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“Who do you think you are?” Loki mumbles, the words mostly inaudible as he alternates between the screen in front of him and the papers filled with scribbling and circling.
Mobius sighs, exasperated as he leans against the doorway.
The TVA was in a bit of chaos with Minutemen constantly disappearing and reappearing through timedoors at random. A rogue variant had appeared- that was the usual bit- but the challenge to find them was not. It was similar to Sylvie’s case and following the assumption that it might be another Loki variant, Mobius and Loki had been put in charge.
There was something they were missing. It was right there and Loki was determined to figure it out.
And here they are. It had been four? five? breaks?? Mobius wasn’t sure how long anymore that Loki had been hunched over the TVA desk he’d secluded himself into the first empty conference room he found. Floating on the walls were more sheets and severely crumpled ones littered the floor.
Too long, he decides when Loki doesn’t even budge. Mobius doesn’t think Loki even knows he is there, the god utterly enraptured with the papers he’s glaring at.
Watching Loki work is an interesting sight- the lines on his face are softer with a smile curling his lips, eyes glinting with curiosity because to Loki, it was all a fancy puzzle with pieces that needed to be solved before the actual puzzle could be. An elaborate illusion that needs to be detangled and put back together- his specialty.
Except.
Mobius looks at him again, taking in the way Loki is hunched over the standard TVA desk, green sparks fizzing against his skin as his lips tightened together. His brows are furrowed that Mobius wants to reach over and smooth the skin down. He had never seen the other so rumpled- jacket on the floor and shirt crumpled. As he watches, Loki huffs, pushing away the falling strands of hair with a frustrated whine, staring at the papers once more.
Mobius thinks he saw a button near the jacket. “Loki,” he tries to get the god’s attention, worry on his tongue as he watches Loki’s fingers tighten in his hair.
Loki pauses, instinctively and it makes him smile. The action is one he’d become rather familiar with as of late in regards to the mischief maker and Mobius knows it pulls something pleasant at his brain. Ah . Later, after he manages to pull Loki away from further back pain and cramped legs to a shower and something to eat, he could try again to understand it. Too long Loki was at the table and Mobius chides himself for ignoring the other. He knows Loki can take care of himself- evident from all the trouble he had gotten in and out of but… seeing Loki so small, hunched in on himself- Mobius doesn’t like it at all, tendrils of guilt and worry making his stomach knot.
“Loki!” He tries again, shifting off from the doorway he was leaning against.
Again, Loki pauses as if his body is attuned to responding to Mobius. “Come on, time’s up. Stop working.”
Mobius has never seen Loki so engrossed at the TVA that he was no longer aware of his surroundings- never in his life, thinking back on what he remembers from the files. While he is proud of Loki’s dedication, there is a constant twitch to Loki’s lips, his fingers now away from his hair but the tight grip remains, betraying his frustration.
“Do you know who I am?” Loki huffs, his words ending with a heavy sigh as he continues to stare. Mobius isn’t sure he’s even seeing the papers anymore.
Peeking over his shoulders- and not once does Loki even flinch to register his presence- the papers are all filled with variations of the same thing- last locations, probable motives, future locations and doodles. Lots of doodles of Loki strangling a hooded person. That is a sentiment Mobius wholeheartedly shares.
Loki doesn’t move as Mobius steps closer. He remains hunched over and now Mobius could see him attempting to blow his hair out of his face, temporarily succeeding before the strands fall once more, no longer held by the hair tie.
And that begins an idea.
Loki wants to strangle the asshole hiding from them. He also wants to applaud them because hiding for so long from the TVA- him, the superior Loki, is impressive. But it is now his problem and he really wants them to suffer a slow, painful death.
The paper in his hand crumpled. Right. Papers. The words on the sheets are blurring to his eyes, almost as if they are jumping off the page but he has to continue. Loki knows he wasn’t one that anyone trusted- even Mobius didn’t at first, but now the silly man did and… and Loki doesn’t want to disappoint him.
He does that a lot- disappointing people. They- there are so many of them, but mainly Thor, that oaf, who had placed their expectations in what he could do. And he failed them.
‘Loki , I thought the world of you ’ Thor once told him. Looked him in the eyes, expression open and honest and even when he said it; their paths had long diverged, they both agreed, but even then Thor had looked at him and still trusted him, always chasing after and protecting him like an idiot. Always believing in what? His words? Him? Weren’t they the same? How- why, it never made sense. Thor knew who he was- all that he did and still loved him.
Loki knows that Thor would always… the memory of Thor, young with his hair shaggy around his ears and eyes bright as Loki’s shined with unshed tears, hugging and calling him ‘little brother’ as Loki wriggled about in his embrace but never tried to escape, played before him like a memory tape. He thought he might’ve been burying closer to his big brother’s unnatural warmth.
And-
The memories continue to flash, coalescing to the image of Thanos pressing the power stone against Thor’s head, the air acrid with the scent of burning flesh. Thor’s eyes widening the tiniest bit in surprise but also acceptance when he finally holds up the Tesseract.
Thor believed in him, even though he knew he shouldn’t have- Loki was the God of Lies, what else could have been. Thor would have died because of his lies.
Funnily, Loki snickers, it is why he died, after all- his lies were his downfall. Though, there wasn’t anywhere left to go but digging deeper and deeper. A cycle of lies, betrayal, failure and disappointment, neverending, that is Loki.
Mobius knows all that. The man read his life, knows what Loki didn't know about himself, about his other variants that all of them were just the same filth that could never be anything good. Mobius knew and yet he trusts him.
It was stupid. Trust wasn’t meant for Loki who had nothing…but he so desperately wants it and couldn’t that be enough?
Loki inhales. He tugs at his hair, the thread of pain cutting through his spiraling thoughts and forcing him to concentrate- at least that's what he tells himself. “Do you know who I am?” he threatens the papers, wondering if they would magically reveal the answer.
Exhale.
Mobius trusts him to figure out the variant and Loki doesn’t want to disappoint him. He has to be enough.
Absent-mindedly he chews on his lips, thinking. With how often he had disappointed people, anyone would think he would learn how not to- it had to be a skill someone had once told him, that he must’ve known how not to disappoint to be so good at disappointing. But no, there was no alternative because he just fucks it all up and-
Loki feels tears prickle at his eyes, chest tight as he thinks of Mobius’ disappointed face. He has to continue, he has to- there is no alternative. He- the room felt smaller.
The desk too close.
He picks up a pen. It falls, clattering to the floor, the sound loud and enveloping his strangling breaths.
The clothes binding to his skin.
His hands won’t stop sharking.
It’s too hot.
His skin is pulsing.
Crawling on his nerves.
It’s too much.
It… Loki wants to leave. He can feel his magic bubbling against- on- his skin- anywhere but he can’t.
If he leaves, he fails and he doesn't want to fail. Loki pulls another sheet closer, holding his breath in hopes that it would make his hands stop shaking.
Loki startles, shoulders pulling up as his magic sings in his ears, thoughts too scattered to conceptualize anything but static when he feels the touch of another brushing against his forehead. The hand is warm with slight calluses at the fingertips that brush his hair back, smoothing it down out of his face.
Recognizing Mobius’ touch, Loki immediately sighs into it, exhaling a tired hum as he inhales Mobius’ scent. The man is like a balm to his exhaustion. His shoulders relax, pulling at the tense muscles, as he sags into the ministrations, eyes slipping close. Norns. His eyes. Closing them hurts from staring so long that he feels heat searing and blinks to make it better.
“I can’t figure it out,” he manages to whisper, feeling the need to fill the silence stretching the confines of the room.
Loki can’t bear to see Mobius disappointed. It is cowardly but it preserves something to himself- maybe a shred of dignity as he presses his eyes closed.
“It’s ok,” Mobius soothes, pressing closer when Loki leans further against his hip. More relaxed than he had been in days- and isn’t that something to take note of- Loki senses Mobius’ other hand coming up. Warm fingers- they are so warm when pressed against Loki’s skin- smoothing the furrow between his eyebrows.
“It’s ok,” Mobius repeats, his fingers with just the right pressure, pressing a calming rhythm on his forehead.
“No,it-” Loki starts to protest but he stops, pressing his chapped lips shut.
“Take a break, then we’ll get back to it.” Not waiting to hear a reply from Loki, Mobius pulls him up, leaning the god’s weight on himself when the other sways, knocking into the table. His eyes are glazed over and Mobius really regrets not coming to him sooner.
“C’mon, there we go,” he murmurs, helping Loki stumble away from the table, arms around his waist and holding him close.
Loki is silent on the way to the elevators, feet becoming steadier the more they walk. Mobius doesn’t remove his grasp and Loki doesn't move away. The TVA, despite them not needing it, has a floor dedicated solely to bathing essentials- specifically a bathtub. It is a plain, white porcelain thing but it serves its function.
Mobius remembers, one quiet moment when they had no pressing orders so they were in the breakroom, that Loki mentioned liking long baths- they were soothing he said, especially when he was younger and Freya washed his hair. Mobius remembers the way he smiled, fond and nostalgic that reached his eyes plagued with sadness.
In the same breath, he whispered how it terrified him to be so vulnerable.
The elevator dings to a stop and and as they approach through winding halls, the tub automatically fills. Stepping away from Loki, Mobius dips a finger in, content with the coolness of the water. A compartment appears with- he looks at the label- bath bombs. Wonderful! Selecting a green in the shade of Loki’s signature armor with a scent reminiscent of citrus and…he looked around for lavender’s typical purple- Throwing both in, the water swirls with shades of both, foam bubbling as sweet citrus fills the room. Mobius decides it’s perfect for what they need. He had read about this concept of laying in water with calming scents when Sylvie was terrifying MinuteMen, thinking it might come in handy one day. And it did! Hopefully…
Mobius turns his attention back to Loki, taking in the way he seems to be leaning against the wall, hair loose around his face that he hadn’t bothered to neatly comb back.
Not wanting to spook the other, he murmurs quietly, “Want me to step out?”
A barely there shake of the head is Loki’s answer, his hand raising, fingers flexing before they drop. He shakes his head again, resolutely ignoring Mobius’ gaze.
“In we go.” Mobius smiles, small and impossibly fond as he takes Loki’s hand, holding firm when he feels Loki’s fingers wiggle in an attempt to maybe escape.
Carefully, he maneuvers him into the tub.
Mobius knows Loki is fine enough to do it without issue but the brief minute he isn’t touching the other, feeling the low thrum of life beneath his fingers, it sends fear though his spine. Without care, he knows he isn’t letting the god out of his sight for the next however long. It is a want, a desire- Loki is a scamp, but Loki is his , growing on him that Mobius isn’t sure he would know how to function anymore without the other. What was his life before? Was it life or just a role Mobius played before like a puppet?
Loki sighs, breaking Mobius’ absent concentration on a random spot on the wall. The god had slipped further down until the bubbles were below his nose, eyes downcast.
Mobius takes a step behind the tub, pulling a nearby stool to sit. Gently he lays his hands in the black strands spilling over the lip of the tub. “Let me?” he asks when Loki hesitates in between staying and moving away.
The other inhales and settles, squaring his shoulders as if facing battle when he tips his head back until he is eye to eye with Mobius. “This is humiliating.”
Mobius can’t help but slightly chuckle, taking in the slight pout pushing at Loki’s lips. He is happy to see the glimmer of awareness and humor settling in the tiredness of Loki’s eyes, the green shining a bit brighter than before its previously haunted paleness. “I can make it worse,” he teases, fingers curling in the bottom of the strands.
Loki snorted. “I’ll show everyone that picture of you covered in pie after you fell.”
“You said you deleted it!”
“Really.”
Perfectly, he arches a brow like a sassy drama queen. Which- “God of mischief, yeah yeah,” Mobius huffs, pulling some strands in retaliation.
Before he can blink, foam falls on Mobius, soaking through his suit. Spluttering, he wipes suds from his eyes, glaring as Loki twirls a finger of green. Another mountain of sub floats, dripping soapy water onto him that Mobius relents with a strangled, “Fine, I give up.”
Satisfied, Loki settles once more, imperiously waving for Mobius to continue with his hair. There's tension remaining at his shoulders, but Mobius spots the genuine smile tugging at his lips.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he grumbles, not caring to hide the tease.
The air is no longer tense, quiet with only the sounds of falling droplets and the gentle swish of water. Mobius combs his fingers through Loki’s hair, taking care to not pull too much as he untangles the strands. Loki hums, a content sigh escaping as his eyes flutter shut and features soften. His lips are no longer bitten red but their usual pinkness.
Over and over, he continues, feeling the soft strands of hair rush against his fingers. It calms him too, Mobius realizes, knowing that Loki is safe.
It is quiet. Peaceful.
Mobius wants to ask, but the question cannot pass his throat and selfishly, he can’t decide if he wants to know or not- is it worth it? He stays quiet, letting himself also be carried away in the calm quiet.
A bottle appears next to him when he shifts to sift through the bottles lining the shelves. The bottle is small, about the length of his palm but through the clouded glass, Mobius can see the viscous content registering it as Asgardian.
Pulling the stopper out, he lathered his hands with it. Carefully, he works it into Loki’s hair, nails lightly scratching against the scalp in a downwards motion. Loki hasn’t uttered a sound, but the tension in his shoulders and neck had all but vanished.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Mobius washes the suds of Loki’s hair, letting the words hang in the air as he thinks them over, picking the words apart to the letter and then putting them back together. Loki sighs in the silence, and he seems to be doing that a lot, Mobius notices, except now the sound is wet and it isn’t from the water running rivulets down his face. He wonders if Loki is aware he’s crying.
Brushing his thumb under Loki’s eyes, Mobius settles his palm on the god’s face, cupping it when Loki’s breath hitches at the contact. Loki’s eyes are still closed but tension is slowly stringing into his muscles and building as Mobius leans down. The room is colder now. There was a steady thrum beneath his hand. They’re pressed skin to skin- Loki’s neck in his arm. Vulnerable .
The agent presses his lips to the god’s forehead. “You’re stuck with me.” The words are reverent on his tongue, soft and pleading almost like a prayer begging to be accepted.
“For all time?”
“I’ll rewrite time for you.” Mobius cannot conceptualize why he says it, but he looks at Loki- green eyes wide and bright and vulnerable at him as water from his hair draped across Mobius’ arm like a lifeline connecting them together, drips to the floor- and knows that he would, because Loki is his partner. Instinctively, more so than Mobius probably could himself, he trusts Loki.
Loki turns to face Mobius, disbelief coloring his cheeks pink. “You’re mad. Utterly, irrevocably mad,” he states, no hesitation in his voice.
Mobius trusts him . Mobius knows who he is- he tried tricking the man within mere moments of their acquaintance and Mobius trusts him. It is madness that he believes more so in Mobius than he can in himself. And Mobius reciprocates the sentiment. It is paradoxical in ways that perhaps should cancel. Yet, he finds that it also makes some amalgamation of sense that Loki can find sanctuary in.
Norns .
Mobius laughs, chest heaving with mirth as he pulls Loki into a hug, pressing his forehead against the god’s, uncaring of the water seeping through his shirt. “You'll drive me mad,” Mobius begins, quiet chuckles stopping his words, “but you’ve also made me feel alive.” His cheeks are also pink, like that dreaded cherry pie he attempts every few breaks.
Loki continues to stare, his brain processing everything. How did they go from Loki promising death to a rogue variant to Mobius promising himself to Loki? Oh . It finally clicks for Loki- Mobius, for long he’s stared after the man, feels the same about Loki. Green starts to fizz around the room, shimmering and bursting into sparks as Loki reaches up and cups Mobius’ face in his palms. “May I kiss you?”
Mobius captures Loki’s lips in a chaste kiss, fingers steady on his naked hips when the god pulls him closer.
They break apart when the tub disappears and Loki steps out from the green shimmer to reveal what is unmistakably one of Mobius’ shirts perfectly buttoned and hanging off his shoulders.
Loki smirks when Mobius flushes deeper, pulling the agent into a deeper kiss.
Maybe he’ll give the variant a fruit basket before he tries to strangle them, Loki thinks, enjoying the brush of Mobius’ stubble against his face far too much to care as he sinks further into the kiss.