Chapter Text
She was late.
Agatha Harkness had a strict morning routine, but yesterday was just one of those nights. One of the cases she had been working on for months was really getting to her. She had found herself drinking a bit too much wine in front of the files at home, staring at the crime scene photos with anger. The answer was there, the files had everything she needed to figure it all out - and people’s lives depended on it - but her brain just wouldn’t focus.
It was like this every November. The anniversary of Nicky’s death always took a toll on her. No matter how long ago it was, no matter what she had going on, every November her brain shut down and all she could think of was her late son, 6 years old - one day laughing while hiking with her in the woods, the other day gone in the face of a doctor telling her they did “everything they could”.
Granted, her job wasn’t easy either, and she would often get burnt out and distracted like this. But in any other month Agatha would just shake it off. She had worked too hard and for too long to let tiredness get on her way. Her position in the FBI was one of authority. She was unit chief, respected by her colleagues - or at least feared by them - and that required discipline, it required control.
In the Behavior Analysis Unit, Agatha and her coworkers spent their time hunting down the most complex criminal minds of the country. They analyzed the crime, and, from it, they built a profile - the type of person who would commit it - and narrowed the suspect pool, sometimes slightly, sometimes down to one possible name. Just like that, they made sure serial killers, mass murderers, terrorists and the like were caught and put behind bars before they could hurt anyone else.
The nobleness of the job wasn’t interesting to Agatha, as harsh as that sounds. After Nicky, she couldn’t give two shits about who else lived or died. What interested her was the hunt.
More often than not, Agatha hunted people who thought of themselves as gods - too good to be ever caught by the cops, too smart to be ever figured out by those around them. Untouchable. Tsk. Agatha knew better. The cops might be useless, their loved ones might be gullible, but Agatha was just as much a god as they were. There was nothing they could do to escape her. Agatha would win at the end.
She didn’t share that view with the team, of course. Agatha did her best to seem like one of them - caring and compassionate.
She considered herself a cold ruthless woman, yet secretly, she did have a soft spot for her coworkers. They weren't morons. Huge compliment, considering the rest of the people in the FBI building. Billy was so young, he constantly reminded her of Nicky - of how Nicky would be when he grew up. Could've been . Brilliant, caring, always seeing the good in people, but knowing enough about the world to not be too naive. The boy really liked Agatha, for reasons the unit chief couldn’t really understand. Maybe it was the gay thing, solidarity or whatever. Maybe it was her position in the bureau - the chief - making her seem like a professional ambitious career-driven woman. Admirable, almost. Someone to learn from. He always seemed to defend her against Jen or Alice - also part of the team - when Agatha was being a bit too much of an ass for their liking. It happened often. They weren't morons, but they dabbled.
Alone in her apartment, Agatha checked the clock. 2AM. A sigh escaped her lips. She looked at the empty wine bottle and decided to chug the rest of her glass, closing one of the files scattered across her office table and knowing she would hate herself in the morning for staying up so late.
Yet, when the harsh sound of her alarm clock ripped her out of a deep sleep, she didn’t really hate herself. She understood. It was only the first week of November. She'd probably do way worse by the end of the month.
With another sigh, Agatha started her morning routine. Every day at 6AM she would drive over to the nearest park and jog through the woods. It brought her comfort to go down that road paved with dirt - the same one she used to bring Nicky to - and it got her blood running for the day. She usually started getting ready without issue, never one to stay lazing in bed. Today, however, she allowed herself to hit snooze. The sunlight on her eyes was a bit much.
So yeah, she was late.
Agatha managed to get out of bed at 7AM, knowing her jog would have to be shorter than usual if she wanted to get back and shower before work at 8. Grabbing the first thing that sort of resembled workout clothes - a tank top and booty shorts - she put on her socks and running shoes before going down to the kitchen.
Her phone was, of course, bustling with notifications. Being unit chief also meant dealing with a lot of bureaucratic bullshit Agatha honestly couldn’t care less about. Starting the coffee machine and filling up the toaster with bread, the woman sighed as she assumed the professional character she had so carefully curated, carefully answering the e-mails and slack messages those suit-and-tie idiots considered urgent. One notification was actually useful. New body found - the same serial killer case she was going over yesterday. Agatha sighed. Fuck.
Opening the email, she carefully went over the information. New York - oh, this one was close. She knew the killer was active all over, so the fact that this happened so close to Quantico, Virginia, got her excited. She was all about the hunt, after all. Victim number 9. Male, as always. Found in bed, as always. Fully castrated, as always. A leaf-looking symbol carved into their chest with a curved knife… as always.
Complex signature. Agatha’s team had been over this. They had been studying this killer ever since Victim number 5. This unknown subject - unsub - fit the profile of what was called a “black widow” killer in her field of work: female, killing sexual partners for money or power. Intelligent, manipulative, and highly organized in their kills. They usually go through a long cycle of meeting and manipulating their victims until killing them off and running away with their money.
This one, however, was different. Her cooling period was shorter, she didn’t bother developing relationships with the powerful men she killed. She didn’t want inheritance money or pensions: she wanted a night with them. A luxurious expensive date. All the victims had been last seen with a woman most commonly described by witnesses with the words “beautiful” and “quiet”.
She drove Agatha mad.
The nerve of this woman! Going out in public every time, and yet never giving them more than two grainy CCTV clips of the back of her head - once blonde, once ginger. Most likely wearing wigs and other disguises. She seemed to be a goddamn ghost of sorts. They had interviewed countless people regarding the 8 previous murders connected to this unsub, but nothing came of it. With the victims having no personal relation to their killer, it was nearly impossible to catch her if she didn’t screw up forensically…
and she never, ever, makes a mistake.
Yes, Agatha had a penchant for female killers. She couldn’t deny it. Male ones were boring: impotent, mommy never gave you love, women never looked at you twice, boo-hoo-hoo. Women wanted power, and Agatha could relate to that. It was her field of work, after all. What she's known for. Agatha had countless books on the killer female psyche. That was her area of expertise in the team, and it was the work that got her to unit chief.
She checked the victim’s profile. He was a big-shot CEO. Republican, involved with Crypto, cheating on his wife. Classic. Clicking on his picture, she was even less surprised: balding, fat, greasy. Yawn. Agatha couldn’t help but wonder if the killer found him as repulsive - or at least as boring - as she did. If so, why would she ever subject herself to a date with men like these. Killing them for millions in inheritance was one thing, but for a fancy dinner? To be paraded as a trophy wife around Michelin star restaurants? It didn’t make sense.
The Green Witch is too good for this.
She shook the thought away, trying to remain objective.
They advocated against giving unsubs nicknames. It was generally a bad idea, it inflated their ego, straightened their resolve and made them more likely to take their actions up a notch. “Zodiac”, “Vampire of Sacramento”, “Night Stalker”... Agatha wondered why they had to sound so badass. If it were up to her, they’d name serial killers something pathetic like “Impotent Pete” or “Tiny Dick Greg”. Maybe that would make it less appealing.
Yet, within the FBI headquarters, with the leaf-symbol and the seemingly magical way she never left forensic evidence, they started calling her “The Green Witch” regardless. Jen said it first, and Agatha reprimanded her, of course. It was Agatha’s favorite pasttime activity at work - bickering with her infuriating subordinate. After the third month of investigation, and of having the file on standby - because it seemed fucking unsolvable - Agatha gave in and started using the nickname with the rest of the team. It was better than “the leaf-carving-unsub”, or whatever bullshit Agatha made up in order to avoid saying Green Witch.
She sighed and locked her phone. Work wasn’t until eight. This Green Bitch could wait for her to have some buttered toast.
Breakfast made her feel warmer, but yesterday’s wine was still present in the shape of a nagging headache. When taking the driver’s seat of her SUV, she made sure to open the window to alleviate any hangover sickness. With that, Agatha distractedly drove out of her garage, humming a song.
She didn’t notice at first, but it was Nicky’s song she was humming - the ballad. A song they crafted together, about walking down the park roads. It was her son who first sang it - Agatha didn’t know where he got the melody from, if from anywhere - but the sight of her little boy being so happy and content while skipping through the woods, hand in hers, was her most treasured memory. “Down, down, down the road, down the wind-y road…” he sang once, out of the blue, as carefree as a child should be. If she closed her eyes and focused, she could still hear his voice. The song comforted her. It made her miss him just a little bit less. It made her feel like he was still aliv-
“SHIT,” Agatha hit the brakes. “WHAT THE FUCK?” she yelled at the pedestrian who was wide-eyed staring at the front of her car.
With a sigh, Agatha closed her eyes and hardened her grip around the steering wheel. Holy shit, she had almost killed that woman. Her thoughts immediately turned defensive: she was distracted, sure, but it wasn’t her fault! The girl was fucking jaywalking.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Agatha screamed through the open window, quickly unbuckling and getting out of the car. The woman stayed silent, surprisingly calm. She just looked at Agatha in what could be mistaken as shock to anyone else.
Agatha knows shock, and this wasn’t it. There was a hint of a smirk on the girl’s face… she thought Agatha’s desperation was funny.
“I ALMOST HIT YOU!” She tried to get a real reaction out of the stranger, explaining the obvious so that whoever this girl was would react appropriately. No success.
“Yeah, no shit.” The girl answers, matter-of-factly, no sense of danger in her voice.
The brunette had big brown eyes, her skin darker than Agatha’s. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was casually taking her airpods off. The woman was wearing casual clothes - black boots, black jeans, and a dark green crop top that seemed to have a floral pattern. She was fit. Agatha took her in while trying to calm down. Fuck, that was a close call.
“You good?” the girl asked with a smile.
“Me?” a scoff. “Yeah… I’m good. Are you?”
“I’m great.” - and… oh… the stranger was looking Agatha up and down, suddenly making the agent very self conscious about her own attire. They lock eyes.
“Well… try not to jaywalk next time, asshole.”
“Try not to run me over next time, sweetheart.”
Agatha laughed with another scoff. The nerve of this woman! Shaking her head and getting back into her car, she made sure to slam the door. To her surprise, when looking back up she found the girl still standing in the middle of the road, watching her. They locked eyes through the windshield glass.
“Are you gonna fucking move or what?”
The stranger slowly crossed the road, never breaking eye contact. Once she hit the sidewalk, she smiled.
“Te veo,” she says, and walks away, down the road from which Agatha came. That was Spanish, she noticed. “I’ll see you”...
What the fuck? Agatha took a deep breath and shook her head as if to forcibly throw the woman out of her thoughts. What a little shit.
She hit the gas with a little bit too much force and went on her way.