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Loki wouldn't consider most of the variants brought into the TVA to be agreeable by any stretch of the imagination, but the spitting mad bundle of metal and limbs that burst through the doors was different. Pursued by four hunters from the sound of it, and with a damaged Time Collar gripped in her bloody fingers, she was a fighter if he'd ever seen one. Blood was splattered across her face and drenched her entire being, as if she'd bathed in the stuff, or slaughtered an army.
Her eyes surveyed the room as one of the two massive wings at her back moved with striking speed and slammed the door shut behind her, holding it that way as the Hunters pounded against it. How he hadn't noticed the two metal appendages before, he couldn't fathom. Crazed gaze landing on him, he suppressed the urge to shudder and laugh at the same time as she bared bloody teeth in a silent snarl.
She was a mortal backed into an impossible corner, and beneath that feral desire to escape was a dull resignation to her plight, as if she understood just as much as he did that there was no escape. Still staring at him, she lowered her hands with a long sigh that rattled through her chest with a painful sound. Her wings came away from the door and she tucked them in close to her back.
The door burst open and the four Hunters entered, seeming taken aback by the stillness of her stance. A Hunter secured a Time Collar tightly around her throat, and she was escorted surprisingly quietly out of the room.
One of the Hunters spared him a glance and he waved, to which they shook their head and walked out. When Mobius returned a minute later, he glanced over at the overturned tables and blood smeared across the floor with a questioning look.
"Variant," Loki supplied, and Mobius seemed to accept that as he sat back down. "Curious girl, wonder if there's anyone assigned to her case," He continued, knowing full well that he and Mobius had just finished up the last of the paperwork associated with their last case.
Mobius cast him a knowing glance, before sighing. "Who is she? I can see if she's our department."
"Oh she's undoubtedly our department," Loki replied with a bit of a laugh. He hadn't seen a variant that had given the slip to that many Hunters since himself, surely she qualified as a dangerous variant. "Small mortal woman with big metal wings," He almost continued his description, until he saw the way Mobius' expression darkened.
"You know her." A statement, not a question, and from the small shift in his partner's expression, an accurate assumption. "Have you worked with a variant of her before? She seemed...violent."
"I haven't," Mobius answered. There was a story there, one that he might have to dig for. "I knew someone that did, though." Or perhaps he wouldn't need to. "She's..." He searched for the right explanation that might convince Loki to not get involved, but gave up quite quickly. "...a complicated gal. It was a long time ago," A wave of his hand, as if he couldn't quite find the right words.
Time passed differently in the TVA, so there was truly no telling how long ago her last variant had been there. But this variant had piqued his interest, and if she was in their department, there was no reason he couldn't involve himself in the case, one way or another.
Mobius must have seen the look in his eyes, because his words took on a warning tone, undershot with a faint exasperation. "This is a bad idea," He had to say it, but the Asgardian paid it little heed. Mobius had always been his better half, a voice of reason, but that didn't mean he always listened.
"I know," Mischief danced in his eyes as he stood up from his chair. The variant was trouble, and it was about time that the monotonous days of too much paperwork and minimal field work got a little shaken up. "Isn't it marvelous?"
------
She looked small, sitting on the floor of the Time Theater, with her knees bent and close to her chest, spine and shoulders sloping forward, almost curling in on herself. The hulking wings had to be attached to her internally somehow, because she'd been allowed to keep them. Presently, they were splayed out behind her, the interlocking metal feathers still against the floor. He imagined she had to be uncomfortable, but apparently she hadn't moved from that spot since she'd been put in the room.
Mobius joined him standing before the Time Theater door, and he looked up from his tablet. Closing the surveillance feed, he glanced at the file that Mobius offered him and accepted, flipping it open to the first page and skimming through it. A young woman, kidnapped by criminals, forced to work for them, turned into an unwilling killer and science experiment.
This particular variant had turned on her captors, and rather violently. Reportedly, she'd slaughtered an entire stronghold full of soldiers, scientists, personnel, even other prisoners, before the TVA had taken note and stepped in. He flipped the file shut and handed it back to Mobius.
Opening the door to the Time Theater, he stepped inside, followed by Mobius. The girl didn't so much as move, and with her back to the door he couldn't tell where she was looking. He stepped carefully around her wings, positioning himself deliberately in her eyeline but not looming above her.
She finally did look over at him, twisting her neck in a mechanically smooth motion. The look in her eyes sent a shudder down his spine, something that he refused to acknowledge as Mobius shot him a curious glance. Her eyes were paradoxical, painfully empty of anything recognizable and yet so full of emotion that he couldn't bear it.
Loki glanced away for just a moment until she mercifully swung her gaze towards Mobius, who by the looks of it, had a similar reaction. He sat down at the table at the center of the theatre, glancing at the variant and wondering if she would come sit as well, instead of staying on the floor.
They'd provided a stool, as a normal chair wouldn't have accommodated her wings. Say what you would about the TVA, but they tried to be at least vaguely accommodating before they killed, or sorry, pruned, variants. While he didn't remotely agree with their methods or goals, changes had been in progress recently, and he was settling in as well as one could at the agency.
"Hello," Loki's greeting was casual, piercing the silence and dragging the Firebird's attention back to him. Her gaze seared and burned, a white hot flame held against his skin that he resisted the urge to flinch away from.
"If you are going to kill me," Her voice was raspy with disuse and distinctly accented, but Loki had never acquainted himself with the specifics of regional mortal dialects. "Do it."
"We had no plans to do that," Loki replied, "If you'd like to join us at the table, we can have a proper discussion." He offered, gesturing to the stool that sat empty on the opposite side of the table.
"I will not be used," Her tone slipped into something low and menacing, teeth flashing dangerously, all too sharp behind her cracked lips.
Unfurling, she stood up in one smooth motion, wings clicking and whirring as they adjusted seamlessly to the abrupt motion. The wings were a feat of engineering he hadn't seen from mortals since Starks suit, what felt like ages ago. This variant had been picked up from sometime in the 1980's, so it seemed unlikely that they'd consulted the arrogant billionaire about their construction.
"Your wings," His curiosity got the better of him, "Who designed them?"
She recoiled as if struck, confusion flashing across her features before she shut it down, leaving only the miniscule furrow in her brow as she considered the question. It was a long few moments before she answered, but Loki was content to wait.
"I did," She answered haltingly, as if she wasn't supposed to answer the question, or the answer itself was being dredged up from the depths of her mind. When he was still silent, she continued, watching him closely as she spoke, as if expecting him to cut her off after every few words, "The schematics were modified by others, but I designed them."
"You did?" Surprise colored the two simple words, washed with a sheen of admiration. He hadn't read too much in her file beyond just skimming the surface details. It was easier to assess who she was now rather than who she'd been, and he didn't want her believing he'd use her past against her, so best to avoid the temptation. "They're beautiful."
Her nose scrunched and the furrow between her eyebrows grew deeper, unsure of how to react to the compliment. Just a moment later she moved, unbidden and with fluid grace, to sit on the stool across from him. There was nothing human about the way she moved, gliding through space like a sharpened blade through paper, the very air itself shifting out of her way.
She was watching him, he'd noted that since he'd entered, but more than that, she was picking him apart like a puzzle with her amber eyes. Behind the hollow emptiness, the quiet resignation, was an ember of wicked intelligence, however dulled and smothered. A blunt instrument, the Firebird might have been, a lifetime ago, but the woman across from him was far more than that, could be far more than that.
"You mentioned you expected us to kill you," Loki stated, watching for a reaction of any sort and finding nothing. "And yet you cannot die." Off to his side, Mobius flinched at the callous nature of his speech but Loki continued on, unbothered, "So as I see it, we have a few options, the most appealing of which is that you can make a life for yourself here at the TVA. The work is dreadfully bureaucratic, should you choose to work at all, but it's leagues better than your previous situation."
Loki could feel his partners gaze boring into the side of his head, for a whole host of reasons if he had to guess, the first of which would likely be offering the variant a job and life at the agency without consulting anyone first or doing the proper paperwork (he avoided paperwork like a plague). But what else was he supposed to do? She'd seen the inside of a cell enough for a dozen lifetimes, and they'd stopped sending variants to the void beyond time a little while ago.
She watched him with a considering gaze, skepticism narrowing her eyes just a fraction. There was no point in dancing around the points he was trying to make, and it would seem he was right in assuming that she would appreciate a more direct approach. He found no reason to encourage her to answer right then, after all they had all the time in the universe, so instead, he stood from his seat.
"I'll give you some time to consider," He said, then pulled a device from his pocket, similar to the mortal's communication devices although not from her era, and set it on the table. "To contact me," He nodded to it with a light smile, "When you reach a decision."
Her eyes followed him as he left, and he could feel the gaze searing his neck long after the doors closed behind him.
------
Loki was rocketing little balls of paper into the wire trashbin at his desk when his device chimed cheerily, drawing a sigh of relief from him. It had been a day, or the TVA equivalent of such (he'd never quite figured out how time passed here, if it even did so linearly), since he'd spoken to the Firebird, but he was glad to see that she'd contacted him, and it couldn't have come soon enough. He had been sure he was going to atrophy and crumble to dust, sitting at his desk for so long.
Walking briskly down the hall and now with a bounce in his step, he nodded a greeting at the Hunter that opened the Time Theatre door for him. She was sitting at the table, hands folded politely in her lap, head swiveling towards him as he entered. It was unnerving when she did that, but he couldn't fault her for it, and at least the look in her eyes wasn't quite so terrifying this time, more open, calm almost.
"So, any particular decisions made about accepting our offer of living here at the TVA?" He asked conversationally, strolling towards the table.
"Yes." She said simply, "What is the TVA?" He'd finally placed her accent, a faint Russian that sharpened her consonants and clipped her words.
"An agency that's supposed to keep the timeline 'flowing as it should'," He said, unable to keep the sardonic tone from slipping through as he took his seat across from her, "We're undergoing some major overhauls, though, and things are supposed to be changing for the better, which has proved true thus far."
Firebird tilted her head to the side a degree, accepting that answer after a moment, although he could see more questions in her eyes. For such a dangerous, guarded woman, she wasn't all that challenging to read. Certainly, there was a lot of depth to her, but the surface reactions came through quite clearly.
"I accept your offer." For a moment he thought she was mocking him, as her Russian slipped towards a more Asgardian pronunciation of the words, but the open expression on her face showed no hint of malice. A natural mimic, than. Curious.
"Splendid," He said, a bright grin adorning his face as he held a hand out to her.
Several things happened in the next few moments, as her too cold hand grasped his. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, and dragged him forward off balance, and then his face was against the cold table. Ears ringing and skull reverberating. Cold dots of metal at his throat. Electricity coursing through his veins, his vision went white, then black.
The room swam back into view, and from his sideways view, slumped across the table, he could see the doors left wide open. He could still taste electricity on his tongue, and two points on his neck sent sharp pain lancing through him as he righted himself. His jacket was gone, as was the communicator that had been in his pocket, but he was just glad it hadn't been a Tempad.
A grin with too many teeth worked it's way onto his face, halfway between annoyed and impressed. He'd known precisely what he was getting into, working in the dangerous variant's department, and Odin help him, the days were certainly never dull.
He dusted himself off, ran a hand through his hair, and then strode out of the room.
------
Mobius had started lecturing him the moment the elevator doors shut, but Loki had tuned him out just a few sentences in, instead opting to replay the encounter with the Firebird in the Time Theatre. She was manipulative, far more so than she seemed, presenting him with exactly what he had expected to see from her, but making him work for it just enough that he thought he'd done it himself. It was a brilliant tactic, and one he should've patented centuries ago, but somehow he hadn't seen it, or hadn't wanted to. Fascinating, and just a mite frustrating, to be (temporarily) bested by a mortal woman, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel the sting of annoyance as he usually would have, the game itself was too fun.
They found her sitting on the countertop in the Repairs and Advancement's department, deep in conversation with O.B., who was inspecting the device she held in her hand. A closer look, and Loki realized it was the communicator he'd given her, turned practically inside out, and now with two metal pieces poking out of it. His hand reached up and brushed the smarting injury on his neck.
As the pair stepped out of the elevator, the Firebird vaulted off the countertop, landing in a low fighting stance. She brandished the modified stungun in one hand and one of her metal primary feathers in the other, sharp edge glinting in the light.
Loki held his hands up in surrender, seeing Mobius do the same out of the corner of his eye. O.B. smiled and waved at them, leaning to the side to see around the variant, who had placed herself between them.
"Hello Loki, Mobius," The man greeted cheerily, as if nothing was remotely wrong. "Oh please don't hurt them," He mentioned, the sentiment directed towards the Firebird, almost as an afterthought.
She eyed them warily a moment longer before swiftly returning her feather to her wing, and rising from her stance. Loki's stolen jacket didn't fit her, not with her wings, but it draped over her shoulders and wings, empty sleeves dangling and swaying with her movements.
"This is my new friend, she modified a communicator into a stun gun, isn't that neat?" O.B. continued, seemingly unaware of the way his 'friends' harsh brown gaze burned through Loki with an anger that was almost lethal.
"Pretty creative," Mobius commented, "I wonder who gave her that communicator," O.B. may not have caught the overt sarcasm, but Loki certainly did, and while it might have been deserved, it was entirely unnecessary.
"Is she a new member of the Repairs department?" O.B.'s eyes lit up, "It would make everything go so much faster, and she seems like she knows what she's doing." He stepped out from around the countertop and held a hand out to Firebird, "Welcome to the department!"
Loki glanced over at Mobius, who was pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to be the one to break it to O.B. that she was a rogue variant that couldn't stay here. Maybe he didn't have to, however, because who said she couldn't just stay here?
"She's all yours," Loki said, ignoring the way Mobius started coughing, "Go ahead and show her around, let her get settled in. You two seem to get along fabulously already."
O.B.'s smile turned into a grin, and he led Firebird off into the towering stacks of machinery and parts, already chattering nonsensically. Firebird threw a look over her shoulder, somewhere between fading anger and tense acceptance, almost begrudging gratitude, her gaze was still tinged with heavy skepticism, but it was progress and he would accept that.
The moment the two were out of sight, Mobius smacked him upside the head and he whirled to face him indignantly. "What was that for?"
"What the hell are you thinking?" His partner shot back, keeping his tone low but somehow conveying the annoyed yelling despite it. "Letting her stay here is a recipe for disaster, you don't even nearly know what she's capable."
"She's smart, she's capable, and what else are we going to do with her? Keep her in a cell for the rest of not-time?" Loki bit back the anger that threatened to seep into his words, shoved his emotions down. "Give her a bit of leeway, don't treat her like a criminal, an animal that's going to bite the moment you turn your back, and she won't act like one."
Mobius was about to say something in return, but he searched Loki's eyes for a moment before relenting with a sigh. He looked back over to where Firebird and O.B. had disappeared, shaking his head before punching the elevator button with his thumb.
"Fine, but for the record, this feels like a bad idea."
"I know, but sometimes you just have to gamble on someone," He replied with a smile, throwing an arm around Mobius's shoulders as they stepped onto the elevator.
"Yeah," Mobius said with a faint laugh, leaning into him as Loki clicked on the button for their office's floor. "You do, don't you."
------
The next time he properly encountered the Firebird, he heard her before he saw her, arguing with another familiar voice. Stepping off the elevator into the Repairs department, he saw the back of a familiar figure, leaning on the countertop and locked in a rapid fire conversation with the Firebird, who had changed considerably.
He had seen her from across the dining hall, but she had disappeared with a tray of food before he could approach, which he couldn't fault her for. It was still jarring to see her in a set of uniform coveralls similar to O.B.s, although hers were folded down at the waist, leaving her in her tanktop as she leaned against the other side of the countertop, waving a damaged device around as she spoke.
"This is the fourth time this week you've come in with a damaged Tempad, what do you keep doing to these things?" She snapped, arching an eyebrow, although he could so no genuine malice in her eyes.
"This time really was an accident, and weeks don't even exist here so don't start with that," Sylvie retorted, tone similarly harsh but with no real bite behind it. "Would you just fix it?"
"I don't know, maybe I should teach you to fix it so you can stop showing up here every time I turn around." Firebird bit back, grabbing another Tempad from beneath the countertop and tossing it to Sylvie with little warning.
"You'd miss me," The blonde said with a sneer and caught the tempad just before it collided with the side of her head. She whirled around and strolled back towards the elevator, grinning at Loki as she stepped into the elevator he'd just vacated.
"You wish," The technician called as the doors slid shut, then turned her focus on Loki. She didn't say anything in greeting, just arched an eyebrow at him.
"You're settling in nicely," He commented, taking the spot against the countertop where Sylvie had just been. It was true, the only negative things he'd heard about her came from Sylvie, and that seemed pretty self-explanatory after witnessing that interaction, paired with the fact that Sylvie rarely had anything good to say about anyone.
"It is...familiar," She responded, twisting a metal tool around in her fingertips, her wings shifting just enough to make a faint whirring sound. "I don't hate it here." She finally stated with some degree of confidence.
"It's certainly a start," Loki said with an approving nod, "It does take some getting used to, but you can find a family here."
The Firebird nodded, and they stood in silence for a long few moments. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, leaving in full view the scars along her neck and arms, which had begun to fade into the rest of her skin. She looked different than the first time he'd seen her, beyond just her physical appearance, there was a fragile light in her eyes, dim, guarded, but present nonetheless, like for the first time in her life, she had a fragment of hope.
"You remind me of the warriors of my homeland," He broke the silence, watching the way her gaze fastened on him, eyebrows furrowing just slightly in confusion but curiosity keeping her silent as he spoke. "The Valkyrie's. They were glorious female warriors, with winged horses, or sometimes wings of their own. Brave and selfless, they were valiant warriors, but more than that, they took souls along to Valhalla, the hall of the afterlife. They were revered as powerful warrior women, but violence was never their goal, it was peace, safety, a home to return to."
"Valkyrie," She tested the word out on her tongue, lips curving upwards in the ghost of a smile, "I like that."