Chapter Text
Agatha gives up trying to escape four days after Rio snatches her from Wanda’s grasp just before the annoying little witch could take Agatha’s memories. Fury and annoyance war with her exhaustion as she finally shoves past Rio and storms upstairs to the guest room.
Her ex follows her, eyes dancing with clear amusement as the other witch finally acquiesces to entering the cottage she had so stubbornly been avoiding. Agatha just knows that she had something to do with the storm clouds rolling in from the horizon and she hates that it fucking worked. That for all her pride and all her stubbornness, all it took was the threat of getting a bit wet for her to finally give in.
But she is weak without her magic and Agatha cannot afford to get sick. While she may have revelled in a lightning storm once, now she had no way to ward off the cold nor to strengthen her immune system. An illness would just be another sign of weakness, another little crack in her armour for Rio to attack.
Agatha can still make her displeasure known though.
“Do not give me that smug look.” She snapped, turning to give the green witch her most terrifying glare, one that had struck fear into the hearts of many for centuries.
Rio didn’t even flinch.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about, sweetheart.” Death tilted her head slightly, her delight at Agatha’s fury clear. “I’m simply glad you finally decided to allow yourself the comforts of home.”
Oh that little!
“Like you didn’t force my hand!” Agatha seethed. “I know that storm is your doing! It’s just another one of your fucking manipulations!”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about!” Rio sang. “Besides,” the green witch flicked her gaze slowly up and down Agatha’s body, her voice almost a purr, “you and I both know that if I wanted you wet I would have done it in a very very different way.”
Agatha doesn’t bother to suppress her scream of annoyance as the other witch teleports away just before Agatha can get her hands on her.
“You know better than that, sweetheart.” The green witch’s voice twirls around Agatha even as its owner reappears downstairs. “I’m not opposed to having a good long tussle against a wall but you have to use your words first!”
“Fuck you!” Agatha yelled, glaring down the stairwell.
“Oh gladly!” Rio’s gleeful tone did nothing to abate Agatha’s anger and not for the first time she cursed the theft of her magic. Cursing her ex had never been more tempting. “But perhaps after dinner would be best. Don’t be too long up there, darling! I’m making your favourite!”
Gnashing her teeth, the witch stomped through the room, glaring at the curtains like they had mortally offended her and steaming with rage at the audacity of her former lover.
How dare she? How dare she pluck Agatha from the mortal realm and bring her back here of all places, as if she was some damsel in need of rescue. As if everything that had happened hadn’t happened and this was simply Rio whisking Agatha away just before whatever village or coven she had pissed off overwhelmed her.
Perhaps Agatha could have accepted it if Rio had brought her to anywhere else, if her ex-wife had been looking for the fight she had craved for so long. For that chance to finally reap Agatha’s soul while she was weak, her powers stolen from her, to finally bring her to somewhere she could not escape Rio’s grasp.
(Was Rio her ex wife? Or were they more estranged? It wasn’t like either of them had exactly signed divorce papers.)
But, no. Rio had instead brought them here, to the one place neither of them would ever dare to risk destroying in one of their fights. Here to this cottage, with its all too familiar furniture and rooms. With the door that Agatha could not bring herself to look at. She wondered if Rio had changed the room that lay beyond it, had stripped it of all the reminders of their loss. Or had she kept it? Shut the door and refused to touch anything behind it like Agatha had done with her own memories.
Agatha hoped it hurt Rio to look at it just as much as it hurt her. That every time she walked by it she was reminded of what she did, of how she had betrayed them.
Betrayed Agatha.
Agatha had hoped that after everything that had happened between them that Rio would get the hint and stay away. But no, for it seemed that Death would always come for Agatha.
So as Agatha had left a trail of bodies and destruction across the planet, Lady Death had followed. Even as Agatha hid behind the magic of the Darkhold and made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with her, Rio had never been far behind. Always watching, always waiting for Agatha to weaken, to be caught in some trap so that she could swoop in and finally snatch her up.
Agatha had just thought that Rio wanted a fight, to hurt Agatha as she had Rio. She had never thought that she would bring her to this cabin. This cabin, with its haunting memories and reminders of things Agatha had buried so deep it was a miracle she could still find them.
Oh the green witch claimed she was doing this for her. That she was only protecting Agatha from all that sought to harm her, from those who would take advantage of her weakened state.
(And oh was it a long list. Turns out that spending centuries siphoning power from unsuspecting witches and subsequently killing them doesn’t make one many friends. Agatha was still cursing her decision all those centuries ago to be merciful to those stupid little brats her mothers coven had called children.)
Agatha didn’t believe Rio’s pretty words for a second.
Groaning, she sank into bed, her eyes unseeing as she stared at the ceiling. She didn’t want to look around her, didn’t want to face the all too familiar room. She had been the one to pick the furniture for this room, had shaped each piece with her magic from the wood that Rio had grown and carried inside, refusing to let Agatha even cast a levitation spell.
“Not in your condition!” She had declared, unbothered in the face of Agatha’s annoyance. “You and the cargo you carry are far too precious!”
Rolling over, Agatha buried her into the covers below her. She remembered the fond exasperation she had felt and she cursed it. It didn’t overshadow the grief still held in her heart, didn’t lesson the hole left by her loss. No, Agatha had learned a long time ago that those memories only made the pain worse.
Made the guilt she refused to acknowledge even stronger.
Instead she let that exasperation turn to frustration, that pain to anger. Let herself stew in it until her rage returned and she could be properly spiteful.
Pushing herself upright from the bed, Agatha huffed as she stomped towards the mirror. Her hair was askew and her eyes were slightly crazed, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.
If Rio wanted to keep her here, to protect her as she claimed, then Agatha would be damned before she let it get to her, before she let Rio know just how this affected her. So she would fix herself up and walk back out there, because she refused to let Rio drive her away.
Rio wanted Agatha here? Fine. But Agatha would show her just how terrible of an idea that was. Even Death had weak spots and Agatha knew them all.
It was just a matter of pressing the right combination until Rio did what everyone else did.
Grew tired of Agatha and finally made her leave.