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Chapter Text

Agatha stood in the fluorescent-lit conference room, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line of irritation. She could already feel the headache forming.

Rio sat on the edge of the conference table, her jacket discarded over a chair, revealing a casual gray t-shirt that somehow made her seem even more out of place. The rest of the campaign team had scattered after their morning briefing, leaving the two women alone to discuss “strategy.”
Rio hadn’t said much during the meeting, letting Jen and the other staffers present their talking points and social media plans. But now, in the relative quiet, she seemed to come alive.

“We need to get you out of this building,” Rio said in a quick manner, gesturing vaguely toward the windows. “And out of your comfort zone.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested in theatrics.”

“Good, because this isn’t about theatrics,” Rio said, hopping off the table and pacing in front of Agatha. “This is about connecting with people. And right now, you’re about as relatable as a brick wall.”

“I connect just fine,” Agatha shot back.

“No, you don’t.” Rio turned to face her, arms crossed “You lecture. You stand behind podiums and deliver these perfectly crafted speeches that sound like they came out of a PR manual. People don’t trust that. They want to see the human being underneath.”

Agatha stiffened. “I’m not interested in putting on a performance for the sake of optics.”

“It’s not a performance,” Rio said. “It’s about letting people see who you really are.”

Agatha’s gaze hardened. “And what makes you think you know who I am?”

Rio smirked. “I don’t. But I plan to find out.”

Before Agatha could respond, Rio grabbed her jacket and slung it over her shoulder. “Come on. We’re going on a field trip.”

Agatha blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. “A what?”

“You heard me,” Rio said, already heading for the door. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Agatha stayed rooted to the spot. “I have meetings.”

“They can wait.” Rio turned back, her grin infuriatingly smug. “Unless you’re too scared to let someone else take the lead for once.”

The challenge was clear, and Agatha hated how easily it got under her skin. Against her better judgment, she followed Rio out of the conference room.

**

Thirty minutes later, Agatha found herself in a small, bustling café on the edge of the district. It was the kind of place she rarely had time to visit—a far cry from the formal settings she usually inhabited. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the hum of conversation, and the walls were adorned with mismatched art.
Rio led her to a corner table and ordered two black coffees before sitting across from her.

Agatha glanced around, her discomfort palpable. “What exactly is the point of this?”

“The point,” Rio said, leaning back in her chair, “is to observe. This is where your voters are. Regular people, living their lives. If you want to connect with them, you need to understand them.”

“I understand them just fine,” Agatha said stiffly.

“No, you understand their problems,” Rio corrected. “Their struggles, their needs. But that’s not the same as understanding them. You’ve got to meet them where they are.”

Agatha frowned, looking down at her untouched coffee. “This feels contrived.”

Rio chuckled. “It’s only contrived if you treat it like a photo op. Relax. No cameras, no press. Just… observe.”

Agatha sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she let her gaze wander around the café. A young woman in a hoodie typed furiously on a laptop in the corner. An older man read a newspaper at the counter, occasionally nodding to the barista. A group of teenagers huddled around a table, laughing over something on one of their phones.
It was mundane, yet oddly grounding.

Rio watched her closely, a small smile playing at her lips. “See? Not so bad.”

Agatha shot her a withering look. “Don’t gloat.”

“I wasn’t,” Rio said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “But since we’re here, let’s talk.”

“About what?”

“You,” Rio said simply. “The real you. Not this polished version.” She said, as she gestured over Agatha’s figure.

Agatha’s defenses went up immediately. “I’m not here to discuss my personal life.”

“That’s a shame,” Rio said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Because that’s what people care about. They want to know what drives you, what scares you, what makes you tick.”

“What scares me,” Agatha repeated dryly. “What a novel campaign strategy.”

Rio shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. But the more human you seem, the more people will trust you. And trust wins elections.”

Agatha didn’t respond, her expression unreadable.

Rio leaned forward, her tone softening. “Look, I get it. You’ve spent your whole career building this perfect image. But perfection doesn’t inspire people. Vulnerability does. Let them see the cracks, and they’ll believe you’re fighting for them because you’ve been where they are.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue.

**

After the café, Rio dragged Agatha to a local library. It was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered among the shelves.

“Why are we here?” Agatha asked as Rio led her to a display near the entrance.

“This,” Rio said, gesturing to the bulletin board covered in flyers and announcements. “This is what people care about. Community events, volunteer opportunities, book clubs. You want to connect with them? Start here.”

Agatha scanned the board, her eyes lingering on a flyer for a food drive.

Rio watched her, noting the subtle shift in her expression. “When was the last time you did something like this? No cameras, no speeches. Just… showed up.”

Agatha hesitated, then admitted, “It’s been a while.”

Rio nodded. “Then maybe it’s time to change that.”

Agatha didn’t respond, but something about the simplicity of the idea resonated with her.

**

By the time they returned to the campaign headquarters, it was late afternoon. Agatha was exhausted, but there was a strange clarity in her mind—a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in a while.
Rio walked beside her, hands in her jacket pockets, her expression unreadable.

“You did good today,” Rio said.

Agatha scoffed. “I barely did anything.”

“Exactly,” Rio said, her grin returning. “And sometimes, that’s the point.”

Agatha walked briskly down the sidewalk, her heels clicking against the concrete. Rio strolled beside her, hands still shoved into her jacket pockets, her entire posture radiating a careless ease that grated on Agatha’s nerves.

It wasn’t just the way Rio walked—it was everything about her. The casual confidence, the unpolished demeanor, the way she seemed to disregard every unspoken rule of decorum that Agatha lived by.

As if none of it mattered.

It was infuriating.

And yet, Agatha couldn’t help but notice the way people glanced at Rio as they passed. A young couple smiled at her. An older woman gave her a nod of recognition. Even the barista from the café had lit up at her approach, like Rio carried some kind of gravitational pull that drew people in.

Agatha, on the other hand, elicited tight smiles and quick glances. Respect, perhaps. Deference, certainly. But never ease.

Her gaze flicked to Rio’s outfit—denim jeans, scuffed boots, and a black jacket that looked like it had seen better days. It was a stark contrast to Agatha’s tailored suit and neatly pressed blouse, and for a brief, maddening moment, she wondered if that was part of the appeal.

But then Rio shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and slouched slightly as they waited for a crosswalk light to change. Agatha’s irritation flared.

“You could try looking like you belong here,” Agatha said sharply, nodding toward a group of business professionals who stood nearby, all dressed in sleek suits and polished shoes.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code for walking down the street.”

“There’s a dress code for everything,” Agatha muttered.

Rio chuckled. “Ah, there’s the real Harkness. You should think about not caring so much about those things -”

Agatha shot her a withering look, interrupting her “If you’re going to be part of this campaign, you’ll need to make some adjustments.”

“Adjustments,” Rio repeated, her tone laced with amusement. “Like what? Should I start carrying a briefcase and power-walking everywhere?”

“No,” Agatha said, stepping off the curb as the light changed. “But you could start by wearing clothes that don’t look like they were stolen from a garage sale.”

Rio’s laugh was loud enough to draw a few curious glances. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel, Congresswoman.”

“I’m serious,” Agatha said, quickening her pace. “You’re representing me now, whether you like it or not. And if you insist on dragging me through cafés and libraries, the least you can do is look presentable while doing it.”

“Presentable,” Rio said, her grin widening. “You mean boring. Buttoned-up. Polished to within an inch of my life.”

“I mean professional,” Agatha snapped.

Rio hummed thoughtfully, as if considering the idea. “Okay, fine. But only if you’re willing to make a deal.”

Agatha stopped abruptly, turning to face her. “A deal?”

“Yeah,” Rio said, her grin turning mischievous. “If I have to suffer through wearing one of your fancy suits, you’ve got to do something for me. Something outside your comfort zone.”

Agatha crossed her arms, eyeing Rio warily. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

Rio shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”

Agatha hesitated, weighing her options. She hated the idea of giving Rio any leverage over her, but the thought of parading around with someone who looked like they belonged in a dive bar was even worse.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But don’t push your luck.”

Rio’s grin widened. “Deal.”

**

An hour later, Agatha and Rio stood in a high-end department store, surrounded by racks of tailored suits, silk blouses, and designer accessories.
Rio looked deeply out of place, her expression caught between amusement and mild horror as she flipped through a rack of jackets. “Do people actually wear this stuff?”

“People who take themselves seriously do,” Agatha said, already scanning a nearby display for options. She pulled a sleek black blazer off the rack and held it up. “Try this.”

Rio stared at the blazer like it might bite her. “I’m not wearing that.”

“You said you’d cooperate,” Agatha reminded her, thrusting the blazer into her hands “Go. Try it on” leaving no room for discussion.

Rio sighed dramatically but took the blazer, disappearing into the fitting room. Agatha used the brief reprieve to select a few more pieces—crisp white shirts, tailored trousers, and a pair of leather loafers that she suspected Rio would despise.

When Rio emerged, wearing the blazer over her t-shirt and jeans, Agatha gave her a once-over.

“It’s a start,” she said, handing her a pair of trousers. “Now try these.”

“This is starting to feel like a makeover montage,” Rio muttered, but she took the trousers and disappeared again.

Agatha allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

When Rio got out of the dressing room she didn’t even look the same. She came out adjusting her blazer and Agatha noticed that she wasn’t wearing anything under it. Her eyes lingered more than they should. Her skin exposed and a bit of clavicle slightly showing. Agatha shallowed in dry.

“You could have asked for a shirt” Agatha said, turning her eyes away for Rio’s cleavage.

“Well, since you’re the one calling the shots here, I figured you only wanted me to wear this” she smirked “You could have thrown me a shirt.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Here” she hands her a white shirt she was holding.

“Hmmm, I think I’ll pass.” Rio turns to the outside mirror as she adjusts the collar of the blazer. She looks at Agatha through the reflection “I think this suits me just fine as it is”. Her hands drip slowly through the fabric, stopping just right above her chest.

Agatha doesn’t respond, she seems hypnotized by Rio’s hands.

“Don’t you think?” Rio ask and that snaps Agatha off her daydreaming.

“Yes - Hum - Sure.”

Rio lifts her eyebrow and turns to Agatha. She senses some type of tension in the air. But that couldn’t be real, she thinks. Agatha is not even into women. She shoves that feeling away and walks past Agatha.

“Well, this is settled, I’m gonna change”

“You’re only taking one suit?” Agatha asks, still froze in place.

“I’ll leave the rest to you. You can send it to my address. I don’t have the patience to choose.” Rio says, already from the inside of the dressing room.

Agatha can listen to her clothes coming off. She doesn’t even respond. She takes a step back and then decides to walk back to the rest of the store.

**

By the time they left the store, Rio was carrying several bags of new clothes, her expression a mix of resignation and begrudging amusement. Agatha figured she would chose more suits for Rio, just like that one the tried, but in different colors. That would spare her the embarrassment of sending a package to Rio’s place - like it’s some kind of love letter.

“I hope you’re happy,” Rio said as they stepped back onto the street. “You just turned me into a corporate drone.”

Agatha smirked. “Hardly. But at least now you’ll look like someone worth taking seriously.”

Rio shot her a sideways glance. “You know, for someone who’s all about connecting with the ‘real’ me, you’re awfully invested in appearances.”

“This isn’t about you,” Agatha said smoothly. “It’s about the campaign. And if I have to endure your unconventional methods, then you’ll endure mine. Consider it an even trade.”

Rio laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Fair enough, Congresswoman. Fair enough.”

As they continued walking, Agatha couldn’t shake the feeling that, for all her protests, she didn’t entirely mind Rio’s presence. There was something oddly refreshing about her straightforwardness, even if it was infuriating at times.

But she’d never admit that out loud.

**

Already back home, Agatha sank into her favorite armchair, the dim lighting of her living room casting long shadows across the polished wood floors. A half-empty glass of wine rested on the side table, its deep red hue reflecting faintly in the light.

The day had been exhausting—mentally, emotionally, and, thanks to Rio Vidal, unexpectedly amusing in ways Agatha wasn’t entirely prepared to admit.

She exhaled slowly and picked up her tablet, intending to review notes from her campaign team. But as her fingers hovered over the screen, her thoughts drifted back to Rio.

Rio Vidal, with her insufferable smirks and maddening confidence. Rio Vidal, who had somehow wormed her way into a campaign she had no business being part of.

Agatha hesitated, then typed Rio’s name into the search bar.

Her initial scroll revealed little more than professional profiles and mentions of her work in nonprofit campaigns. Agatha skimmed a few headlines, her curiosity growing.

"Rio Vidal: Advocate for Community Change," one article read, detailing her efforts in organizing local initiatives to support underprivileged neighborhoods.

"The Maverick Consultant Behind Last Year’s Education Reform Campaign."

Agatha frowned. It was all… surprisingly impressive.

But then, further down the page, a headline caught her attention:

"Pride and Protest: Rio Vidal Leads the Charge at LGBTQ+ Equality March."

Her brow furrowed as she clicked on the link.

The article opened with a vibrant photo of Rio at the front of a massive crowd, her fist raised high, her expression fierce and determined. Behind her, a sea of people held signs and waved rainbow flags, their chants captured in the accompanying video clip.

Agatha’s eyes scanned the text:

*"At last year’s annual LGBTQ+ Equality March, Rio Vidal emerged as a prominent voice for change, leading the front line with her characteristic passion and tenacity. The march, which drew tens of thousands of attendees, was a response to proposed legislation that threatened to roll back anti-discrimination protections for queer individuals.
Vidal, who has long been a vocal advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, addressed the crowd with an impassioned speech that quickly went viral. ‘This isn’t just about laws,’ she declared. ‘It’s about the lives these laws impact—our lives, our families, our futures. We’re not going back.’
Her leadership during the march cemented her reputation as a fearless activist and a staunch defender of equality, earning both praise and criticism in equal measure.”*

The article continued, citing quotes from attendees and other activists. But Agatha’s focus lingered on the image of Rio, her intensity practically radiating from the screen.
She set the tablet down and took a sip of wine, her mind racing.

It wasn’t the fact that Rio had led the march that unsettled her—it was the clarity of her conviction, the raw power of someone unafraid to stand up and say exactly who she was.

Agatha, by contrast, had spent years carefully constructing a version of herself that was palatable to everyone and personal to no one. Her success depended on control, on never showing too much of her hand.

She glanced back at the screen, at Rio’s raised fist and unwavering gaze.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. She had no reason to feel threatened by Rio Vidal. And yet, the image lingered in her mind, stirring something she couldn’t quite name.

Agatha took another sip of wine, trying to shake the feeling.

The woman was insufferable, after all. Infuriating. Impossible.

She reminded herself of the first time they exchanged words.

**

Flashback

Two years earlier.

The grand ballroom of the Hilton shimmered with opulence, all gold accents and chandeliers that cast warm, flattering light over the assembled crowd. It was a fundraiser—a high-profile event meant to rally support for various social justice causes. Politicians, activists, and donors mingled over cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, their conversations a careful dance of networking and subtle one-upmanship.

Congresswoman Harkness stood near the back of the room, a glass of champagne in hand. She was here, as always, out of necessity. The event had been well-attended by influential figures, and she’d already had her fill of polite small talk with donors eager to push their agendas.

It was nearly time to leave. She’d made her rounds, shaken enough hands, and delivered her expected remarks about “unity” and “progress.” She was about to slip out when a voice stopped her.

“Congresswoman Harkness.”

She turned to see a young woman standing a few feet away, her sharp, piercing gaze cutting through the superficial charm that filled the room.

Rio Vidal.

Agatha didn’t recognize her at first, but she quickly took in the details: a sleek black dress, the understated confidence in her stance, the hint of defiance in her smirk. She was someone who didn’t care for pretense—and someone who was clearly about to make herself known.

“Yes?” Agatha said coolly, her professional smile sliding into place.

Rio stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. “I wanted to ask you about your support—or lack thereof—for the Equality in Education Act.”

Agatha stiffened slightly. The Equality in Education Act was controversial, a bill aimed at ensuring that LGBTQ+ issues were represented in public school curriculums. Agatha had made a calculated decision to stay neutral, offering vague statements of “support for equitable education” while avoiding direct endorsements.

“The bill is still in committee,” Agatha replied, keeping her tone even. “I’ve been monitoring its progress closely.”

“Monitoring isn’t the same as supporting,” Rio shot back.

Agatha’s smile faltered. “It’s a complex issue. My office is working to ensure that all perspectives are considered—”

“Right,” Rio interrupted, her tone sharp. “Because what we really need are more ‘perspectives’ on whether queer kids deserve to see themselves represented in schools.”

Several heads turned at the rising tension in their voices, but Rio didn’t seem to care.

“Do you know what it’s like, Congresswoman?” Rio continued. “To grow up never seeing yourself in the history books? To sit in classrooms where your existence isn’t even acknowledged?”

Agatha’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t the time or place—”

“It’s exactly the time and place,” Rio said, stepping closer. “You’re standing here, giving speeches about progress and inclusivity, but when it comes to actually making a difference, you’re silent. People like me don’t need your platitudes, Harkness. We need action.”

Agatha felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She wasn’t used to being called out so publicly, and certainly not by someone so young, so brazen.

“I appreciate your passion,” Agatha said, her voice icy. “But these things take time. Change doesn’t happen overnight.”

Rio’s laugh was bitter. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to wait for change to decide if they deserve basic rights.”

The words landed with a force that left Agatha momentarily speechless.

Rio took a step back, her eyes still locked on Agatha’s. “You can talk about unity all you want, but until you actually stand up for something, you’re just another politician playing it safe.”

And with that, Rio turned and walked away, leaving Agatha standing alone in the glittering ballroom, her polished exterior shaken for the first time in years.

Flashback ends

**

Agatha blinked, her gaze shifting back to the present. The glow of her tablet screen illuminated the quiet corners of her living room, but she barely noticed it. The memory of Rio at the gala lingered in her mind like a stubborn shadow, each word, each piercing glare, replaying with vivid clarity.

She leaned back in her chair, staring into the half-empty glass of wine on the table.

It wasn’t just the confrontation that had stayed with her all these years. Agatha had endured public criticisms before; she had faced protests, accusations, and far worse. Yet something about Rio had cut deeper.

Her passion. Her conviction. Her freedom.

Agatha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair.

Freedom

That was the word that gnawed at her, the one she could never fully wrestle into submission. It wasn’t just Rio’s words that had shaken her at the gala—it was the way she carried herself. The way she spoke, unashamed and unapologetic, unafraid of the consequences.

It was everything Agatha had spent her entire life suppressing.

Her family’s expectations had been clear from the moment she could walk: she was a Harkness, and Harknesses didn’t falter. They were strong. Composed. Controlled.

They certainly didn’t have doubts. Or questions. Or… curiosities.

Agatha reached for her glass, taking a long sip of wine. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, a familiar voice whispered: You know how it feels to hide.

Her throat tightened. She hated that voice.

But it wasn’t wrong. She did know.

She knew what it was like to tuck pieces of herself away, to let them gather dust in the farthest corners of her heart. She knew what it was like to feel a pull—a fleeting glance that lingered too long, a spark of intrigue she could never let herself explore.

And she knew what it was like to push it all down, to pretend it didn’t exist.

She’d been pretending for so long that she wasn’t even sure what was real anymore.

Her fingers tightened around the glass as her mind drifted back to Rio, to that night at the gala. She’d hated Rio then—still did, if she was honest with herself—but the hatred had always been tangled with something else.

Jealousy

Agatha set her glass down with a soft clink, the realization settling over her like a weight. She envied Rio. Envied her boldness, her refusal to be anything less than who she was.
In another life, perhaps, Agatha could have been the same. She could have walked through the world without fear of judgment, without the crushing burden of her family’s legacy. She could have pursued those fleeting sparks of curiosity instead of extinguishing them.

But she wasn’t built for that life.

She’d spent decades perfecting the mask she wore, and it wasn’t one she could take off easily—not even in the privacy of her own home.

Agatha sighed and picked up her tablet again. She stared at the image of Rio leading the protest, her fist raised high, her expression fierce and determined.

Rio didn’t just live her truth—she flaunted it. And for that, Agatha resented her.

Because deep down, Agatha knew that no matter how much she hated Rio, part of her also longed to be her.

And that was a truth she wasn’t ready to face.