Chapter Text
The clock overhead marks only ten seconds left on the Orchids possession.
They're down by thirteen with five minutes to go.
Winning is still on the table.
Agatha knows. Her teammates, if their frantic gesturing is any indication, know it too.
But here's the thing, Agatha is more of a small picture kinda person.
Sure, they can win. But messing with the almighty, unflappable by anyone but Agatha, defending finals MVP Rio Vidal? Now that's a win in Agatha’s books.
She may not have any rings, but Agatha’s pretty sure she is all Rio is gonna be thinking about when the game ends.
Is that important right now? Probably not, but she does think about it.
Agatha puts a little more force than necessary on her next move, pushing Rio back, knowing full well Rio won't take nicely to being thrown around.
Somewhere on the court, Jen calls her name.
Agatha pretends not to hear it. “Just a heads up, champ,” she tells Rio, stepping towards the basket. “I'm going for a three point play.”
That gets a snort from Rio, who closes the gap and attempts to take the ball.
But she's forgetting something Agatha is well aware of. Rio is hurt. Her right wrist has been ‘bothering her’ according to her team’s injury report, where they listed Rio as ‘questionable’ prior to the game. Agatha knows this because she's good at her job, and for no other reasons.
At the last minute she cuts right, forcing Rio to pivot to her weak side. Agatha watches her falter, and pounces, sinking the shot over the MVP’s head.
The whistle blows, the ref calling the foul, and Rio blinks, like she's coming out of a trance.
Agatha pats her arm condescendingly on her way to the free point line. “Golden star for effort.”
“But…you’re left handed!” Rio calls after her.
Making the free throw is easy. Agatha has been mastering that shot since she was fifteen. She smirks Rio down as she runs to the other side of the court.
Rio looks murderous.
Good.
The rest of the game should be fun.
***
They lose by five points.
Coach Calderu looks very pointedly at her when she gives a speech about the ‘need to play smart’.
Agatha holds her gaze, head held high. Last she heard, three points is still the most points you can make in one possession in a game of basketball.
If they lost is not on her. Maybe it has something to do with the poor constructing they've been doing around her for the past…forever. A conversation she's been having with their new general manager since the woman made the mistake of inviting her to discuss team movements over the off-season. At the time Agatha had only one request.
It has slowly since become something she'd describe with a stronger word, but Hela has stopped talking to her if it's not absolutely necessary.
Coach Calderu sighs, clearing having caught onto the fact she's lost the most important member of her audience and dismisses the players.
Wanda is waiting for her outside the locker room, arms crossed over her chest. Agatha does her best to ignore her sling covered left arm and sidesteps her, making her way to the parking lot.
Whatever Wanda has to say she doesn't wanna hear it. They have not been friendly since the redhead's little attempt at a coup after last year's first round playoffs exit. Agatha still doesn't feel like talking to her with anything but her fists, and Lilia would probably have a stroke if her two stars started throwing hands in the stadium, where the cameras could catch them.
So, feeling kind, Agatha makes her way to her car leaving no injuries behind, other than Rio’s ego. And speaking of Rio, Agatha spots her across the parking lot with the rest of the Marvels players, and shoots her a wink. Rio flips her off without missing a beat.
Oh she's so gonna be thinking about Agatha until the rematch.
Before Agatha can make her exit, Rio jogs over, like she has nothing better to do. She stops a few paces from her, like she's gauging her chances at getting closer and surviving.
“You knew I was hurt,” Rio says. Not a question, so Agatha doesn't answer.
“Have you been keeping tabs on me, Agatha?” Rio asks after beat, an infuriatingly smug smile making way into her lips. “Do you stalk my team’s socials to see how I'm doing?"
Agatha scoffs. “You wish, Vidal. So I read sports news,” she says, tone mocking. “Congratulations, sweetheart, you discovered I can read.”
Rio’s little smile turns wistful. “I knew that already. You used to copy my homework, I haven't forgotten.”
I wish you had, Agatha wants to say. Instead she takes a step forward, then another one, crowding Rio’s space. “How's the high life treating you in LA, superstar? Got all those rings, all your parades, and look at them,” she motions with her head to the Marvels bus, where all the players have already gone up to. “None of them wanna be your friend?”
It's a cheap shot, and they both know it. Agatha is mad that Rio knows her, and yet she uses the same knowledge to hurt her.
Rio sighs, taking a step back. “I like you better when you keep the rivalry on the court.”
“And I don't like you at all,” Agatha snaps back.
She turns before Rio has a chance to react and climbs her car, keeping her eyes firmly away.
After a moment, Rio turns back to the Marvels bus.
Agatha doesn't think about that interaction the whole ride to her place.
Back home, Agatha kicks off her shoes and grabs a non-alcoholic beer from the fridge, a small sacrifice she's making for the team. She finds Scratchy in his cage, scoops the little guy up and plops down on the couch. The TV flips to one of those shitty sports recaps shows as she pulls her feet up on the coffee table.
The men on the TV talk too much, which is ironic, before moving onto showing the night's highlights.
“Look now, señor,” she tells Scratchy, rubbing his head. “I’m on TV. And my mother said I'd never make it in like,” she adds, laughing at her own joke.
They're down to the third best player of the night, and Agatha is sure she's number one, when her phone buzzes on the coffee table next to her foot. The sudden vibration makes her jolt and she smacks her toe on the table’s leg.
“Fuck! Goddammit!” She yelps, and Scratchy bolts out of her lap.
“Scratchy, no!” She calls, but the bunny is gone.
Her phone buzzes again, just as her layup over Rio is named the second best play of the night.
“What the fuck–?” She starts, but another buzz cuts her off. Groaning, she grabs the phone. Three unread messages from Hela.
We’re doing a trade.
Not you. There's no market for you.
Rude.
It's Wanda.
Holy shit.
Yes.
Fucking finally. Agatha has to resist the urge to announce it herself on social media and lose what little trust she has with Hela.
She drops the phone back on the couch, grinning like an idiot.
“Scratchy!” She calls after her bunny. “Come out, mister. We gotta celebrate. We’re free!”
Scratchy peeks out from behind a pillow on the armchair, floppy ears twitching, looking curiously at her. Agatha picks him up and plants a kiss on his fluffy head.
“Lets get you a snack,” she decides, making her way to the kitchen. “I wonder what they traded for Wanda. I'll settle for a bag of chips, honestly.”
Not five minutes later, sandwich in hand, bunny tucked in her arm, she returns to the living room, and freezes at the TV.
The sandwich drops to the floor.
Breaking news: Marvels trade reigning finals MVP Rio Vidal to Orchids.
Oh no.
Oh. Fuck.