Chapter Text
Agatha muttered something about stretching her legs and stormed off into the darkness. Rio. Rio Vidal. She had thought herself invincible. That nothing could break her wicked demeanour. But she was wrong. This woman, the woman she had given everything to, could. The woman she had loved more than anything else.
The woman she still loved more than anything else.
Why was this bothering her so much? She was over Rio. Over love. It only ended in sadness, followed by many acts of violence. The acts of violence weren’t so much the problem. She did that even when she wasn’t heartbroken, but feeling sad… well, that was something else. And she still felt sad. Who-knows-how-many-hundred years later, her heart still ached for love, specifically Rio’s love, and the ache had only grown stronger with the abrupt reappearance of Rio in her life. Or maybe the ache had been there all along, but she’d gotten used to it and let it dull, and, here it was, no longer dull, but strong, and painful. Here it was, causing her some serious emotional problems at a seriously inconvenient time. Those other witches were depending on her, she told herself, on her steely leadership, on her unfaltering delight and confidence at walking the road. But now, now Rio was here and Teen as well, this delight and confidence was faltering increasingly more, and the leadership? That was a whole other topic. Taking a breath, as she came to a halt in a small, dark clearing, she told herself she wasn’t feeling anything over Rio. This was a lie. She didn’t want Rio back. No, no, no. Agatha Harkness didn’t do love anymore. She was a lone witch. No time for cuddles, or kisses or breakfast in bed, or whatever lovers did for each other these days. Nope. Not Agatha. (This was another lie.)
Which is why she was surprised that she found herself pressing her head against Rio’s shoulder approximately a minute and a half later, arms wrapped round her tight in embrace.
Rio has followed her (of course she had!) and now they were here. Together again. Screw it, Agatha thought as Rio released her from her grip. She was still stupidly in love with Rio. They had ended it. She had been heartbroken. She had been over love, but not over Rio. Preoccupied by these thoughts and the pounding of her heart, she hardly realised how close she was to Rio, how she was leaning toward Rio for a kiss. It almost felt like instinct. Like this was what she had been longing for all these years. It felt right. Like old times. Agatha and Rio. Rio and Agatha. The ultimate power couple.
“Agatha,” Rio pulled back gently, her voice a soft whisper, breaking the silence. Agatha’s name on her lips felt like home. Agatha had missed hearing it. She was so caught up in the perfect, almost melodic (but in the way a nursery rhyme about murder is eerily melodic) tone of her ex-wife’s voice that she didn’t register what Rio had been calling her name for. She leaned in again, every part of her yearning for the kiss.
“Agatha,” Rio continued, louder this time, pulling back more definitely. She still kept her hands firmly on Agatha’s shoulders, as if to bring her back to the present.
“Huh?” Agatha murmured, blinking herself out of the haze. “What?”
“The boy isn’t yours,” Rio said slowly. She was quiet, but firm, and the words hit Agatha with a force. She suddenly felt unsteady, thankful she was still in Rio’s grip, realising it wasn’t so much to bring her back to the moment, and was more to keep her grounded.
It took her a few moments to process the exact words Rio had said. The boy. That would be Teen. Rio knew. Rio knew Teen wasn’t Agatha’s son. Agatha wanted to be shocked and outraged and confused, but she was reaching the cold and unhappy realisation she had known the whole time. The whole time she had been protecting him, keeping her with him, looking out for him, she had known. Even though she had told herself he might be Nicholas, and that’s why she was doing all of it, deep down in her mind the ugly truth had always been lurking. She’d pushed it away, just like she’d pushed Rio away, and now, here Rio was, and with her, the truth. Teen wasn’t her son. He was never her son. Because her son was dead.
Rio was still staring into her eyes, Agatha realised. As she looked Agatha with a mix of concern, sadness and wariness, she rubbed Agatha’s shoulder gently, up and down. Agatha could feel tears filling her eyes, but couldn’t stop them from spilling out, down her cheeks. There went her attempt at being emotionless.
“I know,” she mumbled. “I knew.” Before she had even finished the sentence, Rio had pulled her into a crushing hug. That was exactly what she needed. She knew her too well. As Rio ran a hand through her hair comfortingly, Agatha sobbed. This wasn’t even about Teen, or Nicholas anymore, this was everything she had bottled up since she had been freed from Wanda’s spell.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Rio whispered. Agatha pulled back, taking a breath.
“Why did you tell me?” her throat was still tight and her voice hoarse, “Why?”
A small smile played across Rio’s lips at her question, but her face softened as she gave the answer, “Why did I tell you? Because I wanted to be honest. I don’t want to start anything while I’ve still got things hidden from you. And… and I guess it concerns me too, right? I still care about you, Agatha, and I don’t want you deluding yourself into believing the boy is Nicky. It would only end in heartbreak. And I don’t want you to be heartbroken again, okay? It’s not a good look on you.”
“Oh?” she managed a smile. “So you really want this, huh? You really want us again?” She wasn’t expecting a straight answer, and wasn’t surprised when she received a question in return.
“Do you?” the eyes of her ex-wife sparkled in the moonlight, glinting with something Agatha couldn’t quite put her finger on. She was still beautiful after all these years. Screw it, she thought, and pulled her into a kiss. She did want this, she knew it. Without Rio, she had been lost, like an ship with no anchor on a sea of loss and storms, no matter how much she had tried to tell herself the opposite. To be honest, she was surprised Rio was here, with her, after how it had ended. Second chances rarely came Agatha’s way, and she knew it was best to seize them when they did. Rio’s arms were around her shoulders, and they were together. Their surroundings? Irrelevant. In that unusually-long-lasting moment, there was just Rio and Agatha. Until there wasn’t.
“Agatha! There you are. We’re ready to-” the person speaking trailed off into a sort of squeak at the sight. Agatha and Rio were apart in the blink of an eye, Rio dusting down her clothes, a smirk on her lips, and Agatha, trying to look like she was absent-mindedly fiddling with her hair, her mind very much not absent, a flush creeping into her cheeks. Any blush Agatha might have had, however, was no match for how red the face of Teen was, who was the one that had stumbled upon them. His mouth opened and closed as he made a few garbled noises of surprise.
“Teen.” Agatha said, straightening her collar. “What did you say?”
“I…” he seemed to be struggling to get the words out. Agatha could almost already see the questions he was about to bombard her with.
“Go on,” she said, making it clear there would be no questions asked. He seemed to realise that and hurriedly said, “We’re ready. To carry on.”
“Right,” she clapped her hands together. “Good. Off we go, then. Get the others to hurry up.” And, with a flourish of her coat she was storming off down the road. Rio took a look at Teen, still smirking, pressed her finger to her lips, winked and then she was sauntering after Agatha. All Teen could do was stare.