Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The elevator pings, announcing their arrival to the fifth floor. Agatha is the first to exit, followed closely by her partners, Detectives Alice Wu and Jennifer Kale. 

“Do you feel it?” Agatha hears Jen whispering to a shivering Alice.

“Yup.”

Agatha rolls her eyes. Anyone in their right mind would feel the heaviness and sullenness of the place, it comes with their fucking job. She doesn’t say it though, allowing the rookies to be rookies for once.

She scans the place, assessing the scene. It's an office building like any other, top to bottom windows, pristine floors, minimalist design and a hint of lingering misogynism in the air. Although you don't find many of those in Westview, Agatha has had her fair share of them back in Massachusetts. You’d be surprised by how many people kill during office hours.

The body, she finds, is displayed on a meeting room’s table with a horde of investigators and crime scene techs surrounding it. A shiver goes down Agatha’s spine when she gets close enough to see the entire scene.

She walks up to Wanda Maximoff, their medical examiner and also, kind of, Agatha’s best friend, “What do we got, Red?”

“Allison Tisdale, 24. No signs of struggle.”

“They knew her.” Either that or they got her by surprise. Agatha is willing to bet on the first though. 

“Even brought her flowers,” Jen says, making her way towards them, sarcasm dripping from her words. A chuckle almost escapes Agatha. Almost. She wouldn't like to give her the satisfaction. 

“Who says romance is dead?” Wanda asks with a flare of her hand.

“I do. Every Saturday night,” Agatha says as she crouches beside the corpse, the smell of roses is almost nauseating.

“Well, some lipstick wouldn’t hurt.” Wanda pokes.

“Meh, meh, meh,” Agatha mocks, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Can we focus?”

Wanda lifts her hands in surrender at the sight of Agatha's glare.

“What did he give her besides roses?”

“Two shots to the chest, small caliber.” Wanda carefully lifts a few petals with a pen for Agatha to see the entrance wounds. 

Certainty sets in Agatha's chest as she stands up and walks around the table. A  young girl in her 20s is murdered in her workplace, left bare, but covered modestly. Despite the effort and the meticulously calculated scene, they’ll find no signs of sexual abuse. 

The Florist .

A jolt of excitement flashes through her veins.

“Does this look familiar to anyone?”

“I’m not the one with a thing for freaky ones,” Alice says. As if. One look at the woman’s goth attire, would convince anyone otherwise. 

“Oh, but the freaky ones require more. They reveal more,” Agatha says, a smirk painting her lips. She tries not to sound too excited as she recites the familiar MO to her peers, watching their every reaction with rapid attention. 

“You really get that just by…” Alice waves her hand around the general area the corpse is in.

“Yes.” Everyone stares at her, unblinking. “Well, no.” More staring. “I mean, I- I’ve seen this before.”

“You’ve seen this before? Where?” Jen asks, eyes widening. Surely she expects a country-wide famous serial killer's name to fall from Agatha’s lips in response.

The real answer, though, is much more exciting.

“Roses on her body, sunflowers in her eyes…” She prompts, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. When she doesn’t get a single reaction from the three women staring back at her, she sighs, “Don’t you guys fucking read?”

“Rio! Rio!”

“Ms. Vidal, one look please!”

“To the left now!”

Rio does what she is told, careful to keep her most disarming smile in place throughout the entirety of the thing. She’s used to fame by now, used to the flashing lights, the screaming, the crying and the occasional boob signing — the latter being her favorite, by far.

This is her 10th book launch, a feat she hadn’t thought possible merely a decade ago when she was still an English Literature teacher at Westview Community College. While her first 3 books weren’t big events, by any means, after her release of the Death Morgan’s series 6 years ago, Rio’s found herself, now, with seven best-selling books to call her own. 

As she’s about to step off the makeshift red carpet, she feels an arm wrapping around her waist. 

“What kind of idiot kills off her best-selling main character?”

Rio chuckles, not sure why she thought she’d be off the hook for the night.

“Are you asking as my bloodsucking editor or as my bloodsucking ex?”

Abby smiles at her, distaste stamped all over her features. Rio hadn’t had the chance to see her properly tonight, both busy mingling around, trying to quench a few of the critics about Rio’s creative choices. Now, with nothing better to do, Rio finds herself appreciating the white suit hanging loose from Abby’s frame. Abby’s athletic frame. One Rio was very aware of while in her vicinity. 

“So that’s the goal, uh? Punish me by killing the golden goose?” 

“Please,” Rio scoffs. “I may be petty and shortsighted, but I'm not that petty and shortsighted.”

Abby pushes her off the red carpet and Rio has the brief six months of experience on how rough Abby can be to thank for being the only reason she doesn’t fall face first onto the floor. 

“Then why, Rio? Why would you do such a moronic thing?”

“I've been foreshadowing it since the first book! Her name is literally Death!”

The eighth book from the series has been out for only a few hours and Rio’s already exhausted by all the discourse surrounding it. And let’s not even get into all the atrocities she's seen online claiming she is burying her gays when Death’s death is clearly central to the plot. 

“You could've postponed it for a couple more books,” Abby says dryly.

“Listen, writing Death used to be fun. Now, it just feels like work.”

“It is work, you fucking asshole!”

“So bloodsucking editor. Got it.”

Rio's pretty sure Abby doesn't throw the whiskey glass she’s holding in Rio’s face solely because they are in public. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, trying to appease the situation so she doesn’t end up in a bodybag herself. “Death is not the golden goose here. I am.”

“Is that right?” says Abby and Rio does not appreciate her tone. “So the first draft that was due nine weeks ago…”

“You can't rush genius.”

Abby laughs. She outright laughs out loud. In Rio’s face. 

“Genius? Try blockage.” Rio would very much like to wipe the cocky smile off her lips. Whether with her fists or own lips, the rest of the night will tell. “I heard you haven’t written in months.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“My sources are very reliable.”

Unfortunately, Rio has a very good idea who sources is.

“They are wrong.”

“They better be, or you can say bye bye to that advance we gave you.”

Just like that, Abby is off to look for her next prey, leaving a baffled Rio behind. 

---🖋---

“Did you tell Abby I was having trouble writing?” Rio asks, sliding into the stall next to her mother figure slash housemate slash mentor, Lilia Calderu.

“What?” Her voice going up two octaves is enough of an answer. “I would never.”

“I am not having trouble writing,” she says, unsure who she’s trying to convince. Sure, she’s been a little slower than usual, but she has WIPs! Lots of them. None that actually feels right, but they are there. It’s just… part of her process.

“Right. Whatever you say, hon.”

“I’m not!”

“I didn’t say you were!”

Before Rio can continue the petty argument, she notices Boyd, her bodyguard, walking towards her, hand in hand with Rio’s favorite person in the entire universe. 

“Bug!” 

A sleepy Nicky looks up, smile widening at the sight of his Mom, “Mommy!”

She lifts him into her lap, kissing the top of his head once he’s properly cuddled in, “Is the party too loud? Did we wake you? Ugh, I told them to keep it down.”

Fun fact about Rio; the books may have brought her a great life and comfort, but she still, somehow, chose to stay back in her little cesspool of a town. There’s something charming about it, besides it has all of her favorite people: Lilia. 

It is, however, not the most fitting town to have a mega book launch since they don’t have many venues — they have two and they are never available. So Rio, back in the day, came up with a backyard party launch idea that has now become her brand. It’s a large enough space, Nicky can stay in his bedroom, shielded away from most of the madness and when the whole thing is done, all Rio needs to do is jump into bed. 

Plus, her editor hates it, which only makes it better. 

“Nah. I’m hungry,” He says, happily accepting some potato chips Lilia hands him. “Did people like it? Your book, I mean.”

Rio is not allowed a chance to answer him as she feels a light tap on her shoulder. She hears Lilia gasping beside her, which is never a good sign. Few things catch that woman by surprise and when she reaches to get Nicholas from Rio’s lap, it only confirms her suspicions that she is totally and royally fucked. 

She turns in her chair slowly, almost painfully so. The second a figure catches her peripheral vision, Rio closes her eyes trying to postpone the inevitable. 

A lot goes through her brain, but the one possibility that scares her most is; did her parents track her down? Did they randomly show up at her book launch? What the fuck will she do if the answer to that is yes? 

“Miss Vidal?” A voice Rio doesn't recognize asks. That gives her enough courage to crack an eye open.  

The woman in front of her wears a pair of brown Doc Martens, nice fitted jeans and a brown jacket on top of a blue flannel. She holds a stance that shows exactly who commands the room, that shows exactly who she is. Then, Rio reaches her face and the woman's eyes capture her attention in a millisecond. They are the kind of blue that invites you in and holds you there. Her jaw, when Rio’s eyes are finally able to leave hers, is sharp as a knife ready to cut her heart out just like her characters would.

For half a second Rio's pretty convinced she's breathed the love of her life into life, which may be the reason it takes her a bit too long to notice the gun hanging from the holster on her waist. When she does, the love of her life is already shoving her badge on Rio's face.

“I'm Detective Agatha Harkness with the WVPD and I'd like to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight.”

Rio swallows dry. Fuck .

---🖋---

“Ms. Vidal. You’ve got quite a rap-sheet for a best-selling novelist.” Detective Harkness slams a rather thick file on the desk in front of Rio, who, to her credit, doesn’t even flinch. It’s not her first time in an interrogation room, as the lovely detective has so kindly pointed out. “You stole a police horse. Is that correct?”

Rio looks around the room, taking in the yellowing walls and stained floor. She is aiming for uninterested coolness, but she knows the second her eyes fall back on the Detective a blush begins to slowly spread on her cheeks. Agatha Harkness is bending over the table with her hips cocked slightly to one side. Her demeanor screams power and really, Rio should not be thinking about all the other possible ways she could bend or be bent by Detective Harkness in the middle of a cramped up interrogation room that smells like sweat and old bile. 

“Borrowed it,” Says Rio finally.

“And you were naked at the time?”

“ Half naked.” 

It was spring break, she was young and dumb and took truth or dare way too seriously. The community service has already been paid, so she truly doesn’t see the relevance to this questioning line.

“Listen, I’m a reformed woman,” Rio says, her voice sultry, but the truth behind her words stands. Ever since she had Nicky, her weekends are less filled with swing parties and more filled with Disney movie marathons. “I’d be happy to let you discipline me, though.”

Rio’s eyes travel down the length of the woman, she truly is something marvelous. So much so that Rio finds herself blushing again when she’s the one doing the flirting. Pathetic.

Detective Harkness raises an eyebrow at her and if Rio didn’t know better, she’d say the woman looks amused. Unfortunately, she does know better. So when the Detective simply ignores her little comment, Rio can’t say she’s surprised. 

“Where were you last night between 1 and 5am?”

“Asleep. In bed.”

“Asleep in bed, uh?”

Rio rolls her eyes at the dramatic way the Detective unclips her pen, “We have cameras. Feel free to check those.” She watches as Agatha writes the information down in her little notebook, then reaches for the file she previously slammed in front of Rio. 

She grabs a photo and slides towards Rio, “Allison Tisdale.” 

Allison is young, probably not older than 25, with bright blonde hair, green eyes and a cute smile.

“She's cute.” 

“She's dead.” The straightforwardness of the Detective takes Rio by surprise. “Have you ever met her? Fan meetings, book signings…”

“It's possible.” Rio scrunches up her face, trying to conjure some faint memory about the girl in the picture, “I'm not sure, though.” At the sight of Agatha's unconvinced face, Rio, just for the sake of being a little shit, adds, “She's not in my… little black book, if that's what you're asking.” 

Agatha scoffs, entirely unimpressed by Rio's shenanigans. She moves on, “What about this one? Marvin Fisk.”

“Ew. No. I don't do…’ Rio gesticulates widely towards the picture of a middle-aged, balding man. 

“Do you recognize him, Miss Vidal?” The Detective rolls her eyes so fiercely, Rio is slightly concerned about whether they'll be able to return to their natural state. However, despite her annoyed actions, there’s a faint blush on Agatha's cheeks. Now, sure, it may be out of rage, but Rio has a pretty good guess it's not. 

“I don't. Are you gonna tell me what this has to do with me?”

The photos in front of Rio change, instead of the victims smiley portraits, she now stares at two crime scenes. In the first, a woman lies on a table covered by rose petals. Only her hands, feet and face are on display. Well, kind of. On her face, on her eyes to be more precise, lie two sunflowers. 

“Flowers for your grave.”

She switches the pictures. The second crime scene is gorier. A man lays face down with a pool of blood oozing from him, staining the wiccan rune drawn on the floor. Rio doesn't need to see his throat to know it's slit. 

This time Agatha beats her to it, “The Cypress Vine. We didn't connect the dots until Tisdale, but the reference is clear.” 

Rio, who's been transfixed by the pictures since they've been handed to her, pulls her eyes away from them for the first time, a tiny smug smile painting her lips, “Looks like I have a fan.” 

“Yeah, a pretty deranged one.”

“Oh.” Rio locks eyes with Agatha as she says the next words, “You don't look deranged to me.” 

The confusion Rio finds in the Detective's eyes is quite funny,  “What?”

“The Cypress Vine? Flowers from your grave? Really? Those were my lesser works. They had barely 500 copies sold," explains Rio as she watches the Detective intently.

Her first works were being brought to life by some psycho killer and, somehow, this insanely gorgeous, love-of-her-life coded detective recognized them. She has read Rio’s books and remembered them. She knew them well enough to connect them with real life cases.

Agatha clears her throat, not dignifying Rio with an answer, “Have you received any disturbing fan mail lately?”

“I’m always getting disturbing fan mail. Some people do not know the concept of boundaries. I don't recall any saying they would murder people for me though.” 

“We would need access to those in case there's something we can use.” Rio nods. If there's anything she can do to help, she will. “In cases like this, we find the killer…”

“Tends to contact the object of their obsession,” Rio finishes. At the stunned expression on Agatha’s face, she shrugs, “Occupational hazard.”

There’s something akin to curiosity in the other woman’s eyes. A glow that was hidden behind a mask of annoyance and indifference. Interesting.

“Has anyone told you, you have beautiful eyes?”

Just like that the annoyance was back on. It made Rio want to giggle. 

“I think we are done here,” Agatha makes a motion to leave the room, but Rio stops her in her tracks with something she knows will rile the woman up even further. 

“Can I get copies of those? You see, I live with Lilia Calderu. The Lilia Calderu and I would very much like to brag.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“I have a copycat! That’s like, the highest honor for a crime novelist. Something Lilia, in all her 50 years of career never had.” She may have said it first to annoy the Detective, but the truth is; Rio does find it fascinating that someone read her books and thought, wow! What if I tried that out? 

Agatha doesn't seem to find it amusing though. She slams her hands on the table, staring at Rio with murder in her eyes, “People are dead, Miss Vidal.”

“I’m not asking for their bodies, just the pictures.”

Rio bites her lower lips, blinking rapidly in an attempt to look innocent. 

“Yeah. We are done.”

The heavy, metal door of the interrogation room bangs loudly behind the Detective and Rio finds herself sighing. This is going to be one hell of a ride. 

Agatha watches as Rio Vidal walks out of the interrogation room with her head held high and her hands in the pockets of her dark green blazer. She strides down the hall like she owns the place. It makes Agatha want to punch her for some reason.

Rio is the cocky, self-absorbed arrogant person Agatha always imagines famous people to be. Granted, she has the looks and charm to actually pull it off as confidence. However, Agatha works for a living, so the bad boy charm may work on teenagers and groupies, but she is a professional. That makes Vidal one of two things in her world: someone who makes her life easier, or someone who makes her life harder, and if Agatha had to take a wild guess… Yeah.

What she has failed to account for, however, was the existence of one Nicholas Vidal. The best-selling author has a pretty public life, relationship-wise, but Agatha has never heard anything about a child — not that she spends her time searching for information about Rio. No. Those things are just bound to show up when you live in a small town with someone as renowned as the Master of the Macabre . 

As Agatha watches Rio melt at the sight of the little boy, she starts questioning a few of the harsh truths she has settled on. 

“Hey, sprout!” Rio says with a wide smile.

Nicholas has long brown hair that is currently tied up in a low ponytail and he’s wearing Pokemon pajamas paired up with Lightning McQueen crocs. It’s fashion overkill, if she’s being honest, but he has the adorable-ness to pull it off. He has Rio’s entire face, which, to be frank, is a bit disturbing and he does not look pleased.

“Are you in trouble?” He asks with hands on his hips and a lifted eyebrow. According to the records, Nicholas is only 6, but the way he sighs, shaking his head at his mom, makes him look much older. Wiser.

“I am not… Dad.” The boy's giggles turn into full laughter as she picks him up and spins him upside down. “What are you doing here by the way? Shouldn't you be in bed?” 

Rio looks at Lilia, lifting an eyebrow. 

“He wanted to come,” The older woman shrugs. “You know, to make sure you wouldn't get arrested.”

The rest of their conversation turns into background noise when Agatha feels a presence beside her. 

“Agatha Harkness, am I sensing some–” 

“Ah!” Agatha spins on her heel, stopping Wanda mid sentence. She points her index finger at the redhead, “Not a peep.”

She doesn’t give Wanda a chance to ignore her words. Clutching the files in her arms tighter, Agatha marches out of the room as fast as humanly possible. Her attempt to leave discreetly, however, goes out of the window when she hears a tiny voice calling her halfway down the hall.

“Miss Detective?”

Nicholas Vidal runs towards her with open arms and before Agatha can do anything about it, the little boy is attached to her hips, little arms wrapping around her waist in an unexpected hug. 

“Nicholas! Don’t hug people without their consent!” Agatha hears Rio yelling from somewhere behind them.

The boy, to his credit, lets go of Agatha immediately, looking up sheepishly at her, “I’m sorry. I just, uh, thanks for not arresting my Mother and here, you dropped your pen.”

Agatha stares at the little boy, wide eyed. She is not going to cry because a kid hugged her. She is definitely not going to cry because Rio Vidal's adorable kid hugged her. She's fine, even if the knot in the back of her throat feels like it's choking the life out of her.

“I, uh,” She clears her throat. “You’re welcome and thank you. For the pen.”

The smile Nicholas gives her is one of the most genuine she has ever received. He runs back to his family and when Agatha's eyes find Rio, she's already staring back, with a soft smile on her lips. Her expression, a mix of gentleness and curiosity.

Not able to withstand another second under Rio's gaze, Agatha bolts. Nothing, nor no one stops her this time, not even the echoing of Wanda’s knowing laughter. 

---🖋---

The knock on her door later that night takes Agatha by surprise. She doesn't remember ordering anything and she doubts anyone from work would be stopping by her door at 12am on a Wednesday for a chit-chat. 

“What?” She all but growls at the person annoying her this late. 

“Did you know it's an universally acknowledged truth that a lady cop cannot be good at her job and have a healthy personal life at the same time?” Agatha gapes at the woman standing at her door. Out of all possible scenarios, Rio Vidal being the one on her doorstep in the middle of the night was not even in the top 100. The writer pulls a pizza box from behind her, “Hungry?” 

She doesn't wait for Agatha's response, walking through the door and bumping their shoulders as she goes. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Agatha hates how unsteady her voice sounds, how shaky she feels at the presence of this woman.

Rio is still in her party dress. She has lost the cardigan though, displaying a set of unfairly toned arms. Not that Agatha’s paying any attention.

The writer doesn’t answer her immediately, instead, she drops the pizza box on the living room table and jaunts around the place. An uncomfortable feeling sets in Agatha's chest. There's nothing too personal on display, no pictures or anything that can tell Rio about her past. Still, Agatha is slightly afraid Rio will, somehow, pull the story out of the paintings Agatha chose to decorate her home with.

“I thought we should talk,” Rio says, eventually. “About the murders.”

“You thought we should talk. About the murders. At midnight. In my house.” 

“Do you have any beer?”

Rio moves to the armchair, sitting down and looking up at Agatha with those big, big, brown eyes. She looks like she belongs there, which is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. 

You know what? Fuck it. 

“So, tell me about the victims. Who are they?” Rio prompts, after they sit in silence sipping on their beers for goodness know how long. 

“You know I can't tell you that.”

“C'mon Detective, don't be a buzzkill.” Rio leans forwards, resting her elbows on her thighs. Agatha's eyes move involuntarily to her collar bones, then down to her cleavage. She faintly registers how she wets her dry lips and when her focus moves back Rio's face, there's a knowing smirk painting the woman's lips. Fortunately, Rio doesn't say anything about Agatha's shamelessly checking her out, instead, she sobers up, focusing once again on the case she apparently came to talk about, “Ok, so, Marvin Fisk and Jon Terra. Do they have anything in common? What about Allison Tisdale and Michaela Patterson?”

Uh .

Agatha hasn’t thought about it from that angle. The cases were the same and maybe so was the choice of victims. 

“I, uh, I can't tell you that.” She'd have to check that theory out first thing in the morning, but Rio doesn't need to know she hadn't already. 

“You hadn't thought of that, had you?” Rio smiles that annoying, cocky smile she seems to always have on when the topic is Agatha. “You’re welcome.”

The Detective scoffs, trying her very best to act annoyed, “You sure you haven't committed those murders yourself? You seem to know an awful lot about it.”

“I haven't,” Rio's answer comes instantly. “I don't think anyone understands those murders like I do, though. After all, I've created them. I’m the one who thought about the details, the murder weapon, the display of the bodies. I’m the one who knows the why behind it all.”

That speech should not be working on Agatha. A gorgeous woman, sitting in her living room, drinking one of her beers, eating greasy pizza and talking passionately about the gruesome murders that would send any and every girl Agatha has ever brought home running, should not be working. It should not be arousing the feelings it’s arousing.

“So tell me.”

Rio chuckles, shaking her head, “What's in it for me?”

“A sense of accomplishment for helping a decorated detective solve a murder case.” 

“No,” Rio gets up from the chair and walks towards the couch Agatha is spreading out on. The Detective immediately fixes her posture, sitting up straight. “That's not good enough.”

Agatha doesn't know what she'd expected from Rio, but having the woman climbing into her lap and straddling her wasn't it.

The moment takes Agatha by surprise and for a minute or two she doesn't know what to do with her hands. Fortunately, Rio doesn't seem to be stricken by the same doubts; she grabs Agatha's hands, placing them on her thighs. That's when Agatha notices how dangerously high Rio's dress has ridden up. 

She can feel the heat emanating from the other woman and the tiny moan that escapes her lips at such small contact is embarrassing to say the least. 

Maybe Red was right. Maybe she is as touched starved as everyone seems to think she is. 

“You’re gonna have to make it worth my while,” Rio whispers in her ear, her hand moving to grab one of Agatha's and directing it to her center. 

One minute Agatha's fingers are touching Rio's soaking underwear, the other she is falling face first on the hard wooden floor of her bedroom.

“Shit. Fuck. Shit,” Agatha grunts, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She turns, laying with her back on the floor. The coldness of it against her feverish body is a welcome sensation. 

Agatha looks around the dimmed lit room. Rio is nowhere to be found and nothing indicates she was ever there in the first place. Her entire body is throbbing in anticipation though. That dream was way too vivid. She could still feel the softness of Rio's skin under her palm. 

Grunting once again, Agatha gets up from the floor and moves to the bathroom for a cold midnight shower.

Rio Vidal is about to make her life so much harder. 

Chapter Text

The following morning, Agatha makes sure to turn the fact she hasn't slept a wink after her dream with Rio into everyone's problem. She's bitchy and snappy the entire morning, but at least, she is aware of it.

Rio’s presence may have been a figment of her sick, sick brain, but at least it did give her a good lead on the cases. Searching it closely, Agatha could see the pattern, the similarities between Rio's fictional victims and the real ones. Tisdale was an accountant in a big firm, lived a pretty lonely life with no next of kin close by, or friends the police could go to for information. Fisk was a lawyer, the “cool guy”, as his co-workers have described him. In secrecy, however, he was an alcoholic who cheated on his wife with every living, breathing thing that showed him one inch of interest. 

Judging by the pattern, they had to believe whoever killed the first two victims would kill again. Right now, all things considered, their best lead is Rio's murderers. Perhaps, understanding the fictional cases and studying the meticulously planned crime scenes, could give them a lead on who the killer may be after next. Westview isn’t that big of a city. If they manage to narrow down the victim’s profile, then maybe they could stop whatever was bound to happen next.

Hence the reason why Agatha is currently carrying a cardboard box filled with books from her personal library across the bullpen despite knowing how much shit she’ll get for it.

“What is that?” Alice asks as soon as Agatha drops the box on hers and Jen’s shared desk.

“Books, Alice.”

“No shit, sherlock.” She picks up a book, studying the cover. “ Flowers for your grave by one Rio Vidal.”

Jen, ever the annoying one, picks that exact moment to arrive, her eyes and smile widening at the scene in front of her. She points to the headshot on the back of the book Alice is holding, “Cuuuuuute.”

“Try hot ,” Alice says, matching Jen's shit-eating grin.

Agatha rolls her eyes, snatching the book from Alice's grasp, “I'm sure she’d be delighted to give you her number.”

“Pretty sure it’s not me she’s interested in. Though I wouldn’t be opposed– Ouch!”

Jen snickers at Alice’s comment and more specifically, at Agatha’s response to it. The slap on the back of Alice’s head is the only answer they’ll get from her on that matter, though.

“I would wipe that smile off my face if I were you, Jennifer. After all, you two have 10 books to read by tonight,” she says with absolutely no pleasure at all as she taps the book cover and grins mischievously at her partners.

“What the fuck?” Jen asks. Agatha watches her flick through one of the ten books with an expression of horror on her face.

That by itself is enough to give Agatha a sense of justice. 

“There’s an audiobook version too. You know, in case big, printed words scare you,” Agatha mocks, pouting dramatically.

“Well, fuck you, Agatha–”

“Why exactly do we need to read them all?” Alice interrupts what was soon to become a full-blown argument. Always the peacemaker, this one.

“The killer follows a pattern. They choose their victim based on Rio’s victims, so we need to familiarize ourselves with her books. Most importantly, her crime scenes and victims to have some kind of understanding of what’s coming next.”

There’s a whistle somewhere behind Agatha, “When you put it like that, I feel like I pull the trigger myself.” 

Agatha spins on her heels at the sound of the voice she did not want to hear again. Not today, at least. Not when last night’s dream is still fresh in her mind. She loses balance for half a second, but it’s enough for Rio to reach out, hands holding Agatha’s arms to keep her in place.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, shrugging off from the woman’s warm hold.

“I was in the neighborhood.” Rio gasps excitedly, her entire face glowing.

Her eyes travel down Agatha’s body, shamelessly checking her out. With Rio’s attention away from her face, Agatha takes the opportunity to do a quick check herself. Instead of the dress that has been, quite literally, haunting her dreams, Rio is wearing a black, sleeveless shirt and dark khaki pants adorned with a black belt. She looks insanely good, and Agatha hates herself for drooling a little.

But what really sends her reeling is the botanical sleeve tattoo Rio has on her left arm. It goes from her wrist, up her arm and clavicle. It’s a beautiful tangle of wildflowers and vines and Agatha, who was never much of a plant or flowers person, is hit with the overwhelming need to study it closer, to touch it, to know which flowers are there and why she picked those. 

“Miss Vidal offered to assist with the investigation,” Captain Hart says. Agatha has to blink a few times. Where the hell did she come from? “Given the character of the cases, I thought it was worth a shot.”

It’s like someone poured a bucket of cold water on her head. Whatever wild thoughts she was having about Rio just now are thrown out of the window. “ What?”

Rio’s shrugs, “It’s the least I could do for the city I love.”

Agatha gapes, eyes shifting from Rio to Hart over and over. This has got to be some prank, a way Jen found to get her back for the time Agatha tied her up to a kitchen post in the middle of a case.

“Captain, can I have a word?”

“No,” Hart says, turning back around and walking back into her office. Agatha is glad she isn't holding anything, or else she would've thrown it in her boss’ head. 

“‘Sup Rio, I’m Alice.” The younger detective waves at Rio but makes no motion to get up from her chair. Rio waves back with a friendly smile.

 “Jennifer Kale,” Jen says, extending a hand. Her eyes study Rio in a way that makes Agatha uncomfortable for reasons beyond her comprehension. “Your skin looks flawless.”

Rio’s smile grows, “Well, thank you so much, Miss Kale. I could say the same about yours.”

For everyone’s amusement, Agatha actually gags at the interaction.

“By the way, I brought the letters you asked for,” Rio says, pointing to a few bags on her left.

“Those are all letters?” Rio merely shrugs in response to Jen's question. 

Agatha has to bite her tongue to avoid making a snarky remark about how her fans seem to love her almost as much as she loves herself. The last thing she needs is for Rio to find a way to spin those words around and make it about Agatha and her… appreciation for her crime books.

“Alright, let's go,” Agatha says, jumping into action. “Jen, Alice, you two get familiarized with the books. Rio and I will deal with the letters.”

The knowing smirk on Jen's lips doesn't go by unnoticed by Agatha, who flips her off discreetly on the way to a private conference room with Rio.

— 🖋—

Agatha’s going through her fourth letter when she feels eyes on her. She ignores it at first and keeps her eyes trained on the words in front of her. Rio wasn't lying when she said there were disturbing letters, but so far nothing stood out as murderous — other than the odd request here and there to be stabbed, punched, and/or stepped on by Rio. 

There's a rifling of pages in front of her as Rio switches between letters, the tingling sensation of eyes on her remains unwavering, though. Agatha risks a brief glance at the woman’s direction knowing she’ll be met with a stare. She makes a pointed effort to roll her eyes and scowl before shifting her focus back to the letters, picking a new one as she goes. In it, a teenage girl of barely 14 years old thanks Rio for the sapphic representation her books brought, telling the writer in incredible and heartfelt detail how much it has meant to her and how it has helped her come to terms with her own sexuality. It’s cute. Really. Even Agatha’s atrophied heart melts a tiny bit.

Across from her, Rio bounces on a chair that squeaks with her every move. It's annoying the life out of her, but she refuses to cave in in this little game of silence they're playing even if it's to snap at Rio. So, Agatha does her best to turn it into background noise, ignoring Rio's presence altogether, and makes a mental note to talk to Hart about the possibility of replacing these chairs. Soon.

It's not until Agatha folds her tenth letter, placing it on top of the read pile, that she risks another glance at the writer. Blue eyes meet brown eyes that are soon gone, covered by a sheet of yellowed paper. 

Agatha keeps her gaze on Rio. A challenging smile appears on her lips as she counts how long Rio can keep her eyes away from her. Six seconds . Agatha notes pleased. There’s a faint blush on Rio’s cheek when their eyes meet again, but before either of them can even think to say a word or, most likely, avert their eyes, a phone rings somewhere on their right, making them both jump. 

“Hi, my sunflower!”

Agatha managed to steal a quick enough glance at the screen to know it’s Nicholas on the other side, so Rio’s stupidly big smile and use of a pet name doesn’t make Agatha want to barf. She’ll never roll her eyes at the sight of a mother’s love.

She watches Rio hum and nod along to whatever the kid is saying. “We're gonna work something out, ok?  I'll stop by an art store on my way home and get some supplies.”

The conversation goes on for another 5 minutes or so, Rio whispering sweet reassurances to Nicholas until she ends with a “love you too, bug” and hangs up.

Agatha does her best to look like she wasn’t trying to listen in to their conversation, but Rio doesn’t seem like she cares if she was.

“Sorry. Nicky’s got this history project – a diorama about a historical period of his choosing. It’s his first big project and they are going to present it to the whole school, so he’s freaking out and taking everyone along with him for the ride. Like, arts & crafts? Not really my strongest suit,” She’s babbling so fast Agatha has a hard time keeping up with her words. “Why couldn’t they ask for a paper? You know, like, a picture book with a short story containing world history from the eyes and mind of 6-year-olds. It would be cute. They are hopeful and naïve and would probably come up with shit like, they hugged it out and that’s how the first world war ended! I could help him with that. I get books. I don’t get dioramas.”

Agatha is not sure why Rio is telling her all that, but out of all the flaws Rio Vidal may have, Agatha’s glad being a bad, neglectful mom isn't one of them. Plus, it’s kind of adorable seeing her getting all flustered over a kid's school assignment. She will, however, deny ever thinking that until the day of her death.

“Sounds like a lot. Which period did he pick?” Agatha asks before she can stop herself. As sweet as the whole thing is, she is not supposed to be making conversation. She is supposed to be reading letters to find a potential killer in them. 

Rio’s eyes widen as if the question surprises her, as if the fact Agatha is talking to her is something beyond her comprehension. Idiot . It takes her a beat to answer with a faint, “Salem's Witch Trials.” 

Agatha chokes on thin air, then does what she is sure to be a poor job schooling her expression to her usual disdainful one. The memories those 3 simple words bring, the hurt, it feels like someone is ripping her insides out. Her hand instinctively flies to the scar below her breast, her everyday reminder the world is filled with shitty people and that love isn’t worth its hype.

Luckily, Rio seems to read her hurt as judgement and is quick to give Agatha an unnecessary explanation, “Heavy topic, I know. He's obsessed with witches though. Probably gets that from me.”

“No, it’s, uh, it’s, uh, it’s interesting. Cool, uh, yeah, cool.” She trips over her words and feels her cheeks getting warmer. She hates how her past, her mom, still has so much power over her. “I could, uh, I…” She trails off, way too aware of the mistake she has almost made.

I could what? I could help him out since I am from Salem and know firsthand what it’s like to be considered a witch.

She blames the chaotic state of her brain for even entertaining the thought. Sure, she had more than a little knowledge about witches, but was she actually just two seconds away from offering Rio Vidal’s kid help with a silly school project? No. This isn't her. She won’t even help Wanda and Rebecca with the twins.

Kids are a line Agatha doesn't cross. 

She's saved from having to finish that sentence and from Rio's inquisitive gaze by Alice, who pokes her head into the office after a light knock.

“Sorry to interrupt. We've got another one.”

Despite her occupation, Rio hasn’t actually seen that many dead bodies in her life. She just writes about them, assisted by her very vivid imagination and the many criminal profiling books she’s been collecting since college. Stepping into a crime scene and being face to face with a maimed body is a completely different story. A thrill travels down her spine as she follows the detectives into a school gymnasium, no less.

“She’s in the pool.” She hears a security guard tell Agatha.

That’s all the information Rio needs to know the book the crime was inspired by, “A Grave of Azaleas.”

Agatha throws a glance back in Rio’s direction, nodding solemnly. Rio, in turn, does her best to quench the usual butterflies in her stomach that flap their wings whenever Agatha does something to prove that she has indeed read Rio’s books and enjoyed them enough to know them by heart.

Not the time , she chastises herself.

The scene is a picture-perfect representation of Rio’s words — not that there was ever any doubt it would be. A girl in her teens floats, face up, in the pool. She wears a flowy yellow dress that bobs in the water around her, in her hands is tucked a single, pink azalea. 

“You know, when I wrote this book, the critics came at me saying this was not a realistic crime scene,” reveals Rio, joining Agatha by the poolside. “Not sure I’m glad to be proven right.”

Despite the initial fascination with the fact she had a copycat, it’s starting to dawn on Rio someone is actually killing in her name. Well, technically, she’s still pretty fascinated by the fact they chose her and all the possible reasons behind that choice but looking at the girl floating in the pool not even 20 feet away from her, she can’t help but resonate with her words.

“I don’t think I would be glad either,” the pretty redhead Rio noticed by Agatha’s side the first time she was at the station says, approaching them. “Victim is Stella Lamarca. 14.”

“Jesus,” Rio mumbles. She should’ve expected it, the victim in her novel dies only a few weeks away from her quinceañera.

That’s a kid.

She thinks of Nicky, not even half the age of this girl, but who someday soon will be. She thinks of losing him in such a brutal, unnecessary way and her stomach churns.

“We’ve gotta go back to the letters. There must be something…” She stops talking when she feels Agatha’s hand tentatively touching her lower arm. Her eyes go from the girl in the pool, to Agatha’s hands, then to Agatha’s eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes that, for the first time since they’ve met, look soft . 

“We’ll find them.” It’s said with such conviction that Rio finds herself believing it with no trouble. “Let’s start with what we know and move from there. Red, can you send the reports to me? I’ve got an idea.”

“Sure,” Red says, looking between Agatha and Rio with her eyebrows furrowed in what Rio reads as concern.

Uh .

Both Rio and Red watch as Agatha begins to walk away. She says something to Alice, then stops in her tracks, spinning on her heel, “Vidal, you coming or what?”

Rio points to herself, she's sure she looks like that ugly duckling meme she always sees online. Agatha’s response is nothing but an eye roll. She picks up her pace, making Rio run after her. 

— 🖋—

“So, where are we going?” Rio asks, walking backwards in the street so she can keep staring at Agatha. “Did you have a breakthrough? Oh, I love big epiphany moments. What tipped you off? Was there something in the scene? Or was it the body?” 

Agatha’s fingers fly to Rio’s face, pinching the bridge of her nose with her knuckles, “OUCH! POMEGRANATE! OUCH!”  

“Stop asking so many questions, I can’t hear my own thoughts.” Agatha, then, mercifully releases Rio’s nose. Every trace of softness Rio’s seen in her before is gone, replaced with her usual annoyance and scornfulness. 

“Okay. Jeez.” Rio rubs her nose, checking to see if it’s still intact. “Just so you know, my safe word is Pomegranate. When I yell it, it usually means stop.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes, “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, walk.” 

“Where are we—” 

“We are going to pay a visit to Ivy.” 

Agatha’s stare feels like daggers, but it doesn’t stop Rio, “Ivy as in…” 

“The local florist. Yes.” 

“Riiiiight. Yeah. Ok. Makes sense.” Rio nods to herself. Her books all reference flowers somehow, call it a nod to her old botanist life. Visiting the florist should’ve been their first step. She’s rather annoyed she hadn’t thought about it earlier, if she’s being honest. She probably would have if she wasn’t so busy trying to crack Agatha.  

They walk together, Rio doing her best to remain quiet and letting the detective do the detectiving inside her head. It’s quite pleasant. It’s a beautiful day too if you ignore the fact that a teenage girl just died.

The bell hanging on the door chimes as Agatha and Rio enter the shop. It’s a quaint little space, possibly one of Rio's favorites in town. Nothing makes her feel better than being surrounded by flowers and the comfortable smell of freshly watered soil.

“Hey Ivy,” Agatha greets, tapping her knuckles on the counter. 

“Agatha,” The woman seems surprised to see Agatha in her store, which is funny to Rio for some reason. “And Rio!”

“‘Sup, Ivy.” Rio winks at her only to get smacked upside the head at the very same second.

“Stop flirting with my wife,” Harley says, before pulling Rio in for a hug. A woman of contradictions. “It’s been a while, how’s Nicholas?”

“Huge,” Rio answers simply, making both Ivy and Harley laugh.

Agatha clears her throat, and all their attention is back on her.

“Sorry. How can I help you, Agatha?”

Agatha doesn’t beat around the bush. She skips all and every small talk and jumps straight into business mode, explaining the situation to Ivy, who cross references her sales. Roses, sunflowers, cypresses and azaleas were all sold a handful of times, all to different locations and around three or four of each were paid in cash. None were done too closely to any of the crimes.

“They were careful,” Agatha says, frustration lacing her voice. 

“What about poppies?” Everyone looks at Rio. She feels the overwhelming urge to explain herself faced with Agatha’s studious gaze. “It seems to follow a pattern. Flowers For Your Grave. The Cypress Vine. A Grave of Azaleas. The next has to be Death’s Tool. So, it’s safe to assume the murderer…”

“Will use poppies.” Rio nods. Agatha's eyes linger on her, something remarkably close to respect shines through them. The detective then turns to Ivy, “Do it.”

Ivy types the commands on the store’s computer, “Two purchases. One is credited to old Donald and the other one was paid in cash. It was a delivery.”

“Forward me the address, will you?” Agatha says, smiling for the first time. “Rio, let’s go.”

The Detective leaves the store without so much as a thank you and Rio is powerless to do anything but what she is told. 

Chapter Text

The address Ivy sent them was a bust, a dead end right at the heart of one of Westview’s most popular cafés.

“People do this all the time,” the cashier tells them with a nonchalant shrug. “Use our address to avoid using their personal one. I don’t know how it started, but it’s become quite common now since my boss doesn’t mind.”

“Online shopping I can understand, but flowers ? Who asks for flowers to be delivered in a coffee shop?” Rio asks in disbelief.

The teenage boy on the counter only shrugs, “Cheating husbands. I don't ask questions.”

I don’t ask questions ; Rio wants to mock. She doesn’t, afraid it could jeopardize the whole thing. She pats herself on the back for the self-control.

Still, it doesn’t make sense to her. If you were a cheating husband, would you risk getting caught by an acquaintance in one of the most popular cafés when you could simply ask the shop to deliver the flowers to your lover’s address? Granted, men are dumb, but Rio couldn’t possibly believe someone would be this dumb.

She is about to open her mouth to refute the whole thing when Agatha beats her to it. It’s thrilling how their brains seem to work in sync. 

When the kid is once again dismissive, Agatha slaps her hands on the counter, “You realize I’m talking about a murderer and could get you arrested for obstructing the investigation, correct?” 

The boy's eyes bulge out of their sockets and Rio does a poor job trying to hide her chuckle. She catches the faintest upturn of Agatha’s lips, but it may also be a hallucination from the fact she hasn’t eaten anything today. It’s anyone’s guess, really.

“Ma'am. I– I don't know anything. I truly don't.”

Agatha scoffs at the use of ‘ma'am’ and this time, Rio doesn’t even try to hide her amusement, grinning openly at the detective who just snarls back at her.  

They leave the place with nothing but a promise to get notified in case any more flowers get delivered. It doesn’t take a genius to know it won’t happen, though. The killer will strike again before it happens, they already had the poppies after all.  

“Ok, what about the security footage?” Rio asks, racking her brain for a possible way out of the square one they find themselves back at.

“We would need a warrant,” Agatha says, typing furiously on her phone. “I filed a request, but it will take at least 24 hours for it to be issued.”

“I can call in a favor,” Rio doesn’t wait for Agatha’s reaction. She searches for the one name in her contacts list that could help them out with this and dials. “Fury! What's up, man? Listen, I've got a situation.”

Agatha watches, with one eyebrow raised, as Rio chats with the mayor of Westview like they are old friends — they are. Rio charms her way through the conversation and when she is done, she gives Agatha one of her best, most disarming smiles, “You'll have the warrant on your desk first thing in the morning.” 

“Do I even want to know?”

Rio opts to keep the information about her past relationship with his daughter, Carol, off the record. Perks of being the one broken up with is to still be in the good graces of your former father-in-law, “He's a fan.”

Agatha shakes her head and the fact that there wasn’t an eye roll accompanying it doesn't go by unnoticed. If she didn't know better, Rio would think Agatha even looked amused.

Unfortunately, Rio does know better and whatever it was that crossed Agatha’s face, is gone just as fast as it came. “You should go home,” she says. The familiar aloofness of her tone back in place.

“What? What about the letters? I can help.” It was barely even 5. Surely, they could at least read a few more of those before calling it a day.

“Go home, Rio.”

Agatha's glare didn't give Rio any other choice but to do exactly what she was told.

---🖋---

“You're thinking about her, aren’t you?” Lilia asks as she sips her wine. She’s propped on the couch which grants her a perfect view of Rio, Nicky and their masterpiece in the making at the center table.

“Who?” Rio, who is carefully placing a tiny piece of wood in said masterpiece, doesn’t even glance up.

Lilia chuckles, not buying her fake naivete for a second. Rio is notoriously known for getting ‘hung up on women way out of her league’ , Lilia's words not hers. Not that this is what's happening here. Rio is just a concerned citizen worried about the murders that have been going on in her lovely town.   

She’s thinking about the case, not about Agatha. She’s definitely not thinking about the glimpse of softness she has seen in the detective’s eyes today, not the mystery behind those same eyes and not the lingering feeling of her hand on Rio’s arm.

“The pretty detective.” To her surprise, the answer comes from Nicky’s mouth.

Rio gasps, more dramatically than intended, and points the tweezers she’s been holding at her son in a threatening manner, “The pretty detective? What do you know about pretty women, Mister?”

“Not much. Like my mother.” Rio actually gags at how effortlessly that answer came to her innocent 6-year-old boy. Lilia, however, barks out a laugh, extending her free hand for Nicky to high five.

“I will let you know; I know a lot about women, ok?”

“Then why are you single?” It sounds like a genuine enough question, but Lilia almost falls face first on the floor from doubling over with laughter and Rio, honest to God, pouts.

“Meanie.”

Nicky giggles as Rio reaches for his ribs to tickle them in revenge. His high-pitched laughter fills the room as he squirms under her grasp and accidentally decapitates an old Polly Pocket doll they are using as a witch.

“Witches were burned alive, not decapitated, kid,” Lilia says, collecting the fleeting head and giving it back to Nicky once his laughter seizes.

“They were hanged, actually,” Rio points out.

“WHAT?” Nicky exclaims, both of his hands flying to each side of his head. “THEN WHY ARE WE BUILDING A BONFIRE?”

“Because it makes a cooler diorama.” Rio swears sometimes she thinks she has raised the kid on a drama school’s stage. “You’re 6, bud. Historical accuracy can wait a few more years.”

“Besides, I am pretty sure there was at least some burning going on back then,” Lilia offers in a clear attempt to sooth Nicky’s worries. 

“But it’s a history project,” Nicky moans as his bottom lip starts to tremble.

Fuck. Why did she have to bring that up?

“It’s ok, baby. We’ll do hangings, ok?” Rio says, brushing the hair from his forehead. She goes through the art supplies she’s bought on her way home and finds a ball of twine. “See, we even have the rope!”

Nicky takes a deep breath and nods as if steeling himself, “Ok.”

“Ok! Let’s hang some Polly Pockets!” Lilia snickers at Rio, rolling her eyes in amusement.

The Pollys, however, are briefly saved from their imminent death by a tentative knock on the door. The sound is so faint, Rio, at first, thinks she’s imagined it. Honestly, if not for Nicky looking at the door puzzledly, she would’ve paid no mind to it. 

“Here.” Rio passes the glue to her son. “Glue her head back together, will you?”

“Pretty sure I can just click it back into place,” Nicky argues, but Rio is already halfway to the door.

Opening it with one swift move, Rio finds an empty street staring back at her. “What the...” She crosses the threshold and from the porch, to her utmost surprise, she spots Agatha walking away.  

Rio grins to herself before jogging towards the scurrying detective, “Agatha! Wait!”

Agatha freezes. It takes her a few seconds to turn around and when she does, Rio catches a shadow of shyness, of doubt in her eyes for the first time since they’ve met.

“Sorry. I just, I don’t know what I was thinking, I—” Agatha’s hands ball in fists, her jaw clenching as she clearly struggles to find what to say. “I’m just gonna go.”

It’s sort of painful seeing all mighty Detective Harkness be so at loss for words. Rio’s hands are on her arms, holding her in place, before she even realizes what she’s doing.

“Why’d you come here?”

Agatha has the nerve to look annoyed. She shows up unannounced at Rio's place and has the nerve to look annoyed when Rio questions her about what she is doing there.

“Just forget about it.” Agatha waves her off and starts walking away. That’s when Rio notices the carry-on bag she has slung over her shoulder. She recognizes it as the one she brought to the precinct with her fan mail. “Night, Rio.”

Goodness, that woman is infuriating, and Rio desperately needs her to stay. She considers grabbing Agatha's arm again but decides against it. She opts instead to lean on all her charm.

“C'mon, Agatha. You drove all the way here,” She pitches, following Agatha through the street. “Nicky’s bedtime is in 30 minutes. We can take a look at those letters then. In the meantime, I can offer you a silly diorama building activity and wine.” They get to Agatha’s car and the woman opens the door. Rio seriously considers begging right there and then, and she never begs before a third date. “C'mon. I wanna help and apparently, you want my help.”

“I don't–” Agatha swallows her next words, knowing as well as Rio, no one would've believed it. She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know what? Ok. Fine. I will join you, if only to make you shut up.” The detective slams the door shut, turns on her heels and marches towards Rio's house.

Rio has no idea how Agatha made the entire thing feel like it was Rio’s idea in the first place, but it’s kind of hot. 

Agatha has no idea what possesses her. And do not get her wrong; she is possessed. Whatever demon, entity or alien is in control of her actions right now needs to leave as soon as fucking possible. Agatha Harkness in her right mind would never show up at Rio Vidal’s doorstep with a stack of letters under her arm at 8pm on a Wednesday. Worse yet, Agatha Harkness would never agree to Rio’s pathetic pleadings for her to stay and she would never cave into the eyes of a 6-year-old when he so sweetly asked if she’d like to help him with his project once Rio had officially introduced them.

“Mom kinda sucks at this and Grandma isn’t of much help either,” Rio and Lilia’s protests are thoroughly ignored by the kid and Agatha allows herself two seconds of awe upon realizing she’s in the same place as the mind behind her favorite books. “I need skilled personnel!” It’s said in such an exasperated manner that Agatha feels a tiny crack opening in the wall around her heart.

Kids are off limits, the familiar voice in the back of her brain reminds her. For some reason, though, it doesn’t sound as demanding as it often does.

“What makes you think she ’d be any good?” Rio asks, joining Nicholas on the floor and patting the empty spot beside her. Only then Agatha realizes Rio is wearing Lightning McQueen crocs exactly like the ones Nicholas had on when he went to pick her up at the station yesterday. It’s so sweet that it kind of makes Agatha want to throw up in disgust.

“I do not appreciate the tone,” she says, begrudgingly taking Rio’s lead and joining the pair around the center table. She keeps a safe distance from Rio though, leaning more towards Nicholas.

“ Oooh . Apologies, boss,” Rio teases, winking at Agatha, who promptly ignores the inconvenient sensation those words awaken somewhere low in her belly.

Fortunately, one can always count on a child to shift the mood of a conversation with their blind innocence. “Miss Agatha, were witches hanged or burned alive?” Nicholas asks, shooting a pointed look at Rio who sticks her tongue out at him. There must be a story there.

“Hanged,” she answers before she can stop herself. Talking about witches, Salem and everything related to it is one of Agatha’s least favorite things in the world, topped only by her mother and taxes. But Nicholas’ mouth forms a perfect O shape and the wonder in his eyes is palpable and pure that she finds herself adding, “They were burned in Scotland, though. After they were hanged.”

“AHA!” Rio yells, fist pumping the air. “Take that!”

It’s Nicholas’ turn to stick his tongue out at his mom. Agatha looks at the duo, then shifts her gaze to Lilia, who sits on the couch, watching the exchange with an amused expression. Their eyes meet and the older woman simply waves her off, “I live with two 6-year-olds.”

Agatha hums in acknowledgement. After knowing Rio for a couple of days, Lilia’s explanation sounds perfectly reasonable. Still, Nicholas and Rio’s dynamic feels foreign to Agatha, if not a little funny. Maybe she just hasn’t been around enough healthy mother/child relationships to get used to the love and camaraderie found there.

She makes a mental note to visit Wanda more often, then immediately scraps it. Billy and Tommy are in that annoying pre-teen phase and Agatha doesn’t put it past her to try to kill them for breathing too loudly.

She shudders and turns her attention back to Nicholas who is already looking at her. He smiles, bright and gentle, when their eyes meet, and Agatha feels a little wobbly inside.

Kids are off limits , but maybe she can make a tiny exception just this once.

“There are records of magical executions among covens as well.” There’s an edge of excitement in her voice that she hasn’t heard in forever. Especially not while talking about this particular subject.

“They fought? The covens?” Nicholas asks.

“Its members, yeah. Stray not from the path, ” the words from a ballad she once loved tastes like sulfur on her tongue now.

“Weren’t covens sort of like a family?” Nicholas’ eyebrows furrow. His next words are filled with sadness, “Why would you hurt your family?”

Bile rises in her throat at the question posed so innocently. She hopes she doesn’t look as sick as she feels.

“I don’t know, kid,” It’s all the answer she can give. She can feel Rio and Lilia’s eyes on her, but she refuses to move her gaze away from Nicholas.

Afraid the emotions are going to get the best of her, Agatha does what she does best: deflect. She finally looks at the diorama in front of her and frowns. Damn, the kid wasn’t kidding when he said everyone sucked. She has no idea what she is supposed to be looking at.

“Uh, what is that?” she asks, pointing to the diorama.

“It’s a witch burning ceremony,” Lilia says. At the sight of Agatha’s confused expression, the older woman adds, “I do not see it either.”

Nicholas mumbles something unintelligible then drops his head on the table, defeated.

“You were sitting right here for the past hour, where was this comment then?” Rio complains, mimicking her son and dropping her head onto the table. “I hate school.”

Agatha fights the urge to chuckle at the drama unfolding in front of her. 

“Ok, enough of that. Hand it over,” she says, and Nicky happily pushes all the supplies towards her. She scouts through her phone in search of any picture from Salem’s archive that could save the kid’s history grade. She finds a rather easy one, where three women are being hanged for the crime of worshipping the devil while a handful of peasants watch it all unfold, probably cheering on the executioners.

Should be simple enough to reproduce given the materials they have at hand. Still, a shadow of doubt crosses her mind, should she even suggest what she’s thinking about? Then again, they were just about to burn Polly alive… ish.  

“Are you sure about the, uh, topic for your project? Won’t the other kids be scared?” Just to be 100% sure and not be the one to blame for the bullying that could come out from this.

Nicholas nods vehemently, “Of course. But why would they be scared?”

“If we do this,” She motions to her phone, but doesn’t show him the picture. Not yet. “It’s gonna be pretty graphic and kids, well, they are afraid of graphic things surrounding death.”

She hears Rio snicker beside her and shoots her an unamused expression, she is trying to be gentle here.

Nicholas frowns, “Death isn’t scary. Death is the natural order of all things.”

Agatha, unfortunately, recognizes that line and it comes straight from one of Rio’s books.

“I taught him that.” Rio smiles proudly at her son.

“Next you're gonna tell me you read him your books.”

Rio shrugs, “Some of it. He’s my co-writer.”

“You two are a weird little pair.” Agatha shakes her head. “Anyways, this is how it’s gonna go.”

She explains to them her plan and how to execute it, she gives each of them a task (yes, even to Lilia) to optimize their time. When she’s done talking she is faced with three faces staring back at her in awe.

“Coooooooool!” Nicky bounces up and down in his seat. He throws his arms around her and this time, before Rio can reprimand him for not asking for consent, Agatha hugs him back. “Thank you, Miss Agatha!”

Goodness, what is going on with her tonight?

“You got it, kid. And you can drop the miss. Just Agatha is fine.”

Rio ended up allowing a 30-minute extension to Nicky’s bedtime because they were all wrapped up in re-creating the picture Agatha had brought up. Then finally, after one hour of heavy work and many witch stories from Agatha, they had a pretty decent scene of three Polly Pockets with nooses around their neck, swinging back and forth in the light wind. They built a tiny stage from which the dolls supposedly fell from, and Nicky drew a few characters for them to use as spectators. All in all, it was all they were gonna manage to get done tonight. Nicky could add some flare to it later if he wanted.

“Great work, team!” Nicky offers each of them a high five. Agatha doesn’t pay much mind on how accomplished she actually feels for helping him. It’s a weird feeling, a new one, but she finds she doesn’t entirely hate it. Nicky is super adorable after all.

When it’s time for Nicky to get to bed, he waves enthusiastically at her, “Good night, Agatha! Come by more often!” He then blows her a kiss and she’s not sure how to react to that.Rio carries him up the stairs kissing his entire face over and over, which elicits the cutest little giggles from him. Agatha, once more, ignores the mixture of feelings that comes from witnessing Rio being a mom.

Not even 15 minutes later, Rio is back at the living room and Lilia makes herself suspiciously scarce. 

“Kid is out. Shall we?” Rio wiggles her eyebrows in a suggestive way that makes Agatha roll her eyes. 

She drops a handful of letters on Rio’s lap, motioning to her to start reading without uttering a single word. Given how out of character she’s been acting today, she better cut the evil by its root, or else, she doesn’t doubt her ability to end the night in Rio’s bed.

Would that be such a bad thing?

Yes. Yes. It would. Shut up.

“How do you know so much about witches?” Rio asks, not even two minutes after they started with the letters. Does this woman ever focus?

“I don’t.”

“Except you do. You have actual knowledge about it. Shit I never even heard before and trust me when I say I’ve read one too many books on witchcraft.”

Agatha's response is an annoyed grunt as she tries her best to focus on the words in front of her. 

“Are you a witch?”

Agatha's left eye twitches, “Witches aren't real.”

“You just gave my son hundreds of reasons to believe they are.” 

“Those are stories and he's 6. He probably believes in Santa too.” 

“Fine. Don't tell me.”

“I won't.”

It's truly hilarious how much Rio is visibly straining to remain silent. Her leg bouncing up and down at a quick pace and her fingers tapping the paper are almost as distracting as her questions, though, so Agatha is not sure she has won the game.

“Why detective?” Rio covers her mouth with the letter she was supposed to be reading. Agatha sighs, to the woman's credit, she lasted 6 minutes and 37 seconds, not that Agatha was counting. 

 “Why what?”

“Why become a detective?” 

Because I think people's ability to do the most gruesome things to each other is fascinating, it's the first truth that comes to her mind. Then, in a little tiny voice, one that sounds a lot like her as a kid, whispers the other, tantalizing truth; because I want to give people the justice no one ever gave me.

She could never tell Rio any of that of course. 

“I don't know, Rio. Why'd you become a writer?”

Rio sets the letter aside, steeples her fingers and smiles. It's not her usual charming smile, though. There's something unhinged about this one and Agatha is horrified to note she kinda likes it. 

“Growing up my parents thought I'd be a serial killer as I liked to create little crime scenes with my dolls. They thought I was a bit creepy,” She shrugs like she definitely thinks she is not at all creepy. "But, since I love nothing more than to prove them wrong, I became a crime mystery novelist and only kill people on paper.”

Well, that's not at all what Agatha was expecting. But she can kinda see it. Something about her eyes…

“You are so weird,” Agatha mumbles and, unfortunately for her, Rio laughs.

“Does it do it for you?” She wiggles her eyebrows, her face getting closer to Agatha’s.

The detective places her hand on Rio’s face and pushes her away. “No.” But it's weak even to her ears.

Rio chuckles, “On a less creepy note, I like stories. I like to decipher them, to understand the why behind every human act. Why kill based on my books? Why now? Why, amongst all the options available, did Agatha Harkness choose to become a cop?”

Dryly, Agatha says, “Sometimes there's no story.”

“There's always a story.”

“So, what's mine?” Agatha asks without thinking. She hates when people try to read her, but at the same time, some deep, twisted part of her craves being seen. Craves being seen by her . 

Rio fixes her posture, a childish-like glee taking over her eyes as if she was waiting for this moment her entire life, “You're not from around here. That much is obvious.” Agatha rolls her eyes. “Given the firsthand witch knowledge, I'd say you're from Salem – or somewhere along that area. The way you talk about it makes me believe there's some personal history in there as well.” 

Agatha clenches her jaw, she wants to look away, avert her eyes to look anywhere but Rio. She doesn't, she holds the writer's gaze unblinkingly.

“Not a good history, though, no. You don't like talking about it. Something happened to you because of it. Something family related, maybe. And whatever it was, it changed you. Hardened you. So, you try your best to look like you don't give a fuck, but, in reality, you do. You care about the victims. No.  You care about bringing them justice. Which leads me to believe you never had yours.”

Agatha has to bite her lower lip to stop it from trembling. A sudden hate towards Rio surges in her chest. She had no fucking right. Agatha glares at Rio, giving her a show of one of her most feral looks, the one she usually saves for the mirror and the worst criminals that have the misfortune to sit across from her in an interrogation room.

To her surprise, however, Rio doesn’t fold. Rio doesn’t even blink. Instead of shying away with her tail between her legs, like everyone else, Rio smirks . Agatha balls her hands into fists and does her best not to swing at the woman sitting beside her.

“Did I get that right?” Rio has the audacity to ask.

Agatha doesn’t dignify her with an answer, instead, she grabs her backpack and leaves Rio’s place without looking back. She doesn’t even bother to pick up the letters she’s left scattered across the couch.

Later that night, Rio dusts off her laptop and writes for the first time in four months.

Chapter Text

Rio wakes up with a weight being added to her back. It wiggles for a while, before settling in. A faint smile forms on her lips. It’s been a while, too long if you ask her, since Nicky last sneaked into her bed. She misses waking up in the middle of the night to his hair shoved in her face and his tiny hands gripping her pajamas for comfort.

She hums happily, turning around slowly and pulling him into her arms. “Couldn’t sleep?” With her eyes still closed, she kisses the top of his head. 

Nicky giggles, “It’s morning already, mommy.”

“What?” Rio cracks an eye open and, sure as hell, that’s sunlight coming from the windows.

She's always been an early riser, usually waking up with the sun without needing an alarm. It's one of her greatest talents, so she feels rather at a loss right now. Especially when she looks, properly looks at her son and notices he's already in his uniform. “I’m off to school in 10,” he says sheepishly.

Shit. Shit. Shit . She must have stayed up writing for longer than she intended. 

“I'm up! I'm up!” Rio jumps out of bed, taking Nicky with her. She sends him downstairs for breakfast and quickly changes into the first piece of clothing she gets her hands on; a tight fitting white shirt, black jeans and a denim jacket.

She hurries down the stairs only to be met with Nicky devouring some pancakes and Lilia, in her silk robe, pouring some coffee for her. 

“I love you,” Rio sighs. She sits beside Nicky at the table and steals a few pancakes from his plate. That earns her a deadly glare, but she blows him a kiss and he lets it slide. 

“Late night?” Lilia asks with one hand on her waist, while the other plays with Nicky's hair. Her tone doesn't go unnoticed by Rio.

If only…

“Writing,” She clarifies with her mouth full. Lilia rolls her eyes at her lack of manners, which brings back memories from Rio's teenage years; back when she'd just started living with Lilia and would do that all the time only to get playfully slapped with a spatula and reprimanded with a ‘chew then talk’ speech. 

“I heard,” Lilia says, not looking at her. “I also heard the door slamming with a rather peculiar force.” 

Rio hums, but doesn’t offer her anything from her own volition. Not when she, herself, is still trying to wrap her head around what happened. She knew that, by reading Agatha, she would strike a chord, and knew that the risk of pissing off Agatha was more likely than not pissing her off. She was even expecting a slap on her face. She wasn't, however, ready for the hurt she had seen in the detective’s eyes. It had almost made Rio feel bad for the apparently very correct assessment she gave. 

It was a weird feeling, a conflicting one. She basked in the fact she hit the nail on the head, but she also felt a bit like a jackass for poking on someone else's wound. Especially since said someone was a hot headed, love-of-her-life coded detective she was trying very hard to seduce. 

“How did you Rio the situation this time?”

“I'm sorry, did you just turn me into a verb?” Rio stares at the older woman open mouthed and Nicky giggles as if he knows the difference between a verb and a noun.

Lilia ignores her completely, “Was it the dreadfulness? Did you talk too much about death? Did you try to get her to tell you her most creepy cases? Oh Goddess, you told her creepy stories from your childhood, didn't you? Did you try to psychoanalyze her? Don't tell me you told her about your little knife kin–” 

“Oh my Goddess! Lilia!” Rio stares at her wide eyed, her hands flying to cover Nicky's ears but the damage was already done. Lilia did have the decency to look slightly sorry, though.

“Your knife what?” Nicky asks, little eyes watching her curiously. If someone killed her right now, she'd say thank you.

“My pocket knife. You know, the one I always have around,” Rio offers with a smile. Then, shooting Lilia a glare, she adds, “For protection .” 

Nicky hums, as if considering all that was said. “I don't know, Agatha doesn't seem to be the type of person who gets put off by a pocket knife, or creepy stories.”

“Which leaves us with the…” A pause. Rio glares at Lilia, daring her to say a word, “psychoanalysis.”

“Anyways,” Rio slams her hands on the table and gets up. “We are late, let's go.” 

“I could've driven him, you know. There was no need to jump off the bed so fast.”

“Why don't you go ask your precious cards if I'll let you keep living with us after this instead, uh?”

“Like you could ever live without me,” She hears Lilia yell, but she’s already out the door and it's too late to flip her off.

---🖋---

Rio arrives at the station feeling completely disheveled. After dropping Nicky off, she had to endure what was probably the longest video call of her career to debate the new trilogy she was working on. She sat there, for an hour and a half, listening to the comments and praises about the draft she had emailed last night. Normally, Rio would thrive on the attention. Today, however, all she wanted was to be discussing crimes with Agatha. 

The bullpen is rather empty, emptier than the last few times Rio's been around, and Rio can't see Agatha anywhere.

There's one person, hanging by one of the desks, that Rio recognizes. Someone she's been meaning to talk to, to dig information from.

“Hey,” She greets, rolling her shoulders back and smiling charmingly. “ Red , isn't it?”

The woman chuckles as Rio expected her to, “Wanda. Playboy novelist, I assume.” 

“Ooh,” Rio places a hand on her chest, feigning hurt. “You should really broaden your sources to anyone other than Agatha.”

Wanda chuckles again, “It's nice to properly meet you, Rio. I really like your books.” 

A smile takes over Rio's entire face before she can stop it, “Thanks, Wanda.”

“You really shouldn't have killed Death, though. Kind of a lapse of judgment, if you ask me.” Rio groans at the comment that seems to follow her wherever she goes. “Should've just retired her.”

“You're sounding an awful lot like my ex.” Rio grumbles.

“Well, maybe your ex has a point,” Wanda says with a lift of her eyebrow.

“For leaving this one? I agree,” A new voice, one that Rio's been dreaming about for the last few days, adds from somewhere behind her.

“Ok. Ouch?” Rio doesn't even try to hide her pout.

Wanda opens her mouth, there's a glint in her eyes Rio doesn’t recognize. The redhead, however, seems to think better of it and shuts her mouth again. 

Rio turns around to face Agatha, to hit her with the full force of her pout, but the second her eyes lay on the detective her jaw falls to the floor. 

Good. Lord. Almighty.

Agatha is wearing black tailored pants, a black button down shirt under a black bomber jacket and black Doc Martens. If the all black outfit wasn't enough to send Rio spiraling, the single silver chain that hangs from her neck is. It glistens in the precinct's crappy lighting as if it's taunting Rio, as if it's daring her to tangle her fingers through it, pull Agatha towards her and do all of the filthiest things known to men. 

Rio feels her blood pressure drop at the mere thought of it. She clears her throat, shaking herself out of it. She's not going to give Agatha the satisfaction of seeing her fall to her knees in the middle of the precinct after she has just been insulted.

“Things going a little sideways last night doesn’t mean you can act like you don't love my presence.” Rio nods cockily as if Agatha isn’t fuming and ready to obliterate her with a snap of her fingers. 

“Last night?” Wanda asks, her eyebrows nearly meeting her hairline.

Agatha opens her mouth, but Rio doesn't give her the change to brush off the topic. “Oh, Agatha's house calls are not a common thing?” She smiles, knowing damn well she's pissing Agatha off even more and killing her chances of it ever happening again. Rio will not lose the opportunity to witness Agatha's entire skin go red with rage, though. “I'm flattered. Nicky sent you a kiss, by the way.”

Agatha's gaze softens for half a millisecond at the mention of Nicky, but it steels again when Wanda chokes, “I'm sorry, you've been to her house? Voluntarily? While her kid was in it?”

“ Pfft . You say it like I don't do this with you all the time.” One would only have to have known Agatha for 5 seconds (or less) to recognize that as the blatant lie it was. It made Rio want to laugh. 

“Agatha! I've known you for three years and you only see the twins on their birthday.” 

Rio has to bite her lip in order to not smile too big at that comment. Whatever her doubts or thoughts were about Wanda's relationship with Agatha, they have just flown out of the window. Rio has known Agatha for three days . Oh, she feels special. 

“Meh,” Agatha waves her friend off as if it's all a big overreaction. 

“You have twins?” Rio interrupts out of genuine curiosity and not at all as an attempt to save Agatha from Wanda's continuous judgment.

Either way, it works. Wanda stops planning Agatha's murder and turns to Rio, smiling in a way only a mother does when talking about their babies. “Billy and Tommy. I'd suggest a play date, but they are 13 and way too cool for that.”

Rio chuckles, shaking her head, “The dreadful pre-teen years.” She often tries to picture Nicky as a teenager, trying to imagine what type of annoying he'll be. She wonders if he'll be a goth like her, a bohemian like Lilia, or something else entirely. One part of her is terrified of what's to come; the other cannot wait to embarrass him every step of the way. 

“Nothing pre about it,” Wanda says, rolling her eyes fondly. “It's not as bad as I thought I'd be, though. It's more… confusing, I think.” 

Rio opens her mouth to question what she means by that, but is cut short by Agatha clapping her hands loudly. 

“Lovely witnessing the bonding, but there's a killer to catch,” She turns to Rio, a fake smile plastered on her face. “If it's not inconvenient to you, we have some tapes to watch.” 

Agatha strolls out without waiting for a response. Rio eyes flicker to Wanda, who just shrugs and says, “She's allergic to genuine social interactions.”

Ain't that a way to put it.

The most off-putting thing about being in an enclosed space with Rio Vidal again is how quiet she is.

As the writer had promised the day before, Agatha arrived at the station to find a shiny new warrant for the coffee shop’s security cam footage laying on her desk. Now, they sit side by side in a darkened room watching said footage and, besides the here and there comments asking Agatha if she could zoom in on something or to go back a few seconds, Rio is in a complete and impossible silence.

The thing that has been annoying Agatha to no end for the past few days is finally gone and she feels weirdly disconcerted by its vanishing.

It was easier with all the blabbering. It prevented Agatha from concentrating too much on her own thoughts, and therefore, on all the feelings Rio Vidal seems to awaken in her.

There was the physical attraction, sure. Rio is easily one of the most gorgeous and magnetic women Agatha has ever laid eyes on. She’s effortlessly confident, even in her pajamas and her Lightning McQueen crocs, and she doesn’t seem to care if people are put out by her weirdness. So yeah, that gets some response from Agatha’s lower belly.

But there are some other feelings there too. The scary type of feelings. The ones Agatha is not sure she’ll ever be able to admit, especially not this fast. She met the woman, like, yesterday. Still, the feelings are there, whether she wants to look at them or not. And the pit in the bottom of her stomach deepens the more she realizes that despite the stunt Rio pulled yesterday and the ‘ I never want to see her again ’ mantra that followed her home, the thought of actually never seeing Rio again made her feel sick.

She does her best not to think about what any of that means; she tries, instead, to lean into the familiarity of physical attraction. She doesn’t think about how, for the first time in her life, she feels like she has found someone who could understand her, someone that seems to vibrate at the same frequency as her, someone who wouldn’t run from her darkness. She thinks, instead, how easy it would be to fall into Rio’s bed if she actually put her mind to it. 

For instance, sitting so close to Rio in a windowless, poorly ventilated room is borderline torturous. Agatha can feel the heat emanating from the writer and it’s driving her mad. Madness from horniness is a much preferred outcome over madness from overthinking about all the possible reasons Rio has suddenly stopped talking to her. 

It’s not until she slips the jacket off her shoulders and pulls the collar of her button up from her neck in hopes some cold air will creep in that Agatha understands. A strangled sound comes from Rio’s direction and the reason why the room (read: Rio) is so quiet, clicks. 

She glances at Rio who quickly looks away, fixating her eyes on the screen in front of them. Her breathing is heavy and her legs bounce up and down in a frantic rhythm. Agatha hums to herself, an immense sense of satisfaction taking over her — Horniness 1, overthinking 0. 

It’s not like she has been oblivious to Rio’s own attraction. She’s not stupid. She has seen the looks and heard the comments, but some part of her thought it was just part of her playboy persona. Rio is a flirt, and with these types of people you never know when the attraction is genuine or just a game.

For the sake of torturing the woman (and further confirming her hypothesis), Agatha leans just slightly closer to Rio, her ponytail swinging to her side. They are close enough that it brushes Rio’s shoulder. It doesn’t touch her skin directly, but Agatha can see the exact moment Rio stops breathing. Smiling to herself, Agatha decides to amp things up just a  bit by popping open a button on her shirt and folding the sleeves up her elbow.

“Is the air conditioning working?” She asks, faking her usual annoyed tone while fanning herself.

Rio, honest to god, whimpers . It’s a pathetic little sound and Agatha desperately wants to hear it again. She needs to know how far Rio can bend. Agatha’s lips twitch upwards, maybe giving in to this would be an actually good idea. It would rip Rio out of her system, so she could go back to being her usual self; one that didn’t show up to other people’s house uninvited, one that didn’t melt at the thought of being liked by a six year old boy. She could go back to her self-loathing, feeling-less self and all would be alright because everything she’s feeling, or everything she thinks she’s feeling, isn’t actually real, but a figment of her touch starved imagination. 

She plays with her hair and stares at the writer, who is still pretending to be transfixed by the CCTV. Agatha opens her mouth to tease her and say something borderline improper for the workplace when Rio decides to shift on her seat to face Agatha. Their faces end up mere inches apart and every thought Agatha has ever had vanishes right there and then. 

Unfortunately for her, it’s not only her lower belly that reacts to Rio’s soft gaze. Her heart does something funny in her chest and it almost makes her giggle . Rio smiles then, it’s not her usual self-gloating, flirtatious smile. It’s gentle and almost shy. Everything Agatha has just spent the last few minutes convincing herself of, flies out of the window in that moment and Agatha hates her just a tiny bit more for that.

She should tilt her head up, it would only take a fraction of movement to capture Rio’s lips with hers. She should tilt her head up. Before she can do anything though, her phone rings, making them jump apart as if burned. 

“Harkness,” She answers, her voice sounding weaker than she’d like. She doesn’t look at Rio, in fact she looks everywhere in that cramped up room but at Rio. 

“We found something,” Jen says on the other side of the line. Agatha hears Alice yell ‘I found something! ’ in the background. Jen ignores her completely, “I’ll text you the address.”

Agatha nods, ending the call and picking up her jacket again. She doesn’t look at Rio when she tells her they had a lead and that they had to go now. She doesn’t look at Rio when she jumps into her car and drives away to the address in her phone. She doesn’t look at Rio even though she feels Rio’s eyes on her, hot and unwavering through the entire ride. She doesn’t look at Rio at all. 

---🖋---

“What do we have?” Agatha asks the second she’s out of the car.

“Alice found a creepy ass letter, detailing the first murder. Sketches and all.” Jen shudders. “There was no name or address on it, but DNA results point to one Maggie Shaw. Lives on the third floor.” 

Agatha looks up at the building. It’s nothing fancy, nor is it as run down as one usually pictures a killer’s lair to be. It looks very much like every other building in Westview; boring and ordinary. 

“What else do we know about Shaw?” Alice hands Agatha a small file in response. 

Maggie’s picture is the first thing there. White, with short blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses, Maggie Shaw looks kind. Nothing about her screams serial killer, not the eyes, nor the smile or posture. Still, Agatha knows, more than most, not to judge those solely by appearances. Ever since she, herself, got seduced by a strikingly beautiful serial killer in her very first year in the force, Agatha has started to look at every suspect as a potential killer until proven otherwise.  

“She's cute,” Rio says over her shoulder, startling Agatha a little. For a minute there she forgot about the writer. “Doesn't look like a killer to me. Does she look like a killer to you?”

“Everybody looks like a killer to me,” Agatha points out.

“Do I look like a killer to you?” 

For the first time since their almost kiss, Agatha looks at Rio. The woman is furrowing her eyebrows and has her mouth pinched into a thin line. She's probably aiming to be intimidating, but instead, she just looks constipated. Agatha’s heart, a stupid little shit who doesn’t know when to shut up, still does something funny in her chest at the sight.

“Yes. You kill my patience.” She's proud of how vexed she sounds and when Jen and Alice snicker, she feels even better.

Her smugness, however, lasts for half a second. The next thing she knows is the feeling of Rio's breath in her ear and a whispered “ you like it though ” that raises goosebumps all over her traitorous skin. 

Agatha doesn't give Rio the benefit of a reply, focusing instead on the file in front of her. On Maggie Shaw. A potential serial killer. She quickly reads the  information they have: 29 years old, originally from Sacramento but moved here a year ago for unknown reasons. No records of a job, nor of a next of kin in the area. 

“Young woman moves to a small town by herself. No job. No friends. No relationships.” Whether they want to admit it or not, it does sound suspicious. Especially since Shaw's family seems to be alive and well in Sacramento. If she's here, there's gotta be a reason for the move, and if it's not school related, or job related…

“Sounds like someone I know,” Jen says, interrupting her thoughts and shooting Agatha a pointed look and sarcastic smile. 

Agatha snarls at her and Alice, in her sweet, rookie innocence, says softly, “Well, Agatha has a job.” 

“Barely,” Jen whispers. She must not intend for Agatha to hear, but she does. Her skin prickles, she has no idea how Jen knows about her records, but she guesses she shouldn't be all that surprised. That woman is as nosy as your retired next door neighbor.

Unfortunately, Rio seems to have caught that as well. She tilts her head in confusion, but before she can open her mouth to question that comment, Agatha throws the file in Jen’s direction. The woman scrambles to catch it and the scene gives her a small sense of vindication. 

“Alright. Alice, you come with me. Jen, you cover the exits.” She fishes her bulletproof vest from the trunk of her car and watches as Alice rushes to do the same. 

“Don’t you think—”

Agatha has a pretty clear idea what Jen was about to say. Usually, she and Agatha are the ones rushing into danger, while Alice, the younger and more inexperienced one, stays back, guarding their six. Today, though, Agatha’s afraid that being left alone with Jen and a loaded gun will end up with her arrest. 

“Last time I checked, I was still your superior, Detective Kale. You’ll do as I say.”

They’ve been working together for the past year and, during that time, Jen has had her share of pissed-off-at-Agatha moments, but never quite like this one. The woman is fuming, but Agatha couldn’t give a single fuck.

“Ooookaaayy,” Rio says, trying to break the tension in the air. “Where's my vest?”

Agatha lifts an eyebrow, “You don't have a vest.”

“What? We are heading into danger, I should be strapped in, don't you think?” 

Agatha bites her lower lips, trying to keep her smirk and inappropriate comment at bay, “ You don't need a vest because you are staying in the car.” 

Rio gasps, looking every bit offended, “What? No! What am I supposed to do here?”

“I don’t know, write a book or something,” Agatha says, starting to walk away from Rio.

“I’m sure you’d love that,” she hears Rio yell, but doesn’t pay her no mind as the door to the building closes behind her muffling every other sound.

Chapter Text

Rio counts to 15 before darting out after the detectives through the building’s back door. It takes less than a minute for her to find apartment 317, she has never once run up a set of stairs so fast.

The door to the apartment is open with Jen propped against the threshold. The second her eyes land on Rio, she lifts an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t you— You know what, I don’t care. Be on your merry way.” Jen steps sideways, shoving a pair of blue gloves at her chest and motioning for her to go on. Rio, for her part, is just glad that Agatha pisses everyone off so badly, they feel like breaking the rules just to annoy her. 

Stepping into the apartment, Rio does a 360° spin. The place looks like every other apartment she’s been in. It’s spacious, but well furnished which makes it look cozy and inviting. Rio takes her time roaming around; in the living room there are framed family pictures — happy looking ones, and a large bookshelf. Rio notices, quite surprised, that there is not a single one of her books on display there. You’d think that a serial killer obsessed with her books would at least show off her source of inspiration. The kitchen holds nothing special, just like the main bedroom.

All in all, nothing about it screams serial killer lair, which is incredibly underwhelming. Rio would’ve turned around and gone back to the car if it wasn’t for the alarming absence of her favorite detective. Fortunately, Rio is a master of snooping and it doesn’t take her long to find the hidden ceiling ladder.

The muffled voices coming from the newfound attic get increasingly louder as Rio climbs up the steps. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She doesn’t need to look into the room to know they’ve found the actual lair; even the gust of wind coming from it smells rotten.

When she does look at it, however, it’s much, much worse than she'd imagined. “Holy fuck…”

Her whisper carries through the room, louder than she anticipated. Agatha and Alice spin on their heels so fast, Rio is lucky to not have a bullet hole in the middle of her chest. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Agatha fumes, putting her weapon back in its holster. “I told you to wait in the car!”

“I got bored.” Rio shrugs, stepping further into the poorly lit room. 

The wall in front of her is clustered with pictures, Rio’s own face stares back at her from several different angles in several different lightings. There are loose book pages and creepy drawings glued amidst the photos. The place would have any sane person bolting out of there as fast as they got in, Rio, however, takes a few steps closer, touching the wall as if to make sure it’s real.

The entire place is starting to feel less like a lair and more like a shrine. 

“Rio…” Agatha’s voice sounds like a warning as Rio delves further into the room. A warning to what exactly, Rio only finds out when she gets to the third wall. 

The wall, much like the first two, is an amalgamation of pictures and loose pieces of papers. Except, on this one, the pictures displayed in the farthest corner make Rio’s stomach churn. Instead of her face, it’s Nicky’s that stares back at her. There are shots of him alone, an unnatural zoom framing his perfect little face, some are of him with Lilia at the park, others of him and Rio. There are even a few where he’s wearing his school uniform.

All the trouble Rio has gone through to keep him out of the spotlight and relatively anonymous seem useless right now. Hell, there’s even a lettering work with his name and some drawings around it.

Oh. She’s going to be sick.

She doesn’t wait for anyone, doesn’t even look at Agatha as she bolts down the stairs and out of the apartment. It’s a mystery how she makes it out of the building before emptying her stomach in the nearest trash can.

Once she can breathe again, Rio snaps into action, jumping into the driver’s seat before a horrifying realization hits her: she doesn’t have the keys. She starts calculating how long it will take her to run to Nicky’s school and just as she’s about to cry, Agatha jumps into the passenger seat and throws her the keys. 

“Go.” Rio’s bottom lip quivers as Agatha turns the sirens on. She has never felt more grateful to anyone in her life than she is to Agatha right now. 

The drive is relatively silent. Nicky’s school is on the outskirts of town, nearer Eastview than where they are at now. It’s the only private school in the area, so whoever built it had to make it in a good enough location to accommodate both cities. Still, Rio makes it there in less than 20 minutes. 

She handles the bureaucratic shit to get Nicky out of there and into her field of vision as soon as possible, in the meantime Agatha makes a few calls, murmuring words Rio has no mind to pay attention to. Her hands are shaking, her heart is racing and her brain keeps coming up with the worst possible scenarios every second that ticks by.

Her anxiety is only dimmed when her baby finally comes through the door. Rio latches on to him, squeezing him enough to get a ‘mommy, you're crushing me’ complaint. She releases her grip, but keeps him within her arms. 

“Are you ok?” He asks, his eyebrows pinched in concern. 

“I am now,” Rio whispers, hugging him again.

Nicky's focus shifts to the detective standing awkwardly behind Rio. He releases himself from his mother’s grip and jogs towards the woman, wrapping his arms around her waist, “Agatha!” 

“Hi, honey.” Rio hears Agatha whisper as she playfully messes with his hair, eliciting the cutest giggles from the boy. The sight of the two of them together, most importantly, of how soft Agatha seems whenever she looks at Nicky, has Rio’s stomach fluttering. A nice change from just a few minutes ago. 

As she drove to the station this morning, Rio didn’t know what to expect; had no idea what sort of reaction she’d get from the detective after the stunt she pulled the night before — the psychoanalysis, as Lilia had called it. Actually, Rio expected everything but whatever happened in that tiny video room. 

Rio knew her silence had been deafening and that Agatha most likely noticed how she wasn’t paying attention to the footage, too mesmerized by the rise and fall of the detective’s chest to have her eyes on anything but that little godforsaken chain glittering in the screen light. 

That was just the tip of the iceberg though. The jacket coming off, that was the real problem. 

Rio had realized then that she had never seen Agatha’s naked arms. She knew detectives most likely exercised a lot, but the full display of Agatha’s biceps added to the knowledge Agatha was wearing a sleeveless button down all morning was too much for Rio’s delicate brain. She knew then she’d never be the same again.

For the first time since their silent car ride to Shaw’s apartment, Rio allows herself to wonder if she was imagining the way Agatha had leaned closer, if it was just her brain seeing what she so desperately wanted to see. One thing was certain, though, the room felt sexually charged in a way Rio hasn’t experienced in years. Agatha could hate her guts, sure, but there was no question about her physical attraction towards Rio.

If not for the imminent danger her son was in, she’d definitely lean into that knowledge and make the most of it. Circumstances, however, were rarely kind to her.

“What is going on? Why are you two here?” Nicky asks, still standing closer to Agatha than strictly necessary. Apparently, her infatuation isn’t alone in the building.

Rio sighs, her eyes flickering to Agatha. She has no idea how much she can tell Nicky about the case, when Agatha shrugs, though, Rio takes that as a do whatever you please . Which is a problem by itself. How much does she want her 6 year old to know? This is so completely different than venting to him about not being able to find the correct killer for her stories. 

She opts for a polished truth. She doesn’t tell him he’s in danger with all those words, but she does say that since the killer is obsessed with her, they are worried she may try to approach him or Lilia somehow. 

“So we are all in danger?” Rio deflates at his question. She used to be better at this parenting thing. 

“Well. I personally don’t think she’ll harm you, your mom, or grandma,” Agatha says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She seems to harbor an affection of sorts for your mom. She wouldn’t harm you knowing what you mean to her.”

Agatha’s line of thought makes sense, but the memory of Nicky’s pictures on that fucking wall still has her struggling to breath. One thing she has learned in her years studying criminal profiling is that the moment things go sideways, killers can and, most often than not, will get impulsive and, therefore, more unpredictable. If this killer in particular gets impulsive, nothing guarantees Rio, she won’t try to kidnap Nicky to get Rio’s attention. 

She pushes those thoughts aside, “She is right. I just need you in my line of sight, or in your grandma’s, or Agatha’s, ok?”

Nicky doesn’t seem totally convinced, but he nods anyway, “Ok.”

“Let’s get you home.” 

Rio reaches for his hand, but before they start walking back to the car, Agatha clears her throat. Two matching pairs of eyes find the detective, who offers them a rather sheepish smile. 

“Captain thinks you’ll be safer staying with someone else, or in a hotel until the case is closed.” Rio reads between the lines: Maggie Shaw has their address. Awesome! What could possibly go wrong.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll see if the Westview Inn has a vacancy.” Rio runs her hand over her face before grabbing her phone and unlocking it. She has a handful of people they could stay with, but she doesn’t want to accidentally get one of her friends killed.

Agatha opens her mouth to say something, but Nicky beats her to it. “Can we stay with you?”

He shoots his shot with the infallible puppy dog eyes backing him up. Rio’s been on the receiving end of those one too many times, so she knows firsthand how hard it is to say no to it. She kinda wants to high five him for it. 

Still, she says, “Nicholas. C’mon, dude.” She lacks the energy necessary to properly chastise him, though.

“What? If we are in danger, isn’t a detective’s place the safest place for us to be?”

Rio cannot argue with his logic, but she knows Nicky all too well to believe he’s doing it just because he’s scared. Lilia probably put some ideas in his head and god knows that kid is like a dog with a bone. 

“Yeah, but you can’t just–” She gesticulates widely towards where Agatha is frozen in place, looking like she has just swallowed a bee. “You know?”

“It was worth a shot.” Rio hears him mumbling. 

“Sure,” Agatha says, bringing their attention back to her. Her eyes, wider than normal, are glued to Nicky. She looks like she’s one word away from descending into madness. Which, to be fair, could very much be happening because the Agatha Rio has met just a few days ago would never suggest what Rio thinks she’s suggesting right now.

“What?” 

“You, Nicky and Lilia. You can stay at my place. It’s a big house and there are plenty of rooms.”

Rio’s vocabulary, a source of great pride, seems to have been reduced to one word, “What?”

Nicky on the other hand lights up like a Christmas tree and attaches himself to Agatha’s waist once again.

“Take it or leave it, Vidal,” Agatha says, her annoyed tone is back as if it had never left, as if it had never been replaced by something softer, something tentative as she opened her home for them. 

Nicky runs back to her, and bounces up and down on his heels, swinging her arms back and forth in a frantic manner, “Take it, Vidal!”

Rio scoffs at the use of her last name. She should say no solely because she knows Agatha will be a terrible influence on Nicky’s sense of humor and cheekiness. 

When her eyes find Agatha, who is doing her best not to look expectantly at Rio, she knows there is only one possible answer, “What the hell, sure.”

---🖋---

Agatha’s place is not at all what Rio has pictured.

She's not exactly proud to admit that she thought it'd be cold. Minimalist rooms with a white ceiling, white walls, white furniture, white everything. Or maybe something more dungeon-like, if Rio was being completely honest; dark rooms, barely any furniture, something to scare off everyone setting foot in it. 

That imaginary couldn't be further from the truth. The place was weirdly warm . It was cozy and well lived in. There was a lot of furniture and a lot of trinkets on said furniture. There we bookshelves filled with books, hers included, more books piled up on the floor and lots of old paintings hanging on the walls. Rio's favorite details, however, were the fact that every room had a different wallpaper and the fact that there was a rabbit; a living, breathing rabbit that greeted them at the door like a dog. 

“That's Scratch,” Agatha introduced when Nicky all but teared up at the sight of the animal. “Say hello, Mister.” Scratch wiggled his nose and rubbed himself against Nicky’s open palms as if he understood what Agatha had said. 

“Señor,” Rio said when it was her time to greet the rabbit. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Thirty minutes later, after Rio’s officially done snooping around, she walks towards the kitchen where Agatha is heating up some frozen pizza. 

“You didn’t have to,” Rio says, pointing to the three boxes of pizza. “We could’ve ordered something.”

Agatha shrugs, “They were about to expire anyway.”

Rio doesn’t know she’s gotten so good at reading Agatha in just a couple of days, but she did and she knew for a fact Agatha was lying. She doesn’t push though. 

They sit in silence for a minute before Agatha tells her, without looking up at her, that she has already set up their rooms, Lilia will take one of the guest rooms, while Rio and Nicky will take the other. She goes on  saying that they’ll keep a patrol car 24/7 on the main street and another one circling the place every now and then. Rio is touched by the commotion and, apparently, she's not the only one. Before she can thank Agatha for all she's doing to assure their safety, Lilia barges into the kitchen and, kid you not, hugs Agatha unpromptedly.

“Thank you, dear,” Lilia says as her arms hold an awkward Agatha in place. Rio has to fight the urge to laugh when Agatha's panicked eyes find hers. “Thank you for keeping my grandson safe.” 

Agatha relaxes a little at the words and, finally, hugs Lilia back. It's so awkward that it makes Rio wonder when was the last time someone, Nicky excluded, has hugged her. The thought alone makes her sad, it makes Rio want to do everything in her power to make sure Agatha never forgets what a hug feels like.

Eventually, Lilia frees Agatha from the hug and goes back to Nicky and Scratch in the living room. Rio smiles at Agatha then, “I second that. Thank you.”

Agatha's lips twitch, “What? Don't I get a thank you hug from you too?”

Rio may be quite literally the dumbest, most useless lesbian on the face of the Earth, because instead of flirting back and jumping at the chance of hugging the woman of her dreams, she just stands there gaping like a fish at the unexpected flirt. When the whole thing finally dawns on her, it's too late. Agatha is halfway out of the kitchen, chuckling and shaking her head. 

“Fucking idiot,” She mutters to herself. 

Three days. Three fucking days and Agatha is already opening up her doors to the Vidals. Literally and metaphorically speaking. She doesn’t know what it is about this mismatched little family that has her craving something that she hasn’t dared to dream of since she was a little girl.

It’s such a foreign feeling that she can’t even be sure what exactly she’s craving. Is it Rio? A child? A mother? A family? All of the above?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

She forces herself to push those thoughts back to where they belong: shoved so deep inside her chest they forget what color the sky is. This isn't the place nor the time, besides, her mother could've been the biggest bitch on the planet, but she was right about one thing: Agatha wasn't made to be loved. 

Taking in a big breath, Agatha watches the Vidal-Calderus interact as she perches in the semi-hidden stairwell in the kitchen like a hawk. The pizzas still in the oven are the perfect excuse for her to avoid social interaction for the time being.

Scratch, ever so not like her, is having the time of his life basking in all the attention. He hops around, following Nicky like a shadow while the boy giggles and tries to throw him off. That rabbit, however, has never lost a tag game in his life and apparently his reign will remain undefeated. 

Rio is laying back on the couch with Lilia sitting close to her. She has her legs thrown over Lilia’s lap, who, in turn, has a comforting hand placed on Rio’s knee. They both watch the kids play, smiling fondly. It’s a sweet picture. 

The beeping coming from the oven, pulls Agatha’s attention away from the family in her living room. She takes her sweet time getting everything ready. 

Opting for plastic dishware so there's nothing to wash at the end of the night could've been seen as a practical solution and nothing more, but, in reality, Agatha has chosen it because it allows her an extra 10 minutes alone in the kitchen as she searches for it.

Or so she thinks.

“Need help?” Agatha jumps, not having heard Rio  approaching. “My bad.”

“I'm good. Thanks.” Agatha gives her a curt nod, hoping it will be enough for Rio to take the hint and go back to the living room.

But, when has Rio Vidal ever taken a hint…

“You sure? Seems like a lot for just two hands.” Agatha stares blankly at the three pizza boxes, plastic cups, paper towels and ketchup bottle Rio's pointing to. That's not to mention the drinks still in the fridge.

Sighing, Agatha nods, “Yeah, ok. Grab the food, I'll get the drinks.” 

Rio stacks the pizzas, adds the paper towel roll on top and skillfully maneuvers to the living room, shouting an excited, “I come bearing food!” Agatha trails, not too far behind, with the cups, apple juice and a couple of beers.

Despite the fact she's been dreading this moment, it ends up not being nearly as terrible as Agatha thought it'd be. Nicky does most of the talk, as little kids always do, keeping the adults entertained enough to drink and eat mostly in silence. 

“Agatha, do you own any video games?” Nicky asks, unpromptedly. He jumped from a school related subject to this one so quick it takes Agatha a beat to register the change. 

“Uh…”

“Even if she does, you are not playing,” Rio sing-songs.

“Mooooooooooom.”

“Nope. You know the rules. Books during the week, video games on weekends.”

Nicholas grunts, dropping his tiny body dramatically on the couch. Agatha understands now why Rio is dreading his teen years so badly.

“I may not live till the weekend,” He mumbles, which gets him nothing but a bunch of yells of protest, even from Agatha, and a light slap on the head by Lilia. “Jezz, guys. It was a joke.”

“Can’t you see how bad I’m laughing?” Rio deadpans, pointing her index finger at him, “Keep that up and there’ll be no video games this weekend as well.”

Nicholas opens his mouth to protest, but Lilia is faster, “Ah ah, you heard your mother. Now go brush your teeth, get into your pajamas and maybe I’ll let you pick a movie instead of a book.”

The boy doesn’t need to be told twice. He bolts from the couch, waving them a quick goodbye and runs up the stairs to his newfound room. 

Rio scoffs, throwing Lilia a knowing glance, “You spoil him too much, d’you know that?”

“It’s what grandmothers are here for.” Lilia says, shrugging as she gets up to follow Nicky up the stairs. 

Once they are left alone, Rio turns to Agatha who is busying herself separating what’s leftover and what’s trash. She feels her eyes on the side of her face, but refuses to look in the writer’s direction. It’s been some complicated couple of days and for each second that ticks by, the less Agatha trusts herself to be left unsupervised in Rio’s presence.

Rio clears her throat. Agatha still doesn't look up. “Thank you again for, uh, helping us.”

“Just doing my job.”

“But this isn't your job. Not really.” Rio's voice is so soft, Agatha pats herself on the back for not caving and turning to look at her. Instead, she only shrugs.

There's a beat before Rio clears her throat and speaks again.

“What did Jen mean earlier? You know, about your job...” Agatha has no idea why in the world Rio thought that was a better, more acceptable angle of conversation. Perhaps, though, Rio was onto something because that question does earn her a glare. 

Agatha stays silent for a long time, staring blankly at an empty pizza box as she debates whether or not to say something. Undoubtedly, the easiest thing to do is letting the silence hang heavily between them until it's uncomfortable enough to make Rio leave.

But, like with everything else involving Rio, Agatha finds herself going with the out of character option of actually telling the truth.

“I’m not… good… following orders,” Each word that falls from her mouth feels like a bee sting to the chest. “And I’ve had some issues in the past. Insubordination, contempt of court, you name it. I may have also thrown a stapler at my old partner’s head.” At Rio’s wide eyes, she adds, “He was always flirting, trying to get in my pants, so it was self-defence, really.” 

Rio whistles, “Maybe I should tone it down. Don't wanna end up with a concussion.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes and pointedly ignores the multitude of implications that come with that comment.

“Anyways, got kicked out of one too many precincts. If I don't behave in this one, I think it may be over for me.” She shrugs, trying to paint it all as not a big deal, as if her career isn’t an essential part of who she is. She loses her job and she’s got nothing. 

Rio looks at her for longer than Agatha finds comfortable and, worse yet, she has this indecipherable look on her face that gives Agatha no clue of what she's thinking.

Finally, after what feels like a full hour, Rio gives her a mischievous little smile, “God forbid women have hobbies…”

The relief that settles deep within her bones isn’t exactly a surprise, but the full belly laugh that comes from her mouth is. She pushes Rio’s shoulder lightly, making the other woman join her in the laughing fit. 

Chapter Text

Agatha arrives at the station at 7am sharp. Rio, surprisingly, offered to come along, claiming that the faster they closed this case, the faster Nicky would be safe. It’s clear that whatever reason has made Rio want to tag along in the first place — curiosity? entertainment? glory? —  has now been replaced by the genuine need to see Maggie Shaw behind bars. Agatha wouldn't take that away from her. 

“Ok, I need to check the autopsy reports. Can you talk to Alice? See if she's got anything else from the scene?” Normally, she'd never delegate a task like that, especially not to a civilian, but she's pretty sure of what awaits her in the autopsy room and she does not want Rio there for it.

The writer nods, eager to help, “Sure, boss!” She salutes Agatha with a wink then runs off to find Alice.

Idiot, Agatha thinks fondly.

In the autopsy room Wanda sits with her back to the door. She's hunched over a desk, furiously scribbling something on a file. 

“So it's true? You have a roomie now?” She asks, without pausing her activity.

Agatha, who has barely walked through the door, scoffs, “I wouldn't call it a roomie.”

Wanda spins on her chair to face Agatha,  “What would you call it then?” 

“A favor.” Because apparently Agatha Harkness could face the most terrifying killers in the country and tell them to go fuck themselves, but could not say ‘no’ to a six-year-old child with big, innocent, caramel eyes. She clears her throat, “Got anything new for me?”

The attempt to shift the subject falls flat. Wanda ignores her completely in order to keep staring at her with one eyebrow lifted and a mocking smile growing by the second on her lips. 

After an excruciatingly long time, Wanda seems to finally realize Agatha is not taking the bait. Softly, she says, “Well, look who is growing a heart.” Agatha fakes a gag, but Wanda doesn't seem to be done. “You even look different somehow. You really care about her, don't you?”

There's a beat before Agatha speaks again, “I care about Nicholas. He didn't choose any of this. I'd do the same for your annoying kids as well.”

Even though it sounds like a lie coming from her mouth, it's not. Sure, Agatha has always tried to put some distance between herself and kids, but it's specifically because she cares about them way more than she could ever care about an adult person. She knows first hand what it is like to be young and afraid and with no control over your life or the people that are trying to ruin it.

Their situation may not be the same, but whenever she sees a child in the slightest of dangers it triggers something ancient in her. Nobody in her hometown ever tried to help her when her mother, Evanora, beat her to a pulp for causing the tiniest of inconveniences. Actually, Evanora was so certain Agatha was rotten inside, such a disgrace for a bloodline as pure and Christian as theirs, that she convinced the entire town Agatha was born with the blood of a witch. So instead of doing something, they just stood there and cheered on her execution. 

She'll not be like any of them.

Wanda probably reads between the lines, being the only one here who knows about Agatha’s past, because she visibly softens, “It’s good to know.”

“So…” Agatha rolls her shoulders back to regain some composure. “Got anything for me or am I just wasting my precious time?”

With the moment officially broken, Wanda sighs motioning for Agatha to come closer. “I found something weird. In A Grave of Azaleas, the cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head—”

“Did Shaw get it wrong?” Agatha interrupts. For someone as meticulous and obsessive as their killer, it sounds very unlikely.

“No. Well. Ish? I don’t know. There are signs of BFT, but it wasn’t the cause of death.” Wanda rolls her chair until it’s positioned at Lamarca’s right side. “You see this here?”

Agatha comes closer, leaning down until she can see what Wanda is pointing at. On Lamarca’s neck there are several barely visible perforations, “She injected her with something?”

“Air.”

“Embolism?” Seems like an aggressive change of MO. The other deaths have been all done by small caliber guns exactly like Rio has described in her books. Why change things now? 

Wanda nods, “That’s not all though.”

Agatha is about to ask what she means by that when she sees it. The tiny holes, seemingly random at first glance, in close inspection form a very shaky, but unmistakable R.

Before she can even begin to process that information, Jen barges through the door. She’s out of breath as if she’s been running.

“Agatha, we need you upstairs. Now.”

---🖋---

“What’s going on?” It’s the first thing she asks when she notices the commotion.

A detective whose name Agatha's forgotten, shushes her as Jen guides her through the crowd, pulling her until she stops in front of Rio who’s holding her phone out to everyone else to listen.

“What—” This time it’s Rio who silences her by placing a finger on her own mouth and shaking her head.

“What’s the fun in that?” Comes from the voice on the other side of the line.

Rio’s eyes dart to Alice, who motions for her to keep going, “I don’t think anybody is laughing.”

The person, as if to prove her wrong, chuckles, “You will. We’ll be so famous.” 

Agatha’s eyes bulge out of their sockets once she realizes what exactly is going on. 

“There’s no we.”

“Well, anyway. I gotta run. You seem to have found my little secret, so now I’ve got to speed things up. Send Nicholas my love, will you?”

Rio actually screams at the phone, but the person, Maggie, has already disconnected the call. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Agatha asks anyone who’s willing to give her an answer. Her eyes dart around the bullpen, eventually falling back onto Rio who is now busy talking to Lilia on the phone. 

“Shaw called to report a murder to Rio’s personal number. Alice, tell me you got something,” Jen says. 

“I do. Westview Center Station. Let’s go.”

Both, Alice and Jen, run out of the precinct followed by a horde of other police officers.  Agatha, however, stays behind, watching Rio until she gets off the phone. 

“You need a ride?” Agatha asks, refraining herself from asking if she’s ok. There’s only one possible answer to that question.

Rio startles a little as if she was expecting to be alone by now, “Uh, honestly? I’m not sure if I should be anywhere near Nicky right now.”

Agatha takes a deep breath. She understands where Rio is coming from, but she also knows how much unnecessary panic she’ll cause Nicky by staying away, “she’ll not hurt him. Not when she knows how much he means to you.” She reminds her. They had this conversation already, but this time, Rio doesn’t seem as convinced. 

“Shouldn’t you be out there?” Rio asks, changing the topic. She sounds so tired that it cracks something inside Agatha’s chest.

“Jen and Alice can handle this one,” Agatha says, not leaving any space for argument. “I’ll stick around, see if there’s anything we missed.”

Rio nods, “Yeah. Ok. I’ll stay, we can…”

“Rio–”

“Agatha. Please. Let me do this.” Rio’s voice breaks halfway through her sentence and the crack in Agatha’s chest deepens, making it hard for her to breathe.

“Ok.”

---🖋---

Rio is sitting on a chair beside Agatha’s desk going through the diaries and pictures from the lair they found the day before. She has this tiny crease in her eyebrows as she studies each piece with the utmost concentration. 

It's good that at least one of them is focused. 

Agatha keeps fidgeting with her pen as she stares at her computer screen. There's an internal battle going on inside her brain on whether she should tell Rio about Wanda's findings or preserve her from feeling even more responsible about those deaths.

The responsibility of making the choice is lifted off her shoulders when Wanda barges into the bullpen. Her red hair is tied in a ponytail, but there are loose ends sticking out in every direction. She looks like a mad scientist going through a major breakthrough. 

“Found it!” Wanda said, getting everyone’s attention. She shoves a bunch of crumpled up pieces of paper into Agatha’s hand and beams. Before Agatha can even begin reading through those, Wanda announces, “There were letters on the other bodies as well. On the bullets, actually, but still. I think Shaw’s trying to write us a message.”

“What do you mean by letters?” Rio asks, eyes darting between both women.

Wanda’s eyebrows skyrocket into her hairline, “You haven’t told her?”

“Told me what?”

Agatha fixes her gaze on the papers in her hands, “We were,uh, busy.”

Wanda only rolls her eyes before telling Rio everything she’s found. There’s way more details now, most of them insignificant, shadowed by the fact that they have found the letters W-I-L-L-U-M-A-R carved into bullets and corpses.

“How did we miss this?” Agatha asks. 

“Gonna have to ask the ballistic team about that.”

Rio, to everyone’s surprise, starts laughing. She laughs so hard, tears begin to stream down her face; laughs even harder when she notices Agatha and Wanda’s confused and horrified faces. 

“Have you officially gone mad?” Agatha asks, which only awakens a new fit of laughter. 

It takes about 5 more minutes for Rio’s laughter to subside. When it does, she wipes away her tears and apologises. 

“I’m just, she’s actually killing for me. Like it’s a gift,” She chuckles once again. “God. She could’ve at least picked people I actually hate, you know. Do you think she’ll accept a list?”

“Rio.” Agatha warns, but she has to make an actual effort not to let a smile crack her facade.

“Well, at least you’re coping.” Wanda says, patting Rio on the head like they are old friends. 

The three of them stay silent for a long while until a horde of cops comes into the bullpen and Wanda has to fly back to the morgue to start working on their newest body.

“Catch me up?” Agatha asks Alice, who has just walked in. 

Alice takes a deep breath, shudders, then points to Rio, “Your mind is a very disturbing place.”

“Guilty,” Rio says, nodding in agreement. 

The body was indeed found at the station with a single gunshot to the head and ritualist runes carved down his arms, however, the scene was a bit too cleaned up for the murder to have happened there as well. How Maggie Shaw was able to walk into a station carrying a body at the busiest time in the morning was still a mystery though.

“There was no witness and we are still working on an ID, but given the previous victims, we assume this one will match the profile of one Casey Cavannaugh,” Alice says, handing Agatha her notes taken at the crime scene. 

“Did she follow it by the book?” Agatha asks. “The murder, I mean.”

“I believe so, but you’re the expert,” She has the nerve to wink at Agatha. 

Agatha scowls, not breaking eye contact with Alice as she hands Rio the notes she hasn’t even glanced at. 

“Do you have the photos?” The writer asks, tossing aside the notes much to Alice’s dismay. Rio not making any sort of teasing implication about Alice’s comment is a testament to how badly this case is fucking her up.

Alice opens the pictures on the computer and excuses herself to catch up on any news with the forensic team. 

Rio rolls her chair until she's sitting right beside Agatha, way closer than strictly necessary. She doesn’t look at Agatha though, focusing instead on the gruesome pictures on the screen. 

“I don’t see anything out of place,” Rio whispers, her face so close to hers that she can feel the woman's breath on her skin. Agatha's own breath gets caught in her throat as goosebumps raise on her skin.  

She risks a glance, wanting to know if Rio is doing this on purpose, if she's aware of Agatha's reaction to her proximity, but the writer seems entirely focused on the screen in front of her.  

Worse than being this affected by someone is being this affected by someone who doesn't realize, or doesn't seem to care, how badly they are affecting you.

Clearing her throat, Agatha asks, “Found something interesting in the journals?”

“Nah, just a bunch of delusional crap about how we’re soulmates,” Rio comments, rolling her chair back to its original place. “I’ll keep digging into it, see if I can find out how she plans on committing the next few murders.”

Agatha studies her scrunched up expression before adding softly, “you could go home, you know.”

Rio offers her a tired smile, “Think you can get rid of me that easily?”

“If I thought asking politely would make you go away, we wouldn’t be here, Vidal.” The words were rough, but there was a slight upturn on the corner of her lips.

“To be fair, you never asked politely …”

Agatha shoves Rio’s chair with her foot, sending her spiraling through the bullpen. She comes to a stop right in front of Captain Hart and Agatha guesses she gotta be thankful for Rio’s charm, or else she’s pretty sure she’d get a slap on the wrist. At least.

“Sharon! Fancy seeing you here.” Rio smiles at the woman.

“Miss Vidal.” The woman raises her eyebrow, eyes darting between Rio and Agatha suspiciously.

Rio gets up, her smile growing bigger and more charming by the second, “I was actually hoping I could talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

Captain Hart walks Rio to her office, chatting amicably as if nothing had just happened. Right before disappearing behind the glass door, Rio looks at her and gives her a thumbs up.  She mouths the words ‘ nailed it ’ and Agatha can’t help the chuckle that falls from her lips. 

Maybe having Rio around wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

Rio does eventually go home. After having no resemblance of success with Maggie’s journal, Agatha promises her that, with Jen's and Alice's help, they'll run an extensive search of every possible Westview location that matches Rio’s book and that could, therefore, be used as a crime scene.

So, once Agatha had said one too many times that it was boring desk work, Rio decided to get out of her hair and leave the detective work to the detectives. 

“Hey kiddo,” Lilia greets her with a hug the second she steps through the door. “How are you holding up?”

Rio shrugs. She couldn’t come up with the words to explain just how terrified she felt. If she thought seeing Nicky’s face glued to the murder wall had her on the verge of spiralling, she had no idea how hearing his name from the killer’s mouth would tip her over the edge. 

“Where is he?” 

Lilia points to the armrest in the living room where Nicky is sleeping soundly with Scratchy resting on his belly. Despite everything, she smiles at the scene.

“Shit. I might have to get that kid a pet when this is all over.”

Lilia chuckles, “You have it easier. Agatha will have to get herself a Nicky. That rabbit has been following him around all day and squeaking like a mad person whenever Nicky gets out of his line of sight.”

“His own personal bodyguard,” Rio laughs.

“Speaking of, where’s Agatha?”

“At the station. There’s a new body, I don’t think any of them are going home.” She drops down onto the couch, eyes glued on Nicky the entire time.

Her entire body aches when she stretches. 

“I’m surprised you came.” Lilia sits beside her and pats her leg.

“There’s only so much I can help with.” Truth is, despite telling Agatha that being with Nicky may not be her smartest move, every hour that dragged by not being around him felt like a year of torture. “D’you think she’d hurt him?”

Lilia’s long intake of breath tells Rio everything she needs to know, still, the older woman says, “I think you and I have spent way too long trying to understand a killer’s mind for me to lie to you right now. It’d be an insult. But I don’t think she’ll do it until it’s her very last option.”

Rio feels her bottom lip start to quiver. She drops her head to Lilia’s shoulder, hiding her sobs in her neck. If her baby boy gets hurt because of her, she’ll never forgive herself.

Lilia wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She kisses the top of Rio’s head and whispers, “It’s not on you. None of this is on you.”

Rio really wants to believe her, but she doesn’t. 

Chapter Text

Rio startles awake with the sound of laughter coming from downstairs. It would be nothing out of the ordinary if the weight of Nicky, tucked in half on top of her, was absent. If Nicky was still asleep then who was Lilia laughing— 

Oh. 

She opens her eyes, blinking the sleepiness away and takes in her surroundings; the plain grey wallpaper, the synthetic wood flooring and the lack of decoration other than a white bedside table with a glass of water on top of it. 

Yeah. Agatha has truly made an effort to make the guest rooms cozy and inviting.

The room was still dark, the only light source being the faint beam coming from the door crack. Maybe Rio was dreaming, surely Agatha wasn’t laughing with Lilia at – Rio looks at her wrist watch – 6:08 in the morning. Surely.

She pulls Nicky closer, nudging her nose into his hair. The boy murmurs something unintelligible at the disturbance, then he’s out again. She smiles to herself.

Just as Rio is about to fall back asleep, the sound of laughter reverbs through the walls once more.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Something isn’t right… Maybe it’s the killer.

Quickly enough, Rio untangles herself from Nicky's tight grasp and gets out of bed. She tip-toes her way down the stairs cautious to what she may find waiting for her on the first floor.

She's not even all the way down when the scene unfolding in the kitchen stops her in her tracks. Agatha and Lilia sit on the counter, each cradling a steamy mug of coffee as they talk and laugh as old friends. 

Rio doesn’t think she has ever heard Agatha fully, properly laughing . It's such a terrifying thing that Rio actually wishes she was facing Maggie Shaw instead.

Then, out of nowhere, Agatha snorts . The coldest, meanest detective Rio has ever met has just snorted . She can believe her ears only as much as she can believe her eyes, which is not a lot. 

It stirs something inside of her, though. Another side of Agatha unraveled right in front of her. A side Rio finds herself desperately wishing to be the one igniting. 

“And then, she actually runs out of the bathroom butt naked, save for some socks—” 

Oh, that's not…

“GOOD MORNING,” Rio yells from her place on the stairs, she fakes the fakest of yawns and all but runs towards the women. “What a lovely surprise waking up to two lovely ladies drinking some lovely coffee!”

Both, Lilia and Agatha, raise an eyebrow at her. 

“For a writer you are awfully redundant,” Agatha comments before sipping her coffee. She turns to Lilia then, “You were saying?”

“NOPE!” Rio exclaims. She knows very well the story Lilia is telling and she does not need Agatha to know about the day she walked into the living room naked as the day she was born only to find about 30 strangers staring at her in shock. To be fair, she was in her apartment and Lilia had failed to tell her about the little gathering she was hosting to celebrate her 50th book release.

She was so mortified she didn't even have the time to get pissed for not being invited to the party happening under her roof. 

A shiver goes down her spine at the memory. She may not be modest, let alone a prude, but standing naked in front of that many 60+ year olds will make anyone flush to the core. 

“Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” Agatha asks, rolling her eyes in fake annoyance. 

“I'll tell you later,” Lilia whispers conspiratorially, bumping her shoulders into Agatha's. 

Where did that come from?

Rio only realizes she has said it out loud when Lilia's answer comes in mockery. 

“Well, darling, you're not the only charming writer in the room,” Lilia shrugs and Rio can swear she sees Agatha melt a little bit. 

Two conflicting feelings bloom in her chest: jealousy at the camaraderie her mother seemed to have formed with the love of her life and exhilaration at the camaraderie her mother seemed to have formed with the love of her life. 

She does a great job hiding the second as she grabs a slice of bread harder than necessary, eliciting amused laughter from both women. 

The three of them sit in silence until Rio is almost done with her food.  Agatha breaks it then, “Should we tell her?”

The question sinks something in her stomach. Whatever is coming next, Rio knows she won't be a fan of. 

Lilia pats Agatha's shoulder, “Your call, honey.”

Agatha takes a deep breath, then dumps on Rio the craziest, most suicidal plan she has ever heard of. 

Based on one of Lilia’s own books, their idea was to divert the killer's attention to something else, to shift her focus from the killings and Nicky to… Agatha . Before Rio could even open her mouth to express how stupid that idea was, Lilia jumps in, telling her she may have "accidentally" slipped the information that Rio was working on a new series based on Agatha. To everyone’s surprise, instead of freaking out and killing Rio in her sleep, Agatha decided to use that information to come up with said plan. They believe that if the announcement of the book is made within the next day or two, they’d have Maggie’s attention entirely focused on Rio’s new muse. 

“Which is not to say I won’t be killing you afterwards,” Agatha shrugs and takes another sip of her coffee.

It takes Rio a long time to react to everything that’s just been said. Stupidly, the only thing that comes out of her mouth is, “I’m not even half way through the book.”

To her understanding, for the plan to work, they need to side track Maggie. They need to stop the premeditated murders by making her plan one for Agatha instead. It’s an unnerving thing to even think about, but Rio can see why the women are so sure it will work. It’s easy to conclude that with the killer’s obsession on being part of Rio’s life, the news about another woman taking the spotlight will make her furious. 

However, they cannot do that if all Rio has to offer is a wonky skeleton of a storyline and the first two chapters that she sent in for approval. She doesn’t even have the title of the goddamn book. 

A cat-got-the-canary smile spreads on Agatha's lips, “You’re just gonna have to work really hard, then.”

Really hard is an euphemism. She’s gonna have to spend every waking hour of the next few days locked up inside her office urging the words to come to her. She’s gonna miss so much of the field action… 

“You’re just trying to get rid of me.” Rio pouts at the thought. Agatha winks at her, but before Rio can properly register the action, Nicky comes crashing down against Agatha’s torso. 

“You’re trying to get rid only of Mom, right?” Before Agatha, or anyone, can answer, he continues, “ Just Mom? I can stay?”

Rio gasps, shocked by the audacity and betrayal of her own flesh and blood. Even Lilia emits a little shocked noise from the back of her throat. 

Agatha, on the other hand, just kisses the top of his head. Smiling, she says “Yeah, of course you can stay.”

Agatha leaves not long after she tells Rio the plan she devised with Lilia this morning. It's a good plan, she keeps repeating in her head. It will get the killer off the Vidals and onto her, which is the best possible scenario considering she is the only one with a gun and loads of self defense courses under her belt.

What’s bothering her isn’t the risk she’s putting herself in, being involved in passive suicidal activities isn’t really new to her, she’s been doing it since she was kid. Death has always seemed kinder to Agatha than life has. 

What’s bothering her is the fact she’s doing it for Rio. No. What’s bothering her is the fact that doing this for Rio doesn’t bother her nearly as much as it should. What’s bothering her is how the Calderu-Vidals are becoming increasingly important to her. 

Even Lilia, someone she had not paid much mind to before, is growing on her. Agatha has always had a resistance of sorts towards every mother figure she encounters. It’s easier to be the first to pull away then let them in, let them pretend they care only to rip everything from her like her mother did. So, until that morning, she didn’t really consider Lilia at all. 

The woman is eccentric, funny and pretty damn wild. In the short span of ten minutes Agatha heard her admit to more law infringements than your average person commits in their entire life. Suddenly, Rio's file back at the precinct makes so much more sense. 

She proceeded, then, to tell the story of how Rio ended up in her tutelage at 14 years of age, “a rebellious little thing. I had never met anyone so committed to pushing people away, but I guess, it is to be expected when your parents kick you out and you’re left with nothing but the clothes on your back.” 

Agatha is not sure she deserves to be on the receiving end of that information, but knowing those things paints Rio in a completely different light. When the writer first prodded her about her past, Agatha thought she was just being mean for the sake of leveling the scores. Now, she thinks, maybe Rio was just seeing in Agatha what she for so long had seen in a mirror. 

“She warmed up eventually, but things only truly changed when Nicholas came around,” Lilia continued. “I guess that's when she understood the whole thing was on her parents, not on her.” 

Agatha didn’t offer much of a reaction then, afraid that if she were to say anything she would accidentally trauma dump and tell Lilia all about how she’s always wanted a kid but her mother did a great job brainwashing her into believing she was to doom everything she touched, so children were off limits. 

She supposes that, in a way, Nicholas has begun changing things for her as well.

Urgh.

She used to be better than this, stronger. She did not once cave into the desire of breaking up Wanda’s marriage when she first came into town and met the redhead — and she could’ve! Now, with Rio, she doesn’t even get the excuse of doing it for the power she gets from ruining some lives in the process, she would just willingly walk into a possible romantic scenario for the sake of having feelings. 

Urgh.

Agatha hates them. Hates. Them. She hates them… until Rio makes her laugh, until Lilia is kind to her, until Nicky comes running towards her just to hug her first thing in the morning.

But she hates them.

She hates how she's secretly dreading the day they’ll leave and she'll be alone again.

Dropping her head to the wheel of her car, Agatha takes a deep breath and counts to 10 like that wacky therapist demonstrated in one of the mandatory anger management classes they made her go to.

They need to put the plan into motion sooner rather than later. The longer this goes on, the harder the fall out will be.

As far as work days go, Rio’s wasn’t nearly as bad as she expected it to be after this morning. Once Agatha left for work, not too long after she dropped that plan on her, Lilia pushed Rio into the office and literally locked her in. Fortunately for her, the room had a bathroom of its own so she did not need to humiliate herself by banging on the door and asking to be let out to pee. Nicky would never let her forget it.

Lilia was the master of the craft for a reason though, her unorthodox methods rendered Rio 267 pages by the time the door opened again at 7:30pm. 

“Need any help?” Rio, who was expecting an excited Nicky to come running right into her, startles with Agatha’s voice being the one to welcome her back into civilization. 

She looks up from her laptop screen, eyes burning from the strain, and focuses on Agatha, propped against the threshold. The hallway lights envelop her body, creating an ethereal glow around her silhouette.

For a moment, Rio thinks she must have died in confinement and this is heaven. But why on earth would god be so kind to her?

“I, uh, I,” Rio answers like the fucking loser she is. 

Agatha takes that as an agreement though. She strides into the room, pulling up a chair and sitting as far away from Rio as she can in the cramped up space. She props her feet up on Rio’s desk and turns to her with a malicious grin, “You are always so eager to do my job, so I feel like I should meddle in yours. An eye for an eye...”

Rio chuckles, finding it amusing the fact Agatha thinks she’ll ever complain about her meddling in any of her business. Especially if said business is her writing. Unlike some of her writer colleagues, Rio quite enjoys hearing people's suggestions and ideas on her first drafts — her ex's do not apply. She finds that, more often than not, it gives her a new perspective, enriching the original story she had in mind.

Without a second thought, Rio slides the laptop on the table. It stops by Agatha's feet. 

“Knock yourself out,” she says with a malicious grin of her own. 

She's content with what she's got so far, but content is by no means publishable. There's something missing. The gripping, involving mystery her books are always praised for, is falling flat in this one.

Rio can't even blame the fact she is gunning for a more horror feel because the gory and spooky bits are there. Her brain is disturbed enough for that. There's something else bothering her, something that hopefully Agatha, with her usual graciousness, will slap across Rio's face any minute now.

“Do you have a title for it already?” The detective asks before reaching for the laptop.

“I’m thinking, Agnes of the Road,” The jazz hands do not soften the blow. 

Agatha gags, “What?”

Rio scratches the back of her head, “Well, if you read it–” Agatha gives her the Stare™ and Rio sighs, “The story is about  Agnes, a witch detective, who loses her power after a falling out with a villainous ex and has to go through the witches road with a mismatched bunch of witches to get her powers back but mysterious deaths start to happen and she has to figure out who is behind it.”

“Firstly, you are not naming my character Agnes, that's preposterous. Secondly, you couldn't title it The Witches Road because…”

“Huh,” That actually does have a better ring to it. Rio cannot believe she didn't think of it before. “See, that's why we should always work as a team.”

“No.”

Agatha takes it upon herself, then, to change the name of her character to Triodia; nickname, Tris. Rio argues with her about it for approximately 10 minutes, but when Agatha claims it's a witch's name, Rio leaves it be. She's the specialist after all.

For the next hour, Rio sits quietly watching Agatha read. The detective keeps her face schooled in an emotionless mask the entire time, until, eventually, she closes the laptop and turns to face Rio. She considers her words for what Rio thinks is the first time ever before asking, “What if you make her the villain?”

“What? Who?”

“Tris.”

Rio narrows her eyes, not quite following Agatha’s train of thought.

Taking a deep breath, she continues, “The way she reads is just too… boring. There’s a tragic past there sure, you’re welcome by the way, but that’s it. She’s just a witch on a road with a bunch of other witches, I’m not even on page 100 and I’m bored. Your characters are usually so much more fleshed out than this, like,  I can’t connect to the character that is supposed to be me, so I wonder if your readers will.”

Rio nods, digesting the words. She knew it was lacking something, she just didn’t think it was the character’s fault. 

“I’m not saying it’s bad. The plot is good, I like the idea of these completely different women having to work together through the trials while also worrying one of them is a serial killer. That’s compelling. But what if it’s Tris. What if the road is her invention, what if it’s a way she found to trap witches, who let’s say, crossed her path on a bad day, or, I don’t know, flirted with her girlfriend. Maybe killing them is how she gets her powers and the whole, my evil ex stole my powers is just a cover up.” Agatha’s eyes are shining in a way Rio hasn’t seen before. The look on her face reminds her of Nicky when he’s blabbering about dinosaurs. Pure and unfiltered childish glee. “I mean, it would also help with the plan. You’re writing about a serial killer and despite having one out there as we speak that you could’ve used as reference, you chose someone else to base your character on. It’s gonna piss Shaw off.”

Rio smiles. Big. Thoughts and ideas are already spinning in her brain from this new take on her story. She knew she could count on Agatha for some honest criticism, she did not, however, expect this completely different spin of her story. This better, and definitely sexier spin. Her fingers itch with excitement.

“You, my love, are a genius.” Without thinking, Rio gets up from her chair and smacks a kiss on Agatha’s cheek which assumes a shade of red almost immediately. Taking advantage of this seemingly vulnerable moment, Rio falls back in her chair and with a wicked grin she adds, “It saddens me you didn’t get to the sex scene between Ag– Tris and River on page 105, though. I would really appreciate your thoughts.”

“THE WHAT?”