Archive of Our Own

She's late.

It's not an unusual occurrence, but after everything that's happened today, Rio has to take a deep breath to calm her exasperation. She paces the safe house's living room, occasionally glancing out the window down at the street below. No sign of her — plenty of cop cars driving past with sirens wailing, though.

Godamnit. Godamnit.

It's not that she expected Agatha to follow her instructions to the letter. She's been working with her long enough that she knows perfectly well that's not how Agatha operates. But there's a difference between diverging slightly for the sake of her own entertainment and… whatever the fuck's happened today.

Her assignment was, if not simple, straightforward. A poisoning, meant to look like a natural death. No fuss. No noise. No attention. Not Agatha's favorite MO, Rio knows, but she also knows she's capable of it when the situation requires it — and for as high-profile a target as this, it was definitely a requirement.

Maybe she should have assigned the job to someone else; but the security had been tight, the set up tricky, enough that Rio had known she'd need one of her best. And for all her (many) flaws, Agatha Harkness has always been one of her best — if not her best, really. Not that she'd ever tell her that.

(It's not like Agatha doesn't assume that already anyway.)

But this — this is not clean. It's not quiet. The target is dead alright, which Rio supposes was the primary objective, but not of respiratory failure, in his sleep, with no one finding him until morning.

Instead, he's been found in his locked office this very evening, a letter opener stabbed through his eye all the way to his brain.

The media's already all over it — news alerts are pinging Rio's phone by the minute, and the internet is already clamoring for the identity of the killer. The police, too, are on high alert, canvassing the city around his office, calling for witnesses, locking down roads and streets.

She's not worried about Agatha getting caught, but this is going to be a shitshow to clean up, not to mention having to explain to the client why the low-profile, discrete assassination they were promised turned into the hot new mystery everyone's trying to solve. Her head already hurts just thinking about the unpleasant conversations in her immediate future.

It's not the first time Agatha's disregarded orders — not by a long shot — but this is definitely one of the worst examples of her disrespect of the rules. It's bad enough, in fact, that it forces Rio to consider why she indulges the woman, instead of cutting ties the way she probably ought to have done months back.

Bad idea; this way lie dangerous thoughts she's not interested in having, especially not when she's that frustrated.

Mercifully, this is the point at which the clatter of keys to wood can be heard coming from the front door. Rio stops pacing, crosses her arms, and waits.

Agatha walks in, shutting the door behind her as she does. She's dressed up: a crisp pantsuit, with her usual long coat over it. Her hair is loose, in long waves over her shoulders, and her makeup is sharp and impeccable — no doubt she passed herself off as one of the target's company's higher ups to make her way inside his office. She tosses the keys on the nearby counter, and leans back against the shut door, eyes closed.

Rio raises an eyebrow. "You're late."

Agatha startles, eyes flying open, posture tensing. She catches sight of Rio and sags back against the door. "Jesus," she breathes, and runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. "Give a girl a warning."

And that's… odd. To say Agatha's observant is akin to calling her showy or arrogant — a massive understatement. It's not like her to miss the fact that someone was in the room.

Before Rio can think further on it, however, Agatha straightens. She shrugs off her coat, hangs it up carefully. "Sorry," she says, sounding about as unapologetic as can be, "traffic was hell."

"Wonder why that is."

A corner of her mouth lifts, and she glances at Rio over her shoulder. "Apparently some guy got murdered. Can you believe the depths some people will sink to?"

Rio is not in the mood. "Agatha—"

Agatha rolls her eyes. "Oh, don't Agatha me. Job's done. I'm checking in. What more do you want from me?"

"The job isn't done."

"Oh, it definitely is." Her mouth twitches into a sneer, quickly suppressed. "He's not coming back from that." She heads to the kitchen area and starts opening cabinets.

Rio steps closer, quiet, controlled. "The job," she says, "was a quiet, accidental-seeming death." She tilts her head towards the window, just as another wail of passing sirens can be heard. "Not a creative assassination that triggers a manhunt."

Agatha finds what she's looking for; a glass, which she fills at the sink. "Aw," she says, and takes a sip of water. "You think I'm creative?"

Annoyance flares, hot and uncomfortable in Rio's chest. She stops on the other side of the kitchen island, bracing her hands against the surface. "You were supposed to poison him."

"I did poison him."

Rio blinks. "What?"

"I did poison him," Agatha repeats, and takes another drink of water. A glimmer of amusement shines in her eyes. "I just, you know. Also happened to stab him."

Deep breath. "The job—"

"Oh, please." Agatha sighs, deep and long-suffering. "You know how I operate. I need… an artistic license." She puts the glass down, shrugs. "A bit of whimsy."

"Whimsy," Rio echoes flatly.

Agatha flutters her fingers, grinning impishly. "Exactly." She turns to the fridge, opening the door and inspecting the meagre contents. "Nothing to eat? What kind of safe house even is this, Vidal? I've got notes."

Rio goes around the island to stand next to her. "Do you have any idea of the shit you've put me in?"

"Not my problem," Agatha says with a shrug, shutting the fridge door. She turns to face Rio, one eyebrow up, eyes glittering. "You're the one handling all that admin shit. I'm just here to get the job done."

"Very much your problem, actually," Rio grits out, resisting the urge to clench her fists. "If you were compromised—"

Agatha scoffs. "Please. I wasn't."

"You don't know that. There's too much attention on this; you're going to have to lie low for a while."

Agatha narrows her eyes. "How much of a while?"

"Weeks. Maybe months." To Rio's satisfaction, annoyance inscribes itself on Agatha's features, in the frown between her brows, in the downcurl of her lips.

"Months? That's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous is stabbing a high-profile target through the eye and leaving a goddamn locked door mystery in your wake to make sure everyone will be interested."

"It doesn't mean I need to be benched!"

"It does."

To her surprise, Agatha doesn't push the point. She narrows her eyes, and pushes past Rio, knocking her shoulder into hers as she goes. "Whatever," she mutters. "I'm not having this conversation right now."

Rio snatches her wrist and pulls her back firmly. "Oh, I think you are."

Agatha tries to pull her hand free, but Rio tightens her grip, until it's got to hurt a little. Annoyance flares in Agatha's eyes. "Let go."

"No."

Another pull — Rio hangs on tight. Agatha clicks her tongue, a flash of something dangerous in the curl of her lip. "Last warning."

This is a bad idea. Getting physical with Agatha Harkness always is, no matter in what way — but Rio is pissed, and annoyed, and frustrated, and really not in the mood to back down. She grins. "Try it. Just fucking try it."

Agatha stills. For a moment, there's nothing but those blue, blue eyes, focused unerringly on her. Rio can all but see the wheels turning, the neurons firing — Agatha knows Rio can hold her own, knows this will only make things worse. Knows the most sensible course of action is to back down.

But she's Agatha.

With no other warning, Agatha pounces, free hand going straight for Rio's face, nails long and sharp — Rio knows from experience. Rio ducks out of reach, but Agatha uses the opportunity to kick her, the heel of her boot connecting directly with Rio's knee and sending her almost collapsing.

It takes all her training to stay standing, to keep her grip on Agatha's wrist. In retaliation, she twists at the joint, until it's on the verge of a sprain. Agatha lets out a grunt of pain, and Rio uses the momentary distraction to flip them, to press Agatha's front to the kitchen counter, pulling her arm back into an armlock, pressing against her back to keep her trapped. "Behave," she breathes, right by Agatha's ear.

Agatha's response comes in the form of another kick, this time backwards — but Rio's expecting it, manages to avoid it. She pulls the armlock a bit tighter, until a pained breath hisses from Agatha.

Rio smiles to herself. "Good girl," she mutters.

Agatha growls and throws the elbow of her free arm backwards, catching Rio in the stomach. The air leaves in her lungs in a pained whoosh, leaving her winded and struggling to keep her grip on her. She pushes against Agatha's back a bit more, keeping the locked arm trapped between them, reaching for Agatha's free hand with her other hand and pinning it to the surface of the counter.

"I should fucking fire you," Rio says, because god it's true — she's never had to literally wrestle any of her other assassins into a goddamn debriefing.

Agatha grins at her over her shoulder, all teeth and glittering eyes. "Oh, just try it."

Before Rio can find an answer to that, Agatha bucks against her, trying to throw her off. Rio's answer is to shove her even harder against the counter, until—

A cry escapes Agatha; pained, clearly involuntary, cracked down the middle. It snaps Rio out of her haze in an instant, and she steps back a little, releasing the pressure ever so slightly. "Agath—"

With a shout of what sounds like pure rage, Agatha shakes her off, flips around, and decks her square in the jaw, sending her reeling back.

By the time she manages to clear her vision, pain throbbing along the side of her face, Agatha's holding a goddamn kitchen knife — that's on her, never leave a knife block in any safe house where Agatha's going to be — leaning back against the counter, eyes alight in defiance. But… pale. Breathing ragged, way more than their little struggle should entail.

Rio frowns. "What's—"

Agatha cuts her off, tightening her grip on the knife. "You're not benching me. You fucking need me. End of discussion."

There's a lot Rio could say to that, but it all flies right out of her head when she realizes Agatha is listing to the left, like maybe the floor isn't all that steady. Is she about to—

Agatha collapses.

Rio lunges forward, narrowly avoiding the knife, which clatters to the floor, and catching her around the waist before she can topple down. "Fuck," she breathes, setting her on her feet, heart hammering in her ears. "What the—"

She gets the answer to her question when she realizes the fabric of Agatha's jacket is heavy and damp. With a twist of foreboding at the back of her throat, Rio shifts her grip, pushes the lapel of the jacket aside.

Agatha's shirt is covered in blood. It's concentrated around the lower right abdomen, torn fabric almost black it's so soaked through, but it's spread, so much so that it was only a matter of time until the jacket no longer concealed it anyway.

Agatha's eyes flutter open. For a moment, she stares at Rio, quizzical and disoriented; and then she takes in their position, her open jacket. She steps back, breaking free of Rio's grip. Puts the jacket back down into place.

"What the fuck, Agatha?" Rio breathes, letting it happen, mostly because she's too stunned to do anything else. There's blood on her fingers.

Agatha tips her chin up, sniffs — but Rio doesn't miss the way she reaches with a hand for the counter behind her, steadying herself. "It's fine."

"No it fucking isn't?" Rio shakes her head, taken aback. "What the hell happened?"

Agatha looks away. Her knuckles have whitened, her grip on the counter is so tight. "Asshole realized I'd poisoned him," she mutters. "Stabbed me with the letter opener. So I stabbed him back."

Jesus. Rio reaches forward, to move the jacket out of the way, but Agatha steps out of her reach with a snarl. "I've got it," she hisses. "It's not deep. I'm fine."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Rio's still reeling. "Fuck, Agatha, what the fuck is wrong with you? You were trying to start a fight with a stab wound."

"You started the fight," she retorts mutinously and wow, Rio's never seen someone miss the point so hard before.

"You should have said something. You should have—"

"What's the point?" She sags a little against the counter. "It's not like I can go to a hospital right now, the city's locked up. A stab wound's going to attract too much attention."

"You think I don't have work arounds for that? Fucking hell, Agatha, who do you think I am? I've got doctors on call, I've got contacts in hospitals, I've got—"

Agatha's expression tightens. "No hospitals."

"Yes hospital, actually," Rio shoots back and, mindless of Agatha's recoil, grabs her arm.

Unfortunately, she's forced to let go when Agatha pulls away so hard she almost loses her balance. Rio steps back, hands held up, but Agatha takes another step away from her. There's real rage in her eyes, but it's not all there is.

Fear. Oh, hidden, very well hidden, but Rio's good at reading people, and better at reading Agatha, after the time they've spent working together. It's in the tightness at the corner of her eyes, in her strained posture.

"You think I can't tell when an injury's lethal?" Agatha says, words sharp and cutting. "I know my business, Vidal. Stick to yours."

"Unfortunately for you, you are my business."

Agatha laughs, sharp and sarcastic. "You wish."

Deep breaths. There's no point letting herself get dragged into another argument — not when the other party is still fucking bleeding. "Agatha", Rio says, trying for reasonable. "I'm your handler. Fuck, I'm the one who sent you on this assignment. Part of my job is making sure you don't fucking die on the job."

"Touching." The word drips with condescension.

Holy shit. Rio takes another deep breath. "You're the one who found me, who wanted to work with me. If you didn't want someone in your business, as you put it, you should have stayed freelance."

Her eyes narrow. "That's not why I wanted to work with you, and you know it."

"Tough shit."

Agatha straightens, lets go of the counter. "I don't—" she starts, and trails off, her balance gone to shit as she wobbles in place.

Again, it's down to Rio to catch her before she can collapse. She curses under her breath when she feels Agatha struggle weakly against her. "Fucking hell, Agatha, give it up."

Something in her voice must betray her — that, or the pain finally gets to Agatha — because the other woman sags against her, giving up on her pursuit to fight free. With a careful grip on her, Rio drags her to the couch and helps her sit. It's more of a collapse than a clean sitdown, but the result's the same, which is what matters.

Agatha… doesn't look right. She's pale, with sweat beading on her forehead. Her breathing's too quick, too shallow, and her eyes are half-closed — though still glittering as they fix on Rio, who sits next to her, careful not to jostle her.

Rio represses a sigh. "Can I see it?"

Agatha lets out a low whistle. "Always knew you were into fucked up shit, Vidal."

God. "Shut the fuck up," Rio says, conversational, and, taking the answer as a yes, shifts her jacket out of the way, then the tattered remains of her shirt, uncovering the wound.

Agatha was right: it doesn't look too deep. It's a neat slash, maybe an inch or two in length, and still bleeding sluggishly.

"You need to be checked," Rio mutters. "And stitched up, at a minimum."

Agatha waves a dismissive hand. "Don't need to be checked," she mumbles, like talking's too much effort. "I can take care of the stitches."

Rio's struck speechless. She's been working with assassins for over a decade; she knows how they operate. Skittish, unwilling to be reliant on others, sure… But this is beyond that. Your typical assassin isn't willing to die for a job, much less out of sheer stubborness — but Agatha looks ready to bleed out on this couch if that's what it takes to win the argument.

She lets out a long breath, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Can't let you do that."

"I'm not asking for your permission," Agatha hisses, tensing.

"It's not about permission." She meets Agatha's gaze, lets her see her mean the words. "I have a duty of care, Agatha."

Agatha laughs. "What bullshit—"

Rio's not laughing. "I'm serious." She shakes her head. "You're not some… tool that can be discarded at the end of the day. You're not—"

"Not what?" Agatha cuts in, suddenly sharp. "Not a weapon? Please." A haughty sniff. "That's the definition of this relationship. I'm the weapon, you point me at the right target. That's the end of it."

Rio needs to choose her words very, very carefully. "That's not true." Agatha lifts a dubious eyebrow, and Rio amends, "That's not all it is. Look, I don't know who you worked with before—"

"No one."

Uh huh. Assassins don't tend to spring up fully formed on the international stage, the way Agatha seemingly did a few years back — they're trained by someone, made by someone. But whatever past Agatha's got, she's clearly not keen on sharing it. That's fine; it's up to her. Unfortunately, it's also clearly severely skewed the way she views their relationship as assassin and handler.

"My point," Rio says slowly, "is that this isn't it. Part of my job is making sure you actually make it through the jobs."

And then, there's the other thing: the way Rio cares, way more than she ought to, way more than she can reasonably justify to herself. But she's not about to bring that up.

Unfortunately for her, Agatha's always seemed to possess the uncanny ability to read her mind. She stares at Rio, eyes searching, like she's an enigma to be solved — like she won't move on until she's cracked it. "You give a shit," she says eventually, slow, full of realization. "You really do."

Rio shifts, uncomfortable. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," she tries.

"No," Agatha says, gliding past the brush off like it isn't even there. "Not because of… responsibility, or whatever. You care. About me."

Rio stays silent a fraction of a second too long; Agatha grins.

"Fucking knew you were soft on me," she says, terribly smug for someone with a hole in their abdomen.

Rio stands and pulls out her phone. "I'm calling a doctor," she announces, already walking away.

"It's so embarrassing for you," Agatha calls, unfazed, sounding goddamn mirthful. "Not to mention wholly unprofessional."

"Try not to bleed out," Rio tosses back, and closes the door of the bedroom behind her. She can hear Agatha's laughter from behind the panel, muffled but unmistakable.

She takes a second; closes her eyes and lets her forehead hit the wood with a dull thud. Maybe she just ought to let Agatha bleed out, actually. Would save her a whole lot of trouble.

She sighs, then opens her eyes and dials Jen's number. Not today.

Not today.