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A little known fact about Agatha Harkness: she was the only one Señor Scratchy listened to. No one had come close. Not even Rio, who'd sent the little ball of fluff to her in the first place.
Forever a true being of chaos, Scratchy took after Agatha— adopting some of her better qualities; Insatiable hunger for power (bugs), and a previously irritating yet frequent source of amusement: selective hearing.
Even at the call for dinner, if Agatha wasn't the one speaking, he wouldn't move a muscle.
She couldn't help but preen at that. Such a mama's boy, he was.
Or so she thought.
One single summons from across the couch— not even his name, mind you, but a quick series of tongue clicks— and he was off of Agatha's lap in favor of Lilia's in an instant.
Scratchy flopped down on his belly— paws extended, feet kicking out behind him. A 'sploot,' Teen would call it. Such a ridiculous name. To add insult to injury, he cuddled closer, wriggling just so…
All to sink further into Lilia's side.
He looked Agatha dead in the eye as he did it.
It was a dare of the purest form, a challenge if she ever saw one. Why, she should just march over and claim him back. Yes, then everything would be right again.
"Something the matter, dear?" Lilia didn't look up from her book, her free hand finding purchase in Scratchy's fur while a smirk played on her lips.
"You stole my bunny."
Spoken like the true green-eyed monster Agatha was, her venomous words sounded more pathetic in her ears at each passing clock tick.
It must've sounded the same for Lilia too, much to her chagrin; No matter the how much Agatha glared her direction, the witch never looked up from her book… nor did she speak.
And Scratchy…
He pressed his nose into the crook of Lilia's elbow.
"Alright, that's it." Agatha practically dove across the couch, snatching her familiar up in a tangle of gentle hands and squirming limbs, of annoyed puffs and a multitude of cusses.
Scratchy broke free.
He hopped to the floor and stood up with all of the attitude of an affronted shopping-mart Karen, foot thumping against the ground.
"I don't think manhandling him is the way to go." Lilia looked up at the scene, nonchalant. Agatha crossed her arms.
"He started it." She muttered.
A beat.
"A bit of manhandling isn't a bad thing every now and then…" Agatha added. "If anything it should be woman-handling. Men are too rough."
Another beat.
"Is that so?" Lilia probed, her reading material long forgotten, pressed between the couch frame and cushion, no doubt. Or something else entirely was spearing into Agatha's shin…
Arms circled her waist, offering a single second before yanking her down; and suddenly she was the one against Lilia's side instead of Scratchy.
Speaking of which, the speckled tuft of 'tude made his appearance again, brushing against Agatha's arms as he once again settled; A perfect mirror to his mama— face tucked into Lilia's neck, body slouching against the woman's chest.
Like mother, like son.
It all clicked into place then, a sense of contentment washing away every ounce of contempt Agatha possessed. Of course Señor Scratchy had her best qualities. There had never been any doubt in the centuries he's stood by her side.
There never should have been any now.
Because the fact remained… he loved Lilia too.
Love.
Agatha Harkness loved Lilia Calderu.
It felt different than the love she'd felt before… with Rio. And she did… she loved that woman to pieces. The wild side Agatha could explore with her, the trip wire that was always present, waiting to snap into a frenzy of their own passion.
There was always a coolness too, like the first dew on a fall morning. It was in the way Rio said her name, the way fingers ran through her hair in the gentlest way possible.
But Agatha got greedy.
Growing with a person was always a definite. Changing together, blooming alongside them— it was a fact of life… but the fundamentals would never change; And Rio was Death. In the end, Agatha would never change her former wife, because Rio could not be changed.
And losing Nicky tore too much from her to replace any of those fallen pieces.
Yet Lilia saw everything without realizing it.
Without Agatha realizing it.
She picked up the pieces Agatha didn't even know she dropped, only to forge new ones from patience and understanding. Her love was a safe haven, with walls built high around them, and a gate they both stood at, facing each problem together.
Stubborn to match Agatha's stubborn, a balm to Agatha's fire; It had been so easy to fall for Lilia.
She couldn't be the first to say those three words.
Maybe the pressure didn't have to be there.
Agatha peered at her familiar. Eyes shut, pressed as close to Lilia as he could get as a hand swept down his back— Agatha knew that that would be her soon. The fingers that combed through her hair only confirmed it.
"Still think I stole your bunny?" Lilia teased.
"Yes."
But Agatha let her own digits run along Scratchy's back, pausing as they brushed Lilia's own. "I think you stole me too." She whispered.
The hand curled tighter against her head in response.