouds hanging heavy over the sky.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

Rio looked up from the vegetables she was picking, her hands stalling. Her eyes immediately found Sage, curled up tight, then on Agatha with Señor Scratchy in her arms. Her brow furrowed with concern, and she tilted her head back, scanning the clouds.

She lingered for just a moment before returning to her work.

-

For the next twenty four hours, the sky would stay that way. No rain. No thunder. Just dark gray.

-

Agatha lasted a half day more before she lost it.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

She shot up from the swing, bolted through the back door, and didn’t stop until she was out the front, her breath ragged and her mind screaming for escape.

Agatha didn’t care that she was barefoot.

She made it about two miles up the road before something latched onto her. A force so violent she couldn’t process it. Suddenly, she was airborne and being dragged back. When she hit the ground, she tumbled hard, landing near the bushes Rio was tending, just to the right of where Sage sat cross legged in the grass.

Agatha rolled, bracing for impact, She came to an abrupt stop stomach flush with the ground, before releasing a short, frustrated groan.

Before she could ask what the hell that was about, the younger brunette was already on her feet, beating her to it. “You’re tethered to the witch who gave your ghost a physical form.” Her voice was calm, as though the explanation were obvious. Then, without another word, Sage turned and walked back toward the house.

Agatha blinked, stunned, before scrambling up to chase her. She faintly heard Rio calling her name, her voice loud and booming after her.

You snooze, you lose.

If Rio had done that yesterday… Spoken first, broken her strict silence, Agatha would’ve have fallen to her knees on the spot.

Hoping Rio would break was the only thing that could overshadow the chaos running rampant in her mind. It was her only escape, no matter how fleeting.

But not today. Today, she was pissed.

Agatha was so tired of children thinking they knew better. Thinking they could run her life, thinking they were emotionally superior. They knew nothing.

#1. Teen :  Not the burden of centuries.

#2. Sage : Not the weight of knowing Death in every form.

She was a four hundred year old witch, for fuck’s sake. She deserved some goddamn respect.

Agatha stormed up to Sage’s room, a place she hadn’t set foot in since she first stepped out of it. She stopped short when she saw Sage standing with her back to her, staring out the window. Agatha took a deep breath, steadying herself, forcing her temper to stay in check.

Two things Agatha knew for certain.

When it comes to the looks department, Sage took so much after Agatha.

Fact.

Her entire personality, the energy she carried, reeked of Rio.

Fact.

The unwavering defiance, that was all Rio. If Agatha lost her cool, she knew Sage would dig her heels in, just like Rio always would.

The girl was here to make her face the music.

Exactly like Rio.

“Sage,” Agatha started, her voice a whisper, “please… just let me go back. It’s too much.”

Sage turned to face her, arms crossed, expression neutral. Her silence was unnerving.

Finally, she nodded slightly, “Okay.”

Agatha froze, stunned, as Sage lifted a hand and opened a portal. “Go,” she said simply.

Agatha’s heart jumped into her throat. The portal hung there, revealing the record store where this all began. Just before Sage walked in and turned her world upside down.

It was right there.

Agatha’s thoughts scream at her:

What are you doing? You’re powerless here! Move!

“Go,” Sage repeated, louder this time.

Agatha took a hesitant step forward, but she couldn’t move any further. She just stood there, frozen.

“You want to leave? Go! ” Sage yelled.

Outside, thunder roared, shaking the house to its foundation.

Agatha flinched. The storm outside erupted, rain pounding the roof and lightning splitting the sky. It was deafening, relentless. And still, she couldn’t take another step.

She wasn’t being held here by magic, wasn’t trapped by some spell. Sage was giving her something far worse.

Free will.

Agatha released a guttural, frustrated noise, half scream, half sob, before turning away from the portal. She stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

She stormed down the stairs, past Rio’s room, out the back door to the stupid patio swing. Crossing her arms tight over her chest, she turned and slammed herself onto the metal bench so hard she was surprised it didn’t snap from its chains.

By the time Agatha’s ass hit the bench, the sky was blue again, the sun shining obnoxiously bright.

Agatha knew she probably looked ridiculous, like a petulant child who didn’t get her way. She didn’t care. Her narrowed eyes immediately found Rio, standing drenched head to toe, in the garden.

Of course she looked like a dream.

Rio’s soaked blue crewneck clung to her skin, her grey shorts plastered to her legs, and her white tennis shoes (easily the dirtiest shoes Agatha had ever seen) were surely ruined. Agatha barked out a quick frustrated yell, the sight of Rio only making her angrier.

Rio was already staring at her. To the untrained eye, she looked unphased, but Agatha could see it. The slight widening of Rio’s eyes, trying to fight the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Even from several feet away Agatha could still fucking see it.

Agatha held her gaze, unrelenting, daring her to say something.

Hoping, even.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Then, as though nothing had happened, Rio turned back to her garden.

Chapter Text

Agatha stared at the living room ceiling, the stillness of the house mocking the chaos inside her. Four emotionally exhausting days, and her mind still hadn’t settled. Sage had given her an out, a chance to leave and walk away from this mess.

For the life of her, Agatha couldn’t take it.

She didn’t want to take it. As much as it hurt to be here, to face everything she’d left behind, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Agatha blames it on the fact that she couldn’t make that choice under the weight of Sage’s unrelenting green gaze.

Not in front of her.

If there was one thing Agatha had mastered, it was the art of detachment. It had been her survival skill, her constant shield. She did what she had to do, always, never sparing a thought for anyone’s feelings or the consequences left in her wake.

But Sage complicated that.

Whether Agatha liked it or not, Sage was her daughter. Seeing Rio through Sage’s memories, seeing her as a mother, seeing her first steps, her first word. It was a weight Agatha hadn’t anticipated. That knowledge alone shackled her, leaving her unable to make a clean break while Sage stood there, watching.

So yes, Agatha would have left. Absolutely. But what she wouldn’t do was abandon Sage right in front of her face. Not like that. Never like that.

As if Sage could hear the wheels turning in Agatha’s mind, a portal opened in the middle of the room. It shimmered faintly, the same portal Sage had shown her earlier that day, the one that led to the record store.

Agatha scrambled to her feet, her sweatshirt rumpled and plaid pajama pants slightly twisted with the suddenness of her movements.

Sage was giving her another out. A chance to leave in the dead of night. No prying eyes, no distractions, nothing holding her back. It was a clean break. An escape.

Agatha’s feet carried her toward the portal almost on instinct, her body moving before her mind had caught up. She stopped just short of it, the light from the swirling magic casting shadows across her face.

And with one long, deflated sigh, Agatha turned and walked away from the portal.

Agatha didn’t dare let her mind linger on the decision. It was done. A decision she and she alone had made. A line drawn in the sand, one she had no intention of crossing. She didn’t want to.

Her feet moved without thought, her body drawn by something deeper than reason. By the time she realized where she’d gone, she was standing in front of Rio’s door. A soft, dim light seeped through the thin crack, spilling into the dark hallway.

Rio was awake.

With one steadying breath, Agatha reached for the knob and turned it, pushing the door open.

And there she was.

Sitting on her bed, back resting against the headboard, a sketchbook in her lap. A pencil hovered just above the paper, frozen.

Rio’s too large T-shirt hung loosely on her frame, paired with plaid boxers that barely matched. Her dark brown eyes locked onto Agatha’s, eyebrows raised in quiet inquiry, the unspoken question clear: What are you doing?

Agatha didn’t answer. Instead, she let her eyes wander, taking in the room. It wasn’t too different from the one she remembered through Sage’s memories. The layout was similar, but the furniture had a more modern touch, and the crib was notably absent.

Her gaze drifted to the nightstand, where a familiar picture frame caught her attention. The drawing of her and Nicky was still there, its lines slightly faded with time but its significance as poignant as ever.

Beside it was a new frame, and the image inside brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. It was a drawing of Sage as a baby, her face lit with pure joy, both arms outstretched toward a cloaked figure. The figure’s back was turned, her cloak billowing slightly, but there was no mistaking Agatha’s presence. The happiness on Sage’s tiny face, her excitement palpable even in the static drawing, made the image feel alive.

It was the day Rio tried to tell her of Sage’s existence, the day Agatha acquired the Darkhold.

Agatha’s chest tightened but surprisingly enough, there was no sorrow there, no shadow of the pain or longing she had expected. Instead, the drawing captured a simple, profound hope. It was a connection between Agatha and her daughter that couldn’t be erased, even by time or circumstance.

She looked away after a moment, her emotions swirling beneath the surface. Yet the warmth of that image lingered, as if it had etched itself into her heart as deeply as it had been sketched onto the page.

Agatha’s gaze shifted, noticing a few new additions. A door led to what was now a personal bathroom. Against one wall stood a sturdy chest of drawers, a flat screen TV perched neatly on top of it. In the corner of the room was a two-story playpen filled with an assortment of toys scattered and hanging from every edge. Mixed among them were vegetables clearly harvested from Rio’s garden. Then, there was Señor Scratchy sat happily munching on a carrot, his little nose twitching with delight.

The room felt lived in, warm, and calm. It was all very Rio.

Agatha’s feet carried her toward the playpen. She unlatched the door with practiced ease and swung it open. Reaching inside, she effortlessly plucked Señor Scratchy from his cozy corner, carrot and all, holding the rabbit securely in her hands.

She could feel Rio’s gaze following her every move.

Without a word, Agatha crossed the room and settled onto the opposite side of the bed. Mirroring Rio’s position, she leaned back against the headboard, her movements calm. Placing Señor Scratchy on her lap, she held the carrot in front of his twitching nose, watching as he eagerly began to nibble it.

Rio still said nothing. Instead, she closed her sketchbook with an almost meditative care, placing it neatly into the drawer of her bedside table. With a quiet click of the drawer, she adjusted herself, straightening her posture against the headboard. The silence between them stretched, heavy but unspoken.

Agatha’s gaze stayed fixed on the rabbit in her lap.

Rio didn’t look at her as she reached for the remote, her movements slow and unhurried. The glow of the television flickered to life, illuminating the room with a soft, bluish hue. A few quick clicks later, the screen displayed a documentary about botany, narrated by a smooth, monotonous voice that immediately made Agatha roll her eyes.

Of course, Rio would pick this. Plants and roots. Earth and life. It was so… her.

Agatha didn’t bother masking her disdain. “Really? Plants?” she muttered under her breath.

Rio didn’t respond. She didn’t even glance her way. Her focus remained on the screen, her face calm, unreadable, as though she hadn’t heard a word.

Agatha sighed, leaning back. For all her frustration, she didn’t press further. She was too tired to argue, too tired to push Rio the way she usually would. The truth was, she hadn’t come here to fight. She hadn’t even come to talk. And for the first time, maybe ever, Agatha wasn’t inclined to press Rio until she broke.

The quiet stretched between them, filled only by the soothing narration of the documentary and the gentle rustle of Rio shifting in her seat. Agatha allowed herself to sink deeper into the mattress, her eyes lazily following the screen even though she wasn’t paying attention. She wasn’t here for the documentary. She wasn’t here for the plants.

She was here for the silence.

And for the first time, Agatha found she didn’t resent it.

She stole a glance at Rio, who sat beside her with one leg tucked beneath the other, her body angled slightly toward the screen. Her brown hair caught the soft glow of the TV, casting shadows that played across her sharp features. She seemed so focused, as though the world outside didn’t exist.

Agatha’s chest tightened. It wasn’t often she got to see Rio like this- calm, quiet, unguarded. No Sage hovering over them, no coven breathing down their necks, no endless weight of obligation pressing on their shoulders.

Just them.

She turned her attention back to the screen, letting the soothing monotony of the documentary wash over her. She wasn’t particularly interested in the lifecycle of rare orchids, but for once, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the quiet understanding, the peace of simply existing together. It felt… right.

And for now, that was enough.

Agatha let Señor Scratchy down onto the floor, watching as he hopped off to explore the room. She shifted her attention back to the screen, feigning interest in the documentary.

But of the corner of her eye, she saw Rio move.

Rio’s hand lowered to rest lightly on the bed between them, her gaze still fixed on the flickering images.

Agatha hesitated, her breath steady but shallow as she moved her hand closer. The space between them disappeared in fractions until her pinky rested just beside Rio’s.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The quiet hum of the narrator filled the room, and Agatha began to think she had misread the situation.

Then, Rio’s pinky moved, brushing against hers before curling around it in a delicate, deliberate motion.

Agatha froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t dare move, too afraid the moment would shatter. But Rio didn’t pull away, her silent gesture anchoring them.

Agatha exhaled softly, her eyes on the screen, but all her focus was on the faint, grounding warmth of Rio’s touch.

-

At some point, Agatha must have drifted off, because she was awoken by something poking her cheek. Groaning, she swatted lazily at her face, trying to shove whatever it was away. It worked for all of two seconds before she felt it again, more deliberate this time.

Peeking one eye open, she found Rio sitting cross legged on the bed beside her, calmly poking her cheek with a finger. Agatha blinked in confusion, her mind still foggy with sleep.

She shot upright, startled, her heart skipping a beat as she remembered where she was.

Her gaze landed on Rio, who was already dressed for the day. And for a moment, she feared she’d overstayed her welcome by falling asleep. But Rio didn’t look upset, not even close. Her expression was calm, that neutral mask Agatha hated and yet was beginning to grow use to.

Rio tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes dragging toward the foot of the bed before returning to Agatha. Curious, Agatha followed her gaze, and there, sitting neatly folded at the edge of the bed, was a set of clothes: a navy woven sweater, light wash jeans, and sitting right on top was a deep purple lacy bra and matching thong.

Agatha arched a brow, glancing back at Rio, who still hadn’t moved, her legs crossed beneath her and her brown hair framing her face.

“Really?” Agatha muttered, a sleepy smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as her cheeks warmed.

Rio didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Her silence, coupled with the way her gaze flicked back to the clothes and then lazily returned to Agatha, spoke volumes.

Agatha sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair. “Subtle as always,” she muttered, but the faint flicker of amusement in her tone betrayed her.

Rio didn’t so much as blink. She just sat there, her presence heavy, expectant, leaving Agatha no choice but to swing her legs over the side of the bed and accept the wordless challenge laid out for her.

This was new. Before, whenever Rio walked in on Agatha changing, it was always with her in a bra and underwear Rio had chosen, an intimate yet familiar sight. But this was different. It had been centuries since Rio had seen Agatha’s naked body, and worse, Agatha hadn’t seen hers.

Yet here Rio sat, silently asking to see her again. Desperate to see her again. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, sharp enough to cut.

Agatha stepped forward, positioning herself in front of the bed. Her movements were slow. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her pajama pants, tugging them down inch by inch before stepping out of them. Her sweatshirt hung low, just enough to obscure what Rio so desperately wanted to see.

Rio’s hands curled into the sheets, her fists tightening against the unmade bedding as she fought to restrain her excitement.

Then Agatha reached for the hem of her sweatshirt. In one smooth motion, she pulled it over her head and let it fall to the floor without a second glance. Her eyes locked onto Rio’s and they were ravenous.

Rio’s breath hitched as her gaze roamed over Agatha, drinking her in like a starved woman. Agatha knew every curve, every inch of her was etched into Rio’s memory, yet the way the green witch looked at Agatha now felt entirely new. Rio’s breathing grew uneven, the moment charged with an intensity that neither could deny.

Agatha stood there, confident and unyielding, and she felt Rio’s resolve coming undone. For all the years of longing, this moment was too much and not nearly enough.

Agatha reached for the thong, dragging it slowly up her legs, her eyes fixed on Rio the entire time. Agatha moved with precision, aware of every breath, every twitch of Rio’s clenched hands. Each motion was deliberate, a performance meant to draw out the tension between them.

Agatha picked up the bra from the bed, casually turning her back to Rio. The air in the room shifted, the subtle sound of a whimper reaching her ears. She didn’t need to turn around to know the frustration etched on Rio’s face.

She let the bra slip through her fingers and fall to the floor. “Whoops,” she murmured softly, the word barely audible, but the effect immediate.

Agatha bent down slowly, her movements drawn out as though time itself had slowed to match her pace. She stayed there, her body taut with intention, before finally straightening with the bra in hand. She didn’t need to see Rio’s reaction to know it. She could feel it, the weight of Rio’s gaze, the heat of her desire palpable in the air.

Turning back around, Agatha met Rio’s eyes and saw the hunger there. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as she slipped on the bra with ease, each movement designed to hold Rio’s attention. Agatha let herself stand tall, allowing Rio to take her in, her smirk deepening as she watched Rio struggle to hold herself together.

Agatha knew the effect she was having, and she reveled in it. This was her moment, her control and she was going to savor every second of it.

Rio rose from the bed in a single fluid motion, closing the space between them in just two steps. Her brown eyes burned with intent, locked onto Agatha’s as though daring her to look away. The air between them was heavy, suffocating, and the mere inches separating their bodies only amplified the tension.

Without a word, Rio lifted a hand, her finger finding the hollow at the base of Agatha’s collarbone. Her touch was feather light but electrifying, her gaze never wavering. Slowly, deliberately, Rio dragged that finger downward, tracing the line of Agatha’s sternum. Agatha’s breath hitched, but she held her ground, refusing to falter under Rio’s unrelenting touch.

Rio’s finger traveled lower, brushing over the soft skin of Agatha’s stomach, before it paused just above the waistband of her thong. Agatha swallowed hard, her resolve trembling as Rio lingered there. Then, with a confidence that sent a jolt through Agatha, Rio’s finger dipped lower, not beneath the fabric but along the length of it, tracing the cloth with agonizing slowness.

Agatha’s control teetered, her body betraying her as heat pooled low in her stomach. She wanted to stay steady, to keep the upper hand, but Rio’s touch was devastating. Still, she managed to remain still, even as her breathing grew shallow, matching Rio’s ragged rhythm.

Rio’s finger retraced its path, sliding back up Agatha’s body, over her sternum, and up to her shoulder before traveling down the length of her arm. Both of their breathing was labored now, heavy and uneven, filling the silence between them. Agatha’s heart pounded as Rio’s hand wrapped around her wrist. It was gentle, yet commanding and she brought it to the waistband of her own shorts.

Before Agatha could process, Rio guided her hand beneath the fabric, pressing her palm firmly against her. Both women moaned loudly, the sound raw and unrestrained, as Agatha’s hand cupped Rio completely. Their eyes never wavered, locked together in a battle of control and surrender.

On instinct, Agatha’s fingers slid between Rio’s folds, her movements unthinking, guided by the slickness she found there. Another moan ripped from both of them, Rio trembling under the sensation. Her head fell forward, her forehead pressing against Agatha’s as her breaths came in short, shallow gasps.

Rio’s mouth hovered close, her lips parted as though she was seconds away from giving in, from tasting what she’d craved for centuries. But then, with a sharp inhale, she squeezed her eyes shut and tore Agatha’s hand away. The loss was sudden, jarring, and left Agatha gasping for air.

Without a word, Rio turned and fled the room, leaving Agatha standing there, panting, her body trembling with the aftermath of what had just happened. Agatha looked down at her hand, her fingers glistening with Rio’s wetness. Her pulse thundered as she brought her hand to her mouth, her tongue dragging slowly over her fingers.

The taste of Rio hit her like a lightning strike, a flavor she hadn’t known in centuries. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips as she licked every trace clean, savoring the memory of Rio, her mind already spinning with the promise of what was to come.

-

Agatha hadn’t followed Rio immediately. Instead, she lingered in the house, restless and unable to calm the storm of emotions left in the wake of this morning’s events. Her usual spot in the backyard, where she’d drink her coffee, felt out of reach. Instead, she settled in the living room, nursing her coffee while her eyes wandered aimlessly.

Her gaze landed on the entertainment center beneath the television. Something about it piqued her interest, and she set her mug down, walking over to inspect it. Pulling open one of the drawers, she found an assortment of board games neatly stacked. Nestled among them was a chess set.

Before she could dwell on it, the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs caught her attention. She turned and found Sage on the bottom step with a book in hand, watching her. Agatha raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her hand reaching for the chess set as she turned back to the drawer.

Grabbing the box, she straightened and moved toward the backyard. As she passed Sage on the stairs, Agatha jerked her head toward the back door, a silent signal for Sage to follow. Sage hesitated for a moment, then wordlessly fell in step behind her.

Instead of heading to the patio swing she usually favored, Agatha made her way to the patio table, setting the chess set down with a soft thud. She slid into one of the chairs and made quick work of opening the box, sorting the pieces with practiced ease.

Sage had already taken the seat across from her, watching silently. “You ever played?” Agatha asked, her eyes flicking briefly to Sage waiting for a response.

Sage shook her head, her movements uncharacteristically subdued.

“Okay,” Agatha murmured, still focused on the board. “Never too late to learn.”

Once the board was set, the first game began. Agatha walked Sage through every move, explaining each piece’s role, the rules of the game, and the strategies that came with it. Her tone was even, patient, and almost soothing as she guided Sage through the process.

Sage, normally brimming with confidence and sharp remarks, was uncharacteristically quiet. Her eyes stayed fixed on the board, hanging on every word Agatha said as though it held some deeper meaning.

The air between them was calm but charged, a subtle understanding forming as the game unfolded. For the first time, they sat in companionable silence, the clinking of chess pieces and Agatha’s voice were the only sounds breaking the stillness of the backyard.

They had gone through three games in no time, Agatha winning each one with ease. She had tried to go easy on Sage (tried being the key word) but her competitive streak always overpowered her fleeting attempts at kindness. Still, Sage didn’t seem bothered by the losses. Unlike Agatha, Sage didn’t have a sore loser bone in her body. She must’ve inherited that trait from the original green witch.

By the fourth game, they were well into the match when Rio emerged from the garden. Dirt streaked her hands and clothes as she strolled up to the table, her eyes scanning the board with mild curiosity. Agatha, as expected, was in the lead. She crossed her arms over her chest and bit back a smug grin as she watched Sage puzzle over her next move.

Sage finally made a move, sliding her knight forward. Agatha wasted no time, her queen swiftly capturing the piece.

“Hah, rookie,” Agatha muttered under her breath, relishing the small victory.

“She’s letting you win,” Rio said casually.

Agatha’s head snapped up, her brow furrowing as she looked at Rio. “Yeah, right. She hardly knows how to play. And even if she did, no one can beat me at chess.”

The words had barely left her mouth when Sage moved her bishop.

“Checkmate.”

Agatha blinked, her head jerking back toward the board. She stared at it in disbelief. How had that even happened? Just two minutes ago, she had been dominating the game. Her eyes darted to Sage, who sat calmly across from her, not even pretending to look smug.

“How did you- ? You don’t even- ? You said you’ve never played!” Agatha sputtered, utterly caught off guard.

Sage leaned back in her chair, her expression maddeningly neutral. She didn’t say a word, which only made Agatha’s frustration worse.

Rio smirked, her voice dripping with amusement as she turned to head back toward the garden. “Yeah, she was fucking with you. I taught her how to play when she was seven. Haven’t beaten her since.”

Agatha’s jaw dropped, her eyes narrowing at Sage as she watched Rio disappear down the path. Without hesitation, she quickly began resetting the board.

“Again,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

They were halfway through the next game, and Agatha was winning. Sage’s book of poetry sat next to the board, untouched since they’d begun playing. Agatha picked it up, casually flipping through the pages, pretending not to care about the match. She wanted to give off the air of someone entirely confident in her impending victory.

Her flipping slowed when she noticed something odd… Several pages were thickly blacked out, as though it had been redacted. She paused, holding the book up.

“Why did you do this?”

Sage glanced up at the book, her brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, I didn’t. For whatever reason, my mo- uh, Rio hates Emily Dickinson. Took me forever to figure out that’s who it was. She’s like Voldemort in this house.”

Agatha froze, the name sending a shock of recognition through her. She might know why. Sage caught the shift immediately, her eyes narrowing.

“You know why she hates her?” Sage asked, curiosity sharp in her voice.

Agatha hesitated, “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Come on! I’ve been trying to figure it out for forever.”

Agatha sighed, grumbling under her breath, the answer spilling out before she could stop herself.

“ You slept with Emily Dickinson! ” Sage shouted, her voice carrying across the yard with such force that Agatha swore every bird in a ten mile radius took flight.

Agatha groaned, dropping her face into her hands, wishing for a moment of peace or perhaps a time machine.

From somewhere deep in the garden, Rio’s voice bellowed, “Don’t ever say that bitch’s name in my realm again! I mean it!”

Sage flinched slightly, shrinking her shoulders as she leaned closer to Agatha and whispered, “You slept with Emily Dickinson? That makes so much sense. Checkmate.”

Agatha’s head snapped up, her eyes darting to the board. “What?” she yelled, leaning over to double check.

Sure enough, Sage’s move had ended the game. Agatha sat back in disbelief, staring at the board and then at Sage, who now looked far too smug for someone who had been pretending not to know how to play.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Agatha muttered, still reeling from the double blow of humiliation. Sage simply grinned and her tongue pressed into her cheek as she leaned back in her chair, entirely victorious.

-

That night, Agatha found no pajamas folded neatly on the coffee table, as had been the previous unspoken routine. Instead, it was a silent invitation. One she accepted without hesitation. She went straight to Rio’s room.

Rio was sitting on the bed, freshly showered, dressed in clean pajamas, sketchbook and pencil in hand. She glanced up when Agatha entered, her gaze drifting briefly to the plaid pants and sweatshirt folded neatly at the edge of the bed.

Agatha wasted no time, walking over and picking up the pajamas, starting to change right there. She felt Rio’s eyes on her the entire time, lingering just a little longer when Agatha pulled her top off, exposing her breasts. Agatha didn’t comment, didn’t push. She wasn’t about to ruin this tentative step forward. As much as she wanted to strip Rio of her clothes and finish what they’d started that morning, she also craved something deeper: conversation.

Rio made no move, her attention flicking back to her sketchbook, though the tension in the room was palpable. Agatha finished changing, exhaling softly as she pulled the sweatshirt over her head and sat down on the other side of the bed.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged. Agatha watched Rio out of the corner of her eye, her hand moving fluidly across the page, her focus intent. She thought of Sage and decided to take a page from her playbook.

“If you could talk to any animal, what would it be?”

The words left her mouth before she fully thought them through. She glanced at Rio immediately, her stomach tightening. Rio’s eyes were still on her, her face unreadable. For half a second, panic flickered in Agatha’s chest. Hoping she didn’t ruin whatever was going on between them.

But Rio, being Rio, didn’t flinch. Her expression didn’t change, her tone calm as she asked, “Plants count as animals?”

Agatha nearly cracked a smile, “No.”

Rio gave a disapproving grunt, “Fine. Birds, then. I’d like to know what they’re always yapping about.”

“Gossiping, probably.”

“Even better,” Rio said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “What about you?”

“Snakes,” Agatha replied easily. “I want to know if Brucie really hates me or if Sage is just projecting.”

That earned a soft laugh from Rio, quiet and warm. “You don’t need to talk to snakes to figure that out. Brucie hates everyone. Except Sage.”

Agatha let out a soft huff, shaking her head.

Rio shifted slightly, settling deeper against the headboard, her voice lighter now,“Though if you really want to know, I could just ask her for you.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, “Oh, so you can talk to snakes now?”

Rio smirked. “No. But I don’t need to. Brucie’s not exactly subtle.”

It was an unremarkable conversation, but in its simplicity, Agatha felt a weight lift. Just for a moment, it was easy to sit there, to talk about nothing and forget about everything else.

Which made Agatha ask her next question.

“Has Sage always been that dramatic? You know, with the whole weather changing according to her mood?”

Rio’s smirk deepened, a flicker of genuine amusement lighting her expression. “Always,” she said. “Even as a kid. There was one time she read about Christmas in a book I had brought her and realized I’d never told her about it.”

“What happened?”

Rio let out a soft laugh, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “She was ten. She came storming into the garden, book in hand, absolutely furious. I tried to explain that it wasn’t really relevant here, but she wouldn’t hear it. The sky turned gray, thunder rolled in, and I swear it started snowing. She didn’t speak to me for three days.”

Agatha blinked, stifling a laugh, “That’s impressive.”

Rio nodded, “Oh, she didn’t stop there. She demanded a full Christmas celebration. She made me decorate the entire house. She even insisted on a turkey dinner. I spent hours in the kitchen trying not to burn the damn thing.”

“And did it work?”

Rio smiled faintly, “She forgave me after I let her put a star on top of the tree. She also never let me hear the end of it.”

Agatha shook her head, finally letting out a soft laugh, “She’s been running the show since day one.”

“Pretty much,” Rio said, her tone warm. “But hey, the snow was kind of nice. Even if it melted the second she stopped pouting.”

The image of a tiny, furious Sage creating a winter wonderland stuck in her mind. Agatha mumbles out, “She’s definitely got your flair for theatrics.”

“I think we both know exactly where she gets that from.”

Agatha smirked, but didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

It had been a week.

Nothing more had developed with Rio. She’d gone right back to not speaking to Agatha, and depending on the day, it either drove her to the brink of an explosion or left her quietly grateful for the reprieve. Silence could be suffocating, but it could also be safe, a shield from the emotional minefield they were both navigating.

But the way Rio was looking at her now? It was something else entirely. Agatha felt a flush creep up her neck, spreading warmth across her cheeks. Rio’s gaze was intense, focused, like she could stare at Agatha forever and never grow tired of it. It made her feel exposed, like Rio was peeling back layers she didn’t even know were there.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Agatha said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Rio raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Like what?”

Oh boy. No silent treatment today, which could only mean one thing: Agatha was about to get her shit rocked. And in her experience with Rio, that could happen in one of two ways: they were either about to fuck or fight. Agatha really, really hoped for the first option.

“Like you want to kiss me,” she said, trying to steer the moment in the direction she preferred. Her voice was steady, but her pulse was racing.

Rio’s gaze flicked to her lips, and Agatha swore she felt her heart skip a beat. “I always want to kiss you,” Rio said, her voice low, like a confession and a challenge wrapped into one.

Agatha’s breath hitched. Her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly closer as if drawn by an invisible force. “Then do it,” she whispered, her voice carrying a note of plea.

Rio didn’t move immediately. Instead, she raised the hand that wasn’t propping up her head and let it hover near Agatha’s face. Slowly, almost agonizingly, she cupped Agatha’s cheek, her thumb swiping gently over her skin in a touch so soft it sent shivers down her spine.

And then Rio smiled. “No,” she said quietly.

Before Agatha could even process the word, Rio was already pulling away, sitting up, and swinging her legs off the bed. It was only then that Agatha noticed Rio was fully dressed, ready to start her day.

Agatha lay there, dumbfounded, as Rio walked toward the door without another glance. When the door clicked shut behind her, Agatha let out a frustrated groan, pressing her hands over her face.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered to no one but herself. She didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry. Maybe all three. All she did know was that Rio had once again left her teetering on the edge of madness, and maybe that was the point.

Agatha got up and dressed, the familiar ache of rejection settling in her chest. She tried to shake it off, but she couldn’t ignore the sting. Rio hadn’t waited to watch her. It was a small thing, but it mattered. It was a routine they’d fallen into, one Agatha had pretended not to love. The quiet intimacy of Rio sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with that dark, hungry gaze as Agatha slipped on the clothes Rio had laid out for her. It was an unspoken ritual, a thread of connection she hadn’t realized she was clinging to until it was gone.

She made her way to the backyard, the cool morning air brushing against her skin as she stepped outside. Rio was sitting at the patio table, two cups of coffee steaming between them. She was in the chair facing the door, waiting, her brown eyes locked on Agatha the moment she appeared.

Agatha, crossed her arms over her chest as she approached, Rio didn’t say a word, just watched her with that infuriating calm, like she had all the time in the world.

“Kiss me.” The words left Agatha’s mouth as more of a demand than a request. Her voice carried a challenge, daring Rio to deny her again.

It was almost absurd how much effort Agatha had to put into something that used to come so easily. Not once, in all the time they’d known each other, had she needed to work for just a kiss. No matter how angry they were at each other, no matter what terrible things they had said to each other, Rio always came back. Always chased her. Always fell to her knees for Agatha Harkness.

Rio didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. She sat there, unphased as always, her coffee cup poised at her lips. The silence stretched unbearably between them, her unwavering gaze pinning Agatha in place like a weight she couldn’t shake.

Agatha felt the burn of tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, the kind of tears she’d sworn she wouldn’t shed. But the lump in her throat was too much to swallow down, the ache in her chest too sharp to ignore.

“Please,” Agatha said, her voice cracking as the word slipped out through gritted teeth. She hated how desperate she sounded, hated how much it hurt to say it, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms to ground herself, to keep from breaking further.

Rio set her coffee down slowly, her eyes never leaving Agatha. Rio’s composure wavered for just a moment before she straightened, her voice firm but not unkind. “No. Sit down.”

Agatha hesitated, her pride warring with her curiosity, but ultimately, she obeyed. She dropped into the chair across from Rio, her arms folded tightly across her chest, a clear signal that she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

“Where’s Sage?” Agatha asked, her tone sharp, deflecting from the emotional tension between them.

Rio took a slow sip of her coffee before answering. “Fucking around somewhere on the surface,” she said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “And here I thought I was supposed to be ‘tethered’ to her,” she said, the bitterness in her voice barely concealed.

“I took care of that,” Rio replied smoothly, her gaze steady. “I found the whole thing a tad too belittling, to be honest. What’s that saying? Don’t kick a girl while she’s down.”

Agatha blinked, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected admission. Rio had always been blunt, but there was something almost… considerate about the way she said it. It didn’t fit with the cold, distant version of Rio she’d been dealing with lately.

“So, what? You’re cutting me loose now?” Agatha asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Rio leaned back in her chair, her dark eyes watching Agatha carefully. “Not cutting you loose,” she said, her tone measured. “Just giving you the freedom you seem to crave so much.”

Agatha’s stomach twisted at the words, though she wasn’t sure if it was guilt or anger or maybe both. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”

“That’s up to you,” Rio said simply.

The words were calm, but they landed with the weight of a hammer. Agatha clenched her jaw, her arms tightening across her chest, as she fought the urge to lash out. Rio wasn’t making this easy, but then again, Agatha wasn’t sure she deserved easy anymore.

“You told me to leave you alo-“ Rio starts but Agatha cut her off.

“And nine months wasn’t long enough for you?” Agatha shot back, her voice cracking under the strain. “What, you kill my kid and then tell me you did me a favor by giving me time? You’re the one who killed Nicky. You’re the one who hid Sage. Why the hell am I the one being punished?”

“I didn’t kill our son,” Rio said as her elbow slams hard against the table finger pointed at Agatha. “He died, Agatha. And the sooner you get that through your thick fucking skull, the easier this conversation will be. You don’t get to rewrite history just so you can sleep better at night.”

Agatha didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Rio was right. She was always fucking right. It did help her sleep better at night. To put the blame on Rio, to carry that anger instead of the crushing truth. She was too much of a coward to face the fact that there was nothing either of them could have done. No magic, no plan, no desperate attempt could have saved him. And admitting that felt like admitting defeat, like surrendering to a pain she wasn’t strong enough to bear.

Rio took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as if physically restraining herself from losing her temper. Her voice, when she spoke again, was calm but heavy with the weight of centuries of pain.

“Nicky was born of life and death. Both of our children disrupted the sacred balance. Nicky was never meant to live. Sage, on the other hand, could exist, but only with restrictions. Those restrictions confined her to my realm, the middle ground between life and death, because you and I embody Life and Death itself.” She paused, her gaze firm. “Your death restored the balance, allowing Sage to fully live on the surface. Out of death, your death, came life, Sage’s life on the surface.”

Agatha stiffened, the words cutting deep, but Rio didn’t pause, didn’t flinch.

“Nicky was supposed to be stillborn,” Rio continued, her voice quieter now. “I did us both a favor and you were the only one who reaped its benefits. I gave you everything I had, and you gave me nothing.”

Agatha’s fists clenched at her sides, anger rising to meet the sting of guilt threatening to drown her. “I think 200 years with a daughter is more than enough time to make up for that,” she snapped, her voice brittle, defensive.

Rio’s gaze narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think time makes up for loss?” Rio asked.

Deep down she knew Rio wasn’t looking for a response. She was laying the truth bare between them, forcing Agatha to confront the ugly, painful reality she had spent so long running from. And no matter how much it hurt, Rio wasn’t going to let her hide from it any longer.

“And how do I know that any of this is true?” Agatha shot back, her voice rising. “How do I know that Sage is actually mine and not the kid of some whore you’ve fucked or some figment of your imagination you made up to make yourself feel better?”

Rio froze, her expression hardening into something cold. For a long moment, she said nothing, her brown eyes fixed on Agatha with an intensity that made the air between them feel suffocating.

“Because, unlike you, our vows actually meant something to me,” Rio said, her voice unwavering, though the pain was evident in her eyes. “They weren’t just words. They were a promise. One I kept, even when you didn’t.”

Agatha felt the bile rising in her throat, her stomach twisting painfully. She wanted to vomit, to expel the weight of Rio’s words and the guilt they dragged to the surface. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit here, listening, enduring, as Rio stripped her down to the raw, ugly truth.

Rio leaned forward, her gaze steady. “But if you think for one second that I’d spend centuries mourning a child we lost together, only to conjure another out of thin air to manipulate you? Then you never knew me at all.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, her throat tightening as the weight of Rio’s words sank in. She opened her mouth to respond, but Rio didn’t give her the chance.

“And for the record,” Rio added, “I’ve loved you through every betrayal, every abandonment, every cruel word you’ve thrown my way. But I won’t let you twist this into something ugly just because you can’t stomach the truth.”

“For three centuries,” Rio continued, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak, “you have broken me over and over again. And I let you. I chased you, because I thought if I just ran fast enough, if I gave enough of myself…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away briefly, to gather her composure.

“I stood by you when the world turned its back on you,” Rio said, her tone quieter now, though no less raw. “I fought for you when you couldn’t even fight for yourself. And every single time you tore me apart, I told myself it was okay, because deep down I thought you loved me back. That you wanted me back as much as I wanted you.”

Rio swallowed hard, her gaze dropping for a moment before she looked back at Agatha, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But I…” Her voice cracked, and she paused, taking a shaky breath. “But I think I was wrong.”

The words landed heavy between them, the quiet honesty of them cutting deeper than any shout or accusation could have.

“You were born of chaos, Agatha Harkness,” Rio said, her voice steady but filled with frustration. “And you can’t live without it. You act like a fucking fool without it.”

“That’s not true…. I can be good,” Agatha choked out through her tears, her voice trembling and broken.

“I don’t want you to be good,” Rio replied, her tone steady but filled with an ache that matched Agatha’s. “I want you to stop searching for chaos to define you. I want you to choose me.”

“I’m still so mad at you,” Agatha chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. She was so torn, caught between love and anger, between grief and longing.

“I know,” Rio said softly, her tone calm. “But you can’t expect me to hold your hand while you figure it out. I’m tired.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her on the road?” Agatha demanded, wiping a hand aggressively down her tear streaked cheeks, desperate to dry the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“Would you have believed me? Was I supposed to mention it,” Rio began, her voice tight with restrained frustration, “in between you thinking that abomination was your son and accusing me of coming to steal him away? Or maybe when your mother told you she should’ve killed you the moment you left her body? Tell me, Agatha, when exactly would it have been the right time?”

Rio exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I tried. All I’ve done for 200 years is try. But you made it impossible. You always make it impossible.”

That part was true. The road had been brutal, unforgiving in every way. Even if Rio had told her outright that she had a daughter, Agatha wouldn’t have believed her. She would have dismissed it as a lie, a cruel trick to manipulate her when she was already on the edge of breaking.

Nothing Rio could have said or done would’ve made Agatha choose her. Not then. Not when chaos consumed her, and grief clouded her every thought.

Even now, sitting across from Rio, Agatha had questioned the validity of Sage being hers, despite the undeniable resemblance. Sage had Agatha’s piercing intellect, the way her mind worked three steps ahead of everyone else. She had her persistence, her ability to focus so completely on a goal that nothing could distract her. Even her moments of quiet, those reflective pauses where she seemed to calculate every move, were unmistakably Agatha. But even that hadn’t been enough to silence the doubts Agatha clung to, doubts that felt safer than accepting the truth staring her in the face.

By this point, Agatha was all cried out. She sat there, drained, her body heavy with exhaustion. She swore she had never cried more in her entire life than she had in these last two weeks.

She had always kept the gates closed, knowing what would happen if she let them open even a crack. It wasn’t just sadness that would spill out, it was everything. The anger, the guilt, the longing, the grief she had buried so deep it had become a part of her. Once it started, it wouldn’t stop, and she had spent centuries convincing herself she couldn’t afford that kind of vulnerability.

But now? The gates were broken, and she didn’t know how to put them back together. All she could do was sit there and endure, her heart raw and exposed, hoping she had the strength to face whatever came next.

Agatha sat up a little straighter, summoning the strength she had left. The question burned in her throat, but she forced it out.

“And Nicky. Is he…” Her voice faltered. She cleared her throat, trying to muster the courage to finish, but the words wouldn’t come.

Rio, being Rio, gave her the grace of not having to say it. “He’s at peace,” she said softly.

Agatha’s breath hitched, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “How do you know?” The desperation in her tone was impossible to hide. She knew Rio had no ties to the afterlife, no direct connection to the place where Nicky might be. And yet, she had still chosen to keep him away from his mother.

Rio hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table as if weighing how much to reveal. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter now. “Sage… she has ties to the afterlife. Being born of life and death, it’s a part of her nature. She goes there when she sleeps.”

Agatha stared at her, her chest tightening as Rio continued.

“She sees him every night.”

And honestly, that was maybe one of the worst answers Agatha could have received. Now she had to face the truth she had been avoiding. Not only had she kept Nicky from Rio, but even Sage had gotten to know him in a way Rio never could.

Rio had nothing. No memories to hold onto, no moments to cherish, no chance to love their son as a mother should. Agatha had made sure of that. Worse still, she had made Rio watch from a distance as she raised him. Agatha had drawn the line, keeping Rio on the other side, forced to witness fleeting glimpses of a life she would never be a part of.

Now, as the weight of it all came crashing down on her, Agatha couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. She hadn’t just taken Nicky from Rio.

She had taken everything, and there was no way to undo it.

Maybe I am evil.

Even with all this darkness consuming her, even with the weight of guilt and regret pressing down on her, there was a small light at the end of the tunnel. A small flicker of peace that threatened to claw its way through the storm inside her.

Nicky wasn’t alone. He was at peace. He had his sister.

But of course, Agatha fought it, as feelings of jealousy rose to smother that fragile calm. Sage had gotten time with Nicky. Time that Agatha had never allowed herself to have. Time she had been too much of a coward to claim because she couldn’t face him after everything she’d done.

And now, this girl she hardly knew, this daughter she hadn’t raised, had spent two centuries with him. Two centuries that Agatha had robbed from herself. The thought burned, twisting her heart in ways she hadn’t been prepared for. It wasn’t fair, and yet, she knew she had no one to blame but herself.

Agatha went to open her mouth, but Rio stopped her, raising a hand as if she could physically halt whatever venom Agatha was about to unleash.

With another pointed finger and a voice edged with warning, Rio said, “Don’t. Don’t fucking say anything about her. You can be a dick to me all you want, but leave my daughter out of this.”

Oh.

So that’s what it felt like. To have the title of mother stripped away as though it meant nothing. Words Agatha herself had thrown at Rio countless times, used to rip another piece of her away, to tarnish her, to remind her of what she wasn’t allowed to have.

And now, the shoe was on the other foot, and it hurt more than Agatha had ever imagined it could. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her silent, her retort dying on her tongue.

Agatha sat frozen as Rio stood and said, “We need a break from this.”

Her tone was calm but carried the finality of someone who couldn’t take any more. Agatha nodded stiffly, her eyes glued to the forgotten coffees on the table. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Rio, not with the weight of everything they had just said pressing down on her like a physical force.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Rio made her way to the garden, her steps tired and heavy. Agatha stayed where she was, unable to move, her mind spinning. After a few moments, she glanced out the window and saw Rio throwing herself into the plants, her hands working quickly, methodically. It didn’t surprise her. The garden had always been Rio’s safe place, her way of finding order when everything else was chaos.

Agatha sat for a moment longer, then dragged herself to her feet, her body feeling as weighed down as her mind. She wandered toward the willow tree across the garden, not entirely sure why.

The memorial beneath the tree caught her attention immediately. The etched words were faded but unmistakably cared for. A fresh bouquet of white lilies rested on top, their brightness contrasting sharply with the dark soil around them. Agatha knew this was Rio’s doing. Everything about the space, from the carefully tended grass to the absence of even a stray leaf, spoke of Rio’s quiet devotion.

Agatha lowered herself to the ground, her legs folding beneath her. Eventually, she lay back, staring up through the branches of the tree as they swayed gently in the breeze. The earth beneath her felt solid, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. For the first time in weeks, the chaos inside her mind seemed to quiet.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, letting the stillness settle over her. When the sun began to dip below the horizon, she finally stood and made her way back inside, exhaustion pulling her toward the couch. She collapsed onto it, her thoughts still too tangled to make sense of.

The sound of the shower running broke her trance, but she didn’t move. Not until she heard the soft creak of Rio’s door opening and the familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Agatha looked up and saw Rio standing in the entrance to the living room, her eyes filled with a quiet sadness, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“Come to bed, Agatha,” she said softly before disappearing down the hall.

For a moment, Agatha stayed frozen, her mind spinning with too many thoughts and none at all. But she didn’t resist. She stood and followed, her legs moving almost on their own. She didn’t have the strength to argue, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

She followed Rio into the bathroom and she gestured for Agatha to step forward.

Without a word, she reached for Agatha’s shirt, tugging gently for her to lift her arms. Agatha hesitated, the vulnerability of the moment almost too much, but (of course) she obeyed. Rio stripped her clothes away piece by piece, her movements quiet and deliberate.

When Rio guided her into the shower, Agatha assumed she would walk away. Instead, Rio stepped in after her, fully clothed, her expression focused. She avoided Agatha’s eyes, they did not linger on her body. Keeping her focus on the task at hand as Rio reaches for the shampoo.

Rio’s hands were steady as she lathered the soap into Agatha’s hair, her fingers working through the tangles with practiced care. The water cascaded over both of them, soaking Rio’s clothes as she worked, but she didn’t seem to care.

Agatha closed her eyes, her breathing unsteady. Rio’s touch wasn’t hurried or cold; it was tender in a way that felt overwhelming. It wasn’t about intimacy or passion.

It was about care.

Once the water was off, Rio stepped out first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around Agatha’s shoulders. She dried her off, careful and methodical, before helping her into clean pajamas. As Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, Rio changed in to dry clothes and retrieved a hairbrush. She gently began working through Agatha’s damp hair.

Rio didn’t speak, but her hands moved with the same care Agatha was beginning to associate with her. The rhythmic strokes of the brush felt oddly comforting, soothing in a way Agatha hadn’t expected. She didn’t protest, letting herself sink into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When they finally lay down, Rio turned on the TV. The Real Housewives of New York City filled the room.

“Milfs who get drunk and scream at each other,” Rio said casually, her voice a little lighter. “Trash reality TV always makes everything better.”

Agatha couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her. For a brief moment, the corner of her mouth twitched upward. She didn’t say anything, though, as her attention shifted to the screen.

It wasn’t Agatha’s kind of distraction, but it worked. The noise in her mind quieted. She didn’t admit it out loud, but the show, and Rio beside her, made her feel a little better.

And Rio, lying next to her, didn’t mention it either. They didn’t need to.

—

If Agatha woke before the sun. The dim light of the early morning barely touched the room, and for a moment, she simply lay there, her gaze drifting over the familiar shadows. She turned her head slightly, only to see Rio stirring, slipping out of bed.

If Rio moved quietly, her steps soft as she disappeared into the bathroom. Agatha stayed still, her heart oddly steady in her chest as she listened to the faint sound of water running. When Rio returned, her movements were fluid as always, but when their eyes met, Rio faltered.

It was clear she hadn’t expected Agatha to be awake. The surprise in her expression was brief, replaced quickly by a neutral calm, but it was enough to tell Agatha she wasn’t the only one feeling uncertain.

And if Rio left the bedroom without a word, her steps purposeful but not hurried. Agatha hesitated for only a moment before following, not bothering to change out of her sleep clothes. The cool morning air hit her skin as she stepped outside, finding Rio standing across the garden beneath the willow tree, her back to Agatha. 

If Rio turned slowly, her eyes meeting Agatha’s with a silent question, prodding gently, Are you sure?

Agatha gave a single nod, her voice only a whisper, “Show me.”

If Rio held her gaze for a long moment before nodding in return. She turned, gesturing for Agatha to follow as she led the way to the stone memorial beneath the willow. Her movements were precise, her presence calm and steady as she began to show Agatha the care it required.

If Rio’s words were soft, barely above a whisper, guiding Agatha through the motions. Rio showed her how to clear the grass, how to brush the dirt away without disturbing the stone, and how to make the space feel whole again. There was no rush, only a quiet, deliberate rhythm to her actions, as if each movement carried weight and purpose.

If Rio led Agatha to the patch of white lilies growing in the garden, she knelt, carefully selecting six blooms to trim. She placed them in Agatha’s hands without a word, her gaze lingering for a moment before she stood again.

If they made their way back to the memorial, and for the first time, Agatha found herself kneeling beside Rio in front of the stone.

If Rio handed her a small braid of twine: one purple, one green, and one black seamlessly woven together. Her words remained soft as she guided Agatha through the process of tying it around the bouquet. The instructions were gentle, her tone steady in a way that made the moment feel sacred.

If when the bouquet was ready, Agatha’s fingers trembled as she reached forward, placing it in the same spot she’d seen it before. The gesture felt heavier than she’d expected, the silence around them wrapping her in its quiet embrace.

If any of that had happened, it was no one’s business but Agatha’s own.

Chapter Text

Another week had passed in Rio’s realm. Sage still hadn’t returned from the surface, which left Agatha feeling torn. Some days she relished the quiet, grateful for the lack of interruptions. Other days, the stillness gnawed at her nerves, and she’d catch herself fidgeting, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her patience wore thin as she poked and prodded Rio for answers.

But Rio, unbothered as always, never had an answer. Never worried. Never seemed to wonder what their girl (practically flung out into the world like a newborn, wobbling and naive, with no one there to catch her if she falls) had been doing all this time.

Rio only ever offered a shrug, her hands perpetually occupied, “She’ll be fine.”

Leaving Agatha in utter disbelief, every time.

Their days together fluctuated wildly. Some mornings were peppered with lazy conversations that came easy, as though the years of tension between them had dissolved. Other times, Rio seemed to make it her personal mission to see how far she could push Agatha before her temper flared.

It was always over the most trivial things, never serious, but maddening all the same. If Rio had lived another life as an author, her best-selling work would undoubtedly be titled:  Poking the Bear: A Beginner’s Manual.

One example: The Tea Incident.

Agatha leaned against the counter, her sharp eyes tracking Rio’s every move like a hawk about to swoop. Her thumbnail hovered near her mouth, a nervous habit she hadn’t quite shaken, as she watched Rio fumble around the stove.

“You’re steeping it too long,” Agatha said, breaking the silence, “You’ll burn the leaves.”

Rio’s hand froze mid-stir, and her head snapped up. “I didn’t realize you were a tea expert,” she said, deadpan, though the slight lift of her brow betrayed her amusement.

Lie.

That was a lie, and they both knew it. This was an argument older than either of them cared to admit.  Rio had always been shit at making tea, and Agatha, the perfectionist that she is, had long since mastered it.

“And I didn’t realize you enjoyed drinking dirt water,” Agatha shot back without missing a beat.

With an exaggerated clatter, Rio dropped the spoon into the pot and spun to face her. She threw her hands up dramatically, her voice dripping with mock sincerity.

“Oh, forgive me, Your Highness,” Rio said, pressing a hand to her chest like she was delivering a heartfelt apology. “Queen of All Things Proper. Care to bless me with your divine technique?” She gestured grandly to the pot, stepping aside like a performer leaving the stage.

Agatha didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, shoving Rio aside with zero ceremony. “It’s not my fault you lack basic skills.”

Rio, unbothered, leaned back against the counter, her grin beginning to break through.  It was only a matter of time before her stupid tongue pressed into her stupid cheek. “It’s tea, Agatha, not brain surgery.”

“Watching you make tea is like losing brain cells in real time,” Agatha fired back, expertly taking over the task with practiced ease.

Rio tilted her head. And there it is. That smug expression settling in place as she pressed her tongue into her cheek. “You’re awfully bold for someone standing this close to a pot of hot water.”

“Threatening me won’t change the fact that you’re incompetent,” Agatha said primly, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

They never knew what each new day would bring during Sage’s absence. It was always different, unpredictable, yet somehow they both found themselves silently looking forward to whatever the next day would hold.

Though two things remained the same each day.

Every morning, just before dawn, Rio would nudge Agatha awake. They’d wordlessly rise and tend to Nicky’s memorial. Rio’s soft instructions from their first time doing this together no longer needed repeating; Agatha had memorized every detail. Some mornings they worked side by side, the quiet broken only by the sounds of their task. Other mornings, Rio would leave her to it, giving Agatha space to breathe in the absence of chaos. And then, routinely, they’d move on, as if those moments had never happened.

Every night ended the same way, too. Agatha no longer slept on the couch. Instead, she found herself in bed with Rio.

Always in silence, always at a distance.

Rio’s intentions were clear: to keep her close but never too close. Whatever intimacy had sparked between them before seemed to have been extinguished the day Rio had refused her a kiss. No lingering touches. No hungry eyes. Just silence.

Some nights, Agatha accepted it without complaint, understanding the unspoken boundaries Rio was trying to hold. Other nights, it tore at her, the distance so tangible it made her skin prickle. She’d fight the urge to demand something, anything, from Rio. A kiss, a touch, even the brush of a pinky against hers. But Rio gave her nothing, and Agatha was left in the dark, trying to be okay with it.

Agatha couldn’t dwell on it, refused to. It would ruin her.

One morning, Rio let Agatha help with her massive, sprawling garden. Agatha wasn’t exactly skilled, but Rio, an endless source of knowledge on botany, showed her the ropes. Agatha wasn’t the most attentive student, her patience often frayed by Rio’s unrelenting corrections, but there was something about the rhythm of planting and pruning that she didn’t mind.

Another day, Agatha stumbled upon the study, hidden behind two large sliding doors. Sunlight streamed through oversized windows, illuminating walls covered in ceiling to floor bookshelves, each shelf packed to capacity. The desk in the center was covered in a chaotic sprawl of books and papers. It didn’t take long for Agatha to realize this room was frequented by both Rio and Sage.

Though, judging by the state of disarray, it was mainly used by Sage. The organized chaos bore a striking resemblance to the state of Sage’s bedroom.

While surveying the room, Agatha’s attention was caught by a large glass enclosure. Empty. When she noticed it, Rio casually explained that Petunia, her tarantula, often roamed the garden freely.

Each day felt different, unfamiliar, but somehow grounding in its own strange way.

One particular day, after a morning coffee made by Rio, not tea.

Thank god.

Agatha found herself in Rio’s bedroom with an overwhelming urge to snoop. And snoop she did.

Most of it was uninteresting, little glimpses of Rio’s life that didn’t reveal much. But then her eyes landed on the bedside table. Her heart skipped.

Every so often, Agatha would catch Rio sketching in that damn notebook, the one she always kept close. Agatha would never willingly admit to being nosy, but here she was, ripping the drawer open. Her fingers reached for the sketchbook, but something else caught her eye. Tucked into a corner, nearly hidden, were two rings on a string.

One was carved from bone, its surface smooth and worn, the inside etched in delicate cursive: In You, I Begin.

The other was dark wood, faintly polished, its inscription reading: In Death, I Remain.

Agatha froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Rio hadn’t wanted rings. That had been entirely Agatha’s idea. They meant something to Agatha at one point. They were symbols of a love that could withstand the weight of time. And Rio, who would have moved mountains for her, had made them anyway.

She could remember Rio’s hands, rough and careful, spending weeks crafting them. Dozens of prototypes discarded until Rio finally got it right. The words, too, were plucked from their spoken commitment, vows Agatha barely remembers now.

And yet, Rio had kept them.

The wood ring had been Agatha’s. She had worn it the first day of Nicky’s life, a small, private gesture to keep them all close. She thought it might bring Rio comfort, as if wearing it was a gift. But by the next day, she’d gotten rid of it. She didn’t even remember how or where, only that she couldn’t endure it. It was too much. Too heavy. Too painful.

Now, here they were, resting quietly in the corner of a drawer.

Agatha picked them up, cradling them in her hand. She expected the touch to burn, to hurt, and it did. But not in the way she thought it would. There was no hatred there, only regret. A soft ache that settled into her chest like an old bruise. It hurt, but it wasn’t suffocating.

She held the rings a moment longer before tucking them back into the drawer, her fingers lingering over the smooth surface of the bone. And then, quietly, she closed it.

Agatha left Rio’s bedroom, her mind still a little hazy, and wandered toward the study. She swept her gaze across the towering bookshelves, overwhelmed by the sheer number of books lining the walls. The abundance of knowledge, so carefully collected, made her head spin. On a whim, she plucked a book at random from the shelf, not even glancing at the title, and headed straight to the backyard.

She planted herself in her usual seat at the table, the one where she often sat to watch Rio from a distance. But today, watching from afar was not enough.

With a resolute sigh, Agatha dragged the chair loudly and ungracefully across the cobblestone path all the way to the pond where Rio was working. She did not bother muting her irritation, grumbling under her breath about the length of the walk and cursing the effort it took to move the chair. By the time she reached the pond, she was out of breath and muttering a stream of inappropriate language.

With dramatic flair, Agatha plopped the chair down with a heavy thump, the sound scraping against the stones as she planted herself directly across from where Rio knelt. The green witch was carefully cleaning natural debris from the water’s surface.

Rio paused mid motion, looking up to stare at Agatha, confusion etched into her face.

Agatha knew she was invading Rio’s space, more than just her physical space. This was Rio’s sacred space, the one place where Agatha had always tread carefully.

Until now, her presence here had always been on Rio’s terms. Even the day they had spent together in the garden, when Rio was teaching her the careful art of maintaining its beauty, had been under Rio’s guidance. Even when Rio led her into the garden the morning she had shown Agatha how to care for the white lilies, the approval unspoken but clear. Agatha had only entered this space when invited, stopping at the edge until Rio’s silent nod welcomed her in. The willow tree was the only neutral ground, a place that required no permission.

But this was different. This was deliberate. Agatha has chosen to sit here, in Rio’s sacred space, with no invitation and no permission. Wanting nothing more than Rio’s presence and the view of Rio’s face unobstructed by distance.

She crossed her legs, flipping the book open for show, and pointedly gestured toward Rio and the garden with a lazy spin of her finger.

“You know you are the green witch, right?” she said, her voice lightly teasing. “You could poof some magic and skip the manual labor. Work smarter, not harder, no?”

Rio didn’t respond, and she didn’t need to. Agatha already knew the answer. This space wasn’t about convenience or efficiency; it was a part of Rio, a living testament to centuries spent proving something to herself. Or maybe, proving someone else (definitely Agatha) wrong. Every inch of this garden was Rio’s quiet rebellion, her way of showing that Death could do more than take. She could create life, nurture it, and make it beautiful. The garden stood as the perfect complement to the ultimate proof: the daughter she has raised so successfully.

Rio pulled her eyes away from Agatha and returned to cleaning the pond, though she failed miserably at hiding the genuine smile tugging at her lips. A quiet huff of laughter escaped her as she shook her head slightly, as if trying to make sense of the situation. The smile lingered, growing wider now, revealing the small gap between her teeth as she continued her work.

And in an effort to ignore the soaring of her heart at the sight of that damn little gap toothed smile, Agatha buried her nose in the book. She managed to read the first five sentences at least ten times before the words began to stick, too distracted by the annoyingly beautiful presence in front of her.

The book was a literary nonfiction about the sea, filled with poetic reflections on tides, marine life, and the mysteries of the deep.

Agatha let out an obnoxiously loud groan. The book was “Boring!” she announced to no one, throwing her head back dramatically. Still, despite her proclamation, she turned back to the book.

Its pages were peppered with annotations, the handwriting most likely Sage’s. Unlike Rio’s more flowing script, Sage’s handwriting was precise, slanting heavily to the right like that of a lefty. The annotations struck a balance, blending notes of curiosity and fascination as though Sage had been reading the book for both pleasure and study. Agatha continued reading pretending to ignore every single note and annotation Sage carefully crafted.

The next day, they were in a different part of the garden. Agatha had dragged her chair all the way to the vegetable patch with Sage’s old book in hand. She planted herself just outside the rows of veggies. Petunia, Rio’s familiar, rested lazily on Agatha’s shoe. Rio’s tarantula had been around longer than Agatha could remember, and, not to brag, but the little thing had always favored her. Agatha chalked it up as just another reason to tease Rio.

Agatha wears navy high waisted, wide legged dress pants paired with a crisp white collared blouse. She had no idea why she even bothered dressing nicely out here, but sue her for wanting to look good… Even if she knew damn well she hadn’t picked these clothes out herself.

Rio looked beautiful that day (per usual, Agatha fights back a scoff threatening to escape at the mushy thought). Her hair was partially pulled back at the top, secured in a half up, half down style, with loose strands and curtain bangs framing her face delicately.

It was shorter than Agatha had ever seen it, just grazing above her shoulders. She looked so different from the time Agatha had known her on the surface. Agatha had noticed the change immediately the first time she caught a glimpse of Rio. That first day at the bottom of the stairs, where Rio, out of Death’s uniform, had refused to let Agatha see her. The color of her hair was lighter here, and her entire appearance seemed eerily human. Her energy, once daunting and otherworldly, now breathed life.

A few days after Sage had left, Agatha finally brought it up, her curiosity gnawing at her.

“Why do you look different here? Yo-” Agatha stumbled, suddenly hesitant to overstep, but the question persisted, tumbling out in pieces. “Your hair… it’s shorter. And lighter. For fuck’s sake, you even have… what? Curtain bangs?” She huffed a laugh at the absurdity of the thought, the stark difference in Rio’s appearance catching her off guard again as she spoke.

Rio, sitting back against the headrest with the remote in hand, had paused her movement, her fingers halting as she was pulling up the reality show they’d been watching together. She dragged her eyes away from the TV, landing them on Agatha. Her face remained neutral, the question seemingly not fazing her.

She said nothing, only shrugged and returned her attention to the TV, her expression unchanged as she resumed scrolling.

Agatha didn’t press for an answer. She was fine with the silence. After all, she was a smart woman. She’d already somewhat pieced together the answer herself. Maybe she just wanted Rio to say it. Or maybe, deep down, she wanted Rio to know that she had noticed. That she was watching and lingering, just as Rio always had been.

Still, the question lingered in her mind. Was this change in Rio’s appearance a personal choice, an intentional step toward appearing more human, despite her existence as a cosmic entity? Or was it this place itself. Once a vast, endless green void now brimming with life that had subtly transformed Rio? Perhaps it wasn’t a choice at all, but a natural consequence of this world overflowing with so much vitality that even Death herself couldn’t help but appear more human, a little less cosmic, than she had since the beginning of time.

Agatha pulls her thoughts away from the memory and turns back to her book.

Everything seemed normal, dangerously close to peaceful, until Agatha caught a shift in Rio’s posture. She froze in place, hands pausing in the process of picking vegetables. Slowly, Rio leaned back, resting back on to her calves, as her hands lie gently on top of her thighs. Her shoulders slumped, the usual calm on her face melting into something heavier, something fragile. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the ground, her expression weighted with quiet heartbreak.

Agatha jerked upright, planting her feet firmly on the ground. Her grip on the arms of her chair turned iron clad, knuckles white with tension. The sudden movement sent Petunia scurrying away, but Agatha didn’t notice.

“What?” Her voice cut sharply through the air, loud and demanding.

Rio’s gaze rose slowly to meet hers. Her brown eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto Agatha’s.

“I have to go.”

The words hit harder than Agatha was expecting. She knew what Rio meant. She was being called in to work, and somehow, Agatha had let herself forget that this was still part of Rio’s life. Anger flared hot and unrelenting in her chest. How could she have been so stupid?

Rio stood, stepping carefully over the line of vegetables and moving closer to her. Agatha mirrored her, rising from the chair.

“No.”

“Agatha.” Rio’s voice was soft, her tone carrying the faintest hint of a warning.

Agatha’s fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Her face twisted as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The questions came unbidden, clawing at her mind , ready to break free at any moment. What was so significant that Rio needed to step in? Or worse, what was so terrible that Rio had chosen to handle it herself?

“What happened?” Agatha blurted out, her voice a rush of desperation. Her eyes searched Rio’s face for answers, for any sign that this was something minor. It was never minor. But Rio’s expression didn’t falter. There was only sorrow.

Still, the name slipped from Agatha’s lips, unbidden and trembling. “Sage? Is she… she’s okay?”

The words carried no accusation, no bitterness. Only a raw, pleading need for reassurance. Agatha hoped Rio could see how hard she was trying, how much she was holding herself back. She wanted to scream, to grab Rio by the collar of her shirt and demand, ‘ Don’t you dare do this to me again.’

I don’t even know her yet, the thought screaming at Agatha.

But Rio didn’t flinch. Her eyes softened, holding a quiet understanding that caught Agatha off guard.

“She’s fine.” Rio’s voice did not waver and  it was infuriatingly neutral. It’s the tone she always used when she was beginning to slip into her role as Death, and Agatha hated it. She gritted her teeth, swallowing back the urge to grab her and beg her not to change.

Not yet.

“You don’t know that,” Agatha said, her voice biting, though the anger faded at the edges.

“Believe me. I do.” Rio’s reply was quiet but firm, her eyes locked onto Agatha’s as if anchoring herself there. The weight in her gaze felt like the only thing keeping Rio grounded, drowning in the endless sea of Agatha’s blue eyes.

“Promise me,” Agatha whispered, the words barely audible but heavy with demand.

Rio’s shoulders sank, and her gaze faltered.“I…” Her voice cracked, quiet and fragile, before growing steadier. “I would feel it. I know I would.” She pressed a hand to her chest, absentmindedly rubbing at the spot with a heavy palm, seeming to try and reassure herself. Remind herself. “But I can’t promise that.”

Agatha didn’t scream, didn’t shout, didn’t push for a promise Rio couldn’t make. She had learned that lesson the hard way. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her pants and grasped her brooch, squeezing it tightly in her hand. Agatha inhaled deeply, letting the shaky breath out through her nose.

She nodded once.

Taking a slight angled step back, so she could let Rio go. But Rio didn’t move. She stood there, lingering still so close to Agatha. Her brown eyes softened, and for a moment, it looked like she wanted to kiss her before she went.

Agatha would have let her. She wanted her to.

They both wanted it. To pour everything into the other’s mouth, to taste every last inch of each other before Rio left. Before Rio might once again stoke the fire Agatha had torn herself apart to calm. The fire that had raged within her for centuries, consuming everything in its path. For the first time in so long, it had finally quelled some. But now it felt like they were only seconds, moments, or days away from reigniting it completely. Flames that, once caught, would burn out of control and never be extinguished.

But Rio didn’t kiss Agatha. The absence of it might have shattered her, if not for the piercing gaze of Rio’s brown eyes. They held something unspoken, a quiet assurance that she wasn’t leaving forever,  that she would not return bearing the weight of their daughter’s soul guided to the afterlife. They had time. For now, they all still had time.

But it could not be a promise.

Agatha unwillingly tore her eyes away from Rio’s and stepped aside, out of the green witch’s path entirely. Her gaze dropped to the cobblestone below, unable to watch her go just yet. All she caught was the passing sight of Rio’s dirt-covered white shoes as they moved steadily down the garden’s path.

Once out of her direct line of sight, Agatha’s head turned to the right, her eyes trailing Rio as she walked away. With every step, Rio stood taller, her strides growing more confident, more deliberate. Agatha felt her stomach twist as she watched the transformation. Gone was her Rio, the one in the familiar navy crewneck and gray shorts, with dirt smudged across her legs and hands, her hair that natural, earthy brown Agatha never got to see on the surface.

In her place was Death. The long, two toned black cloak flowed behind her, trailing like shadows in her wake. It hung softly off her shoulders, revealing that sinfully beautiful top that exposed more and more skin the longer Agatha looked. Her hair was now pitch black and Death’s crown rested atop her head. Death pulled the hood over herself with practiced ease.

The only parts of Death still visible were the tips of her three fingers, sharp with clip-on metal nails. Her right hand gripped her dagger tightly. In her left hand, she loosely held a single lily between her fingers, its stark white petals trembling slightly in the breeze.

A green portal suddenly tore through the air in front of her. Without hesitation, Death strode toward it, her movements fluid and sure. She didn’t stop to look back, didn’t throw Agatha one last glance. Agatha knew she wouldn’t. Rio would never taint the fragile peace they had just begun to rebuild with the face of Death. She wouldn’t allow it.

In the blink of an eye, Lady Death was gone, and the portal vanished with her, leaving only the faintest trace of green light behind.

Chapter Text

Agatha spent the first hour pacing the length of the living room, her steps quick and uneven, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Every few minutes, her eyes darted to the clock on the wall, the minutes dragging by at a maddeningly slow pace. There’s really no sense of time here but Rio did everything possible to give balance to a daughter who had defied its existence.

Her thoughts spun out of control, latching onto worst case scenarios. She imagined Rio returning sickly and hollow… Worse, returning with a weight impossible for either of them to bear. The idea made her stomach twist, and she had to stop, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes hoping to steady herself.

Eventually, she forced herself to sit, plopping onto the couch with a huff and snatching the remote from the table. Agatha needed a distraction, something mindless, and landed on The Real Housewives of New York City . She told herself it was just background noise, but thirty minutes later, she found herself yelling at the TV, her outrage at petty arguments momentarily replacing her worry. It worked until she caught herself gripping the remote too tightly, her knuckles white, the stress sneaking back in as an unwelcome guest.

By the fourth hour, Agatha was on her feet again, pacing from one end of the room to the other. She stayed away from Rio’s bedroom, unwilling to step inside the space where the green witch’s presence still lingered. It felt too intimate, too much like an admission of how desperately she wanted Rio back. Instead, she planted herself in the living room, pacing, stopping only to stare out the window as though expecting to see Rio stride through the garden at any moment. Her mind cycled endlessly between imagining what Rio might be doing and reprimanding herself for the sheer absurdity of her own restlessness.

At one point, Agatha sat down again, Housewives still playing on the screen, but her attention was scattered. Her fingers itched for something to do, so she picked Sage’s book just to open. Immediately it was too much.  She snaps it closed and her are thoughts wandering to Rio again. She caught herself mid thought, hissing under her breath at her own impatience. “Eight hours,” she muttered. “It’s been eight damn hours.” But the weight in her chest felt far heavier than that, as if time itself had stretched into something excruciating.

And so, the cycle continued- pacing, yelling at the TV, not reading Sage’s book, sitting in restless silence. All while the clock ticked endlessly on, mocking her. Waiting for Rio and perhaps Sage was agony.

Two and a half hours later, Agatha stalled mid pace behind the couch in the living room, her breath hitching as she heard the front door creak open. The sound froze her in place. Seeing either of the two women walk through that door would be a relief, but she couldn’t shake the heavy weight in her chest.

Rio had never promised it wasn’t Sage.

The moment felt endless as the door clicked shut. When Rio stepped into the foyer, Agatha’s breath caught in her throat.

Only two things were different from when she last saw her. Rio wore the same outfit as before she left, the same streaks of dirt smudging her legs and hands. But her hair was down, black and long as ever, the sun kissed shorter brown completely gone. Her eyes were sunken, dark circles stark against her tanned skin, and her cheeks were hollow, carved with exhaustion. She looked like a shell of herself, hollow and drained.

Agatha’s mouth fell open slightly, her heart twisting at the sight. The stark change in Rio’s appearance stunned and wrenched her all at once. Before she could even form the thought, Rio answered the question burning in her mind.

“She’s okay,” Rio said, her voice low, a little scratchy.

The words hit Agatha like a wave, and the tension she had been carrying for hours drained from her body. She physically deflated, her shoulders sinking as some of the weight lifted. But the relief was fleeting, eclipsed by the sight of Rio standing there, looking utterly broken.

It was fucking heartbreaking.

Without another word, Rio turned and headed to the bedroom. Agatha stood frozen, her eyes following her until she disappeared down the hall. She heard the shower turn on moments later and stayed rooted in place, unsure of what to do. Did Rio need her space? Did she want to be left alone? Agatha chose to wait, sitting on the couch with the TV playing softly in the background, her mind focused entirely on the green witch behind that closed door.

When the shower turned off, Agatha strained to listen for Rio’s quiet footsteps moving through her bedroom as she got ready for bed. She was on edge, hoping the sound of the door opening would follow. Then, like the universe had answered her silent prayers, she heard it.

Rio stepped out, her bare feet padding softly down the hall toward the living room. She was dressed in a a silk tank top and matching sleep shorts, her hair still damp.

Agatha’s mouth waters at the sight.

Folded clothes were neatly tucked in her arms. Her face still looked sunken, her under eyes dark, but there was a slight shift in her energy, a faint crack of light breaking through the heaviness.

Agatha tracked Rio’s every move as she came to a stop beside the couch, her presence grounding in its quiet simplicity. Rio looked down at Agatha where she sat, setting the folded pajamas on the cushion beside her, almost like an offering. Then, she extended a hand.

Agatha looks up at Rio like she’s an angel sent to take her to heaven, and the irony isn’t lost on her.

This was so fucking humiliating. A real knock to the ego.

Agatha isn’t the one in control here. She isn’t reclaiming her power or standing tall. She’s surrendering everything to Rio. Completely.

The tension in the room wraps around them, thick and intimate, and Agatha is a melting puddle at the center of it. What unsettles her most is how freeing it feels.

Surrendering like this, which has literally never happened in the history of them , doesn’t feel like losing. It feels like breathing. Like Agatha’s been deprived of oxygen her entire life and didn’t even realize it until now. Until this moment, in death, with Rio standing before her, she finally feels the air rush in.

Agatha mentally curses herself for always being so damn ironic.

Her hand moves on instinct, sliding into Rio’s cold one without hesitation. She’s already halfway there, her body acting before her mind can catch up, her fingers curling into Rio’s the moment they shift downward.

Rio gives a slight tug to signal Agatha to stand, and Agatha complies without a second thought, rising from the couch with zero hesitation. The moment she stands, Rio’s hand drops away, leaving Agatha nearly whimpering at the loss. Her chin dips instinctively, searching for Rio’s eyes.

Those eyes are hungry and dark, nearly black, dive into her without restraint, like plunging into an endless ocean of blue. A flicker of hazel seeps through, betraying the smallest falter in Rio’s composure, as if the sheer intensity of their gaze had momentarily unsettled her.

Agatha realizes that Rio needs this as much, if not more, than she does. This isn’t about power. It’s about Rio regaining a piece of herself. Whatever had shaken her in those hours she was away, this was her way of grounding herself, of proving she hadn’t lost everything she was. She still had control, still had strength, still had Agatha. For once, Agatha wasn’t just willing but eager to let Rio take. To give her the space to rebuild, to feel whole again, even if just for a moment.

Then, Agatha feels Rio’s hands at her waist, gentle but firm, adjusting her so she stands directly in front of her, no longer slightly adjacent. In one swift motion, Rio untucks Agatha’s blouse from her pants, her fingers brushing the fabric before retreating. Agatha feels the absence acutely, her breath catching in her throat as Rio’s gaze, practically dripping with filth, locks onto her.

All Agatha can do is stand and await further instruction, entirely at Rio’s mercy.

Rio’s hands move next, reaching up to begin unbuttoning Agatha’s blouse. Each movement is slow, deliberate, and methodical, her steady hands working with a precision that leaves Agatha speechless. Years of tending gardens, planting, and crafting have paid off. Rio’s hands are one of Agatha’s favorite things about her. They’re always moving, always steady, always purposeful. They itch to create, to touch, just as Agatha’s own hands itch to take, and take, and take some more.

When Rio finishes with the last button, she pushes the blouse off Agatha’s shoulders in one fluid motion, never once touching her skin. The fabric slides down Agatha’s arms and pools at her feet, the ghost of Rio’s presence more unbearable than any contact.

It’s brutal. Agatha feels like she’s practically on the verge of tears from the sheer desperation clawing at her chest. The tension fills the space between them, thick and electric, leaving Agatha completely at Rio’s control.

Rio’s gaze immediately locked onto the delicate white lace of the push up bra laid out with her clothes that morning with matching underwear, both carefully chosen. Her hands hovered next, hesitating at the button of Agatha’s pants. Agatha barely noticed the cold, fleeting brush of Rio’s fingers; it was clear she was making an effort not to let their skin meet.

Frustrated by the distance, Agatha tilted her hips forward, silently urging Rio to bridge the gap. But just as Agatha moved, Rio was quicker. Her hand darting back the moment Agatha tried. The button came undone, but the zipper remained untouched, leaving Agatha teetering on the edge of impatience.

Suddenly, Rio speaks, her tone firm yet disarmingly sweet. “Turn around.”

Agatha hesitates, but only for a heartbeat. The hesitation isn’t defiance; it’s the reluctance of an addict unwilling to tear her gaze from what she craves most, Rio’s face. The moment passes, and she gives in, letting Rio’s words guide her.

With her back now to Rio, Agatha feels the green witch step closer, their proximity measured yet magnetic. A faint brush of fingers grazes the ends of her hair, a gesture so familiar it sends a shiver through her. It pulls her mind back to that night on the road, to the echo of Rio’s quiet vulnerability after her ‘I have a scar ’ confession.

Agatha inhales sharply, the touch shaking her resolve. She turns her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Rio through her peripheral vision. Their faces hover dangerously close as Rio tilts her chin, ever so slightly, creating a fraction more distance between them while simultaneously giving herself a clearer view of Agatha.

While Agatha fights the desire to let her eyes roll back from the overwhelming sensation, she doesn’t resist the quiet moan that escapes her lips.

Then, with swift precision, Rio reaches up and moves Agatha’s long brown hair over her shoulder. Not a single finger brushes her skin, the lack of contact calculated and maddening. Agatha’s head turns forward, her eyes closing as she clenches her hands into fists. Every fiber of her aches to take control, to spin around, to crash into Rio and show her just how much she’s missed her. But for now, she holds herself back, trembling on the edge of restraint.

It was beginning to drive Agatha insane. Centuries of craving more and more power, desperately pushing to escape.

She feels Rio’s arms slide around her, but they do not pull her close. Instead, they hover just far enough for Agatha to only feel the faint brush of their presence as Rio moves through them. Their bodies remain an inch apart, yet it feels like an infinite distance.

Rio’s fingers find the zipper of Agatha’s unbuttoned pants and tug it down slowly, teasingly. Her hands slide into the pockets, her touch achingly close yet infuriatingly distant, as she begins to drag the pants down Agatha’s legs. Once they are low enough, Rio removes her hands, and they fall the rest of the way and pool at Agatha’s ankles.

Agatha’s shoulders rise and fall with her ragged breathing, trembling on the verge of begging.

Please, my love.

The words stay trapped inside her, unwilling to risk shattering the moment. She steps out of her pants carefully, but as she moves back, her body presses flush against Rio’s. The sensation tears a moan from Agatha’s lips, raw and loud, but even her voice cannot drown out the soft, quiet whimper Rio releases at the same time.

Her mouth is now so close to Agatha’s ear that if she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough, she might swear she could feel the faintest ghost of Rio’s lips brushing against the shell of it.

Rio’s arms twitch as if aching to wrap around Agatha, to pull her closer, to never let her go. But she doesn’t. Instead, her arms slide away and she steps back, withdrawing from Agatha completely.

Agatha’s head falls forward as she squeezes her eyes even tighter, fighting back the sob clawing its way up her throat. She bites the inside of her cheek, the sting barely enough to anchor her against the aching loss.

Her head snaps up suddenly, her eyes wide in surprise as she feels the cold press of Rio’s fingers against her back, deftly working to unclasp her bra. Rio takes another step back, letting Agatha slide the straps down her shoulders and drop it to the floor.

The sound of Rio shifting closer makes Agatha’s ears perk, and she feels the faint trace of a cold finger along the lowest point of her back.

It moves slowly, following the seam of her white lace underwear where it sits snugly on her waist. The touch lingers as Rio traces under the seam of Agatha’s right ass cheek, then her left, dragging out the moment with exquisite precision.

Agatha’s breathing is labored now, each inhale shuddering. She doesn’t even have the strength to moan; anticipation claws at her so fiercely it might be the death of her, though she is already technically dead.

If she’s so dead, why can she hear her heartbeat thunder so loudly in her ears, that it threatens to burst her eardrums? The thought flickers and is gone as she loses herself in the intoxicating sensation of Rio’s delicate touches.

Then Rio’s finger is pulling away and Agatha hears her take yet another agonizing step back.

This time, the sound that leaves Agatha’s lips is not a whimper. It’s a low, guttural growl. Frustration, unrestrained.

Her impatience begins to rear its ugly head, but before it can consume Agatha, Rio’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Take them off.”

Agatha’s hands move instinctively, her fingers already hooking into the waistband of her underwear. She stills as her mind catches up to the moment.

Rio wanted a show.

Agatha would give her a damn cinematic masterpiece.

Agatha pulls her underwear down her legs as slowly as she had the first time she did this for Rio. She parts her legs slightly, offering Rio the perfect view of what she already knows is coming. When the fabric finally separates from her center, she feels the wetness clinging to her underwear stretch and pull before dripping from her, overwhelming and so wet.

She listens intently, her breaths shallow, desperate to hear Rio’s reaction.

But Rio doesn’t moan, groan, or growl. Instead, a whispered, needy “Yes” escapes her lips, filled with quiet excitement at the sight before her.

When her panties pool at her ankles, Agatha doesn’t bother stepping out of them. Instead, she bends down, her left hand bracing against the coffee table. She can feel Rio’s hungry eyes burning into the flesh of her ass, devouring every detail of her display.

Unable to resist, Agatha lets her right hand slip between her legs, seeking the slick heat of her own arousal. The brief contact makes Rio gasp softly, a sound that sends a bolt of satisfaction through Agatha.

“Stop.” Rio’s voice rings out, echoing through the room. It’s not a request. It’s an order. Agatha’s hand retreats as if burned, obeying the command with the speed of lightning.

“Turn around,” Rio continues, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Agatha stands upright, stepping out of the mess of lace around her ankles. She turns, her movements deliberate, knowing full well the effect she’s having.

The sight of Rio standing before her is pure, filthy perfection. Her breathing is ragged, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles are white. Agatha can see the war waging in her- the battle to maintain control, to hold back from taking what Agatha is so readily offering. Heat coils low in Agatha’s core at the sight.

Agatha whispers, her voice trembling with need, “Why are you fighting so hard? I’m here. I’m you—” She stops herself before the word can fully leave her lips. “It’s yours,” she says instead, her voice softer. “Take it.”

This was about control, wasn’t it? Agatha had given all of it to Rio, so why wouldn’t she just fucking take it?

Take me! Agatha wants to scream, but she doesn’t. Rio has always been a tease, but this… This is ruthless. Two weeks of sporadic intimate moments, of leaving Agatha crumbling at the seams. Or was it three. Agatha doesn’t know anymore.

The only thing Agatha can focus on is that she’s aching, body and soul, to surrender everything to Rio.

She can see Rio wants it too, so badly she can hardly breathe. Rio had always fallen to her knees for Agatha, worshipping her like royalty, eager and ready to please. But not this time. Suddenly, Rio holds herself back, her arms crossing over her chest like a shield.

Agatha notices the flicker of insecurity cross Rio’s gaze, before her eyes drop to Agatha’s bare chest. The hunger returns, dark and consuming, as Rio’s gaze roams her body.

Agatha understands.

Rio doesn’t trust her.

Before she can dwell on the thought, Rio shifts, taking back every ounce of her control. Her crossed arms fall gracefully to her sides, and she straightens, striding forward but leaving that infuriating inch of space between them.

And just like that, Agatha is a desperate mess again. Her blue eyes are locked on Rio’s lips, craving just a taste. Rio’s hand reaches up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Agatha’s ear. The touch is so delicate, but Agatha can barely focus, her entire being fixated on Rio’s mouth.

Rio cups Agatha’s jaw, her fingers sliding into her hair just behind her ear. Her thumb brushes gently across Agatha’s cheek.

“Agatha.”

It snaps her out of her trance. Her eyes meet Rio’s, and the sound of her name feels eerily reminiscent of that night on the Road, right before Rio had shattered the moment.

Agatha’s momentary panic is soothed by the firmer hold Rio takes on her face, grounding her. 

“Kneel,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand away and stepping back just enough to give Agatha room to obey.

Rio gestures to the floor with a slight nod. 

Agatha drops to her knees, her movements fluid as she lands softly on the rug beneath her. A part of her wants to make a joke, to ask Rio ‘are you not entertained?’ by the sight of Agatha on her knees for Death herself. But this isn’t Death. This is Rio. And so, she stays quiet, waiting.

All she can do is look up at Rio, her heart pounding, anticipation thrumming through her veins.

Rio reaches for Agatha’s cheek again, her touch steady. For a long moment, they simply look at each other, the weight of their connection heavy in the air.

Rio’s thumb swipes across Agatha’s bottom lip. On instinct, Agatha’s mouth parts slightly, eager to take Rio’s finger in. Her eyes never leave Rio’s, filled with longing and hunger.

But Rio pulls her hand back before Agatha can act, taking a step away to drink in the sight of Agatha kneeling before her.

Rio looks satisfied.

“No,” Agatha whispers, the realization striking her like a bolt of lightning. Rio was about to walk away.

And she does.

Once the sound of Rio’s footsteps fades completely, Agatha grabs a throw pillow from the couch and falls forward, burying her face into it.

She lets out a muffled yell, her frustration pouring out as she slaps the carpet with an open palm a couple of times. She couldn’t help it. She’d been blue-balled AGAIN and was extremely butthurt about it.

“Come to bed, Agatha!”

Her head snaps up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash. Just as she’s about to let herself hope, Rio’s voice cuts through again.

“Get dressed for bed.”

Agatha groans, her frustrated yell echoing throughout the room, not even trying to hide it from Rio. She lets her face fall back into the pillow for a moment, muttering incoherently into the fabric. With one final, dramatic slap of her hand against the carpet, she drags herself up. Begrudgingly, she pulls on the t-shirt and pajama shorts Rio had brought to her earlier.

She pouts all the way to Rio’s room, silently hoping they wouldn’t actually be sleeping.

For fuck’s sake, they didn’t even need sleep.

When she steps into the bedroom, her eyes land on Rio, sprawled out in the middle of the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Good, Agatha thinks, her mood softening ever so slightly. At least she’s not the only one on the brink of combustion from the sheer amount of horniness she’s feeling.

Rio looks more like herself now. The weight of whatever had happened between them tonight seems to have done its job. Agatha’s frustration subsides just a little at the sight of her.

Still, she isn’t letting Rio off the hook entirely.

Instead of climbing into bed like a normal person, Agatha marches up to the bed and and nudges Rio’s shoulder, “Sit up.”

When Rio does Agatha plops down, cross legged, where Rio’s head was lying just moments before. She slaps a pillow onto her lap with a little more aggression than necessary.

Agatha cups Rio’s forehead and guides her back, dragging her head down until it lands squarely on the pillow in her lap. She flails slightly at the abruptness of it all but doesn’t resist.

With a small huff, Agatha grabs the remote off the night stand and unceremoniously dumped it onto Rio’s chest and for her to get the show started.

The motion leaves Rio blinking up at her, wide eyed and confused.

Agatha shrugs, What? I’m not going to do everything.

Rio blinks the surprise away, fighting the smirk tugging at her lips.

As Rio fumbles with the remote, Agatha reaches down, threading her fingers through Rio’s hair and gently massaged her scalp.

Rio doesn’t last long. The soothing motion of Agatha’s hands works like magic, and before the first episode finishes, her eyelids grow heavy. She dozes off, her face peaceful as she succumbs to sleep.

Agatha, on the other hand, stays awake the entire night, her hands never leaving Rio’s hair.

Chapter Text

It took no time at all for them to fall back into their routine after Rio’s return to her realm. The next several days passed in relative calm, their habits like clockwork: tending Nicky’s memorial at dawn, sharing their morning coffee, and then Agatha dragging her chair wherever Rio decided to work in the garden. Sage still hadn’t returned, and while the space she left behind hung heavily over them both, neither brought it up.

Agatha made a point to always face Rio, to choose her. And Rio, silently, let her.

Both acted as if nothing had happened after Rio’s return, as if the charged moments between them hadn’t existed. Rio no longer lingered or teased when Agatha changed. If Rio was there, her gaze remained fixed on anything but Agatha: her sketchbook, the television, even the wall. On some days, she didn’t stay at all, leaving Agatha to dress alone. Still, a change of clothes was always left neatly on the bed for her.

Flirting had been sparse, appearing only in fleeting moments. But when it did, it left Agatha’s chest tightening.

One day in particular that Agatha couldn’t shake the memory of:

After Rio had left her to change alone, the clothes set out were a sleeveless black turtleneck and a gray pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees. Agatha took her time getting ready, tying her hair up into a ponytail, with two slightly shorter front strands tucked behind her ears. She forwent the impractical high heels left neatly on the floor, knowing full well how impossible it would be to navigate the cobblestone paths in them while dragging her chair. Still, she carried them, heels dangling from her fingers and her book tucked under her arm as she made her way to the backyard.

When she arrived, Rio was kneeling in front of an empty bed of soil, her focus entirely on planting seeds. The spot Rio had chosen allowed them to be dangerously close enough for either of them to reach out and make contact. Agatha stood for a moment, watching Rio, before slipping the heels onto her feet with deliberate grace. She caught the way Rio’s eyes flicked to her heels briefly before turning back to her work, her expression unreadable.

Agatha planted herself in her chair with a flourish, crossing her legs and setting the book on the ground beside her. “Any reason I look like the office whore today?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Rio looked up at her face, only her face,  never letting her gaze linger, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “I figured if you’d be here ogling me all day, I might as well enjoy the view,” she said, turning her attention back to the soil.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest. “You don’t normally?”

Rio didn’t respond, her focus firmly fixed on the deep hole she was digging with her trowel. The green witch’s silence made Agatha purse her lips in frustration, narrowing her eyes at the other woman.

Fine. Two can play at that game, Agatha thought.

Agatha uncrossed her legs, slowly spreading them as wide as her pencil skirt would allow. She thanked whatever god (herself, obviously) had compelled her to skip the underwear Rio had left out for her that morning. “Then by all means,” Agatha said, her voice dripping with smugness.“Enjoy the view.”

Rio’s head snapped up, her line of sight landing exactly where Agatha intended. The reaction was immediate and exactly what she’d been hoping for. Rio froze, clearly stunned by Agatha’s boldness, her gaze wide and unprepared for the sight before her. As she moved to brace her free hand against the ground, she misjudged and plunged her palm directly into the hole she had been digging. The misstep sent her tumbling face first into the dirt, landing with a grunt.

Agatha watched as Rio scrambled back to her knees, furiously wiping soil from her face and shirt. She didn’t bother hiding the wicked smile spreading across her lips, her chest swelling with triumph.

“There’s my girl,” Agatha said, her voice full of satisfaction. She crossed her legs again, lips pursed in smug delight as Rio shot her a glare, still brushing the dirt from her clothes.

Which brings them to today.

They were still in what they had slept in: Agatha in a sweatshirt and sleep shorts, and Rio in a t-shirt and sweats. They sat on the couch, watching mindless TV for the first few hours of the day, a rare moment. Agatha leaned against one arm of the couch, while Rio took the other. Their legs were innocently tangled, a quiet intimacy Agatha dared not disrupt. She stayed perfectly still, savoring every second, knowing Rio would inevitably get up to start her work for the day.

That was until she felt brown eyes burning a hole into the side of her face.

Agatha turned her head, her gaze drifting from the TV to meet Rio’s. What she saw made her bite the inside of her cheek, fighting the tug of her lips.

Rio’s eyes were dark and hungry, staring into her as if trying to peel back every layer of her soul. The weight of that gaze sent heat rushing through Agatha’s chest, but she quickly turned back to the screen, narrowing her eyes as though the show held all her focus. She worked hard to keep her excitement buried beneath the surface.

“Ogling?” Agatha asked, her voice even.

Rio didn’t answer. Instead, she began to shift, untangling her legs from Agatha’s. Agatha’s eyes stayed fixed on the TV, her body tense with anticipation, until-

“Holy shit!” she yelped as Rio grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her down the couch with an unwarranted amount of strength. Agatha turned onto her back immediately, propping herself up on her elbows to glare at the green witch and demand an explanation. The question froze on her lips the moment she saw Rio.

There she was, sitting back on her calves, her hands still firmly gripping Agatha’s ankles. The intensity in Rio’s eyes was feral, her focus fixed entirely on Agatha as though she were prey. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, her words dying before they could take shape. All she could do was hold her breath, watching as Rio began to move.

With deliberate slowness, Rio crawled up Agatha’s body, her movements predatory. On instinct, Agatha leaned back, her elbows giving way as she lowered herself fully onto the couch. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her breaths growing ragged, but her gaze stayed locked on Rio’s. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything beyond those dark eyes boring into her.

When Rio reached her, her weight shifted. She used her knee to nudge Agatha’s legs apart, softly, before planting a thigh in between them. Agatha gasped sharply at the contact, the pressure hitting her exactly where she craved it most. The filthy moan that tore from her lips was involuntary, her head shooting back as her chin bumped against Rio’s with the movement.

The air between them was electric, heavy with tension and desire. Agatha wasn’t sure what would happen next, but she didn’t care. Every fiber of her being was consumed by Rio.

Rio’s touch, Rio’s gaze, the way Rio moved with such unrelenting purpose. It left Agatha completely at her mercy, and not for the first time since she’d been in this god forsaken realm, she was more than happy to give in.

When Rio rolled her hips against Agatha’s thigh, which was also situated between her own, it sent a shockwave of pleasure through both of them. Their moans mingled, echoing softly in the charged silence of the room.

Agatha’s hands shot to Rio’s waist, pulling her down harder to create more friction between them. The pressure was intoxicating, igniting every nerve in her body. When Agatha opened her eyes, she found Rio staring down at her, her dark gaze filled not only with desire but with an aching longing that took Agatha’s breath away.

Her chest tightened as she curled her fingers into the waistband of Rio’s sweats, her thumbs brushing against the soft skin beneath. Raising her chin slightly, Agatha dared Rio to let her close the space between them, her lips hovering just a whisper away.

Rio’s eyes flickered to Agatha’s lips, lingering there as if she might give in. For a fleeting moment, it felt like she would. But just as Agatha shifted upward, her fingers grazing the bare skin under Rio’s waistband, Rio tore her gaze away.

In a fluid motion, Rio sat up, her ass pressing firmly against Agatha’s thighs. The unexpected nudge of Rio’s knee against her front sent a jolt through Agatha, pulling a soft, involuntary whimper from her lips.

But slowly, Rio pulled Agatha’s fingers from her waistband and placed them firmly on top of her pants. A silent action: Not yet.

Agatha gave Rio’s hips a firm squeeze, a quiet signal of understanding: I hear you.

Taking a hesitant hand, Agatha brought it up to Rio’s cheek, her other hand remaining secure on Rio’s hip. She paused midway, unsure whether Rio would be okay with the touch, and began to pull back. But Rio caught her wrist before it could fall.

Without a word, Rio guided Agatha’s hand back to her cheek, pressing it there as if it were exactly where it belonged. Her eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

Agatha’s breath hitched as she gently pulled Rio back down, their clothed bodies flush against one another. Rio’s face hovered just above hers. One of Rio’s hands braced on the arm of the couch above Agatha’s head, while the other still held Agatha’s wrist, grounding them both.

Rio’s eyes remained shut. Agatha’s free hand moved from Rio’s waist to her other cheek, cradling her face with a tenderness that made Rio’s breath catch. “Rio,” she whispered, the name breaking as it left her lips.

Rio’s eyes stayed closed, squeezing tighter as though safeguarding the fragile pieces of herself from the intensity of the moment. Agatha’s voice softened further, her thumb brushing lightly across Rio’s cheekbone. “Baby,” she whispered, the endearment melting into the air. “Look at me.”

It took a moment, but like putty in Agatha’s hands, Rio relented. Slowly, painstakingly, she opened her eyes. Gone was the hunger and desire. There was a quiet ache in her gaze, as though the act itself was almost too much to handle.

Agatha’s voice was tender, her tone threaded with certainty. “You know,” she began, her lips curling into a gentle smile, “one of these days, you’re going to let me kiss you.”

Her words weren’t harsh, nor were they taunting. They were a promise, a quiet vow to stay. A reassurance that there was time. That she would wait, however long it took. Agatha would wait.

Rio’s gaze faltered for a moment, her grip on Agatha’s wrist tightening as if it were the only thing tethering her to the moment. Her voice came out a shaky whisper, filled with an ache she couldn’t hide, “I’m scared.”

“I don’t…” She glances to the side, searching for an escape, but Agatha guides her gaze back with a gentle tug. Rio swallows hard, her voice trembling as she continues, “I won’t survive it this time.”

Her words linger between them for a moment, “I’ve pieced myself back together, over and over,” Rio murmurs. “Each time, with less to rebuild.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Rio hesitates, her voice exposed like a wound. “You’ll destroy me, Agatha,” she whispers, the words barely audible and laced full with centuries of heartbreak and sorrow. “And I’m not sure there’s enough of me left to risk.”

“I know,” Agatha said softly, her voice trembling, unsteady. “I know what I’ve done to you, what I’ve taken from you.” Her blue eyes glimmered, not with tears but with a profound heaviness of regret. She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat.

Agatha wasn’t ready to apologize yet. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t force them out, not when she hadn’t fully forgiven Rio. Not yet. To be honest, she hadn’t even forgiven herself… But she was trying, and that was more than she’d done in the last two hundred and some years.

Baby steps.

That’s all either of them could manage with a past as heavy and tainted as theirs. And for now, trying was enough. It had to be.

So, with a steady breath and all the strength Agatha could muster, she forced out the words, “You didn’t deserve any of it. Not then. Not ever.” Her blue eyes searched Rio’s, desperate, pleading, as though willing her to see the truth in every word.

It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was an admission, a moment of genuine honesty that broke through the walls she’d spent centuries building. It was Agatha’s way of taking accountability for the part she’d played in this tangled, fractured history of them. And that was a huge step, maybe even a monumental one.

They still had work to do, together and alone, but it was a start. And for someone like Agatha, this felt like moving mountains.

Rio’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of Agatha’s words sinking in, their impact unmistakable. She didn’t respond with words, but her actions spoke volumes. Rio shifted her weight, moving the thigh that had been nestled between Agatha’s and planted it on the other side of her. Her knees now framed Agatha, and with deliberate care, her hands reached to gently remove Agatha’s from where they still rested firmly on her cheeks.

Sitting upright, Rio hovered for a moment, her gaze fixed on Agatha. Then, with a fluid motion, her hand found the collar of Agatha’s sweatshirt. She tugged firmly. 

Instinct took over and Agatha flung herself forward to meet her without hesitation.

Her hands landed directly on Rio’s hips, gripping tightly to anchor herself. Their faces hovered inches apart, close enough for Agatha to feel the heat radiating between them. Rio’s forehead dropped softly against Agatha’s, their breaths tangling in the small space that separated them. Both of their eyes locked on their target, their breathing uneven, mouths slightly parted in anticipation.

Rio nudged her nose against Agatha’s, a wordless invitation to tilt her head up, to meet her. Agatha obeyed, her breath catching as their lips brushed. It was so faint, yet enough to send a spark coursing through her. The touch was hesitant, both of them holding back, just as if the moment was too fragile to risk breaking.

This wasn’t just about want. It wasn’t the hunger that had consumed them in the past. This was different, something deeper, something that carried the significance of their history, their pain, their grief, their longing. For once, it wasn’t about losing themselves in each other. It was about discovery, about finding what they had spent centuries searching for but could never name.

The hand that held Agatha’s shirt slid upward, brushing along her neck before settling at its base. Rio’s fingers threaded tenderly through Agatha’s hair, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. Agatha’s arms wrapped tightly around Rio’s lower back, pulling her impossibly closer.

With a slight tug of Agatha’s hair, their lips met. A quiet whimper escaped Rio at the contact, sweet and unguarded. The kiss was sickeningly sweet, unhurried, their lips barely moving. Agatha surrendered completely, letting Rio take the lead, not out of fear of scaring her off, but because she simply didn’t have the strength to do anything else.

Her entire life had been spent in control, every move calculated, every plan thought out to perfection. But now, she was exhausted, and for a change, she let go. Rio was willing to bear the weight, and Agatha allowed herself to rest in that.

Rio’s fingers tightened slightly in Agatha’s hair, her other hand sliding to rest against the curve of her jaw. The kiss deepened, slow and intentional, and they were savoring every second of it. Agatha felt herself melting further into Rio’s touch, her fingers pressing into Rio’s lower back.

Rio tilted her head, angling the kiss as her lips parted by a hair. Naturally, Agatha followed, her breath catching as she felt the soft, teasing brush of Rio’s tongue against her bottom lip. She accepted immediately, opening her mouth to invite Rio in. The contact sent a wave of warmth crashing through her, and they both moaned loudly this time, the sound echoing between them.

Agatha’s hands curled tighter into the fabric of Rio’s shirt, steadying herself as the kiss deepened. At first, it was tentative, exploratory, as though Rio was taking her time to relearn the terrain, to savor every new sensation. But soon, her movements grew bolder, her tongue tracing over Agatha’s with deliberate precision, coaxing a quiet, shuddering whine from deep in Agatha’s throat.

The kiss grew hotter, more desperate, yet still carried the same sore tenderness that rooted them to this frail vulnerability. Rio’s teeth grazed Agatha’s bottom lip, tugging gently before deepening the kiss again, her tongue stroking with an intensity that left Agatha weak. Agatha’s hands slid up Rio’s back, gripping her shoulders afraid to let go, while her entire body leaned into the sensation, into Rio.

The world outside didn’t exist. There was only this. Only the warmth of Rio’s touch, the taste of her, and the steady rhythm of their breaths and tongues mingling. Agatha had spent centuries taking power and control, but now, she gave herself over entirely, letting Rio set the pace, letting Rio guide her. And with every press of their lips, every exploratory touch of their tongues, every quiet whimper exchanged, Agatha felt like she was breathing.

It wasn’t something that would devour her completely, that would lead to her end. No, this wasn’t the kiss of Death. It felt as if Death herself was teaching Agatha how to breathe. It wasn’t suffocating or overwhelming. 

For the second time since she had been here, she felt a force of air filling her lungs.

Agatha had spent so long forgetting what it meant to truly feel alive, and now, in her own death and in the hands of Death herself, she was learning to do just that.

Then Rio begins to pull away, but Agatha instinctively chases after her lips. Rio lets her, meeting her with soft, fleeting pecks, never allowing the kiss to deepen. Somehow, it felt just as important, just as grounding. Agatha’s brows knit together in frustration, her need to keep Rio close simmering under her skin. Rio breathes out a quiet chuckle, her lips curling into a small, amused smile at Agatha’s unwillingness to let her go.

Rio finally pulls back just enough to be out of reach, her warm breath still brushing against Agatha’s face. Those brown eyes flicker to the window for a brief moment before returning to Agatha, a subtle shift in her expression.

“What’s wrong?” Agatha blurts out, the words tumbling from her lips as she fights to suppress the pang of panic building in her chest.

Rio leans in, giving Agatha a single, reassuring kiss, one that tames her swirling fears instantly. And it worked. She pulls back, her voice calm, “Sage is home.”

“Oh,” Agatha breathes out, her shoulders relaxing as some of the tension melts away. She wasn’t disappointed, nor was she angry that Sage’s return seemed to pause what had just started, halting what might have gone further.

No, if she were being honest with herself, there was more relief than anything else.

Still, mixed with that relief was a faint spark of excitement, quickly tempered by the familiar hesitancy that always accompanied thoughts of the girl. Agatha couldn’t deny it, she was still scared. Scared to grow close, scared of the guilt that would inevitably follow. It was safer to keep her distance, to protect herself from feelings she wasn’t sure she deserved to feel. Yet here Sage was, back home, and the gravity of that truth settled heavily in Agatha’s chest.

With a parting kiss, Rio began to move off of Agatha, her legs staggering as she stood. “I’m gonna go-” she started, stopping mid sentence as she caught herself on her feet. Her gaze dropped back to Agatha briefly before she thumbed over her shoulder toward the front door. The unspoken message was clear.

Agatha nodded, understanding. Rio missed their daughter. The barely contained excitement in her eyes made it clear she couldn’t simply wait for Sage to walk through the door.

Without another word, Rio turned and left, the soft click of the front door lingering behind her. Agatha stood, her legs stiff, and made her way to the living room window, her fingers brushing the curtain aside to watch.

There she was. Sage. A black backpack slung over her shoulder, strolling down the dirt pathway that wound from the forest clearing. A few feet ahead of her, Brucie slithered quickly, cutting a determined path toward the house. Agatha’s breath caught for a moment as her gaze rested on Sage’s face. That smile. Wide, unrestrained, and unmistakably hers.

Beautiful, Agatha thought, her chest tightening. She thanked herself for that, of course. Sage’s striking looks were a mirror of her own, an undeniable legacy carried forward.

Then her focus shifted to Rio, already moving toward Sage with a light jog, her hair catching the sunlight. As Brucie crossed paths with Rio, the snake made a sharp, sudden jerk, to snap at her with a hiss.

Rio flinched, startled by Brucie’s sudden movement, her reflexes kicking in as she stumbled slightly to the side. Her hand shot out instinctively, though she didn’t lose her footing. Agatha caught the brief flash of alarm on Rio’s face, followed by a glare and an exasperated huff as she regained her stride. A faint smirk tugged at Agatha’s lips, those two probably liked each other more than either of them were willing to admit.

When Rio reached Sage, her arms opened wide, and they met in a delicate embrace. Sage’s chin came to rest atop Rio’s shoulder as Rio held her close. For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Agatha watched as Sage’s green eyes squinted against the sunlight, which now appeared impossibly brighter. The realm itself seemed to shift, as though it recognized and celebrated the life Sage breathed into it.

Then, with a tenderness that seemed to echo the sunlit moment, Rio pressed a soft kiss into Sage’s hair, her arms holding her daughter just a little tighter.

Agatha couldn’t tear her eyes away. She knew she had no claim to this, no right to step into the space they had carved out for themselves. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel the sharp sting of envy threading through her, but it wasn’t jealousy. It was so desperately wanting to be a part of it, to feel like she belonged in this picture instead of an observer hovering just outside its frame.

She turned away from the window, shielding herself from the image as if that would stop the strange ache growing inside her. What right did she have to feel this way? To crave connection with a girl she barely knew but who somehow carried pieces of her heart?

Before she could dwell on her thoughts any longer, the sound of the front door opening and shutting snapped her attention back. She heard the heavy thunk of a backpack being dropped by the door, then the quick, familiar rhythm of footsteps echoing through the foyer. Agatha froze, watching as Sage darted past and started heading up the stairs.

The word left her mouth without thought. “Hey!” Agatha shouted.

Sage stopped dead in her tracks on the third step, her back going rigid. Slowly, she turned to face Agatha, her green eyes wide with a mix of emotions- surprise, maybe fear, like she had been caught doing something wrong. Or perhaps she was just shocked that Agatha was addressing her at all, unprompted.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air thick with an awkward tension. Agatha hadn’t thought this far ahead. She didn’t know why she’d stopped her, much less what she was going to say next. She scrambled for something, anything, to fill the silence.

“You… um…” Agatha cleared her throat, her fingers twitching at her sides. “Want to get your ass beat at chess?”

Sage froze for a moment before her expression softened. She fought the tug of a smile, feigning indifference with an impressive effort. Still, the gleam in her green eyes gave her away. She nodded subtly, her stance relaxing just a little.

Agatha gave a small nod in return, her expression unwavering despite the quiet relief swelling within in her. “I’ll be on the patio,” she said, her voice still firm.

As Agatha turned to leave, the thought crept into her mind unwelcome. She hadn’t beaten Sage at a game since she’d learned the young woman was allegedly a damn chess prodigy.

Agatha let out a loud irritated groan.

-

Agatha changed into her clothes for the day and made her way to the patio, where the sun hung high in the sky, casting warm light over the space. She moved with quiet focus, setting up the chessboard. Not long after, Rio appeared, setting a cup of coffee down on the table beside her. There was a small, affectionate smile on Rio’s lips, one that Agatha caught but didn’t comment on. Maybe it was from the memory of their kiss earlier that morning, still hovering between them, or perhaps it was the quiet fondness of seeing Agatha here, waiting for Sage. Maybe both. Either way, the moment passed without a word.

Rio was out in the garden, doing god knows what, while Sage and Agatha had settled on the patio, their chess game unfolding.

Two games passed in silence. Agatha’s hands twitched restlessly, her fingers brushing the edge of the chessboard as she struggled to summon the courage to start a conversation. She wanted to know the young woman sitting across from her, but her own emotions clawed at her determination. Her thumb nail finds its way to her mouth, biting and ripping. Guilt pressed heavy in her chest, longing twisted uncomfortably in her stomach, and frustration pulsed like a constant drumbeat in her mind. It was an endless war within herself. 

She was growing impatient with her inability to break through. When the girl had brought her in to this place, she had been relentless. Pushing and prodding at every wall Agatha put up, stubborn to get Agatha to simply acknowledge her. Back then, the silence had been a gift.

During their very first game of chess all those weeks ago, Agatha had welcomed the quiet. It was a temporary relief from the chaos of being thrust into a dauntingly unfamiliar situation.

But now, the silence felt different. It wasn’t suffocating, but it wasn’t comforting either. Sage had been gone for weeks, and during that time, Agatha had worried in a way only a mother could. She’d spent hours imagining this moment, sitting across from her, trying to connect. Yet now that they were here, Sage was still holding back, treading lightly, afraid of pushing too hard and scaring Agatha off.

It was infuriating. But also… sweet? Agatha couldn’t deny the effort Sage was making. The delicate balancing act, the unspoken promise to just be here with her, no expectations, no demands. It was infuriating, and it was endearing, and it was so, so frustratingly strange.

Agatha tried to focus on the game, on the pieces in front of her. The familiar sequence of planning her moves, of watching Sage’s quiet precision, it gave her restless hands something to do. It settled her nerves, even if only slightly.

As Sage pretended to deliberate her next move, Agatha knew better. The girl already had it figured out, every step always planned in advance. Agatha let her gaze drift to the garden. There, by the pond, Rio stood feeding the koi, her small smile unwavering since she’d stepped out onto the patio. The memory of their kiss lingered in Agatha’s mind, extremely vivid, a distraction she welcomed with open arms.

Unconsciously, a smile tugged at Agatha’s lips as her thumb grazed her bottom lip. She could still feel Rio’s lips, as they were branded there. She was completely lost in the memory, unaware of the way it softened her features.

“Uh… what are you doing?”

Sage’s voice snapped her out of her pleasant trance so abruptly that Agatha flinched, her head jerking toward the girl. She blinked, disoriented and defensive, feeling like she’d just been caught red handed.

“What?” she demanded, her tone sharper than intended. She shifted in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“That,” Sage said, pointing at her with an accusatory finger. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“My face?” Agatha repeated, instantly on edge. She touched her chin self consciously, wiping at it thinking something might actually be there. “What do you mean? Use your words.”

Sage tilted her head, clearly enjoying the other woman’s discomfort. There was a teasing glint in her eyes as she stalled, dragging the moment out just a little longer. Finally, she said, “You’re… smiling. It’s weird.”

Agatha scoffed, sinking further into her chair as though the accusation was completely preposterous, “Wha- no, I’m not.” She huffed, waving Sage off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But the way Sage’s gaze narrowed, shifting her head to where Agatha had been staring moments before, made her stomach twist. Agatha could already guess where those damn green eyes had landed. Of course, Rio. Standing by the pond, her small smile still in place, completely oblivious to the havoc she was unintentionally reeking on the patio.

When Sage turned back, her expression was  knowing. Her eyebrows lifted, her eyes slightly wide with realization, and her lips pressed together tightly, Agatha knew she was physically restraining whatever smug remarks were threatening to spill out.

Agatha caught the look and stiffened. She wasn’t about to give Sage the satisfaction of saying anything. To cut her off (clearly, for Sage’s sake, not her own) Agatha changed the subject.

“What were you doing while you were gone?” she asked abruptly. The words came out harsher than she intended, more of an accusation than a genuine question. It wasn’t mean, but it was pointed enough to serve its purpose: a diversion from whatever was about to come toppling of out of Sage’s mouth.

It worked. For the first time since meeting Sage, the girl was completely caught off guard, a misstep. One Agatha was seriously grateful for. The question had evidently been unexpected, a rare crack in Sage’s otherwise unshakable composure.

Agatha watched as Sage straightened her posture, holding herself a little taller. And for whatever reason, it felt like she was looking into a mirror. How had this girl, who had grown up without her, managed to embody so much of her? It was uncanny, the way Sage exuded Agatha’s own mannerisms, so much so that it felt oddly rewarding. But she didn’t let the thought rattle her.

Sage’s green eyes flicked briefly to the side and back to Agatha, perhaps a subtle tell that suggested she was hiding something. But just as quickly as the slip appeared, it vanished, her expression neutral once more.

“Sneak into college lectures,” Sage said, her voice even, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Amongst… other things.”

“Other things?” Agatha echoed, her brow lifting in suspicion.

Sage’s smirk grew, tongue pressing into her cheek, as she leaned back in her chair. Just as fucking infuriating as Rio , Agatha thought. Sage’s tone turning deliberately nonchalant, “Well, you know, normal things. What any ‘college aged person’ would do.” She raised her hands, making exaggerated air quotes around “college aged person,” before continuing. “Parties, recreational drugs-”

“DRUGS?” Agatha’s interruption was immediate, her voice booming.

But Sage didn’t even flinch. Her voice cut smoothly through Agatha’s outrage, “Sex-”

“Absolutely not! Nope! Don’t need to hear literally any more of that,” Agatha blurted out, throwing her hands up to ward off the words themselves. She might be dead, but she swore she could feel her blood pressure spike to previously uncharted heights. They were not that kind of famil-. Agatha couldn’t even finish the thought in her head. She promptly squashed it and dragged her focus back to safer ground. “So… lectures. What kind?”

“Anything. Everything,” Sage answered with a casual shrug.

“Well, do you have a favorite?” Agatha asked, her tone purposefully mocking, as if the question were the most obvious thing in the world and Sage had taken far too long to answer it.

The question made Sage pause for a moment, considering it more seriously than Agatha had expected. Her smirk faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “No,” Sage admitted finally. “I mean, I don’t think so. I love all of it. Learning about anything and everything, not just from a book or my-” Sage’s words faltered, her gaze flicking uncertainly to Agatha.

Agatha nodded, her chest tightening but still, she encouraged her to continue.

“…or my mom,” Sage finished, her voice softer now.

The vulnerability in the single word hung in the air, quiet but powerful. Agatha swallowed hard, her throat tightening against the rush of emotions that followed. She didn’t respond right away, too caught in the gravity of that word.

Sage immediately goes to move a chess piece, not even looking at the board and definitely not at Agatha. They both needed a distraction and to keep her thoughts from stirring too loud, Agatha speaks the quote from memory:

“To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and flow of the tides, to feel the breath of a mist moving over a great salt marsh, is to have knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be.”

Sage freezes, her brows furrowing in recognition. Instead of her familiar smirk, a genuine smile spreads across her face. There’s something in her expression, maybe admiration, that catches Agatha off guard.

“You read Under the Sea-Wind?”  Sage asks, her tone warm, hopeful curiosity shining in her green eyes. “Did you read my notes?”

“Why do you sound surprised?” She shoots back, arching a brow. “Do I strike you as illiterate?” Agatha gives a casual shrug, leaning back in her chair. “I had time while you were off gallivanting. The book was sitting there on the damn shelf, practically begging to be opened. And, well, your notes were impossible to ignore. You annotate like you’re being graded.”

Sage’s smile brightens, practically glowing.  The sun is too goddamn bright today, Agatha thinks, knowing all too well it had everything to do with the girl sitting across from her.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it. If anything, I probably helped you understand Carson better.”

“If anything, your notes made me want to argue with the book just to spite you,” Agatha retorts, a sly edge to her tone. “Maybe I just want a real challenge?”

“And you thought quoting one of my favorite books would trip me up?” Sage asks, her voice playful. “Bold move, Harkness.”

“Guilty,” Agatha replies smoothly. “I figured if I can’t beat you at chess, I could at least out debate you on your own turf.”

Sage rolls her eyes, but there’s warmth in the gesture. “So? What’s your take?”

“She makes it sound like standing by the sea suddenly makes you wise, like watching the tide come in gives you some profound understanding of the universe. I don’t buy it.”

Sage raises an eyebrow, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table. “It’s not about becoming wise. It’s about feeling connected. The tides, the mist, the salt marsh… They remind you there’s something bigger than yourself, something that keeps moving even when you don’t.”

“Convenient,” Agatha shoots back, her tone dry. “That’s a neat way to tie a bow on something infinite and unknowable. But Carson’s wrong if she thinks the sea is anything like eternity. It’s unpredictable. Brutal. All storms and riptides and undertows. No permanence, just destruction.”

Sage shrugs, unbothered by Agatha’s harshness. “And yet it always comes back. The tide rises, the marsh breathes, the waves keep crashing. Sure, the storms are chaotic, but even chaos has a rhythm. You can’t call it destruction just because it changes.”

Agatha scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Rhythm? So getting dragged out to sea is just a part of the rhythm now? Let me guess, you’re going to tell me drowning is poetic too.”

Sage leans back in her chair, shaking her head like Agatha just doesn’t get it. “You’re focusing on the surface,” she says, her tone patient. “Carson wasn’t talking about what the sea destroys. She was talking about what it reveals. It’s not about what gets taken. It’s about what’s left behind.”

Agatha narrows her eyes, and says “And what’s left behind, Sage? Salt and bones? The sea doesn’t leave anything, it erodes. It devours. What’s so profound about that?”

Sage doesn’t flinch, her green eyes steady. “It doesn’t devour. It transforms. Erosion isn’t just loss. It’s change. The sea reshapes everything it touches. It makes room for what’s next.”

“That’s easy to say when you’ve never felt it pull you under,” Agatha mutters, her voice quiet. “The sea isn’t profound when it’s swallowing you whole.”

Sage tilts her head, her expression softening, her tone fills with somber admiration. “And yet you’re still here, aren’t you? You’ve been pulled under more times than I can imagine, but you’ve always found a way back to the shore.”

Agatha stiffens at that, her arms falling to her sides as her fingers tap lightly against the chessboard. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who’s spent her whole life being sheltered. You haven’t seen how much the sea can take.”

“Well, you’re awfully cynical for someone who can’t seem to let go of it,” Still, Sage doesn’t flinch. She persists, “And maybe I have been sheltered. But I’ve seen enough to know the sea doesn’t just take. It gives back. It doesn’t destroy for the sake of destruction, it clears the way. It moves forward.”

 “So, what? You think the sea’s some wise old mentor? A little rough around the edges, but ultimately trying to teach us something?”

Sage chuckles softly, “Not quite. I think it’s more like a mirror. It doesn’t teach, it reflects. You see in it what you’re ready to see. Some people see chaos. Some see balance. And some… see themselves.” She pauses, her voice softening. “What do you see?”

The significance of her question lingers between them, and for a brief moment, neither of them speaks. It’s obvious they aren’t really talking about the sea anymore, but neither one is willing to acknowledge it. Instead, they both cling to the pretense, choosing to remain willfully oblivious, as though naming the true subject of their conversation would expose something too delicate to confront.

Agatha falls silent, her gaze drifting to the garden where Rio trims a bush that Agatha doesn’t know the name of. “I see a lot of questions I don’t want to answer,” she mutters. Agatha’s lips twitch, though she doesn’t fully smile. She flicks her fingers at the chessboard. “Your move, philosopher.”

Sage doesn’t push that matter. She grins, the tension finally giving way to something lighter. “Brace yourself, Harkness. This is going to hurt.”

Agatha loses again. Of course, she fucking loses. Rio had somehow managed to create an evil genius in the form of Sage, a young woman who was as stubborn as the day was long and seemingly incapable of losing. Somehow, despite everything, she was exactly like Agatha. It was infuriating. Agatha had always prided herself on her quick wit and ability to outmaneuver anyone, but Sage? Sage didn’t just meet her blow for blow; she dismantled her strategies with a maddening precision that felt eerily familiar.

She didn’t just challenge Agatha’s intellect; she forced her to step up her game entirely. There was no room for shortcuts or assumptions when it came to Sage. Every move had to be calculated, every word carefully considered, because Sage would pounce on any opening with a smile and a ruthlessness that Agatha couldn’t help but begrudgingly admire.

-

Rio had kept to herself in the garden all day, and Agatha had a sneaking suspicion as to why. Rio’s silence had its own language, she was letting Agatha have time with Sage. They were left undisturbed as the hours passed.

By the time they reached their fourth game, the sun had begun to set, still impossibly bright in the sky, bathing the patio in golden light. It was Sage who spoke, her voice softer than usual as she confessed, “I’ve never actually been to the ocean.”

Agatha blinked at her, her brow furrowing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

For the last who knows how long, they’d done nothing but talk about the sea, moving seamlessly from poetry and metaphors to facts and trivia. Sage was obsessed with the ocean, a fixation that had taken Agatha by surprise. Knowing her mother, Agatha would’ve bet their conversations would’ve revolved around botany. Sage was half green witch, after all, and while she loved plants, they didn’t hold her in the same fascination as the sea. The ocean, vast and unknowable, had a pull on her that even Rio’s carefully tended ginormous garden couldn’t compete with, much to Rio’s playful dismay.

“Why?” It seemed ridiculous. Sage had almost a year of freedom on the surface, and she hadn’t bothered to visit even one of the world’s coastlines which, as Sage evidently knew, stretched 221,000 miles (or, if you wanted to know in kilometers, 356,000.)

She’d had the chance to stand on any beach, to feel the salt wind on her face. And yet… nothing.

Sage must’ve caught the disbelief on Agatha’s face because she offered a small, lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve read about it. Watched footage. Dreamed about it since I was little. But actually seeing it? I don’t know… it felt too big. Like it would swallow me whole if I wasn’t ready.”

Agatha’s gaze softened, “Too big?”

Sage nodded, glancing down at the chessboard as if it could spare her from Agatha’s scrutiny. “I mean, everything I’ve read about it… It’s endless. It holds everything, right? Life, death, balance. It’s… everything. And I guess I wasn’t ready to stand in front of all that. To feel small.”

Agatha let out a low hum, her lips twitching as if considering a smile but not quite committing to it. “You’re a lot like her, you know.”

Sage’s head shot up, green eyes wide with curiosity. “Like who?”

“Your mother.” Agatha gestured vaguely toward the garden, where she could just make out Rio’s figure somewhere near the willow tree. “You’re both a little afraid of being swallowed whole. Though I doubt either of you would ever admit it.”

Agatha knew damn well she wasn’t referring to Rio, but she wasn’t willing to admit that out loud just yet. 

Sage frowned, “I’m not afraid,” she said, her voice carrying a thread of defensiveness.

Agatha arched a brow, her smirk finally breaking through. “Aren’t you? You’ve spent your whole life with your nose in books and your eyes on screens, dreaming about the sea but never stepping foot near it. That’s fear, kid. Plain and simple.”

Sage’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze dropping back to the chessboard. “It’s not fear,” she whispered, almost to herself. “It’s… respect.”

That caught Agatha off guard, her smirk faltering . “Respect?”

“The ocean isn’t just a thing you look at,” Sage explained, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s alive. It’s not just water. It’s everything. You don’t just go to it lightly, you know? You have to be ready. ”

Oh Jesus fucking Christ, more metaphors.

Agatha wanted to stop talking about fucking metaphors.

As if Sage could hear her thoughts, she shifted gears abruptly. “You know it’s my birthday in a couple weeks?”

She did. Rio had mentioned it in passing, and Agatha had thrown out a dry comment about how Sage being a Scorpio explained a lot. But Sage wasn’t done. “I want to see it. The ocean. I think I want to go whale watching. If you’re okay with it, maybe we can all go?”

Leave Rio’s realm? The idea gave Agatha a reaction that, if she were honest, surprised even her. She’d grown comfortable here, and the thought of the world above felt overwhelming. Too big. Too much. Would she still have this body, this form, or would she be the ghost she was before?

The guilt gnawed at her too. Doing something as a family without him, it didn’t feel right.

She pushed the thoughts aside, her voice impartial as she replied, “We’ll see.”

That simple response made Sage’s face light up like a Christmas tree. It wasn’t an outright no from Agatha Harkness, and for Sage, that was enough.

“Checkmate,” Agatha said, her tone casual.

“Fuck,” Sage muttered under her breath.

Agatha pretended not to notice that Sage had let her win.

Chapter Text

The weeks leading up to Sage’s birthday. Had been interesting to say the least, everyday different than the last.

-

Rio and Agatha were in the garden, and Rio was droning on about the delicate art of planting azaleas. She spoke with the kind of enthusiasm that only Rio could muster, her hands moving expertly through the soil as she explained every step. Agatha, crouched awkwardly nearby, had no idea why she’d agreed to this.

Well, she did know, but she wasn’t about to admit that to herself, much less to Rio.

It definitely wasn’t because of the kiss they’d shared a few days ago. No, the two of them hadn’t been acting like lovesick fools since then, stealing glances, brushing hands, sharing secret smiles like they were caught in some ridiculous romantic comedy.

Of course not.

Agatha couldn’t even begin to unpack the flower situation.

It began with an aster. “For patience,” Rio had said with a knowing smile as she set it on the table. Agatha had scoffed, muttered something sarcastic, but kept it anyway. The next day it was a camellia. “For courage.” By the third day, Agatha had stopped pretending to be annoyed.

Now every morning, Rio brought a new flower, each a different meaning. Agatha grumbled and teased, but the growing collection on her windowsill told a different story.

She was being wooed and she would never admit it, but it was working.

She glanced over at the guest bedroom window overlooking the garden, where she had been staying. A room that had mysteriously appeared across from Rio’s after Sage’s return. And no, it wasn’t because Rio had banished her there after some emotionally charged argument. The decision had been entirely Agatha’s. She didn’t trust herself not to act like a reckless hormonal teenager chasing after a crush, or worse, to sabotage the fragile progress she’d made with both Rio and Sage.

When Agatha brought it up that night after Sage came home, she couldn’t stomach the sad look in Rio’s eyes. Rio thought she’d done something wrong. But Agatha quickly explained herself, and that sadness shifted into a quiet understanding.

Agatha had spent so long running, so long alone, that she didn’t know how to just be . To live without chasing chaos, without creating it, without letting it consume her. She’d never stayed still for this long (excluding that one scarlet colored incident when her mind hadn’t exactly been her own for three years). And this calm, this steadiness… it was strange. New. Begrudgingly nice, even.

Which is why she found herself kneeling in the dirt next to Rio, discussing the finer points of planting a flower, all in an effort to woo her back.

Agatha tried to follow her movements but found herself more focused on the way Rio’s lips pressed together in concentration.

“You’re staring,” Rio stated calmly, her focus never leaving the azalea she was carefully planting.

“No, I’m not,” Agatha shot back, a little too quickly.

Rio turned her head away from the plant, her hands pausing in the soil. Her eyes traced Agatha slowly, moving from head to knees before traveling back up to meet her gaze. The faintest smirk tugged at her lips as she gave a small nod and said, “Okay.”

Rio went back to tending the azalea, her hands moving, methodically, as if nothing had just happened. Agatha, on the other hand, felt like she was about to burst. She watched Rio’s calm focus, the way her fingers brushed the soil, the way her hair caught the light, and she felt a groan building in her chest.

She was tired of Rio making it look so damn easy to act like nothing was happening between them.

“And if I am staring?” Agatha said suddenly.

Rio paused, her hands stilling as she glanced up at Agatha, one brow arched in mild amusement. “Then I’d say you’re distracting me,” she said simply, maddeningly so.

Goddammit.

Agatha couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. What were they? Children? She didn’t need to say it out loud. The context was painfully obvious. In what world would Agatha Harkness, of all people, be kneeling in the dirt learning how to plant a flower?

“Something on your mind?” Rio’s voice broke through her thoughts, stoic as always. She wasn’t looking at Agatha, her attention fixed on the azalea.

Agatha grabbed the trowel beside her and began digging a hole, her movements more aggressive than necessary. “Nope,” she said curtly, not bothering to hide the edge in her voice.

This made Rio finally pause and look up, her brows furrowing slightly as she sat back on her heels. Her brown eyes widened just enough to show her confusion as she watched Agatha practically attack the soil.

“You sure?”

Agatha stopped digging, her chest tightening as she glanced at Rio. “What do you want me to say, Rio?” she snapped.

The tension in the air thickened as she stilled, mimicking Rio’s movements and sitting back on her heels. Her fingers gripped the trowel tightly, her knuckles whitening as she struggled to contain the frustration boiling under her skin.

Rio didn’t flinch at the outburst. Instead, she calmly brushed her hands off, crossing her arms over her chest as she held Agatha’s gaze. “Whatever it is you’re trying so hard not to,” she said softly.

Agatha clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening even more around the trowel as she tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t betray the storm brewing inside her. Rio’s steady gaze wasn’t helping, it never did. That calm, unshakable presence was maddening, especially when Agatha felt anything but calm.

“I asked you to teach me how to plant a flower,” Agatha said finally, her voice quieter, strained. “That’s it. Nothing more.”

“Whatever you say, Agatha.” The disappointment in Rio’s voice was subtle, but it still made Agatha’s stomach twist. Rio picked up her trowel, stabbing the soil in frustration, mirroring the aggression Agatha had shown just moments ago. “I’m not the one sitting here throwing a temper tantrum over a word,” she mumbled.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum!” Agatha’s voice came out louder than she intended, almost a shout. She clenched her jaw, her frustration overtaking her. Why couldn’t Rio just say it? Agatha had been the one to ask for this, hadn’t she?

It wasn’t like Rio to hold back. Calling things for what they were was practically her defining trait, especially when Agatha couldn’t. Why wasn’t she doing it now? Why was she letting this tension linger, letting Agatha twist herself in knots pretending this was just about planting a flower?

“You’re not exactly subtle, Agatha.” Rio was sat back on her heels again, eyes boring in to Agatha.

She hated how exposed she felt under Rio’s steady gaze, like the woman could see right through her carefully constructed walls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Agatha said finally, her voice quieter, less defensive.

Rio set her trowel down, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You, Agatha Harkness,” she said, her voice soft with amusement, “asked me, Rio Vidal, on a date. And now you’re sitting here acting like it’s not because you’re too scared to admit it out loud.”

Agatha blinked, her cheeks flushing as her grip on the trowel faltered. “I’m not scared,” she shot back quickly, though her voice lacked its edge.

Rio tilted her head slightly, “Then say it,” she said gently. “I mean, I’m not exactly running away, am I?”

Agatha opened her mouth to say it, to call it what it was, but the words caught in her throat. She clenched the trowel in her hand, her jaw tightening as her gaze dropped to the soil.

Rio watched her for a moment, the tension clear in Agatha’s shoulders and in the way she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of what she wasn’t saying. With a quiet sigh, “Look, this doesn’t have to be anything if you don’t want it to be, okay?” she said, her tone gentle and free of pressure. “But… hypothetically, if you were to ask me if this were a date, I’d hypothetically say yes.”

Agatha’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Rio’s in surprise. “Hypothetically?” she asked, her voice softer now, the tension in her chest easing just slightly.

Rio shrugged, “Yeah. Hypothetically.”

“This is a date, Rio,” Agatha said, her voice firmer now, even as her cheeks flushed deeper. She placed her trowel on the ground, brushing her hands off nervously.

Rio looked at her, her expression softening as a slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah?”

Agatha nodded, her eyes meeting Rio’s. “Yeah,” she said quietly, the weight of the moment settling over her. “It is.”

Rio’s smile grew, warm and genuine, that Agatha could see the gap in her teeth “Good,” she said softly. “Because I was hoping it was.”

Agatha’s shoulders straightened, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. She cleared her throat, brushing imaginary dirt from her hands. “Hypothetically,” she began, her tone measured, “if I wanted to kiss you, would you let me?” She paused, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Hypothetically.”

Rio raised an eyebrow, her smile widening slightly as she leaned back, “Well…” she drawled, letting the moment hang for just a second longer than necessary. “Hypothetically, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell. But I wouldn’t stop you.” She cast a quick glance to the side, her smile softening as her eyes returned to Agatha’s. “Hypothetically.”

Agatha’s breath caught for a brief moment, but her smirk only grew, her confidence solidifying. “Good to know,” she murmured, leaning in just slightly, her voice and eyes dropping to something softer. “I’m gonna kiss you, now. Not hypothetically.”

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes fixed on Agatha’s lips.

And then Agatha closed the gap, her lips meeting Rio’s in a kiss that was soft but firm, like every moment had been leading to this one. Rio responded instantly, her lips warm and unhurried, matching Agatha’s tenderness.

As Agatha went to deepen the kiss, leaning in just a little more, Rio pulled away, her eyes half lidded and a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You’ll have to work a little harder for more,” she murmured, her tone teasing but the warmth in her gaze unmistakable.

Agatha blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it was replaced by a confident grin. “Oh, I will,” she promised, her voice low and full of intent.

Rio chuckled softly, leaning back slightly, her smirk lingering as she picked up a stray leaf and let it fall from her hand. “Looking forward to it.”

The air between them shifted, lighter but still humming with unspoken promises.

-

Agatha lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been a few days since her unexpected date in the garden with Rio, and yet the memory still lingered, casting a lightness over her days that she had not felt in longer than she could remember.

It was a strange predicament to spend what felt like a trillion years grieving not just her son but also the love of her life, only to find herself here. She had spent so long running, never stopping, hoping that if enough time passed she might forget. Forget the pain, the love, the ache of everything she had lost.

But who was she kidding? That was no way to live.

Not that she regretted it. If she was being honest, some of those years had been fun. Agatha smirked faintly at the thought. Some people deserved the wrath she had unleashed on them. And if it kept her from falling apart, even just a little, who could blame her?

Still, as she stared at the ceiling, the weight of her choices pressed on her. Running had kept her alive, but it had not made her whole. And now, with Rio back in her life and Sage being Sage, she could not help but wonder if she had finally found something worth staying still for.

Did Agatha want to get her purple back? Absolutely, she did. If she could, she would. It wasn’t just magic- it was her. A part of her identity, her power, her essence. The loss of it felt like losing a piece of herself, and if she had the chance to reclaim it, she wouldn’t hesitate.

But if someone were to ask what she’d do with it, Agatha wouldn’t have an answer. She could go back to the surface, wreak havoc, massacre a few people, and fall into the same endless cycle. She wouldn’t mind it. In fact, it might even be fun for a while. But for whatever stupid, infuriating reason, she didn’t crave it anymore. The hunger that once clawed at her from the inside, gnawing at her ribs and demanding more, had gone quiet.

She wondered if it would come back with just a taste. Would the chaos inside her wake up, roaring for more? Or was it gone for good?

She didn’t know.

What she did know was that whenever the thought of power crept into her mind, it was when she was around Sage. She found herself wishing she could show Sage, wondering what the girl would think of her at her peak. Sage was brilliant. Insanely brilliant. Agatha could sense it now more than ever, this quiet, coiled strength beneath Sage’s sharp wit and sarcastic remarks. It was there, waiting, and Agatha wasn’t sure if Sage even realized how strong she truly was.

She knew the girl’s magic, its unique color burned into her memory. It wasn’t fully black, though that was its base. It shimmered just enough to almost appear gray, but there was more to it than that. Agatha couldn’t quite explain it, but the best way to describe it was this: if green and purple were locked in a constant battle, their energies intertwining and fighting for dominance, creating something entirely new in their struggle. It wasn’t just a color, it was alive, shifting, almost breathing.

It was beautiful, unlike anything Agatha had ever seen, and impossible to define. It had a depth and complexity that felt like it held secrets, just out of reach. It was Sage’s magic, and it suited her perfectly.

Agatha hardly ever saw Sage practice magic. There were the occasional portals and the weather shifting with her moods, but nothing that hinted at the raw force Agatha could feel simmering beneath the surface. It made her itch to see it, that hidden power unleashed, like a tickle deep in her ribcage that she couldn’t shake.

But it wasn’t for siphoning purposes, not this time. Agatha had no interest in seeking Sage’s magic for herself. She wanted to see her daughter in action, to see her be a witch. She wanted to be proud of her, to know that this extraordinary force of nature had come from her.

Rio knew it too. She could sense Sage’s power in a way that made her proud. She would brag about Sage’s intellect, recounting memories of teaching her practical magic as a child. Rio would share how Sage needed no more than a single explanation to understand a spell, though it often took a few tries to master it.

Agatha loved hearing these stories. Every word was like a glimpse into moments she had missed, moments she could never get back. Rio was unknowingly giving her a gift- a chance to imagine what it might have been like if she had been there. And, in a strange way, it was enough. Enough to make her feel like she belonged here, that she had a place in their lives, even if it was still unsteady.

But doubt always crept in, dragging guilt along with it. Nicky.

Agatha had known, from Rio’s words weeks ago, that Sage saw him when she slept. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask Sage about it. She couldn’t ask what he was like, what he looked like, if he was happy. Was he truly at peace? Did peace even mean anything? Or was there something more, something after the afterlife?

These thoughts were too big, too heavy for her to hold. They churned in the back of her mind, questions she wasn’t ready to face, not yet.

One day, maybe she would be ready to speak his name, to ask the questions clawing at her heart. But not yet. Not today. Today she would sit with the quiet joy Rio’s stories brought her, let herself pretend that was enough. For now, it had to be.

-

The next day flew by in a haze of debates and half-played chess games. Agatha and Sage had long abandoned the idea of taking the game seriously, instead turning every move into a conversation about something ridiculous.

At one point, Sage casually mentioned a tree Rio had decided was the perfect climbing challenge when she was eight. She laughed while describing how Rio had tied a rope around one of the higher branches and shouted, “Just grab on and start climbing! You’ll figure it out!” Sage’s story ended with her dangling precariously halfway up, her foot slipping on the bark, and Rio attempting to “rescue” her, only to lose her grip and fall into a pile of leaves below.

Agatha’s blood pressure spiked just imagining it. “You’re both insane,” she muttered, shaking her head. “No self-preservation whatsoever.”

Sage just grinned. “Character building,” she said, with a glint in her eye that was far too similar to Rio’s.

Agatha didn’t press further, but the story lingered with her longer than she wanted to admit.

Later in the day, Sage leaned back in her chair, her voice casual as she mentioned she’d be heading to the surface that night.

Agatha didn’t react immediately, keeping her face neutral as she adjusted a chess piece. She nodded slightly, brushing it off as if it didn’t matter.

Sage, sharp as ever, teased her. “Don’t miss me too much,” she said with a grin. “I’ll be back in the morning to crush you at chess and out-debate you on every topic.”

Agatha rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “You’re delusional if you think you’re winning this time,” she said, but the faint tug of a smile betrayed her.

When Sage finally left, the house felt quieter, but not unbearably so. Agatha stayed at the chessboard for a while longer, her fingers brushing against the edge of a pawn as her thoughts wandered. She wasn’t used to this, but she found herself settling into it all the same, already waiting for tomorrow.

Later that night, Agatha sat in the guest room, the soft hum of a TV show playing in the background. Scratchy’s playpen was tucked neatly in the corner, and a dresser with a TV perched on top filled the otherwise sparse space. Agatha wasn’t paying attention to the show she’d put on. Her fingers drummed idly against the bedspread as she leaned back against the headboard, a book open in her lap.

It was The Sea Around Us, another Rachel Carson book that Sage had unceremoniously tossed at her one morning when she walked out onto the patio. Sage’s slanted handwriting filled the margins, annotations ranging from sarcastic remarks to surprisingly thoughtful reflections.

Agatha tried to focus on the book, her eyes scanning the same line over and over, but her mind kept wandering. The room felt empty in a way that was hard to ignore, and she found herself thinking about the nights she used to spend next to a certain green witch. Her fingers stilled on the bedspread, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

The words on the page blurred as her thoughts drifted. Agatha couldn’t tell if it was the book, the room, or something else entirely, but staying focused felt impossible tonight.

With a final sigh, Agatha snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the nightstand, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Frustration prickled at her as she threw the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She needed to move, to do something other than sit and let her thoughts spiral.

She made her way to the door, yanking it open without a second thought.

She stopped short, startled by the sight in front of her.

Rio was standing there, her hand frozen in the air, as though she’d been about to knock. She wore a sweatshirt and boxers, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. Her wide brown eyes met Agatha’s, and for a moment, the two of them just stared at each other.

Rio awkwardly dropped her hand and breathed out a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey yourself,” Agatha replied, her voice just as soft, her surprise melting into something steadier.

“I- um… couldn’t sleep,” Rio admitted, her words hesitant as she glanced down briefly before meeting Agatha’s gaze again.

“Neither could I,” Agatha said, her fingers brushing against the edge of the door as if to ground herself.

Rio shifted slightly, her eyes flicking past Agatha into the room before returning to her. “Can I come in?”

Agatha hesitated for only a moment before shaking her head lightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Can we go to yours?”

Rio’s shoulders immediately relaxed, and she let out a quiet breath, her relief almost palpable. “Yeah,” she said softly, a small, genuine smile crossing her lips. “Yeah, of course.”

Rio started to turn away, her steps hesitant, but then stopped halfway. She turned back, reaching out to grab Agatha’s hand, her grip warm. “I might have a better idea,” she said, her voice filled with quiet confidence.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “And what’s that?”

Rio’s expression shifted, a teasing glint sparking in her eyes as she suddenly dropped to one knee, still holding Agatha’s hand. “Agatha Harkness,” she began, her tone overly dramatic, “will you go on a date with me?”

Agatha groaned loudly, rolling her eyes. “Right now?”

Rio nodded earnestly, “Right now.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, this is so gay,” Agatha muttered, but the corners of her mouth twitched, betraying her amusement.

Rio grinned, unfazed. “Is that a yes?”

Agatha let out a long, exasperated sigh, yanking her hand away with a dramatic flourish. “Of course it’s a fucking yes.” She pretended to be annoyed, crossing her arms. “What are we doing?”

“Uh…” Rio paused, her grin faltering as she realized she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Star gazing?”

Agatha snorted, shaking her head as she motioned for Rio to stand. “You’re ridiculous,” she said. “But fine. Let’s go look at the stars.”

-

They found themselves outside in the front yard, lying side by side on a blanket under the wide expanse of stars. The night was quiet, the cool air settling around them, and neither had spoken much since they’d come out here.

Between them, their hands rested on the blanket, close but not quite touching. Agatha stared up at the stars, her thoughts a whirl of everything and nothing, until she felt the faintest brush of Rio’s pinky against hers.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as she froze, unsure if it was an accident or something deliberate. The small touch lingered, light and hesitant, and Agatha’s pulse quickened. She glanced sideways at Rio, but Rio’s gaze was still fixed on the sky, her expression calm, though there was a faint tension in the way her shoulders rose and fell.

Agatha hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly before she let them move, just enough to hook her pinky with Rio’s. The contact was small, almost insignificant, but the warmth of it spread through her chest like fire catching.

Rio’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though she still didn’t look away from the stars. “You’re holding your breath,” she murmured softly.

Agatha let out a sharp exhale, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re imagining things,” she said.

Rio finally turned her head slightly, her warm brown eyes catching Agatha’s in the dim light. “Am I?”

Agatha didn’t answer, her gaze flicking back up to the stars as her pinky stayed locked with Rio’s. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t heavy. It was warm, filled with the quiet hum of something unspoken.

Neither of them moved to let go.

Rio broke the silence first, her voice soft and low. “You know, on the surface, when I couldn’t find you, I’d look up at the stars. It was the only thing that kept me feeling close to you. Knowing that somewhere, you were under the same sky I was.”

Agatha’s chest tightened at the words, her gaze still fixed upward. She wasn’t sure how to respond, the weight of Rio’s quiet confession settling over her like the night air. Her pinky twitched slightly against Rio’s, still hooked together, as she let the silence stretch for a moment longer.

“That’s… stupidly poetic,” Agatha finally said, her voice soft, almost teasing. But there was no malice in her words, only a quiet warmth.

Rio chuckled lightly, “Maybe. But it helped.” She turned her head slightly, her gaze on Agatha now instead of the stars. “It was the only thing that made it feel like you weren’t completely gone.”

“I thought at some point you’d stop looking,” Agatha admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t need to say more, Rio would never know the depth of that thought. The way it had driven her for so long. It was why Agatha had kept killing witches, why she left chaos in her wake. She could not shake the memory of Rio, could not escape it no matter how far she ran. If she had to live without Rio and without her son, burdened by her choices and her grief, then she would make sure Rio would not forget her either. Every act, every body, every trail of destruction was a reminder of Agatha’s existence.

Rio’s pinky tightened slightly against hers, and her voice was steady when she finally spoke. “I never stopped looking,” she said, her tone carrying something heavier underneath. “You’ve never been subtle, you know. All those bodies you left for dead? They were hard to miss.”

Agatha huffed out a humorless laugh, tilting her head to look at Rio. “I guess that was the point.”

Rio turned her head, meeting Agatha’s gaze, her eyes softer than her words. “I know,” she said quietly.

Agatha’s eyes stayed locked on Rio’s, the world around them fading into the background. The stars above seemed distant, their light paling in comparison to the warmth in Rio’s gaze.

Rio shifted onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. Her movements were slow, as though she was waiting for Agatha to stop her. But Agatha didn’t move, couldn’t move, not when Rio’s hand reached out to gently brush against her cheek.

Agatha’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed at the touch. It was soft, almost tentative, and yet it held a quiet assurance that made something inside her chest ache.

Agatha didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself lean into it, her heartbeat loud and insistent in her ears. When she opened her eyes again, Rio’s expression was calm, but her brown eyes held a depth that Agatha could feel in her very core.

Neither of them said anything. Words felt unnecessary, even intrusive, in the stillness that surrounded them. Agatha’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out, just a shallow exhale as Rio’s thumb moved in a slow, gentle stroke along her cheekbone.

Agatha swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. “You’re staring,” Repeating Rio’s words from days earlier. 

Rio’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her voice just as soft. “So are you.”

Agatha let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening again, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Something about this moment felt too important to let slip away.

“Can I kiss you?” Rio asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, her hand still warm against Agatha’s cheek.

Agatha’s lips curved into a smirk, her chest tightening as she held Rio’s gaze. “I’d be pissed if you didn’t,” she murmured, her voice laced with quiet amusement.

Rio’s smile widened just slightly before she leaned in, closing the space between them. When their lips met, it was soft and unhurried.

Agatha’s hand moved instinctively to Rio’s wrist, her fingers curling lightly against the fabric of her sweatshirt. The kiss carried with it an undeniable certainty, as if this was exactly where they were supposed to be.

Agatha let her tongue drag slowly against Rio’s bottom lip, an unspoken plea to deepen the kiss. Rio granted permission without hesitation, parting her lips and meeting Agatha halfway. The shift was electric, and Agatha couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped her as their tongues met.

The kiss grew hungrier, more demanding, as if all the tension between them had found its release.

Agatha tilted her head to deepen the kiss, pressing herself closer as her free hand found Rio’s waist, gripping her like she needed to keep her there. Rio responded in kind, her thumb brushing along the line of Agatha’s jaw before sliding into her hair, the gesture equal parts grounding and possessive.

Rio moved over Agatha, her weight pressing them closer together as Agatha adjusted beneath her, letting her take the lead. Their lips barely parted as their foreheads rested against one another, their breathing heavy, bodies close enough to feel the warmth shared between them.

Rio was the first to speak, her words halting as though searching for the right ones. “I can’t- … I mean- …. I’m not ready to…”

Whatever she wants.

“Whatever you want,” Agatha said simply, her voice certain, meeting Rio’s gaze without hesitation.

Rio nodded quickly, her lips brushing against Agatha’s in a way that sent a jolt through both of them. She leaned back in, their mouths meeting again with more urgency this time, a quiet hum escaping Rio’s throat.

Rio shifted, her leg moving between Agatha’s. The pressure was gentle at first, but it was enough to make Agatha gasp softly against her lips, her hips moving instinctively in response. Rio stilled for a heartbeat, searching Agatha’s face, her eyes wide and questioning.

Agatha met her gaze, her fingers curling into Rio’s sweatshirt as she nodded. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice shaky.

That was all Rio needed. She leaned back in, her lips capturing Agatha’s again as their bodies began to move together. Agatha let out a quiet whimper, her hips rolling against Rio’s thigh, and Rio pressed closer, her own movements syncing with Agatha’s.

Agatha’s head fell back slightly, breaking the kiss for a moment, and Rio took the opportunity to trail her lips along Agatha’s jaw, down to her neck. Agatha’s fingers found their way to Rio’s hair, a soft, shaky moan escaping her as she moved against Rio’s thigh, the friction sending shivers through her.

Rio pressed herself down harder against Agatha, her breath catching as a loud moan escaped her lips. Rio’s movements stilled for just a moment, her forehead moving to rest against Agatha’s as their eyes locked.

Rio whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Agatha didn’t look away, her hands still tangled in Rio’s hair, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

They began rocking into each other, firm and quick, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm. Their eyes stayed locked, neither daring to look away, the intensity between them growing with every shift and press of their hips.

“Agatha, I’m gonn-” Rio’s voice broke into a sharp gasp, her movements faltering for just a second.

“Me too,” Agatha managed to reply, her voice breathless, her hands move to Rio’s waist as she tried to steady herself against the wave building inside her.

The heat pooling in Agatha’s core was impossible to ignore, every motion, every sound, pushing her closer to the edge. She tilted her head back slightly, her mouth falling open as her body tightened, the tension reaching a breaking point.

Rio’s forehead still rested against hers, their breaths mingling in short, ragged gasps as their bodies moved together, the rhythm becoming erratic as they both chased that final release. Agatha’s hands slid up to Rio’s back, holding her close, their connection grounding her even as everything else seemed to spiral out of control.

“Agatha,” Rio whimpered, her voice trembling, her body pressing harder against her.

Agatha gasped, her own name sounding foreign as she clung to the moment, the heat in her core finally snapping, sending her over the edge with a cry she couldn’t hold back.

Rio followed seconds later, her body shuddering against Agatha’s as she buried her face into the crook of her neck, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Agatha lay there, Rio’s weight pressed against her, both of them struggling to catch their breath. The cool night air did little to calm the heat still coursing through her body. She blinked up at the stars for a moment before glancing back at Rio.

“Did we just…” Agatha asked, her voice shaky but laced with amusement.

Rio leaned back slightly to look at her, her expression both smug and breathless. “Yup.”

A breathy laugh escaped Agatha, but it caught in her throat the second she felt Rio’s hand move between them. Her heart skipped, her body stiffening slightly, her gaze snapping back to Rio’s face.

Rio’s eyes locked onto hers, dark and unwavering, as her hand slipped lower. Agatha didn’t dare look away, her breath hitching as she realized what Rio was doing.

She could feel Rio’s hand moving beneath the fabric of Rio’s own waistband, and the deliberate, confident way Rio’s expression shifted sent a new wave of heat surging through her.

Without breaking their gaze, Rio brought her fingers to Agatha’s lips. The look in her eyes dared Agatha to resist, but she didn’t even hesitate. Instinctively, Agatha opened her mouth, and Rio pushed her fingers inside.

Agatha’s lips closed around them, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste hit her tongue. A muffled moan escaped her, and when her gaze returned to Rio, she saw her own desire mirrored back.

Rio’s breath hitched at the sight, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips as she watched Agatha’s mouth work around her fingers.

Agatha pulled her mouth from Rio’s fingers, her head falling back against the blanket as a smug smirk played on her lips.

Rio let out a scoff, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation. But before Agatha could say anything, Rio leaned in, capturing her lips in another kiss. Her tongue traced every inch of Agatha’s mouth, tasting herself in the process, the intimacy of the act sending a shiver down Agatha’s spine.

When Rio finally pulled away, she didn’t say a word. She rolled onto her back beside Agatha, their bodies still close, their breathing slowly evening out. Above them, the stars glittered against the vast sky, but neither seemed to care much about the view.

Agatha felt Rio’s hand slide into hers, their fingers tangling together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She turned her head slightly to glance at Rio, who was still staring upward, her expression calm but her lips tugged into the faintest of smiles.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Rio murmured, her voice teasing.

Agatha’s smirk widened as she gave Rio’s hand a small squeeze. “That’s the plan,” she replied.

They stayed like that, hand in hand, small smiles lingering on their faces, as the night carried on around them. There was no need to say anything more.

-

The next morning, Agatha sat on the patio, her fingers wrapped around a warm mug of coffee. The quiet morning air was broken by the sound of the back door slamming open. Rio stormed outside, she was obviously pissed.

From inside, Agatha could faintly hear Sage’s voice calling after her.

Rio marched across the patio toward the garden. Agatha raised her mug to take a sip, trying not to appear too interested, when Sage burst through the back door, her voice trailing after Rio.

“I just don’t get why you’re so pissed off!” Sage exclaimed, exasperation dripping from every word.

Rio whirled around so fast it startled both Agatha and Sage. “Look at your arm!” she yelled, pointing furiously.

Agatha’s gaze followed Rio’s gesture to Sage’s wrist, where a fresh tattoo wrapped itself around her skin. It was a snake, coiling elegantly around her wrist, its head resting neatly on top of her hand. The detail was intricate, and Agatha had to admit, it was impressive work.

Rio, however, didn’t seem to share her appreciation. Agatha pressed her lips together tightly, trying to stifle the laugh bubbling in her chest. Of all the things to send Rio into a rage, a tattoo? She had to bite down on her lip to keep herself from bursting out laughing, especially as Sage crossed her arms, her expression defiant.

“It’s just a tattoo!” Sage retorted, lifting her arm higher, as if to show it off. “And it looks cool!”

“Cool?” Rio’s voice pitched higher, her frustration palpable. “You didn’t even tell me you were getting this!”

Sage rolled her eyes dramatically, her stance practically screaming rebellion. “I didn’t think I needed permission.”

Agatha finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. A laugh escaped her unexpected, drawing both Rio and Sage’s attention. She cleared her throat, quickly covering her smile with her coffee cup. “Sorry,” she muttered, though the amused glint in her eyes said otherwise.

Rio shot her a withering glare. “You’re not helping.”

Agatha raised her hand innocently, the grin she tried to hide slipping back onto her face. “I didn’t say anything,” she said lightly, though her tone was far too smug to be convincing.

Sage smirked at Agatha’s reaction, “See? Even she thinks it’s not a big deal.”

Rio groaned, dragging a hand down her face as she turned back toward the garden. “Just let me be pissed off,” she muttered, marching off again.

Sage and Agatha exchanged a quick glance, the same mischievous glint in both their eyes. “Nice job,” Agatha said with a smirk, raising her coffee mug in a mock toast.

“Thanks,” Sage replied, her grin widening. “It’s a gift.” She made her way to the chair across from Agatha and plops down, “So, have you thought about it?”

“Have I thought about what?” Agatha replied, though she knew exactly what Sage was talking about.

“My birthday. You know, going to the surface?”

“Have you talked to Rio about it?” Agatha countered, buying herself time to dodge a real answer.

“Not yet,” Sage admitted, shrugging. “I was about to, but then she decided to have a meltdown about a tattoo of all things.” She glanced down at her wrist, turning it slightly to admire the ink.

Agatha smirked faintly into her coffee cup. “We’ll see.”

Sage rolled her eyes, leaning back into her chair. “Yeah, that’s what you always say when you’re avoiding a conversation.”

Agatha didn’t bother denying it.

Sage’s attention shifted, her gaze flicking over to the garden where Rio stood aggressively throwing food to the koi fish. After a moment, Sage turned her attention back to Agatha. “Have you read The Sea Around Us yet?”

“I’m getting to it,” Agatha replied, taking a long sip of her coffee, and meeting Sage’s inquisitive stare.

Sage’s eyes darted back to Rio and then back to Agatha, narrowing slightly as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Are y’all dating or something?”

Agatha’s coffee went down the wrong pipe, and she immediately choked, coughing violently as she tried to regain her composure. Sage leaned forward, her tongue fighting to poke into her cheek.

“What?” Agatha croaked, her eyes watering as she set her cup down with a clatter.

“You heard me,” Sage said, her tone far too casual. “You and Rio. There’s been a vibe. ”

Agatha glared at her through narrowed eyes, though the flush rising to her cheeks betrayed her. “You’ve got quite the imagination, kid.”

“Uh-huh.” Sage leaned back again, crossing her arms. “So that’s a yes.”

“It’s not a yes!” Agatha snapped, her voice rising.

“Not a no, either,” Sage shot back, her smirk and eyes widening, her tongue fully poking into her cheek.

Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “I need stronger coffee for this.”

The conversation abruptly ended as Sage pushed back from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the patio. Her eyes locked onto something above the house, her entire body going rigid.

Agatha frowned, following Sage’s gaze, but before she could ask, she noticed Rio. She wasn’t looking at the fish anymore. Instead, her head was tilted back, her gaze fixed on the same spot in the sky that had captured Sage’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” Agatha shouted.

“Someone’s here,” Sage mumbled. She didn’t look at Agatha, her focus unwavering as she moved quickly across the patio toward the back door.

Agatha’s eyes darted between Sage and Rio, “You gonna do something about this?” she demanded, throwing her arms out toward Rio, who still hadn’t moved.

Rio shrugged, her calm demeanor infuriating. “She’ll handle it,” she called out as she turned her attention back to the koi pond. She tossed another handful of food to the fish as if nothing unusual was happening.

Agatha groaned, her patience snapping as she pushed back her chair. “Of course she will,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she started after Sage.

She paused at the back door, casting a sharp glare over her shoulder at Rio, who didn’t even look up. Agatha huffed, muttering to herself, “Unbelievable,” before stepping inside and chasing after Sage.

Chapter Text

By the time Agatha stepped out onto the front porch, Sage was already halfway down the path, moving with purpose. Agatha’s gaze shifted upward, and that’s when she saw him.

Teen.

He descended with an almost unsettling grace, his feet hovering just above the ground. Blue orbs of light swirled and pulsed around his hands, casting an eerie glow. His cape billowed behind him, catching the wind perfectly, as if he’d timed it. Agatha watched, unimpressed, one brow arching. It was all very dramatic.

And now Agatha understood why Rio hadn’t bothered to see who had entered her realm. It wasn’t indifference; it was strategy. Agatha had a soft spot for him (if you could even call it that) and Rio? Rio knew it was easier to feign ignorance than to deal with the whole abomination situation . The loophole Agatha created had restored the sacred balance, and as far as Rio was concerned, that was enough to keep her from getting involved.

To be honest, Agatha had completely forgotten about him. Not surprising, really- she had a tendency to suffer from a bit of object permanence when it came to people. If they weren’t directly in her line of sight or causing her immediate trouble, well, they might as well not exist.

But now he was here, floating ominously down onto the path, and he very much was her problem again. Agatha crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she muttered under her breath, “Well, this should be fun.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, you know that?” Sage called out.

Billy landed lightly on the path, his expression unreadable. “I’m here for my familiar,” he said flatly.

“Did your mother not teach you any manners? You don’t just show up, unannounced, to people’s homes and steal their jokes,” Sage shot back, her smirk already forming.

Billy’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice cutting, “You gonna keep running your mouth, or are you actually gonna do something about it?”

Sage’s smirk twisted into a wide, almost manic grin, her eyes lighting up full of excitement. She stepped forward, her hands out, palms up, fingers twitching as her voice rang out in an excited, almost gleeful scream. “ MAKE ME! ”

“God she really is my daughter.” Agatha says with a wave of her hand, like it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. 

The air around her pulsed, vibrating with the anticipation of the fight, as her power began to spark and crackle like a storm ready to break.

Billy charged at Sage, his body colliding with hers in a blur of motion. Before Agatha could fully register what was happening, they shot up into the sky, disappearing into the clouds at an alarming speed.

Agatha froze for half a second, her eyes narrowing as the realization hit her. “Well, that’s not good,” she muttered under her breath, already moving down the steps.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she grumbled, each word growing more exasperated as she picked up her pace, her head snapping upward, trying to track them.

Suddenly, Agatha’s eyes caught movement above. Sage and Billy were tumbling through the air, a chaotic tangle of limbs spinning wildly. They plummeted toward the clearing, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

When the dust settled, Sage was on top of Billy, her knees bracketing his hips and her fists gripping his shirt. The momentum sent them sliding through the grass, the force of the landing etched into the trail they left behind.

With a sudden burst of blue power from Billy, Sage was ripped off of him, the force sending her flying a few yards away. She hit the ground with a thud, rolling to a stop before springing back to her feet, her eyes blazing with fury.

Agatha, standing a safe distance away, raised an eyebrow as Billy groaned, flipping onto his stomach and lifting his head to look at her. “You gonna help me out?” he called, his voice strained.

Agatha crossed her arms, smirking slightly. “Sorry, Teen, but you started this fight. I’ll let you go ahead and finish it,” she shouted back, her tone dripping with amusement.

Billy groaned louder, muttering something under his breath, while Sage stalked toward him, her hands sparking with that grayish magic. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “I’ll end it.”

What made Agatha’s smirk fall was Sage’s expression. She looked furious. Her face was bloodied and smeared with dirt, small cuts scattered across her skin, though none were as bad as Billy’s. A vein pulsed angrily on her forehead, and her jaw was clenched tight enough to break.

Sage thrust one hand outward with a commanding motion, her fingers curling as if pulling invisible strings. The ground beneath them quivered, vibrating before thick vines erupted from the earth, twisting and writhing like living creatures.

The vines snapped to attention, racing toward Billy and coiling tightly around his ankles. He let out a startled yell and with a sharp pull of Sage’s arm back toward her they yanked him back, dragging him across the grass toward Sage, his hands clawing at the ground in a useless attempt to stop himself.

But the unease grew as Agatha kept watching. She had never seen Sage so genuinely pissed. Sure, the girl was sharp tongued and had her moods, but this was different. This was fury. The kind of anger that made Agatha’s stomach twist, not because of what Sage might do to Billy, but because of how consuming it seemed, like it could burn everything in its path.

“Alright, kid,” Agatha called out, taking cautious steps forward, her voice laced with a calm she didn’t feel. “That’s enough. You’ve made your point.”

Sage didn’t respond, her focus locked entirely on Billy as the vines tightened their grip, pulling him closer still. Her eyes burned with something wild, something Agatha wasn’t sure she liked seeing.

Agatha’s brow furrowed, her worry growing as she took another step forward. “Sage,” she tried again, her tone firmer this time. “Let him go! Now!”

With a flick of her wrist, Billy was flipped over onto his back, hitting the ground with a grunt. Sage’s arms moved in one fluid motion, spreading wide before snapping together in command. Vines burst from the earth once more, slithering toward Billy like living ropes.

One coiled tightly around each of his arms, pinning them to the ground. Another shot out, wrapping around his neck with precision, the grip tightening with every passing second. Billy let out a strained gasp, his body struggling against the relentless vines.

“Sage! I said enough!” Agatha yelled.

Sage’s green eyes, filled with unshed tears, stood in stark contrast to the furious red that flushed her face. Above them, storm clouds churned ominously, dark and heavy, their presence a reflection of Sage’s turmoil.

“Why won’t you just go away?” Sage spat through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with emotion. She loomed over Billy, her fists clenched, the vines around his neck tightening even further. Billy struggled against the restraints, his gasps becoming more frantic.

Agatha’s chest tightened as she watched the vines coil tighter around Billy’s neck, his gasps starting to grow weaker. Panic surged in her chest as her eyes darted between him and Sage. Sage looked furious, completely consumed, her trembling hands glowing faintly with gray magic.

Billy’s face had started to pale, his body slackening as the vines gripped harder. Agatha’s heart raced, an unfamiliar fear clawing its way through her. This wasn’t about power anymore; it was about control, and Sage was fucking losing it.

Agatha took a shaky step forward, her body rigid as she tried to process what was happening. Her voice finally broke through, the words tearing out of her like she couldn’t stop them.

“If you do this, I will hate you forever!” she screamed, the sound fractured and desperate, slicing through the tension. 

Sage looked up at this, her eyes brimming with so much hurt and her face twisting in disgust, it made Agatha’s stomach churn. It was a look she was far too familiar with. For a moment, the rage that had consumed Sage flickered, replaced by something far more fragile. Then Sage’s gaze shifted, glancing past Agatha toward something behind her.

The vines around Billy’s body slackened, retreating back into the ground. He lay there, coughing and gasping for air, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest. The storm clouds above still churned, but a sharp gust of wind swept through the clearing, scattering loose leaves and breaking the suffocating stillness. Sage’s hands fell to her sides, trembling.

Sage’s gaze dropped back down to Billy, her expression hardening again as she seethed through clenched teeth, “Novice.” Her lips curled into a snarl, and as she stepped over him, she snapped her teeth in the air, the act was animalistic, like a dog warning its prey to back off. She spit on the ground near his head, her disdain evident, then nudged his head with her foot before striding toward the house without hesitation.

Sage didn’t look at Agatha as she passed, her gaze locked straight ahead. Her shoulder knocked into Agatha’s with enough force to make her stumble slightly, but the young witch didn’t slow or acknowledge it.

Agatha whipped around, her mouth already open to yell something back, but the words died on her lips when she saw Rio standing several feet away, her arms crossed, her gaze unreadable as she watched everything unfold.

Agatha’s gaze stayed fixed on Rio, her stomach churning as the realization struck her. It wasn’t her that Sage had listened to. It had been Rio.

She had thrown words at Sage, cruel and cutting words, desperate to stop her. Words meant to hurt, and they had. She saw it in the way Sage’s face had twisted, in the way her shoulders had trembled when she let the vines fall. But it wasn’t Agatha’s words that had made Sage stop. It wasn’t her at all.

It was Rio.

Of course it was. Rio didn’t need to shout or manipulate. She was the one Sage looked to when everything spiraled out of control.

Rio was her mother in every way Agatha wasn’t.

Agatha swallowed hard, the bitterness clawing at her. She had been desperate enough to wound Sage, and it hadn’t even mattered. She had been the villain in her own daughter’s story while Rio had simply stood there and been enough.

Agatha couldn’t dwell on what had just happened, not now. She needed to check on Teen. Her irritation burned hotter with every step she took toward him. This whole show, his cocky attitude and theatrics, was going to get him killed one day.

When she reached him, Billy was still sprawled on the ground, groaning softly. Without a second thought, Agatha grabbed him by the front of his shirt with both fists and yanked him off the ground.

“Get up!” she snapped.

Agatha sighed, releasing her grip on Billy’s shirt before brushing the dirt off his shoulders with quick, irritated swipes. “You okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with only the slightest hint of concern.

Billy straightened, wobbling slightly before muttering, “I’ll live… no thanks to that bitch.”

“Hey,” Agatha snapped, her voice rising as she stepped closer with a finger pointed in his face. “Watch your mouth, Teen. You don’t know half of what you’re talking about, and that overly inflated ego is going to get you killed.”

“Whatever. Are you ready to go?” Billy asked, still glaring at her, his tone impatient.

Agatha blinked, caught off guard. “Go where?”

Billy sighed heavily, tilting his head back like he couldn’t believe he had to explain. “Back to the surface, obviously. I don’t exactly see a Ritz-Carlton around here, and that freak isn’t exactly giving me the warm and fuzzies.”

He jerked his head toward the house, and Agatha followed his motion. There, standing in the window, was Sage with her arms crossed, glaring at them both with an expression that could cut glass.

Agatha rolled her eyes and turned away from the window. As she did, she felt the first cool drops of rain on her skin. She looked up at the sky, where the storm clouds had thickened, swirling ominously overhead.

Agatha looked at Billy, her expression deadpan as she rolled her eyes again. Without missing a beat, she raised her hand and slapped him on the back of the head.

“That freak has a name,” she said, the tone of her voice laced with more than just annoyance.

“Ow!” Billy flinched, clutching the back of his head with an exaggerated gasp. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Agatha replied flatly, glancing back at the house where Sage was still glaring at them from the window. “You need to go.”

Billy’s face twisted in disbelief. “I need to go? Seriously? After all of this?”

“Yes,” Agatha said again, her voice colder this time.

Billy let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, “Unbelievable. Who even is she?”

Agatha hesitated, her expression hardening as the words caught in her throat. She glanced at the ground, her shoulders tense, before finally looking up at him. “She’s Rio’s daughter.”

Billy blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. “Rio’s…” He trailed off, his brows furrowing. “Wait. You mean your Rio?”

“Yes.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion deepening. “You’re not telling me everything,” he said, his voice quieter, like he was trying to piece it together himself. “What aren’t you saying?”

Agatha sighed, wiping rain from her face as she glanced at him. “You’re a big boy. Do the math.”

Billy blinked, his brain clearly racing to connect the dots. His gaze darted from Agatha to the house, then back to her. “Wait. No. You’re not saying-“

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” Agatha said, deadpan. “Do you want a prize?”

“Actually, a prize would be nice,” Billy said, crossing his arms. “But you’ve got a magic murder daughter staring at me like she’s measuring me for a coffin. I have so many questions.”

“Questions that aren’t any of your damn business,” Agatha shot back. “And she’s not a coffin person. She’s more of a ‘turn-you-into-compost’ type.”

She thinks, Rio would likely be the type to build coffin s.

Billy blinked.

“Oh, great. Eco-friendly homicide. That’s a relief.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Agatha said. “Now scram, because I have business to attend to, and by business I mean I have to fucking go in there and apologize, which is something I literally never fucking do.” She made sure to poke his chest hard with a finger at each word for extra emphasis.

Billy flinched back, scowling. “Are you seriously not coming back with me?”

“Nope,” Agatha replied, stepping around him. “Bigger fish to fry here! See ya never, Teen! Good luck finding your brother.”

Billy groaned, throwing his hands in the air before taking off, flying straight up and out of the realm. His cape billowed dramatically as he disappeared into the swirling storm clouds.

Agatha sighed, rubbing her temples. “Dramatic little shit,” she muttered, before turning back toward the house.

The rain had stopped, but it was still cloudy. Agatha stood outside for a moment, staring at the heavy gray sky. The air was damp, clinging to her skin and hair, but it wasn’t the weather that made her hesitate.

-

Sage brushed past Rio without so much as a glance, her pace unrelenting. The tension between them hung heavy in the damp air, but Sage didn’t pause, didn’t care. Reaching the front door, she shoved it open with enough force to make it bounce against the wall, striding inside with purpose.

She made a sharp left into the living room, her black converse slapping against the floor. Without breaking her stride, she reached the window, her hand shooting out to grab the curtain. In one fluid motion, she yanked it back, sending the entire rod clattering to the floor with a crash.

The clearing outside came into view, her green eyes narrowing as she locked onto Agatha and Billy still standing out there, drenched but frozen in their conversation.

Her hand twitched at her side, faint sparks of grayish magic still flickering around her fingertips.

Behind her, the house seemed to shudder with the echo of the rod hitting the ground, but Sage didn’t look back. She didn’t care if Rio had followed her inside or stayed outside. At that moment, her frustration consumed everything else.

“That curtain rod did nothing wrong to you, Petal,” Rio said calmly from behind her. The calm tone of her mother’s voice only made Sage’s jaw tighten further.

Sage didn’t turn around, her eyes still fixed on the two people outside. She could hear Rio’s soft footsteps crossing the room, followed by the familiar creak of the couch as she sat down. The sound grated against Sage’s already frayed nerves.

“I wasn’t in the mood for it,” Sage muttered. Her hand flexed at her side, the residual sparks of magic finally fading as she forced herself to take a breath.

Rio hummed thoughtfully, the sound neither judgmental nor approving. “So, I take it you’re not in the mood for me, either?”

Sage’s lips twitched into a faint scowl, but she still didn’t look back. “No, not particularly.”

Rio leaned back, crossing her legs as the cushions shifted beneath her. “Good thing I’m not going anywhere, then.”

Sage’s green eyes stared out the window, where Agatha and Billy were still visible in the distance. “They’re a waste of time,” Sage said finally, her voice even colder now. “All of this is.”

Rio tilted her head, watching her carefully. “Funny thing about time,” she said softly. “We seem to have plenty of it, but you’re acting like you’re running out.”

Sage froze at this. Her eyes flickered to the side, her chest rising and falling as she took a deep breath. “She’s gonna choose him,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Rio didn’t respond immediately, her gaze steady on Sage’s tense form. “And you’re jealous,” she said evenly.

Sage’s jaw tightened, her hands still at her sides as her fingers flexed restlessly. “I’m not jealous.” she mumbled through gritted teeth, staring at the window as if it would give her answers. “I’m… realistic.”

Rio raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sure, Petal. That’s why you yanked the curtain rod off the wall like it personally offended you.”

“You don’t get it. She’s already halfway out the door. She doesn’t need me. She never has.”

“You don’t need to be jealous,” Rio said calmly. “Not of him, not of anyone.”

Sage snorted, crossing her arms. “The only thing I’m jealous of is y’all’s rendition of The Ballad of the Witches Road . Your outfits were fucking awesome.”

Rio gave a small shrug, her voice still neutral, “Fair point. The outfits were good for what they were.”

Sage rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Obnoxiously good. But this isn’t about your ability to coordinate lace and diamonds.”

“No, it’s not,” Rio said. “And it’s not about him, either.”

Sage’s smirk vanished as her expression hardened again. Her eyes stayed on the figures in the front yard, rain streaking down the glass. “It’s not jealousy,” she said quietly. “It’s fact.”

Rio pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh. “Sage, she’s not choosing him over you. This isn’t a competition.”

Sage’s shoulders tensed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “Feels like one. He’s what she’s used to. I’m just… here.”

Rio’s eyes softened, though her voice remained firm. “You’re her daughter. You don’t have to fight for her attention. You already have it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t know how to stay.” Sage shook her head, frustration still clear in her features.

Rio leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Maybe. But if you keep pushing her away, you’re going to make it easier for her to go.”

Sage stayed silent for a moment, “So what? I’m supposed to just apologize after what she said.”

Rio’s voice was calm but edged with something deeper. “She said that because she was scared.”

Sage’s fists clenched, and she turned to face Rio, her expression a mix of anger and uncertainty. “She said she’d hate me forever. That’s not fear. That’s-”

“Exactly what she said to me,” Rio interrupted. “When I came to take Nicky the first time, she said the exact same words.” The words came out a whisper.

Sage froze, the retort on her tongue dying. “She said that… to you?”

Rio nods, “I carried it with me for centuries. Let it eat at me, let it shape the way I saw myself. And it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change what I did or how much it hurt her.”

Sage’s expression faltered, her defiance cracking just enough to let doubt seep in.

Rio leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest,“You think holding onto her words makes you stronger? It doesn’t. You’re not fixing anything by clinging to them like a weapon. All you’re doing is hurting the both of you.”

“She doesn’t deserve an apology.”

Rio let out a heavy sigh, “She doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of your anger, either. You’re hurt, Petal, I get that. But lashing out doesn’t fix anything. Apologize.”

After a long silence, Sage shook her head. “Fine,” she muttered, heading toward the stairs to her bedroom. “But if she bites my head off, I’m blaming you.”

“Wait,” Rio said, stopping her just as she reached the first step. Rio gets up off the couch and begins walking toward her.

Sage groaned, throwing her head back in frustration. “What now?”

Rio didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer and tilted her head toward Sage, motioning with a slight nod. “Come here,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Sage narrowed her eyes and begrudgingly stepped closer. Before she could say anything, Rio licked her thumb and reached out to swipe it across the deep cut on Sage’s eyebrow.

“Hey!” Sage jerked back, smacking Rio’s hand away with a scowl. “What the hell? Quit!”

Rio raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, the faintest trace of amusement plays in her expression.

Sage crossed her arms tightly over her chest, glaring at her. “Eyebrow scars are fucking cool,” she mumbled.

Rio’s lips twitched, but she didn’t push the issue. Instead, she stepped back, watching as Sage turned and stomped up the stairs.

-

Before stepping into the house, Agatha paused on the porch, staring at the closed door. She took a deep breath, the weight of her own actions settling heavily in her chest. She knew she’d screwed up. Those words never should’ve left her mouth, but in the heat of the moment, it was all she could think to say.

Agatha exhaled slowly, her hand hovering over the doorknob. The tension in her chest only grew heavier the longer she stood there. She wanted to think of a plan, some way to make this easier, but nothing came. The truth was, she didn’t know how to fix this- not with Sage, not with Rio, not with any of it. She wasn’t sure if there was a way to fix it.

Her mind replayed the moment outside, the way Sage’s magic and anger had surged, wild and untamed. The words she’d thrown at her, sharp and cutting, came rushing back like a slap to the face.

‘If you do this, I will hate you forever.’ She hadn’t meant it, not really, but the look on Sage’s face told her it might not matter. She’d said it anyway, and now the damage was done.

Agatha clenched her jaw, shame crawling up her spine. Her mother had always said cruel things to her. Genuinely the woman never had a nice thing to say. Only ever words meant to wound, to remind her of all the ways she’d fallen short. And it had worked. Those words had stuck, burrowing deep and shaping who Agatha became. She’d sworn that she would never be like that. Yet here she was, repeating the same damn pattern. She’d be damned if she let Sage carry those scars the way she had.

Agatha closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her palm flat against the doorframe. She was scared. That was the truth of it. She’d seen Sage losing control, and fear had taken over, clouding her thoughts and guiding her words. She hated that part of herself, the part that always lashed out when things got too hard or too real. It was easier to push people away than admit how much she cared.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her own guilt. This was supposed to be different. Sage was supposed to be different. But here she was, repeating the same damn mistakes. She hadn’t been able to keep Nicky, she’d lost Rio for far longer than she’d care to admit. And now, the one person she wanted to protect more than anything was slipping through her fingers, and it was her fault.

The door loomed in front of her, but she knew she couldn’t stay out here forever.

With a shaky breath, Agatha opened the door. The house was quiet, the air inside heavy. The living room was empty, but when she glanced up the stairs, she noticed a faint light glowing from under Sage’s door. She hesitated, her gaze shifting down the hall to Rio’s closed door, dark and uninviting.

Her chest tightened, and she exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay calm. One thing at a time, she told herself. She leaned slightly to get a better look at the hall, hoping it would offer her some sort of clarity.

It didn’t.

Agatha took another steadying breath, her fingers twitching at her sides. Sage first, she decided, straightening her shoulders. Then Rio.

She started up the stairs, each step creaking slightly under her weight. Her pulse quickened the closer she got to Sage’s door.

Agatha brought up a shaky hand to knock, her knuckles hovering just inches from the door. Before she could make contact, Sage’s voice called out from inside, “You can come in, you know! I can hear you hovering from here.”

Agatha’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk as she opened the door. Sage was sitting on her bed, propped against the wall with a book in her lap. She looked clean now, the dirt and blood gone, while Agatha still felt damp and wrung out from the rain.

She walked across the room and sank into the chair by Sage’s desk.

“A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended,”Sage said without looking up from her book.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Quoting Atonement at me now? That supposed to be a dig?”

Sage smirked faintly, closing the book and tossing it beside her. “Not everything’s about you, you know. It’s true. People are fragile.”

“Sure. But some people are harder to break than others,” Agatha replied, leaning back in the chair.

“And some people,” Sage countered, her voice pointed, “are stubborn enough to make breaking them seem like a challenge.”

Agatha tilted her head, watching her carefully. Sage’s words weren’t about their earlier fight, not directly, anyway. No, this felt bigger. Sage was talking about a bigger picture. About Rio.

“Hm,” Agatha said, her lips curving into a small smile. “I wonder who you could possibly be talking about.”

Sage returned the smile, “Take a wild guess.”

Agatha let the moment hang before exhaling. “I get your point. It’s easy to mess someone up. Fixing it? That’s the hard part. But you can try.” Her voice softened, and her gaze dropped to her hands. “Speaking of which… I’m… I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” The words flew out of her mouth so there was no possibility of taking them back.

Sage blinked, caught off guard. “Wait. Are you- did you just apologize?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Agatha grumbled, her cheeks faintly coloring as she looked away. “I don’t do this often.” She grunted out. 

Sage leaned forward, studying Agatha with exaggerated scrutiny. “Wait.. Say that again for me, one more time.” Sage’s hands mimicked the motion of pulling out a camera as if she were recording the moment. 

“Don’t push it,” Agatha said, though her voice lacked its bite.

Sage’s lips twitched into a smile as she dropped her hands into her lap. “I’m sorry too. For, you know… trying to choke out Teen. I overdid it.”

Agatha snorted, “That was little more than trying but I’ll take it.”

Sage shrugged but didn’t say anything else. The silence between them settled, not as heavy as before. Sage leaned back against the wall, her expression thoughtful. “What do you think about that quote? About people being fragile?”

Agatha considered her answer for a moment and then spoke, “I think it’s not just about being fragile. It’s about what happens after. How we put ourselves back together. Sometimes we do it on our own. Sometimes we need help. And sometimes… The scars stay. ” She paused, her voice quieter now. “Doesn’t mean we’re not worth the effort.”

Sage studied her, her expression softening. “Are you talking about me, or are you talking about yourself?”

“You’re gonna have to figure that out yourself.”

Agatha was definitely talking about herself.

Sage’s lips twitched into a playful smile. She leaned forward again, as if she was about to share a deep dark secret. “That’s very poetic of you, Agatha.”

Agatha groaned, slapped her knees, and pushed herself to her feet. “Okay, we’re done here.” Bringing the conversation to an abrupt end.

She started toward the door but hesitated, her hand resting on the knob. Slowly, she turned back around. “Are there any flowers in Rio’s garden that mean ‘Sorry I was acting like an ass’?”

Sage grinned, swinging her legs off the bed. “Hydrangeas. Come on, I’ll show you where they are.”

Chapter Text

The sun was setting now, casting a golden glow over the garden. The soft hues painted the sky, blending seamlessly with the vibrant colors that surrounded them. Sage led the way through the winding paths, their footsteps gentle against the cobblestone. A cool breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers, earthy and sweet.

Agatha’s gaze swept over the garden. It wasn’t just beautiful, it was balanced. A mixture of nature and intention. For all her jagged edges, Rio had poured so much softness into this space, and it showed.

Agatha would never grow tired of this garden, no matter the time of day. Whether bathed in the golden light of morning, under the midday sun, or now, softened by the warmth of the sunset, it always felt like stepping into another world. A place of peace, yet full of vibrant life.

“Rio’s done wonders with this place,” Agatha mumbled, unable to hide the awe in her voice.

Sage glanced back at her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “She doesn’t half ass anything,” she said.

All Agatha could manage was a nod.

Sage stopped near the center of the garden, where the hydrangeas stood in clusters of pink, purple, and blue. “Here we are,” she said, motioning to the flowers.

The hydrangeas were all swaying gracefully in the light breeze. It was overwhelming, and Agatha didn’t know where to start.

Sage crouched beside the blooms, brushing her fingers lightly over a cluster of blue petals. “Blue. It symbolizes regret.” She pulled a small set of garden shears from her pocket and turned to hand them to Agatha.

Agatha arched a brow. “Do you just carry those around with you everywhere?”

Sage rolled her eyes and motioned for Agatha to take the shears.

“How do I do it?” Agatha asked.

Sage raised her eyebrows, her voice dripped in disbelief. “Has she not taught you how to do this?”

Agatha sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Rio had spent hours showing her how to tend to the garden, her voice calm and patient as she explained how to prune, water, and nurture each plant. Only one lesson had stuck and it had to do with white lilies and a heavy heart. The rest, Agatha had been far too distracted.

Distracted by the curve of Rio’s smile, the warmth in her voice, the way the sunlight caught her hair.

Distracted by the way she made tending the garden feel less like a chore and more like a ritual, a moment to breathe and be present.

Those are the feelings that had stayed with Agatha, which, unfortunately, didn’t leave much room for the finer details of Rio’s lessons.

“I was… preoccupied,” Agatha finally admitted, her gaze shifting briefly to the side, avoiding the knowing look in Sage’s eyes.

“Preoccupied…” Sage repeated slowly, her eyebrows arching as a cheeky grin tugged at her lips.

“Do you want to help me or not?” Agatha shot back, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Fine, here, take them.” Sage said, motioning again for Agatha to take the shears.

Agatha took them cautiously, crouching down beside Sage. She glanced up at her expectantly, waiting for instructions.

“Just cut at an angle, below the node. You’ll do fine.” Sage said, her tone bordering on impatient but not unkind.

Agatha does as instructed, carefully cutting the hydrangea at an angle. She sets the shears down and holds the flower between her fingers, spinning it gently as she studies it. For a moment, she lets herself appreciate its beauty.

Sage stands and dusts off her hands with a satisfied nod. “I think you’ve got it handled from here. I’m gonna head back to my room,” she says, already turning toward the house.

As Sage begins to walk away, Agatha calls out, “Sage!”

Sage stops and turns back, a questioning look on her face.

“Thank you,” Agatha says simply, hoping she makes it clear that she means every word.

Sage’s expression softens, the teasing edge she usually carries gone. “You’re welcome,” she says, her voice quieter now, before continuing on her way back to the house.

-

Agatha paced the guest bedroom, the hydrangea twisting between her fingers. Her heart raced, each step matched by the panicked thoughts in her head. She had no idea what to say or where to start. Apologizing wasn’t something she’d ever done, especially not with Rio.

With Sage, it had been easier; they’d found a way to bridge their gaps through literature, shared moments where words came easier. But Rio was different. This felt way more overwhelming. She stopped her pacing, gripping the hydrangea tighter as she forced herself to breathe. She needed to do this. It mattered. Rio deserved this.

She glanced at the hydrangea, the feeling of it grounding her. She wasn’t just apologizing for the words she’d thrown at Sage. She was apologizing for the same words she’d once hurled at Rio, words she’d meant.

Agatha closed her eyes, her jaw tightening as the memories clawed their way to the surface. She couldn’t take those words back, not ever. She couldn’t take back the life Rio never got to have with Nicky, the years stolen from them both. She couldn’t undo the centuries of emotional torment she had inflicted, running from her own pain and burying Rio in the fallout. She didn’t know if she had forgiven Rio yet, at least, not completely. The weight of losing a child was far too heavy to let go of entirely. But something had shifted in her time spent in Rio’s realm.

The chaos that had defined her for so long…. the grief that had shaped every decision, every breath…. It had begun to calm. It was subtle, a whisper instead of a scream, but it was there. She hadn’t realized how heavy her heart had been until she felt the absence of that weight. It wasn’t gone entirely, but here, it felt… manageable. That was a gift Rio and Sage had given her, one she wasn’t sure she deserved.

She stared at the hydrangea in her hand, the soft blue petals trembling slightly under her unsteady grip. It was a small gesture, she knew that. An apology for one wound among so many. But it was a start, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Agatha was ready to try.

Agatha crossed the hall, stepping over Señor Scratchy, who had been freely roaming as if he owned the place. When she reached Rio’s door, knocking never even crossed her mind. Instead, she turned the handle and walked in, uninvited.

Agatha hadn’t been in this room since she’d started sleeping across the hall, and the sudden intimacy of being here again was almost overwhelming. It greeted her like a memory she hadn’t realized she’d been aching for.

And there she was.

Rio was lounging against the headboard, dressed in an old t-shirt with a faded graphic of Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors and a pair of worn sweatpants. Her hair fell naturally to her shoulders, those infuriatingly perfect curtain bangs framing her face. Her sketchbook rested in her lap, a pencil poised in her hand. She looked up at Agatha, startled, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

Agatha’s lungs filled with an unrelenting gush of air.

Whatever carefully rehearsed words she’d planned to say disappeared in an instant. Agatha opened her mouth, but all that came out was a single, unguarded truth.

“You’re beautiful.”

Rio blinked, the pencil slipping slightly in her grip. She stared at Agatha, stunned, her lips parting to respond but no sound came out. Her gaze flickered downward as she glanced at the sketchbook in her lap. For a beat, she stayed like that, her fingers brushing the edges of the paper, her brows furrowed in an expression somewhere between confusion and flattery.

When Rio looked back up, her mouth opened again. But still, no words followed. It was rare to see Rio Vidal, the keeper of the balance, at a loss for words. But here the original green witch sat, visibly shaken by Agatha’s brutal honesty.

Then her eyes flickered to the blue hydrangea dangling loosely from Agatha’s hand. Something in her face shifted- concern, surprise, maybe even something softer. Her gaze snapped back to Agatha, searching her face for answers.

Without a word, Rio closed the sketchbook and set it on the nightstand. She cleared her throat and moved to sit cross legged. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her shirt.

Agatha moved to Rio’s side of the bed, lowering herself cross legged to mirror the woman sitting across from her. Their knees slightly brushing. The space between them felt like the kind of distance words couldn’t easily bridge. Agatha spun the flower delicately between her fingers.

“Can you tell me what that flower symbolizes?” Rio asked, her voice an only a whisper. The question felt deliberate, as though she needed confirmation. Like she had to be sure this wasn’t just some random flower Agatha had plucked without thought.

Agatha swallowed hard, her throat tight as she forced herself to meet Rio’s gaze, “Regret.”

Rio exhaled, a shaky and uneven breath. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Agatha’s voice cracked between frustration and desperation.

Rio looked down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “What do you want me to say, Agatha? That I regret everything? That I carry it every day, every hour, until I can’t breathe?” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Because I do. I always have.”

Though the words were whispered, they might as well have been shouted into an endless forest, echoing hundreds of years of brutal sorrow and being on the receiving end of unforgiving silence.

Oh.

Agatha hadn’t prepared for this. She had offered what was meant to be a symbol of her regret, an apology. But Rio didn’t see it that way. She didn’t see it as a gesture of remorse, not as Agatha taking a step toward mending what had been broken. Rio saw it as something else entirely.

A pattern repeating itself.

The flower wasn’t a bridge, it was a reminder. A thread woven into the same old tapestry of their history, where every hurt lingered unresolved, and every apology carried the shadow of justification. Agatha’s careless words to Sage had torn at wounds neither of them dared to admit were still there. Centuries of pain buried, but never healed.

It was about the way Agatha had always bent their story to fit her own truth. Every argument, every disagreement, even before Nicky, had followed the same cycle. Agatha would twist the narrative, finding ways to make herself the victim or the righteous one, leaving Rio to bear the blame. It was never just one fight but the magnitude of them all.

And now, the flower felt like more of the same. Not an apology, but an expectation: that Rio would carry the weight of Agatha’s guilt, her regret, her need for absolution. That Rio would be the one to make peace.

I…” Agatha started, but the words caught in her throat. She swallowed hard, “I didn’t mean-” She tried again, her voice trembling. “I-”

Her words crumbled, a facade she spent centuries perfecting had completely shattered, as the sting of tears pricked her eyes.

Agatha swallowed hard, her fists clenched tightly in her lap, careful not to crush the flower in her grasp. It felt like she was waging a war within herself to summon the courage to speak. What finally gave her strength wasn’t some sudden burst of determination. It was the look in Rio’s eyes.

They were filled with a heartbreak so deep it was suffocating, sore, and undeniable. Agatha felt it like a dagger to her chest. She was completely shattered by it, couldn’t handle the knowledge that she was the one who had caused it. She wouldn’t be that person anymore.

“You’re right to be angry. About everything. About what I said to Sage. About what I’ve done to you for centuries.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she forced herself to continue. “I didn’t bring this flower to absolve myself, Rio. I brought it because I didn’t know how else to say I’m sorry.”

Based on the look on Rio’s face, she was stunned, and to be honest, so was Agatha.

“What,” Rio whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she couldn’t quite process the moment.

Agatha swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I can’t pretend I understand why it all had to happen the way it did. I don’t. And I don’t know if I ever will.”  She to a deep quivering breath before she continued, “I don’t know how to separate it, Rio. What happened. What you did. Who you are.” Her fingers tightened around the hydrangea’s stem, her knuckles white as the petals quivered under her grip. “It’s all so tangled, and I don’t know how to pull it apart.”

Rio flinched, the tension in her shoulders betraying the calm she tried to maintain. But she didn’t interrupt, didn’t move. She didn’t try to explain or defend herself. She just listened.

Agatha’s tears started to fall, warm and unrestrained. Her voice cracked under the pressure of her grief. “I fell asleep holding him. And he died in my arms. When I woke up, he was gone.” Her grip on the flower stem trembled as she forced herself to continue. “You walked him, didn’t you? While I was asleep. You took him. You didn’t even let me-“

“I didn’t choose for him to die, Agatha,” Rio said softly, her voice calm but heavy with emotion. “I didn’t choose when it happened. I only chose to be there. Because he was my son, and I loved him.” There was no anger in her tone, only quiet conviction. “I gave him everything I could.”

Agatha froze, her grip tightening on the flower as Rio’s words sank in. She opened her mouth to protest, to push back, but no argument came. Instead, her shoulders sagged with the burden of a truth she had refused to face. Her voice wavered, as the words slipped out. “He had always been our son.”

Rio’s expression shifted, her posture loosening. A single tear slid down her cheek but she stayed quiet, letting the meaning of Agatha’s words linger in the space between them.

For the first time since his birth and his death, Agatha had spoken the words out loud, releasing the lie she had clung to for centuries, the lie she had wielded as a shield for herself and a weapon against Rio.

Agatha swiped at her cheeks with the back of her free hand, her shaky fingers still clutching the flower. “It doesn’t make it easier,” she whispered. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“No,” Rio replied gently, her voice still calm. “It doesn’t.”

The silence between them was delicate, like standing on unsteady ground. Agatha’s grip on the flower loosened, her hands trembling as she stared down at its petals. It felt so heavy, but also strangely lighter, as though sharing the burden made it just a little easier to carry.

It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t peace. But it was another acknowledgment, a step toward understanding.

Rio reached out a tentative hand, hovering in the space between them. She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly as though bracing for rejection, but before she could pull away, Agatha caught her hand and gently guided it to her cheek. The warmth of Agatha’s skin under her palm stilled Rio.

Agatha set the hydrangea down carefully beside her, her other hand reaching for Rio’s. She placed it on her other cheek, letting Rio cradle her face, their connection quiet but deeply intimate. Rio’s thumbs moved softly, brushing away the tear streaks that marred Agatha’s face, her touch tender. Slowly, Rio leaned forward until their foreheads rested together.

Rio nudged her nose against Agatha’s, a silent question. Agatha answered by pressing her lips to Rio’s, the kiss soft and still, unmoving but heavy with meaning. It tasted of salt and tears, but it was honest in a way words couldn’t be. It spoke of emotions they weren’t strong enough to say out loud.

When Agatha finally pulled away, her hands on Rio’s wrist and her voice was barely above a whisper. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course,” Rio didn’t hesitate.

And just like that, the space between them dissolved, leaving only the beginnings of something that felt so much like hope.

Rio’s hands stayed on Agatha’s face, her palms warm against her skin. One hand moved first, her fingers dragging gently down, tracing the curve of her cheek as though she were trying to make sure she was real. The other hand followed, sliding softly down the side of Agatha’s head, her touch was so gentle, before settling at the back of her head.

Rio leaned forward, pulling her into an embrace, cradling Agatha even as she brought her closer.

Agatha let herself be held, her hands finding Rio’s waist as her head rested against Rio’s shoulder. The tension in her body eased slightly, her fingers curling loosely into the fabric of Rio’s shirt as the silence wrapped around them, heavy but not unwelcome.

Later, they lay side by side in bed, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room. The quiet sounds of The Real Housewives of New York City filled the air, a strangely comforting backdrop to their shared silence. Agatha’s head rested against Rio’s shoulder, the weight of Rio’s arm draped lightly over her waist. For a moment, everything felt still, even peaceful, as they sank into the trivial drama of a world that wasn’t their own.

Then Rio shifted slightly, her hand brushing against Agatha’s, and in the softest tone, she mentioned it: Sage’s birthday was in two days.

That meant the anniversary of Nicky’s death was tomorrow.

Agatha’s body tensed, the words crashing into her like a speeding bus. She held her breath and her eyes slammed shut, preparing for the inevitable blow.

Her chest tightened, but it wasn’t the same visceral, suffocating grief she used to feel. It wasn’t the uncontrollable storm that had once torn through her, leaving her gasping and disoriented. It wasn’t the kind of pain that left her an outsider to her own body, paralyzed as memories ravaged her from the inside out. No, this was quieter, almost subtle. It sat there, pressing heavily against her ribcage, but it didn’t scream or thrash.

It felt manageable in a way that frightened her. The absence of that feral ache made her stomach twist. She knew this didn’t mean she’d forgotten Nicky or that her grief had disappeared, but the stillness of it made her feel out of place. Like she was betraying him by not falling apart.

The feeling shifted again, and she found herself sinking into something different. It wasn’t the chaos of past years; it was the slow, unrelenting pull of quiet sorrow, seeping into every corner of her mind. It filled her with a hollow kind of ache, one that left her staring blankly at the screen, hearing the distant sounds of the show but not absorbing a word.

She didn’t move. Her breathing remained steady, but the grief wound itself tighter and tighter inside her chest. She felt small, impossibly small, like her own body couldn’t hold the enormity of what she had lost. Yet there was no panic, no thrashing need to escape. Just the inescapable truth of what tomorrow would bring, settling over her like a shadow she couldn’t outrun.

Agatha didn’t sleep that night, and neither did Rio. When dawn broke, Agatha reached for Rio’s hand, squeezing it gently. Blue eyes met brown, a silent plea to tend Nicky’s memorial together, as they have before.

Rio’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when she opened them again, her voice spoke quietly. “Sage and I do it together every year on this day.”

Agatha felt Rio’s words wrap around her like a rope tightening around her body, pulling her inward until it felt like she might fold completely into herself. She needed this, needed to grieve with Rio, needed that connection, but she couldn’t bring herself to take Rio away from Sage. Not today. Not when she imagined two centuries of them mourning, year after year, a son and a brother who was no longer here.

Before the ache could fully swallow her, Rio continued, her voice steady but tender. “But I think you should do it with her this morning. And later… we can take a moment. Just the two of us, if you want.”

Agatha nodded faintly, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet Rio’s gaze. The idea of sharing that moment with Sage, just the two of them, should have been comforting. Rather, it left her feeling hollow, as if there was too much of her grief to contain and no way to truly share it with someone who wasn’t Rio. She hated how much she wanted that moment with Rio, how selfish it felt to even consider stepping into the space Sage had filled for so many years.

She let her head drop against the pillow, her fingers loosening their hold on Rio’s hand but not fully letting go. Rio didn’t pull away. Instead, she shifted closer, her body warm beside Agatha’s. 

For now, it was the quiet strength in Rio’s presence, the faint pressure of her hand was enough to keep her breathing.

It wasn’t long before Agatha met Sage out on the patio, Rio silently staying behind in the house. Sage was seated in her usual chair at the table, the sky overcast despite the rising sun. She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise and concern, but she didn’t say anything. Agatha gave a small nod toward the willow tree across the garden, a quiet gesture for Sage to follow.

Above them, the clouds shifted slowly, letting the sun’s light press through in gentle streaks, as though the rainclouds and sunlight were engaged in a struggle for control of the morning sky.

Agatha moved ahead of Sage, as they crossed the garden toward the willow tree. She didn’t need to look back to know Sage was following; the sound of her footsteps was enough. The morning air was cool, filled with the faint scent of rain, and the soft rustle of leaves filled the silence between them.

When they reached the memorial, Sage didn’t hesitate. She knelt by the stone with a familiarity that spoke to years of tending it, her hands brushing away leaves and debris from the base. Agatha stood for a moment, watching, unsure of where she fit into this tradition that clearly already belonged to Sage.

Slowly, she sank to her knees beside her. Sage didn’t look up, her focus on her work, but she shifted slightly, making room for Agatha as though she had always been part of this moment. Together, they worked in silence, clearing the space with careful, practiced movements. Agatha’s hands moved with less certainty than Sage’s, but she didn’t mind it, she even found some comfort in it.

When the area was cleared, Agatha motioned for Sage to follow her toward the white lilies nearby. Sage stepped forward first, she crouched and selected three flowers. She pulled shears out her pocket. She mumbled, “You never know when someone might need a lesson in basic gardening,” as her fingers brush over each lily before carefully trimming them.

Agatha could almost feel the tug of her lips at the girl’s comment and the memory from the night before, but nothing came of it.

Sage stood and turned to Agatha, handing her the tool with a single nod.

Agatha hesitated for a moment before kneeling and choosing her own three flowers. She worked with care, trimming the stems. When she stood, Sage extended her own bundle of three flowers to her without a word.

Back at the memorial, they both knelt before the stone. Sage looked up at Agatha, a flicker of panic flashing in her green eyes. It was subtle, but Agatha caught the realization that Sage didn’t have the braided twine. Rio always carried it.

Rio had handed her the twine earlier, before she had joined Sage on the patio. Her touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Agatha reached into her pocket and pulled out the familiar strands, braided tightly in purple, green, and black. These colors had always been used.

Agatha’s hands moved to tie the bouquet, her fingers deft from weeks of practice, but today they trembled uncontrollably. She clenched her teeth, trying to steady herself, but the twine slipped once, then twice. She froze, her frustration intensifying.

Sage shifted closer, her hand reaching out to rest gently atop Agatha’s quivering ones. Agatha paused. Sage’s hand lingered just long enough to ease the tension, then moved to guide the twine with her. Together, their fingers worked through it, until the braided twine secured the bouquet in place.

When it was done, Sage pulled her hands back, sitting quietly as Agatha adjusted the flowers on top of the stone. Her fingers traced the engraved lyrics , her touch lingering on the line Rio had changed: your mothers love you so .

Before Agatha could dwell on the thought, Sage’s voice broke the silence, “In the darkness of my dark-beating heart, I know. He’d have loved it, all right. You see? Even death has a heart.”

Agatha froze, her fingers lingering on the stone. The words were from The Book Thief, a story narrated by Death itself. Hearing Sage speak them was a truth carving its place in Agatha’s heart, refusing to leave.

Rio wasn’t just someone who grieved Nicky. Rio was Death, the one who had walked Nicky across the threshold, who had been there when Agatha couldn’t. For years, she had blamed Rio for what had happened, had resented her for what felt like a betrayal. But the words stayed, their truth undeniable.

Death had a heart. And Rio’s had broken too.

Sage stood quietly, brushing the dirt from her knees. She didn’t linger, didn’t speak again, only turned and walked back toward the house, leaving Agatha alone at the memorial.

Agatha remained kneeling, her eyes locked on the engraved lyrics and the braided twine. The heaviness in her chest wasn’t as piercing as it had been, but it didn’t feel any easier to carry. It lingered, an unforgiving grip that refused to loosen its hold, but even if only in this moment, it seemed as if she could breathe through it.

-

After a while, Agatha returned to the house. As she stepped through the door, the sky seemed to shift. Heavy clouds rolled back in, relentless as ever. She had crossed paths with Rio briefly in the hallway. Rio had handed her a cup of coffee as she made her way toward the garden. Rio’s brown eyes had carried a mix of sadness and admiration, a discreet pride in Agatha for braving the day with them all together.

Rio leaned in, giving Agatha the space to retreat if she needed. Agatha didn’t. Rio closed the gap, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to Agatha’s cheek before continuing on to the garden. Agatha stood there for a moment, the warmth of the kiss lingering against her skin.

Agatha walked into the living room. She reached for the familiar box from the entertainment center drawer. Without a thought, she made her way up the stairs and knocked softly on Sage’s door.

Sage’s footsteps grew closer before the door creaked open. When it did, Agatha was met with a look in Sage’s green eyes that struck her. It was far less vibrant than usual, distant, even. Agatha lifted the box slightly, arching a brow in silent question. Sage gave a slight nod, her expression unreadable, and followed Agatha back downstairs, closing the door behind her without a word.

Outside, the sky was still heavy with clouds, but the sun made an attempt to push through, its rays faint but insistent. Agatha and Sage settled into their familiar game. They hadn’t exchanged a single word. Sage won every round, but Agatha barely noticed. Her attention was drawn upward, to the battle unfolding in the sky. Dark clouds clashed against the sun in an endless war.

As the hours passed and the morning gave way to afternoon, Agatha noticed the change in Sage. It wasn’t just grief; it was deeper. Her eyes were dimmer, her cheeks beginning to hollow, and her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. It reminded her of what Rio looked like after a job. The way Death’s work left a mark that was not only physical but also a weariness of the soul.

Agatha’s heart tightened as she looked between the two conflicting forces above-sun and clouds at war- and then back to Sage.

The realization hit Agatha hard and severe.

Sage wasn’t just sad. She was fighting. Fighting her sadness and her guilt as a child born from death. Sage was battling to bring light into a day heavy with grief and shadows, sacrificing her own peace, her own tranquility, just to offer Agatha a fleeting moment of warmth.

Agatha’s chest ached at the thought. Sage wasn’t just offering her a distraction. She was trying to give Agatha some peace, sacrificing her own in the process. The clouds have been relentless, the sun’s light trying to persevere. With everything she had, Sage was trying to bring light to Agatha’s darkest day.

For whatever reason, these people- despite her past mistakes, despite the ways she had hurt them or the cruel words she’d thrown- had chosen her. They sacrificed their own peace, stood by her through every storm she created, and still every day, they chose Agatha. It was always a choice made without hesitation.

How ironic it was that in death, she had experienced more life than she ever had on the surface.

The thought filled her lungs with so much air, she couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty about the weight of anything else.

Agatha caught Rio’s gaze across the garden and tilted her head toward the patio, gesturing to the chair beside them. Without wavering, Rio set down her gardening tool, brushed the dirt from her hands, and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, she returned, her hair tied back, her face clean, ready to join Agatha and Sage at the table.

Rio sat quietly at first, observing the game of chess unfolding between them. After a few rounds, Rio leaned forward, frowning at a move Agatha had made. Without asking, she nudged the piece back and moved another in its place.

“That’s not how it works,” Agatha said, narrowing her eyes.

“It is now,” Rio replied, unapologetic.

The silence that had settled over the garden broke with small comments and suggestions. Rio and Agatha became a team, united in their attempt to beat Sage. The air grew lighter with fleeting laughter and small smiles exchanged between moves. Even the sky above mirrored the shift, with lingering gray clouds clearing to reveal rays of sunshine.

Sage’s eyes looked lighter, her face filling out with every passing moment.  She looked more like herself than she had all day. 

During one particularly tense game, Rio leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, brimming with confidence. “We’re gonna win.”

“You’ve said that three times already,” Agatha replied dryly, not looking up.

“This time, I mean it,” Rio said. “And I’m so sure of it, I’m willing to bet on it.”

That perked Sage’s interest immediately. Her wicked smirk spread slowly across her face, her tongue pressing into her cheek as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. The excitement radiating from her was almost palpable.

Before Sage could speak, Agatha cut her off, her gaze darting to Rio. “Of all the expressions she could’ve inherited from you, it had to be that one.” She gestured toward Sage’s smirk. “The one that always pissed me off the most.”

Rio held her hands up in mock innocence, her lips pressed tightly together as if to stifle a grin, fighting the urge to mirror the expression. Despite her effort, Agatha could see the faint outline of her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek.

Agatha ignored it and tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she fixed them on Sage. “So, what’s your wager?” she asked, her voice edged with challenge.

Sage’s grin spread instantly. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Let’s make it a true Daily Double, Alex.”

Rio groaned, leaning back in her chair, “If you think she’s insufferable during chess, try watching an episode of Jeopardy with her.”

“I’d rather sit in a locked room with my mother.”

“Same,” Rio muttered, the corners of her lips twitching.

Sage ignored them entirely, her attention still fixed on Agatha. “If I win, I want to see the ocean. Specifically, I want to go whale watching.”

Agatha’s head shot up, and she bit back the groan rising in her throat. She knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

“I don’t see the issue,” Rio said with a shrug.

“I’m not done,” Sage added, her grin turning down right shit eating. “There’s a nonnegotiable: You ,” she pointed a finger directly at Agatha. “Are coming.” She turned to Rio, the back of her hand covering her mouth with a theatrical whisper, loud enough for Agatha to hear. “We have some unfinished business with the sea.”

Rio raised an amused eyebrow, but Sage wasn’t done. “All of us. Tomorrow. Family vacation!” She practically sang the last two words.

Agatha crossed her arms, tossing her head back with an exasperated groan. The word family poked at something inside her that made her flinch. Still, when Rio cast her a questioning glance, she threw up her hands in resignation. There was no real anger in the gesture, just the quiet acceptance that they were doing this.

“If that’s what you want, Petal,” Rio said softly.

“Hell yes!” Sage shouted, slamming her fists on the table with so much enthusiasm it made both Rio and Agatha jump.

“All right, relax,” Rio said, shaking her head.

They returned to the game and of course, they lost.

Later, Rio and Agatha lay side by side in the grass beneath the willow tree. The branches swayed gently above them, their hands loosely entwined between them. No words were spoken. They didn’t need to be.

By the end of the night, they were all piled in the living room, watching an episode of Jeopardy.

Rio had been right.

Sage was more insufferable than she’d been at chess, effortlessly answering every question with ease like she had written the questions herself. 

Agatha glanced at Rio, who was leaning against her shoulder with a sigh. “How do you live with her?” Agatha asked.

Rio’s lips quirked into a smile. “I ask myself that every day.”

Chapter Text

Agatha shoved clothes into her duffel bag with barely contained annoyance. Three days. Their trip to the ocean wasn’t just a day out, but a full three day excursion. She groaned at the thought. Of course, Rio had dropped that little detail casually earlier that morning, coffee in hand.

Agatha had been propped against the headboard, Sage’s book open in her lap, when Rio breezed into the guest bedroom. Without so much as a preamble, Rio perched on the edge of the bed, handed Agatha her coffee, and, with that maddening calm of hers, mentioned the extended trip. Before Agatha could even form a response, Rio leaned in, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and strolled out of the room, leaving Agatha completely dumbfounded.

Now, the bag zipped shut, Agatha hefted it over her shoulder and stepped out of the bedroom. She made her way to the living room, dropping the bag beside the couch before flopping onto the cushions with an exaggerated sigh. Crossing her arms, settling in to wait for Rio and Sage, her irritation still simmering.

Rio appeared in the living room first, duffel bag in hand, along with a purse that immediately caught Agatha’s attention. Rio was not a purse person, and Agatha made a mental note to ask about it later. In her other hand was a travel cup, but it wasn’t the items Rio carried that made Agatha pause.

Rio was wearing jeans and an oversized black shirt that read “everyone watches women’s sports,” paired with a neon orange WNBA baseball cap and white sneakers that looked far cleaner than the ones she wore in her garden. Agatha’s mind froze at the sight, her breath catching in her throat.

Agatha could have jumped her right then and there. She even swiped at her chin to make sure she wasn’t drooling.

Rio set her duffel bag down next to Agatha’s and motioned for her to move over. Agatha obliged without a word, moving to make space. Rio dropped onto the couch beside her, sitting close enough that their legs touched. She placed the purse on Agatha’s lap.

That makes more sense.

Though the gesture was simple, it made Agatha’s heart soar. Of course, she pretended that it didn’t.

Rio adjusted her position and reached into her back pocket, struggling for a moment before pulling out a wallet. She handed it to Agatha, who didn’t need to open it to know whose it was. Rio wanted her to carry it for her. Agatha rolled her eyes but said nothing, placing the wallet inside the purse before setting it on the floor at her feet.

Once she settled, Rio handed her the travel cup. Agatha accepted it, their fingers brushing briefly. The moment the cup left Rio’s hand, her palm fell to rest on Agatha’s thigh. It was a casual touch, clearly unintentional, but Agatha still felt the heat rising low in her belly. Trying to distract herself, she took a sip from the cup and found that it was coffee. Of course it was. Rio always knew exactly what she needed.

Rio was testing her patience. One more sweet gesture or misplaced hand, and Agatha was ready to throw caution aside entirely and pounce on her like a feral cat in heat.

“You look good,” Agatha said, her voice calm despite the turmoil in her head. She set the cup on the coffee table, noticing that Rio’s hand hadn’t moved. Agatha leaned back to study her, and Rio gave a small smile in return, her brown eyes shining with a warmth that felt blinding.

Agatha crossed her arms, resisting the urge to pull Rio closer and ruin that smile. Not that she would ruin it. More likely she would trace it, taste it, maybe bite it if she were feeling particularly reckless. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep those thoughts at bay.

She needed a distraction. “Since when are you a fan of sports?” she asked, though she was aware her eyes hadn’t moved from Rio’s mouth.

She realized the second Rio caught her staring. The small, sweet smile twisted into something undeniably smug, and Agatha’s heart skipped a beat.

Before speaking, Rio licked her bottom lip and tugged it into her mouth. The sight alone was enough to draw a soft hum from Agatha before Rio even had a chance to respond.

“The day was January twenty-seventh, nineteen seventy-five,” Rio said, her tone carrying a teasing lilt. “The first nationally televised women’s college basketball game.”

Agatha could not have cared less about the answer. All she could think about was the way Rio’s lips moved when she spoke.

Caution be damned.

Agatha grabbed Rio by the collar of her t-shirt and pulled her into a kiss that was as forceful as it was inevitable. Rio, as though anticipating it, reached up just in time to tilt her hat back, ensuring it wouldn’t get in the way.

When their lips met, it was far from gentle. There was no slow buildup, no tentative exploration, only an explosion of unrestrained hunger.  Their mouths parted instantly, tongues colliding in a heated battle for control, each desperate to claim the other.

Agatha’s grip tightened on Rio’s shirt, pulling her even closer. Rio responded just as eagerly. One hand sliding to Agatha’s waist while the other anchored at the nape of her neck, gripping her firmly as if to remind her that there was no escape, not that Agatha wanted one.

It wasn’t a kiss meant to convey tenderness or sweetness. It was a kiss that demanded everything, and both were all too willing to give.

Agatha conceded to Rio. Rio happily slipped her tongue deeper, sweeping it along Agatha’s with slow, deliberate strokes that sent a wave of heat rushing through her body. Agatha answered with equal fervor, sucking lightly on Rio’s tongue befor-

BANG!

The sound of Sage’s door slamming open upstairs made them fly apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking a smooch. Rio immediately adjusted the cap on her head, crossing her arms. With one hand, she wiped her mouth with an open palm, either drying the wetness or attempting to make her lips look less red and swollen. Agatha wasn’t sure which, but watching Rio try to undo the evidence only made her want to ruin it all over again.

Before either could speak, a series of thuds and clattering noises erupted from upstairs. They turned toward the sound just in time to see a fully packed suitcase careening down the stairs, bumping and sliding before crashing into the front door.

Brucie slithered down the railing with far more grace, landing on the floor and disappearing somewhere into the house like she couldn’t be bothered by Sage’s havoc.

Sage followed, her black converse stomping loudly with every step. When she hit the last stair, she threw her arms wide, shouting, “Alright, ladies, who’s ready for the Vidal-Harkness family vacation 2024? Let’s fucking go!”

Neither Rio nor Agatha responded. They remained frozen on the couch, blinking at Sage in dumbfounded silence.

Sage strode into the room wearing her usual converse and jeans with a t-shirt that boldly read VIDAL-HARKNESS FAMILY VACATION 2024, complete with blown up pictures of all three of their faces. She proudly held up a two folded shirts. “I made t-shirts,” she announced, grinning like she had just won an award.

At the same time, Rio and Agatha finally found their voices.

“I wish I stayed buried,” Agatha muttered.

“Did you pack for an entire football team?” Rio asked.

Sage stared at them both, unimpressed. “Oh, come on. This is going to be fun!” she insisted, holding up the t-shirts with more enthusiasm than either woman could fathom.

“I’m not wearing that,” Agatha shot back immediately, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, Petal. As much as I love the shirts, you need to change,” Rio added, her voice calm.

“What? Why?” Sage asked, her expression shifting into an exaggerated pout.

Rio tilted her head, lips twitching as though fighting back a laugh. “Well, Agatha’s… pissed off a lot of people. And I mean, a lot of people.” Rio’s eyes widen at the second ‘a lot’.

“I think she gets it,” Agatha cut in sharply, rolling her eyes.

Rio continued, “And we don’t really want to draw attention to that. Matching t-shirts with her face plastered on them might not help.”

“Fine,” Sage relented far too easily, earning a pair of surprised looks from both Rio and Agatha. “I figured you’d say that, which is why I also brought three sets of matching pajama pants in my suitcase.”

Agatha groaned loudly, dragging a hand down her face. “Of course you did.”

“Sweet,” Rio sang, already on her feet and reaching out to grab two of the shirts from Sage with far too much enthusiasm.

Sage grabbed the hem of her Vidal-Harkness Family Vacation 2024 shirt and yanked it over her head, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath. She balled up the offending shirt.

“Are y’all ready to go?” Sage asked, making her way to the foyer to and shoved the shirt into the top of her suitcase. She dragged the suitcase into the living room with unnecessary force, the wheels clattering against the floor.

Agatha stood, moving to stand near Rio as Sage bustled around, gathering their things at lightning speed.

Sage was anything but delicate. She grabbed both of their duffel bags and threw them unceremoniously at her suitcase. Then she picked up Agatha’s travel cup and purse and shoved them into her arms.

“Have been for an hour,” Agatha muttered, monotone, slightly taken aback by Sage’s haste as she adjusted the purse on her shoulder.

Sage ignored her, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans and pulling out a wallet. She handed it to Agatha, who took it without hesitation.

“Guess I’ll just be responsible for everyone’s shit then,” Agatha grumbled, unzipping the purse to toss the wallet inside.

“Alright, then let’s do this,” Sage announced, raising a hand to conjure a portal. Before she could, Agatha stopped her.

“Wait!”

Sage turned, confusion flashing across her face. Agatha cast a glance toward Rio, who wore the same puzzled expression.

“When we go back,” Agatha began, hesitating for a moment, “am I still going to look like this? Or, you know, translucent?”

Both Sage and Rio’s expressions softened, making Agatha scoff and cross her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from them burrowing deeper into her heart. Not that it mattered. They were already in far too deep.

“Your physical form was manifested in my realm by Sage,” Rio explained, her voice reassuring. “Originally, that tethered you to her. I’ve adjusted it, so now you’re tethered to my realm instead. And since Sage was the one who brought you here, she can loan your form a tether to the surface, independent of herself.”

Agatha nodded slowly.

Sage clapped her hands together, her excitement returning in full force. “Alright, now that’s settled, let’s fucking move!” She conjured the portal with a flick of her wrist, dramatically kicking her suitcase through before stepping in herself without so much as a look back.

Agatha stayed rooted in place, staring at the swirling energy. She didn’t move.

“You scared?” Rio nudged her gently, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“Nope.”

“You gonna run?”

“I might.”

They both knew she wouldn’t. Agatha was here, and for better or worse, she was staying. Stuck with them. And they were stuck with her. It wasn’t obligation; it was choice. A choice Agatha would make every day for as long as she could. Especially if it meant getting to see the gap between Rio’s teeth every time she smiled, big and unfiltered. Exactly like she was doing now.

Rio crouched down, carefully unzipping her duffel and refolded each t-shirt before placing them neatly inside. Once finished, she straightened up and turned to Agatha.

Silently, she reached for Agatha’s wrist, and as she did, she flipped her baseball cap backward with confident ease, clearing her face for easy access before tugging Agatha until their bodies were flush. Her other hand came up to cup Agatha’s cheek, guiding her in for a kiss.

This kiss was different from their last. It wasn’t rushed; it was deliberate, almost reverent. Their mouths moved slowly, savoring each moment. Agatha’s tongue brushed lightly against Rio’s bottom lip, a soft request for more. Rio granted it immediately, letting Agatha explore with languid strokes of her tongue. The warmth and tenderness of it sent shivers down Agatha’s spine, but just as she leaned in to further deepen it, Rio pulled away.

The look in Rio’s brown eyes was enough to make Agatha’s knees nearly buckle. It was soft, unguarded, and something else that made Agatha’s chest tighten. For one breathless moment, she thought Rio might say it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted her to or if she really, really fucking wanted her to, but it hovered unspoken between them, waiting for Rio to hurry up and spit the three words out. The three words that rhymed all too well with pie dove boo.

But then Rio stepped back, adjusting her backward hat back with a small shake of her head, as if clearing her thoughts. She cleared her throat and looked up at Agatha with her big, beautiful brown eyes. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach, leaving Agatha wondering what was holding her back.

“Ready?” Rio asked softly.

“As I’ll ever be,” Agatha replied, her voice steady, though her heart was anything but.

Rio nodded and bent to pick up both their bags with one hand like it was nothing. The movement made the veins in her hand and forearm stand out, drawing Agatha’s attention in a way she’d never admit aloud. She let out an audible groan, earning her a smirk- the one Rio had perfected long ago, with her tongue pressing into her cheek like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Sage might have picked it up along the way, but it never quite had the same charm as when Rio did it.

And Agatha fucking hated it.

Maybe.

With a playful bend of her knees, Rio motioned toward the portal with her free hand. “After you, Ma’lady,” she teased.

Agatha rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but stepped toward the portal nonetheless, her pulse thrumming and her mind stuck on the kiss. And, much to her dismay, on how stupidly hot Rio looked holding both their bags or when her baseball cap was sitting backward like she’d done it just to drive Agatha insane.

Then, Agatha found herself standing in a parking lot in the middle of what looked like some backwater town. Cars were scattered across the cracked asphalt, and there was no beach in sight. Before she could process her frustration, Rio came barreling through the now-vanished portal, slamming into Agatha’s back and making her stumble forward.

When Agatha turned to throw Rio a glare, Rio was already mid apology, hands raised in a sheepish gesture. Agatha ignored her entirely, spinning instead toward Sage.

Sage wasn’t even facing them. She was standing in front of an old green Subaru Forester, her body flush against it. She focused entirely on the car.

“Where’s the fucking beach?” Agatha shouted.

Sage didn’t jump from the sound of Agatha’s outburst, but her abrupt movement made a sharp pop echo through the lot. Agatha watched as something clattered to the ground- a stretched out metal hanger?

Without answering, Sage popped the car door open with ease and started rummaging through the middle console. “Fuck!” she yelled, voice dripping with irritation.

Then, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, Sage pressed a button, and the sound of the trunk popping open followed. She muttered to herself as she dragged her suitcase toward the back of the car. “Who keeps spare keys in the middle console? I wanted to hotwire this shit.” With a huff, she tossed her suitcase into the trunk.

Agatha blinked, realization hitting her like a brick to the back of the head. Sage was stealing a car.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Agatha demanded, her voice filled with disbelief.

Sage startled slightly, her green eyes widening for a brief moment before she turned to look at Agatha. Recognition softened her expression almost immediately. “Stealing a car,” she said matter of factly, as though the question didn’t deserve to be asked. With a casual shrug, she added, “I read about how to hotwire a car in a book the other day and wanted to try it.”

Agatha stared at her, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Nice color,” Rio said, strolling past Agatha without a care in the world. She walked straight to the back of the car, tossed their bags into the trunk, and slammed it shut.

Dusting her hands off, she turned to Sage, her expression unbothered. “Whose is it?” she asked, as if stealing a car was just another part of their vacation itinerary.

“Some homophobic prick,” Sage said with a shrug. “I met his daughter at one of the lectures I’ve been to. Oh! Can I drive? Please, please, please?”

Hearing that, Agatha wasn’t pissed anymore. Instead, she chimed in, “Did anyone tell him he drives the car that every lesbian in America owns? Also, in the world’s gayest color?”

Sage burst into laughter.

Agatha smirked, but her tone turned suspicious. “Do you even know how to drive?”

The question made both Rio and Sage freeze. They slowly turned their heads to look at each other, an unspoken conversation passing between them, before they turned back to Agatha.

“Yes,” Rio said, a little too quickly.

“Yup,” Sage echoed with far too much enthusiasm.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Well, that didn’t sound confident.”

With that settled (or not) they all piled into the car. Before they could leave, Rio waved a hand, using her magic to change the license plate and forge new registration documents. “There. No arrests today, ladies.”

Agatha climbed into the back seat without argument. She’d already decided she couldn’t handle the stress of sitting up front and having a clear view of Sage’s driving. Some things were better left unseen as her blood pressure was already through the fucking roof from literally everything that’s already happened today.

Agatha watched as Rio’s hands flew to her seatbelt, yanking it on with urgency. Noticing Rio’s fervor, Agatha did the same, her fingers fumbling slightly as she buckled herself in.

Sage started the car, her movements efficient as she entered an address into the GPS suction cupped to the windshield. Then, without warning, she began violently flipping through radio stations, finally landing on a song about supernovas and red wine. The music blared through the speakers, loud enough to rattle the car windows.

Grinning to herself, Sage put the car into drive and hit the gas, sending them lurching forward with such force that Agatha felt her stomach drop and she was sent further back into her seat. An instant later, the brakes were slammed, jerking them all forward violently.

“Oops, meant to put it in reverse,” Sage shouted with zero remorse, yanking the gear shift forward. The car shot backward, tires squealing, before she slammed on the brakes again, sending all three of them hurtling forward like rag dolls.

They might as well have all had whiplash at this point.

Rio, however, was laughing uncontrollably, like a kid on a roller coaster.

Sage shifted back into drive and floored it, the car flying down the parking lot. When she made a sharp right turn onto the street, the car clipped the curb, jostling them violently as the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror swung wildly, banging against the windshield.

“STOP THE FUCKING CAR NOW!” Agatha screamed over the blaring music.

Sage slammed on the brakes with such force that they all lurched forward again, groaning as their seat belts caught them.

Sage and Rio turned to each other, wide eyed, like two kids about to get chewed out by a very pissed off parent.

And they were.

Sage quickly turned down the music, the silence almost deafening compared to the noise before, as they both slowly turned to face Agatha. Wide green and brown eyes stared at her like they were bracing for impact.

Agatha took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she tried to find the words. “Pull the fucking car over. Rio, you drive.”

They both just blinked at her in stunned silence.

“NOW!” she yelled, her voice booming enough to make both of them jump.

Sage slammed on the gas and veered toward the curb, parking the car with a brutal jolt, half on the sidewalk and half in the street. The car tilted awkwardly, making the uneven parking job all the more obvious.

The moment Sage shifted into park, Agatha flew out of the car, storming around to the passenger side. She ripped the door open, her glare leaving no room for argument.

Rio climbed out of the car with her usual grace, walking calmly around to the driver’s side, her amusement barely contained. Meanwhile, Sage had already climbed into the back seat, looking far too pleased with herself given the situation.

Agatha slammed the passenger door shut, muttering under her breath as she climbed back into the car, pointedly ignoring the grin Sage was failing to hide in the rearview mirror.

Rio adjusted the driver’s seat, her movements deliberate as she settled in. Agatha crossed her arms tightly and sat stiffly in the passenger seat, glaring out the window like it might save her from losing her temper again. In the back, Sage leaned back casually, her arms draped across the seats, with a shit eating grin.

The silence stretched for an entire minute before Sage broke it. “So… does this mean I’m grounded?”

Agatha whipped her head around, her eyes wide. “Grounded? You should be buried.”

Rio’s laugh was immediate and unhelpful, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Extreme?” Agatha shot back, her voice rising. “She nearly killed us four times before we even left the parking lot!” She turned back to Sage, her tone sharp. “And you think this is funny?”

Sage shrugged, her lips twitching upward. “I mean, technically, I’m the only one in this car who can die so…… Relax. Next time I’ll aim for only two near death experiences.”

Agatha snapped her head to Rio ignoring Sage. “And you! Why the hell were you laughing?”

For a moment, Rio didn’t respond. Both hands gripped the wheel tightly, her lips pressed together as she fought desperately to keep herself from laughing. Her shoulders shook slightly, betraying her struggle to stay composed.

“You have the floor!” Agatha shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation, trying to force Rio to say something.

Rio shrugged, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, completely unfazed. “I trust Sage. Besides, it was kind of fun. Like a really cheap theme park ride.”

“A ride our daughter could have died on,” Agatha retorted, slumping back into her seat, muttering something about idiotic green witches and their reckless behavior.

Rio’s head whipped around to stare at Agatha, her eyes wide with shock, while Sage shot forward in her seat, looking at her like she couldn’t possibly have heard her right.

Agatha looked between them, baffled. “What?” she snapped, her voice boomed.

Then it hit her. Her own words replayed in her mind, and her expression froze as realization dawned.

Oh.

Her shoulders sagged slightly as she turned to face Sage, already knowing what she would see. Sure enough, Sage’s face was lit up with the widest shit eating grin Agatha had seen from the girl yet, her green eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

Agatha’s jaw tightened, and she held up a single finger, speaking very, very slowly. “If you say one fucking word, I will personally shove my foot so far up your ass that it will come out of your mouth. Do I make myself clear?”

Sage nodded eagerly, her grin so wide it looked like it might stretch clear to her ears. It was obvious she wasn’t taking Agatha’s threat seriously… Not even a little.

Agatha reached over and plucked the orange hat off Rio’s head, pulling it down over her own eyes as she sank further into her chair. Maybe, just maybe, she could disappear for a while and finally get some fucking sleep.

Her plan to rest was interrupted when she felt Rio’s hand settle gently on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze. The gesture was casual, but it sent a quiet warmth through her that she couldn’t ignore. They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the music playing softly as Rio drummed her fingers on Agatha’s thigh, tapping in rhythm to the melody.

Eventually, Agatha sat straighter, lifting the hat from her head and setting it back on Rio’s, but backward this time. She smirked as Rio tilted her head slightly, clearly unbothered. Turning in her seat, Agatha glanced into the backseat to check on Sage, who was now passed out, lightly snoring with her mouth wide open.

Honestly, it was slightly unsettling. The sight made Agatha grimace. “Can’t say she’s a very peaceful looking sleeper,” she muttered, turning back around before the image stuck in her mind.

Rio’s laugh bellowed, deep and warm, before she quieted herself, careful not to wake Sage. “Can’t say I disagree,” she said softly, her tone full of amusement.

Agatha smiled, letting the sound of Rio’s laugh linger in her head for a moment. She didn’t filter her expression this time; there was no one awake to see it.

They pulled into the line for the ferry that would take their car across to the island where their beach house waited. The soft hum of the engine and the gentle lapping of waves nearby filled the air.

“Should we wake her up?” Agatha asked, glancing toward Sage again. She’d been the one so desperate to see the ocean, after all.

“Not yet,” Rio said, her voice low. “I want her to see it all… Open and untouched. Not polluted with boats and people screaming because they spotted a dolphin. She’ll want it to be more important than that.”

Agatha turned back to look at Rio, studying her for a moment, then nodded silently. She agreed. Sage deserved to see the ocean the way she’d imagined it: quiet, vast, and full of wonder.

They pulled into the driveway of a baby blue beach house perched on stilts. It was stunning and it sat right at the edge of the sand. The houses were spaced far apart, offering a quiet kind of privacy that felt like a luxury. Agatha started to slip off her shoes, savoring the idea of finally relaxing, while Rio stepped out of the car and made her way to Sage’s door.

As soon as Rio opened it, Sage flailed, half asleep and disoriented, the seatbelt being the only thing keeping her from tumbling out. She managed to right herself with a groggy grunt, her head drooping before Rio’s voice cut through her haze.

“Go look at the ocean, Petal,” Rio said softly.

Sage snapped her head up, her wide green eyes locking onto Rio like she’d just been told something too good to be true. For a moment, she looked almost scared, as if the ocean might disappear if she didn’t get to it fast enough. She scrambled to unbuckle herself, her movements frantic, already kicking off her shoes and yanking her socks free. By the time she cuffed her jeans well above her ankles, she was practically trembling with urgency, her feet slapping against the ground as she bolted toward the sand.

Agatha followed quickly, her curiosity getting the better of her as she watched Sage sprint across the sand. Sage’s feet kicked up small sprays of it with every step, the grains glinting in the sunlight as they scattered behind her.

Sage ran toward the water, her arms flailing slightly with the kind of chaotic energy that only came from pure emotion. She stopped abruptly at the edge of the shore, right where the waves rolled gently back onto the sand. When the water touched her feet for the first time, she froze.

As Agatha got closer, she noticed the change immediately. Sage’s entire body seemed to relax, her shoulders dropping, her tension melting away as the cool water kissed her skin. The moment was almost too perfect to interrupt. Overhead, heavy clouds began to part, the sun breaking through and casting a golden beam over the scene, making the ocean sparkle impossibly brighter.

Agatha’s breath caught as she watched. She wished she could see Sage’s face, but somehow, she already knew the expression it held. Awe. Peace. Something too pure to be ruined by words.

Agatha swore to god, in the far off distance, a whale breached the water, its massive body breaking through the waves as if it somehow sensed that someone was experiencing the ocean for the first time. The timing felt almost too perfect, like the universe itself had orchestrated the moment.

“So, how does it feel?” Agatha called out to Sage, her voice softer than usual, carried by the breeze.

“Powerful,” Sage replied in wonderment, her voice quiet yet brimming with awe. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, and Agatha noticed faint gray magic sparking at her fingertips, subtle but alive. Sage didn’t even turn back to look at her; her focus was entirely on the sea.

Agatha didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She stood there silently, happy to watch as Sage soaked in the moment.

Then Sage spoke again, “For all at last return to the sea- to Oceanus, the ocean river, like the ever-flowing stream of time, the beginning and the end.”

Agatha froze. The Rachel Carson quote struck a chord deep within her. She wanted to respond, to argue about its meaning, to challenge the words that Sage had so calmly recited, but she didn’t. She knew Sage would force her into a debate about it later. Right now, Sage deserved this moment, uninterrupted. And truthfully, it was poetic as hell.

Sage turned, throwing a soft smile back at her before facing the water again. Agatha felt her heart melt into a puddle right then and there, the tenderness of the gesture striking her in ways she didn’t expect.

Without another word, Agatha turned and began walking toward the beach house. As she approached, she looked up and saw Rio standing on the balcony, their duffels in hand. Her face was lit up with the most genuine smile Agatha had ever seen from her, gap tooth and all, radiating a warmth that rivaled the sun.

Agatha felt a pull in her chest, a quiet kind of longing she rarely let herself feel so openly. She picked up her pace, not sure what she’d say to Rio when she got there, but knowing it didn’t matter. Whatever words came out would pale in comparison to the look Rio was already giving her.

Chapter Text

“How long do you think she’ll stand there?” Agatha asked, her voice quiet but laced with curiosity.

They stood side by side at the railing of the balcony, both silently watching Sage as she stood facing the ocean. Their duffles rested by the back door, forgotten for the moment. They had arrived early enough in the morning that the day still stretched endlessly before them. Sage had all the time in the world to lose herself in the vastness, and Rio and Agatha had all the time to watch her do it.

“No clue,” Rio murmured, her gaze fixed on Sage. “She could stand there forever.”

Agatha understood. She knew Rio did too. After all, they were doing the same thing Sage was- marveling at the view. The only difference was what they saw.

For them, the ocean wasn’t the focal point. It was Sage. The life they had created, standing there as if she wasn’t just a part of the universe but the very center of it. The waves and horizon were her backdrop, and nothing could compare to the quiet, infinite wonder of her existence.

Of course, Sage chose this very moment to shatter the calm. She spun around, trudging up the shore with purpose, and shouted, “Hey, Harkness! Up for a debate?”

“So I can school you on your lame sea poetry? Sure!” Agatha shot back, but she wasn’t ready, not even close. Every literature debate with Sage hit her like a storm at sea. It was an overwhelming force that knocked her flat and left her gasping for air. But as harsh as the impact was, it always pulled something loose, washing away the old debris of her defenses and leaving her with something raw but cleaner.

The process was brutal, but in its aftermath, it felt healing.

“I’m gonna go ahead and get our stuff inside and finish unpacking the car. Good luck!” Rio called over her shoulder, already heading toward the back door.

“I’ll fucking need it,” Agatha muttered under her breath, steeling herself as she started down the balcony stairs. Her steps carried her toward the two lounging chairs set up halfway between the beach house and the water, off to the right. The chairs were perfectly placed, nestled in the sand but close enough to catch the sea breeze. Agatha’s focus, however, was already shifting toward the storm heading her way in the form of Sage.

Before Agatha even had the chance to settle into the seat to Sage’s right, Sage spoke, “ ‘For all at last return to the sea- to Oceanus, the ocean river, like the ever-flowing stream of time, the beginning and the end.’ That one hits close to home, huh?”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, sliding into the chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She mumbled, her gaze flickering to the side in search for something, anything, that wasn’t piercing green eyes.

She absolutely knew what Sage was talking about. She was talking about something Rio had spent centuries chasing her to explain, something Rio had begged her to understand.

Sage rolls her eyes at that, “Okay,” she drawls out. “Well, do you still believe all the ocean does is take?”

“No,” Agatha admitted, her hands gripped the arms of her chair and swallows hard forcing out the rest, “But I believe that’s what it’s best at. Whatever it gives doesn’t make up for what it takes. It’s impossible to separate, and I’m curious how you plan to twist that into some moralizing lecture about balance.”

Sage’s expression shifted, the faintest hint of disappointment crossing her face. Agatha had expected it, she always had. For every step forward Agatha managed to take, she fought just as hard to stumble ten steps back.

Agatha was trying. She was being honest, more than she had been in years, but the truth was a weight she couldn’t fully carry. It felt impossible to untangle Rio from their son’s death. The two were bound together in her mind, the pain too deeply etched to separate one from the other. How could she look at Rio and ignore the loss that had shattered them both?

Sage’s brows furrow, “Not balance. Inevitability. The ocean is where it all starts- life crawling out of the primordial soup, right? But the sea reclaims everything in time. All roads lead back to her eventually, don’t they?”

Agatha turned her gaze toward Sage, her jaw tightening in irritation. She could feel it coming- the kind of conversation where every word pressed every raw nerve. Through gritted teeth, she said, “I’ve lived long enough to know, Sage. It takes, it drowns, it buries. That’s its nature. What’s left is what survives.”

“And yet,” Sage countered, her voice soft and  her green eyes pleading for Agatha to understand, “you wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t given you something. And you wouldn’t stay if you didn’t believe that on some level.”

“Maybe,” Agatha admitted after a long pause. Her grip on the chair slackened, and she brought her hands to her lap, her gaze fixed on them as though avoiding Sage’s eyes might soften the blow of Agatha’s own question. Her voice, when it came, was quieter, almost trembling. “But what do you do when the ocean takes something you can never get back?”

Sage didn’t falter in her response, “You let it carry you forward. You let it turn grief into something new.”

Agatha’s shoulders sank at the words, her throat tightening as if they’d struck a place she wasn’t ready to face. She didn’t look up. How could she? Sage’s answer wasn’t wrong, but it was too simple for something so devastating. Agatha had no sharp retort, just the ache that settled deeper into her chest.

Sage continues at Agatha’s lack of a response, “You know, you don’t hate the ocean as much as you say you do. You hate what it’s taken from you.”

Sage’s words drew Agatha’s gaze back up, her mouth opening to respond, but no words came. Her jaw tightened, and she pressed her lips into a thin line instead. She hesitated, studying Sage for a moment. When Agatha spoke, her voice was almost bitter. “You think I haven’t thought about that? It feels like a betrayal to accept it.”

“I think you’ve thought about it so much it’s driven you mad. And I think you’re terrified to admit that Rio might be your Oceanus.”

They might have danced around the topic, but none of this was new to Agatha. Rio had said it before, countless times, in countless ways. But hearing the words now, coming from Sage, stripped of anger, grief, and the magnitude of centuries, they felt different. They felt inevitable.

It was as though the truth had been waiting all this time, lingering just out of reach until Agatha was ready to face it. And maybe that was the most infuriating part of all, how much of it she already knew. She had spent lifetimes running from this truth, burying it under pain and bitterness, only for it to resurface now, spoken so simply by a girl who had every reason to give up on her but had not.

Agatha swallowed hard, her gaze flickering back to Sage. She hated how much her daughter reminded her of herself- the sharpness, the confidence, the way she could cut through layers of bullshit with a single sentence. But what made Sage different, what made her good, was that she could still see the possibility of healing in things Agatha had long written off as a lost cause. Maybe that was the only reason Agatha hadn’t walked away from this conversation yet. Because Sage’s relentless hope was a lifeline, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Agatha felt her carefully constructed walls were crumbling all over again, leaving her exposed to something she had spent centuries resisting: forgiveness.

-

After their conversation, Agatha didn’t bother sticking around long enough to figure out where anyone had gone. She didn’t care. The only thing she knew was that the house was empty, and she was utterly fucking beat. It wasn’t even noon and she already needed a breather.

The house was beautiful, bathed in the bright light of midday. Sunlight poured through the oversized windows, filling the open spaces with a natural warmth. The decor leaned into a coastal theme, with navy blues, creamy whites, and weathered wood accents. It was tasteful, serene, and entirely not Agatha’s style. She hated it, truly, but she could already imagine Sage marveling over every little detail. Against her better judgment, she felt her opinion shift, just slightly, though she would never admit it.

Maybe.

The house was spacious, a two story structure with an understated elegance. Agatha wandered up the staircase, her fingers brushing along the smooth wooden banister as she took in the quiet charm of the place. The second floor felt just as serene as the first. She stopped at the first door on the left, a spare bedroom. Rio’s duffle bag rested neatly on the bed,  unpacked.

She wandered further down the hall, her steps slowing as she reached what she assumed to be the master bedroom. When she pushed the door open, her duffel bag sat neatly on the bed, as if it had been waiting for her. Agatha felt a pang of disappointment twist in her chest.

It makes sense , Agatha told herself. Things between them were still…. complicated. They hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements, and maybe that silence had been intentional.

They had been sleeping in separate rooms for a while, except the night before Nicky’s anniversary. The weight of their conversation and what the next day would bring had been too much to carry alone. By the following night, they had returned to their respective rooms.

During her nights spent alone in Rio’s realm, Agatha had welcomed the space, convinced herself it was necessary. She needed to prove it to herself, if no one else, that she could confront the chaos within her without relying on the comfort of brown or green eyes watching over her. She needed to prove that even when the darkness surged, when her chaos threatened to consume her, she could endure it. She could fight it.

It wasn’t easy. Some nights, the storm inside begged her to run, to give in to the urge to shatter and scatter. But every morning, she made the same choice. She stayed. She stayed because staying was an act of defiance against everyone and everything that told her she couldn’t. Every sunrise was proof that even in her loneliest moments, she could still find the strength to wake up, to endure, to rebuild.

Sage might have dragged her through the door kicking and screaming the whole way, but Agatha was the one who had done the heavy lifting. Every step forward, every wound reopened, every truth faced, it had been her struggle and her effort, no matter how much Sage had pushed. The work had been Agatha’s and Agatha’s alone.

Agatha was no longer pieces of a broken puzzle, scattered too far apart to even attempt to fit together again. She had fought to rebuild herself, piece by piece, reclaiming the strength she thought she had lost. Yet, as she stood there staring at her duffel bag, the emptiness of the room pressed against her. This wasn’t who she was anymore. She hadn’t clawed her way back from the edge just to settle for distance, for empty spaces that didn’t feel like home. She had done the work. And standing here, apart from Rio, felt like denying everything she had fought so hard to become.

She couldn’t tell if Rio’s decision was made out of respect or for her own peace of mind. Either way, pressing the issue felt wrong. Whatever the reason, it was clear Rio wasn’t ready for more, and Agatha wasn’t about to push her. With a heavy exhale, she let the thought go and headed into the bedroom to change into her swimsuit.

The navy bikini she chose was simple, understated, but it suited her in a way that felt effortless. It hugged her figure in a way that was both natural and striking, drawing attention without asking for it. There was nothing extravagant about it, yet it fit her as though it had been made for her.

After throwing on a pair of sunglasses on top of her head, she made her way down the stairs, her bare feet tapping softly against the wooden floor. The house was still quiet, the only sound came from the faint crash of waves beyond the glass sliding door at the back. She slid it open, the warm ocean air greeting her immediately. She descended another set of stairs to the beach.

Her feet met the sand and she let the softness of it shift beneath her feet.

As she walked further along, her gaze landed on Rio, stretched out effortlessly in one of the lounge chairs where she and Sage had sat earlier. The setup had changed slightly; a small cooler rested in the sand next to Rio, and an umbrella was planted nearby, casting a patch of shade. Agatha’s steps slowed as her attention lingered on Rio, basking in all her damn glory.

Rio was striking, as always, wearing a simple black string bikini that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her brown hair was down, falling in soft waves just at her shoulders, and a baby blue baseball cap sat snugly on her head. A pair of dark metal frame sunglasses concealed her eyes, adding an air of effortless confidence to her already commanding presence.

In her lap rested her sketchbook, and Agatha could just make out the beginnings of sand, water, and sky unfolding in light pencil strokes. Rio was capturing the endless scene stretching out in front of her.

For a moment, Agatha just stood there, caught between awe and hesitation, the soft breeze tugging at her hair and carrying the faint scent of saltwater. Rio didn’t glance up, entirely absorbed in her work.

Not long ago, she had told the woman, ‘I don’t want to see your face. ’

Out of all the lies Agatha Harkness had told in her long, long lifetime, this one made its way into the top five biggest- not because it was clever or necessary, but because it was an utterly pathetic attempt to deny the truth.

The truth was that she wanted to see every part of Rio, in every form, every fragment of Death and Life that made her who she was.

“You’re staring,” Rio’s smooth voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“I am,” Agatha said, her voice steady, no longer bothering to deny it.

Rio’s pencil stilled, hovering just above the page. Her head tilted slightly, though she didn’t look up. Agatha noticed the faintest shift in her posture. It was barely noticeable like Rio was trying to decide whether to acknowledge the moment or brush it aside.

Agatha smirked to herself. She’d disrupted Rio’s focus, broken through her carefully crafted calm. It was subtle, but it was there, and the victory was sweeter than she’d expected. Maybe Rio wasn’t as untouchable as she wanted to seem.

Agatha spared Rio from the decision as she plopped herself down in the lounge chair beside her. “Where’s our kid?” she asked casually, leaning back and sliding her sunglasses down to cover her eyes, as though she hadn’t just casually dropped a bomb.

Another blow to Rio’s composure. The question wasn’t an accidental slip; it was deliberate, and it hit its mark with precision. The effect was immediate. Rio’s head whipped toward her so fast it was a wonder it didn’t snap.

Agatha didn’t elaborate, didn’t rush to fill the silence. She simply looked at Rio with the faintest teasing smile- a smile that said she knew exactly what she’d said and exactly what she was doing.

Rio let out a huff of air and shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the furrowed brow that hinted at a mix of disbelief and amusement. “She, um,” she started, gesturing weakly with a thumb over her shoulder before the words died on her lips. Another huff escaped as she shook her head again, the smile she was fighting clearly becoming harder to resist. “She met a group of college kids. Something about wanting to argue Aristotle with some guy who thinks he knows more than he does. Said not to wait up for her.”

Agatha pulled her sunglasses up and perched them on top of her head, her gaze snapping to Rio in disbelief. “And you just let her go?”

Rio shrugged, setting her sketchbook down in the sand beside her. She leaned back, her posture infuriatingly relaxed. “Yeah, why not?”

Agatha’s eyes widened. “Why not? What if it’s a cult she’s being tricked into joining? What then?”

Rio’s lips curved into a faint smirk as she tilted her head toward Agatha. “Honestly, she’d probably choose joining a cult over spending the night arguing Aristotle.”

Agatha blinked, the absurdity of the statement somehow landing as truth. Sage would do that. But still. “That’s not the point, Rio. What if someone starts asking questions? Who she’s with, where she’s from?”

Rio sighed, pulling her own sunglasses up to rest on her hat before turning her full attention to Agatha. “Agatha, she can talk circles around anyone about absolutely nothing for hours. She’s careful,” Rio said, her tone edged with a mother’s unshakable certainty.

Agatha wasn’t convinced. She turned fully toward Rio, gripping the arm of her chair, her intensity palpable. “It takes one person, Rio. One person looking too closely. You know that as well as I do.”

Rio met her gaze, her own expression remained calm, though her voice softened slightly. “I do. But she’s not helpless. You’ve seen what she’s capable of. She can handle herself.”

“She’s not invincible, Rio,” Agatha countered, her voice tight.

“We can’t lock her away because we’re scared. She’d never forgive us, and honestly, we’d never forgive ourselves.”

The conviction in Rio’s voice hit Agatha like a wave. For a moment, she said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line, the tension in her hands visible where they gripped the chair. She hated how reasonable Rio sounded, how right she felt in the way she spoke about their daughter. But it didn’t ease the knot in her chest.

Agatha barked out an aggressive, “Whatever!” and threw herself back into the lounging chair, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child.

Rio laughed, the sound warm, as she turned onto her side to reach for Agatha’s wrist. “Relax,” she drawled, her fingers gently trying to pry at Agatha’s stubbornly folded arms.

Agatha swatted at her hands with an exaggerated huff. “Don’t touch me,” she grumbled, her tone more dramatic than angry.

Rio rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated groan. “Fine, if you’re going to be like this-” She shuffled to her feet, the movement graceful despite her mock irritation. Standing tall, she loomed over Agatha, the sun glinting off her tanned skin, and reached again for her wrists. “Come on! Get up!”

Agatha relented, though she would deny it later. She told herself her sudden compliance had nothing to do with the way Rio looked in that damn bathing suit, the fabric clinging to her skin in all the right ways or more so, the lack of fabric. But no, it wasn’t that. It was just easier to go along with it than to keep arguing. At least, that’s what she told herself.

She let Rio pull her up and out of the chair with both hands. Rio walked backward a few steps, letting go of one of Agatha’s hands to turn and pull her toward the shore. Once Agatha realized what was happening, she started digging her heels into the sand. “Nope, not doing that,” she said firmly.

Rio stumbled slightly from Agatha’s resistance, her momentum tugged back. She stopped and turned to face Agatha, a teasing glint already dancing in her eyes. “Aww, are you scared?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as she reached up to brush Agatha’s cheek like she was soothing her.

Agatha slapped at her hand, her glare sharp and unimpressed. “The problem,” she said slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line, “is that I’m not about to waddle into a giant soup of fish, crabs, or whatever else is lurking in there.”

Rio blinked, stunned for a moment, “You’re scared of fish?” she repeated.

“Not scared!” Agatha snapped, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I just don’t trust them. They’re unpredictable.” She rolled her eyes, clearly irritated by her own honesty.

Rio gave her a playful tug toward the water, unfazed by Agatha’s resistance. “Agatha, trust the sea.”

“Well, about that,” Agatha said with a forced chuckle, “I had a fun little chat with Sage earlier, and my business with the sea? It’s settled. Why test it?” Her voice was light, but her body language betrayed her unease. She peeked around Rio, her eyes narrowing at the waves rolling onto the shore, stronger than she would’ve liked. “I’d also particularly like to avoid being tossed around by those waves, thank you very much.”

“Agatha,” Rio said firmly, her tone cutting through the excuses.

Agatha’s gaze remained locked on the ocean. “Hm?” she replied distractedly, still avoiding Rio’s face.

She felt the tug on her wrist, gentle but firm, and finally turned her head, her eyes meeting warm brown. The pull of Rio’s steady gaze was impossible to ignore.

“Trust me,” Rio said, her voice quiet but resolute.

Agatha hesitated, glancing back at the ocean, then back at Rio. She let out an aggressive hum of frustration, tossing one last glare at the water before narrowing her eyes at Rio. “Fine. Let’s go for a fucking swim, then.”

She stomped past Rio, her hand still firmly gripping Agatha’s. She tugged the green witch along in an ungraceful march, determined but clearly still unhappy. Agatha didn’t look back at Rio, but she could feel that knowing smirk plastered on her face.

Agatha stopped abruptly at the shoreline, the water just shy of her toes. She turned her head to Rio, eyebrows raised, and gave her a pointed look before jutting her chin toward the water, silently demanding Rio go first.

To Agatha’s mild surprise, Rio didn’t put up a fight. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, the waves greeting her ankles as she waded into the water, unbothered and elegant. Agatha stayed put, arms crossed, watching her carefully.

When Rio took a step further out, the waves immediately stilled, the water becoming uncharacteristically calm. The gentle roll of the tide disappeared, leaving the surface glassy and clear. Even the sand beneath the water settled. Agatha blinked in surprise as she looked around. There wasn’t a single person or fish in sight for miles.

The tension in her shoulders eased. Of course, Rio could do this. She was the original green witch, a master of earth magic. Her power wasn’t limited to plants-it encompassed all the elements. Rio just happened to prefer playing in the dirt and pretending she enjoyed the taste of rocks over anything else. (Not that Rio had actually eaten rocks… allegedly.)

Rio turned and walked back up to the edge of the shore, her expression calm and assured as she extended a hand toward Agatha. “Ready?”

Agatha took it, stepping forward. The water was warm, the sun bright starting to hang lower in the sky. She followed Rio willingly, the water lapping gently at her calves as they moved a little deeper. When Rio let go of her hand, Agatha paused, watching her move a few feet ahead.

Rio turned back, arms crossing as she studied Agatha. Her gaze dragged up and down Agatha’s body deliberately, and her tongue pressed into her cheek. It was not smugness, not entirely. This was Rio fighting the urge to unleash that big gap toothed smile, the one that always threatened to break her calm façade.

“You wanna make out?” Rio asked, her tone casual but her eyes full of mischief.

“No shit,” Agatha replied without hesitation.

Rio uncrossed her arms and planted them firmly on her hips. She gave a swift nod, her gaze sweeping down the expanse of Agatha’s body one more time, her tongue still pressed into her cheek. This time, her expression looked more serious, more intent. When her eyes finally met Agatha’s, her voice was steady. “Okay. I’ll be over there if you want me.” She gestured further out into the water with a slight tilt of her head.

And with that, Rio turned and walked toward the deeper water.

“Careful what you wish for!” Agatha called after her, her voice tinged with playful defiance.

Rio stopped waist deep in the water and turned back, her smirk unmistakable even from a distance. “I never wish for anything I don’t already want!” she shouted. Then, without hesitation, she fell backward into the water, her movements as ungraceful as they were deliberate.

A few seconds later, she reemerged, holding her hat firmly to her head as water dripped down her face and shoulders. The water now reached just below her shoulders. Rio took off her hat and tossed it toward Agatha. “Throw it to the shore!” she yelled.

Agatha caught the hat, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile as she turned to toss it onto the sand. She exhaled slowly, her defenses crumbling. “Rio Vidal, you could charm the damn stars out of the sky if you wanted to,” she muttered under her breath before stepping into the water. She moved toward Rio, the pull of her fears suddenly no match against the pull of the ocean.

Chasing Death, yet again. And Agatha knew she would do it again, and again, and again.

Determined to reach Rio faster, Agatha dove beneath the surface, her body cutting through the water. When she resurfaced, she was close enough to stand, the water coming just below her shoulders. She wiped her face with open palms, clearing her vision. As her hands fell, she saw Rio standing in front of her, closer than she expected.

Rio’s eyes were slightly wide, her expression unreadable, as though she couldn’t believe Agatha had actually followed her.

Agatha didn’t hesitate. She reached for Rio’s waist, her fingers curling into her skin to pull her closer. One hand moved to the base of Rio’s neck, keeping her near. Their faces were inches apart, but Agatha didn’t close the distance yet. Instead, she let her eyes trace Rio’s face, lingering on every feature. Her hand slid from Rio’s waist, moving to her face, where her thumb traced a smooth, deliberate path across her cheek.

Agatha noticed Rio’s gaze lingering on her lips, her eyes half lidded and dark with intent. Dipping her chin, Agatha tilted her head slightly, trying to draw Rio’s attention back up. Her fingers slid into the hair at the nape of Rio’s neck, giving the softest tug, a silent coaxing for Rio to meet her eyes.

Rio’s eyes fluttered closed and her hands found immediate purchase on Agatha’s wrists like she was trying to find the strength to brace for impact.

For as long as they had known each other, whenever Agatha held Rio like this, cradling her head and face with such tenderness, Rio’s hands would instinctively grasp Agatha’s wrists. It was as if the Keeper of the Sacred Balance herself needed something solid to steady her, a quiet vulnerability to anchor the weight of her own endlessness.

But when Rio finally blinked her eyes open, Agatha saw her completely. Something shifted. Agatha felt herself drowning in their depth, captivated by the quiet strength and vulnerability they held.

In that moment, Agatha understood what it felt like to be pulled into the ocean’s embrace, to lose herself in its beauty, its endlessness. It was overwhelming and grounding all at once.

Rio exhaled a shaky breath, as though offering Agatha all the air in her lungs to breathe. Water dripped down her face, and her lips parted briefly as she licked them, steadying herself for what she was about to say. “You see?” Her lips twitched, wanting to pull into one of her lazy, signature smirks, but it lacked the energy.

Agatha had no clue what Rio was going to say. She guessed it was probably a joke, something to lighten the tension, not for herself but for Agatha. She would say something like, ‘You see? I’m not so scary after all,’ and let humor deflect the weight that presses heavy on Agatha’s chest, when things tended to feel too big.

But before Rio could speak, Agatha beat her to it. Her voice was soft, repeating the quote Sage had said the day before, from The Book Thief :  “Even Death has a heart.” She swiped her thumb gently across Rio’s cheek.

Rio whimpered. The sound was soft, unguarded, and her eyes fluttered shut at the touch.

And that. Was the final blow that even Death herself couldn’t recover from.

And Agatha, for all her strength and centuries of poise, was grateful they were standing in water. If they’d been on solid ground, she would have collapsed at the sound of it, undone by the vulnerability in Rio’s voice.

“She does,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling. “And it beats for you.”

Agatha pulled Rio in. She wouldn’t wait anymore. Rio surrendered before their mouths even connected, her body softening as she gave herself over completely. There was no resistance, no hesitation. By the time their lips met, Rio’s mouth opened instinctively, offering herself freely without Agatha needing to ask.

Agatha didn’t hesitate to take what Rio offered. Her lips moved deliberately, her tongue tracing the curve of Rio’s bottom lip before venturing further, exploring every inch of Rio’s mouth as though she wanted to memorize it. Each movement was slow, savoring the way Rio moans melted into her mouth. The warmth of Rio’s breath mingled with her own, and the faint taste of salt lingered.

Agatha pulled away from the kiss, but this time Rio chased her mouth, leaning forward with unspoken need. Agatha’s breath hitched, when Rio’s lips parted slightly, asking for more and Agatha whimpered at the sight.

Rio pulled back just enough to meet Agatha’s eyes, her gaze steady. “Take me inside, Agatha,” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling. It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

Agatha could only nod, her breathless, “Yeah,” barely audible. She took Rio’s hand and began leading her out of the ocean. The moment Rio’s feet left the water, the waves behind them surged with renewed strength, crashing against the shore as if the ocean itself mourned her absence.

Chapter Text

Agatha led Rio toward the house, their hands still intertwined as they stepped away from the water’s edge. The ocean breeze clung to their skin. She stopped briefly, leaning down to pick up Rio’s hat from where it had landed earlier. She never let go of Rio’s hand.

With Agatha leading, Rio followed willingly, their steps synchronized as they made their way up the beach. Agatha paused again at the chairs they had been using earlier. She tucked Rio’s hat under her arm and bent to grab her sketchbook before continuing toward the house.

At the top of the stairs, she dropped Rio’s hat onto the balcony railing, leaving it to dry in the sun. Once inside, she tossed the sketchbook onto the kitchen table.

As Agatha led Rio up the stairs inside, her thoughts turned to their duffel bags resting in separate rooms. It wasn’t about needing anything from them. What lingered in her mind was the space it represented, the distance she no longer wanted between them.

With an abrupt stop outside the spare bedroom, Agatha dropped Rio’s hand and spun around, causing Rio to stumble into her. Rio blinked, confused by the sudden halt, but before she could ask, Agatha’s hands settled on her waist to steady her.

Agatha didn’t let them part. She kept their bodies close, leaning in until her lips hovered just by Rio’s ear. Her voice dropped into a teasing whisper, as though about to confess some forbidden secret. “I’m mad at you, you know.” There was no trace of malice in her tone.

Rio turned her head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Agatha’s expression. Rio’s brows furrowed and her eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. The corner of her lips twitched into a curious smile. “Oh? Wanna kiss and make up?”

Agatha almost said yes. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to kiss Rio. Especially when Rio’s lips parted slightly, as if she was ready to be completely consumed by Agatha. Agatha’s eyes locked on to those lips, her focus unwavering as that teasing smile grew wider.

But Agatha wouldn’t give in so easily. She pulled her gaze back up to meet teasing brown, “You know I would, but-”

“Coward,” Rio interrupted, her tone playful. She was provoking Agatha, pushing her buttons, desperate for her to cave.

Agatha feigned a look of deep offense, her hand flying to her chest as if she had been mortally wounded. “Pardon?” she gasped, her voice dripping with mock indignation.

“You heard me,” Rio replied, her grin widening even more, the familiar gap in her teeth on full display.

Agatha narrowed her eyes, her lips twitching into a smirk. “I think the real coward is the one who was too scared to put our bags in the same bedroom.”

Rio’s smile softened into something sly. “Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it,” she countered, her voice teasing and daring Agatha to make the next move.

“And what exactly would that be?”

“That you want me,” Rio said, but the words carried a weight that made the air between them shift. They weren’t just playful; they were a declaration, a truth etched into every glance, every touch, and every sacrifice Rio had made. For nearly three centuries, Rio had chased Agatha through lifetimes of grief and stubbornness, proving time and time again how much she wanted her, how much she always would.

Agatha stilled, the playful smirk fading from her lips as the gravity of Rio’s words settled over her. She didn’t look away though, Agatha couldn’t even if she tried. The truth between them hung heavy, daring Agatha to confront the gravity of what Rio had always been willing to give.

“I don’t want anything else,” Agatha said, the words escaping her before she could second guess them. Her eyes searched Rio’s, her own vulnerability shining through. “I never have.”

Rio’s teasing smile faded into something softer, almost sad. “You’ve got a real funny way of showing it,” Rio whispered. 

“Yeah, well, we hit a few bumps in the road,” Agatha said with a shrug, her eyes holding Rio’s. “But it led me back to you eventually, didn’t it?”

Rio’s smile grew, soft and knowing, as she leaned just slightly closer. “Funny thing about fate.”

Agatha rolled her eyes and ignored the comment, “We need showers. Use my bathroom. I’ll shower in the spare. Don’t forget to grab your shit on the way there.”

“The thought of doing the nasty in the shower not doing it for you?” Rio teased, raising a suggestive eyebrow while her tongue pushed into her cheek.

“Rio, get your stuff. I’ll be in there when you’re done.” Agatha went for the doorknob of the spare bedroom, but Rio stopped her. She reached for the doorknob instead, turning it open before grabbing her bag off the bed.

Rio walked down the hall, then turned back to face Agatha. With a swing of her arm, Rio tossed her bag into the bigger bedroom.

“See you in a few?” A plea.

“Count on it.” A promise.

—

Agatha lingered in the spare bathroom, the towel wrapped snugly around her damp body. She had heard the soft shake of the pipes as Rio turned off the shower, a sound that made her pulse quicken. Agatha’s hair was still mostly damp, and though her skin had dried, she felt no urge to change. Instead, she took a deep, steadying breath, gathering herself, and made her way out of the bathroom and down the hall.

Agatha didn’t hesitate to open the door. She stepped inside and closed it quietly behind her.

Her blue eyes immediately found the double doors to the bathroom, left open as if they had been waiting for her.

Rio stood there between two sinks, completely naked. Her hair fell in loose waves like she had casually run her fingers through it. Rio wasn’t looking at her reflection in the mirror. Rio was looking at Agatha.

It was as if she had known Agatha would enter at that exact moment. As if she had been waiting, her body on full, unapologetic display.

Agatha’s breath caught, her knees threatening to give out beneath her. Her gaze dropped, trailing along the curve of Rio’s shoulders, gliding over the smooth expanse of her back, and landing firmly on the perfect arch of her ass. Agatha inhaled sharply, the sound loud in the stillness of the room.

The towel around her body felt suffocating, unnecessary. It slipped from Agatha’s grasp and fell to the floor without a second thought.

Then, Agatha crossed the distance, until she stood just inches away from Rio. The warmth of Rio’s skin seemed to draw her in, and her dark brown eyes stayed fixed on her, drinking in every detail of Agatha openly leering.

Rio placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward slightly, her movements unhurried, a challenge burning in her gaze. She was waiting for Agatha to close the space between them, daring her to move first.

Agatha closed the distance between them in one purposeful step, her body pressing fully against Rio’s. The sensation of bare skin meeting bare skin after centuries apart was electric, a rush of heat and memory colliding all at once. Her hands flew to Rio’s waist, her grip gentle.

Agatha began tracing the curve of Rio’s hips with her fingertips, rediscovering what had been lost to time. Rio exhaled a soft gasp, the sound so delicate it sent a ripple of heat through Agatha. It wasn’t just a reaction; it was an invitation.

Suddenly, the fire in Rio’s gaze was gone. It was no longer a challenge but an offering, a silent surrender wrapped in trust and longing. Rio stood there, exposed in every sense, as if baring more than just her body.

In that moment, Agatha realized that Rio’s surrender wasn’t weakness- it was a gift. It was trust stripped completely naked, a love that spanned centuries, unbroken even by betrayal and loss. Rio wasn’t just giving herself; she was laying her soul bare .

Death, who had claimed so much, now willingly offered herself to Agatha as if to say, Take what is yours. I belong to you.

Agatha tugged gently at Rio’s waist, urging her to turn around. Rio moved like she had been waiting for this moment, her body responding instinctively. Her hand found their way into Agatha’s damp hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled their foreheads together. Agatha’s arms tightened around Rio, drawing their bodies completely flush once more, the feeling pulling unfiltered moans from both women.

Rio’s free hand rose to Agatha’s face, her thumb grazing over her bottom lip in a touch so tender it sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine. Rio’s dark eyes fixed on Agatha’s lips, her gaze carried the weight of someone drowning, desperate for salvation.

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling with a vulnerability that felt like an open wound, exposed but unafraid.

And who was Agatha to deny her? Death was inevitable, yes, but Rio was something more. She was life and loss, love and grief, everything Agatha had ever feared and desired mixed into one.

Agatha couldn’t stop herself. The moment their lips collided, it was like a dam breaking, all the tension and longing pouring out in a desperate, consuming kiss. The force of it sent Rio into the counter, the edge digging into the back of Rio’s hips as the vanity’s drawers jolted from the impact. The sound barely registered in Agatha’s mind, overwhelmed as she was by the heat of Rio’s body and the intoxicating press of their mouths.

Their lips parted instinctively, open and inviting, and Agatha’s tongue darted forward, claiming Rio’s with a hunger that felt insatiable. The slick, soft heat of Rio’s tongue met hers, tasting her with the same intensity. Agatha explored every inch of Rio’s mouth, savoring the taste of her as if she had been starved for centuries- which, in a way, she absolutely fucking had.

Agatha wanted to drown in it, in Rio, in the taste and feel of her, and she had no intention of letting go.

Agatha’s hands roamed over Rio’s body, her arms tightening around her waist as Rio’s arms looped over her shoulders, pulling her impossibly close. With a firm tug, Agatha urged Rio upward, and Rio instinctively shifted, helping to hoist herself onto the edge of the counter. A soft gasp slipped from Rio’s lips as the cold marble met the bare skin of her ass, Agatha felt the shiver it sent up the green witch’s spine.

Agatha pulled her lips away from Rio’s, and a needy whimper escaped Rio as she chased after them, desperate to keep the space between them closed. Agatha shifted instead, brushing her mouth teasingly against the corner of Rio’s lips before moving to her jaw. She left a slow, open mouthed kiss there, followed by a gentle suck that painted a faint bruise directly on Rio’s jawline.

Rio let out a quiet moan, one hand flying to Agatha’s cheek and the other gripping her shoulder, trying to keep her in place, but Agatha was relentless.

Her lips traveled to Rio’s neck, trailing languid, open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. Her tongue followed each kiss with deliberate slowness, savoring the taste of Rio as she moved lower. Agatha continued her path, her kisses growing more possessive until her mouth reached the space between Rio’s breasts. There, she sucked harder, leaving a dark bruise that felt like a declaration of her claim.

Rio’s breathing grew unsteady, her chest rising and falling with ragged gasps. Her hand slipped from Agatha’s shoulder to brace against the counter as she leaned back slightly, granting Agatha easier access and grounding herself against the intensity of Agatha’s touch.

Agatha felt Rio’s other hand slide to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she tugged gently, guiding her exactly where Rio wanted her most.

Rio had always had a weakness for a specific kind of attention Agatha was more than happy to give. Whether it was her mouth or her fingers, nipple play was the one thing Rio would beg for, without a doubt.

Every. Single. Time.

Out of the two of them, Agatha had always been the louder one in bed, her pleasure spilling out in gasps and cries. Lady Death, on the other hand, was a quiet lover, her moans soft and restrained, her whimpers barely above a whisper. It drove Agatha wild, desperate for every sound Rio let slip.

Agatha leaned in closer, her breath warm against Rio’s skin as she hovered over her already hardened nipple. Tilting her head upward, Agatha’s chin just barely brushed against it, the motion far from accidental, sending a shiver through Rio’s body. A sharp gasp escaped Rio’s lips, her chest jerking at the contact.

Rio’s brown eyes, dark and heavy with need, flickered down briefly to where Agatha lingered before returning to meet her gaze. The smallest tilt of Agatha’s chin teased her further, and a smirk curved on Agatha’s lips, open and inviting in a way that looked utterly maddening.

Rio’s voice trembled, yearning, as she whispered hoarsely, “Agatha…” Her breath hitched, the pause thick with tension.

“I’m begging,” Rio’s voice was raw and desperate, the words lingered in the air like a prayer. 

Agatha flicked her tongue over the sensitive peak, tracing slow, delicate circles, savoring the way Rio’s breath hitched. A trembling whimper escaped Rio, sending a rush of heat through Agatha.

She couldn’t tease Rio any longer. Her lips closed around the bud, sucking softly, and Rio’s quiet control shattered. A moan escaped her, loud and unrestrained, as though she had finally found her voice. Her body arched forward, pressing closer to Agatha, pleading for more.

Agatha smirked against Rio’s skin, her tongue and lips working to draw out every sound Rio had to offer.

As Agatha lavished attention on each of Rio’s nipples, her fingers trailed slowly down the curve of Rio’s thigh. The touch was enough to make Rio instinctively spread her legs wider, and Agatha paused to pull Rio closer.

Rio’s body responded instantly, rising to meet her, one arm draping over Agatha’s shoulder as her head dipped forward. Agatha tilted her face upward, her hands steadying Rio as she shifted her closer to the edge of the counter. The intimacy of the moment deepened as Agatha felt the undeniable heat of Rio’s wetness pressed against her stomach, the sensation drawing a loud moan from her own lips.

Rio’s other hand found Agatha’s cheek, cupping it gently as she leaned in. Their mouths collided in a searing kiss, tongues tangling. The kiss was hungry, their breaths mingling as Agatha’s hands gripped Rio tighter.

Agatha wasted no time, her hand slipping between Rio’s thighs, her fingers finding her drenched heat. When she touched Rio’s center, the slickness was impossible to ignore, and the both of them moaned into the kiss, their sounds swallowed by each other’s mouths. Agatha’s fingers teased their way along Rio’s folds, moving in slow strokes before swirling in lazy circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

No longer able to hold back, Agatha dragged her touch lower and slid two fingers inside Rio with a firm, smooth motion. She curled them just right, and Rio’s body jerked violently, her lips breaking away from Agatha’s as a wail escaped her throat.

Agatha kept going, her fingers delving deeper, drawing Rio into every thrust relentlessly. Her pace quickened, her movements harder and more insistent, the sound of Rio’s ragged breaths and the breathy, gasped “Yes” spurring her on. Rio’s body was trembling, her eyes squeezed shut as the tension coiled tightly inside her.

“Open your eyes,” Agatha commanded, her voice breathless. She didn’t stop moving, her fingers burying in to Rio to her knuckles. “I want you to look at me when I make you come.”

Rio’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Agatha’s. The intensity in her gaze was enough to shatter Rio’s control. Agatha felt the unmistakable clench of Rio’s walls around her fingers, the tightening drawing a guttural cry from Rio. “Fuck!” Rio cried out, her release crashing over her.

Agatha didn’t let up, her movements coaxing every last tremor from Rio’s body. Rio’s eyes fluttered closed again as she rode the aftershocks, her hips jerking to prolong the pleasure. Agatha stayed close, watching every reaction, her lips curving into a satisfied, almost wicked smile as Rio’s body finally stilled, spent and trembling in her arms.

Agatha slowly withdrew her fingers, slick and glistening, earning a whine from Rio at their loss.

Rio’s lips were already parted, as if anticipating what came next, her breaths shallow and waiting. When Agatha brought her hand to Rio’s mouth, Rio leaned in without hesitation, her lips closing around Agatha’s fingers and taking them fully to the knuckle. Her eyes locked onto Agatha’s, unwavering, their intensity enough to make Agatha’s breath hitch.

Rio’s tongue pressed flat against Agatha’s fingers, dragging slowly along their length before pulling back, her lips tight. She repeated the action twice more, her head bobbing with unhurried precision, the heat of her mouth leaving Agatha trembling by the time Rio finally let go.

Agatha’s knees buckled, a wave of dizziness overtaking her. Her hands flew to Rio’s thighs to steady herself, her head dipping as she tried to catch her own breath. Then, with a tenderness that wrecked her completely, Rio cupped Agatha’s cheeks and pulled her into a soft, lingering kiss. The sweetness of it drew a whimper from Agatha’s lips, her resolve crumbling under the gentle pressure of Rio’s mouth.

When Agatha opened her eyes, Rio was already gazing down at her, a warmth in her expression that made Agatha feel like her entire body might fold in on itself. Rio’s brown hair, still damp and curling slightly at the ends, framed her face perfectly. It fell just at her shoulders, breathtaking in its simplicity. Her flawless skin glowed in the dim light, her natural beauty utterly captivating. Rio looked like sheer perfection, a vision of effortless beauty that made Agatha’s chest ache with longing.

The three words that had been sitting at the back of her throat, unsaid since the moment Rio kissed her in front of the portal, now threatened to spill free. Agatha wasn’t sure if, once spoken, she’d ever be able to stop saying them.

Before Agatha could think about anything else, she felt Rio shift, nudging her to step back and give her room to slide off the counter.

The moment Rio’s feet touched the ground, her hand shot out, hooking around the back of Agatha’s neck. Rio pulled her into a kiss so consuming that Agatha swore it might finish the job and actually kill her this time. It was all Rio, her tongue sweeping into Agatha’s mouth with no hesitation, claiming her completely. Agatha moaned at the lingering taste of Rio on her tongue.

Agatha’s head spun with the force of it. The kiss was wild and consuming, sending them stumbling out of the bathroom. Rio’s hands clawed and squeezed greedily at Agatha’s ass as they moved.

They barely made it a few steps before their momentum carried them into the wall, Agatha’s back meeting the surface with a thud. Rio’s hands moved everywhere, clawing, gripping, and exploring Agatha’s body like she couldn’t get enough. Their breaths were heavy and desperate, filling the space between fevered kisses.

Then, just as suddenly, Rio stopped.

Agatha let out a frustrated grunt, her lips chasing after Rio’s, but Rio ignored her protests. Instead, she grabbed Agatha’s hand, her grip firm and guided her to the edge of the bed. Letting go, Rio placed her hands gently on Agatha’s waist and turned her so the back of her legs brushed against the bed.

Rio brought one hand up, resting it against Agatha’s sternum. Her touch was steady but insistent as she pressed Agatha back just enough to make her sit.

And Agatha was fucking sat.

Rio looked down at her, and the intensity in her gaze said everything. There was no hesitation and no doubt. Her expression was one of pure possession, a silent promise that Agatha belonged to her just as much as Rio belonged to Agatha. It was a look that sent shivers through her, a gaze so full of adoration, hunger, and unwavering devotion that it made Agatha feel like the only person in existence.

Without breaking eye contact, Rio dropped to her knees, her movements fluid and deliberate. Rio tilted her head slightly to look up at Agatha, her eyes dark and full of purpose. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as she stared down at the woman before her.

How could anyone think this connection, this sacred bond, was anything less than divine?

In that moment, Agatha understood why people searched for proof of the divine their whole lives. She never had the desire to find it, but it struck her like a revelation. It felt holy, almost too much to bear. And for the first time in her life and her death, Agatha believed in God.

God was a woman. She was beautiful and powerful.

And currently, God was on her knees for Agatha Harkness.

-

They fucked all night like their lives depended on it, their passion igniting and rekindling what centuries apart had starved them of. Each of them reclaimed every inch of the other’s body, rediscovering every curve, every scar, every place they had longed to touch again. At times it was slow, achingly tender, their gazes locked with unspoken words of devotion passing between them. Other times, full of fire, fury, and a hunger so primal it felt sinful. They became lost in each other, in the rhythm of their bodies, in the heat of their skin, leaving no moment untouched and no need unmet.

At one point, Agatha sat up against the headboard, her back supported by the cool wood, her gaze focused downward at the woman resting in her lap.

Rio’s head was cradled against her thighs, her dark eyes gazing up at her like Agatha herself had hung the moon. Agatha’s fingers trailed through Rio’s hair absentmindedly, the soft strands slipping between her fingers. They were still entirely naked, their bodies pressed close yet seemingly untouched by the chaos of the night.

Agatha’s lips twitched with frustration as her gaze swept over their unmarked skin. The hickeys, claw marks, and bruises they had left on each other had already vanished, their bodies healing far too quickly.

Agatha fucking hated it.

She wanted the evidence of her love, her need, to linger on Rio’s skin. She wanted the marks to scream that Rio was hers, to remind them both of everything they had taken back tonight. It had been the same all those years ago, the infuriating consequence of Rio’s power. Now, in her ghostly afterlife, the same curse applied to Agatha, her own body just as infuriatingly pristine.

Agatha would have seethed at the thought if she weren’t so utterly distracted. Rio’s lazy finger traced an unhurried circle around one of Agatha’s nipples, her touch light and teasing. It was enough to pull Agatha’s thoughts back to the present, her breath hitching at the sensation. She looked down at Rio, and the satisfied smirk on her face told her that Rio knew exactly what she was doing.

Suddenly, Rio moved, sitting up and slipping out of the bed without a word. Agatha blinked, stunned, as she watched Rio stride across the room. Her ass was illuminated softly in the low light as she crouched by her duffle bag, rummaging through its contents.

Agatha leered. Sue her. What else was she supposed to do when Rio’s ass was on full display, practically begging for attention?

When Rio finally found what she was looking for, she turned back to Agatha with a smug smile playing on her lips. Without hesitation, she tossed the item effortlessly into Agatha’s lap.

Agatha’s gaze dropped to the object now resting perfectly in the center of her lap. A fucking purple strap-on.

For a moment, Agatha just stared at it, her mind struggling to process. Then she closed her eyes, throwing one hand dramatically over her heart while the other extended upward, her fingers splayed toward the heavens. In a hushed tone, Agatha mumbled a prayer of thanks to whatever god or higher power had deemed her worthy of this moment.

Though, Agatha knew exactly who she was thanking. It was the woman standing across from her with her tongue poking into her cheek.

-

At dawn, they found themselves in the lounge chairs outside, the horizon painted in soft hues of pink and gold as the sun prepared to rise. The air was crisp, cool enough to justify the sweats and hoodies they now wore, a stark contrast to the heat they had shared for hours before. They sat in comfortable silence, waiting for the first rays of sunlight to spill over the edge of the world.

Agatha’s gaze was drawn to the ocean, its vastness stretching endlessly before them. She had never truly understood its wonder until now, the way it seemed alive, breathing and shifting with rhythm. The waves moved with power, a reminder of something eternal and untamable. She marveled at it, captivated by the way the water mirrored the sky, reflecting infinite possibilities.

She wanted to dive into it, to feel its cool embrace and let it pull her wherever it wanted. There was a strange sense of trust Agatha felt now, an acceptance of the ocean’s call. It was more than just water. It was a force, a mystery, a promise of freedom that spoke to something deep inside her. If Agatha allowed it, she knew she could follow its pull forever, surrendering to its currents, letting it carry her to places unknown, unbound by the constraints of time or fear.

Agatha glanced over at Rio, who sat with her knees tucked to her chest, arms draped loosely around them. Rio’s hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, with her curtain bangs neatly tucked behind her ears.

Rio looked at the ocean with just as much wonder.

The words left Agatha’s lips. There was no hesitation and no second guessing. She said them with purpose. She meant every word.

“I love you.”

Rio didn’t respond right away. She actually froze, her body going perfectly still as if the words themselves had taken the air from her lungs. Slowly, Rio turned to look at Agatha, her face almost unreadable as those brown eyes scanned every inch of Agatha’s expression.

Rio was searching for any crack or any sign of doubt. But all she found was inevitable truth, and Agatha saw when it hit Rio, it looked like a wave crashing into her chest and stealing the ground beneath her feet.

Rio’s brow furrowed slightly, and she shook her head like she was trying to clear her thoughts. Finally, she met Agatha’s gaze fully, her voice soft but sure, “I love you too.”

Agatha felt the weight of Rio’s words, the honesty in every syllable, and Agatha’s lips curved into a small smile. Agatha turned her attention back to the horizon, watching as the sun began to crest over the ocean, spilling golden light over the water.

But she didn’t miss the way Rio’s eyes stayed fixed on her instead of the sunrise, as if she were trying to memorize every detail of Agatha’s face.

And Agatha definitely didn’t miss the way Rio’s lips twitched, fighting a smile so radiant it might have rivaled the dawn itself. Agatha could feel the warmth of that almost smile even without looking, and when Rio finally gave in, letting it bloom fully, she quickly turned her head away.

Agatha caught the moment Rio tried to hide her happiness, but she didn’t need to see it to feel it. It was there, as inevitable as the sun rising in front of them.

Chapter Text

The sound of the back door sliding open shattered the stillness, followed by the unmistakable sound of Sage’s hurried footsteps. Agatha and Rio exchanged a fleeting look, frozen.

The footsteps grew louder, closer. Sage was seconds away.

And then she appeared, stepping into the living room, only to stop dead in her tracks. Her expression twisted into one of pure, unfiltered horror.

“What the- ? Oh, GOD!” Sage yelled, slapping both hands over her eyes like she’d just stumbled onto the scene of an unspeakable crime. She took a single staggering step back before dropping to the floor with the grace of a fainting goat, curling into a dramatic fetal position.

“MY EYES! MY SWEET, INNOCENT VIRGIN EYES!” she wailed, rocking back and forth as if physically pained. “I’LL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS!”

Agatha blinked, her brows furrowing as she glanced at Rio, who looked just as bewildered. They both sat on opposite ends of the couch, very much not in a compromising position.

“Sage!” Rio yelled, her expression twisting into one of absolute mortification. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Sage shouted from her place on the floor, hands still firmly clamped over her eyes. “I saw-“ She paused, peeking through her fingers just enough to take another look.

Her gaze darted from Agatha to Rio, seated innocently on the couch with at least a cushion’s worth of distance between them. There was no disheveled clothing, no flushed faces, no telltale signs of scandal. Just two women blinking back at her, looking utterly bewildered.

“Oh,” Sage muttered simply, scrambling to her feet in an awkward rush and brushing herself off as if nothing had happened. A flicker of frustration crossed her face, her lips pressing into a thin line as she glanced between Agatha and Rio, who were still staring at her in confusion. Her behavior was erratic, yes. But her disappointment was glaringly obvious.

Agatha narrows her eyes, the pieces clicking into place almost instantly. After their conversation yesterday, she should’ve seen this coming.

Sage had fully expected to catch them… what? Rekindling? Canoodling? Agatha wasn’t entirely sure, but one thing was clear: Sage had been hoping for a breakthrough, one dramatic enough to shove her parents back together.

Agatha cast a sidelong glance at Rio, whose confusion hadn’t yet melted into understanding.

To Agatha it was clear as day, the parent trapping plot was written all over Sage’s face.

Well, Agatha sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to tell Sage that maybe, her little scheme had worked. Instead, she pressed her lips into a thin line and crossed her arms, choosing silence over acknowledgment.

Sage, completely unfazed by the lingering awkwardness in the room, shifted gears without missing a beat. “Are you two ready to go whale watching?” she asked, as though nothing unusual had transpired just moments ago.

Rio’s brow furrowed deeply, her confusion only growing as she glanced between Sage and Agatha. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it, her thoughts clearly spinning. After a moment, she managed to ask, “You said the tickets were for one in the afternoon, right?”

“Correct,” Sage replied with a calm, matter of fact tone.

Rio gestured wildly toward the clock on the wall in disbelief, “It is eight in the morning, Sage. Why would we be ready to leave now?”

Agatha, meanwhile, pressed a hand to her mouth, attempting to mask a faint smile that threatened to break free.

It was a rare sight to see Rio thrown for a loop. She was always so calm, so unshakable, as if nothing in the world could surprise her. It had always been difficult to catch her off guard. Agatha had prided herself on being the one person capable of doing it, the one who could needle her just enough to provoke a reaction.

But now there was Sage, stepping into the role with an ease that made Agatha smirk. Watching her daughter leave Rio blinking and speechless was more satisfying than Agatha cared to admit. Sage had somehow inherited that sharp, incisive edge Agatha had always prided herself on, and she wielded it effortlessly.

Sage was everything Agatha had been and more, a force all her own, one that left even Rio scrambling to keep up. She couldn’t help but marvel at the chaos she and Rio had somehow managed to create together.

“Uhhhhh because we need to be at the dock by 12:45,” Sage said, her voice carrying the faintest hint of condescension. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips pressing together in a way that made it abundantly clear she thought the answer was glaringly obvious.

Rio closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, exaggerated breath. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered under her breath.

“It does if you value the art of punctuality,” Sage quipped, her tone laced with mockery. Agatha could see the faint smirk on Sage’s face starting to form. Sage folded her arms with an air of triumph like her logic was not only flawless but also painfully obvious to anyone with half a brain.

Agatha sank deeper into the couch, biting down on her knuckle in a lame attempt to stifle her laughter. Her shoulders shook ever so slightly as she cast a glance at Rio, whose narrowed eyes were fixed on their daughter with the intensity of someone trying to remain calm but failing miserably.

Rio spoke slowly, the words carefully measured. “Okay. And what exactly are we supposed to do when we get there two and a half hours early? Hmm? Stand around and admire the dock?”

“There’s a bookstore I want to go to in town,” Sage said casually, as if her plan was perfectly reasonable.

Rio’s expression shifted instantly. She mustered up the fakest smile imaginable, her lips stretching unnaturally as she gritted through her teeth, “Perfect.” The word dripped with forced enthusiasm.

Agatha decided it was time to intervene. Rio clearly needed a moment to breathe, and steering the conversation away from the current chaos seemed like the best option. “So,” she asked casually, “how was arguing Aristotle?”

Sage perked up immediately, her face lighting with amusement. “Oh, well, there wasn’t much arguing if you get what I me-”

Wrong question! Agatha had asked the wrong fucking question.

Before Sage could even finish her sentence, Rio’s hands slapped over her ears, and she yelled, “LA LA LA LA!” in a desperate attempt to block out whatever horrifying implication was about to follow.

At the same time, Agatha’s face twisted in disgust as she shouted, “Oh now, that’s disgusting!”

But Sage had already spun on her heel, darting toward the stairs with all the subtlety of a stampede. “I’ll be ready in 20!” she called over her shoulder.

Rio groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she watched Sage disappear up the steps. With a slow, deliberate turn, she fixed Agatha with a pointed look. “Your daughter.”

“She’s yours when she’s being annoying.” Agatha lied.

-

As soon as Rio put the car in park, Sage flung the door open and power walked toward the bookstore. The small beach town had a quaint charm, with a single main road lined with white brick front shops and wooden signs swinging gently in the breeze. The street was quiet, save for the occasional passerby and the hum of distant conversation, as if time moved just a little slower here.

Things hadn’t felt strange between them since their quiet admissions that morning, the things they had shared with each other. They moved around one another gracefully, as if they were perfectly in sync, navigating the space between them with ease. But it had been quiet- not an uncomfortable quiet, just quieter than Agatha would have liked.

Agatha would never consider herself to be needy. She prided herself on her independence, on her ability to stand alone and thrive without anyone to lean on. And it wasn’t that Agatha needed Rio, exactly, but she wanted her, in a way that felt deeper, more permanent, and far more vulnerable than she cared to admit.

The quiet between them wasn’t bad, not really. But Agatha found herself longing to hear Rio speak, even if it was just meaningless chatter. She wanted to hear her laugh, to watch her face light up when she spoke about something she loved. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was ridiculous. Agatha couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been starving for far too long for something only Rio could give her- and now that she had it, she wanted more. Desperately, endlessly, more.

Rio wore a black spaghetti strap tank top tucked into tight jeans, her white tennis shoes clean and understated. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves that framed her face, and Agatha found herself momentarily distracted, her chest tightening at how effortlessly good Rio looked.

Agatha, on the other hand, had opted for a loose fitting white shirt, casually tucked into a pair of khaki linen beach pants that skimmed her ankles. The fabric swayed lightly with each step, her sandals completing the effortlessly relaxed look.

Agatha moved on autopilot as she got out of the car, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She paused on the sidewalk, watching Rio cross in front of her and reach for the door to hold it open. Pride stickers adorned the sidelights, their colors faded but vibrant against the glass.

Inside, the bookstore had a cozy, lived in charm. Wooden shelves, slightly worn at the edges, stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with books of every genre. A mismatched collection of chairs and small tables sat near the windows, where warm light poured in. The faint scent of coffee and old paper lingered in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of soft music playing overhead.

Rio brushed past her, seemingly on a mission of her own, while Agatha happily turned her attention to the shelves, content to browse. She had no idea where Sage had wandered off to, only a few minutes later, she turned into an aisle and froze.

There was Rio, clear as day, standing in front of a shelf with a book in her left hand and her obnoxious dagger in the other, carving something into the cover. She was quietly cackling to herself, the kind of laugh that sent a chill down your spine for no reason at all.

Agatha hesitated, torn between retreating to avoid whatever mischief Rio was up to or indulging her curiosity. Agatha didn’t consider herself nosy, not really. But as someone who once prided herself on knowing all the neighborhood gossip, she felt a certain obligation to investigate. After all, who was she if not a woman who honored tradition? It was practically her duty.

Crossing her arms, she strolled casually toward Rio, her eyes drifting over the bookshelves as though she was simply browsing and not keeping Rio firmly in her peripheral vision. When she reached Rio, she leaned back against the shelf behind her, positioning herself to face Death head on. Still feigning indifference, she let her eyes flick down to the book in Rio’s hands.

She already had a good idea of what it would be, so when Agatha saw the familiar portrait of Emily Dickinson on the cover, she wasn’t the least bit surprised. Rio had already carved X’s over Dickinson’s eyes and was now carefully adding devil horns to her head.

Agatha’s face immediately twisted into a silent grimace. Lips pressed tight, teeth bared ever so slightly, it was the universal expression for yikes. She raised an eyebrow at Rio, waiting to see how far this particular masterpiece would go.

That situation had happened long ago, centuries in fact. Agatha was hazy on the exact dates, but she had always favored Massachusetts. It was where she felt her most wicked. For years, she wandered from town to town, never staying long. Her routine was simple. She would arrive, play a role, cause trouble, and then leave.

But she always returned to Massachusetts. Every decade, every era, without fail, Agatha would find herself returning to that cursed, irresistible place.

This was a particular hiccup in time that Death chose not to collect, ignoring Agatha entirely. Usually, Agatha never saw Rio, but when she snuck her way back to the aftermath of her chaos, she would find a flower resting atop a body. It was a quiet reminder that Rio could play her game just as well as Agatha could. Sometimes, weeks, months, even years passed without so much as a trace of her, but Agatha could feel every effort Rio made to find her, every trace of energy that reached out.

That pull had faded with time.

It was about a hundred years after Rio and Nicky, and she was far from stable. Agatha was off her mother fucking rockers. Rio’s silence this time had stretched Agatha far too thin. The absence became unbearable, an ache she couldn’t ignore. She needed to do something bigger, something more dramatic, something impossible to ignore. And as fate would have it, she got lucky. Amherst fell right into her lap.

Agatha stayed for a while, settling in briefly.

It was there that she heard the rumors. A woman in town who claimed to be in love with Death. Agatha overheard the woman talking to a friend, describing Death as someone who had picked her up in a chariot and carried her through life into eternity.

How fucking romantic.

The poem referred to Death as a man, but the way the woman spoke about it felt suspiciously familiar. Fruity, some would say. It sounded like Rio and Agatha couldn’t ignore the possibility. Of course, Rio would find someone new eventually. She couldn’t stay alone forever, right? Except Agatha thought she absolutely should. The idea of Rio falling for sweet words and poetic gestures stung.

Rio had always been a fool for words, but usually only one person’s.

Agatha told herself she had plenty of reasons to interfere, though she barely believed half of them.

Reason one. Death was not a lover. Death was cruel and unforgiving. It stole time and left nothing behind but pain. Agatha clung to that belief because it kept her fire alive. It was easier to focus on that than the vows she had made and the love she had tried to bury. Even while hidden by the Darkhold, Rio’s pull had burned through.

Reason two. Death was already spoken for. If Agatha had chosen to walk away, then no one else could have Rio either. Agatha made sure of that. Through the centuries, she left her mark- sometimes love notes, sometimes cruel reminders. Piled bodies and lingering chaos were declarations that she was always near, a message only Rio would understand.

At times, Agatha softened her touch, leaving subtle traces, like the faint whisper of her magic on the wind or the flicker of a familiar flower Rio would recognize. Other times, she was merciless, painting her presence in blood and fire, daring Rio to try and reach her. It was all deliberate.

She would occasionally lift the veil of the Darkhold, just enough for Rio to sense her. It was never enough to find her, only enough to tease, to draw Rio in and leave her grasping at nothing. Agatha relished the game, the push and pull, the way Rio would chase her only to find nothing but whispers of her presence.

It was love, it was cruelty, it was foreplay. Agatha told herself she was keeping Rio in check, reminding her of who she took from and who she belonged to. Never letting her forget.  But deep down, she knew it was her way of staying tethered to the one thing she couldn’t bring herself to fully let go of.

So, with her jaw tight and fists clenched, Agatha approached the woman. Agatha smiled and offered compliments, playing her role perfectly. The woman soaked up every word with ease. 

Agatha saw it, clear as day, the charm, the wit, unafraid to defy the rules of her time… Agatha understood how Emily Dickinson caught Rio’s eye.

Knowing the appeal only made it worse, like adding fuel to a fire that Agatha already had no control over.

So what did Agatha Harkness do? She befriended the woman. They talked endlessly, delving into questions that felt like staring into the abyss- existence, mortality, the nature of time. For Agatha, who had spent a century wrestling with those very thoughts, it was maddening how easily Emily voiced them, as if they were nothing more than thoughts needing to be written down. The hardest part wasn’t pretending to be interested. It was how Emily’s words lingered a little longer than Agatha would like to admit.

Agatha played the part perfectly, letting her touch linger just long enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. Those touches became bolder, escalating into kisses that left nothing unspoken. And before long, Emily Dickinson was in her bed, her curiosity about Death replaced with a fixation for Agatha herself.

Emily Dickinson had a tendency to obsess on the shiny and new. It wouldn’t take long before poems were written, verses about a brown haired, blue eyed woman who disappeared into the night. Emily would swear she had seen her eyes flash purple for the briefest moment, as if an otherworldly power had slipped through. The poems would speak of how the woman seemed to carry an entire storm within her, power woven into every step and every glance.

Amherst had been the first town Agatha left without taking anything for herself. No power gained, no witches dead in her wake. The damage she left behind couldn’t be dismissed as grief or chaos. It was personal, something she could not justify or explain away. It was also the first time she felt Rio’s pull begin to fade, the connection between them loosening in a way she hadn’t anticipated but sure as fuck couldn’t ignore.

Now, here Agatha was, watching her ex-wife? Not ex? Wife? (She’d figure it out at some point). Meticulously carve devil horns onto a portrait of Emily Dickinson.

That thought sat uncomfortably with Agatha. Rio had given her a way out, a quiet suggestion that maybe it wasn’t all her fault, that perhaps Emily had played her part too.

But Agatha knew the truth. After she left Amherst, she made sure her next pile of victims was left in a sprawling field of wildflowers, the kind Rio would never miss. It was calculated and the same fucked up love note fueled by manipulation to keep Rio on her tail: I love you. I’m sorry.

“Destroying a book? From a local business no less? Rio, you dog.” Agatha’s voice wavered, not quite edged with her usual confidence or teasing flirtation, but it got the point across.

“Yeah, guess you could say I’m a bad boy,” Rio replied simply. She glanced up, raising her eyebrows, and leaned forward slightly, her lips twitching in amusement. Lowering her voice to a mockingly sultry tone, she whispered, “Heard you like those.” Her delivery was high pitched and playful.

Agatha hummed in response, her eyes narrowing faintly, more amused than annoyed.

“You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t be vandalizing,” Rio said, straightening up and feigning seriousness. “I’ll just buy every copy of this book in the damn store, toss them all in a dumpster, and light the whole pile on fire.”

“I didn’t like the poems she wrote about you,” Agatha said abruptly. The words came out quieter, heavier, and far more honest than she had intended.

Rio’s playful smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tilted her head. “You didn’t like them?” she asked, her tone softer now.

Agatha shook her head, refusing to look away. “No. I hated them,” she admitted, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. “I hated the way she wrote about you. Like she knew you. Like she understood you. She didn’t. Not the way I do.”

Rio’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she glanced to the side, her hand slipping to her sock as she pocketed the dagger. “They were nice, though. Kind,” she muttered, almost as if she were defending the poet. “I figured I’d… gift her for that kindness.”

The words sounded unsure, almost insecure, as Rio stepped closer. The distance between them disappeared in an instant, and she shoved the book back into the shelf beside Agatha’s head.

Agatha rolled her eyes, staying exactly where she was, her arms still crossed. She felt Rio’s closeness like a challenge, her warmth brushing against her like an unspoken dare. Agatha’s lips twitched, threatening a smile she refused to give, so instead, she leaned forward and bumped her front against Rio’s in a playful nudge.

“A gift? Rio, you were wooing her,” Agatha said, her tone lighter now, teasing instead of accusatory. There was no malice in her words, just a playful humor that turned an ugly memory into something softer.

“I- I was not wooing her,” Rio stammered, caught off guard, though her lips were already curving into a grin.

“Oh, you absolutely were,” Agatha countered, her grin growing as she raised a finger between them. “First of all, making a grand theatrical appearance. Horses. A chariot. Because she could not stop for Death, so you stopped for her.” She raised a second finger, her voice brimming with amusement. “Second of all, incredibly gay. And third, blatantly obvious wooing.”

Rio’s grin widened, and she tilted her head smugly. “Were you jealous?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows for emphasis.

Agatha let out a slow breath, her expression softening, though her eyebrows arched in mock challenge. “Yeah… I was,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. “Honored your vows, huh?”

Rio’s smirk faded just enough for sincerity to creep into her voice. “I might’ve started wooing when I heard you were heading toward Amherst,” she said honestly. “But I had a moody preteen at home and an ex-wife to keep track of. It didn’t leave much time for anything else.”

Rio leaned back slightly, grinning again as she says, “But lucky for you, I’m persistent. Eyes.” she raised two fingers and pointed at her own eyes. “Always on the prize,” aiming her fingers at Agatha.

Agatha’s cheeks warmed as she smirked at Rio, her lips parting slightly as her gaze lingered. If someone had told her a year ago that she would be here, flirting with her… her… whatever Rio was to her now, she would have laughed in their face.

And yet, here she was, standing in the middle of the gayest bookstore known to man, in some picturesque ocean side town. Somewhere nearby, her daughter was undoubtedly tucked in a corner, furiously reading another book copy of the same book Rio had just defaced, likely seeing it in an entirely new light.