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Something is up with Agatha.
It's not that Rio's paying any particular attention to her roommate — more like it's impossible not to notice. Neither of them have any classes until ten this morning, so they're both in their shared room, Agatha working at her desk, Rio reviewing a textbook on her bed. It's quiet, with nothing but the sound of Rio's pages turning, of Agatha's pencil scratching at the paper. The textbook's a boring one, which means it offers precisely zero distraction.
And so, Rio notices.
Agatha's wearing her coat, for one, buttoned up, like she's trying to keep an inexistent chill away. Her free hand is riveted to her temple, like she's trying to hold her skull together by sheer force of will. Worse, she keeps shivering, the motion marked enough that Rio can notice it even at this distance. Combined with how pale she is, and the fact that Rio's very aware that there's some kind of flu sweeping across campus these days, well... It paints a picture.
Rio lasts ten minutes. "You alright?" she calls eventually, making a point not to look up from her textbook — never mind that she's been on the same paragraph for a solid few minutes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Agatha stiffen. "Fine," she snaps, dry, not exactly inviting conversation.
Thankfully, it takes more than that to scare Rio off. "You sure?"
An exasperated sigh. More pointed pencil scratching. "Why do you ask?"
Rio considers her options. Eventually, she settles for,"You're wearing your coat." Diplomatic. "Indoors."
Agatha lets go of her temple to pull at the lapel of her coat, the motion a tad defensive. "Yeah, well." She shakes her head. "It's fucking freezing in here."
"No, it isn't." It really isn't. The heater in their room is working overtime. Rio's wearing a t-shirt, and honestly is a little warm.
Agatha puts down the pen, turns in her chair to face her. "I'm sorry," she says, venomous, "does my wearing a coat bother you?"
Rio opens her mouth.
"Cause if it does," Agatha continues, lethally pointed, "the door is right there."
Rio takes a breath.
"No, actually, you know what?" Agatha slams her notebook shut, grabs for her bag. She stands, shoves the notebook and assorted pencils in the bag, and shoulders the lot. "I'm not interested in being micro-managed in my own goddamn room. Go to hell, Vidal."
On that, she strides her way to the door and disappears through it, letting it slam shut behind her.
Rio closes her mouth.
Well. That went well.
With an eye-roll, she returns to her textbook. Whatever — not her problem.
*
She doesn't hear from Agatha all day, which isn't necessarily a surprise — it's not like they make a point of seeing each other outside of the time they have to spend together by virtue of their shared room. She does glimpse her on campus, looking imperious as hell and, at one point, barking at some freshmen to get out of her way, so really, it seems like it's all business as usual. Maybe Rio'd read her wrong. Not like it matters.
Still — she's in no hurry to get back. No doubt Agatha will still be in a shit mood. And so, Rio lingers at the library after dinner, as late as possible, leaving only once she gets kicked out by the exhausted-looking librarian. She makes her way back to the dorm by as circuitous a route as she can, enjoying the calm and peace of the night as she goes.
All too soon, however, she's back at her door. With a sigh, she braces herself, and makes her way inside.
To her surprise, the room's dark and empty. She flips the switch, wincing at the flood of bright light and, yep: Agatha's bed is made, undisturbed. Except... her coat's on the back of her desk chair, her bag on the floor, her shoes strewn by the door.
Rio frowns. She sheds her own coat and shoes, drops her bag on her desk. Only then does she notice the bathroom door is closed, a sliver of light coming in through at the bottom. Right.
Minutes pass. Five. Ten. At fifteen, something an awful lot like dread starts up at the pit of Rio's stomach. She heads to the door, listening — the shower is off. She knocks. "Agatha?"
No response.
She knocks a little harder. "Agatha, come on. I need the shower."
Agatha's an asshole about hogging the bathroom on a good day, but she never shies away from letting Rio know just how she can spend her time waiting. The silent treatment isn't like her.
Unbidden, thoughts of how pale she'd been that morning spring to mind. The shivers. The hand at her temple.
Fuck it.
"Agatha, if you don't say anything in the next ten seconds, I'm coming in." Nothing. "Last warning."
With a sigh, Rio pushes the handle down — to her surprise, the door is unlocked. The panel swings open, revealing the minuscule bathroom and—
Shit.
Agatha's sitting on the tile, her back to the foot of the sink. She's got her knees to her chest, her arms around her legs, her forehead pressed to her knees. She definitely doesn't look right.
Rio curses under her breath. "Agatha?"
Her roommate shows no sign of even having heard her. In the quiet, Rio can hear her labored breaths, quick and ragged. Not good. So not good.
Slowly, Rio steps inside, kneels on the tile next to her. She hesitates only a second before putting a hand on her shoulder. "Agatha?"
Agatha startles like she's been shot, looking up with wide, bloodshot eyes, and fuck. She's shivering, damp tendrils of hair stuck to her temples, and her eyes are hazy, unfocused. She's looking at Rio with no recognition whatsoever.
That freaks Rio out more than just a little. "Agatha, you with me?"
She is definitely not with Rio, not even a little bit. On a hunch, Rio brings the back of her hand to Agatha's forehead.
"Goddamnit, Harkness," she mutters. Agatha's burning up. "Goddamnit."
Agatha shakes her head, trying to avoid Rio's hand — the most in character move she's pulled all evening. "Don't," she mumbles, barely audible.
Rio lets her hand drop, takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says, more for her own benefit than Agatha's. "Okay."
Something in her voice must click in Agatha's fever-addled mind, because a spark of something that might be clarity lights up her gaze, and, after a moment, she goes, "Rio?"
The relief Rio feels is entirely unwarranted. "Yeah, A+, good job." She squeezes Agatha's shoulder through her sweater, finds it bony and sharp. "Why are you sitting on the bathroom floor, exactly? What was the logic here?"
The haze returns, and Agatha sways a little in place — Rio steadies her as best as she can. "I—" she starts, and frowns, her voice thready, breathy. "I'm not sure." Her hand comes up to her temple, and she screws her eyes shut, looking pained. "I don't— I don't feel great."
Rio counts to five silently. "Yeah, bet you don't," she mutters. Slowly, gently, she uses her free hand to brush the hair that's fallen into Agatha's face back behind her ear. "That would be the fever, sweetheart."
Agatha would never let the pet name slide under normal circumstances; the fact that she doesn't even blink here is enough to set alarm bells ringing in Rio's head.
"Alright," she says, and reaches into her back pocket for her phone. "I'm calling Jen."
Agatha moves, way faster than Rio would have thought possible for someone in her state. She shakes her head and grips Rio's wrist, with impressive strength considering she can barely sit up. "No."
Rio blinks. "No?"
She shakes her head again. Her grip is so tight it's trembling. She's trembling. Her eyes are half closed, red-rimmed and fever-bright. "Don't," she mutters, and, like it's too much effort to keep them open, lets her eyes close. "Don't want her to know."
What? "Jen?"
"No. Not Jen," Agatha clarifies, which does fuck all to help Rio understand what's going on.
"Keep your eyes open," Rio says, because this is freaking her out. She waits until Agatha complies, meets her gaze. "Who then? If not Jen?"
Agatha says nothing. Except... There's a tension, in her mouth, at the corner of her eyes. In her hands, still clinging to Rio's wrist. The truth hits Rio with all the subtlety of a semi through a glass wall.
Agatha's terrified.
There's no doubt in her mind; it's in every line of her posture, in the glimmer in her eyes. So alien, so unfamiliar, save for one other time — that night Rio'd woken her up from a nightmare. She'd refused to say anything about it, of course, but she'd looked exactly like this. Scared out of her mind.
It's a little like gravity's started working backwards. Agatha Harkness is a lot of things — a genius, an asshole, the most annoying person Rio's ever met — but scared? That's not one of those things. Not ever. Seeing her like this... It's not right, and it pulls at Rio's heart in a funny sort of way.
"Who are you talking about, Agatha?" Rio asks, as gentle as she knows how to be.
This time Agatha screws her eyes shut, and it's panic lining her features, speeding up her breathing. "Don't want her to know," she breathes. "Please don't tell her. Please, please, please—"
"Whoa," Rio says, taken aback. "Take it easy, Harkness."
But Agatha doesn't seem to hear her. She shakes her head, her breathing rapid and irregular. "Please," she says again, and her voice goddamn cracks on the word. "She can't know, she can't—"
"Okay," Rio says quickly, squeezing her shoulder, trying to forestall a full-blown panic attack. "I won't tell her. I promise."
Agatha blinks her eyes open. They're wide and blue and watery, confused as all hell; but some of the tension leaves her frame, and she sags against the sink.
Okay, that's one crisis averted. Doesn't solve the major one, though. "We need to get your fever down."
"I'm fine." It's mumbled, but definitely unmistakable.
Rio laughs, incredulous. "Do you even know where you are right now? Who I am?"
Agatha frowns, that lost look coming back in her eyes, a thread of panic making her sit straighter. She shifts, evidently trying to shake Rio's hand from her shoulder, and damnit. That was obviously the wrong thing to say.
Rio lets go of her, raises her hands, palms open. "Hey, it's alright." She forces Agatha to meet her gaze, holds it. "It's just me. Rio. I'm here to help you."
"I don't need help." It's reflexive, automatic — Rio doubts there even is a thought behind it. She'd laugh if it wasn't breaking her goddamn heart.
She lowers her hands. "It's not about needing," she mutters, and Agatha stops moving, watches her with her wide, lost eyes, like she's a puzzle in need of solving, a proof in need of completing — QED. Rio swallows. "Come on. Let's get you off the floor."
She stands, and then starts the perilous process of helping Agatha stand, too. It's difficult; Agatha's legs aren't holding her up, and she wobbles violently as she struggles to her feet, so much so that Rio has no choice but to slip an arm around her waist to steady her. She maneuvers Agatha's arm over her shoulders for good measure, and they start, stumbling, out of the bathroom and into the main room. It's slow, laborious progress, but eventually Rio manages to lead Agatha to her bed. She helps her sit sideways, her back to the wall, her legs stretched out across the bed's width, feet dangling in the air. "Stay here," she says, and raises a finger for good measure. "I mean it, Harkness. Don't even think about moving."
And because she's dubious of Agatha's ability to follow instructions, even when she's in that state — or maybe especially when she's in that state — she makes quick work of filling a glass with water and fishing some Tylenol out of the bathroom cabinet. Agatha turns her nose up at the lot, because of course she does, but ends up taking the pills at Rio's insistence. Getting her to drink the rest of the water is another frustrating set of minutes, but eventually, she caves — and isn't that just the biggest sign that something isn't right.
That leaves them sitting on Agatha's bed, Agatha clinging to her empty glass, looking small and tired and so little like Agatha Harkness that it gives Rio a bit of whiplash.
Rio fidgets with her sleeves, sitting cross-legged next to her. She's wondering if it's worth trying to strong-arm her into another glass of water when Agatha speaks.
"You should go," she mutters.
Um. Rio glances at the room — which also very much happens to be her room, thanks very much — unsure what to say.
Agatha lets her eyes close, lets her head fall back against the wall behind her. "She can't find you here," she continues, barely audible.
That does very little to reassure Rio on whether Agatha's with it at all. She's not an idiot — she's worked out Agatha hasn't clocked where she is at all, but… That raises another question.
Namely, where the fuck does she think she is?
"Who, Agatha?" Rio asks, quiet.
She shakes her head. "She won't like it," she continues, still in that subdued, tired tone. "That you helped me. She won't like you."
Rio can't help a small smile. "I can take it."
To her surprise, Agatha's eyes fly open in something near a panic. She lets go of the glass, which rolls on her lap, and grasps Rio's arm. "No," she says, like it's important, "no, you can't. No one can. You need to go, before—"
And there's so much fear in her voice — real, and heartbreaking, and so unlike Agatha it's still difficult to compute. Rio shifts, slips her arm out of Agatha's grasp and laces their fingers together instead. "I'm not going anywhere, Agatha," she says, and squeezes her hand in reassurance. "I promise."
Agatha looks at her, and it's a strange combination: all the intensity, none of the usual sharpness. It doesn't make the scrutiny any easier to take.
But all she says is, "She'll be home soon. She can't find you here."
"No one's—" Hang on. "Home?" Rio echoes, the word hollow. "As in—"
Does Agatha think she's back home? But then what the fuck is this all about?
But Agatha's already lost the thread of the conversation. Her free hand comes up to her forehead, balled into a fist. "My head hurts," she mutters, eyes squeezed shut.
"Yeah," Rio says, letting it go for now — Agatha's hardly in a state for that line of questioning. Slowly, gently, she reaches for the fist Agatha's still pressing into her forehead, and lowers it down into her lap, working on relaxing her fingers. "You want to get some sleep? Before you say more stuff you'll regret in the morning?"
Agatha shakes her head.
"Oh yes, you do," Rio says cheerfully and, carefully, helps Agatha shift so she's lying down on her side, her head on the pillow. There's no getting her under the covers, but she probably doesn't need them with a fever like that, right? Fuck if Rio knows.
She goes to let go of Agatha's hand, but Agatha clings on. "Are you real?" she asks, small, almost inaudible.
Rio can't help a short, surprised laugh. "Are you calling me a dream? Cause I'm never letting you live that down."
But Agatha looks crushingly earnest, her grip tight, her hand too warm. With a sigh, Rio kneels next to her bed, pushes some of her hair out of her face. "Very real, Agatha. Much to your dismay, most of the time."
Agatha looks unconvinced. She still hasn't let go of Rio's hand. Something tight and uncomfortable sits in Rio's chest.
"I told you," she says, "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."
Miraculously, it seems like the right thing to say. With a shuddering breath, Agatha nods, and lets go. Rio stands, turns out the overhead light, turns on a small bedside lamp. By the time she turns back to Agatha, her eyes are closed, her breathing regular.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Rio sinks down onto her bed, still reeling. It's not that she would have expected a delirious Agatha to be a walk in the park, but she hadn't seen this coming. She can't shake the memory of the fearful look on Agatha's face, the very real panic when she'd thought someone was going to show up. Going to come home.
She shakes her head, tries to clear the thoughts away. None of her business, is what this is. She knows it, and she knows Agatha wouldn't shy away from reminding her of that.
What is her business right now is making sure her roommate doesn't fucking die in her sleep of medical neglect. With a sigh, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and fires off a text to Jen.
*
It's two hours before Agatha stirs. Most of that time has been spent arguing with Jen over text — first over the fact that no, it isn't weird not to have a thermometer, does Rio look like a freaking doctor to her? and then over whether her coming here was necessary. Rio'd fought her on it, knowing Agatha would hate having even more people see her in this state. She'd probably be pissed enough at Rio as it was; there was no need to make it worse.
Eventually, Jen relents, on the condition that Rio monitor her carefully, and get back in touch if there isn't a swift improvement with the Tylenol. Rio's pretty sure there'll be no keeping her out if there isn't.
Mercifully, it doesn't come to that. The moment Agatha blinks her eyes open, Rio can tell she's doing better. Her eyes are still bloodshot, but they've lost the confused haze as they scan over the room, stopping on Rio. They narrow, taking in the fact that she's awake, still sitting on the edge of her bed. "Rio?" she asks, voice dry and cracked.
Thank fuck. Rio puts her phone down. "Welcome back to the land of the cognizant," she drawls, doing her best to hide her relief. "How are you feeling?"
Agatha sits up, the motion slow and laborious. "Like shit," she says, and digs the heel of her hand into her forehead. "What happened?"
"You tried to pretend you weren't sick, got the mother of all fevers, hid in the bathroom, almost had a panic attack in said bathroom, and essentially passed out."
Agatha shoots her a blank look. "…What?"
Yeah, that's probably a lot to take in. "Never mind," Rio says. "You had a pretty bad fever, but I'm taking the fact that you're no longer delirious as a good sign."
Agatha stiffens. "Delirious?"
"You weren't making a lot of sense." She should let it go, probably, and count herself lucky Agatha doesn't remember any of it, but she can't shake the memories. "You uh— You said some stuff."
Her expression locks. "Mh." She shakes her hair out of her face, brings it over one shoulder. "Well, like you said. I was delirious."
"Right." She won't like it. That you helped me. "It's just—"
"What?" The word cracks like a whip, slashing at the air so viciously Rio straightens. Agatha's staring at her, still pale, still with dark circles under her eyes, but with enough intensity that her gaze feels like a tangible thing. Her mouth is flat, her jaw clenched, and her eyes positively radiate challenge — like she's daring Rio to ask.
Part of her wants to; wants to know what in the hell could possibly scare Agatha Harkness so badly. It's not just curiosity, though there is some of that — it's something she doesn't have a name for, a hollow pit at the bottom of her stomach when she thinks of Agatha's ragged breathing, her wide, panicked eyes.
But it's almost two in the morning; she's exhausted, and Agatha must be even more so. Despite her tipped up chin and blazing eyes, she's still shivering, still not quite as imperious as she would normally be. It doesn't feel fair, putting this on her now.
Rio admits defeat. "Nothing," she says, and nods at her. "Jen says you should drink more water."
Exasperation inscribes itself on her face. "You told Jen? Ugh." She stands — Rio's heart rate spikes when she wobbles, but she rights herself quickly — and starts towards the bathroom.
"No cold showers, either."
Agatha gives her a dismissive wave of the hand. "Yes, yes. I can take care of myself."
Rio laughs, short and disbelieving. "Yeah, okay. You're welcome, by the way."
But the door to the bathroom is already shutting behind Agatha.
Rio lets herself fall back down on her bed, blowing out a long breath. Well — could have gone worse, she supposes.
Probably.