Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mobius waited a long time before moving. Sylvie was gone now, far away to live a life he had always wanted, free of everything. The man stared at the house in front of him.

Don went outside to throw out the dustbin, his work clothes changed into a sweatshirt and a pair of pants. He looked tired, but it was a different kind of tiredness from what the analyst felt.

It looked like the kind of tiredness that makes you smile at the end of the day, even if you've spent it chasing two crazed lunatics. Mobius thought about it; his raving lunatic was one, sure OB and Casey were raging, but never as much as Loki.

He smiled.

He decided he must look strange, standing there, well placed with his hands on his hips and his gaze lost in nothingness, so he moved, took a step, then another, and soon some faster, some slower, longer and tighter ones followed.

For the first time he tested what it meant to walk with his own legs, to decide where to go, without anyone doing it for you. He lost sight of the house, walked for what seemed like hours, not sensing fatigue, until he reached a small motel, on his way to a bar.

He looked at himself, they were not the right clothes for a bar, but he just looked like an ordinary worker who had just had the hardest day of his life, so, with a slow pace, he approached the bar. The lights flooded his vision, they seemed too bright, but he kept walking to the entrance.

"Hey, Don!" Mobius turned around, his gaze vacant, yeah, he was Don now.

"Um, hello?" He hid his suddenly sweaty hands in his pockets and fiddled with a piece of candy.

"What are you doing here? Today is Tuesday, it's late and your kids are home alone?" Mobius tried to chew on an answer, but the man, Sally, from the look of the nametag on his uniform, did not give him time.

"You seem like a man of few words today..." He smiled, taking him by the shoulder and pushing him forward, "come on, I'll buy you a beer!"

Mobius nodded, a gentle smile on his face, maybe, he thought, being Don wasn't so bad after all.

-ATQP-

Mobius regained consciousness bit by bit.

First his stomach, groaning and turning over as and someone was kicking him, repeatedly, without hesitation. Then his head, heavy and drumming, but never as tight as his dry throat and cotton-filled mouth.

He mumbled something, his whole body had a dry mouth. He tried to open his eyes, but when a beam of light split his skull in two, he whimpered and hid his face in his hands. God, how heavy his arms were and how sweaty his hands were. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out his right hand and felt where it was; the feeling was soft, not too much, enough to pass out on after a hellish night, maybe a plaid?

A grandmother's blanket, one of those found next to the garbage cans? From the smell most likely.

He groped for his temp-pad, and, swallowing what little saliva he had left, tried to hoist himself up to his seat. Mobius had never been so drunk in his life; he would have laughed, or at least smiled, if only he remembered something of his past life, if only he remembered who he was before he became a mass exterminator. He jammed his palms over his eyes, lights and colors flickering in his eye sockets before he had the courage to open his eyes, and thankfully, it was not as bad as before.

"Oh God..." He tried to lean against the headboard, his head was spinning and he didn't feel like telling the receptionist about how his bed had become covered in vomit and alcohol, or, even worse, about paying an extra cleaning fee at this hole. The motel looked comfortable seen from this way, had a nice table, a small bathroom, and a mini-bar with some coveted, clear water.

Mobius salivated, he really craved that water, so with all the strength his poor arms could muster, he hoisted himself up to sit on the edge and, after not a few minutes, time for the room to stop spinning, he stood up, stumbling a few steps, but clinging to the dresser. He gasped for a few seconds, all his will turned toward the mini-bar and the fresh bottles that greeted him from the clear glass.

He fell to his knees, ungainly as he had a few times in his life, and with a trembling hand, pulled the transparent door toward him, opening the refrigerator. A blissful freshness pervaded his clouded mind, he closed his eyes and opened them again a short time later, reached out and grabbed the first bottle that came his way, unscrewed its cap and gobbled it down as if his life depended on it. Most likely he was indeed one water bottle away from an ethyl coma, but that did not stop him from lying down on the questionable gray carpet.

He sighed, was this heaven?

He chewed on his tongue, now that the water had hit his stomach and a slight freshness settled wide his belly, he felt a thousand times better. He lay there for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, there with his sweaty back pressed against the filthy floor.

"What was I thinking..." He whimpered, twisting and turning to find a comfortable position, his head whirling a myriad of directions; what was he doing here? Don was not dead; he could have put him in trouble! Or worse she could meet him live, touch him and oh... would the universe explode? No, Loki would never allow that....

The train of thought interrupted.

Loki...

He touched his tie, the phantom touch of the god lingering on his sternum, the warmth that came from being so close, the happiness in being in the same place, together. Always.

The thought fell away, that was the problem; the God had totally merged into his thoughts and soul, that he did not want to break the heart of the poor analyst, of poor Mobius, so, he preferred to leave, leaving behind the wreckage of his friend.

He chuckled, did he really think he had a chance with a god? Loki was made of a different stuff, powerful, wonderful, bewitching, full of glorious purpose. What could he find in someone like Mobius? An old, middle-aged man without purpose, jagged and full of scars that would never heal. He let go of the bottle and wrapped his arms around his torso, hiding his soft belly, too soft, too weak and too little for a God like Loki.

He sat up, his head cleaner than before, grabbed another bottle of water and stood up, leaning against the mini-bar. He turned his gaze to the window, right in front of the bed with the green blanket, from the light coming in it looked like a little past noon, he still had the whole day ahead of him. He moved toward the bathroom, his feet scrambling on the floor, he felt the wall to find the switch, the roughness of the wall against his palm rooted him, making him sigh.

He found the small toggle, moved it, and a cold blue light flooded the small closet, the look the mirror gave him made him shiver, it was really to be thrown away.

He leaned against the sink, his hands clutching the porcelain as his eyes scanned his reflection, the long beard and previously unkempt mustache now a blurred heap on his face. The dark circles under his eyes gave him an extra ten years. Sighing he turned on the water and in no time cleaned himself up; he would have to leave the motel before room service, pay for the night with the money in his pocket and then disappear into thin air.

He gathered all his things, his jacket abandoned on the chair, his socks, disgusting, he was barefoot on the carpet!? And the shoes soon after.

He turned back to the dresser, his gaze wandered for a few seconds but there was no sign of the temp-pad.

The blood froze in his veins.

No. It was not possible...

He turned the room upside down, blankets, pillows, armchairs but there was no sign of the temp-pad and oh...

He threw the door wide open on his way out without closing it, making sure he got everything, he ran to the front desk, it had to be, he could do it, it wasn't the end of the world, sure, if it got into the wrong hands it could destroy or alter all their hard work, it could bring down empires and raise dictatorships, but maybe it was okay, maybe it was just here...

"Sir?" Mobius snapped out of his trance, the little girl, she must have been in her early twenties looked at him with confusion, she seemed to have called him more than once.

"Yes, hi, I'm from the room, 5B, did you happen to find a small orange tablet yesterday, with white borders and a black screen? It's about this size..." He measure with my hands, my voice hoarse from disuse and a wild look.

"Um... I don't think so no..." He turned to the landline phone that stood to the left of the service computer, "I've been on shift for half an hour I'll try to call Donna, if you came yesterday, you were on duty." Mobius nodded, ran a hand over his sloppy face and sighed, what a nice start to life.

"Yes, hello? Hi Donna, it's me, Linds, yes..." Mobius perked up, looking up.

"Here is the man from 5B, he asked if we found a little yellow tablet..."

"Orange!"

"Sorry, orange..." Linds snapped taking a pen a paper, writing down what Donna dictated to her.

"Sure, sure, I'll tell her right away, thank you very much Donna, have a nice day!" She hung up and a friendly smile graced her features.

"It seems that certain Sally brought him here last night, around midnight, but he left us nothing." Mobius slumped down, "but" Linds handed him the note, "he works here, most likely knows more."

He smiled as Mobius took his hand and shook it vigorously. "Thank you, oh thank you, here." The man shoved his hand into his pocket, "how much do I owe you for the room?" Linds typed something, "it's $50, sir."

Mobius nodded, dug in his pockets for a while longer before pulling out a crumpled bill. "Here you go dear," he smiled, handing it to the girl and proceeding quickly to the exit door, "and keep the change! And thanks again!"

The door closed and Linds looked at the bill, smiled, $50 tip in half an hour was quite a bargain.