Chapter Text
No work got done, of course. Everyone had too much on their minds. Agatha was relieved when she got a text from Wanda that allowed her to go home earlier, and her team was equally grateful to hear the news.
Wanda: Something came up at home. Can we have our meeting tomorrow?”
Agatha: Yes, for sure. Everything ok?
Wanda: Yeah, it’s just Sparky. He’s missing.
That annoying little dog. He was getting old anyway. Agatha remembers how insufferable the twins had been about getting a dog. She never understood the appeal of pets, though, except bunnies. Her only son used to love them - ironically, they were a symbol of fertility. Big happy families. Whenever Agatha saw a lone bunny, she understood how it must feel.
Agatha: He was still alive?
Wanda: Be nice to Billy about it, please.
Agatha: No promises, toots.
The team did go over Wanda’s theory anyway. The murder-for-hire idea made sense. It explained her timeline, her forensic awareness, how experienced she had seemed to be from victim number one. They theorized she had a much bigger body count which probably involved all different kinds of people, not just rich powerful men.
The leaf carving and the castration made it easy to identify those men as sharing the same killer, but if the unsub also took other jobs - ones which required her to kill a different kind of person - she might have just shot them in the back of the head and called it a day. Those men meant something to her, and the fact that it was their spouses who wanted them dead might have a great deal to do with it.
They theorized those victims were symbolic, representing a man in her life she either wanted to kill or already had. If that man was still alive, victims one through nine were surrogates. If the alternative was true, the murders were a way for her to relive the original killing.
Jen had contributed little to their work restructuring the unsub’s profile. She kept looking at the unit chief and huffing or shaking her head in disbelief. Agatha ignored it for the most part, but her subordinate’s distressed gaze left her increasingly agitated as the hours went by. She knew she had made the wrong call and for the wrong reasons. Agatha was personally fine with it, but the constant reminder that it affected everyone in the team wasn’t easy for her to shake off. If the unsub was on the path to escalating her behavior regarding Agatha, she could also very well target the other members of the BAU.
As soon as the clock hit 4PM, the team rushed out of the bureau as if the building were a faulty elevator they had been stuck in for the whole day. When Agatha finally stepped into the parking lot she felt relief for the first time since her brain had made the connection between the Green Witch and Rio Vidal.
The comfort was short lived, though, and not even close to being strong enough to put Agatha at ease. Driving away from the FBI headquarters, no part of her body seemed to be able to relax. Her jaw was clenched, and the forceful grip she had on the steering wheel had her knuckles turning white. At the first red light, she snapped.
Agatha screamed as loudly as she could, hitting everything around her in a frenzy.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
It could be Rio. The mere possibility lit Agatha’s body up in flames. If it was, what did that say about Agatha? A psychology degree at Berkeley, a masters in criminal psychology at John Jay, then a Ph.D. in forensic psychology at Stanford. Not enough for Agatha to identify a simple psychopath after being in their company for twelve fucking hours, apparently. If anyone found out, all the hard work Agatha had put into building her academic reputation would be thrown out the window. She’d be a laughing stock for psychology majors in college parties all around the country. Hell, after what she pulled today with Billy and his boyfriend? She’d be lucky to have a job if the team found out about Rio being the real reason behind Agatha’s decisions.
She screamed again, repeatedly hitting the steering wheel with enough force she could’ve easily ended up breaking a finger. Out of breath, Agatha stopped, finding her own eyes in the rearview mirror. Her hair was all over the place, her face looked red and her pupils were blown out. She looked insane.
Agatha knew she had to get it together, calm the hell down, and come up with a plan of action. Yet, all she wanted to do was to drive directly to Rio’s house - wherever it was, she’d find it - and wrap her hands around the other woman’s neck. This time, she wouldn’t let go. She would feel Rio’s fingers struggling against her grip, nails ripping the skin of her arms open, frantic legs trying to kick Agatha away. She would hear Rio’s sick mother yell for her to stop, but she wouldn’t budge.
She’d make Rio regret ever fucking with her.
The sound of car tires screeching made her turn around. Whoever was waiting for her to obey the green light had just lost patience. She watched as the man in the red Buick drove by her window.
“Crazy bitch!” he yelled.
You have no idea.
Agatha swallowed dry. Her own heavy breaths echoed around the insides of her SUV.
“Okay… okay…” she drove her fingers through her now messy hair in an attempt to put it back in place. “Calm down.”
She started driving again.
It could also not be Rio. In that case, the fact that Agatha had even considered murdering her - in front of her mother, no less - was insane enough to fill her with shame. Rio was intelligent, caring - in a way - and really fun to be around. Plus, beautiful, and the sex was insanely good. The only evidence Agatha had pointing to the fact that Rio was a serial killer was… Well, the fact that the two of them had met at all. Try telling that to a jury.
True, Rio had shown clear signs of antisocial behavior, maybe even antisocial personality disorder. Agatha had noticed that while the pair was still in the bar. Remembering that face made her feel a bit better about herself. She wasn’t completely blind. She knew Rio was trouble. Agatha just happened to love trouble.
Her brain started going over the list she knew so well: superficial charm, impulsive and reckless behavior, disregard for rules, consistent deceitfulness… It was basically a checklist of how Rio had behaved during the time they spent together.
Wouldn’t the Green Witch hide it better? She could clearly fool the men she killed and the people she interacted with while getting the job done. She knew how to pretend to be someone else - someone normal - so why would she be so… herself? Fooling Agatha would’ve been way easier if she hadn’t shown her psychopathy so clearly.
Unless fooling her wasn’t the plan at all. Unless she wanted Agatha to know.
The familiar landscape of the street she lived in surrounded Agatha’s car. Pulling into the garage, she grabbed her purse and walked straight towards her bedroom, getting rid of her clothes along the way.
She walked straight past her messy bed, afraid she’d have flashbacks if she dared to spare it a gaze. The sound of the shower did little to muffle her thoughts, but Agatha was grateful for it anyway. Hot water hit her wounded shoulders and Agatha’s knees folded, her body following the water’s path downwards until she found herself sitting on the cold bathroom tiles. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of the waterflow against her skin.
Agatha stayed like that for a while - she wasn’t sure how long. When her eyes opened again, her gaze lazily fell on her naked thighs. She chuckled. Bruises and scratches, of course. She caressed the damaged skin with both hands, examining the rest of her legs for more.
Distractedly, Agatha’s right hand crept up her thighs and the sides of her stomach until her fingers reached a point in her ribs that made her wince. The wound from the broken glass was supposed to be a painful memento of a big mistake, but no matter how hard Agatha tried, she couldn’t seem to regret Rio Vidal.
Her fingers pressed down on the wound and Agatha inhaled sharply. Her left hand understood the assignment faster than her tired brain could even register what Agatha was doing. She cupped the hot center between her thighs and let her fingers explore the wet folds there present, eliciting a loud guttural moan from the back of her throat. She leaned back until her shoulder blades rested against the wall. The hot water now falling against her naked chest was powerless to stop her nipples from slowly perking up.
She closed her eyes, pressing down on the gash on her ribs again, harder this time. She gasped, the hand between her thighs following the jolt upwards to brush against her clit. The first image her brain conjured was a surprise. Not because it was Rio, but because it wasn’t anything she had seen yet. Agatha was fully expecting to dive into the memories of the night they spent together - there was more than enough material there to last her a lifetime - yet her mind took a different path.
Behind her lids, she saw Rio with blonde hair. She wore a smile on her face and a beautiful golden dress around her body. The cloth flowed around her as she walked through a crowded room with the same ease she would’ve waltzed around an empty one. A slender leg peaked in and out of the long garment through a slit that would’ve been considered extremely inappropriate were it being worn with any less confidence.
Every single guest was dressed to the nines, but Rio was a clear ten. All eyes turned to her when she passed by, natural charm seemed to seep out of the exposed skin of her shoulders and chest. Agatha knew for a fact those people would later recall the moment - she had interviewed them herself, taken their statements, and made them sign eyewitness testimonies about it. That night, a man would be killed in a hotel by a faceless blonde woman who then vanished out of thin air. Today, Agatha’s mind made sure Rio’s features claimed their rightful place.
She watched it like a movie. Rio approaches a tall grey haired man in a tailored suit. Her hand strokes his chin and she whispers something to him. The man seems to excuse himself from the small crowd he had been entertaining as Rio leads him by the hand across the extravagant halls of the building they were in. Agatha starts moving her fingers. Both hands. The pain emanating from her ribs down to the pit of her stomach joined the electric pleasure rising up from her clit. The result was an intoxicating cocktail.
As Rio guides the man towards an elevator, Agatha knows the people in the lobby would be the last ones to see him alive. She notices Rio’s eyes dart up, scanning for the security cameras she had already mapped out in her brain. She turns her head right on time to escape the closest one, winking at the curly haired girl working the check-in counter Rio ended up facing. The blonde smiles when she sees the girl blush.
Agatha’s ministrations against her hardened bundle of nerves turn stronger. Her breath starts coming out in huffs as her fingers destroy any scar tissue that had grown around the cut on her torso. Her moans grow louder. She’s pressing down on her wound in unison with the rhythmic ups and downs of her lower hand.
Rio buries her face on the man’s chest to avoid the elevator camera. He strokes the back of her head with a clueless smile on his face, clearly proud of himself. The edge of Agatha’s open mouth curls up in a grin that mimics the mischievous one Rio hid behind the man’s tie. Out of the elevator, down the hall. The man presses Rio’s body against a wall and goes in for a kiss. Rio dodges his mouth and grins, her hand travels down his body and enters his pocket, pulling out a white rectangular piece of plastic out of it. She slips out of his grasp playfully, walking towards room 492 and opening the door with the key she had just taken.
A breathless chuckle echoes through Agatha’s bathroom. She can feel her own juices dripping down the creases between the back of her thighs and her crotch. She looks down at her ribs and sees red water pooling over her side.
The rest of the scene plays quickly. The man undresses. She doesn’t look at him once while he does it, instead focusing on removing both pillow cases with a plan in mind. She brings him down to the bed and uses the two pieces of cloth to expertly tie his wrists around the bedpost.
When she straddles him, Agatha knows he will never know what having Rio really feels like. She remembers the woman frantically rutting against her thigh, hot liquid dripping down all over the two of them.
Rio lowers herself down the man’s body and he closes his eyes. A moment later, he darts his lids open and screams. Rio gives him no time to process before jumping on top of his chest and pulling a long metal string out of her bracelet. She wraps it twice around the panicked man, who conveniently offers his neck as he couldn’t help but stare at the mangled bloody flesh that his crotch had turned into.
The blonde woman’s hair falls on his face as she pulls both ends of the string, one with her wrist, one with her closed fist. Rio grunts with the physical strain of it, but her lips are still curled up in a smile. She’s staring at his eyes as he panicky starts to fight against his bounds. The blood loss weakens him, his eyes roll around aimlessly. His legs kick the air, hitting nothing. Agatha is in a frenzy.
“Oh my- Fuc- Rio-”
She sees Rio’s chest rise up and down quicker and quicker, sweat dripping down her face. She watches the man beneath her lock his gaze on Rio’s - and life drains slowly from his eyes.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
Slender fingers drag a curved knife against the still chest of the corpse on the bed. The body was shutting down, but blood still seeps, following the knife’s path. Slowly, the image of a crimson leaf comes together. Rio is sweaty, her breaths are panted. Still straddling the body, she looks up at the ceiling and closes her eyes. A smile on her lips. She looks lost in the ecstasy of her kill. The blonde woman loudly moans at the feel.
Agatha’s torso contorts itself against the bathroom wall, and she comes with a scream. Her legs clamp shut around her hand and her body throws itself forward.
“FUCK!”
She falls limp against the cold floor. Blood and water surround her.
Realization hits her quickly and sharply, like a slap in the face.
Agatha panics. All the room seems to have vanished. The steady sound of the shower is now a harsh contrast to the one coming from her hectic breaths. She feels like her heart is about to jump out of her throat.
She had never allowed herself to-
Everything is spinning. Agatha sits up and slides to the corner of the booth away from the water. She hugs her knees against her chest and bites down on her arm, trying to control her breathing. She wants to cry.
Agatha can’t possibly hear it from her bathroom, but something wrapped around a purple cloth had just been thrown against her front door from a distance. When the small package hits the floor, it whimpers like a fatally wounded animal.