Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The building was old but charming, vines climbing up one wall, flower boxes hanging tiredly from second-story windows. Wanda parked at the curb, then cut the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Need help getting out?” Wanda asked, glancing over.

“I have a brain tumour,” Rio said dryly, “not a broken leg.”

“Cute,” Wanda said. “Get out. I’m carrying your stuff.”

Rio sighed dramatically and shoved open the door. “You’re impossible.”

Ten minutes later, they were inside, Rio’s apartment still sun-warm from the morning. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus and the ghost of incense. A couple of her plants had dried out. A jacket hung halfway off the hook by the door. Everything looked the same, except for Rio, standing in it now, a little smaller than she’d been at the beach house.

Wanda set her bag down near the couch and immediately started checking things, flicking on a light, opening the fridge, wrinkling her nose at the state of it.

“When did you last go grocery shopping ?” she asked, already rummaging.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “You’re judging my fridge?”

“I always judged your fridge. You lived on cheerios for a year.”

“Don’t knock the classics.”

Wanda didn’t answer. She just grabbed the nearest dish towel and started wiping down the counter like she owned the place.

Rio leaned against the wall and watched her, arms folded. “You gonna mop too?”

“If you ask nicely.”

“You’re fussing.”

“I’m allowed.”

Wanda turned, towel in hand, expression softening. “I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Rio said quietly. Then added, “Mostly.”

Wanda stepped closer. “Tell me what you need.”

Rio hesitated. Then: “Just… keep checking in? Even when I’m being a grump.”

Wanda’s eyes crinkled. “Always.”

She reached out and smoothed a piece of Rio’s hair behind her ear, just like she used to, back when it meant something more. Now, it meant something different. But no less deep.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay a little while?” Wanda asked.

Rio smiled faintly. “No. I think I need a minute to let the quiet be okay.”

Wanda nodded. “Okay.”

She hesitated, then stepped forward and pulled Rio into a hug, careful, but firm.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said against her shoulder. “And if you don’t, I’m still showing up.”

“I know,” Rio said. Her voice caught slightly. “Thank you.”

They pulled apart. Wanda gave her a last once-over, eyes lingering, like she was trying to memorise her all over again.

And then she left, the door clicking gently behind her.

Rio stood in the quiet for a long moment.

Then she breathed in. And out.

And slowly, she started to unpack.

Wanda stepped out onto the street, the sun catching in her lashes as she blinked against it. She lingered on the sidewalk, one hand still resting on the car door, her gaze lifting toward the window she knew was Rio’s, second floor, right-hand side, the one with the half-dead cactus and the crooked screen.

She didn’t move.

Not right away.

She was tired, in that old, aching way that had nothing to do with sleep. The kind that came from loving someone with your whole damn chest, and still having to leave.

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment and let herself feel it: the familiar tug of fear. That helplessness that used to keep her up at night, when Rio was pale and thin and distant, when she wouldn’t talk about the headaches or the scans, when Wanda had to pretend everything was fine just so Rio wouldn’t push her further away.

But now…

Now, something felt different.

Agatha was present.

Agatha, who knew all of Rio’s sharp corners and stubborn silences. Who looked at her like she was sunlight after winter. Who hadn’t flinched once, not even when the word surgery hit the air like thunder.

Wanda exhaled slowly, the breath catching in her throat.

She still worried, God, she would always worry. That part of love didn’t vanish just because the label changed. But for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was the only one standing guard at the edge of the cliff.

Rio wasn’t alone anymore.

And neither was Wanda.

She smiled, a little sad, a little relieved, and opened the car door.

Wanda could finally take a step back.

Not away. Never fully away.

Just… back enough to breathe.

She slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The hum of it grounded her. As she pulled away from the curb, she didn’t look back up at the window.

She didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in a long time, Wanda knew Rio was in good hands.

And that, finally gave her peace

The TV was still playing some half-watched documentary, volume low, but Rio wasn’t really watching. She lay sprawled on the couch in black boxers and a torn-up band tee that had once been black but now looked closer to charcoal grey. The sleeves were long gone, hacked off sometime around her sophomore year of college and the neckline was fraying at the edges.

A mostly empty glass of water sat on the coffee table next to a pack of crackers and an open bottle of her meds.

The room smelled faintly of lemon balm and clean laundry.

Her phone buzzed.

WANDA
Don’t forget your meds. Yes, I know you forget. No, I won’t stop checking. x

Rio huffed a laugh through her nose, picked up the glass, and swallowed the pills without complaint.

RIO
Bossy. But thank you.

Almost immediately, another buzz.

WANDA
You’re welcome. I love you. In a platonic, nosy, aggressively maternal way.

Rio smirked and set the phone down but it didn’t stay still for long.

Another buzz.

This time, a call.

Agatha.

Rio’s heart flipped, an automatic little stutter before she answered.

“Hey,” she said softly, one hand coming up to push her hair back. “Miss me already?”

“Of course I do,” came Agatha’s voice on the other end, warm and a little scratchy from tiredness. “I got home and realised my backpack still smells like your shampoo. It’s ridiculous.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I said it’s ridiculous. Not that I want it to stop.”

Rio let herself sink deeper into the cushions, her body relaxing like a rubber band finally let go.

“Are you okay?” Agatha asked after a moment.

Rio hesitated. “Yeah. I mean… okay enough. Wanda threatened my life if I didn’t take my meds. So. You know. Same old.”

“I texted her earlier,” Agatha admitted. “She said she cried after she dropped you off but denied it completely.”

“She definitely wiped her eyes when she hugged me,” Rio said, smiling faintly. “Didn’t say a word about it, though. Classic.”

They were quiet for a moment, not awkward, just close.

“I was thinking,” Agatha said. “I know I said I’d come see you this week for the surgeon thing, but… I want to do more than that.”

“Yeah?” Rio asked, voice cautious. Hopeful.

“I want to come stay with you,” Agatha said. “Until the surgery’s done. After too, if you’ll let me.”

Rio sat up slowly, her breath catching.

“Agatha, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” she interrupted gently. “I want to. I already cleared it with my editor. They’d probably let me move to the moon if I said it was for a book.”

Rio’s lips twitched. “You going to write one while I’m passed out on painkillers?”

“Maybe,” Agatha said.

“But only if you don’t mind being written as a tragic, infuriatingly attractive protagonist with a mild addiction to salt-and-vinegar chips.”

Rio laughed, really laughed. It shook something loose in her chest.

“I’d like you here,” she said, quieter now.

“I mean it. I… don’t want to do this part alone.”

“You won’t,” Agatha promised. “I’ll be there before lunch tomorrow. Don’t clean. I know you’re going to try. Just leave the mess.”

“I always leave the mess,” Rio said.

“Liar.”

Another pause. And then Agatha added, softer: “I’m really proud of you, Rio.”

Rio pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “Don’t say that. I’ll cry and Wanda will sense it from wherever she is and show up with soup.”

Agatha chuckled. “Let her try.”

They sat in silence again, just listening to each other breathe.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Agatha said at last. “Get some sleep, okay?”

“I will. You too.”

“And Rio?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. Just in case I didn’t say it enough this week.”

Rio closed her eyes, heart full.

“You said it enough. But say it again anyway.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Rio whispered.

They hung up.

Rio set her phone down gently and curled up on the couch, blankets tugged around her, her hand resting lightly over her stomach.

And for the first time in weeks, she let herself believe it might all be okay.

⸻

The knock came just after 9:00 a.m., sharp and insistent.

Rio blinked awake on the couch, her blanket tangled around her legs, hair a mess, glasses nowhere to be found. She’d fallen asleep sometime after midnight, still wearing her old band tee and a scowl aimed half-heartedly at the ceiling.

She shuffled to the door, yawning, and opened it.

Agatha stood on the threshold with a tote bag on one shoulder, a crossbody bag slung across her chest, a giant reusable grocery sack in one hand, and her laptop case hanging off the other.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, like she wasn’t carrying the weight of six different errands and an entire night of research.

“Did you rob a bookstore?” Rio asked, staring at her in disbelief.

“No, I robbed WebMD and then felt bad and bought three cookbooks,” Agatha said, brushing past her into the apartment like a woman on a mission. “Also, I brought oat milk. I know you pretend not to like it, but your stomach’s always a mess on real dairy. Don’t argue.”

Rio blinked as Agatha started unloading everything onto the kitchen counter. “You’ve been here for two minutes.”

“Correction: I’ve been preparing for this for ten hours,” Agatha said, pulling out a notepad. “Did you know visual auras are a common pre-seizure symptom? And that hydration plays a crucial role in managing headaches for tumour patients? Because I do. Now. You’re getting an insulated water bottle and we’re setting alarms.”

Rio leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a mix of amusement and dread. “Agatha.”

“And also,” she said, pulling out a second bag, “I got blueberries, turmeric, chia seeds, and a mushroom powder that apparently boosts cognitive function. I don’t know if it works but the packaging was trustworthy and vaguely threatening.”

“Agatha.”

She stopped. Looked at her. Finally registered the look on Rio’s face, half-awake, amused, and a little overwhelmed.

Agatha’s shoulders dropped, just slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quieter now. “I just… I want to do this right. I want to help. I’ve been reading so much and I didn’t want to walk in here empty-handed and useless.”

Rio crossed the room slowly. Took Agatha’s hands in hers, pulled them down from their frantic flurry of motion.

“You’re not useless,” she said gently. “You’re here. That’s already everything.”

Agatha’s eyes softened, worry flickering beneath her lashes. “You’re pale.”

“I just woke up.”

“You didn’t eat dinner.”

“I had crackers.”

“That’s not dinner.”

“It is if you eat a lot of them.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, but the edge was gone now. “Sit down. I’ll make you something.”

“Agatha…”

“Let me do this. Please.”

Rio let out a slow breath and nodded. “Okay. But if you try to make me drink mushroom powder before breakfast, I’m kicking you out.”

Agatha smirked, brushing a piece of Rio’s hair back behind her ear. “Deal.”

She moved toward the kitchen again, calmer now, but still carrying that quiet intensity Rio had always loved in her, the way she threw herself at fear with a notebook and a plan.

Rio sank into a kitchen chair and watched her unpack fresh ginger, yogurt, a ridiculous amount of greens.

It was going to be a strange few weeks. Awful at times. Terrifying.

But this morning ,this simple, overstuffed, wildly researched morning, felt like a beginning.

And with Agatha there, it already felt a little less impossible.

The scent of ginger still lingered in the kitchen air, clinging stubbornly to the walls even after the dishes had been cleared. Or rather, stacked. The breakfast plates sat by the sink, half-rinsed, abandoned. The kettle was cold.

Rio sat at the table, posture stiff, phone cradled in her hands like it might shatter if she gripped it any tighter. Her leg bounced restlessly under the chair, a rhythm she didn’t seem aware of.

On the screen, the contact for Dr. Danvers glowed.

Agatha leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

Watching.

She didn’t say anything for a while.

Finally, her voice quiet: “You don’t have to call today.”

Rio didn’t look up. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll put it off. And if I put it off, it’ll be next week, and then next month, and then we’ll blink and it’s next year.”

Agatha stepped forward, slow. “It’s a consultation. Just a conversation.”

Rio nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. That’s the part that scares me.”

Agatha’s brows knit. “Why?”

“Because once we talk about it… it’s real. The surgery stops being this thing in the distance. It becomes a thing with diagrams and risks and prep instructions.”

She hesitated.

“And maybe that’s when I stop pretending I’m not terrified.”

Agatha didn’t try to talk her out of it. She didn’t try to soothe. Just stood there, solid.

After a beat, Rio hit “Call.”

One ring. Two.

“Dr. Danvers’ office, Carly speaking.”

“Hi... hi. This is Rio Vidal. I, uh, wanted to schedule a consultation with Dr. Danvers? She mentioned we should talk through the details of the procedure. I’m ready for that now.”

There was a pause on the line, then a warmer tone.
“Of course, Rio. Let me take a quick look… Ah, we have an opening Wednesday morning. 9 a.m. Would that work for you?”

“Yeah.” She exhaled. “Yes. That’s good.”

“Perfect. I’ll send over the info packet, pre-consult guidelines, questions to prepare, that sort of thing.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

After they hung up, Rio didn’t move for a long moment.

Then she placed the phone face-down on the table and stared at her reflection in the kettle’s curved surface.

Agatha crossed the room and pulled out the chair beside her.

“Wednesday,” Rio said, voice low.

Agatha nodded. “Wednesday.”

“I’m not even under yet and I already feel like I’m floating.”

“You’re allowed to be scared.”

Rio gave a breathy laugh. “Don’t worry, I am. Just… silently. And with style.”

Agatha reached over, threading their fingers together.

They sat like that for a while, quiet.

Then Rio broke the silence, a sudden spark in her tone. “You know what I want before I go in?”

“Name it.”

“A distraction. No talk about incisions or MRIs. Just… something stupid and human.”

Agatha tilted her head. “Like a movie?”

“No. A date.” Rio turned to her, eyes suddenly bright. “An actual date. Not soup on the couch. Not me in sweatpants trying to nap through dread.”

Agatha smiled. “Done.”

“You don’t even know what I’m planning yet.”

“I don’t care. I’m in.”

“Good,” Rio said, squeezing her hand. “But I warn you, I might make us dress up like we’re in a noir film.”

“I have red lipstick and no shame.”

That made Rio laugh, really laugh, for the first time that day.

And it lingered.

Because the surgery was coming.

But before that, there was Wednesday.

And before that, there was something real.

A date. A life. A moment that was entirely hers.

———————

It started with a flicker.

A soft, dull pulse behind Rio’s right eye, the kind she was used to ignoring. She’d learned to live with pain the way people live with background noise. You notice it less when it’s always there.

But this one didn’t fade. It sharpened.

They’d been sitting on the couch, half-watching a rerun of Top Chef, Agatha’s legs tucked under her, Rio stretched out with her head resting on the armrest. She didn’t say anything at first. Just squinted. Shifted. Waved away Agatha’s offer to grab water.

But then the room tilted.

And everything changed.

Rio’s breath hitched, her hands curling against her stomach as a cold sweat broke across her back. Her mouth opened, but no sound came, just a soft, startled exhale.

Agatha noticed immediately.

“Rio?”

No response. Just that slow, painful wince like she was trying to ride it out.

Agatha sat up straighter. “Hey what’s wrong?”

Rio tried to answer but her words slurred slightly, like they had to fight their way out of her mouth.

Agatha’s heart stuttered. “Okay. No, no, no. Talk to me, please.”

Rio swallowed hard, then finally managed, “Just… dizzy. It’s fine. Just need to…”

But she couldn’t finish. Her arms tensed and twitched at her side as her face contorted and her eyes squeezed closed.

Agatha slid off the couch and knelt beside her, hands already moving — cool against Rio’s burning skin, gently brushing the hair back from her forehead.

“It’s okay Rio, I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe. ”

After what seemed like forever, Rio did, breathing shallow, eyes half-lidded now. Her jaw clenched like she was trying not to throw up.

Agatha moved quickly, a glass of water, a cool towel from the bathroom, a trash bin just in case. She dimmed the lights, turned off the TV, and opened the window slightly to let in air.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, pressing the towel to Rio’s forehead. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Rio flinched slightly at the cold, but didn’t pull away. Her eyes drifted open. “M' sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Agatha whispered, voice tight now. “Don’t ever apologise for this.”

Rio blinked at her, trying to focus. “Scared you.”

“Yeah. You did.” She swallowed hard. “But I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

The worst of the wave seemed to pass. After a few minutes, Rio’s breathing evened out. She was still pale, still shaky, but the tension in her body began to release.

Agatha sat beside her on the floor, one hand wrapped gently around Rio’s, thumb rubbing small circles over her wrist.

“You should lie down properly,” she said, voice low.

“Couch’s fine.”

“Bed’s better. You need rest.”

Rio didn’t argue.

Agatha helped her up slowly, careful not to move too fast. She supported more of Rio’s weight than she let on, her arms firm and steady around her as she led her down the hall and eased her onto the bed.

Fresh water. New towel. Quiet room. No questions.

Agatha pulled the blanket up over Rio and brushed the back of her fingers over her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Rio blinked, already slipping toward sleep. “Don’t…”

“I’m just getting your meds.”

Rio nodded faintly.

Agatha returned a moment later with a small tray, pills, crackers, water, a cool compress for her neck.

She helped Rio sit up just enough to take them, her touch gentle, practiced.

When Rio settled back against the pillows, Agatha sat at the edge of the bed, watching her.

“You’re doing everything right,” she said softly. “Your body’s just being an asshole right now.”

Rio gave a breathy laugh, half-asleep. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

“Stole it from you.”

A long pause.

The room fell quiet again.

Rio turned her face toward Agatha, eyes barely open. “You’re really staying.”

Agatha met her gaze. “I’m really staying.”

Rio reached out blindly, fingers brushing Agatha’s wrist.

Agatha took her hand.

And held it.
—————————

The apartment was dark now, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the window, spilling through the curtains in fractured gold. It cast long shadows across the bed, soft and quiet, painting Rio’s face in pale silver.

Agatha sat beside her, legs pulled up into the chair she’d dragged in from the kitchen, an old throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She hadn’t meant to stay up, but sleep felt impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Rio’s face twisted in pain from earlier, her lips slightly parted, her breath ragged and wrong.

Now, Rio was still. Asleep. Breathing slow. Her hand lay limp over the blanket, fingers just barely curled. She looked younger like this, not fragile, exactly, but unguarded. And it hurt, how much Agatha loved her.

Her chest ached with it.

Rio let out a soft sigh in her sleep and shifted slightly, her brow twitching.

Agatha sat forward a little, instinctively reaching out to brush her hair back from her forehead. Her fingers lingered for a moment just long enough to feel the warmth of her.

She pulled her hand away before she could let it shake.

God, she was scared.

She hadn’t said it earlier, not when Rio was trying so hard to be brave, to pretend she wasn’t white-knuckling every decision, every pill, every second she stayed upright, but Agatha felt it all the way to her bones.
The fear.
The helplessness.
The knowledge that this was just the beginning.

The tumour wasn’t going to wait politely.

And the surgery… it was coming fast.

There were statistics. Percentages. Recovery charts. Clinical terms that Agatha had read over and over until the words blurred and bled into the same thing: uncertainty.

Twenty percent chance of survival.

That sounded promising to anyone who wasn’t in love with someone on the wrong side of that number.

Agatha’s eyes burned, but she didn’t let herself cry.

Not here.
Not now.
Not while Rio was peaceful.

Instead, she focused on her breathing, on the way Rio’s chest rose and fell beneath the covers.

On the faint sound of wind outside.

On the pulse of her own heart thudding quietly beneath her ribs.

She wanted to climb into bed, to wrap herself around Rio and keep her safe from everything, the headaches, the surgeries, the fear. She wanted to take it all for her, bear it in her place.

But that wasn’t how this worked.

Agatha had made her peace with a lot of things over the years.
Not saying what she felt. Leaving when she should’ve stayed. Staying away when it mattered most. But this?

She wasn’t going to run this time.

Whatever the next few weeks brought, the pain, the waiting rooms, the recovery, the fear, she would be there.

Every second.
Every breath.
Even when it broke her.

Especially then.

Rio stirred again and turned slightly toward the sound of her breathing, as if sensing she was near even in sleep.

Agatha leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Rio’s hand, letting her lips rest there for a moment.

“I love you,” she whispered, barely audible. “So much it hurts”

She leaned back in the chair, eyes never leaving her.

And through the fear, the ache, the unbearable tenderness of it all, she did the only thing she could do,

She stayed.
—————————

Rio woke slowly, blinking into the dark, her head heavy but clearer than it had been. The pain had dulled to a low throb at the base of her skull, a shadow of what it was earlier. Her body ached, but her stomach wasn’t turning anymore, and for the first time in hours, she felt steady enough to breathe without flinching.

She shifted slightly, eyes adjusting to the soft blue light filtering through the curtains.

And there, right beside her bed, was Agatha, curled in the kitchen chair, wrapped in a thin blanket, head tipped forward slightly.

Her arms were crossed, legs drawn up, one foot tucked beneath the other. She looked half-asleep, though her eyes fluttered open the moment Rio moved.

Rio’s voice was hoarse. “Did you fall asleep in that chair?”

Agatha blinked at her, clearly caught off guard, like she hadn’t expected Rio to be awake yet. “No,” she said automatically. Then, a beat later, “Maybe. A little.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Rio murmured.

Agatha gave a faint smile, tired but warm. “You scared me.”

Rio’s eyes softened. “I know.”

Agatha shifted forward, placing a hand gently on the blanket near Rio’s hip. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Rio said. “Still a little foggy, but… better.”

Agatha nodded, relieved, but the lines on her face didn’t fully fade.

Rio reached out slowly, curling her fingers around Agatha’s wrist. “Come here.”

Agatha hesitated. “Rio”

“Please,” she said, quieter now.

That’s all it took.

Agatha stood and set the blanket aside. She climbed in carefully, settling on top of the covers, curling herself around Rio without hesitation.

Rio shifted to make room, pulling Agatha close until her head rested just beneath Rio’s chin, their legs tangled softly beneath the sheets.

It was instinct, years of knowing exactly where the other fit.

Agatha exhaled against her shoulder, her body warm and solid and real.

“I didn’t want to fall asleep,” she said quietly. “I was afraid something would happen and I wouldn’t...”

Rio shook her head gently, her hand coming up to stroke Agatha’s back. “Nothing happened. You were here.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone,” Agatha whispered.

“I didn’t.” Rio kissed her hair, slow and lingering. “You stayed.”

Agatha closed her eyes. “Of course I stayed. But what would have happened if I wasn’t here?”

They lay in silence for a while, the weight of everything hanging just outside the room, just outside the moment. But inside it, wrapped in each other, there was a stillness neither of them had felt in a long time.

Rio let her hand drift over Agatha’s spine, memorising the shape of her there. “You’re never sleeping in that chair again.”

Agatha smiled into her shoulder.

Rio huffed a soft laugh. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Agatha said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Rio murmured. “Because I need you. And I’m not pretending I don’t anymore.”

Agatha kissed her collarbone, gentle. “Then we’re finally getting it right.”

And with that, they drifted off, tangled together, holding on to each other like it was the only thing in the world that still made sense.

Because maybe it was.

————————————————

The apartment smelled like fresh laundry and orange peel, Agatha had insisted on opening all the windows that morning, letting in the breeze and the city noise. Music played quietly from the speaker, something warm and lo-fi, and Rio was sitting on the couch trying to tie her boots like she wasn’t holding herself together with sheer willpower.

Agatha hovered.

Not obviously, not in that overbearing way Rio hated, but she was watching.

Folding laundry that didn’t need folding. Tidying nonexistent messes. Checking her watch. Glancing over again.

“You sure about tonight?” she asked gently, not for the first time.

Rio looked up and flashed a crooked smile. “I’m sure. Can’t let you put on real pants for nothing.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say I was wearing real pants.”

Rio smirked, but there was a tightness around her eyes she couldn’t quite hide. “See? Already worth it.”

Agatha stepped closer, hands on her hips. “You’ve been pale all day.”

“I’m always pale. I’m genetically built like moonlight.”

“You were dizzy this morning.”

“I stood up too fast.”

“You didn’t eat lunch.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Agatha stared at her. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending you feel fine because you think I’ll cancel if you don’t.”

Rio let out a quiet breath through her nose, still bent over her bootlaces. “I need to get out of this house, Agatha. Just for a couple hours. I need to feel normal.”

Agatha crouched in front of her, one hand on her knee. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. If you’re not up to it, we can stay in. Watch something. Eat trash. You don’t have to pretend.”

Rio shook her head. “I’m not pretending. I’m okay.”

And then, a second later, like fate had been waiting for the punchline, Rio stood too fast and the room spun.

Her knee buckled.

She didn’t even have time to curse before she dropped hard against the edge of the couch, her elbow hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Shit,” she hissed, trying to sit back up.

Agatha was there in an instant.

“Jesus, Rio—”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine,” Agatha snapped, kneeling beside her. “You almost cracked your head open trying to prove you’re fine.”

“I just stood up too fast.”

Agatha stared at her, angry, but not the sharp kind. It was that aching, breathless anger that came from being scared out of your skin and not knowing what else to do.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rio looked away. “Because I wanted one damn night where I wasn’t the girl with the tumour!”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “And I wanted one night where I wasn’t watching you hurt yourself trying to protect me from something I already know.”

They were both quiet for a beat, the air between them thick with the unsaid.

Rio sat up slowly, rubbing her elbow. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I just… wanted it to be like before. Just for a minute.”

Agatha’s expression softened. She reached out, brushing the hair back from Rio’s face, fingers gentle. “I get that. I really do. But I’d rather have the real you on this couch than some version of you pretending for my sake in a restaurant you can’t sit upright in.”

Rio huffed a soft laugh, finally looking back at her. “You always know exactly how to make me feel like an idiot and loved at the same time.”

“It’s a talent,” Agatha said. “I should list it on my résumé.”

Rio leaned her head against Agatha’s shoulder. “Rain check?”

Agatha pressed a kiss to her temple. “Rain check.”

Another beat.

Then Rio sighed. “I want dumplings.”

Agatha stood up and offered her a hand. “You want dumplings, you get dumplings.”

They ate Chinese food on the couch, Rio in pyjama pants and a fresh band tee, Agatha with her hair tied up and chopsticks in one hand, soy sauce packet in the other.

The date had disappeared, but the closeness hadn’t. If anything, it felt deeper now.

They didn’t need candlelight or nice clothes or anything fancy.

They had each other.

And even though neither of them said it out loud, in the soft hum of takeout containers and half-finished laughter, something had shifted.

It wasn’t about pretending anymore.

It was about staying.

Even when it was messy.

Even when it hurt.

Especially then.

Chapter Text

The soft murmur of voices reached Rio before she was fully awake.

Low and steady. A chair scraped lightly against the floor. The clink of a mug. Then…

Wanda’s voice, calm and sure.
“She hides the worst of it when she’s scared. Always has.”

Rio frowned into her pillow, still wrapped in sleep, but the words pulled her fully awake.

She sat up slowly, the soreness from the previous day still echoing through her limbs, but manageable now. The dizziness was gone. Or at least quiet. The memory of collapsing still sat heavy in her chest.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded softly down the hallway toward the living room.

What she saw stopped her in the doorway.

Agatha sat on the couch, hair loosely tied up, glasses perched on her nose, a thick folder open in her lap pages of printed documents, hand-scribbled notes, scans, prescriptions. Wanda sat beside her, leaning forward, pointing to something on one of the sheets.

Neither of them had noticed her yet.

“I logged everything I could,” Wanda was saying quietly. “Medications. Scan results. Notes from appointments she wouldn’t let me go to. The good days. The not-so-good ones.”

Agatha nodded, her eyes scanning the page. “She didn’t tell me half of this.”

“She didn’t tell me most of it either. I had to learn by watching. Then by tracking.” Wanda hesitated. “I know I’m not… part of things anymore. But I figured if anyone deserves to be fully in the loop, it’s you.”

Agatha looked up at her, eyes soft. “You still love her.”

Wanda gave a tired smile. “Yeah. But not in the way she needs anymore. That’s you.”

Rio stepped forward then, clearing her throat. “You two sharing my medical history like it’s a book club pick?”

They both turned, no guilt, just a quiet seriousness.

Agatha set the folder aside carefully. “You should’ve told me, Rio. About all of it.”

“I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once.”

Wanda stood. “It’s not dumping. It’s letting people help.”

Rio met her gaze, the old familiarity between them still intact, if differently shaped now. She looked at Agatha next, her eyes, concerned but clear. She’d been crying, maybe earlier, but not now. Now, she looked steady. Ready.

Rio sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I was going to tell you.”

“I know,” Agatha said softly. “But the thing is, you shouldn’t have to gear up to do it. You’re allowed to be scared. I just… I needed to understand what we’re actually up against.”

Rio moved to the couch, sinking down beside her, the weight of everything suddenly sharper. “It’s a lot.”

“I can handle a lot,” Agatha said.

Wanda nodded, already reaching for her coat. “And you’re not doing it alone anymore. Either of you.”

She paused by the door, folder now in Agatha’s lap. “I’ll be around, okay? Whatever you need. Soup. Swearing. A second opinion. Just say the word.”

Rio gave her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Wanda.”

Wanda lingered for a beat longer, then opened the door and slipped out into the morning light.

The apartment fell quiet.

Agatha turned back to the folder, eyes thoughtful.

“You kept all this in your head?” she asked.

Rio leaned back, closed her eyes. “I kept most of it at arm’s length.”

Agatha rested her hand lightly on Rio’s knee. “Not anymore.”

Rio looked at her, and something deep in her chest, something she hadn’t named yet began to loosen.

“No,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”

The folder sat heavy in Agatha’s lap, its weight strangely disproportionate to its size, not because of the paper, but because of what it meant. What it contained.

Rio had gone quiet beside her, curled into the corner of the couch now, one arm slung over the backrest, watching her with a mix of wariness and resignation.

Agatha flipped slowly through the pages, her fingertips brushing over neat handwriting, faded sticky notes, paperclips and highlights.

Wanda had organised it meticulously, colour-coded tabs marked Scans, Medications, Symptoms, Doctor’s Notes, and Emergency Protocols.
Agatha’s eyes narrowed, scanning more quickly now.

Seizure Activity (Observed):
• Two partial seizures reported in the last eight weeks.
• One complex focal seizure lasting approximately 2 minutes.

Doctor’s Note:
Patient has demonstrated increasing sensitivity to light and visual auras prior to episodes. Seizures likely symptomatic of tumour-induced cortical irritation. Discussed with patient: if seizure exceeds three minutes, risk of hypoxic brain injury or permanent cognitive damage increases significantly.

If focal seizures evolve into tonic-clonic activity or exceed time limit, emergency intervention required.

Agatha read it twice before her eyes lifted to Rio.

“You didn’t tell me the seizures were so dangerous.”

Rio stared at the ceiling. “Because I knew you’d look exactly like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just read the part that makes it real.”

Agatha set the paper down carefully, like it might break. “It’s not just about symptoms anymore. It’s about time. One seizure too long and you could lose… God, Rio, you could lose pieces of yourself.”

Rio swallowed, hard. “I know.”

“You knew this and still pushed yourself yesterday? Still tried to stand up and leave the apartment—?”

“I know,” Rio said again, louder this time, her voice cracking. “I know. I know what it means.”

She turned her face away, ashamed now. “I thought I could hold it together long enough to feel like a person again. Just for one night. Not a diagnosis. Not a risk assessment. Just… me. The me you used to know..”

Agatha’s jaw worked silently for a second, trying to process it. Trying not to fall apart.

“I can’t lose you,” she said quietly. “Not like that. Not because you’re pretending you’re stronger than you have to be.”

Rio looked at her finally. “But I have to be strong. Everyone’s looking at me like I might fall apart and if I start leaning too hard, I’m afraid I won’t stop.”

Agatha shifted closer, pressing her palm over Rio’s hand.

“So lean on me. Break if you need to. That doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you’re letting yourself be loved.”

They were quiet for a long time.

Agatha glanced back down at the file, flipping to the Emergency Protocols tab. In Wanda’s handwriting, a bulleted list:
• If seizure lasts longer than 3 minutes → call 911 immediately.
• Time every episode.
• Do NOT try to hold Rio down or restrict movement.
• Move dangerous objects out of reach.
• Cushion head. Turn her on her side.
• After: monitor speech, vision, balance.
• Stay with her.

Agatha traced the last line with her finger.

Stay with her.

She closed the folder and looked back at Rio.

“I’m learning everything now,” she said softly. “So next time something happens, I won’t freeze. I won’t guess.”

Rio’s throat bobbed. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Agatha didn’t look away. “You fought all this alone for too long. But not anymore, Rio. I know the risks now. I know the worst-case scenarios. I’m still here.”

Rio’s voice was barely a whisper. “You sure?”

Agatha reached for her hand and didn’t let go.

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

————

Rio was standing in the kitchen trying to make toast like a normal, functioning human when she heard Agatha laugh.

Not a polite chuckle, a genuine, full-bodied cackle that echoed all the way down the hall.

“Uh-oh,” Rio muttered, dropping the knife back into the peanut butter jar. “That’s not good.”

She padded down the hallway in her socks, her old dinosaur pyjama pants trailing slightly behind her, a mug of tea balanced in her hand.

“Agatha?” she called, rounding the corner into her bedroom. “What are you—”

Agatha was kneeling on the floor in front of the closet, laugh-crying into her palm. Surrounding her, a half-toppled box, a pile of cards fanned out like treasure, and a small plastic container labeled in Rio’s handwriting: “Do Not Touch (Unless You Respect Fossils)”

Rio froze. “You didn’t.”

Agatha looked up at her, beaming. “Oh, I did.”

“Nooo,” Rio groaned, setting the mug down and immediately trying to scoop up the cards.

“Oh no you don’t, don’t you dare hide these from me now.” Agatha grabbed one and held it up dramatically. “You own a holographic Charizard. I don’t even know what that means but I’m pretty sure it’s worth more than your security deposit.”

Rio blushed. Actually blushed. “It was a gift. From my uncle. When I was nine. He took it out of the original packaging and I cried for three hours.”

Agatha was nearly breathless. “You cried?”

“It was very rare!”

Agatha sat back, eyes wide with mock reverence. “You’re a secret Pokémon nerd.”

“I am not a nerd. I just… collect things.”

“Cards. Rocks. Little plastic dinosaurs. Rio.” She pointed to the shelf above the bed, where a tiny toy stegosaurus stood beside a framed concert ticket. “You have a prehistoric mascot watching you sleep.”

Rio crossed her arms. “His name is Greg and he guards my dreams.”

Agatha burst out laughing again, leaning into the closet doorframe. “Oh my God, you’re such a loser.”

Rio smirked. “Says the woman who once wrote 40,000 words of wizard
fan-fiction.”

Agatha choked. “I told you that in confidence.”

“And I’m weaponising it now. That’s how trust works.”

Agatha held up another card, a shiny Snorlax. “So what’s this guy’s deal?”

Rio took it gently. “He eats. He naps. He’s basically my spirit animal.”

Agatha sat cross-legged on the floor now, flipping through the stack with unexpected focus. “This is actually kinda adorable.”

Rio blinked. “What, my deeply embarrassing inner child?”

“No,” Agatha said, looking up at her, voice softening just slightly. “That you’ve kept all this. Even now. Like… even while everything feels like it’s falling apart, you’ve got this little corner of the world that’s still yours. Untouched.”

Rio didn’t quite know what to say to that. She sank down next to her, shoulder to shoulder, legs bumping.

Agatha picked up a smooth, striped agate from a smaller box and held it out. “This one’s beautiful.”

Rio nodded. “Found it at the beach house when we were eighteen. You were trying to learn to juggle with pinecones.”

Agatha winced. “That ended with a black eye.”

“I still have the photo.”

Agatha nudged her. “Delete it.”

“Never.”

They sat there for a while, surrounded by tiny fragments of Rio’s past, cards and rocks and ridiculous plastic figures, and for a little while, nothing hurt. No scans. No surgery. No fear.

Just old memories, soft laughter, and a stegosaurus named Greg.

Chapter Text

The clinic hadn’t changed, but Rio had. Not that anyone here would see it.

She stood at the reception desk for barely a moment, then took her usual seat against the far wall of the waiting room. Agatha followed, scanning the room with quiet, thoughtful eyes before settling beside her.

Rio’s look was intentional ,if understated. A dark green knit vest layered over an oversized white T-shirt, wide charcoal-grey trousers sitting just right on her hips, green suede sneakers clean but lived-in. The silver chain at her neck caught the fluorescents occasionally. Her hair was tousled, casually styled like she hadn’t tried too hard (even though she had, just a little).

Agatha hadn’t commented on the outfit, but she’d looked. Really looked.

“You okay?” she asked now, voice low enough to be private.

Rio tilted her head. “Yeah. I mean… no. But I dressed like I’m okay. That’s halfway there.”

Agatha smiled faintly. “You look good. Cool, even.”

“I’m aiming for competent dyke with a mild God complex,” Rio deadpanned. “Think I’m pulling it off.”

“You’re terrifying,” Agatha said with a soft laugh, “and also kind of impressive.”

Rio didn’t answer. Her fingers toyed with a thread at the hem of her vest.

Last time she’d sat here, Wanda had been beside her, folded neatly into herself, all quiet strength, holding space with practiced ease. Wanda had held her hand during the intake, typed notes while Rio fought down a headache so brutal it made her vision double.

This time, Agatha was here. No notes yet. Just presence. Energy a little sharper, warmer around the edges.

Rio looked down at her shoes. “Wanda asked most of the questions last time. I mostly stared at the floor.”

“Do you want me to ask them this time?”

Rio paused, then nodded. “Maybe not all. Just help me stay in it.”

A nurse popped her head out from a side door. “Rio Vidal?”

Rio stood. Her sneakers made almost no sound on the tile, but her stomach roared with static. Agatha stood too, just a step behind her.

“You’ve been here before, right?” the nurse said kindly.

Rio nodded once. “Yeah. A few weeks ago.”

They followed the nurse through the corridor, the soft whir of machines and faraway conversation like a muffled pulse behind the walls. Rio’s hands slid into the pockets of her trousers, a gesture that felt more like armour than comfort.

Same room as before. Same ugly anatomical brain model. Same slightly-too-warm lights buzzing faintly above them.

Rio didn’t sit on the exam table. She dropped into the chair again, legs apart, back relaxed but eyes tight. Agatha sat beside her. Her hand hovered briefly, then landed lightly on Rio’s knee.

A knock. Then the door opened.

Dr. Danvers stepped in, golden hair neat, expression composed and alert.

“Rio,” she said, smiling just enough. “Good to see you again.”

“You say that like I’m a fun regular.”

“You’re memorable,” Danvers replied, settling onto a stool. “And I remember your last scan. I’m glad you came back.”

She glanced at Agatha.

“And you must be…?”

“Agatha, Rio’s… friend.”

Rio side-eyed Agatha briefly before turning to Dr Danvers again, a crease on her brow.

Danvers nodded. “Great. It’s always good to have someone else here. Fewer things slip through the cracks.”

Rio shifted in her seat, arms crossed loosely, expression calm but alert.

Danvers tapped her tablet. “Let’s take this in three parts: scan updates, surgical strategy, and then risks and recovery. Ask questions whenever you want.”

Agatha pulled a pen from her jacket pocket. “Got it.”

As the doctor began explaining the imaging, Rio watched the glow of the screen reflect in Agatha’s eyes. She felt her own heartbeat slow just slightly. She was here. In her body. In this room.

Not alone.

And even when the words turned to things like resection margin, oedema, possibility of deficits, and post-op rehab, Rio stayed upright in that chair, legs grounded, fingers brushing the inside of her pocket, shirt soft against her skin. Every part of her outfit felt like a layer of herself she’d decided to keep on.

“We’ll schedule a new MRI early next week to get current imaging,” she said, flipping a page on her clipboard. “If there’s no significant change, I’m proposing surgery the following Friday. The 25th.”

Agatha felt Rio still beside her.

Not dramatically. No gasp. No protest.

Just… still.

A kind of quiet that felt too sharp around the edges. Too contained to be safe.

She turned her head slightly.

Rio was sitting with hands in her lap, back loose against the chair, jaw set like a door about to slam shut. Her breathing hadn’t changed, but something about her had. A tightening behind the eyes. A flicker of retreat.

Agatha didn’t speak.

Instead, she reached out slowly, deliberately, and rested her hand on the inside of Rio’s forearm, where the skin was warm and soft and bare under the cuff of her green knit vest.

She didn’t squeeze. Didn’t rub circles.

Just made contact.

Rio didn’t move.

Not for a beat. Then her fingers shifted slightly, not away, but toward. Just enough for Agatha to feel the subtle lean of her trust.

Their eyes met. Rio looked at her like someone trying not to fall through ice.

Agatha held her gaze.

That was all. No nod. No smile. Just stillness. Steadiness.

The smallest communication passing between them: I’m here. I’ve got you. Stay with me.

Rio blinked. Her shoulders, which had tensed almost imperceptibly, dropped a fraction of an inch. Her hands unclenched. She inhaled quiet but full and held it just a second longer before letting it out.

Agatha stayed exactly where she was, fingers still resting lightly against her skin.

She didn’t need to say a thing.

Dr. Danvers continued outlining the plan, scans, surgical prep, a short pre-op admission meeting and Rio nodded, just once. This time, she was listening.

Not perfectly, not fearlessly. But present.

That was enough.

When the meeting ended, Rio stood, a little stiff. Agatha let her hand fall away gently, but only after she felt Rio truly steady on her feet.

They left together, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Agatha didn’t ask if she was okay.

She knew the answer already.

The car was silent when they left the clinic.

Not peaceful silence, the kind that builds behind your ribs, pressure rising with nowhere to go.

Rio sat curled against the passenger door, one knee tucked up, fingers twisting the fabric of her oversized hoodie. Her eyes were open, but not seeing much.

Agatha kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other loose in her lap. She didn’t try to speak. She knew that look on Rio’s face, distant, brittle, like she was holding herself together with stubbornness and fraying thread. She knew it because she’d worn it herself, once.

Years ago.

She turned left where she should’ve turned right. A sharp veer off the familiar route home.

Rio didn’t react. Didn’t ask where they were going. Just stared.

The roads narrowed. The trees got thicker. Agatha’s pulse began to rise, but she kept her breath even. She hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even thought of it until they were halfway down the exit ramp… but the moment the idea arrived, it felt right.

Obvious, even.

The dirt road appeared like a memory.

And then, around the bend, the quarry opened up before them, wide, raw, and echoing with silence.

Years ago, Rio brought Agatha here on a night her whole world had broken. Her mother had slapped her across the face during an argument, not the first time, but somehow, that one had made something inside Agatha collapse. She’d shown up at Rio’s door with shaking hands and red cheeks, and Rio had said nothing, just grabbed the keys and driven.

To here.

To this vast, abandoned place where no one could hear them.

And Rio had told her,

“Scream. Just scream. Don’t hold it in. Let it out or it’ll rot you from the inside.”

So she had.

Agatha screamed until her throat burned and her hands trembled and her ribs ached. And then Rio had held her in the dark, right on the cliff’s edge, murmuring, “See? Doesn’t fix it. But it lets you breathe again.”

She never forgot it.

And now, all these years later, Agatha parked the car and cut the engine. The silence rushed back in like water over a wound.

She got out. Didn’t look over. Didn’t explain.

Just started walking toward the old trail.

Behind her, the car door creaked open after a pause.

Rio followed.

The air was cool. Pine-scented. The gravel crunched under their shoes.

They climbed the last few steps to the ridge, and there it was, the drop, the water far below, the wide open nothing of the sky stretching above them.

Rio looked around.

Her shoulders tightened.

And then she knew.

She turned to Agatha, eyes glassy now.

No need for questions. No need for words.

Agatha didn’t say Scream.

She didn’t need to.

Rio took one breath. Then another.

And then she screamed.

Rio’s scream tore through the quiet like glass.

It wasn’t one sound it was all of them. Grief. Rage. Fear. The kind of fear that sticks to your ribs and won’t come loose. The sound of a body that’s been carrying too much for too long.

Agatha flinched.

Not because she was scared of the sound.

Because it broke her.

Rio screamed again, voice cracking, fists clenched at her sides. And then her knees buckled and she dropped to the gravel, shoulders shaking, eyes wide and wet and not even trying to hide it anymore.

Agatha was there in seconds.

She dropped down beside her, arms around her, pulling her in like a lifeline.

Rio collapsed into her chest, sobbing hard now, no words, no explanations, just raw noise. Like something inside her had split.

And for a second, just one, Agatha tried to stay strong.

But then Rio’s fingers fisted in the fabric of her coat, and she felt the shake of her whole body against hers, and it hit.

All of it.

The fear.
The hospital room.
The scan results.
The smell of antiseptic.
The three-minute seizure risk.
The folder Wanda handed her.
The way Rio said I wanted one night where I wasn’t a diagnosis.

And suddenly, Agatha couldn’t breathe either.

Her throat burned. Her chest ached. And without meaning to, without wanting to, she started to cry too.

Not the elegant, teary-eyed kind.

The real kind. Ugly and sudden and whole-body.

She pressed her face into Rio’s hair, breathing her in like it would keep her here longer, like if she just held on tight enough, maybe she could anchor her to this moment, to this life.

Her tears soaked into Rio’s vest.

And Rio didn’t flinch. She just held on tighter.

Neither of them spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

They cried until there was nothing left but breathing. Until the gravel felt warm beneath them. Until the sky above them started to change colour with the fading day.

Agatha finally pulled back just enough to see her face. Her fingers cupped Rio’s cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear that hadn’t even finished falling.

“You’re everything to me,” Agatha whispered, voice cracked raw. “You know that, right?”

Rio’s eyes closed, exhausted and full. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know.”

Agatha leaned her forehead against Rio’s. “I’m so fucking scared.”

“Me too,” Rio whispered.

They sat there, in the place where pain was allowed to breathe, where nothing had to be fixed and just felt it.

Together.

Because sometimes love didn’t mean fixing anything.

Sometimes it just meant staying,
even when it hurt like hell.
Especially then.

And Agatha was staying.

She’d never meant it more.

Chapter Text

The apartment was dim and still, the quiet kind that settles in after an emotional day. The windows were open just enough to let in the city hum, the breeze threading through the eucalyptus Rio kept in a glass bottle by the windowsill.

Agatha moved through the kitchen with easy rhythm, stacking bowls, tossing onion skins into the compost bin, humming under her breath.

Rio was curled up on the couch, hoodie now on, the sleeves tugged over her palms. She was halfway through reading a text when her phone rang, the contact name glowing on the screen.

HECTOR (LANDSCAPE GOD)

Rio answered quickly, voice low. “Hey, Hector.”

“Hey, jefa,” came the bright voice on the other end. “Sorry to bug you, I just wanted to double-check the schedule for Thursday. Mariposa Hills, the sloped garden. You still thinking of being onsite for that drainage layout?”

Rio hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

“Yeah,” she said, trying for breezy. “I was thinking I’d swing by for a bit. Sit in the truck. Just to make sure the grade’s what we talked about.”

Agatha, still at the counter, froze mid-reach for the tea kettle.

“Nope,” she said flatly, without turning around. “She’s not doing any work right now.”

There was a beat of silence on the phone.

Then, laughter. “That Agatha I hear?” Hector said knowingly.

Rio sighed. “Yes.”

“I figured,” Hector said. “Can recognise that voice anywhere, bout time you two made up.”

At that, Agatha turned, her face softening.

It had been over a decade ago. Rio was wrecked with grief, her uncle Marco had been more of a father than anyone ever had been. After her parents died when she was ten, he’d taken her in without hesitation. Taught her how to build things with her hands. How to work hard and keep promises. His passing had left a crater.

And that was the day Rio met Hector.

He’d been helping set up for the burial, just a guy from the grounds crew, working a summer job, dark curls under a beat-up ball cap, quietly respectful.

Rio had asked him, almost absently, about the hydrangeas blooming by the chapel. They ended up talking for twenty minutes.

Two weeks later, she offered him a job. Said she had an idea for a landscaping company and needed someone who could dig and didn’t ask stupid questions.

He’d been with her ever since.

Agatha had been there that day, too, stiff in her borrowed black dress, clutching Rio’s hand through the whole service. She remembered Hector being shy, calling her ma’am, even though he couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than them. Agatha had rolled her eyes and told him if he called her that again, she’d throw his shovel in the lake.

He’d liked her immediately.

And now, all these years later, the two of them were still orbiting Rio, the quiet loyalty of people who’d chosen her and never let go.

“She’s right, you know,” Hector said on the phone, gentler now. “You don’t need to be out there. We’ve got it. I’ll send pics if that helps calm your control issues.”

Rio leaned her head back against the couch. “I miss it.”

“I know. But the job will still be here. We want you whole, boss. Not half-standing and pretending.”

Agatha crossed the room and sat beside her, quiet but solid. Rio didn’t look at her, but she leaned, just slightly, toward the pressure of her side.

“Thanks, Hector,” she said finally. “Tell the crew I said not to mess up the gravel lines or I’ll come back and haunt them.”

He laughed. “Copy that.”

After they hung up, Rio let her phone drop into her lap.

Agatha reached over and took it gently, setting it on the coffee table. Then she looked at her.

Agatha reached out and laced their fingers together.

“You don’t have to hold onto all of it,” she said. “Not right now. Let them show up for you the way you showed up for them.”

Rio exhaled shakily. “Hard to let go.”

Agatha squeezed her hand. “Doesn’t have to be forever. Just… for now.”

And Rio let herself lean, fully this time, shoulder against Agatha’s, head resting on her collarbone, the quiet hum of the city below them, and the knowledge that for once, she didn’t have to carry every shovel and scar on her own.

Agatha was here.

And so were the people Rio had built her life around even from the ruins of loss.

Even from grief.

They weren’t going anywhere

————————

Later that evening, Rio stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching Agatha fold back the sheets, setting a glass of water on the bedside table. She looked so soft in the lamplight, gentle, careful, like she was afraid to touch anything too hard in case it broke.

Rio hated that.

Not Agatha. Not the care. But that look, the one people got when they expected you to fall apart any minute.

Not tonight.

Not yet.

Rio crossed the room in silence, her steps deliberate, controlled. Her body ached, but she ignored it. The dizziness lingered like a shadow in the back of her mind, but she shoved it aside. She was still here, and that mattered more.

Agatha turned toward her, concern flickering in her eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

Rio didn’t answer right away.

She stepped in close instead, hands firm on Agatha’s waist, eyes locked on hers. “I don’t want to be fragile tonight.”

Agatha blinked. “You’re not—”

Rio kissed her.

Not gently.

Not like the world was made of glass.

But like she had one night left to feel everything.

Agatha melted into her, surprised but already reaching. But Rio didn’t let her take the lead. She pressed forward, walking them backward until the back of Agatha’s knees hit the bed. She pushed the blanket aside in one quick motion, never breaking the kiss.

“I don’t want you to hold me like I’m already gone,” Rio whispered against her lips. “I’m still here. Right now. And I need you to know that.”

Agatha’s hands came up to her shoulders, bracing them both. “I know. I do. I—”

“Then let me have this,” Rio said, kissing her again, her hands sliding beneath the hem of Agatha’s shirt, warm palms flattening against her ribs. “Let me feel like I’m not being dragged under. Just for tonight.”

And Agatha did.

She lay back willingly, letting Rio press her into the mattress with a steadiness that surprised them both. Every movement was purposeful, not rushed, not hesitant.

Rio touched her like someone making a vow, like someone memorising. She was strong. She was clear.

She was herself.

Her kisses were deep and sure, hands exploring skin like it mattered, like it grounded her.

Agatha whispered her name once, but Rio just hushed her with a kiss, her thigh sliding between Agatha’s, anchoring them both.

She didn’t want soft pity. She wanted connection.

And they gave it to each other, over and over again, not frantic, but real. Heavy with meaning. Full of breathless laughter and small gasps and the quiet intimacy of knowing someone inside and out.

Later, when it slowed, Rio collapsed beside her, one arm slung over Agatha’s waist, chest rising and falling as if she’d just sprinted a mile. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were brighter than they’d been in days.

Agatha turned to her, voice rough. “That was…”

Rio smirked. “Therapeutic.”

Agatha laughed, breathless, curling toward her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m alive.”

Agatha’s hand slid over her stomach, then rested over her heart. “Yes. You are.”

Rio closed her eyes, letting the moment settle over them. Her body ached. She was tired down to her bones. But she felt whole.

The surgery might take pieces of her.

But tonight, she had all of them.

And she’d chosen to give them to Agatha.

----------

The knock came just as Rio set two mugs of tea on the coffee table.

Three polite raps. Then the telltale sound of the door opening without permission.

“Hello?” came Alice’s voice, light and casual.

“Hey,” Jen added, already stepping inside behind her wife, a paper bag tucked under one arm. “We brought pastries.”

Agatha, curled on the couch with Rio, blinked up in surprise. “You did?”

Alice grinned. “And moral support. You sounded like you could use both in your texts, so we figured, what’s a Thursday afternoon without friends dropping in uninvited?”

Jen held up the bag. “Almond croissants. The ones from that place on East street that sells out by noon. We had to wrestle a hedge fund dad for the last one.”

Agatha gave them a small, amused smile. “I hope you won.”

Jen shrugged. “He blinked first.”

Rio stood to greet them, a little too quickly. “Thanks for coming.”

Alice clocked the urgency but didn’t show it. She gave Rio a subtle nod and turned smoothly back to Agatha.

“So, listen, while we’re here, would you mind running an errand for us?”

Agatha raised a brow. “An errand?”

Jen jumped in, sounding both casual and a little sheepish.

“We’re trying to cook dinner tonight for my sister, it’s her anniversary, long story… and we forgot to pick up the wine we were going to use. The one you recommended, from that shop on Myrtle?”

“The Rioja?” Agatha asked.

“Yes! That one.” Jen nodded, half-exasperated with herself.

“We tried to find it at two places and struck out. We figured if anyone knew which shop it was, it’d be you.”

Alice added quickly, “You could just grab a bottle and come right back. We’ll hang here with Rio, keep her company. No rush.”

Agatha looked between them.

“You want me to run to Myrtle Avenue… for wine you forgot to get… for a dinner you’re cooking for your sister?”

“Yes,” said Jen, completely sincerely.

“And we’ll cover it,” Alice said, pulling a folded twenty from her back pocket like a magician.

“Seriously. Just ten minutes out. No pressure.”

Rio, playing it cool, added, “You’ve been kind of stuck in here with me all week. Might be nice to get a little walk in.”

Agatha hesitated. The logic wasn’t bad. The ask was simple. And the way Rio said it, softly, gratefully, like she didn’t want her to go but also wanted her to breathe, made something in her chest loosen.

Finally, she nodded.

“Alright. You said the shop on Myrtle?”

Jen perked up.

“Corner of Myrtle and Grove. They keep the wine near the back fridge.”

“I’ll be quick,” Agatha said, already grabbing her keys from the hook.

“You three behave.”

Alice gave her a solemn look.

“Absolutely not.”

Agatha rolled her eyes fondly and leaned over to kiss Rio’s cheek.

“Need anything?”

“Just come back soon,” Rio murmured.

She nodded and slipped out the door.

The moment it clicked shut, Rio turned on her heel.

“Go time.”

Alice pulled a roll of twine out of her tote.

“Fairy lights are coiled by the fire escape.”

Jen yanked off her sweatshirt. “The flowers are wilting. Let’s move.”

And just like that, the three of them sprang into action, a blur of napkins, wire hooks, and quiet gay determination. The rooftop above them waited, empty and golden in the afternoon light, ready to be transformed.

And Agatha?

Still totally unaware.

Which was exactly how they wanted it.

45 minutes later, Agatha opened the apartment door and stepped inside, setting the wine bag down with one hand and slipping off her shoes with the other.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Rio?” she called, but the apartment didn’t answer. “Jen,Alice?”

Then she saw it, a folded piece of paper on the kitchen table, written in Rio’s distinctive all-caps print.

AGATHA
Go up to the roof.
(Yes, really.)
Love,
R.

Agatha stared at the note for a second, something fluttering low in her stomach.

She hesitated, just briefly, then smiled softly and headed for the fire escape.

As she climbed, the air changed. The heat of the day had softened, giving way to that gentle, golden coolness just before night. The sounds of the city dulled, replaced by wind in the vents and the soft buzz of dusk.

And then she reached the top.

Her breath caught.

The rooftop had been transformed.

A worn quilt stretched out beneath a low table set for two.

A bottle of wine, already uncorked, stood beside mismatched plates.

A bouquet of wildflowers, some of them slightly uneven, unmistakably hand-tied sat in an old ceramic jug.

Tea lights flickered in half-melted glass jars. And above it all, fairy lights curled between pipes and vents, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.

And there, standing by the table, slightly nervous but trying not to show it — was Rio.

She wore a clean white button-down tucked into loose black trousers. Her curls were still a little unruly from the wind. One hand was stuffed in her pocket, the other holding a single rose, slightly bruised, but lovely in its imperfection.

Agatha stepped forward slowly, wide-eyed.

“You…this is…”

Rio smiled, eyes soft.

“Yeah. It’s a lot. But I wanted to do something that wasn’t about… meds. Or test results. Or just getting through.”

Agatha moved closer.

“You did all this?”

“I had help,” Rio admitted. “But the idea was mine. I wanted to take you on a date. A real one.”

Agatha looked around again, the lights, the care, the dinner, and her throat tightened.

“It’s beautiful.”

Rio handed her the rose, quiet now.

“You’re beautiful.”

Agatha blinked, then laughed a little, half-shy.

“You’re serious about this.”

Rio nodded.

“Yeah. I am.”

A pause settled between them, not uncomfortable, just full.

Then Rio said, gently, “Earlier… when you introduced yourself to Dr. Danvers. You said you were my friend.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked down, then back up.

“I didn’t want to assume anything.”

Rio’s voice was soft but steady.

“Don’t want you to have to assume anymore.”

She took a breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of her pocket.

“I don’t want you to just be with me. I want you to be mine. Officially. Not in-between, not when it’s convenient or when it’s quiet enough to say so. Just… mine.”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just stepped forward, close enough that their arms brushed. Her hand found Rio’s and held it, warm and grounding.

“I didn’t say it at the clinic,” she murmured, “because I didn’t know if you were ready for that. For all of it.”

Rio smiled, the kind that broke a little at the edges.

“I’m terrified.”

Agatha kissed her, slow and certain, lit by fairy lights and sky.

When they broke apart, Rio exhaled.

“So is that a yes?”

Agatha pressed their foreheads together.

“That’s a yes.”

And the city kept spinning below them, unaware, but up here, on a rooftop strung with lights and lit by something real, two women held each other close, dinner forgotten for a moment, everything else falling away.

The rooftop was quiet now. The dinner plates had been nudged aside, the candle flames flickered low in their jars, and the last of the city’s golden light had vanished behind the skyline. The fairy lights still glowed gently above them, casting a warm halo over the blanket where Rio and Agatha lay curled together ,Rio on her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other lazily draped across Agatha’s waist.

Agatha rested her cheek on Rio’s shoulder, her hand tracing the hem of her shirt without thought. Their legs were tangled, the blanket bunched around their knees. From this high up, the world felt smaller. Manageable. Like maybe they could keep it all at bay for one more night.

Rio let out a breath, slow and shaky.

Agatha glanced at her.

“You okay?”

Rio didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were on the sky.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said finally, voice low.

“When this is over, the scans, the surgery, the waking up to bad lighting and worse food — I want to buy us a house.”

Agatha blinked.

“A house?”

Rio turned her head, met her gaze.

“Not big. Just enough space. A little garden out back. Room for your books. Maybe a creaky porch.”

Agatha smiled, surprised. “You’ve thought about this?”

Rio nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about it every time I come out of a scan. Like… if I make it through, I’m not waiting anymore. I want the good things. I want the slow mornings and the grocery lists and the same damn mug every day because it’s your favourite.”

She swallowed.

“I want to build us a greenhouse.”

Agatha’s brow lifted, charmed.

“You mean that ridiculous curved one you drew on a napkin years ago?”

“That’s the one,” Rio said. “With the domed top and sliding windows that’ll leak every winter.”

Agatha laughed.

“You said you didn’t believe in greenhouses because plants should tough it out.”

“I changed my mind.”

Rio’s voice quieted as she continued, almost shy now.

“I want to plant azaleas. All over the garden. Like, reckless amounts of them. Purple ones. The kind you love.”

Agatha froze for a second, something catching in her chest.

“You remember that?”

“You told me once, years ago, that azaleas looked like they bloomed out of stubbornness. Like they didn’t care what month it was, they’d show up anyway.”

Agatha stared at her, moved beyond words. “Rio…”

Rio looked down, suddenly unsure. “Too much?”

Agatha shook her head, eyes glassy. “No. It’s perfect.”

Rio took her hand, held it gently against her chest. “I want a future with you. I don’t just want to get through this, I want to get TO something. And I want it to be you. A house with azaleas. Late dinners. That bunny you said you wanted.”

Agatha laughed, tears spilling now.

“My familiar?”

Rio smiled. “Exactly.”

They lay there, quiet under the stars, hearts pressed close.

Agatha tilted her head up and kissed Rio, slow and deep,not out of fear, not to soothe, but to say yes. To say I see it too.

When they parted, Agatha whispered, “Okay. Let’s build it.”

Rio closed her eyes and pulled her closer.

And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t thinking about what she might lose.

She was thinking about what they might grow.

Chapter Text

The restaurant was one of Rio’s favourites, all reclaimed wood and hanging ferns, low amber light catching in mismatched wine glasses. The kind of place where you could linger without being rushed, where the waitstaff knew to bring extra napkins without asking.

Rio had insisted.

No hospital food yet. No somber vigils or early bedtime. She wanted one last night where she could laugh with her people. Her table, her life, her terms.

And she was in rare form.

“—and then Hector just stares at me,” Rio was saying, gesturing with a breadstick like it was a dagger, “like I’m the unreasonable one for telling the clients to finish!”

Laughter burst around the table. Alice actually choked on her drink. Billy leaned into Lilia’s shoulder, trying not to snort. Even Natasha cracked a smile, her hand casually stealing a fry off Wanda’s plate.

Jen wiped her eyes, grinning. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Rio said proudly. “Told them if they didn’t want to have voyears then don’t have sex in the garden shed.”

“God, I missed this,” Lilia said, shaking her head.

“You mean Rio being completely unhinged in public?” Billy teased.

“Yes,” Lilia said. “Exactly that.”

Rio took a mock bow, hand to her heart. “You’re welcome. I’m here all night. Literally. They’re not cutting into me until morning, so I’ve got at least eight more hours of material.”

More laughter. The mood was light, but it shimmered at the edges, too bright, too careful.

Everyone felt it. The way you feel the drop in air pressure before a storm.

Agatha sat beside Rio, smiling when expected, responding when spoken to, but her eyes never strayed far from Rio’s face. She held her hand under the table the whole time, rubbing soft circles against the back of Rio’s knuckles.

Her wine sat untouched. Her pasta had gone cold.

She was doing her best.

But Wanda noticed.

After dessert, a shared plate of tiramisu and a candle Rio insisted was not symbolic, Wanda caught Agatha’s eye and tilted her head subtly toward the hallway that led to the restrooms.

Agatha hesitated. Then she followed.

Wanda was waiting near the back, half-leaning against the painted brick wall. Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

“You okay?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away. She looked toward the table instead, watching Rio laugh at something Alice was miming, eyes shining with joy so sharp it almost hurt.

Agatha’s voice was small. “She’s so happy. Like none of this is real.”

“She’s not pretending it’s not real,” Wanda said gently. “She’s just choosing joy. For you. For all of us. But mostly for herself.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “She shouldn’t have to.”

“No. She shouldn’t,” Wanda agreed. “But she wants to.”

Agatha folded her arms across her chest, her voice shaking just a little.

“She’s doing this whole performance. Being brave. Being hilarious. And everyone just lets her. Like if we laugh enough, tomorrow won’t happen.”

Wanda nodded.

“But you’re not laughing.”

Agatha looked at her sharply.

Wanda’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be the strong one tonight, Agatha. She’s carrying her part. Let her. She needs to feel like herself before tomorrow. And you—”

She reached out, gently resting a hand on Agatha’s arm.

“—you’re allowed to be scared.”

Agatha blinked fast, eyes glassing over. “If I let myself fall apart, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Wanda’s thumb rubbed small circles over her sleeve. “Then don’t fall apart. Just… bend a little. With people who love her. We’ve got you. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Agatha swallowed hard. “She wants me to go home tonight. Get sleep. So I’m rested.”

“And you don’t want to leave her side.”

She nodded.

Wanda smiled, sad and warm. “Then don’t. Or do. But whatever you choose, let it be love, not fear.”

Agatha let out a shaky breath. Then she reached forward and wrapped her arms around Wanda, pulling her in tight. Wanda hugged her back without hesitation.

“I’m so damn scared,” Agatha whispered.

“I know,” Wanda murmured. “Me too.”

They stood like that for a long moment, breathing in sync, grounded by each other.

When they returned to the table, Rio looked up immediately, eyes flicking over Agatha’s face. She didn’t ask what was wrong. Just smiled, warm and sure.

“You good?”

Agatha smiled softly and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I am now.”

Rio beamed and held out her glass. “Then someone get another round of drinks in.”

Everyone raised their glasses.

To Rio.

The apartment was dim when they stepped inside, the quiet wrapping around them like a heavy blanket. The door clicked shut behind Agatha with a soft finality.

Rio exhaled, leaning back against it for a moment. “Okay,” she said, running a hand through her curls. “That went way better than I thought. Nobody cried in public. Nobody proposed a group seance.”

Agatha gave a small smile, slipping off her shoes.

“Ha! Give it time. Billy looked suspiciously spiritual after the third glass of wine.”

Rio chuckled, pushing off the door and padding toward the kitchen.

“I should probably hydrate, huh? Don’t want to go into brain surgery with a hangover. Might be a bad look.”

Agatha followed her, leaning against the counter as Rio filled a glass. “You were in rare form tonight.”

Rio sipped. “You mean charming? Devastatingly charismatic?”

“I mean loud,” Agatha said, gently. “But… in a good way.”

Rio set the glass down and turned to her. “I needed to hear them laugh.”

“You made sure we all did.”

Agatha didn’t say the other thing, that Rio had been radiant tonight, burning with that particular kind of light people make when they don’t know if they’ll get to shine again.

Rio stepped forward, hands slipping into Agatha’s. “I saw you with Wanda.”

Agatha’s shoulders tensed slightly. “I didn’t want to ruin the night.”

Rio shook her head. “You didn’t. You’ve been steady as hell through all this, but I know it’s costing you.”

Agatha looked down at their joined hands, her voice quiet. “It’s just… tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Rio tugged her gently forward, guiding her toward the couch, not letting go. They curled into their usual corner, Agatha tucked against Rio’s side. The eucalyptus by the window shifted in the breeze, the city humming soft and low outside.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Then Rio murmured, “If this were a movie, I’d be making you promise something dramatic. Like… plant my ashes under a tree.”

Agatha elbowed her, just lightly.

“This isn’t a movie. And you’re not dying.”

“Good,” Rio said, turning her face into Agatha’s hair. “Because I really want to see you with bedhead in that creaky house we talked about.”

Agatha swallowed hard. “Purple azaleas out front.”

“And a porch swing that’ll give us splinters.”

They sat like that, trading slow, tired smiles. The kind of smiles that come at the edge of something terrifying.

Eventually, Rio tilted her head. “You staying?”

Agatha looked at her. “Do you want me to?”

“I always want you to.”

Agatha nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”

They got ready slowly. Agatha brushed Rio’s hair back gently while she took her medication. Rio helped Agatha fold down the bed, hands steady even as her limbs began to shake with fatigue. Everything was quiet motion, soft clothes, clean sheets, light off.

Once they were in bed, Agatha curled around Rio this time, her hand resting gently over her stomach. She kissed the back of her shoulder.

“Do you want me to wake you in the morning? Or let you sleep until we need to leave?”

Rio didn’t answer right away. “Wake me.”

“You sure?”

Rio turned her head slightly. “I want to see your face first.”

Agatha kissed her again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

They lay there in silence, bodies warm against each other, breath syncing slowly. The night felt like it might never end. Part of Agatha didn’t want it to.

But eventually, Rio’s breathing deepened, her fingers curled loosely around Agatha’s wrist.

Sleep claimed her gently.

And Agatha stayed awake for a long time after, counting each rise and fall of Rio’s chest, memorising it like a prayer.

Because tomorrow would come.

But tonight, they were still here.

The light was still blue when Agatha woke.

That early kind of light, pale and unsure, spilling across the floorboards in long, soft strips.

The city hadn’t fully stirred yet.
The radiator groaned in the corner.
Outside, the breeze rustled through the eucalyptus leaves near the window.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

She just lay there, curled around Rio’s sleeping body, one hand resting gently over her heart, their legs tangled. Rio’s breaths came slow and even, her face turned toward the pillow, one hand loosely curled near her chin.

Agatha stared at her like it might keep the clock from turning.

But it didn’t.

Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

6:03 AM.

The day had begun.

Agatha turned her head, brushing her lips gently over Rio’s temple.

“Hey,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

Rio stirred but didn’t open her eyes. “No, it’s not.”

Agatha smiled, brushing curls off her forehead. “It is.”

A beat passed. Then Rio exhaled, long and slow, eyes blinking open.

She looked at Agatha for a long moment before she spoke, her voice thick with sleep. “Did I snore?”

“Like a chainsaw,” Agatha deadpanned.

“Good. Want to make sure I keep my reputation intact.”

Agatha let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.

The apartment was a quiet rhythm of motion, towels warming on the radiator, clothes folded into a bag, coffee steeping in the French press. Agatha moved through it all with silent efficiency, her hands never quite still. She double-checked the hospital forms. Triple-checked the directions. Then refolded Rio’s sweatshirt just because.

In the bathroom, steam curled out from under the door. The sound of the water stopped. A pause. Then Rio’s voice called, low and joking:

“Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“If I die, don’t let Wanda get my vinyl collection. She scratches records.”

Agatha snorted. “You’re not dying.”

“Still. She can’t be trusted.”

Agatha leaned her head against the doorframe, eyes closing for a second.

“I’m going to bring you home,” she said quietly.

The water had stopped. But the silence on the other side of the door was heavy with understanding.

By the time they were ready, the sun had begun to rise in earnest, warm gold chasing away the early blue. Rio sat on the couch, dressed in sweatpants and her favourite hoodie, bag slung at her feet.

She looked tired.

But she looked like herself.

Agatha stood in front of her, keys in hand, dressed in her usual no nonsense slacks and white button down, heels that screamed power.

“Ready?”

Rio stared up at her for a beat, then pulled her down by the lapels of her blazer and kissed her. Not with desperation, but with purpose.

“I’m ready,” she said, when they broke apart. “Scared. But ready.”

Agatha brushed a hand along her jaw. “I’ll be with you every second I can. And when I’m not, I’ll be waiting just outside the door.”

Rio smiled. “I love you.”

Agatha’s breath caught. “I love you too.”

And then they walked out the door together, down the stairs, out into the city that was just beginning to wake, two women facing the edge of something terrifying, hand in hand.

The hospital lobby was sterile in all the ways Rio hated, soft jazz playing from somewhere unseen, the lighting too harsh, the furniture too stiff. But there was a bowl of mints on the counter, and the nurse behind the front desk had kind eyes.

Still, it felt like walking into a different world.

Agatha stood close to Rio’s side as they checked in, her hand a steady point of contact at the small of her back. Rio had shoved her hoodie sleeves up, trying to look casual, like her heart wasn’t thudding loud enough to hear.

Her name had barely been confirmed at the desk when they heard footsteps, purposeful, familiar — and turned.

Wanda was already there, walking toward them down the hallway, her coat swinging open, a bag slung over one shoulder. She moved like she belonged in the space, composed, certain, unflinching.

Rio exhaled at the sight of her. “You’re early.”

Wanda shrugged, her eyes flicking quickly over her. “So are you.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Wanda stepped forward and pulled Rio into a hug, not tentative, not performative. Full-body. Unapologetic.

Agatha stepped back to give them room.

“I told myself I’d be fine until I saw you,” Wanda murmured against her shoulder.

Rio squeezed tighter. “Liar.”

Wanda huffed a soft laugh and pulled back just enough to look at her. “You look like hell, by the way.”

“Yeah, well,” Rio said, smirking. “I figured if they’re going to crack my head open, might as well lower expectations.”

Wanda’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Smartass.”

“Always.”

Wanda’s hand lingered on her arm as she turned slightly toward Agatha, the air between them softer now. “You holding up?”

Agatha nodded once. “Barely.”

Wanda looked at her for a long moment, then gave her the same kind of steady, grounding touch she’d offered in the restaurant hallway, a palm to her forearm, a squeeze that said: I see you.

“Then let me help.”

Agatha swallowed, nodding once more.

A nurse called Rio’s name from down the hall. “Pre-op room three. You can bring two visitors.”

Wanda and Agatha both looked at Rio.

She gave them a tired, crooked grin. “Let’s make it a party.”

Rio changed into the gown without comment, tugging the thin cotton around her body like armour. Agatha folded her clothes carefully and set them on the chair.

Wanda stood by the window, arms crossed but watchful, like she was daring the sun to rise without permission.

A nurse came in and went over the basics. IV line. Consent form. The time block. Rio cracked a joke about signing her life away and winked at the woman. It made her smile, but Agatha saw the way Rio’s fingers trembled slightly as she held the pen.

After the nurse left, Rio sat on the edge of the bed, the paper sheet crinkling under her.

Silence settled.

And then she said, quietly, “Wanda, will you do it?”

Wanda blinked. “Do what?”

Rio reached behind her and pulled out a small elastic hair tie from her hoodie pocket. “My curls. I don’t want them to get shaved off all messy.”

Agatha’s throat caught.

Wanda stepped forward, taking the tie slowly, reverently. “You want me to braid it?”

Rio nodded.

So Wanda did. She moved behind Rio, hands deft and gentle, combing through the curls with her fingers. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real, a single braid down the back, loose and honest.

When she finished, Wanda leaned forward and kissed the top of Rio’s head. “You’re going to wake up from this.”

Rio reached up and squeezed her hand. “And you’re going to be here when I do.”

Wanda nodded, silent but fierce.

Agatha knelt in front of Rio next, both of them breathing a little heavier now. Rio’s hands found hers, and she brought them to her lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle.

“You scared?” Rio asked.

Agatha didn’t lie. “Yes.”

Rio tilted her forehead to hers. “Me too.”

They stayed like that, still, close, until Dr Danvers knocked gently and said it was time.

Wanda stepped back.

Agatha held Rio’s hand until they wheeled her toward the OR doors, only letting go at the very last moment.

“Love you,” Rio called, lifting two fingers in a crooked wave.

Agatha managed to whisper it back, even though it cracked her in half.

And then the doors closed.

Wanda stepped to her side immediately.

Agatha didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

She just stood there, blinking hard, until Wanda wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

And together, they walked back to the waiting room.

Because they’d wait.

Because Rio would come back.

The waiting room was too quiet.

That kind of silence that pressed into your skin, made the air feel heavier than it should. A vending machine hummed in the corner. The wall-mounted TV played a muted weather report no one was watching. The cheap coffee was cold now, long forgotten.

Agatha sat at the far end of the row of chairs, her spine straight, her hands clasped together too tightly in her lap. She hadn’t spoken in a while. Wanda sat next to her, legs crossed, calm on the outside but with the kind of stillness that came from choosing not to pace.

It had been almost two hours.

Agatha finally broke the silence. “She still had that lighter. The yellow one.”

Wanda turned her head slightly. “The one you gave her?”

Agatha nodded. “I didn’t think she’d keep it. I didn’t think she’d keep anything.”

“She did,” Wanda said softly. “She kept more than you think.”

Agatha looked away. “I left.”

“You did.”

“I slept with her. And then I ran. She should’ve hated me.”

“She didn’t,” Wanda said. “She waited. Quietly. Even when she was with me, some part of her never stopped loving you. And I didn’t hate you for that.”

Agatha’s eyes welled. “Why not?”

Wanda shrugged, a gentle smile playing at her lips. “Because it wasn’t about me. Not really. And I knew what I was walking into. Rio… doesn’t love lightly. But when she loves, it sticks.”

Agatha’s voice cracked. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Wanda reached across the gap between them and placed her hand gently over Agatha’s. “You don’t have to know. You’re here now.”

Agatha exhaled shakily. “Are you really okay with it? With her and me?”

Wanda’s eyes softened. “Yes. I’m with Natasha now. And I love her. But even if I weren’t… I’d still be glad. You’re what Rio’s been circling back to for years. It was never about choosing. It was always about timing.”

Agatha nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around Wanda’s.

And then —

A shout down the hall.

Both women turned sharply.

Two nurses rushed past the waiting room doors, followed by a man in dark scrubs and a woman in a white coat. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor, trailed by the beeping of something urgent and electronic.

Agatha stood instantly, her breath catching in her throat. “What’s happening?”

Wanda rose beside her, already moving toward the glass partition. “That’s the OR wing.”

Another nurse came sprinting down the hall, disappearing through the same set of doors, this time marked SURGICAL SUITE 2.

“Rio’s in two,” Agatha whispered.

Neither of them moved.
Not at first.
They couldn’t.
The air in the waiting room had thickened like smoke, like grief waiting to happen.

Agatha stepped forward, hand flat against the glass.

A different nurse, unfamiliar, older, appeared near the front desk, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the room.

Agatha didn’t wait for her name to be called.

“Is it her?” she demanded. “Is it Rio?”

The nurse looked startled. “I—”

Wanda stepped up beside her, her voice calmer but no less firm. “Room two. Please. Just tell us she’s okay.”

The nurse hesitated, then softened. “There was a complication. They’re responding to it. I’ll get an update as soon as I can.”

And she disappeared again.

The silence that followed felt like a scream held just behind the walls.

Agatha sat down hard, like her legs couldn’t hold her anymore.
Her hands shook.
She stared at the floor and whispered, “She’s not supposed to die. Not now. Not after we finally—”

“She won’t,” Wanda said, dropping beside her.
Her voice trembled now too.
“You have to believe that.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Wanda reached for her hand and gripped it tight.
“Then believe me. She’s stubborn. She survived a hundred reasons to give up. She’s going to survive this too.”

Agatha nodded, the tears now falling freely.

Wanda held her hand like it was the only anchor in the storm.

And together, they waited, breath caught in their chests, hearts cracked open, praying for the woman they both loved, in past and present tense, to find her way back again.

The clock on the wall ticked so loudly it felt cruel.

The hallway was quieter now, no more running, no more shouting but that silence only made it worse.

No one had come back to tell them anything yet.
The sterile overhead lights buzzed faintly.
The vending machine clunked like it was mocking them.

Agatha hadn’t spoken since she sat down again, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on the floor like if she moved, even an inch, she might fall apart completely.

Wanda sat beside her, phone in hand, trying not to look at the time, but doing it anyway. Every minute felt like an hour.

Her phone buzzed.

LILIA:
Wanda?? What’s going on? I just had a strange feeling, is Rio out of surgery yet?

Wanda typed back quickly, her thumbs moving with practiced speed:

WANDA:
There was a complication. We don’t know anything yet. Waiting for an update.

She hesitated. Then added:

I promise I’ll text as soon as we hear.

She had barely hit send when the phone buzzed again.

ALICE (2 MISSED CALLS)
ALICE:
Just got out of the station. Tell me what’s happening.
Is Rio okay?? Please call.

Wanda sighed, gently rubbing her forehead. She didn’t want to leave Agatha’s side, not even for a second. But she answered the call.

“Hey.”

Alice’s voice on the other end was a rush of breath. “Wanda, what’s happening?”

“They had to rush into the OR. Something went wrong. We’re still waiting. Agatha’s—” Wanda turned slightly, her voice lowering as she glanced at the woman beside her, “—barely holding on.”

“God,” Alice whispered. “Do you need us there?”

“No,” Wanda said firmly. “Not yet. We just need to all stay calm. I’ll let you know the second we hear.”

“Okay,” Alice said softly. “Tell Rio we’re with her.”

“I will.”

Wanda hung up and put the phone in her lap.

“More updates?” Agatha asked quietly, without turning her head.

Wanda nodded. “Lilia, Alice. Hector’s probably next.”

Right on cue, her phone buzzed again.

HECTOR:
I heard. I’m at the nursery. I can leave if you need me there.

Wanda’s chest clenched. She took a breath and replied:

WANDA:
Not yet. Just hold space for her. We’ll bring her back to you.

She looked up and caught Agatha watching her, eyes glassy.

“She has so many people,” Agatha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “People who love her. I knew that, but now… It’s everywhere.”

“She’s that kind of person,” Wanda said. “She makes room for people and somehow makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room.”

Agatha nodded, lips pressed together tightly. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her coat.

“She always loved you like that,” Wanda added gently. “Even after you left. She never said it like a wound. Just… like a fact.”

Agatha closed her eyes. “I should have come back sooner.”

“You came when it mattered,” Wanda said. “You’re here now.”

Wanda’s phone buzzed again, but she didn’t look this time. She just silenced it and slid it into her pocket. Her attention returned to Agatha, who looked like she was on the verge of breaking open again.

Wanda hesitated, then reached out and took Agatha’s hand.

It was stiff at first, then softened, trembling in her grip.

They sat like that, side by side in plastic chairs, holding on not just to each other but to the fraying edge of hope.

A nurse passed through the corridor. Neither of them breathed.

But it wasn’t for them. Not yet.

So they waited.

Together.

Surrounded by worry, by unanswered messages, by a city full of people hoping Rio’s heart would keep beating, if not just for her, then for all the ones who had built their lives around her.

The coffee in Agatha’s cup had gone cold.

The clock on the wall blinked past hour four.

Neither she nor Wanda had moved much in the last stretch of time, only the occasional deep breath, the soft buzz of Wanda’s phone as more messages came in.
They had stopped replying.
Nothing new to say.

The hallway was hushed now.
No running, no raised voices.
Just that still hospital silence, the kind that settles in your bones.

Agatha’s foot was asleep. She didn’t care.

She kept staring at the double doors, as if she could will Rio through them.

Then, footsteps.

Slower than the ones from before. Steady. Purposeful.

The door opened.

Dr. Carol Danvers stepped inside, hair pulled back messily, face pale beneath the mask pulled down under her chin. Her surgical cap was still on. There were creases under her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t blinked in hours.

Wanda stood first, instantly.

Agatha rose slower, breath caught halfway in her throat.

“Is she…?” Wanda asked.

Danvers pulled the mask off completely and gave them a look that was equal parts exhaustion and reassurance. She walked toward them like she had rehearsed this.

“She’s stable,” she said first, clearly, before they could even ask. “She’s in recovery now.”

Agatha sagged against the nearest wall, hand over her mouth.

Wanda exhaled slowly, like her entire ribcage had been held underwater.

Danvers didn’t smile, but there was relief in her eyes.

“There was a complication,” she continued. “About halfway through, we noticed a pressure spike. One of the surrounding arteries had a subtle bleed we didn’t catch on the pre-op scans. We had to stop, stabilise her vitals, and reroute part of the procedure.”

“Did you get it?” Agatha asked, barely able to speak. “The tumour?”

Danvers nodded. “We got most of it. Not all, but enough to relieve the pressure, stop the seizures, and give her a shot at long-term management. We’ll need to follow up with radiation to target what’s left.”

Agatha closed her eyes, just for a moment.

Her body folded in on itself.

“She’s going to be okay?” Wanda asked, gently now.

“Eventually?”

Danvers paused, just long enough to feel honest.

“We hope so. The surgery went well, considering the complication. But…” Her tone softened. “We won’t know what kind of post-op deficits we’re looking at until she wakes up.”

Agatha looked up sharply. “Deficits?”

“Memory, speech, motor control. She was in there a long time. Her brain’s been through hell. It could be nothing. It could be temporary confusion. It could be more.”

The words hit like ice water.

Agatha swayed slightly. Wanda reached out, steadying her with a hand to the elbow.

Danvers caught it, the unspoken fear. She gave Agatha a look that was both kind and unflinching.

“She knew the risks. And she wanted you both here when she woke up.”

Agatha’s voice cracked. “Can I see her?”

“She’s still unconscious, but yes. One of you can go in. Two at a time once she’s more awake.”

Wanda nodded toward Agatha, her voice soft. “Go.”

Danvers gave a quiet nod. “I’ll take you in.”

Agatha followed her through the doors, her legs shaky but moving.

Wanda stayed behind for now, slumping into the nearest chair and burying her face in her hands, grateful, tired, bracing for whatever came next.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as Agatha disappeared around the corner, following the doctor into recovery.

Behind her, the waiting room held the ghosts of worry, but now, it also held the first breath of hope.

Rio was still here.

And somewhere in the quiet rhythm of beeping monitors, she was making her way back.

The recovery room was dimly lit, the harsh fluorescents mercifully dialled down.

A quiet beep pulsed from the monitors by the bed, steady but slow. The air smelled of antiseptic, plastic tubing, and something warm and metallic beneath it all like blood still drying.

Agatha hesitated in the doorway.

Rio lay in the hospital bed, pale and still, her curls a little damp at the edges from the hours under anaesthesia and lights.

The side of her head was shaved neatly in a crescent arc, a pale line of fresh stitches barely visible beneath the gauze. Her mouth was parted slightly. A nasal cannula fed her oxygen.

She looked impossibly small.

Agatha’s hands gripped the doorframe, the truth of it washing over her in cold waves.

This was Rio.
Her Rio.
Firecracker and storm.
Skin warm from the sun.
Always teasing, always building.
Always moving forward.

…Now unmoving.

But still here.

Danvers had said “stable.” But the word felt meaningless in the face of the woman Agatha had loved in silence for years, now lying beneath a thin hospital blanket with too many wires keeping her tethered to the world.

Agatha stepped forward.

Her boots were quiet on the tile. She didn’t know where to put her hands.

She stood beside the bed and looked down.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“But I’m here. Okay? I’m here.”

Her fingers hovered above Rio’s, then gently wrapped around them, cool and still, but not limp.

There was strength in that grip, even unconscious.

“I should’ve said it years ago. But…” she whispered. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

She leaned closer, her voice catching in her throat.

“You terrified me. You made everything feel possible. I didn’t think I could hold that kind of future. But I want to now. I want the porch. The greenhouse. The stupid mug I’ll never get to use because it’s yours.”

Her smile faltered, but she pressed on.

“You said you wanted to get to something. And I want to get there with you. I don’t care if we have to rebuild everything from scratch. I’ll do it. Just… come back.”

The monitor beeped steadily.

No miracle awakening. No movie moment.

Just breath. Just waiting.

Agatha sat down in the chair by the bed, laced her fingers gently with Rio’s, and leaned in until her forehead touched the edge of the mattress.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she murmured.

And she meant it this time.

No running.
No fear.

Just her.

Waiting.

The room had settled into a rhythm.

The steady beep of the heart monitor. The soft rise and fall of Rio’s chest.

The occasional hiss of air from the oxygen feed. Agatha hadn’t moved much, her fingers still curled lightly around Rio’s, her thumb tracing the space just below her knuckles.

Every once in a while, a nurse would slip in to check vitals, scan numbers, adjust tubing then leave again with a polite nod. Still no movement. Still no flicker of Rio’s lashes. No stir in her fingers. No groggy voice asking what day it was.

Agatha’s stomach twisted.

When the door opened again, it was Dr. Danvers.

She had changed out of her scrubs, now in jeans and a navy fleece, but her exhaustion hadn’t gone anywhere. Her expression was neutral, that professional mask doctors wore like armour but Agatha saw the faint crease between her brows.

Danvers crossed to the bed and checked the monitors without speaking at first. She tapped a few numbers on the screen. Checked the drip. Scanned Rio’s chart on the clipboard at the foot of the bed.

Still, Rio didn’t move.

Agatha’s voice broke the silence. Quiet, but sharp around the edges.

“She’s still not awake.”

Danvers glanced at her. “Not yet.”

Agatha stood, her hand slipping away from Rio’s as she faced the surgeon directly.

“Is that… normal?”

Danvers hesitated, just for half a second.

Long enough for Agatha to notice.

“I expected her to be responsive by now,” Danvers said carefully. “Not necessarily talking, but opening her eyes. Some grogginess. Reflex movement.”

Agatha’s heart sank. “But she’s not.”

“No,” Danvers said slowly, her voice level.

“But she’s stable. Breathing on her own. Vitals are strong. Sometimes the brain just needs more time to come back online. Especially after a complicated extraction like this one.”

“But you expected her to be awake by now.”

Danvers didn’t deny it.

Agatha stepped closer to the bed, her fingers trembling slightly as she looked down at Rio again.

“She was okay going in. You said she was strong.”

“She is,” Danvers said firmly. “There’s no sign of internal bleeding. No swelling. Nothing structurally alarming on the post-op scan. But…” She paused, her voice softening, “we can’t fully know the extent of how her brain processed the trauma of the procedure until she wakes up.”

Agatha looked at her sharply. “You’re not saying she’s in a coma.”

“No,” Danvers said quickly. “Not yet. This is still within a plausible post-op window. Some patients take longer to metabolize anesthesia. Neuro fatigue is real. Her body’s been through hell.”

“But if she doesn’t wake up soon?”

Danvers met her gaze, and for the first time, the calm cracked slightly.

“Then we’ll do another scan. Assess her brain activity more thoroughly. But I don’t want to borrow trouble. Not yet.”

Agatha swallowed, hard.

Dr. Danvers gave her a nod, professional but not cold and turned back to the monitors one more time. Then she rested a hand gently on Agatha’s arm.

“I’ll be close. Call if anything changes.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut.

Agatha sat again, slower this time, and took Rio’s hand once more.

Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

“You always wake up fast. Remember? You said naps made you feel like time-traveling. Said anything more than twenty minutes was a waste.”

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes fixed on Rio’s face.

“So come back. Come back to me. Just open your eyes, Rio. Please.”

But there was no flicker. No twitch. No response.

Only the steady beep of a heart still beating and a silence that was beginning to stretch just a little too long.

Wanda stood near the large window at the end of the corridor, arms crossed over her chest, staring out at the parking lot below.

The sky beyond it was a dull, cloud-heavy navy, streetlights haloed in a faint mist. The city never truly slept, but here, on this floor, it felt like everything had paused.

Behind her, Natasha approached silently, two cups of coffee in hand. She held one out.

“Still warm,” she said gently.

Wanda accepted it without a word, but her fingers curled tightly around the paper cup, like it might anchor her.

“She’s not waking up yet,” she said quietly.

Natasha nodded. “I figured.”

Wanda didn’t look at her. “Agatha said Danvers isn’t worried. But she is. I could hear it in her voice. Something’s wrong.”

“She’s a surgeon,” Natasha said softly. “Even when they don’t say it, you can tell. The hesitation’s always louder than the words.”

Wanda finally looked at her.

“She said Rio should be awake by now. Responsive at least.”

Natasha stepped closer. “Do you want to sit?”

“No.” Wanda’s voice was too quick. She caught herself.

“No. I can’t.”

Natasha didn’t press. She stood with her, shoulder brushing Wanda’s lightly, just enough to be there.

“You know,” Wanda said, voice quieter now, “when we were still together, Rio used to joke that she’d survive a nuclear blast just out of spite.”

Natasha’s lips quirked. “I believe it.”

Wanda’s throat tightened. “She’s survived everything else. Grief. Losing her family. That stupid cliff fall when we were on our honeymoon. She always bounced back. Like it was personal.”

“And now?” Natasha asked gently.

Wanda’s eyes shimmered. “Now I don’t know if she’s coming back. And the worst part is… if she doesn’t, I don’t think Agatha could survive that.”

Natasha reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.

“She’s coming back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” Natasha said. “But I know Rio. And I know she made her peace with the people she loves. She wouldn’t leave that undone. Not when she finally got it right.”

Wanda nodded slowly, blinking hard against the pressure building behind her eyes. “I let her go. And I was okay with it. But I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Natasha tugged her gently into a side hug, her hand rubbing Wanda’s back.

“Because it’s Rio. Because she’s part of your bones. Doesn’t matter how you reshaped your life, she was in the foundation.”

Wanda closed her eyes, leaned into the warmth of Natasha’s shoulder. “She has to wake up.”

“She will.”

They stood like that for a while, side by side in the hum of fluorescent light and vending machines and muffled pages overhead.

Neither moved.

And across the hall, behind a heavy door, Rio lay between silence and survival, trying to find her way back.

The hospital room had dimmed to something softer now, a sleepy wash of amber light from the hallway spilling under the door, casting long shadows against the walls. The monitors still hummed, steady and mechanical, cutting the silence with their quiet insistence that time was still moving forward.

Agatha sat curled in the visitor chair, her coat draped over her legs like a blanket. Her hand still rested in Rio’s, slack now, but still wrapped around her fingers, as if letting go would undo everything.

She hadn’t meant to stay this long.

But every time she tried to leave the room, even to stretch her legs or splash water on her face, something inside her clenched.

What if Rio woke up and she wasn’t there?

What if the first thing Rio saw was the ceiling?

What if she needed her?

So Agatha stayed.

She whispered to her for a while, stories from the rooftop dinner, how Jen had somehow convinced Alice to eat tofu, how Billy had texted her to say Lilia was “being dramatic” but had secretly started making Rio a ‘welcome home’ cake anyway.

She told Rio the things she hadn’t said five years ago. Told her about the version of herself she’d become after she left, the lonelier one.
The one who didn’t laugh as loud.
The one who kept gardening gloves in the kitchen drawer just in case someone might ask her for help again.

Rio didn’t stir.

Not once.

Eventually, Agatha’s voice grew quiet. Then slower. Her head tipped slightly toward the edge of the bed.

The seconds stretched long.

And finally her body surrendered.

Agatha drifted sideways in the chair, her head resting gently on the mattress near Rio’s side. Her hand never let go.

Sleep took her the way grief does sometimes, heavy and reluctant, weighted with all the things she couldn’t change.

But even in sleep, her brow remained furrowed. Her fingers twitched now and then, like they were still holding on. Like her body refused to forget what was at stake, even if her mind needed the rest.

The room held them both in quiet.

Rio, unmoving.

Agatha, dreaming against her shoulder.

And the long, uncertain night still holding its breath.

The hallway was empty now, the overhead lights dimmed for the overnight shift. Nurses moved like ghosts in soft-soled shoes. The world had narrowed to this: the gentle hum of machines, the scent of saline and antiseptic, and the slow turning of a night that hadn’t yet decided how it would end.

Wanda stepped into the recovery room quietly, careful not to let the door creak on its hinges.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her eyes found them immediately, Agatha slumped in the visitor chair, curled sideways with her head resting on the mattress, her face turned toward Rio’s shoulder. One hand was still clasped in Rio’s, the way it had been hours ago.

Rio hadn’t moved.

But she was breathing.

Slow.
Steady.
Still here.

The IV lines trailed gently from her arm. The monitors ticked along in quiet reassurance. There was something oddly sacred about the stillness, like the room had sealed itself into a moment outside of time.

Wanda didn’t approach right away.

She just stood there, watching.

Agatha’s coat had fallen halfway to the floor. Her brow was furrowed in sleep, lips parted slightly, one shoe dangling off her foot. Wanda could tell by the angle of her shoulders that she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, she’d fought it.

Probably for hours.

Wanda swallowed the tightness in her throat.

This wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t regret.

It was something softer. Something better.

She stepped forward quietly and bent down, lifting the edge of Agatha’s coat and tucking it more securely over her lap. Her movements were slow, careful, reverent, almost.

Then she glanced at Rio again.

“Hey, trouble,” Wanda whispered, voice so quiet it barely stirred the air. “You’re still in there, huh?”

She reached out, fingers brushing lightly over Rio’s knuckles, just beside where Agatha’s hand was still holding on.

“You’ve got someone waiting for you now,” she murmured. “Someone who isn’t going to run this time.”

Wanda smiled, small and real.

“She didn’t even make it to sunrise. Knocked out cold… We’re here Rio, and we really need you to wake up.”

She looked between them, Rio in bed, Agatha asleep beside her, a tangle of hands between them, and something in her chest eased.

Not everything in life needed to be dramatic to be meaningful.

Some things were just… right.

She backed away slowly, letting the quiet reclaim the room.

No rush.

No goodbye.

Just space. And time. And love, shaped differently than before, but no less true.

Wanda stepped into the hallway, pulling the door softly closed behind her.

And inside, the woman she had once loved and the woman Rio had always loved slept through the final hour of the longest night.

Together.

⸻

It’s raining in the dream.

The soft kind, silver threads falling in a quiet hush, more mist than downpour. The world around her is muted, the sharp edges dulled by memory, the colours saturated like an old photograph left too long in the sun.

Agatha stands at the edge of the beach. The sand is warm, the rain just started. Rio is there, crouched low with a towel in her hand, sleeves rolled up, curls tied back in a scarf that never quite stayed in place.

She’s laughing.

“We toughing it out?” Rio says, not looking up.

Agatha blinks. She glances up at the dark grey clouds.

“The heavens have opened Rio,” she says.

“You always say that,” Rio replies, still smiling. “And you always stand there anyway.”

Agatha’s heart clenches.

It’s a dream. She knows that now. But that doesn’t soften the way Rio’s voice curls around her name, the way her hands move with practiced grace. Agatha doesn’t speak.

Because she remembers what happens next.

This was that day. The one when everything could’ve changed when it should have. The day Rio reached for her hand and asked what they were doing, really, this thing between them. The day Agatha had touched her cheek, kissed her in the kitchen, and then… run.

In the dream, it’s happening again. The moment swelling in her throat like a storm.

Rio stands, brushing dirt from her palms. She steps closer.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she says softly.

Agatha wants to speak, wants to explain but her voice catches. She can’t move.

Rio cups her face.

“Stay,” she whispers.

And in the dream, for the first time, Agatha doesn’t pull away.

She doesn’t run.

She closes her eyes and leans in not out of fear, not out of longing but because it feels like breathing. Because it feels like choosing.

Rain begins to bead on Rio’s lashes. She doesn’t blink.

Agatha reaches for her, wraps her arms around her waist, and buries her face in her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I was afraid. And I didn’t know how to stay.”

“I know,” Rio says.

Agatha tightens her grip. “But I’m here now.”

“I know,” Rio says again, but this time her voice echoes. Pulls her backward.

The beach fades.

The air thickens with the sound of monitors and a distant voice calling her name.

“Agatha.”

The dream slips like water through her hands.

“Agatha.”

Her eyes snap open.

The first light of morning is spilling across the bed in faint pinks and golds.

And Rio’s hand — the one in hers — just twitched.

Chapter Text

Agatha’s eyes fly open.

Rio’s finger moves.

At first, she thinks she imagined it. But then…again.
A slight twitch of her hand.
A flicker of breath through parted lips.

Agatha’s body jolts into motion. The chair screeches softly as she stands, heart thudding wildly.
She’s at Rio’s side, almost afraid to believe it.

“Rio?” she breathes, voice trembling. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

She brushes her fingers across Rio’s hand, cool and dry, skin papery against her own.
Her throat tightens.
She’s waited for this moment.
For something.
Anything.

Rio’s brow furrows. Her eyelids flutter.

And then, her eyes open.

Agatha’s breath leaves her in a stifled sob.

Relief slams into her so hard she nearly doubles over with it. Her knees weaken. She squeezes Rio’s hand gently.

“Hi, my love. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Rio blinks. Her gaze is loose, unfocused.
She blinks again, trying to piece together the light, the shape of the room, the figure hovering at her bedside.

Her eyes land on Agatha.

And hold.

For a second, a glorious, blinding second, Agatha is sure Rio knows her.

But then Rio’s expression shifts.
Slightly.
Almost imperceptibly.

A flicker of confusion.
A small, polite furrow in her brow.
The way you’d look at a kind stranger helping you off the pavement.

She doesn’t speak. Just stares at Agatha with the vague wariness of someone trying to place a name they’ve forgotten.

Agatha freezes.

Something in her chest cracks open.

“No, no, no,” she whispers, stepping closer. “It’s me, darling. Agatha.”

She hears the desperate edge in her voice. She doesn’t care. Her hand moves to Rio’s cheek, hesitant, aching.

Rio turns her head ever so slightly- away.

Not harsh.
Not rejecting.

Just… lost.

Agatha’s world tips sideways.

The beeping continues. The light buzzes overhead. None of it matters.

She doesn’t remember me.

The thought pierces her like a blade. The warmth of relief turns cold in her veins.

Then the door opens.

Wanda steps in, cautious and quiet, a paper cup in hand. Her eyes widen at the sight of Rio awake.

And Rio sees her.

Agatha watches it happen in real time.

Recognition.

Rio’s face, barely capable of movement, softens.

Her eyes lock onto Wanda like a lifeline. She exhales, long and shaky, something loosening in her chest. That same murmur, like comfort, like safety- escapes her throat.

Wanda steps in, unsure.

And Rio… smiles. Faint. But real.

Wanda crosses the room slowly, her eyes never leaving Rio.
The moment their gazes lock, something like light breaks across her face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
She sets the cup down without looking, hands suddenly trembling. “You’re awake.”

Her breath catches in her throat.
She hadn’t let herself imagine this moment.

Not really. Not with certainty. Not after the hours of bruised silences in the waiting room, watching Agatha pace like a shadow, refusing to cry.

She reaches for Rio’s hand. “I missed you. We all did.”

Rio’s fingers twitch again, slow, dragging.

She looks at Wanda, really looks at her, and there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes.

Not full memory. But warmth. Trust.

Agatha watches from behind them, trying not to crumple beneath the weight of it.

Wanda glances back, her joy faltering as she sees Agatha’s expression, how pale she’s gone, how tightly she grips the rail of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Then Wanda turns to Rio again, her voice gentler now, coaxing. “Rio, do you know who this is?” She gestures toward Agatha.

Rio blinks slowly. Her face twitches with effort. Her gaze slides back to Agatha.

And then… nothing.

Just confusion. Cautious, distant confusion.
Like she’s looking at someone who might belong in a dream she can’t quite remember.

Wanda’s smile falters. Her throat tightens.

Agatha steps forward, voice soft and shaking.

“It’s okay. It’s all right. You’ve just woken up. Things are… jumbled. I’m here.”

Rio tries to speak. Her lips move, dry, stiff, but no sound comes out.

Her brows knit in frustration. She fumbles again, tongue heavy, throat unused.

She looks away. A flicker of shame.

Agatha swallows the sob that claws at her throat and nods.

“I’m going to get Dr. Danvers,” she says, quiet but steady. “Just to check you over, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

She turns quickly, almost too quickly, walking out into the corridor before her composure can fully snap. The cool hospital air feels too thin. Her hands won’t stop shaking. She grips them into fists and presses them to her sides.

She’s awake. She’s alive.
But she doesn’t know me.
Not even a flicker.

Agatha spots Dr. Danvers at the nurses’ station, scanning a tablet.

“Danvers,” she calls, trying to keep her voice level. “She’s awake. She opened her eyes and tried to speak, but she…she can’t. And there’s… memory issues.”

Danvers looks up instantly, her expression sharpening. “Okay. I’ll come now.”

They walk back together. Agatha’s legs feel numb. Her heart hasn’t stopped pounding since Rio blinked at her like a stranger.

When they re-enter the room, Wanda’s still at Rio’s side, holding her hand gently, murmuring something too soft to hear.

Danvers moves swiftly, professionally.

“Hi, Rio. I’m Dr. Danvers, you’re in the neurology wing, post-op. You’ve been under for a while. I’m just going to do a quick check, okay?”

Rio shifts slightly, eyes tracking Danvers, but she says nothing. Just a tiny, frustrated noise at the back of her throat.

Danvers speaks to a nurse, who begins checking vitals. “Eye movement is responsive. Trying to vocalise, that’s a good sign. But let’s not push it too hard right now. The brain’s still in the early stages of healing.”

Agatha stands a few paces away, arms folded tight over her chest, biting the inside of her cheek to stay calm. She’s nodding. She’s pretending to be composed.

But inside, she’s unraveling.

Danvers approaches her quietly after a few minutes.

“It’s early. Memory loss is common post-op. Especially facial and emotional recognition. Doesn’t mean it’s permanent.”

Agatha nods again. She’s heard this before, she’s read the pamphlets, memorised the risk factors. But none of it could have prepared her for …this.

Not for the way Rio looked at her like she didn’t matter.

Danvers turns back to the bed. “We’ll run some imaging once she’s stable, but this is a good first step. She’s waking up.”

Agatha forces a smile. “Thank you.”

And then, as the nurse adjusts the IV and Wanda brushes a curl from Rio’s forehead, Agatha steps back toward the doorway. Just enough distance so she can breathe.

Not far. But enough.

Enough to not let anyone see the tears finally rising.

She doesn’t leave the room, not really. Just hovers in the doorway, hands braced lightly against the frame, like she’s waiting for someone to call her back in.

Like she hasn’t already been dismissed.

Inside, the light feels too bright. The beeping too loud. Wanda’s voice a gentle murmur as she reassures Rio in the only way she knows how, through familiarity, warmth, a history that Rio, apparently, still carries somewhere in the fragments of her memory.

Agatha watches the way Rio responds to her. How her brow relaxes just a little when Wanda touches her hand. How she turns her head toward her voice like a plant reaching for the sun.

It’s not that she resents it. She can’t. She knows the bond between them was real once, and she knows Wanda would never try to take her place… not now, not like this.

But she feels it anyway.

That gnawing terror in her gut. That Rio, her Rio is still gone, replaced by this stranger with familiar hands and eyes that no longer hold her reflection.

She swallows the taste of copper on her tongue. Her heart hasn’t stopped pounding since she saw Rio’s eyes open and look through her.

Danvers turns and says something soft to the nurse, who scribbles notes on a clipboard. The practicalities. The procedures. The steady movement of professionals doing their job.

Agatha feels like she’s standing underwater, everything muffled, distant. Her arms have gone cold. She wraps them tightly across her chest.

Wanda glances back once, her expression wary, gentle, but watchful. Like she knows Agatha is hanging on by threads but also knows better than to touch the frayed edges.

Agatha manages a nod.
Just barely.

Danvers finishes the check and steps over to her. “She’s stable enough for a scan in a few hours,” she says in that careful, measured tone doctors use when they’re speaking to loved ones who are trying too hard not to fall apart. “She’s going to be disoriented for a while. Could be days. Could be longer. But it’s not unusual.”

“She didn’t…” Agatha’s voice comes out low and scratchy. “She didn’t know who I was.”

Danvers softens, eyes kind. “That part of the brain may still be recovering. It’s too soon to know what’s temporary and what’s not. But the fact that she woke, that she tracked our movements, that’s progress.”

Agatha nods, grateful for the facts, the logic, the scaffold she can wrap herself around. But they do nothing for the ache. For the hollowness inside her that no diagnosis can reach.

Danvers excuses herself, leaving the room quieter again.

Agatha watches as Rio closes her eyes briefly, already exhausted. Her lips twitch, like she’s trying to mouth something, but there’s no sound.

Wanda stays seated, holding her hand, murmuring encouragements.

Agatha wants so badly to go to her. To be near. To run her fingers through Rio’s hair, to press her forehead to hers, to whisper the hundred promises she’s made through long nights and heavier silences.

But she stays back.

Because Rio doesn’t know her. And right now, touching her would feel like trespassing.

She steps out into the hallway, moving down the white-walled corridor slowly, deliberately. Her knees don’t feel steady.

Once she’s far enough away, she lets her back hit the cool wall. Slides down to sit on the floor, knees drawn up, head in her hands.

Her body trembles, not loud, not dramatic. Just that quiet kind of shaking that comes when the body finally lets go after holding everything too tightly for too long.

She’s alive, Agatha tells herself.

But it feels like mourning anyway.

Agatha doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there. Maybe an hour, possibly two.

The hallway is quiet now, the hum of machines distant, nurses moving in low murmurs just beyond the glass. Her legs are numb. Her hands feel too far from her body.

She hasn’t cried. Not really. Just sat there, shaking quietly, like if she stays still enough, she can keep herself from splintering.

She hears the elevator doors open. Doesn’t look up.

Soft footsteps. The gentle click of sensible shoes. Then, knees bending beside her. The faintest scent of cloves and lavender. Warm, grounding.

Agatha blinks.

Lilia.

She turns her head slowly, brows furrowed, caught between exhaustion and disbelief.

Lilia’s crouched beside her, grey curls pulled back into a braid, eyes already shining. She doesn’t speak right away. Just reaches out and places a hand carefully on Agatha’s knee, thumb brushing gently back and forth.

“I came as soon as Wanda called,” she says softly. “She told me you were trying to be brave again.”

Agatha tries to smile. It wobbles, never quite forming.

“I thought I was ready,” she murmurs. “I thought, just seeing her awake would be enough.”

Lilia’s eyes search her face, reading every shadow.

“And it wasn’t.”

Agatha shakes her head, slow and small. “She looked at me like I was… nothing. No flicker. No spark. Just blank. But Wanda… she knew Wanda. Right away.”

Lilia nods, not in agreement, but in understanding. She doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t say it’ll pass. She just stays.

Agatha’s voice cracks now, and the dam finally gives way. “The night before surgery, she made me promise I’d still be here when she came back. And I am. But she’s not.”

Lilia slides down to sit fully beside her, shoulder pressed gently to Agatha’s. Her hands are steady where Agatha’s are shaking.

“She’s in there,” Lilia says, her voice quiet but certain. “The part of her that held your hand? That asked you to stay? It hasn’t disappeared. It’s just… bruised. Buried for now.”

Agatha stares at her hands in her lap. They don’t feel like her own.

“I didn’t know it would hurt like this,” she whispers. “It’s not even grief. It’s like I’m standing next to her grave, and she’s still breathing.”

Lilia leans her head lightly against Agatha’s. “It’s because you love her. The way you always have. Not with conditions. Not with ease. Just… relentlessly.”

A long silence settles between them. People walk past, hospital doors swing, and still, they stay there on the linoleum floor, pressed against the wall like the world has tipped sideways.

Finally, Agatha’s voice returns, hoarse. “She couldn’t speak. She tried. But it’s like the words got lost on the way out.”

Lilia nods. “She’ll find them again. And when she does, she’ll find you.”

Agatha doesn’t answer right away. But her fingers curl slightly, just enough for Lilia to reach out and hold one hand, palm warm against the cold.

They sit like that a while longer. Not fixing anything. Just staying in the silence together, where grief is allowed to exist alongside hope.

The sound of footsteps approaching is soft, measured, heels that click gently on tile, then pause a few steps away.

Agatha doesn’t look up right away. Her head is still bowed slightly, resting against the cool wall. Lilia is beside her, fingers still loosely curled around hers, a steady tether.

Then Wanda speaks, voice low, careful.

“She’s asleep.”

Agatha lifts her head slowly, eyes rimmed red but dry now. She blinks at Wanda, uncertain what expression to wear. She settles for none at all.

Wanda crouches down in front of her, a crease between her brows. She looks tired, too. Softer around the edges than usual.

“She kept trying to stay awake. Her eyes would open, then flutter closed again. I think… I think the effort of it all just wore her out.”

Agatha nods. “She looked so… frustrated. Like her body remembered more than her mind did.”

“She kept looking at me like I was familiar,” Wanda says gently. “But even that was… hazy. It wasn’t just you, Agatha. She’s not fully here yet.”

Agatha swallows hard. “But she smiled at you.”

Wanda doesn’t deny it.
Doesn’t try to comfort her with a lie.

Instead, she says, “She smiled at something soft in the room. I don’t know if it was me or just the sound of someone who wasn’t a doctor.”

Lilia gives Agatha’s hand the faintest squeeze.

“I thought I could handle this,” Agatha murmurs. “Whatever version of her woke up. But I didn’t know how much I’d miss her while she was still lying three feet away from me.”

Wanda leans in, her voice tender but firm. “You don’t have to do it alone. That’s why I called Lilia.”

“I know,” Agatha says, glancing sideways at her friend. “Thank you.”

Wanda stands again, but stays close. “You want to come sit with her for a bit? Even if she doesn’t know why you’re there… maybe it’ll help her remember.”

Agatha hesitates. Her whole body aches with it, the longing to be near, the fear of being unseen again.

But after a moment, she nods. “Yeah. I want to sit with her.”

Wanda steps aside, giving her space. Lilia helps her up carefully, like she’s made of glass that’s already cracked in a few places.

As they walk back down the hallway, Agatha steadies herself, not with hope exactly, but with something more quiet. More enduring.

Love that doesn’t vanish just because it isn’t recognised.

Chapter Text

The room is dim now. The overhead lights have been lowered, shadows stretching long and soft across the floor.

Machines beep gently. The world has stilled into something almost peaceful.

Rio lies still, her face slack with exhaustion, breath slow and shallow. There’s a faint crease between her brows, even in sleep, like her mind is still searching, still trying to climb its way back through fog.

Agatha sits beside her.

The chair has been pulled close, almost too close, knees brushing the edge of the bed. Her hands rest quietly in her lap. She doesn’t dare touch Rio again, not yet, not unless Rio reaches first.

But she leans in, just enough that her voice won’t wake anyone else. Just enough for Rio, somewhere deep inside, to hear.

“You have to remember me,” she whispers. “You have to.”

The silence answers her. A faint shift in Rio’s breath.

Agatha exhales slowly. Her voice is steadier this time. Gentler.

“Remember the greenhouse. The one you promised me you would build. The house we would live in.”

She swallows hard.

“And the azaleas…”

Rio shifts in her sleep, just slightly. Agatha’s breath catches.

“I know you’re still in there,” she says, barely above a whisper now.
“Even if you don’t know who I am when you wake up, I’ll remind you. I’ll remind you every day. The greenhouse. The quarry. Summer at the beach house. The way you tuck your thumb into your fist when you’re thinking.”

Her voice cracks, just once. But she doesn’t stop.

“I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

Rio stirs, her fingers twitch, her brows tighten, just for a moment.

Agatha watches her, eyes stinging. Not with expectation. But with something softer.

Not hope.

Devotion.

She reaches out, finally, and lets her pinky finger rest lightly beside Rio’s hand on the blanket. Not touching. Just near.

“I love you,” she murmurs. “Even if you don’t know me yet.”

Then she leans back slowly, the chair creaking under her. And she waits, quiet, steady, watching the shape of Rio’s breath rise and fall like tides against the shore.

The morning light is thin and grey, bleeding in through the edges of the blinds. Rio is still asleep, her breath shallow but even. Agatha hasn’t moved from the chair, except once in the night to press a cool cloth to Rio’s forehead.

She didn’t sleep, just dozed in and out, listening to the rhythm of the machines, the way Rio’s body strained quietly to heal itself.

When the door opens, Agatha startles upright.

Dr. Danvers steps in with a clipboard and calm, clinical presence. Her hair is tied back tightly, her scrubs neat, her expression unreadable but gentle.

“Morning,” she says softly. “We’re going to try a few tests today. Nothing invasive. I just want to see where Rio’s speech and motor skills are landing, now that she’s had a night of rest.”

Agatha nods, rising slowly to her feet. She smooths her cardigan absently, like brushing away creases could make her feel less raw.

Danvers moves to Rio’s side, checking her pupils, murmuring softly.

“Rio? It’s Dr. Danvers. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember me?”

Rio blinks.

The tension in her jaw returns the moment she opens her eyes, like waking pulls her back into confusion. She glances around, and her gaze lands on Agatha and flicks away again, fast.

Distant.
Guarded.

Danvers notices. Her voice stays steady.

“We’re just going to try something simple, okay? Can you lift your left hand for me?”

Rio tries. Her fingers twitch, hand sluggish, but it moves a few inches off the blanket. Danvers nods, scribbles something down.

“Good. And your right hand?”

This one lifts with slightly more ease. She swallows hard, eyes darting between them now, flickering with growing unease.

Agatha steps forward, gently. “You’re doing really well, sweetheart.”

Rio flinches.

Her lips move, like she’s trying to form words but nothing comes out at first. Then, barely audible, broken in the back of her throat:

“W… Wa…”

Agatha freezes.

Danvers leans in, encouraging. “Go on, take your time.”

Rio swallows, chest rising and falling faster now. Her hands twist in the sheets.

“W-Wa… Wanda…”

It’s not just a whisper. It’s a plea.

Agatha feels the floor drop beneath her again.

“I’m right here,” she says quickly, stepping forward, heart pounding. “You’re safe, Rio. Wanda’s just down the hall, I can—”

But Rio’s eyes are wide now, panicked. She pulls her hand away from Agatha’s instinctively, curling into herself, breath starting to hitch.

“No, no, it’s okay—” Agatha tries again, voice shaking. “It’s just me. Agatha. Please, you’re all right.”

Rio turns her face away. Her body tenses. Her whole being is recoiling, not in anger, not even in fear, just disconnection. Like Agatha is too much, too unfamiliar, too close to the edges of something she can’t yet reach.

Agatha steps back as if burned.

Danvers moves quickly, gently placing a hand on Rio’s shoulder. “You’re safe, Rio. It’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you. Take a deep breath.”

Agatha can’t breathe at all.

“I should—” she tries to say, but the words catch. Her hand flies to her mouth before the sob can escape, but it breaks through anyway, sudden and sharp.

She turns from the bed, stumbling toward the window, trying to gather herself, but her chest is caving in. She holds onto the sill like it might keep her upright, staring out at the concrete rooftop, the faint grey light. Her vision blurs.

She can hear Rio’s shallow breathing behind her. Danvers murmuring something calm and measured. A monitor beeping faster.

Agatha closes her eyes.

She asked for Wanda.

Not her.

Agatha stands by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the sky blur through tears she won’t let fall. She hears Rio behind her, breathing shallow, unsettled. Dr. Danvers’ voice is calm, steady, holding the moment together in Agatha’s absence.

But she can’t stay in that room right now. Not when Rio is looking at her like a stranger. Not when every part of Agatha’s heart is screaming to fix it… and she can’t.

Her hands shake as she pulls her phone from her pocket. She taps Wanda’s name with a trembling finger.

Wanda answers on the first ring.

“Agatha?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“She asked for you,” Agatha says. Her voice is flat, hollow. “She panicked when I touched her. I… I don’t think I’m helping anymore.”

Wanda doesn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, Wanda walks in, calm but purposeful, her red sweater sleeves rolled up again, like she’s ready to carry something heavy.

She takes one look at Agatha and knows.

Without a word, she wraps her arms around her. Agatha doesn’t lean into it, not yet, but she doesn’t pull away either.

“Let me sit with her,” Wanda says gently. “You need rest. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I can’t leave her.”

“You’re not leaving,” Wanda says. “You’re just stepping back for a minute. That’s what love does sometimes. It breathes when the other person can’t.”

Agatha closes her eyes. She nods. Slowly. And walks out without looking back.

⸻

The apartment still smells like her.

Agatha steps inside Rio’s place, quiet, still, green shadows from the half-open blinds stretching over the floor. Her heeled boots echo slightly on the hardwood as she sets them down.

She crosses to the bedroom slowly, like each step hurts.

Rio’s denim jacket is slung over the back of a chair. There’s a pair of boots by the closet, one of them muddy. Her mug is still on the windowsill from the day before surgery, dried ring of tea at the bottom.

Agatha opens a drawer to pack her things… and that’s when it happens.

The scent of Rio’s t-shirt, cedar and earth and something faintly herbal rises up, and Agatha’s knees buckle. She sits hard on the edge of the bed, clutching the soft fabric in her fists.

And then she breaks.

The sob tears out of her, raw and ragged. She presses the shirt to her face and lets it all come out, every locked-down fear, every sleepless night, every whispered promise to a Rio who may not come back.

She cries until her throat is raw, until her fingers ache from gripping the cotton too tight. She tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like drowning.

When she finally stands again, her bag is still empty. She leaves it. She grabs her coat and keys with shaking hands and stumbles out the door.

⸻

Lilia opens the door before she even knocks.

Agatha’s red-eyed. Pale. Barely holding herself together.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she says, her voice breaking again.

“You’re exactly where you need to be,” Lilia replies, pulling her inside.

Alice is already moving from the kitchen with a mug of tea. Jen follows behind her with a blanket in her arms. Neither of them says anything about the tears, just move, calmly, instinctively, like they’ve done this before.

Agatha sinks onto the couch, surrounded by them. Lilia sits beside her and takes her hand. Alice places the tea gently in her lap. Jen sets the blanket across her shoulders.

For the first time in days, she lets herself be held.

There’s no fixing it.

But there’s warmth. Steady hands. The quiet presence of women who know how to stay, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart.

The blanket around Agatha’s shoulders might as well be made of stone. She’s curled into the far corner of Lilia’s couch, knees drawn up, hands cradling a cold mug of untouched tea. The room is dim, quiet, only the soft clatter of Alice in the kitchen and Jen occasionally pacing by the window breaking the silence.

Lilia sits beside her, angled toward her, patient as the tide. Her hand rests lightly over Agatha’s, grounding.

Agatha hasn’t spoken for a long time. Her body is still except for the tremble in her fingers. Her eyes stare ahead, unfocused.

Then, finally… her voice, brittle and low.

“She forgot me because I left her.”

Lilia blinks slowly. Doesn’t interrupt.

Agatha swallows hard. “Not just the brain damage. Not just the trauma. I wasn’t there for five years. I was halfway across the country, rebuilding my own life while she was here trying to survive.”

Jen stills mid-step behind the couch.

Agatha keeps going, like the words have been waiting in her throat too long. “I didn’t check in often enough. I didn’t ask how bad things had gotten. I let her disappear. I thought, I don’t know, I thought she’d reach out if she needed me. But Rio never did that, not once in her life. She just copes until she breaks.”

Her voice cracks.

“I should’ve known she was sick.”

Alice turns from the kitchen now, her eyes dark and gentle. She leans against the counter, silent, listening.

Agatha’s breath is shaking again. “What if this is… what if this is the cost of my absence? What if her brain just… filed me away with all the other things she didn’t need anymore? What if I lost her because I left too soon and came back too late?”

There it is. The truth. The grief under the grief. The guilt, sharp and mean, curled around her heart like wire.

Lilia doesn’t rush to answer.

She turns slowly, taking the mug from Agatha’s shaking hands and setting it down on the coffee table.

Then she speaks, soft and firm.

“Agatha, if love were that fragile, none of us would have it left.”

Agatha doesn’t look at her.

“You made mistakes,” Lilia continues. “You both did. But you came back. You came back and you stayed. As soon as Rio told you she was sick, you stayed, you didn’t hide, didn’t run. You convinced her to fucking—” she exhales, steadying herself. “To fight.”

Jen’s voice comes next, quiet from behind. “People drift. People get scared. That’s not abandonment. That’s being human.”

Alice walks over now, kneels in front of Agatha.

“You didn’t break her, Agatha. You didn’t disappear. You came back the second you knew she needed you. You’ve been here every goddamn minute since.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Agatha whispers. Her voice is barely there.
“She remembered Wanda. She didn’t even flinch when she said her name. And me… she looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I meant nothing.”

Lilia touches her hand again. “That’s not memory. That’s a wound talking. Her brain is in survival mode. It’s not choosing. It’s just protecting itself.”

Agatha finally looks up, and her face is crumpled, grief, guilt, fatigue, all swimming in her eyes.

“What if she never comes back to me?”

There’s a silence in the room, still and reverent. And then Alice, gently:

“Then we’ll carry you. However long it takes. Just like you’ve been carrying her.”

Agatha exhales, a sound somewhere between a sob and surrender. And then, slowly, she leans forward into Alice’s arms. Alice wraps her tightly, cradling the back of her head like something precious.

Jen sits on the floor beside them, her hand on Agatha’s back. Lilia moves closer again, folding the blanket tighter around her.

Agatha doesn’t have to hold it all anymore.

She just cries, deep, breathless sobs pulled from some quiet well in her chest. She cries for the time lost, for the space between them, for the girl she left behind and the woman who no longer knows her name.

And through it all, the women stay.

No fixing. No rushing.

Just the kind of love that waits in silence.

Rio is awake again, head tilted slightly toward the window, eyes unfocused but calm.

Wanda sits in the chair beside her, one leg crossed over the other, a warm hand resting lightly on Rio’s wrist. She’s been there for over an hour now, just sitting. Not pushing. Letting the quiet do the work.

Every time Rio stirs, every time her gaze wavers and sharpens, she finds Wanda first. Her shoulders drop. Her breath evens out. Something settles in her, like the presence beside her anchors her to something real.

Wanda doesn’t say anything for a while. She just watches Rio watching the light. There’s a fragile beauty in it, Rio’s body, bruised by surgery, still finding stillness beside her.

And yet, beneath the gentle hum of machines and the softness of their shared silence, Wanda’s thoughts twist.

This is what you used to want.

The thought comes uninvited, ugly in its clarity.

Years ago, when Wanda realised Agatha was the love of Rio’s life, when Wanda felt that loss cut straight through her… she’d lie awake some nights and imagine this very thing.

Rio, reaching for her. Choosing her. Remembering Wanda’s voice, Wanda’s touch, Wanda’s steadiness, even if everything else slipped away.

And now?

Here it is. The wish, granted in cruel, accidental form.

Rio doesn’t seem to remember anything but the last five years. Doesn’t remember Agatha’s voice, or her hands.

But she remembers Wanda. Or at least, her body does. Some flicker of comfort, buried in the neural mess.

And Wanda feels it, unmistakably.

She wants me.

Rio’s hand curls slightly, brushing against Wanda’s thumb. Seeking contact.

And Wanda’s chest aches with it. Not joy. Not desire.

Guilt.

Because somewhere, in the quiet dark of her mind, a very small, very selfish voice says:

Let her forget. You could have her again. You could start over. She’s still beautiful, even broken. Even like this.

Wanda breathes in sharply, as if the thought might choke her.

This isn’t her. Not really.

The woman in that bed is missing half her map. Her eyes are haunted. Her speech is still stuck in her throat. This isn’t some poetic reset. This is trauma. Brain damage. Recovery that might not come.

And Agatha—God, Agatha—who is probably breaking somewhere right now—

She’s the one Rio needs back.

Wanda swallows and leans forward, brushing a thumb across Rio’s wrist.

“You love her,” she says softly. “You don’t remember it yet, but you do. She’s your home.”

Rio blinks slowly, confused. She doesn’t speak, still can’t. But her brows pull together. Her lips twitch like they’re trying to shape something.

Wanda smiles, though it hurts. “She’s the one who got you through this. Not me. Not anymore.”

She knows Rio doesn’t understand. Not fully. But she keeps speaking anyway, willing the words to land somewhere deep, somewhere that matters.

“Your heart belongs to her now, and hers to you... you once called her your ‘Shooting star’.”

Rio’s eyes flicker. Something almost like recognition crosses her face, then disappears.

Wanda leans back in her chair and sighs.

“I’m going to help you find your way back to her,” she says. “Even if a part of me wants you to stay right here, with me. Even if I hate that I want that.”

She closes her eyes.

“And if you can’t find your way back… I’ll help her love you anyway.”

⸻

A few hours later, in the dim quiet of the hospital room, Rio lies still.

The machines hum their steady rhythm. Wanda is curled in a chair nearby, half-dozing. Outside, the sky has shifted into that dark velvet just before dawn.

But Rio’s mind is elsewhere.

She drifts.

And suddenly, it’s night.

Not this night. A different one.

It’s warm. Late spring. The air carries the smell of grass and lilac, and the distant rumble of someone playing guitar in another dorm window.

Rio’s sneakers slap softly against the linoleum floor of the residence hall as she bounds up the stairs, hoodie zipped only halfway, adrenaline buzzing in her limbs like soda fizz.

She stops outside a door with a peeling metal number: 3B. Her knuckles rap softly once, twice, pause, then three times.

She waits, grinning.

The door creaks open a few seconds later.

Agatha appears, hair mussed, a worn T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, squinting against the hallway light.

“It’s midnight,” she says flatly.

Rio just grins wider. “Exactly.”

Agatha sighs. “Tell me you didn’t wake me for pizza again.”

“Nope. Better. Come on.” Rio grabs her hand. “You’ll want to see this.”

Agatha blinks. “See what? I have a lecture in the morning, and if this is another prank—”

“It’s not,” Rio says, tugging her down the hallway. “I promise. No buckets of water, no fake spiders. Just… trust me.”

They make their way out of the building, down the front steps, across the quad. Campus is quiet, lamplight spilling in patches across the lawn. The stars are sharp overhead.

Rio doesn’t stop until they reach the back field, where the hill rolls gentle and soft beneath a wide stretch of sky.

She lets go of Agatha’s hand and flops backward onto the grass, arms outstretched.

Agatha hovers for a moment, hands on her hips, exasperated. “You dragged me out here to lie in wet grass?”

Rio just pats the ground beside her. “Ten seconds.”

Agatha sighs again but this time, with a ghost of a smile, and lies down next to her.

They’re shoulder to shoulder. The grass is cool. The sky yawns wide above them.

And then—

A streak of light cuts across the dark.

Then another.

Agatha gasps, just barely.

“I told you,” Rio murmurs, smiling up at the stars. “Meteor shower. Happening all night. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

Agatha turns her head slightly. Her expression is unreadable for a moment, eyes lit faintly by starlight.

“You remembered.”

Rio looks back at her. “Of course I did. You said once, like, way back in high school that you’d never seen one. That our town was too cloudy, too bright, too boring.”

Agatha swallows. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I always listen to you.”

A pause. Another star falls.

Agatha shifts, just enough so their hands brush in the grass between them. Tentative. Barely there.

Rio doesn’t move away.

“I’m glad you woke me up,” Agatha says quietly.

“Me too.”

They lie there in silence for a while, meteors streaking the sky like tiny, burning promises.

⸻

Back in the hospital bed, Rio stirs.

Her fingers twitch once, then settle again.

Wanda watches her sleep, unaware that somewhere in the folds of her healing mind, Agatha’s voice is returning first, not as a name, but as a feeling.

....As a field of stars and a hand in the grass.

Chapter Text

The room is filled with soft morning light, slanting across the floor in quiet angles. Machines hum steadily in the background. Rio stirs.

Her eyelids flutter before opening fully, pupils slow to adjust. The white of the ceiling above her feels endless. Her body feels foreign, heavy limbs, a dull ache in her joints, her throat sandpaper-rough.

She blinks. Swallows. The act hurts.

There’s someone sitting beside her bed.

A woman in grey scrubs, red hair pulled back neatly. Calm eyes. A notepad in one hand, a water glass in the other.

Familiar. Somehow.

But Rio can’t place her.

The woman smiles, soft and steady, and offers the water.

“Just a sip,” she says. Her voice is low, careful. “Don’t rush it.”

Rio doesn’t answer. She accepts the glass with trembling fingers, barely lifting it to her lips. Her coordination is off. The woman steadies it for her, fingers brushing hers, light, professional.

Rio drinks. The cold soothes her raw throat.

She tries to speak.

“Whuh…”

The sound is broken. Barely shaped.

The woman doesn’t flinch. Just nods like she’s heard it a thousand times before.

“It’s okay. Don’t push it. We’ll go slow.”

Rio furrows her brow, frustrated. She tries again.

“Wuh…Wuh…”

The syllable crumbles in her mouth.

The woman leans in slightly. Encouraging. Patient. “You’re safe. You don’t have to get it all out today. Let’s just see what your body can do.”

Rio frowns, her breath catching with effort. Her left hand twitches under the blanket, sluggish and weak.

The woman notices.

She sets the water down and reaches into a small canvas bag. She pulls out a soft blue therapy ball and offers it to Rio.

“Just hold this for now. No pressure. Let your hand remember what it’s for.”

Rio takes it. It nearly slips from her grasp. Her fingers close around it slowly, like her brain is dragging the signal down an old wire.

“Good,” the woman says. “That’s good.”

Rio’s brows knit. Her voice—hoarse, uneven—breaks through again.

“You…?”

The woman looks at her, gentle, unbothered.

“I’ve been helping you,” she says. “We’ve worked together before. A while back.”

Rio blinks. “I… know you?”

“Not fully, maybe,” the woman says carefully. “That’s okay. Doesn’t matter. We’ll start from now.”

Rio leans her head back against the pillow, breath shallow. Her eyes flick to the window. Outside, the sky is washed-out blue. She stares like it might answer her.

After a long pause, she tries again. “Ag…ah…”

It’s not a word. Just a shape.

The woman doesn’t react visibly, but her fingers tighten briefly around the pen in her lap.

“Say that again?” she asks, voice soft.

Rio opens her mouth, but the sound has already slipped away.

She shakes her head, frustrated.

“It’s okay,” the woman says quickly. “Don’t chase it. It’ll come when it’s ready.”

Rio’s grip tightens faintly around the ball. Her shoulders sag with exhaustion, but there’s a flicker in her eyes now. Something restless. Like the feeling of a dream you can’t remember.

The woman stands slowly. “That’s enough for today. You did good.”

Rio doesn’t answer. Just watches her move around the bed, gathering supplies with careful, practiced efficiency.

She lingers a moment longer than necessary before speaking again.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll keep getting stronger. We’ll go at your pace.”

Rio nods, barely.

As the woman heads for the door, Rio speaks again, so softly it’s nearly a breath.

“Th-thank you.”

The woman pauses, hand on the doorframe. She turns back.

This time, her smile breaks through the professionalism. A little warmer.

“You’re welcome, Rio.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Rio alone in the soft hum of morning, heart beating slow and uneven, mind tugging at threads it doesn’t quite know how to follow.

⸻

The door clicks shut with a soft finality behind Natasha as she steps into the hallway.

She exhales, rolling her shoulders once to release the tension from her neck. Her tablet is tucked against her hip, but she hasn’t written anything down yet. Her eyes are far away.

Wanda stands against the wall just a few feet down, arms crossed, her red sweater sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She’s been waiting, restless, but still. The kind of stillness that only barely hides the storm underneath.

When Natasha reaches her, Wanda straightens. “How is she?”

Natasha leans her back against the wall beside her, letting her head fall back with a quiet sigh. “Tired. Frustrated. But there’s movement. She managed a few syllables. Stronger grip on the right side. Held a therapy ball for a full minute.”

Wanda nods slowly, her jaw tight. “Did she say anything else?”

Natasha glances at her, hesitating.

Then: “She tried to say a name.”

Wanda turns fully now. “Who?”

“I’m not sure,” Natasha says carefully. “It started with ‘Ag—’ but she couldn’t finish it. It might’ve just been a sound. But it stuck in her mouth like it belonged there.”

Wanda’s lips part, then close again. Her expression flickers, surprise, then something that looks dangerously close to hope, quickly buried beneath guilt.

Natasha watches her for a beat.

“Where IS Agatha?” she asks, quiet.

Wanda looks away. Her voice is low when she answers.

“She left. Yesterday morning.”

Natasha’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“She didn’t run,” Wanda says quickly. “She just… unraveled.”

Natasha doesn’t speak. Just listens.

Wanda swallows. Her eyes are fixed on a point in the distance, somewhere past the nurse’s station, past the hum of monitors and polished linoleum.

“She’s been here every minute since the beach house. She’s the reason Rio even agreed to the surgery. But when Rio woke up and looked at her like she was a stranger…” Wanda’s voice catches. “It broke something in her.”

Natasha’s shoulders sink a little. “She thinks it means Rio doesn’t love her anymore.”

Wanda nods. “And I think—” She pauses. “I think it hurts more because Rio remembered me. My name. My voice.”

There’s a silence between them. The kind that carries weight.

Wanda lets out a breath. “I keep thinking about how it should’ve been the other way around. That Agatha’s name should’ve been the first thing out of her mouth. Not mine.”

“It wasn’t a choice,” Natasha says gently.

“I know that,” Wanda says quickly. “Intellectually, I know. But it still feels wrong.”

Natasha looks at her for a long moment.

“Are you afraid Agatha won’t come back?”

Wanda shakes her head. “She will. But she’s afraid Rio won’t.”

She turns to her with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “She thinks the universe is punishing her for leaving. Like memory is some divine payback.”

Natasha is quiet for a beat, then says softly, “She’s wrong. Rio’s brain is injured, not selective. It’s not personal. But grief… makes everything feel like punishment.”

Wanda nods slowly, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple. “I just wish she’d stayed. I think Rio was trying to remember her. She was so close.”

A beat.

Then, a whisper, almost to herself: “And I don’t want to be the only one Rio reaches for.”

Natasha doesn’t try to fix it. She just steps closer and gently touches Wanda’s hand.

“You’re not,” she says.

Wanda looks at her, startled.

“Agatha might not be in the room,” Natasha adds, “but she’s still here. In Rio’s memory. Even if it’s buried deep.”

Wanda blinks fast, a single tear threatening to fall. “I told Rio she loved Agatha. That her heart belonged to her, even if she didn’t remember. I didn’t think she’d believe me.”

Natasha offers the smallest of smiles. “She might not believe it yet. But her body does. That’s where memory starts.”

They stand in silence for a moment longer.
Then Wanda straightens.

“When Agatha comes back,” she says softly, “I want Rio to know she chose her. That she stayed. Even when it hurt.”

Natasha nods. “Then we’ll keep reminding her until she does.”

And behind the closed door, Rio lies still in bed, her fingers twitching once more against the blanket.

Like her body’s still searching for someone it doesn’t know it’s already missing.

⸻

The room is quiet in the late afternoon hush, the light warm and golden against pale walls. Machines hum softly beside the bed, marking the slow rhythm of Rio’s breath. Her head is turned toward the window, half-lidded eyes tracing patterns in the sunlight, though it’s not clear what she sees.

The door opens gently.

Boots first. Worn leather, dirt still clinging to the soles. Then a wide frame, a familiar flannel, a bouquet of purple flowers cradled awkwardly in one hand.

“¿Hola, mi cielo?” comes the voice gravelly, low, soft with age and affection. “You still remember me, or do I gotta reintroduce myself?”

Rio’s head turns, slow and laboured.

Her eyes land on Hector, and something changes.

A flicker of recognition, faint but immediate. Her lips part, her chest rising sharply.

“H-Hec…” she breathes. Her voice is barely there, dry and strained, but the sound of his name forms true.

Hector grins, eyes creasing at the corners.

“There she is,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Still kickin’. Though you look like you lost a round with a backhoe.”

Rio makes a weak sound. A tiny laugh. It scratches her throat on the way out.

He pulls a chair close, sets the bouquet down on the rolling table beside her.

“I brought these,” he says, settling beside her with a grunt. “Thought they might make the place less ugly.”

She blinks at the flowers, her eyes dragging across the purple blooms.

“Az…” she starts, but the word crumbles in her mouth. Her brow creases with frustration.

Hector follows her gaze, picking one up to fluff the petals gently.

“Azaleas,” he supplies. “The purple ones. Hardy little bastards. These grew all over that client’s fence line last year, remember? You said they looked like they were angry at the sun.”

Rio doesn’t respond.

Her eyes stay locked on the flowers.

She’s not blinking now.

Her breath has caught.

The colour. The curl of the petals. The faint sweetness rising in the warm air.

The smell hits something.

Somewhere deep in her chest, something shifts.

Not a memory—a flash.

The tug of a sheet in a too-warm dorm room. Laughter. A voice. A girl with ink on her fingers and something feral in her smile.

“They don’t care what time of year it is,” the voice is saying.

“They grow anyway.”

A pause.

Then, with a huff of certainty:

“Out of stubbornness. Just like me.”

Rio’s mouth opens.

She doesn’t even realise her fingers have twitched again, dragging weakly across the blanket toward the vase.

She looks at Hector now, but not fully.

Through him.

As if she’s looking for someone else in his face and not finding her.

“Who…” she rasps. Her voice trembles with confusion. “Said… that.”

Hector looks up, startled.

“Said what, boss?”

She swallows hard, frustrated. Her fingers dig into the blanket now.

“About… flower.”

She’s breathless from the effort. Her body trembling slightly under the strain.

Hector leans in, confused, brows drawn together.

“No sé,” he says softly. “I don’t know, cariño. You?”

Rio stares at the azaleas like they’re betraying her.

Her eyes fill, and she doesn’t know why.

Because it’s not recognition exactly.

But something inside her just knows that the voice that said those words—that called herself stubborn like a flower—was important. Was hers. That it meant everything.

And that she’s lost it.

Her lip quivers.

Hector sees it, and immediately his hands are on hers, steady and sure.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, switching to Spanish out of instinct. “Tranquila. No te esfuerces. It’ll come back. Don’t force it boss.”

She tries to calm her breath, but the frustration is bitter behind her teeth. The memory slips again, and it hurts more than anything.

He doesn’t understand. No one does.

Not about the azaleas. Not about the voice.

She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, overwhelmed.

Hector squeezes her wrist gently.

“I don’t know for sure who said it,” he murmurs. “But I know one thing.”

Rio looks at him, tears now sliding slow and silent down her cheeks.

“you must miss her like hell.”

And Rio nods.

Not because she remembers the name.

But because missing her feels like the only real thing she has left.

⸻

Agatha’s phone buzzes once on the table beside her coffee, the screen lighting up with a name she hasn’t spoken to in a long time.

Hector.

She stares at it for a second before answering, her voice quiet but alert.

“Hector?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the soft sound of wind and gravel crunching under boots. Then:

“She remembered something.”

Agatha’s heart stutters.

“What?”

“I don’t know what exactly,” Hector says. His voice is gentler than usual, touched with that slow Spanish cadence that always made Rio feel safe. “But it wasn’t small.”

Agatha sets her mug down, fingers trembling. “Tell me.”

“I brought her flowers. Azaleas. Purple. She looked at them like they slapped her.”

Agatha’s breath catches.

“She tried to speak,” he continues. “Couldn’t get the words out, but she said… someone told her once they were stubborn. That they grew even when they weren’t supposed to. It shook her. She cried.”

Agatha closes her eyes, her chest caving in around the words.

“I told her that,” she whispers. “When we were nineteen. I brought a bunch to her dorm room in a coffee can and said they reminded me of us.”

Hector lets out a slow breath on the other end. “Then it’s in there. Somewhere.”

“She didn’t remember my name, did she?”

“No,” Hector says, honest but not unkind. “But she missed you. I could see it.”

Agatha presses her hand to her mouth.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Hector adds. “Wanda’s doing her best. But this? This felt like it was yours.”

Agatha nods, even though he can’t see her.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“She still loves you,” Hector says simply. “Even if her brain hasn’t caught up.”

Agatha closes her eyes again.

“I’ll come,” she says, voice low. “Not today. Not yet. But soon.”

“She’ll be waiting,” Hector replies, and hangs up.

Agatha sits alone for a long time, the mug cooling in her hands, the ache in her chest shifting into something else.

Not quite hope.

But the sound of her name, unspoken but reaching, echoing faintly through the ruins.

——

The phone rings in the early evening.

Lilia is at the kitchen counter, hands dusted with flour, preparing dough for something she doesn’t intend to eat. The house is quiet, the radio playing something slow and old in the background.

She wipes her hands on a tea towel and checks the screen.

Wanda.

She answers immediately. “Hey.”

There’s a hesitation on the other end. The kind Lilia recognises.

“Is she worse?” she asks softly.

“No,” Wanda says, voice gentle but tired. “She’s… the same. But something happened today. With Hector.”

Lilia listens, silent, as Wanda explains…the flowers, the reaction, the almost-memory. The way Rio reached for something she didn’t understand.

When Wanda finishes, Lilia exhales slowly, one hand pressed flat against the counter to keep herself steady.

“That’s something,” she says.

“It is,” Wanda replies. “But I don’t want to wait for another maybe. I want to help.”

“What are you thinking?”

Wanda’s voice tightens just slightly, like she’s afraid of overstepping. “I want to bring in more people she loves. People she’s connected to. If we surround her with familiar voices, faces, scents—maybe it’ll trigger more. Danvers agrees its time.”

Lilia’s quiet for a long beat.

“Agatha’s not ready,” she says softly.

“I know,” Wanda replies. “I’m not asking her. Not yet.”

Another pause.

“I was asking you.”

Lilia closes her eyes.

“I’m not family.”

“You are,” Wanda says. “You always have been. She grew up in your house more than her own. You know her stories. You were there when Marco died. She calls your soup witchcraft.”

Lilia lets out a quiet laugh.

“I just think… if you sat with her,” Wanda adds gently, “told her some of those things, about Marco, about that stray cat she pretended she didn’t feed for two months, maybe something will click.”

Lilia nods, even though she knows Wanda can’t see it. Her throat tightens. “I’ll come in the morning.”

Wanda exhales in relief. “Thank you.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them, comfortable but weighty.

Then Lilia says, “And Wanda?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing the right thing. Even if it hurts.”

Wanda’s voice falters. “Sometimes I think I should step back. That I’m… standing in the way.”

“You’re not,” Lilia says firmly. “You’re standing in the gap. Until she finds her way back.”

Another beat. Softer, but certain.

“And she will. Piece by piece. Even if she never says Agatha’s name out loud again, she’ll know her. Just like she knows you.”

There’s a quiet sniffle on the other end.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Lilia says, clearing her throat.

“Bring the soup,” Wanda says, voice shaky but smiling now.

“Obviously.”

⸻

The hospital halls are quiet again, low voices, soft rubber soles against tile, the hush that always falls just before evening.

Wanda rises from her chair as soon as Lilia walks in. Her arms are full, thermos tucked under one arm, cloth bag slung over her shoulder, long skirt whispering across the floor with every step. There’s flour on her sleeve and a stubborn little curl of grey in her hair that won’t stay pinned.

“She’s awake,” Wanda says softly. “Drowsy, but present.”

Lilia nods. Her face is calm, but there’s a flicker of emotion under the surface. She gives Wanda’s hand a squeeze as she passes, then slips inside the room.

Rio is curled slightly toward the window, her face pale, lips dry, eyes dull but alert. Watching the light, the shadow, the way the dust moves like it remembers how to dance.

She doesn’t turn until Lilia speaks.

“You always hated hospitals,” Lilia says softly, setting the bag down. “You said they smelled like bad news and boiled linens.”

Rio turns her head slowly.

Her eyes find Lilia, and stay there.

A flicker.

A frown.

And then, a whisper, raspy and hesitant: “Li…lia?”

Lilia smiles, and her eyes brim. “Still the best damn memory in the room.”

Rio blinks at her, tears already catching without falling. Her mouth moves like she wants to say more, but the words aren’t there.

“I brought soup,” Lilia says, lifting the thermos. “Same one I made the first night you slept in Marco’s guest room. Do you remember?”

Rio’s brows furrow. She doesn’t answer, but her body leans forward almost imperceptibly. She doesn’t remember, not really.

But she feels it.

Lilia pours the soup carefully, holds the mug near but not quite touching.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks.

Rio nods, shakily.

“The first time I met you, you were thirteen,” Lilia says, her voice warm, slow, the way you speak to a flickering flame. “Your parents had passed a few years before. Marco moved into the old yellow house next to mine. You didn’t talk to anyone that first week. Didn’t eat much either. You kept wearing that same red hoodie, even though it was July.”

Rio’s mouth twitches at the corner.

“Marco had to work nights back then. Landscaper’s schedule,” Lilia continues. “I was twenty-five. No kids of my own. He asked me to check in on you. Make sure you ate. So I did.”

She sets the soup down on the bedside table and folds her hands in her lap.

“I started making dinner for two instead of one. Dropping off leftovers. You wouldn’t say much, but you always left the empty containers in the sink. Cleaned. Like you were trying to say thank you without the words.”

Rio’s hand lifts slightly, slow, trembling, and Lilia gently places the mug in it, helping her hold it steady.

“Then one night,” Lilia says, “you showed up on my porch with a plastic bag full of rock samples and a book about meteor showers. Sat down next to me like we’d always done that. You just said: ‘My uncle thinks I need a therapist. You’re cheaper.’”

Rio lets out the faintest huff. Not quite a laugh, but almost.

“We became friends after that. Not mother-daughter. Not quite sisters either. Just… two people who needed someone to sit still with.”

Rio sips the soup, slow, uneven, but when it hits her tongue, she closes her eyes. Something shifts in her shoulders. Like the air in her lungs has changed shape.

“I told you once,” Lilia says, “that you didn’t have to be brave all the time. And you told me—‘I don’t know how else to survive.’”

Her voice falters, just for a moment.

“And then Agatha came,” she adds softly. “And you started figuring out how to live.”

Rio’s eyes open.

Lilia pulls something else from the bag: a small river stone, smooth and cool, the kind they used to collect from the quarry back in the summers when the heat hung off their backs like wet cloth.

She places it in Rio’s lap.

Rio blinks. Her fingers move slowly, stroking the surface.

Her voice is barely a breath: “Quarry.”

Lilia nods. “You fell in once. Thought you could make the jump from the second ledge. Marco wanted to ground you. I told him not to. You were trying to impress someone.”

Rio’s lips part.

A memory stirs, not whole, but bright.

Laughter. A sharp voice calling her a coward. The burn of adrenaline. A mane of brown curls and blue eyes.

Lilia watches her carefully. “She was always too clever. And never half as calm as she pretended.”

Rio stares down at the stone.

“She?” she whispers.

“Agatha,” Lilia says gently. “You don’t remember everything. But your hands do. Your heart does.”

Rio doesn’t speak. Her eyes blur.

She looks down at the soup, the stone, the lap of her blanket like it’s a map she’s just starting to read again.

And then, almost inaudibly: “Think I…Miss… her.”

Lilia reaches forward and rests her hand over Rio’s, firm and grounding.

“I know,” she whispers. “She misses you too.”

⸻

The therapy room is quiet but filled with the soft sounds of progress.

A resistance band stretches and snaps back with each slow repetition. A pencil wobbles in uncertain fingers. A water bottle clicks shut.

Rio sits at the padded table, upright but tired, her posture uneven, left arm visibly weaker than the right. Her brow is furrowed with effort as she focuses on a simple sequence: touch the block, name the colour.

“Green,” she murmurs, the word warped but present.

Natasha offers a small nod, crouched beside her with a clipboard. “Good. And this one?”

Rio frowns, tapping a red block. “Reh… reh…”

Wanda steps forward from her perch near the wall. “Red,” she says gently. “Like your favourite hoodie.”

Rio blinks at her. “Red,” she repeats. Clearer.

Natasha jots something down, voice low. “Speech muscle coordination’s improving. Fewer dropouts in the R and G clusters.”

Rio doesn’t understand the words, but she understands the warmth in their voices. She’s grateful for it, though it aches, this strange new shape of her world. She knows Wanda. She knows Natasha. She trusts them.

But there’s a hole somewhere behind her ribs, and she doesn’t know who or what fits in it.

She reaches for the next block, but her hand fumbles. The plastic piece clatters to the floor.

“Shit,” she mutters, frustrated.

Wanda’s already moving to pick it up when the door opens.

And Agatha walks in.

She’s a silhouette at first. Backlit by hallway light. A deep plum coat folded over one arm, her black sweater close-fitted, her heels somehow quiet despite the tile. Her hair is tied up, though loose strands have escaped, curling at her temple. Her eyes, sharp, unreadable—land on Rio instantly.

The whole room stills.

Natasha straightens slowly. Wanda’s breath catches in her throat.

Rio doesn’t see her, not at first. Her head is down, still frustrated about the block.

But then something changes.

She feels it.

She looks up, eyes lifting slowly.

And they meet Agatha’s.

A beat.

Two.

Three.

Then
Rio blinks.

Hard.

Her lips part.

Not recognition.

Not yet.

But a jolt.

Something primal. Like déjà vu and falling at the same time.

Wanda watches Rio carefully. She doesn’t speak.

Agatha doesn’t move. She doesn’t dare.

But Rio is already shifting, clumsily trying to sit up straighter.

“Agatha,” she whispers. Her voice cracks on it.

Wanda steps closer. “What did you say?”

Rio swallows, hand trembling slightly as she reaches out, not toward Agatha, not fully but toward the feeling of her.

“I… know,” Rio says slowly. “I… don’t know… but I know.”

Agatha’s face crumples, just for a moment. Then she forces herself still.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, voice trembling. “Don’t force it. I’m not here to scare you.”

Rio’s brow creases. “Not… scared.”

Natasha glances at Wanda—should we stop the session? But Wanda subtly shakes her head.

This is the session now.

Agatha steps forward, each footfall slow, quiet, as though approaching a wounded animal.

“You always said rehab was bullshit,” she murmurs, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. “You hated structure.”

Rio lets out a small, broken huff. “Still… do.”

Agatha’s breath catches. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s something.

The therapy session ends, though no one declared it finished. Wanda and Natasha quietly stepped out not long after, leaving Agatha and Rio in the low golden light of early evening. The room is still, the leftover tension of the day settling into something quieter.

Heavier.

Agatha sits beside Rio now, not too close. She’s watching her carefully, still unsure how much is too much.

Rio leans back against the padded chair, visibly tired, but her eyes haven’t left Agatha. Not once.

“You… look…tired,” she says softly, her voice thick, syllables still uneven.

Agatha huffs. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Rio’s lip twitches, almost a smile. Her head lolls toward her shoulder, breath slow.

Agatha studies her for a long moment. Then, almost absently, she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a phone. Rio’s phone. The case is battered at the edges, there’s a faded sticker of a cartoon dog on the back.

“I found this in the apartment,” Agatha says, voice quiet. “It was shoved between the couch cushions. You forgot to bring it with you when you left for the hospital.”

Rio frowns. “Didn’t… know I had.”

Agatha looks down at the phone, thumb brushing across the screen.

“I almost didn’t check it,” she admits. “Felt invasive. But I wanted to see if you’d taken any notes, reminders for yourself. You were always a little scattered.”

Rio makes a tired sound.

Agatha’s smile is faint, fragile. “Anyway. I found something.”

She turns the phone toward Rio, not pressing play yet. Her thumb hovers over the screen.

“A video,” she says softly. “You made it the night before surgery. You didn’t tell me. I think you were hiding in the bathroom when you filmed it.”

Rio’s breath hitches.

Agatha meets her eyes. “Do you want to see it?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, quiet, but sure:

“Yes.”

Agatha taps the screen.

The video begins in near-darkness, the grainy wash of low light across Rio’s face. She’s in a hoodie, sitting on the edge of a tub. Her voice is hushed, almost a whisper, and the video shakes just slightly with her breathing.

“Okay. Um…”

She glances toward the door in the background, then looks back at the camera.

“I’m recording this because Agatha is in the next room, and I’m pretty sure she’ll confiscate my phone if she catches me getting sentimental.”

Present-day Rio lets out a small breath. She doesn’t smile, but her fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket.

“Tomorrow’s the surgery. And there’s a chance, small, but real, that I won’t come back exactly the same. That I’ll lose… parts. Speech. Balance. Memory.”

She pauses. Her expression is tight. Serious.

“So I want to say this while I still know how to say it.”

Agatha glances at Rio from the corner of her eye, but Rio is glued to the screen.

“I’m Rio Vidal.”

“I have a good life. I have friends who love me—Lilia, Hector, Alice and Jen. Wanda… who, despite everything, never left. She stayed through the scans, the vomiting, the rage. She never flinched. I’ll always owe her for that.”

She shifts slightly in the video, her hand running down her face.

“But the reason I’m recording this is because of Agatha.”

The room goes still.

“Agatha Harkness. She was my first best friend. My anchor. My first real heartbreak. We went five years without each other, and then somehow… she came back. And she was still her. Still sharp, impossible, terrifying… and mine.”

Agatha lets out a shaky breath, one hand pressed over her mouth. Rio reaches over and lays her hand, slow and clumsy, over Agatha’s wrist.

On screen, Rio swallows hard.

“We’re together now. She makes me breakfast every morning and pretends not to like it when I compliment her.. She yells at my socks on the floor. She holds me when I get scared… She saved me.”

“She is the great love of my life. And I don’t ever want to forget that.”

A long pause.

Then, more quietly than anything else in the recording:

“Agatha, if you’re watching this, it means either Im not here anymore, in that case, thank you, for loving me, for giving me your heart… Or if I wake up like a vegetable and forget you… please help me remember.

Te Amo.”

The screen goes black.

Rio’s hand is trembling in Agatha’s now, but she doesn’t let go.

There’s silence. Heavy. Electric.

Rio swallows, her voice nearly broken. “I… said that?”

Agatha turns to her fully now, tears slipping freely down her cheeks.

“You did.”

Rio’s eyes fill again, but her gaze is steady. “…meant it.”

Agatha lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. She leans forward, their foreheads almost touching.

“I know.”

Rio closes her eyes.

Agatha whispers, voice barely there: “I’ll remind you every day.”

And Rio doesn’t say anything else.

She just nods, soft, certain.

Because in her own voice, from a place before the dark, she heard the truth.

And now, at last, she can begin her journey back to her true self.