Chapter Text
I.
It takes Agatha three weeks as a ghost to seek Rio.
Billy is sleeping, another day of looking for his brother has him tired. But Agatha is a ghost, she doesn't need sleep.
Instead she floats outside his house, in the front garden. She's still getting used to this existence, exploring every corner of her new self. Trying out her new body, that is also not a body.
One singular thought has been on her mind since she died in Death’s arms.
Rio let her go.
It wasn't a slip. Death is as old as life.
She knew what she was doing.
Rio knows her. Knows she would've found a way to avoid her, and gave her just enough time to do just that.
Death never came knocking for Agatha.
No, Death waited for her to make the choice. Even if it was a choice she hated.
She hates her for that.
Being a ghost comes with very little worries. Which means it's given her time to think.
It has been an all together terrible experience.
Agatha has known more peace when being stuck in Wanda’s ilusion.
Billy grates her nerves with all his babbling, but even he gets silent too.
And then there's just Agatha and her centuries long past to think about.
When everyone is sleeping, she doesn't think of haunting someone's house to annoy them, pr cause mayhem. That's too pedestrian for the great Agatha Harkness.
No, when everyone sleeps Agatha thinks of Death, of Rio Vidal, who didn't have a name until Agatha gave her one. Rio, who even when fighting her, and hurting her, still called her her love.
It makes her long for a time she too called Death her love.
A time that now feels more certain she'll never get back.
The old man across the street from Billy's house collapses in his living room. Agatha sees it happen from the open window. A single thought on her mind.
Rio.
She approaches the house, but she doesn't get inside. That's too close. Still she feels her presence.
Death is preceded by a cool breeze, to Agatha, it used to feel like a gentle caress, until it suddenly didn't.
The memories haunt her, even now. As a ghost, isn't that her job?
Rio doesn't show herself, Agatha knows only the man can see her. She remembers dying, with Death lips on her, her hands wrapped around her arms like even she was afraid.
She remembers waking and Rio not being there. An empty forest, and no green witch.
I can only give you time.
How many times would Rio give her time? Again, again and again…
Agatha feels more than sees the moment the man is taken. She may be a ghost but she's still a witch. She can sense her kin, she can feel Rio, and Rio can feel her.
Neither one speak, but Agatha knows Rio has sensed her too
“A ghost hunting Death, huh?” She says before she loses her courage, “Bet you didn't see that coming”
She sees Rio then, Death revealing herself to Agatha. Her back turned to her. She can't bear to look her in the eye.
She must hate her.
“You never needed to be a ghost to haunt me, Agatha”
She disappears before Agatha can reply. Something witty, something cutting. Anything to feel the satisfaction she was seeking.
Instead she's left feeling empty.
Aimless.