Chapter Text
She only has until Wednesday, but the doorbell still rings later that same night.
Agatha had just showered after managing to get rid of Sparky’s carcass, and now she’s going to get yelled at for it for the second time. It’s not like shouting sill to bring the fucking dog back to life, but apparently Wanda couldn’t even get home before terrorizing her again about it. Fantastic.
Groaning, Agatha peels herself off the couch, swings the door open without a second thought and-
Freezes
“Did you know that it is a universally acknowledged truth that a lady cop cannot be good at her job and have a healthy personal life at the same time?”
That. What? That’s not-
Wide brown eyes watch her with expectation. A familiar smirk, a mischievous posture - both hands behind her back, like a magician about to reveal a trick. She looks very pleased with herself.
Not Wanda.
Rio Vidal stands on her porch, her grin widening as she pulls a large pizza box from behind her.
“Hungry?”
Agatha’s hand flies almost immediately to her hip. She grabs the gun, aims at Rio’s face, and pulls the trigger.
BANG.
The sound is deafening - close-range always is - but it doesn’t echo, it just hits. Just like that, Rio’s head snaps back like elastic, opens up right at the center, and explodes in a bloom of red. Something wet and hot slaps across Agatha’s cheek and, one heartbeat later, Rio’s body drops with a very specific grunt - the one of dead weight rediscovering gravity. The pizza box lands right beside her, its lid flopping open almost cartoonishly. Agatha peeks inside, ears still ringing.
Pineapple.
Add it to the list of reasons why Rio had it coming.
She can see it all. But Agatha’s fingers never really touch the weapon when they land on her hips. There’s no steel under her palm - just the waistband of her pajama shorts - as she remembers her gun is actually in her purse, on the couch, in the living room, and way out of reach.
Shit. Strangle her.
Her jaw locks as her body twitches forward to attack. The movement is minimum - barely a twitch - but still gets interrupted in milliseconds by a warning. One big word flashes red inside her own brain.
STOP.
She could have a knife.
Agatha pauses. The heels of her feet settle back on the floor.
…And I need her alive.
Rio says nothing, just lifts a brow like she just watched in slow motion as the thoughts flashed through Agatha’s mind. She opens a smug little smile and tilts her head. “Come ooon…” says the gesture, and Rio shakes the pizza box to illustrate. “ You want it.”
It earns a scoff.
Rio’s face - unfortunately still intact, and not splattered across the porch where it should be - is enough to turn Agatha’s homicidal rage into domestic annoyance. But when Agatha opens her mouth to say something, Halley’s Comet of thoughts stops her.
What act do I put on?
She can’t remember ever thinking that in her life. Agatha knows who she is in every room. She knows instinctively which persona fits each situation, and she performs it flawlessly. But fuck. What the hell is she supposed to do here? She can’t just keep pretending this is normal. Can’t act like they’ve been acting so far. Not with a target on her back. She doesn’t have that luxury anymore.
Agatha closes her mouth, brain running at a million miles per hour.
There’s a saddled high horse waiting for her to mount it. She can see it clear as day. And not only that - she’d be up there armed with more information than Rio realizes. Agatha knows about The Seven. Knows about Natasha. Knows about their plans to off a Federal Agent. It’s the perfect moment for her to slip back into her FBI act, pull out the gun, and-
Die?
Yeah. Die.
Because there’s a damn target on her back. And killing Rio is the last thing she should be doing. Rio has all the information Agatha needs to know. Namely, who The Seven really are, and how to get them off her dick. She does need the girl alive. Alive and on her side. Then - and only then - she can flex a gun, some handcuffs, and a badge she doesn’t respect, but finds awfully convenient when it comes to getting what she wants.
I have to play this right.
How though?
BANG.
This time it’s the door. It slams so fiercely it makes the wooden frame rattle and the glass panels whine. Agatha just stands there, hand on the doorknob, limbs tingling with every emotion in the book. She watches as Rio’s silhouette lowers the pizza box once again.
“Shit…” Agatha whispers to herself, closing her eyes.
Why today, you asshole little creature?
Her last few days had been a sleep-deprived paranoiac haze. She’d been bunking up in her office, living off vending machine snacks, and cleaning herself in the disgusting petri-dishes the FBI calls “GYM showers.” Still, it beat getting shot in the face. The Seven wanted her dead. The office had bulletproof glass. You do the math.
And yet, despite her week-long descent into government funded madness, today still managed to take gold as the shittiest time Agatha’s had in years. Wanda, in all her misguided glory, dragged Agatha back home like it was some brave, healing intervention. And sure, they weren’t murdered on arrival - hooray! - but everything else still sucked like Agatha knew it would. And it was all Wanda’s fault.
Wanda, who could never, under any cosmic circumstance, learn about Agatha’s extracurricular activities with the Green Witch.
Wanda, who absolutely found out after unearthing her stupid, half-liquefied dog from Agatha’s front yard.
Wanda, who also went absolutely insane at the sight of it and delivered a ridiculous ultimatum straight out of daytime TV: Four days to wrap a federal investigation or their semi-functional friendship blows up and takes Agatha’s career with it.
Four days!
Totally unrealistic.
She’s completely lost the plot.
I mean, sure, Rio is the psychopath, and Agatha is adjacent, but if you analyze it objectively - which Agatha always does - Wanda is the real crazy bitch around here. She’s been watching too much TV, which is no surprise, and now she thinks this is Criminal Minds or Law & Order: Magical Victims Unit.
Well I wish.
Because unlike Mariska Hargitay or Paget Brewster, Agatha Harkness didn’t end her season in a sexy power suit whispering some vague quote to an empty, dimly lit office. Oh no. After Wanda left, Agatha ended up on all fours crawling through her front yard and covered in mud, then flinging a maggot-riddled carcass into Dottie’s recycling bin, and praying the HOA decided to mind their fucking business for once. And no credits roll just yet - Agatha still had to shower with the water scalding hot just to feel human again, bleach the dried blood she’d personally left on the tiles, and flinch at every creak of the floorboards, half-expecting to find a sniper hidden underneath her bed.
And then, of course, when she finally let her body fall onto the couch - hair still damp and shitty pajamas clinging to her skin - real life stepped in again to remind her that there were no ad breaks up in this bitch. Agatha had to get up, open her door, and find the architect of her misery promising everything but peace and quiet.
Outstanding. I’ll just go gargle the bleach.
If Wanda had one working neuron, maybe this wouldn’t be such a shitstorm. Yes, okay, Agatha had the killer’s name - Rio Vidal, not “Natalie Rushmore” like she’d said - but that still wasn’t enough. They needed evidence. Jurisdiction. Paperwork, warrants, real-world fucking logistics! And Wanda knew that! I mean, isn’t it obvious that Agatha would’ve already arrested Rio if she had concrete evidence?
Except that I could have. And I didn’t.
For stalking, maybe. Not murder.
It was a start.
But who cares?! Even if they could legally charge the Green Witch for her crimes, finding her in four days would be damn near impossible! The woman could be anywhere - in or out of the country. She’s a spectrum. An entity. And it’s not like Agatha can just snap her fingers and summon the bitch out of thin air.
Not that it really matters, because the bitch is currently on her porch, dressed like a lesbian cop from the eighties, and holding a pizza box like a cat bringing a dead rat home.
But still.
Wanda couldn’t possibly know that! She is the unreasonable one in this situation.
Yes, even when Agatha opens the door again. No plan in mind. No act to follow. Because what other fucking option does she have?
Rio stands slouched, looking mildly bored. There’s no surprise in her big brown eyes when they meet Agatha’s annoyed little blue ones again. It dawns on Agatha slowly: the girl hadn’t knocked twice, hadn’t called her name or even tried the doorknob herself. No, Rio had simply waited. Like she knew for a fact that Agatha would open the door again.
Asshole.
She smiles warmly at Agatha. “Hi.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Agatha greets.
“Did you miss me?”
“No.”
Rio’s grin widens as though she had heard the truth. “Missed you too.”
Ass. Hole.
Agatha leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You look like shit.”
Rio sighs and bats her eyelashes in a mock. “You say the sweetest things...”
“I’m serious.”
And she is. Rio looks great fashion-wise, no surprise there. White button-up blouse with not enough buttons up, a black sleeveless vest poorly hiding the suspenders that hold up her black trousers, heavy dyke boots, and her hair styled in a carefully messy updo. But she looks thin, like she hasn’t eaten well in days. Not only that, she looks tired - as if she’s been lacking sleep, but also as if she’s been doing way too much physical effort lately. Agatha can’t really pinpoint how she knows all that, but something just isn’t right.
“I know,” says Rio with a smile. “You’re still into it though.”
Agatha rolls her eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer - and refusing to examine if she is, in fact, into it.
“I thought you left town,” she simply says.
“I did.”
“Then leave again.”
Rio frowns, genuinely surprised. “Don’t be rude,” she pouts. “I just got here! And I brought your favorite pizza.”
Agatha squints at the box. She doesn’t doubt for a second that the girl knows what she likes, and she really should say something about that. Something biting and smart. Something that makes a psychopath feel guilt. If anyone can do it, it’s her.
“You-”
Nope. Nevermind. The stalking conversation can wait. Everything can wait.
Rio is armed.
No she’s not.
Wait, maybe she is.
Rio is carrying a big duffel bag. It hangs from her shoulder with enough pressure to suggest that it’s either full, or carrying something really heavy. A body maybe. Who knows. Agatha frowns and gives the bag a little kick. Glass clinks from the inside.
“What’s in there?”
Rio shrugs. “Beer.”
She tilts her head, arms still crossed. “For the whole neighborhood?”
“Beer... Among other things,” the girl grins. “You didn’t let me finish, babe.”
“Don’t call me that.”
It slips out of her mouth faster than she can think. Agatha still doesn’t know what to do. How to act. She’s never not known. But whatever they’re doing, whatever this little game is, it’s still ongoing - and the moment it breaks, she’ll lose something. Agatha is dreading it already. Mourning it. Fucking hell, she’s scared of losing whatever the fuck this is.
I don’t want it to end yet.
“...I’m mad at you,” she explains, despite herself.
Because their last real conversation - vague and coded text messages aside - was about being together, after all. If they’re still pretending, being called “babe” shouldn’t get Agatha this riled up.
“This is our second date, calm down,” she remembers telling Rio.
“I’m gonna marry you one day, and you know it.”
It’s insane. It meant nothing. Ramblings coming from an obsessed stalker.
Still, somehow, it makes Agatha’s chest ache.
“I know you’re mad,” Rio says, lower now. The girl brings the pizza to the side, lays on top of the duffel bag, and takes a step forward. “I’m sorry about the dog,” she whispers.
Agatha could laugh.
She does - a little bit. Because she really, really doesn’t give half a fuck about Sparky. And neither does Rio, if they’re being honest here - which she’s not sure they are. Fact is: this isn’t what Agatha is mad about, obviously.
“No you’re not.”
Rio’s face changes immediately. Offense, Agatha recognizes. “I am!”
“You’re not. You’re psychiatrically incapable of being sorry.”
The girl pauses with a scoff. Her eyes widen and she scans the empty yard, as if someone else would be standing there to help confirm that Agatha is the insane one here. The plants don’t help her, despite her plea.
“I’m trying to fix it!” Rio finally says, annoyed. “Isn’t that what being sorry is?!”
Agatha clicks her tongue. “Usually involves guilt. And regret.”
“What, cause that’ll bring the dog back to life?”
She has to fight back a chuckle.
Fair enough.
Agatha sighs to compose herself, trying to remember how gross it was to clean the carcass. It’s enough to make her face turn angry again. She inhales.
“Well, if you want to apologize with pizza, bring it to Wanda.”
Rio hisses through her teeth and tilts her head. “I… Don’t think she wants to talk to me.”
Agatha scrunches up her nose and nods slowly with her eyes closed.
“Oh, I think she does,” she whispers with a sly smile. That’s a fight she’d pay to see - provided there were no fatalities. And maybe no shirts. Sue her.
Rio exhales something close to a laugh. “Fair enough,” she concedes, echoing Agatha’s thoughts from before.
Silence falls between them and it’s cozy for a second, despite the November frost, the awkward situation, and the insane reality that Agatha could get shot at any second.
Still, she doesn’t look around nervously like she’d been doing inside. Agatha just watches Rio’s face instead - managing to see when a thought passes through the girl’s mind and makes her hesitate. On cue, Rio’s tongue presses against her cheek like she’s controlling herself, and Agatha feels a weird rush of affection at the familiar gesture.
“What is it?” she prompts, failing to sound annoyed.
Rio seems taken aback - not used to being read this well, Agatha guesses. The girl smiles affectionately, and the look she gives Agatha has so much warmth in it that it becomes unnerving. Or rather, should become unnerving, knowing what Agatha knows.
Agatha has seen anger from this level of psychopathy. She’s seen oversexual responses. Seen defiance, amusement, patience, impatience, you name it - she’s seen it all. Rio is the only one who dares to show all of that tainted with the rawness of intimacy . It’s a sort of friendship, like they’re both on the same side. Like they’re equals . That’s new. And it looks so close to empathy it makes Agatha want to burn her degree and use every book she’s read on the subject as kindling.
“Well…” Rio starts, almost shyly. “Do you ?”
“Do I… What?”
“I don’t care about Wanda.” Rio takes another step forward and they’re close enough to touch now. Her voice drops to a whisper. “But do you wanna talk to me? A-ga-tha?”
Her stomach drops. She shouldn’t have wasted the “don’t call me that” with “babe”. Her own damn name on Rio’s lips was the real problem - especially when said like that. It’s the same intonation that usually makes her want to throw Rio against the nearest wall and take her clothes off, but it’s now coated with warmth, like they’re suddenly closer than strangers who fuck in alleys. More intimate.
Like they’re past this, whatever it is.
Like Rio also knows tonight will mark the end of their little game.
And she’s not dreading it. She’s not scared.
It’s an insane tone for an insane question. Does she want to talk? Please. Agatha has been ignoring her calls and texts for the last week. She’s been very clear she doesn’t want Rio around. Except-
Except that now she doesn’t want Rio to leave.
So Agatha doesn’t answer - not fast enough, at least - and Rio smiles like she heard the truth out loud again. It’s infuriating. Terrifying in a way she hasn’t felt before. Emotionally vulnerable. Romantic?
Fuck off.
She clears her throat, throws her hair back, and leans away from the doorframe. Agatha stands chin-up in an attempt to regain any sort of dignity.
“Is that why you’re here? Cause we need to talk?”
Her voice is still steady. Small mercies.
Rio shrugs. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”
Well that’s familiar.
Don’t say it. It’s not the time. She’ll go right back to before.
Now I’m gonna say it.
You need her on your side.
Don’t care.
Agatha snorts and lets a lazy, unamused grin spread across her face.
“Rio. If I had a nickel for every girl who showed up at my doorstep saying that...” she purrs.
It’s immediate. Rio’s confident little grin drops, and her gaze changes just like Agatha knew it would. She looks feline.
There she is.
Fuck, Agatha did miss this. Her. This is familiar, it’s not scary - although it probably should be. Agatha thrives here - and it must show all over her face too, because Rio’s emotions change again in a snap. The corner of Rio’s lips curl up and her brown eyes narrow in a challenge. From that surprised, fascinated girl emerges a worthy opponent.
“Well you disappeared for a week…” Rio’s voice drips with feigned pity. “And your phone was still so quiet…” she pouts. Her eyes flicker to Agatha’s lips and her lips turn into a sharp smile. “Where were all those girls, Agent ?”
Agatha pretends she doesn’t notice how close they are.
“Maybe they’re calling me on my other phone,” she whispers back. “The one without your surveillance, stalker.”
They stand in silence for a heartbeat longer. Then, suddenly, Rio smiles - bigger and brighter than she should.
“See?” she says, way too chirpy. “You’re still in work mode! Using all those terms…” She lowers into a familiar tone. A normal, casual one - completely out of place in their insane conversation. “Come on, Agatha. I’m a fan, that’s all.”
It’s mercy, if you squint. She’s letting Agatha choose when the game ends. It’s almost cute and, as such, it naturally makes Agatha consider slamming the door on Rio’s face again.
Because maybe that’d give the impression of real anger. Maybe it would convince Rio that this isn’t amusing anymore. Maybe it would make Rio scared that Agatha will pull up the handcuffs at any second. It would be bullshit, of course. Theatrics. Agatha is very much amused, she’s having fun, and worst of all: she’s smitten . The unsaid truths, the little innuendos, the feigned ignorance on Rio’s face - it works.
It’s not at all like the other psychopaths Agatha has faced, who truly believe they’re fooling her. No. Rio’s familiar, normal, casual tone has a name: exaggerated fucking sarcasm. She respects Agatha’s intelligence way too much to even try to lie convincingly. She just wants to play a game. Make Agatha smile. And somehow, it works. She’s done it on all their dates.
Back in the bar after asking what Agatha liked about hunting female killers, Rio gave her an out, clutching imaginary pearls.
“I mean, not that you could possibly enjoy any of this! Must be horrible!” she’d said.
“You don’t think that.” Agatha had answered, and in a second, Rio’s face had snapped back from her theatrical concern.
“No. I don’t.” She smiled, studying Agatha’s face .“I think you’re fascinating.”
And Agatha, recognizing the game, smiled back and answered the girl with the truth. Rio didn’t flinch at it, and that’s how a day later they found themselves on their second date, sharing a bottle of wine in Konstantin’s restaurant.
“Safer,” Agatha had joked to Arthur, the head waiter. “She might poison it.”
The old man just smiled. “Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Vidal.”
“Oh does it? Tell me Arthur,” Agatha rested her chin on her hands. “How many women has Ms. Vidal poisoned here?”
Arthur had a perfect answer ready: Rio’s surprise restaurant rent-outs involved no murders and, more importantly, no previous women. Rio looked smug, but as soon as he stepped away, she opened a smile. “Now, now, agent, come on,” she’d said. “That must be your fifth murder joke already! I thought we’d at least wait until dessert.”
Agatha smiled back. She laughed, even. It was a good call out - she was being too on-the-nose about their little act. So they went on with the date, and just like before, it led them to their next one.
“I meant it about a healthy personal life!” Rio says, now on her porch but with that same tone. “You’ve been living in your office!”
This time, instead of meeting her halfway, Agatha almost breaks right there. Because it’s not fucking funny anymore. She hadn’t been hiding in the bureau all this time for funsies. Shits and giggles. And she sure wasn’t in the mood to joke about how she loved being around paperwork, fluorescent lights, and annoying men in business attire? Fuck off. This was Rio’s fault. And besides, Rio was one to talk about work-life balance. Everything was business, right?
Even this. Even them.
“The hot fed has to die.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
Agatha swallows dry. She inhales, then smiles joylessly, meeting Rio halfway in her own terms.
“Well. I don’t have a choice anymore. Work just seems to follow me around everywhere.” She raises her eyebrows like she’s about to say something surprising. “Even home,” Agatha whispers.
Rio closes her eyes for a moment. Agatha can almost read another “fair enough” on the girl’s face.
“Agatha…” Rio whispers, shaking her head. “Not everything is work.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.” Brown eyes drop to Agatha’s body with absolutely no innocence feigned. It’s November, it’s cold, but Agatha hasn’t felt one bit of it even while in shorts, socks and a crop top. Rio had noticed it before she did.
“Thinking like that…” Rio continues, “It can’t be good for up here, you know?” Rio pokes her own temple. “You need to relax.”
Now Agatha laughs. It’s supposed to a mock, but it isn’t. Rio can tell. Still, she commits to jab.
“And you’re here to help me, Mrs. Mental Health?”
“Miss. Mental Health,” Rio corrects her immediately. “And that depends…”
Rio’s free hand rises up as if to brush against Agatha’s temple. Agatha doesn’t step back, instead grabbing Rio’s wrist and digging her nails in to stop the movement. She knows her hair is a mess - she doesn’t give a shit, Rio doesn’t have to touch her to fix it. She has no business touching her. Yet, the contact sends a ridiculous jolt of electricity up Agatha’s arm.
She wishes she could chop the whole limb off right that second.
“Depends on what?” she says, voice now rough. Somehow the air got even hotter.
“Depends if you want me here or not,” Rio purrs with a grin. “Will you invite me in?”
Agatha pauses, her body now hot with rage, which is the only feeling she’s willing to pinpoint and name right now.
“Would it matter?” she spits out, and-
What?
Rio immediately frowns in confusion, taking a small step back. She looks almost… hurt?
“Of course it would matter!” the girl says, dumbfounded.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Agatha rolls her eyes, understanding the confusion in a second. She looks straight into those big brown eyes before she speaks.
“Rio, I know it would matter to you. What I mean is: if I say no, will it make you go away?”
“Oh.” Rio settles back into a neutral expression. Re-evaluates her answer. Then:
“No, not really,” she concludes with a casual shrug. “We need to talk.”
For a moment, Agatha feels a rush of affection for Rio and her sick little brain. The agent’s lips curl into a grin despite herself - a laugh threatening to escape her again, this time warmly.
“What?” asks Rio.
“Nothing.”
“You’re confusing me!”
Agatha can’t help but laugh. It’s small and quiet, but definitely affectionate. She doesn’t really care right now. It’s just them, after all.
“You know that’s really rude for a therapist,” says Rio.
“I’m not a therapist. And I’m not your therapist, thank god. I can laugh.”
Rio just squints at her. “It’s still rude.”
“You’re into it.”
A beat passes in silence. Then Rio drops the offended act, shrugging. “You wear it well.”
Agatha’s eyes barely land back on Rio’s before she sees something move in the shadows behind the girl.
Fuck.
Her chest tightens, nails digging down on Rio’s wrist out of instinct - and just then does Agatha realize she’s still holding Rio’s wrist, despite the girl having stepped back. Agatha lets go like it burns. The shadow moves again, and she recognizes it as Herb’s stupid old cat.
Rio is looking now too. She looks back at Agatha. “You don’t like cats?”
Agatha can’t decide between “I’m a lesbian, of course I like cats” and “Sorry, thought that was Konstantin with a rifle.”
“You should leave,” she says instead, holding her hand back as if that’d stop her from touching Rio any further.
“Why?” Rio is genuinely confused again. “You want me here.”
It’s not a question anymore.
“The patrol car is coming,” Agatha blurts out. “I have security from the bureau.”
No idea where that one came from.
It works - Rio pauses. Not outwardly, of course, but her shoulders tense just enough for Agatha to notice, and her smile loses any semblance of warmth - it just hangs there like a limp string pinned on both ends.
“Patrol car?”
Time to commit. She gives Rio a small but theatrical shrug.
“Just…” Agatha clicks her tongue. “…haven’t felt quite safe this last week. So I reported it.”
Rio shakes her head. “You- What?”
“It’s protocol,” Agatha waves it off. “There will be a night guard roaming around the neighborhood this weekend. Starting tonight, actually. If they see any trouble or…” she flicks her eyes up and down, scanning Rio. “…unexpected visitors… They’ll stop and make sure everything is okay.”
“You reported it?” Rio says with a hint of a smile, clearly not buying it. “You reported it?”
“I did.”
“When?”
I can’t schedule a meeting via phone, she’d have listened in.
“Before I left the bureau. I talked directly to the Assistant Director.”
Rio hums and nods, still barely hiding a grin. “Well. Everything is okay, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”
They look at each other. Agatha is not smiling anymore. She shakes her head.
“No, Rio,” she whispers. “It’s not okay.”
Rio stops smiling. Agatha isn’t sure what she has just accomplished, but it feels good to get under Rio’s skin regardless. She’s been spiraling for days - it serves Rio right to sweat a bit. I mean, who does she think she is, after all? Showing up on her front porch like that? Carving little moments like she has any right? Like she isn’t the reason Agatha has people probably on their way to kill her. Probably.
With a faint scoff, Rio rolls her eyes. “It is okay. If you’d answered my calls you’d-”
“Sh, sh, sh. Hear that?” Agatha interrupts with a finger up. “I think that’s one of the patrol cars coming,” she whispers.
There’s nothing, of course. But there will be. In a second. Agatha knows her own fucking street.
Please.
Some fucking idiot please start-
Driving. Somewhere around the neighborhood, a godsend resident of Quantico, Virginia earns a gift basket from Agatha they’ll positively never get. Rio glances at the street where the sound is coming from, then looks back at Agatha with a completely different expression. The calmness is now gone, and she suddenly doesn’t want to play anymore.
A useless, but satisfying win for Agatha.
“Agatha, what the fuck?! You could’ve just talked to me!”
“I’m talking to you right now. Still not quite safe though, am I?”
Truth be told, Agatha is hoping the car won’t pass by the house any time soon. She doesn’t want to be seen talking to Rio either, and she doesn’t want Rio to know it’s all bullshit just yet.
The motor roars and Rio glances back again, looking almost scared. Almost. But it’s not fear of prison, like any normal criminal would have. It’s annoyance and disbelief at an untimely interruption - like she had this night all planned out, and Agatha ruined it.
“Ok, can I come in then? So they won’t see me?”
Yes.
No.
“Hm…” Agatha teases, tapping her fingers on the door frame and biting the inside of her cheeks. “I’m thinking…”
“Agatha.”
Oh.
It isn’t playful at all. It has no edge to it. Rio’s voice is raw, almost pleading. It kind of freaks Agatha out, honestly. This is not as fun as before.
“I’m thinking,” she repeats, this time serious.
She bought herself time by giving Rio something to occupy her mind with - so she might as well use it. Her eyes lock on the duffel bag Rio is holding. There’s definitely a gun in there somewhere.
She’ll kill me. I said I told on her - she’ll off me any second now.
She won’t. I’d be dead already if she wanted to.
She thinks there’s backup coming, she’ll do it inside.
She’s not gonna do it. She looks weird. Vulnerable.
It’s an act.
It isn’t.
It could be.
But it isn’t.
Gut feeling isn’t enough here I need proof I won’t die.
As if on cue, Rio nervously turns around, scanning the empty street. When her eyes meet Agatha’s again, they’re undeniably vulnerable. Impatient, annoyed, warm, and vulnerable. All of a sudden, Rio barely looks like herself. She’s been transformed into that scared girl in the alley - the one who just got told Agatha had to die.
I’m clearly not in danger right now, but I will be soon. She needs to talk to me first.
Then she’ll kill me? Great.
No. But they will.
I’m making shit up just to let her in.
Look at her face! It’s written all over it!
“Agatha, please.”
The car is closer now, and definitely stopped to turn into their street. Her street. Whatever. Point is: it’s not a fake rush anymore. Rio will know it’s not a patrol car, and Agatha needs to be quick.
“What’s in it for me?” she blurts out.
“Food, drinks, great company…” Rio quickly recaps. Then, like she can’t help herself: “Orgasms if you want em - come on.”
Agatha doesn’t miss a beat. “Not in the mood. Just scraped a dead dog off my front yard.”
Rio rolls her eyes. She looks like she’s about to start stomping on the floor.
“I told you I can-”
“Explain. I know.” Agatha puts both hands on her hips, triumphant. She glances towards the street as she hears the car slow down for the first speedbump. It’ll be here in about forty five seconds at that rate. “I’m waiting.”
“Can we do this inside? I’ll answer any questions you have, just-” Rio glances around them. “Let me in? Please?”
Okay I can work with that.
Agatha’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s an honest plea, or at least it sounds like one. But more importantly, it’s a very interesting promise.
“Any questions?”
And just like that, Rio’s gaze sharpens. Feline again. She hesitates, and her lips curl into a grin.
It’s as though the whole world had just disappeared for Rio, and she’s no longer trying to avoid the agents driving towards them. It’s like Rio, too, has just remembered how fun their little battles are - and promptly got lost in it.
“Well…” the girl pouts and shrugs in feigned indifference. “Depends.”
“On?” Agatha is the one in a hurry now. She tries not to glance at the street, but she’s pretty sure she’s seen headlights. She needs to be quick.
“Are they good questions?” Rio teases. “Or are you just gonna ask about my real age?”
With one swift move, Agatha swings the door closed again.
“WAIT!”
Rio lunges and takes a quick step forward, shoving her foot right on time. The door bounces against Rio’s black boot, and Agatha just coldly watches as girl struggles to steady herself in the new position.
“Fuck…” Rio staggers to keep the pizza box from falling, the weight of the duffel bag throwing her completely off center.
Cute.
Wrap it up.
When Rio looks back at Agatha, she’s obviously annoyed. “Okay. Yes. Any questions. Just let me in first.”
Agatha holds back a grin, willing to push further. She loves the power struggle as much as Rio does, but God does it feel good to watch the psychopath squirm. But she does see headlights approaching.
“Don’t overstay your welcome.”
Rio smiles. “I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”
Agatha just huffs.
Steps back.
And lets Death walk right in.