Chapter Text
“Agatha.”
It was getting harder and harder to remember life without Wanda.
Agatha’s life was split succinctly into two sections: the B.W. and A.D., or, respectively, Before Wanda and Anno Domini, marking the Wanda years onward. And god, would she ever love being compared to Christ.
The Before Wanda years were getting fuzzier these days. Probably a trauma response, but Agatha wasn’t one to dwell.
“Agatha.”
Wanda Maximoff and her family were Agatha’s ticket to freedom. They always had been. When Agatha’s mom sent her to kindergarten in holey clothes with no lunch money, Wanda was there to give her a sweatshirt and half of her sandwich. The Maximoffs had been there to take Agatha school supply shopping when her mother insisted the old supplies would do just fine.
It didn’t take Agatha long to realize that she and Wanda came from vastly different worlds. Wanda’s cushy five-bedroom suburban home was the perfect respite from Agatha’s two-bedroom dilapidated house on the outskirts of town. When Agatha’s fridge was empty, Wanda’s was fully stocked. When Agatha’s mom got hammered and decided Agatha could spend the night outside, Wanda’s family was there with an open door and a spare bedroom.
Wanda and Agatha quickly became thick as thieves. And the Maximoffs would do anything for their daughter, so in turn, they took in this odd little duckling.
However, realizing their relationship was transactional took Agatha a little longer to pick up on. It started with small things in elementary school, like when Agatha would get a compliment on her shoes, Wanda would interject and explain how her parents had bought them. Or in middle school, when one of Agatha’s drawings was selected for an art show, Wanda had to let everyone know that her parents were the ones who provided Agatha with top-notch drawing pencils.
“Agatha.”
It was cemented when Agatha overheard Wanda’s parents talking to some of their rich socialite friends. It was a rarity when Agatha wasn’t at the Maximoffs, and on this particular evening, she had crept downstairs to grab a snack for herself and Wanda during one of their study sessions.
“You’ve really taken that Harkness girl under your wing,” some snob with an accent said.
Agatha’s hand froze on the pantry door as she continued to eavesdrop.
“Well, someone had to,” Wanda’s dad spoke up. “That poor thing's mother isn’t fit to raise an animal, much less a child. There’s no telling where she would have ended up if we weren’t here.”
It was all very, “There but for the grace of God, go I,” and Agatha could feel the bile rising in her throat.
“It’s so admirable, the life you’re giving her,” snob accent cooed.
“We’re just lucky she’s smart,” Wanda’s mother added. “A sob story with brains plus our money? She’ll get herself and Wanda into one of the Ivy Leagues, no problem.”
Agatha’s chest felt hollow as their chiding laughter followed her up the stairs. She was never under the impression that the Maximoffs loved her. Agatha had never felt that type of love, so how would she even know? But she at least thought they respected her enough to see her as more than a golden ticket.
She kept it close to her chest. Agatha was clever. She was a survivor. And this situation was only temporary. As soon as she graduated, she’d leave this shithole town and show everyone that she could make something of herself.
“Agathaaaa.”
Once high school hit, Wanda and Agatha were still best friends, but they were learning more about themselves and flirting with the social hierarchy. Wanda got involved with sports and the popular crowd. Agatha dove headfirst into her studies and art classes. Wanda passed her classes by copying Agatha, and Agatha dodged becoming a social pariah because Wanda would drag her to parties.
Again, transactional but with a mutual trust and understanding that felt safe.
Agatha never could stand the parties. Everyone was loud and dumb and making terrible decisions. Decisions that could ruin Agatha’s life in an instant. But some rich kid whose daddy was a dentist didn’t have to worry about the same things as her. She wasn’t afforded that luxury.
She hated alcohol. Hated the taste. Hated not feeling in control. But she would have a few drinks to fit in. She’d let some boat shoe-clad, puffer vest-wearing asshole press her against a wall and stick his tongue in her mouth.
Agatha hated kissing boys. She hated how they gripped her hips too tightly and how their pathetic excuse for facial hair scraped against her lips. In fact, she was much more interested in a girl from her art class. But she couldn’t be poor, unloved, and a lesbian. Pick a struggle.
As it turns out, the cute art class girl, Cassie, was pretty interested in Agatha, too. They spent most of their free period necking in the dark room. Agatha didn’t mind a pair of lips pressed against hers when they were soft and covered in a sticky, fruit-flavored lip gloss. She didn’t mind when the hands gripping her hips were soft, and the thumbs attached to those hands stroked her bared skin gently without the assumption that it would lead to more.
And the kissing was great, but what Agatha loved the most was having something that was secret and totally hers. Agatha would show Cassie her drawings and tell her all of her grand plans. She loved how Cassie would genuinely listen, tell her she was talented, and encourage without inserting herself into the narrative. It made Agatha feel like a fully realized person for once—out from under the Maximoff shadow.
It was their little bubble until Chad from second-period photography caught Agatha with her hand up Cassie’s shirt and popped that shit real quick. Cassie’s parents enrolled her in a school across town, and Agatha’s mom finally disowned her. Not that she wasn’t just waiting for an excuse.
“No child of mine is going to live in sin. I should have killed you the moment you left my body.”
Agatha, even now, at her big age of 32, could still hear it clearly. It rolled off her hypocritical tongue so easily.
“Agatha!”
The Maximoffs handled Agatha’s forced coming out surprisingly well. They had diversity essays and scholarships flashing behind their eyelids. Wanda, on the other hand, withdrew completely. They barely spoke at home and were seldom seen together in public.
There were sneaky glances. And 70 percent of the time, Wanda would slug the popular guy whose arm she was hanging off of in the shoulder for calling Agatha a dyke in the hallway.
It stung, but Agatha knew she only had to endure another year of high school, so she kept her head down and stayed focused. Agatha had always been top of her class, but art was her real passion.
She knew she didn’t have the privilege of fucking off to NYU to be a starving artist while her parents paid the rent. The Maximoffs were extraordinarily wealthy, but Agatha didn’t have access to that. There were unspoken guidelines that Agatha understood extremely well.
No, she’d have to be strategic. So she set her sights on architecture. She’d still get to draw for a living, and the idea of creating a safe, stable, peaceful environment for others made her heart happy. Maybe one day she’d be able to create that safe space for herself.
The Maximoffs were ecstatic, already predicting that Agatha and Wanda would own their own firm one day. They helped her secure the best internships, recommendation letters, and decided that she and Wanda would attend Cornell University; Agatha for architecture and Wanda for business.
Agatha received her acceptance letter and was met with little fanfare, mainly some pats on the back and a few “attagirls.” Wanda notably never received an acceptance letter, but after a lengthy phone call and a sizeable donation to the university, Agatha noticed Wanda had started walking around in a Cornell sweatshirt.
As her high school days were winding down, Agatha was having trouble containing her excitement. While most students were hanging on to “the good ol’ days” and mourning friends they would see less and less, Agatha couldn’t wait to get as far away as possible.
She graduated top of her class, no surprise. The “valedyketorian” as her peers so lovingly dubbed her. Which, looking back, was pretty creative.
She skipped out on graduation parties in favor of packing for the move to Ithaca. The Maximoffs had sprung for an off-campus apartment for her and Wanda, and Agatha had convinced them to let her move in early to get a jumpstart on coursework.
The night before the move, Agatha lay in bed with the biggest smile on her face. She did it. She was getting out of here, and now the possibilities were endless. She’d have her own space and her own life. Maybe even meet someone. She hadn’t really explored since Cassie. And even if there was no one at Cornell, she was only four hours from the city.
Just as she was drifting off to sleep, there was a knock at her door. Agatha sat up in bed and watched Wanda slip into her bedroom.
“Wanda?” Agatha’s brow furrowed. They were still on limited speaking terms.
“Why don’t you want me?” Wanda stood at the edge of Agatha’s bed.
“What—Wanda, what are you talking about?” Agatha swung her legs over the bed and moved to stand, but was stopped by Wanda pushing her back down.
Wanda straddled Agatha’s lap, roughly grabbed her face, and pulled her into a kiss. Agatha froze, unsure of how to respond. Her life was just about to start, and the last thing she wanted to do was piss off the Maximoffs and have everything ripped away.
Wanda’s lips worked against hers alone. They felt too thin and dry. There was no spark, nothing that made her stomach flip. It was beautifully average.
Wanda pulled back and looked at her expectantly.
“Wanda,” Agatha paused, knowing she had to proceed with caution. “I just don’t see you in that way.”
“But you could learn to, yeah?” Wanda’s eyes were brimming with tears like a wounded animal.
So Agatha took pity on her, never one to be cruel.
And against every red flag her body and brain were throwing out, she put on a forced smile and forced out, “Sure, we can try.”
And that’s how their 14-year relationship began.
“AGATHA!”
The Maximoffs were elated. They knew without a doubt now they would get a 100 percent return on everything invested in Agatha.
In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t all bad. They were still friends who possessed a great deal of care and love for each other.
They knew each other’s routines and hobbies. Wanda handled the financial side of things, while Agatha handled the practical, everyday tasks.
And in many ways it worked. On the surface, they presented as the perfect couple. But any hope that eventually Agatha would develop real feelings for Wanda never came to fruition—something they continued to brush under the rug. She wasn’t even sure if Wanda’s feelings were real half the time.
The sex was lackluster at best. Wanda always assumed Agatha would like what she liked, and Agatha felt no desire to explore with her. Thankfully, Wanda was a quick trigger. Agatha would get her off, fake her own orgasm, and stare at the ceiling until the early hours of the morning.
Truthfully, Agatha thought it might speed up the breakup process. If it was Wanda who broke things off, maybe it could be amicable, and they could go back to just friends.
But, no dice.
Their college years flew by, both excelling in their programs; of course, Wanda with help from Agatha. The plan was for them to start their own architecture firm in the city after graduation. And Agatha really was happy for the most part. Everything she had set out to accomplish was happening.
In every aspect except personal, she was fulfilled. It ate at her—that small but vital piece of her life she still had no control over.
The only big fight Agatha and Wanda ever had was the night before their college graduation.
Agatha decided to let herself indulge and go out to the bar with some of her friends, a rarity for her. However, Wanda insisted that she tag along. Agatha still wasn’t a big drinker, and after two beers her skin was feeling warm and her brain just the right amount of fuzzy.
So, when one of the girls from her architecture courses leaned in a little too close and ran a hand suggestively up Agatha’s thigh, she wasn’t quick to stop it—relishing the way it felt to be touched by someone who genuinely wanted to make her feel good. However, the high was short-lived as she looked up and found Wanda’s eyes boring into hers.
Wanda stood abruptly from the table, knocking her chair backward in the process. She gripped the collar of Agatha’s jacket, yanking her up from the table to drag her into the grimy bar bathroom.
Agatha’s hands gripped the sides of the porcelain sink, only making eye contact with Wanda through the reflection in the mirror—her face flushed from the alcohol but also from the embarrassment of being manhandled in front of her peers.
“What the fuck was that?” Wanda barked.
“What was what, darling?” Agatha asked through clenched teeth.
“You know damn well what.” Wanda grabbed Agatha’s shoulder and wrenched her around. “You whore yourself out in bars often? New hobby?”
“You’d have to extend my leash more than 6 feet for that to happen,” Agatha spat back.
They were in a standoff. Teeth barred and waiting for the other to expose their neck. Agatha was feeling brave after her two drinks and knew if she didn’t speak up now, she probably never would.
“I’m not happy, Wanda,” she relented. “I haven’t been for a long time. And I don’t think you are either. Look, we tried the relationship thing, and it didn’t work. That doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends and run a business together.”
When Agatha exhaled and raised her chin to make eye contact with Wanda, she was grinning back at her maniacally.
“Oh?” Wanda stepped into her space, backing her against the sink. “You think this is about happiness? We’re creating an empire. You’re not going anywhere, baby. I made you.”
Agatha’s lower back was crushing painfully into the sink. She tilted her head to the side to look away from Wanda.
“My money and your brains?” Wanda kicked Agatha’s feet apart, pushing her thigh between her legs. “There’s absolutely nothing we can’t do.”
And Agatha hated herself. She hated how she whimpered when Wanda’s thigh pressed against her core. She hated how she let her forehead fall and rest against Wanda’s shoulder. But mostly, she hated how quickly she stopped fighting for herself.
“But.” Wanda gripped Agatha’s jaw tightly, her fingernails biting into sensitive flesh. “If you ever embarrass me like that again, I’ll fucking bury you. You will have nothing, and you will be nothing. You are successful because of me. Do I make myself clear?”
Agatha nodded as a single tear fell down her cheek.
Wanda snickered. She pushed into Agatha once more and leaned down to lick the tear from her cheek.
“Work that into your bedroom routine, and maybe I could actually get off,” Agatha got in one final dig.
Wanda brushed her off with a flick of her wrist. “I’ll see you at home, dear.”
“AGGGGAATTTHHHHAAAA!”