Chapter Text
.one month later.
Loki slips the device off his wrist and inside his jacket with a heavy sigh as he drops into a chair. He's early, which is rather novel for him, but Ce had asked him to be, and the extra time does grant a chance to get a bearing on the throbbing at the base of his skull before Mobius can catch a glimpse of it.
This phenomenon isn't a secret between them—they have none of those anymore, not really. He simply loathes the guilt that flares from causing that concerned crease to dig in between brows. His partner has enough to worry about with the TVA overhaul they're doing, and he's managing this device's side effects well enough.
The headaches cannot be helped, so he has adjusted. That's all there is to it.
The office of Multiversal Variance that Miss Minutes lead them to had indeed possessed everything needed to monitor the vast number of splintering timelines, with the help of the device on his wrist as one key and the odd tools in the gifted silver box combining to form another of a sort. A pleasant surprise was that the device has also allowed him access to some of his magic.
Only in limited bursts, like conjuration, but some is greater than operationally none.
…Even if it comes with yet another type of headache in the aftermath.
With the overhaul of the TVA, Mobius had not, in fact, come up with another title, so director it is. Bea, too, was named Director of the Minutemen, though she greatly dislikes it and is in the process of mulling over a better name for the whole division of forces. Beyond the three of them are a few others managing the rest of the divisions of the TVA, filling out the leadership that has now been reshuffled into a council, pending completion with the judges that will be chosen to remain.
That had left Ce to request a move and subsequent promotion to agent, which she was proving quite adept at, and Casey got his petition to be a comms specialist. The kid and Croki have proceeded to constantly bounce between all of their offices, in equal turns delighting in exploring the TVA and causing mischief, though mostly within reason.
After the first few warnings, it was made abundantly clear that Mobius' stern words held more sway than Loki's for them. He'd begrudge it if it wasn’t such a charming display.
Mobius makes a fair and decent leader for the TVA, with no decision made lightly.
And, as always, he’s an irreplaceable partner, even if the rest of the TVA does not truly know of that part. The rest believe Loki is ultimately in service to Mobius, same as them, but he doesn’t mind that misconception for a moment. It's quite amusing to play into it, actually, because it makes Mobius rather embarrassed, and he knows the former agent would never demand it of him, either.
It's their secret.
A secret team, the five of them, and an even more secret partnership, him and Loki.
The god could never have fathomed such a turn of events a century, a decade, a year prior. Him, de facto ruling something in joint with another, and without taking any of the front-facing credit or managing to make it boldly about himself? Rather too humble a prospect.
But things change, and people change.
Priorities change.
Propping his elbows against the table, Loki's eyes drift unfocused along the woodgrain as he massages his head, the dull humdrum of the archive's activity thrumming around him in a steady rhythm. There's a quality about it that's oddly tranquilizing.
As the ache ebbs away, his mind empties and tips into the echo of a memory.
Briefly, he imagines being back in Asgard, lounging in one of the palace gardens that Frigga so lovingly cultivated to a controlled chaos of perfection. On the occasions he wanted absolute solitude with a book or simply his own company, he would tuck away in one of the many nooks that few were well-versed enough in the serpentine nature of the gardens to find.
It was amazingly easy to while away the hours that way.
One of his favorite spots, behind a hedge of willow and camellia, was only a couple paces away from a babbling fountain where shimmering rivulets cascaded down the wings of a marble-carved Valkyrie standing sentinel at the center. In these shadows, he could soak in the beguiling pretenses that he had no wants or desires Odin would deem foolish, or that he bore no heavy responsibilities or expectations.
Ce walks up quietly, but he's well attuned to her presence now so he lifts his head, dispelling the daydream in time to reach for the folder she slides across as she sits in the chair opposite his, farthest away from the aisle. Just like before.
The paranoia is gone, but the instincts remain.
Unlike seemingly all the rest in the TVA, this file is unmarked, and Ce crosses her arms against the table as she nods to it. "There are eight brochures in there, and I made a whole bunch of reservations with the three that won't let you walk in. The different names and times are attached. Casey helped me with those so they’re…" She shrugs. "A couple are silly."
Loki blinks, running a finger down the side of the file as he takes a quick peek inside. "Ce, I meant one or two options, you didn't have to go through all this—"
"It wasn't any trouble, it was fun." Her lips quirk. "And I like going onto timelines alone. It helps, with everything."
"I will keep that in mind," he says quietly. "But my offer of enchantment remains."
"I know. Maybe later," she shrugs again. "I'm in a good place…really."
Nodding, Loki returns her small smile as appreciation blooms. "Thank you for this."
"You have to take a lot of pictures. Bea and Casey have started a bet."
"Oh? Whatever is it about?"
Ce raises a brow. "You'll find out when you get back."
"Boring," he grouses, smirking slight.
Really, it is not as if he'd increase any potential mischief to satisfy the bet in either of his friends' favor—in this instance, probably Casey's, because his behaviorisms are always greatly entertaining whenever he’s particularly happy or satisfied about something, and watching Bea trying to maintain her stiff exterior is its own form of amusement.
…But if he did get up to anything, well, he is the God of Mischief. It's to be expected.
Unfortunately, gone are the days of Ce’s relative naivety and subsequent role as his unknowing accomplice in the occasional completely harmless bout of trickery that he'd pulled the last few weeks. Sometimes with the kid, sometimes not. He'll miss it.
And he'll miss him.
At the tell-tale sound of familiar boots against carpet, Loki crimps the folder in half and tucks it inside his jacket. Mobius comes around the corner of the shelves a few moments later with an easy—albeit fatigued—smile, Bea right behind him.
Settling in the chair beside his, he squeezes Loki's shoulder in greeting before resting his arm across the back of their chairs with a labored exhale. The god leans into it subtly.
"What's your decision about the judges?" Bea asks promptly.
"They'll get wiped and reset into timelines without another variant," Mobius answers, glancing around the table. "When I went down to holding this morning, Gruenwald requested it, and I still think it's the best idea we've got. It's clean, we already have the tech up and running to do it, and it's…"
"Merciful," Loki supplies.
Mobius nods, rolling his lips. "Yeah, kind of… Unless anyone has any objections or another idea to share. I'm all ears, you know."
Bea and Ce exchange a look, questioning, but both end up shrugging. Pruning is no longer a solution, what with the Void existing and Alioth incapacitated, and anyway, all it represents is a more detached version of corporeal punishment. A method of killing that doesn't directly render the hands dirty but is meant to end life all the same.
They've discussed this enough over the past few weeks to know the only true third option is a time cell. That manifests its own problems, though, like how long the guilty party will be kept in it, what type of punishing memories will be chosen to loop them through, and what happens afterward, when they're pulled out. It's a cruel path.
Too cruel.
Ce had walked out of the room the first time it was mentioned.
"Why does Gruenwald want it?" Loki asks instead, tilting his head as a contemplative frown tugs. "He was one of your choices to stay, was he not?"
Only three judges had been deemed trustworthy enough to return to their posts. Although Mobius hadn’t been eager to start the interrogations, he'd been entirely professional about it. Loki knows this first-hand—he's watched the tapes back with Mobius each evening to help parse lies from truths.
The former agent didn't have near as many blinders up as he'd been worried about when he'd asked for Loki's second opinion, but the god was nonetheless touched at the consideration and ability to help. They have to get this right because they must be able to trust whoever is left to work with them.
So, for the last ten days straight, they've spent every evening and well past midnight in a time theater, discussing and debating the merits of each judge. More often than not, of course, Loki would play the devil's advocate for Mobius. It was a rather thrilling exercise that came easy to him. Harmless debates—though, not really harmless.
It's easier to pretend in the moment that it all means nothing.
That compartmentalization allows them to be more unburdened and honest, to keep from second-guessing gut instincts and lingering doubts.
When it was clear that Mobius had made up his mind on someone—whatever that decision may be, and whether or not he was willing to admit it to himself just yet—he'd grow quiet and withdrawn, sagging back in one of the chairs with a deep sigh. Loki would wrap his arms around his tired shoulders then and press soothing kisses to his neck to nudge him off to bed.
It always did the trick, for only a couple of minutes after he'd flip off the lights and pull the doors shut behind them.
"He was, but he wants to retire," Mobius answers simply as he trails an idle hand along the edge of the table. "Has for a while, I guess. Wants to live out the rest of his days in peace and naivety."
Loki reaches under the table to squeeze Mobius' knee discreetly.
"That would only leave two," Ce observes. "Mills and Simonson, right? Can we manage that?"
"We have with only Bea and Mobius this week," Loki points out.
"And we don't have any other choice right now. But, processing won't go back to being busy like it was. Malicious or negligent but intentional temporal disturbances don't happen as often as a Stephen avoiding a predetermined car crash or a Loki picking up an unattended Tesseract."
"Which, I hasten to remind, was only possible because those Avengers were actively screwing with time."
Mobius shoots a lopsided smile at him. "Still mad at that?"
With a shrug, his lips curl, and he squeezes the other's knee again. "Not so much. But it is a valid point."
"Yeah, yeah, we'll keep a tally for you," Bea snarks warmly.
"How kind."
Mobius awakens with a jolt, one hand outstretched and buried under a weightless pillow that's cold to the touch. Sitting up, he scrubs his face and blinks through a bleary-eyed daze to find the bed and rest of the room as empty of life as he'd suspected. He squints through the darkness at the opposite side table.
On it sits the god's round device, but the TemPad is gone.
He sighs and contemplates attempting to doze until Loki returns.
This isn't the first time, and he hasn't wanted to intrude because Loki always enlightens him in the morning about what's happened, anyway, but they're leaving tomorrow, and they still haven't received a concrete answer from her. No doubt, then, that's why he's up in the murky hours before dawn.
Curiosity beckons Mobius as he pushes the sheets back and stands, padding out of the bedroom.
The shift from living inside the TVA has been a far greater change for him than Loki, of course, and while they're literally only two buildings away now, there's just something about no longer being able to throw his jacket and pants back on and hop down—or, as his office has moved, up—an elevator to resume work that's…disorienting. That's the pattern he's known for eons.
Now, when he clocks out for the day—except for the endless stream of messages that come across his own TemPad—he really is clocking out.
They'd agreed to give the kid and Croki his apartment at the TVA, so Loki chose this sprawling yet somewhat quaint loft all by himself. It was an excuse, he knows—the kid and Croki just needed a temporary residence, only prerequisite being the insistence on having their own space and treated as mature—but Mobius went along with it.
He has no attachment to the other place, and Loki's right: it's been good to have a space all their own.
The move certainly hasn't been a problem with his sleep, since Loki's very presence has significantly eased his insomnia pattern. Pretty much the only time it flares up is nights like this, but he can't begrudge Loki—or Sylvie, for that matter—being at their most vulnerable and thus able to reach out to one another when the night knocks down the walls of insecurity.
The god is exactly where he expects, spying his tall silhouette easily across the living room and leaning against the railing beyond the cracked doors of the balcony. Mobius moves slowly through the open space, noting the Melville book set discarded on the side cabinet nearby.
A brief smirk curves his lips.
"Hey," he calls softly as he steps out into the damp air. Loki hums in acknowledgment but doesn't turn. "How's Sylvie?"
"Elusive, same as always," Loki sighs in reply as his arms slide around the god.
Extending onto his tiptoes, he presses a kiss to cool nape before settling his cheek against shoulder blades. "So, nothing's changed… Do you have any idea which way she's leaning?"
Loki shakes his head, tucking the TemPad into the pocket of his pajama pants before sliding his hands over Mobius' arms, sagging into the embrace.
"I could message her," Mobius offers.
They've talked since she left, conversations strung out across days as each reply when it's convenient. The topics are usually inconsequential observations of the universe she shares as she bounces around or it's his own sharing about the TVA's changes. Very occasionally, he'll ask her advice.
The first few times, she hadn't thought him serious, and she'd dismissed the questions with jests.
However, he'd persisted, and the feedback and thoughts she'd shared had proven quite helpful. He values her unique input—especially with the Richards variants they're tracking. Besides, he'd like to think that now, in spite of everything, they've sort of become friends. Or, at least, they're working that way.
They're friendly and that's half the battle, isn't it?
He wants a clean slate for every one of them, and he knows Loki is ready and willing—and trying—to offer one to her.
She only needs to be willing to seize it.
Loki shakes his head again, grasping one of Mobius' wrists and lifting it to his chest. Mobius unfurls his hand to press his palm reassuringly. "I have a gut feeling she's going to come, but I do not wish her to feel pressured. In any case… we didn't speak of it."
"Hm. Does that mean you two finally talked about the citadel?"
“No, not much.” Loki turns slowly within his arms, and Mobius moves to rest his hand against the railing instead as he tips his chin up. At the sight of the TVA's logo branding the corner of the T-shirt, Mobius realizes Loki slipped on one of his instead.
The careless domestic bliss of it all makes his pulse quicken, but there's something important teetering on his partner's lips, long fingers anxiously skirting around his hips as he sorts his words, so Mobius stays quiet.
He doesn't have to wait long before Loki's eyes flutter up to meet his. "We were…talking of daggers, actually."
"Oh?"
"I used them as a metaphor in the Void. The daggers…for love."
"Yeah?" Mobius tilts his head and raises his brows, intrigued. "How's that one go?"
Searching his gaze for a moment, Loki hesitates and then shakes his head again. “Sylvie was right, it was terrible.”
“Color me curious anyway… Come on, I want to hear it.”
Licking his lips, Loki shifts on his feet, having some sort of debate within himself that Mobius can’t pinpoint.
A beat passes.
The god rolls his eyes with a huff.
“I might as well repeat the performance," he says as he lightly pushes Mobius a step away and then moves around him, striding back into the apartment and across the space to the short hallway with their bedroom.
Mobius follows a bit more slowly, trying to tamp down on his amusement. Of course there’s a little show with the metaphor.
When he walks in, Loki’s refastening the device to his wrist. He conjures a dagger as he turns around and steps close. The tip of the blade points up at the ceiling between them, but he looks beyond it to meet Mobius’ gaze, blue-green eyes transfixed with sudden intensity, luminous in the low light.
"Love is a dagger. It is a versatile weapon, yet it is a mirror to ourselves. It is beautiful…and it makes you bleed. And when you reach for it…"
At the nodding look, Mobius curls his fingers around Loki's, and the god's grip nimbly slips out from underneath in the next moment. He's left holding the same hilt he's handled dozens, hundreds, thousands of times before, ever since he smuggled the daggers out of the evidence room and stowed them away in his locker.
"It isn't real."
The words could be their own stab of doubt to his heart if it wasn't for the seeking uncertainty shining from the god's eyes betraying how he no longer believes his own words. Perhaps he never truly did.
Mobius spins the blade until it's aimed down between them, just in case. It seems safer that way.
"…It feels pretty real to me."
"Yes, well, that's where I conjured away the dagger before when Sylvie and I had this little talk. But now… Like I said, she was right."
Carefully, Mobius runs a thumb down the center of the blade, not failing to notice how Loki tenses at the motion, fearful he'll draw blood. "You want to know what I think?"
"By all means," Loki replies softly, eyes narrowed slight in unfiltered interest.
"I think you’re pretty close. But… Does it have to be a metaphor?"
Loki nods.
"Bear in mind, I'm not great at this, but, okay, for a metaphor, then love is…a bandage,” he decides as he steps around Loki and sets the blade down on the table.
Skepticism pinches the god's face as he turns with him. "What?"
"Yeah," Mobius nods, letting his thoughts flow easily into his voice as the idea takes root. "Yeah, it's a bandage, because no one floats through life without any problems. We're all just people that make shitty situations, or we're forced into them, and, either way, we deal with it. We change, or we stick through it, and we move on. We figure it out, or we don't, but you were right, we get hurt. And then, we try to heal and learn from it so that maybe next time we encounter something close to that, maybe we'll do better, right?”
Loki’s staring at him with that searching look, as if he’s trying to peel back all his layers to properly dissect his soul, but the effort is an unnecessary habit. A holdover from the rest of his life since Mobius doesn’t put any of those walls up between them.
"I've watched people on the Sacred Timeline all my life, Loki. What I'm doing a really bad job of saying is…love carries everyone through," he shrugs simply as he grasps Loki’s hand and pulls it between them, gently removing the burdensome device. "It's the people that patch us up, and it's what helps us bandage ourselves. Sometimes we scar. Sometimes we don't. But all that means is we have it, you know? For each other, and family…and ourselves.”
Setting the device aside, Mobius massages his wrist as he looks at Loki again, fond smile threatening pursed lips.
“…Does this make any sense?"
"Perfectly," Loki breathes in the space between before pressing a lingering kiss.
“Hm, you’re just saying that.”
“Well, there is room for improvement on the delivery,” Loki teases. “Perhaps a prop.”
“Right, conjure up some gauze. That’ll really help the bad metaphor land.” Chuckling, Mobius shakes his head and turns the other’s wrist to kiss the reddened mark from use. The skin feels no different than the rest of the god—cool and smooth—so his worries simmer down.
“…Do you remember the infirmary? After apprehending Sylvie?”
Mobius smirks at the memory of walking in on Loki cursing in an examination room that he definitely didn’t have access to after slipping past the awful front desk clerk. “Yeah, when you dumped way too much Grit Glue onto your arm and just about passed out?”
“I did not,” Loki sniffs.
“Uh-huh.”
“…I had a rather heartfelt comment to make, actually, but you’ve ruined it,” he declares, stepping away and returning to bed.
Intercepting him as he’s drawing the sheets up over his legs, Mobius cups his jaw and reclaims him in a sweet kiss. The resistance the god attempts is admirable, holding still as stone against him, but they’re each other’s weaknesses, through and through, and he loops his arms around Mobius’ hips to haul him close after just a few seconds.
Mobius balances a knee on the mattress and withdraws from the tongue tracing the seam of his lips, trying to deepen the kiss. “Sorry,” he says, brushing Loki’s nose with his playfully. “What were you gonna say?”
“Nope, too late. Moment ruined,” Loki persists firmly, playing up the aloof indifference despite the spark in his eye and the way he proceeds to mouth and lick down Mobius' throat, thumb under chin subtly tipping him back for more access.
Mobius surrenders into it as a thrill of heat races down his spine. “Really?”
A hum of assent reverberates against his skin.
“So you’re mad at me, huh?”
Loki’s pleased grin presses against the hollow of his throat when his voice hitches around the question. “Incorrigibly angry.”
Mobius cards his fingers through dark curls, soft as always, lightly using them for purchase as he's pulled closer. If the god’s letting his hair grow out further on purpose, he’s definitely not going to complain. “That’s too bad… I can go get Moby-Dick and bring it back in here so you don't have to bother with me."
"Perhaps I'm punishing you," he drawls, and it's all the warning Mobius gets before nails rake down his back, eliciting a gasp that quickly drops into a moan as graceful hands wrap around to map up under his shirt, silver tongue soothing a newly blushing bruise at his collarbone.
"Are you? Gotta say, pussycat, it doesn't feel like a punishment."
Removing his mouth, Loki pulls back as he bunches the hem of Mobius' shirt. A lascivious smirk stretches as he tilts his head, akin to a predator gleefully surveying all too willing prey, and he flicks his gaze up. "Well, then I may want that book after all. Trade one Moby's dick for another?"
The delivery is impeccable, suave and salacious with one superbly timed pop of an eyebrow, and Mobius tips forward as he shakes in sudden laughter.
Their temples brush as he tugs Loki's head back, catching sight through mirthful tears of that smirk widening smugly. "If that's what you want," he manages to choke out, leaning back as Loki's hands abandon the hem and slide around to palm his rear. "I noticed the bookmark's moved. Work your way through another chapter all by yourself, did you?”
“Hm. I did,” Loki admits as he appreciatively watches Mobius pull his own shirt up over his head and toss it aside. “But it wasn’t satisfying.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Disappointing, really, but I suppose if I must, I can find another way to exhaust myself.” Loki ignores his grasping at the other shirt, not assisting in the slightest as nimble fingers hook around and trace his waistband instead.
“I’d hate for you to figure that out alone,” Mobius quips, giving up on the shirt and pushing off the bed to stand on both feet again. “But if you’re that upset—"
One deft snag at the drawstring and they fall, pooling around his ankles. Loki’s gaze turns downright hungry as he swiftly slips out of the borrowed shirt and pushes the blankets aside, rising on his knees at the edge of the mattress to coil around Mobius and drag him in before he can decide to do anything but yield.
At some point in the tumble, Loki kicks off his own pants and Mobius finds himself on his back, lips locked as the god's cool tongue brushes excitedly against his. They're a mess of tangled limbs while they rock, scrambling to press as close as possible, every nerve ignited. He struggles to remember the dropped point of conversation.
“What was it?” Mobius gasps between kisses. “The infirmary? What about it?”
At the other’s insistent grip, he lifts his hips, and Loki slinks down as he divests him of his underwear entirely, but he takes his time on the way back up, pressing a flutter of open-mouthed kisses and nips along calf, knee, thigh as Mobius flushes and bites his lip, insanely embarrassed and aroused in unison. He’s nothing to look at. He’s nothing special.
But Loki worships him as if he is anyway.
A drag of teeth over hip, and then the god is hovering above, stray hand kept low as he palms the pruning scar reverently. “You talked me through it."
Mobius' mind skips and stutters as he blinks up, struggling to jump back to the memory Loki is so intensely impressing upon him. "What?"
"When you cleaned my wound, you talked me through it. The pain. You just… You talked," Loki attempts to explain, floundering as his tongue wets swollen lips parted hesitantly while his eyes volley back and forth, searching.
Mobius smiles small through the heady daze. "Okay… I don't understand, Lokes."
"Exactly," he huffs, a touch exasperated, and drops his head to press their foreheads again as he relaxes, lowering his weight atop Mobius and settling within the tightening grip. "It scared the Hel out of me, so I…I just lied to myself, I suppose. But…I think I'd already fallen in love with you then."
Mobius shudders a breath as his heartbeat skips faster, laughing on the exhale. “And I was busy being jealous and thinking you’d gotten a crush on Sylvie.”
With a roll of his eyes, Loki grins open and vulnerable, mirroring his own, while tenderly brushing over the forking tendrils of the scar near belly button. “I almost kissed you,” he admits quietly, just a touch above a whisper. “In the elevator."
"I would've let you," Mobius confesses in kind, sliding his hands up until he's cradling Loki's face and tracing his beautiful features, one by one, a part of him imagining absently how differently all this might have gone, for better or worse, if they'd taken that other path.
"And what about after? What would've happened?"
Swallowing hard against the lust stripping his lungs, Mobius watches avidly as Loki dips to capture the thumb tracing below his lip, sucking lightly. "Whatever… Whatever you wanted."
Letting go with a parting curl of his tongue, Loki nuzzles his palm. "Just like that?"
"I told you I knew your pattern of seduction, Lokes, not that I'd be immune to it. I've loved you since our first tête-à-tête," he shares, sealing their early morning hours of confessional with a brief kiss. "Is that too cliché?"
"Oh, yes, very." Loki dives forward to coax a deeper kiss, moaning as he peels the hand from his cheek and redirects it low, to the underwear separating them. "But it does wonders for my ego."
"Just your ego?"
"Among other things."
Chuckling, Mobius pushes Loki back gently so he can lift himself up on his elbows.
The god understands immediately, ridding of the rest of his clothing before straddling Mobius' lap where he's moved back, propping against the headboard. The faintest rays of dawn cast the room in long pale shadows that only accentuate every gorgeous dip and curve of the divine being looping his arms around his neck. He’s never felt so blessed.
Snagging Loki's bottom lip as he leans forward, Mobius tempts him into a sensual and unhurried kiss, swallowing the answering sigh as his hands slide up lean thighs. "We have three hours to tire and sleep, or…"
"No sleeping," Loki vows low, breathless as he rolls his hips and draws a groan from Mobius.
"I'm all yours."
Mobius is in the midst of working through the last of a stack of paperwork when the elevator down the hall dings and he hears a bout of bickering interrupting the peace of the barely-populated executives' floor. A wisp of a smirk tugs his lips. Used to cubicles as he is, he keeps his door open unless an important and information-sensitive meeting warrants otherwise—or unless Loki visits to steal some of his time and force him to take a break.
Of course, many of those visits are spawned from Loki also needing a break of his own, usually from being taxed physically from that device or wanting to talk through a problem he's encountered.
He still teases Mobius sporadically about being obsessed with work—"I share you with the TVA, I know," Loki'd theatrically lamented one night, sprawled on the couch in an emblematic picture of temptation that had Mobius abandoning the rest of his work hardly half an hour later—but they both know he's just as focused when he's invested.
And after everything that's happened, Loki is absolutely invested.
He's just trapped stressing over the reunion—or potential reunions—lately.
"—can't I when Sylvie got one?"
"Because Sylvie's used one for centuries already," Loki explains patiently.
"…Ah."
"No, I know that look. Do not steal someone else's TemPad."
"Of course not, why would you ever think that?"
Mobius huffs quietly under his breath and clips the second-to-last stack together before turning to the rest of the sign-offs for testing of the reverse-engineered XN1 equipment. With any luck, when they return, the tests will have been a success and they can hit the ground running with the next phase—the final phase—of their reshuffling plan.
Then, it's smooth sailing…more or less.
Until the next problem arises, anyway, or one of the Richards variants they're watching creates a stirring tidal wave across the timelines, no matter how many fail-safes they're putting in place and contingencies they're planning for.
They'll simply have to cross that bridge when they come to it.
Croki—as has apparently become the alligator's preferred nickname thanks to Casey, and that was a hilarious conversation to watch Loki contend with—comes diving into the room first, slinking up on one of the chairs directly across. He shoots her a smile in greeting and reaches into his unofficial snack drawer for one of the fruit roll-ups the Lokis tend to eat more than him.
She catches the toss easily with an enthusiastic chomp.
"What's the fuss about TemPads?" Mobius asks as the other two walk in.
"Loki disabled time doors on my TemPad," the kid laments, crossing his arms as he drops down beside Croki. "Mobius, before we go—"
"Sorry, Loki, but no," he shakes his head with a soft frown. "If you need anything, or you wanna pop back in, you can always message one of us, but it's safer this way. Maybe in a couple of months when the timelines get straightened out and everything is…calmer. Okay?"
Rolling his eyes, the kid jumps up before he's even settled and walks over to the poke at the mink tucked into the bookshelves.
"Can you not put this off until we return?" Loki asks, leaning beside him against the desk and peering over his shoulder at the papers. "What is this?"
"The XN1 testing, remember? I'm almost done," Mobius assures, flipping a page…and promptly finding half the stack missing as green flashes over them. Loki moves around the desk, nabbing a pen out of the holder along the way, and starts working through his papers with a fleeting rub at his temple.
Mobius watches incredulously as the god expertly signs his signature, last elongated M and all. It may be a crude signature, just three initials, but it has its own jagged style to it, far rougher than Loki's own flourishing hand. "How long have you been able to do that?"
With a shrug, Loki glances over and then taps his pen against Mobius stack, a not-so-subtle reminder. The former agent returns to signing with a parting suspiciously narrowed look. "Oh, a while. I thought it handy to know in case I ever needed it, but, I did not."
"You could've gotten me reprimanded if you did, and yourself pruned."
"Precisely why it went unused."
"…You could've also helped me with all those after-action reports instead of complaining about how much time it took," Mobius points out, smirking as Loki returns his finished stack. "You know, I might come to you with some of this from now on. Really make up for all that lost time."
Loki props his palms and stretches across the desk as Mobius clips the rest of the papers together and moves them to the appropriate bin. "That's quite petty of you.”
"Pot meet kettle."
"Fine," Loki acquiesces, shrugging once more and smirking in kind. "For a price."
"I'm sure I'll be happy to pay whatever."
A guttural wretch jolts both of them and redirects their attention to Croki, who has thankfully not just thrown up on his floor after being driven to a dramatic display of nausea from their flirting, but then Mobius spies the kid slipping out the door. "Not coming with us?"
The kid stills.
A beat passes.
He pokes his head back in. "I may have forgotten something—"
"Uh-huh, is that something a different TemPad?" Loki jests before standing and withdrawing his own to summon a time door. It snaps to in the middle of the room and Croki slithers through it almost immediately. "Let's go."
"See? You two are so cheesy it's sickening. She's just trying to escape you," the kid mocks, coming back into the room and striding into the portal with one last roll of his eyes.
"Well that's rude."
Grabbing his wool coat, Mobius shimmies it on and then fetches the journal—the very one he'd been unsanctioned to retrieve from the evidence room while Ravonna was attempting to divert his questions with the Contraxia variant, yet he had anyway—from the far shelf. "A month ago, you said he drew his sword if you asked the wrong question. This is him showing he likes you."
"For now," Loki says with a short sigh. "All that sentiment may disappear in a minute if we're wrong. I mean, what if this is a mistake? What if—"
"Hey," Mobius shushes, squeezes Loki's arm where he stands next to the portal, suddenly wide-eyed and anxious. "We talked this through, remember? And I'm right here. Trust me, I've got a good feeling."
With a deep and measured breath, Loki shakes his head. "At least one of us does," he murmurs, and steps to the portal. Mobius doesn't remove his hand until they're through.
Almost immediately, he's hit two-fold with the sharpness of the frigid air and a salty gust carried up from the ocean beyond, choking back a cough.
Just a dozen steps ahead on the grassy ridge, another time door sizzles to a close, and Sylvie's standing there, one eye on them apprehensively as she greets the kid. She's changed her appearance, leather armor discarded for a more pedestrian though stylish ensemble of dark boots, pants, and a leather jacket with a fur collar.
"Sylvie," Mobius smiles as he steps forward. "You look good."
"I'm glad you came," Loki says softly.
"I promised Loki," she shares, nodding to the kid as her lips quirk. Mobius knows they've been in contact since they first got the kid a TemPad and there was obviously some extra connection there as well from the brief time in the Void, but he wonders how much deeper it's grown since then.
He wonders how much she's using it as a crutch of an excuse to protect herself from being hurt by any feared rejection from Loki, as well.
Sylvie glances away to the settlement sprawling out the shoreline below. "Is he expecting us?"
Loki shakes his head, defensively shoving his hands in his pockets.
"So, this is a surprise?" Brows raising, Sylvie draws in a short breath and bites back fear manifesting itself through annoyance. "Oh, fantastic. What could possibly go wrong?"
The kid frowns and shrugs down at Croki as she hisses something.
"Sylvie," Mobius interrupts before the tension can escalate any further. Now is as good a time as any, so he closes the distance and removes the journal from underneath his arm, offering it with a warm look and a nod. "Here."
She glances between him and Loki, apprehension clearly not waned in the slightest, but after another moment of worrying her lip, she carefully accepts it. "What is this?"
"A journal...from our mother," Loki replies quietly.
Sylvie's grip tightens as a subtle tremor rolls through her hands.
"It's from a different timeline's variant, not either of yours," Mobius clarifies gently. "But I found it in the TVA. It's from when she was young and training her magic in Vanaheim. I thought Loki might want it, but, honestly, I forgot about it after you bombing the Sacred Timeline and figuring out we're all variants, and now…he wants you to have it."
Gaze snapping up, Sylvie stares at Loki, a wisp of a frown tugging down her lips as she takes in his uncomfortably rigid and tense posture. Just as prepared for rejection as she is. A moment passes, and she blinks, some of the unease draining from her irises. "…Thank you."
Loki swallows, blinking in surprise. The taut lines stretching his face fade as he tilts his head. "I should have recognized all your pain," he rushes to say, "and why you couldn't trust me before it was too late, Sylvie. I'm sorry."
"No, I—" She shakes her head. "I mean, yes, that would have been nice, but…" Shifting on her feet, Sylvie brushes her fingers over the journal one last time before conjuring it away. When she looks up again, her stare is open. It's much like Mobius remembers from during their own time in the Void, when she'd slip and become comfortable around him, trusting in spite of herself. "You were right."
"I think we both were."
"And we were both wrong," she adds mournfully.
Loki nods once. "Yes. We were."
"…I never did want to hurt you, Loki."
"Nor I you," he insists, taking another step. One of his hand wavers in the space between them, but Sylvie dives hers in to the zipper pockets of her jacket, not quite ready. His fingers curl in and he pulls back. "You didn't have to leave, Sylvie. We—"
"No," she cuts off firmly. "I did… It wasn't you, Loki… I just—"
"What trick is this?" A voice loudly booms, thunder rolling behind it, and if he thought Loki was stiff before, the god's become a statue, color draining from his face.
The reaction is not exactly unique among the other Lokis, at least, as he watches Sylvie's eyes bug out in surprise that's equal parts anxious and hopeful. Turning around, Mobius catches sight of the kid struck pale and swallowing hard as if he's the one suddenly about the vomit now, and Croki, who makes a strangled sound almost like a whine as she stares at Thor.
The Asgardian stands in a casual hoodie and jeans, long blonde hair a bit more greasy than not, but none of that takes away from his imposing presence. The squared shoulders and assertive stance help with that.
Mobius decides to be the one to bite the bullet since he's the only one that's, well, not a Loki. Smiling respectfully, he steps forward with an outstretched hand, tactfully ignoring the incredulously suspicious stare that's threatening to grind him into the dirt. "Hi, I'm Director Mobius. Sorry for the intrusion, but I'm gonna go ahead and rip off the bandaid for you, okay?"
"Excuse me?"
"Right. So, I'm with an organization called the TVA—that's Time Variance Agency, by the way—and everyone behind me is a Loki, but none of them are from your timeline. You probably haven't noticed yet, because as far as we know, no streams have been crossed yet, but our universe…is now a multiverse," Mobius informs bluntly. "There's no tricks going on, okay, no faked deaths. Everything you know about your timeline and your Loki is true. But…we do need your help with a couple things, if you're willing."
Loki is quite certain that he's not actually experiencing a heart attack, but if he were then that would certainly save him a lot of trouble, in the grand scheme of things.
If his painfully pounding ribcage, stricken lungs, and the dark stars dancing at the edges of his vision were symptoms of a heart attack then he could collapse right about now and be rendered pleasantly unconscious while Thor sorts through however many stages of grief Midgardians profess to have identified. Between the shock of his reappearance and his suddenly injurious state, Thor would no doubt reach the point of his classic jovial acceptance by the time Loki came to in a sick bed.
Yes, that would be much preferable to…this.
Mobius taking charge and explaining the variant aspect is a small blessing. Of all the scenarios that Loki has run through his mind about how this might go, at least he can now disregard those of Thor being violently mistaken and thus throttling him to within an inch of his life for having concocted some elaborate power-grabbing trick and faking his death.
…Probably.
His brother can be a bit of a dullard, and there is that shock to contend with.
He might not have even heard Mobius.
…As is happening with Loki right now, he's faintly aware, as he spins slowly and sees Mobius' mouth moving, comforting hand as weightless as air against his arm. The utterances from his partner were most likely some form of encouragement, but the god simply blinks as the roar in his ears settles down into a mimicry of the waves crashing against the rocky beach behind them.
He can hardly think, half out of his body between the poisonous cocktail of relief, fear, and elation ripping through his veins.
Loki hadn't realized how much he'd truly resigned himself to never seeing his brother again—between the TVA keeping him locked up and his gamble with pruning to get to the Void—before this very moment as he gapes, struggling to remember what he'd planned to say, to stand tall and as charmingly nonchalant as always. All his masks of indifference and snark and confidence crack and crumble within his grasp.
Clearing his throat, Loki opens his arms at his sides and then thinks better of it, lowering them a short second later. "Right. Well… With that out of the way, um, no, not the Lokis you know. Apologies," he smiles tightly.
There's ash on his tongue as Thor just stares, jaw clenching tight.
This isn't his Thor. He'll never have a chance to make amends with him, same as he'll never have the opportunity to do the same with his Frigga, to feel her gentle hands on his face as her far-too-understanding gaze takes off all his armors until he's just her clever boy once more, safe and loved and home.
…But he has a new home now.
And they're here to ensure the kid has one as well, amongst other things.
This isn't about me, Loki thinks, and the thought straightens his spine as he takes a step forward, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his slacks so he can stop fretting about what to do with them.
"I understand all of this is difficult to process, Thor, but I am requesting refuge for the kid, and the alligator goes with him. She's also a Loki, and she's rather protective," he adds as the kid comes close, Croki hissing low—worrying—at his heels. Loki glances down to find them each a touch less green than before but appearing no less overwhelmed.
This was leagues easier for all of them when it was an idea floating in the ether. The reality of it, on the other hand…
"They have been displaced from the timelines, and Mobius and I thought that here, in your…New Asgard, would be the safest alternative." With a harsh inhale, Loki tips his chin up. "Please."
Thor's blue eyes are unreadable as the shining sun reflects painfully bright off them.
In the achingly long interim of a pause, the wind carries the sharp squawking of a flock of seagulls swooping nearby. Loki's palms sting from the dig of crescent moons as he curls his hands into distressed fists. Over his other shoulder, Sylvie passes his periphery, stepping up beside Mobius.
"You no longer look like a witch," Thor finally speaks, voice scratchy and thick.
Loki's brows lift. "Um… Thank you?"
He hardly has a chance to blink again before he's enveloped in a crippling hug, the rest of his breath wheezing out of his lungs as Thor squeezes rough as a bear with a watery laugh. "Brother, you cannot fathom my joy!"
Sucking a breath against the other's vice grip and obnoxiously radiating heat, Loki digs his heels in against the clap against his back that nearly tips his equilibrium. "I might," he gasps.
The wheezing sound to his voice immediately has Thor retreating, bullish hands clasping at his shoulders instead as another laugh rumbles through him. Loki's heart catches in his throat once more at the sight of tears rolling down suntanned cheeks. He could count on his hands the number of times Thor cried, before.
"I am not the brother you know," Loki reminds quietly.
Nodding twice, Thor squeezes his shoulders with a slight shake. "No, you're not. But you are a brother of mine still." Letting go, he moves to rest a hand on the kid's shoulder, smiling warmly. "And you, brother. Tell me, is our sister always an alligator?"
The kid nods, grinning, and barrels forward without any warning of his own either to wrap his small arms around Thor as best he can. The sight eases the misgivings that have hardened within the pit of his stomach, and he cannot recall even a single one of his worst fears. It all seems caught in a nightmare born of paranoia and ridiculous doubts.
"Do not fret, Thor, she won't shift suddenly and stab you," Loki drawls lightly. "She much prefers using those teeth."
"Understood, although that was a fun trick to laugh about after, wasn't it?" Ruffling the kid's hair, Thor glances between them all with drying tears and an immovable grin. "How does this work? What of your timeline was different?"
"Ah, well—"
"Why don't you show us around New Asgard," Mobius interrupts to offer, saving him from a rather long conversation wherein his brother will certainly ask a stream of never-ending questions, "and we can sit down and explain everything after."
Considering a moment, eyes squinting in careful appraisal over Mobius and Sylvie, Thor nods once decisively. "A solid plan, Director Mobius."
Loki shakes his head. "It's really just Mobius—"
"And are you two," Thor begins, glancing between the other two adults again.
Immediately, Sylvie barks a laugh, and, after propping a hand on her hip, points at Loki and Mobius. "Gods no! Those two."
Croki chortles at their feet, tail curling around the kid's ankle. "Yeah, and they're all over each other all the time," the kid adds in, stepping back from Thor with an almost giddy expression despite the rolling eyes.
It's rather jarring to see that degree of happiness on him, even after how lackadaisical he's become at the TVA around them, and for that, Loki can have no lingering concerns. This is what's best for him. Stability, and family.
A proper home of a community to let him be himself.
Another laugh booms from Thor as he tips his head back and slaps Mobius' arm. The Midgardian does his best to hide the wince, affable smile up same as always, but his face is flushed and thoroughly red, brows furrowed. Where Thor might see geniality, Loki sees an embarrassed laugh quivering the corners of his lips.
He can feel a similarly prickling flush race over him as he rolls his eyes and groans.
"Brother! Congratulations are in order."
"Please, stop—"
"And sister!" Without warning, Thor redirects his attentions to Sylvie, scooping her up in a cheerful hug. She grapples for purchase on his shoulders with a startled squeak before he sets her down just as quickly. "I see so much of our dear mother in you."
"Oh… I…" Blinking rapidly, a sheen of tears spring forth within her own blue-green eyes, and she swallows hard, abruptly folding her arms against the surge of emotion. "My name's Sylvie now."
"Beautiful. I like it," Thor compliments with a nod, accepting it easily as he clasps her shoulder one last time and then gestures to the settlement beyond. "Come, let me show you all New Asgard! Loki, would you care for a better vantage?" He asks, crouching to the alligator.
Tilting her head, she preens with a toothy grin.
Thor lifts her as if she weighs nothing, helping her wrap around his shoulders, and Loki rubs his forehead, experiencing another brief out of body experience at the surreal sight. "Alright, come. I must introduce you all to Valkyrie first. This is her kingdom now. You caught me at an opportune time, as I'm only stopping by with Tree and Rabbit. Oh, I think you'll like them, Loki," he adds with a hand pat to the scaley tail draping down his chest.
Croki purrs.
"Hang on," Loki strides quickly to catch up and walk parallel with Thor. "You're not king?"
"Loki, I gave you the file," Mobius calls forward.
"File?"
"Long story, explain soon," Loki dismisses Thor's question with a wave of a hand, peering over as they descend the somewhat obscured and rocky path. "What happened? Why are you not king?"
"Nothing happened, brother, I…realized it was no longer for me," he answers haltingly. Lifting a hand to scratch at his beard, Thor huffs suddenly, and wraps an arm over Loki's shoulders, making the god stumble. "I saw mother again—another story, explain soon," he winks over. "I was at my lowest. I had failed in avenging your death properly and saving the universe."
"Your timeline's Loki," he rasps, throat suddenly dry as his eyes skitter away.
Thor nods easily but doesn't let go. "Yes, right. Anyway. I time-traveled with the Avengers, and when I saw mother again, she knew straight away I was not of her time."
"…Even if she did not have the sight, you are very much changed, brother." Loki's gaze returns to the artificial eye he can spy more clearly now that he's inches from it, before doing a far more obvious sweep over the rest of his form when Thor meets his gaze. "Tell me, have you washed your hair recently?"
Grinning, Thor tugs him closer, and Loki manages not to stumble this time, though he does huff. As always, grace is a trait his brother has not mastered. "Bathing is not a top priority while adventuring through space."
"Space?"
"Loki," Mobius groans behind him.
No, he had not, in fact, read any of the file on this Sacred Thor, not since his very light skimming months ago when he'd been far more focused on knowing simply if his brother survived the attack by Thanos or not. When Mobius gave him the updated file in preparation of this, he simply…could not bring himself to open it.
He was too anxious over the whole ordeal and chose, instead, to place his trust in his partner to be right in his hunch. And he had been.
"Listen, brother, for our mother is wise," Thor begins, voice tipping solemn.
Loki presses his lips tight and tips his head to the ground as Thor's arm slides off.
"She told me that everyone fails at who they are supposed to be, but a person is measured by how well they succeed at who they are," he says carefully. "I realized after we defeated Thanos that I was always best at the adventures and the battles. But a king must manage his people just as well."
"…So that's what you do, now? You run around with those Guardians?"
Thor nods, gesturing to a sleek-looking ship with its ramp propped open half a mile up, just off the path between the start of the docks and the settlement.
"Let's go, Loki," the kid says suddenly, eyes alight, and Thor helps Croki down and into the kid's arms. "Sylvie? You coming?"
"Sure," she assents easily, brushing past then. She sends a quirking brow to Loki and a smile to Thor over her shoulder before striding to keep relative pace behind the now-sprinting kid.
A familiar beep echoes, and Loki reaches instinctively into his pocket, flipping up and checking the TemPad's screen. The message is from Bea but it isn't directed at him, simply keeping him informed. "I'll catch up," Mobius announces.
At the glance back, Loki spies him stopped at the bend, curved slight to put his back against the wind, already typing away in full TVA business mode. Ducking his head, the god runs a hand through his whipping hair, ironically suddenly uncomfortable at how actually comfortable it is to be with his brother—and yet, not his brother—again.
"…You look well," Thor comments astutely, as subtle as a hammer. "Happy."
"Do I?"
"Yes. Is it him?"
Groaning again, Loki rolls his head and shoots a glare. "Really, must we do this?"
"Can I not be curious about what has brought about such a change?"
With a sigh, Loki scrubs the back of his scalp before turning to face Thor properly, stopping along the path. "It is him, but…not all of it… I suppose I should thank you. Without that time heist of yours with that idiotic rag-tag band of heroes, I would not be here. That was when I stepped off the one true timeline," he shares with a shrug, unable to resist lilting the last part with a mocking smirk.
"Truly?" Thor asks, grin flashing once more.
Loki nods. He has a second more preparation this time before the other's hug wrings all the breath from his body. "Oh, I have missed you, brother. Our mother would be proud."
Tears surging, sudden and fierce, Loki shudders a breath and, as the other's joy seeps into him, he relaxes and wraps his arms, trying—and utterly failing—not to leave a wet stain against his brother's shoulder. "I've missed you too."
Mobius can hardly feel his wobbling legs, but he trudges his way along the golden edge of the shore and back to the emerald-colored umbrella before collapsing in an exhilarated heap next to Loki.
The god jerks out of his half-doze, book sliding off his abs, and he turns his head, mouth drawn in a nonplussed line as Mobius reaches out to tip his sunglasses up into his hair. Those beautiful blue-greens sparkle fondly, even as his nose wrinkles. "You're soaking."
"I dove in for a rinse-off after. This Hawaiian sun's pretty hot."
Loki snorts. "Yes, I can smell your sweat."
Huffing a laugh, Mobius throws his arms back behind his head into the radiating sand and closes his eyes against the balmy breeze.
Their two days in New Asgard had been a whirlwind between all the people—Asgardian and not—that Thor introduced them to, attempting to fully explore the place, and the bulk of the rest of the time they'd spent enlightening the former and current rulers respectively on themselves, the TVA, and the potential of a Multiversal War.
For all that Loki liked to insult his brother, he could see firsthand how much of it truly was grounded in good-hearted banter. Thor was actually quick to catch on to all that they'd inundated him with, and Loki was also quite welcoming of his comments, brief bouts of sibling grouchiness aside. For Mobius, the greatest pleasure had been derived from simply watching all the Lokis with Thor.
The care between the kid and Sylvie only grew stronger as they were there, with Sylvie daring to make some commitments to stick around there for a few days longer, at least. He suspects that bond was also the final significant factor in Loki and Sylvie going for a walk on the first night and returning fully reconciled, each's eyes red-rimmed but clear.
After all the activity, the last thing Mobius had expected when he and Loki summoned a time door to leave was for Loki to conjure a folder with jet ski rental brochures, the locations of which were spread across the world, and inviting him to extend their time off. Just for a few days—and just the two of them.
How could Mobius possibly say no to that?
A deep sigh escapes him as another breeze goosebumps his skin. "Thank you, Lokes."
Soft shuffling sounds alert him to Loki tucking away the book before he shifts closer, and Mobius feels him tenderly swipe a stray bead of saltwater from his temple. "Is the beautiful union of form and function known as the jet ski as fun as you always imagined?"
'In the early 1990s, for a brief shining moment, there was a beautiful union of form and function, which we call the jet ski, and a reasonable man cannot differ.'
Mobius grins wide at the faithful recitation. "Yes. Yes it is. But," he turns his head, blinking his eyes back open to find the god curved sideways and staring adoringly down at him, chin propped on palm, "there's one thing that could make it even better…"
Immediately, Loki's nose wrinkles again. "No, absolutely not."
"Come on, pussycat. Join me. Just one trip out."
"I am not getting in the water," he denies, shaking his head.
Mobius's grin tips, lips tugging into a lopsided smirk. "I didn't say in the water. Come on, Lokes, I promise I won't knock you off." Pushing up, he moves in close, pulse quickening as the other's gaze darkens and drops down his body. "And I did see a pretty nice and secluded little cove while I was out there…if you wanted to check it out."
Loki leans back, flicking his sunglasses so they slip back down his nose as he stands and offers a hand. "You should have led with that, min elskede."
As soon as he's hauled to his feet, the god bends close and steals a mischievously brisk kiss, chuckling against his lips parted in surprise. "Scamp," he chastises fondly, recovering with a playful push.
Humming contentedly with a matching grin, Loki catches his hand and threads their fingers together in one fluid motion, squeezing gently as they move with calm steps along the shoreline. "But you love it."
"You know I do."
If they pause and trade another dozen teasing kisses before they get there, well, Mobius doesn't think it really matters.
They can steal as much time they want.
