So apparently I take 25,000 words to finally get to the actual fixing part of this fix-it series, but hey. We're getting there. Onward and upward.

Thank you for reading!

-THIRTY DAYS LATER-

The Florida Keys are beautiful year-round, but Mobius has always particularly enjoyed the idea of a tropical location during the winter holidays on Earth. There's just something about seeing dancing fairy-lights hanging over snowmen made from sand (sandmen?), hearing holiday songs over the noise of happy children running around in shorts and swimwear, and walking past Christmas decor backlit by oceanic sunsets and silhouetted by palm trees.

The last time he was down here this time of year, he donated a significant amount of money to carefully researched local charities, courtesy of his Special Acquisitions team, which can only be a good thing. And it's the least he can do, since if this were indeed his untouched Sacred Timeline, there's no way he'd be able to afford living in this place, much less live here comfortably.

He'd visited enough times over the decades (centuries?) as a hunter, analyst, and field agent, always wishing for the opportunity to spend some time in the sun without having to stay on mission; and now he gets to. Who'd've thought.

Now, he doesn't actually mind the mandatory half-day off each week spent here on the Timeline, which they have all settled upon as a way to somewhat reset his physiology and balance his pseudo-timeslipping. The Void hub construction is proceeding well ahead of schedule, and his side projects are under control, so he doesn't feel as guilty now about taking a few hours here and there to just be.

Let time pass, so to speak.

He does blend in here, too, which is always a concern on a branch, and remaining unnoticed is key to staying under the radar of any rogue agents trawling the timelines, scouting ahead for their elusive master-who-remains.

But in these lazy, small-town streets and bustling tourist beaches, Mobius looks just like any other not-quite-retiree or prospective snowbird, ostensibly divorced and with too much cash to burn. Scoping out local attractions on the weekends, and avoiding the interested glances, and in some cases, advances, of other single residents. (The latter at least gives him interesting tales to tell, most evenings.)

And Loki seems to find these one-sided stories entertaining, if not endearing; he tells Mobius something similar on the one solitary occasion he manages to hold an illusion projection for more than sixty seconds.

He appears from nothing this particular sunlit morning in late November. Mobius has just finished winding a modest little string of multicolored lights around the back deck railing and is now sitting down inside with a bowl of cereal, to watch for dolphins. Loki's ghostly form melts into relative solidity in the dining chair opposite with only the barest displacement of air to herald his arrival.

Mobius pauses, spoon still in his mouth.

Loki smirks, though it's clearly more affectionate than mocking. "Please, do continue."

He swallows a mouthful of sugar flakes and points the spoon across the table. "You have terrible timing."

"So it would seem," Loki replies, though he seems greatly amused by the whole affair. "And you have terrible taste. What exactly are these disgusting bits of processed grain?"

"Excuse you, your royal highness," he splutters, scooting the box safely out of reach just in case. "Boxed cereal is an American breakfast staple."

"I would sooner break my fast with the box itself."

Mobius considers this. "Can you, in that form?"

"No, I'm afraid not. The illusion will always be physically intangible." Loki's levity vanishes like a candle being snuffed out, leaving only resigned weariness behind. "That is the most difficult part, I believe."

"Not being able to eat breakfast?" The joke falls flat, because he already knows the answer.

"The entire dearth of physical sensation, taste or otherwise." Loki's illusion stares through the window at the sun-dappled sand and surf, for all appearances lost in wandering thought. "It is…difficult. To remember what those sensations are, to recall what it feels like to touch anything other than the fabric of Time. Even a god's memory fades, you know."

Mobius sets the spoon down, appetite gone. "Are you…" He pauses, considering his words carefully. "Aware, the whole time? All these thousands of years?"

Loki's gaze flicks back to him, and he shakes his head in what is probably supposed to be reassurance. "Not the entire time, no. It is difficult to explain, but the majority of my existence seems to be spent in a sort of…dissociation, might be the word. It is as if all Time becomes one, and I with it; and only instinct remains, not full comprehension. As if I were awake, but not fully aware. Only when something specifically calls for my attention, or I focus directly upon it, does that state alter itself."

"Huh." Mobius frowns. "What kind of calls for attention are we talking about?"

"I do not interfere with the natural flow of any timeline, I assure you. If one places a restriction upon free will, it by definition ceases to be fully free."

"That's good. And that's how the TVA is proceeding, for what it's worth. We agree."

"But if you're asking whether I am able to hear your inconsistent weekly commentary on what I can only assume to be a musical repository most incomprehensively called Spot-i-fy, then yes, Mobius. Your artistic tastes are certainly…eclectic."

Mobius grins, resting his chin in one hand and shoving the cereal to one side for now. "So what I'm hearing is that you listen to me, even when I'm not specifically calling for your attention."

Despite the illusory appearance, Loki's cheeks flush lightly underneath the green haze. "Among others, yes."

"Aw. So I'm not that special, huh."

"I did not say that."

"Oh, please do continue."

-THIRTY MORE, AND THIRTY MORE, AND THIRTY MORE DAYS LATER-

Time moves on, as it is wont to do anywhere outside the central TVA. The days soon turn to weeks, and then to months.

Everyone seems to be finding a state of new equilibrium, several years after The Event. Processes and procedures are formed, tested, edited, implemented. Agents come and go, and come back again, most of them; but they all have the choice to do so, and support from the institution to make that happen.

The timelines remain steadfast and thriving, intertwined yet flowing concurrent and symbiotic, the variant tracking system deployed among them functioning precisely as intended. Agents within the TVA are thriving almost as much as the freed branches, and they are all, all of them, learning slowly to branch out with their own personal connections and interests – a grafting of personal purpose which had never been a consideration before.

They have one brief scare with a Kang variant who starts experimenting in his own branch with inter-dimensional travel; but he is quickly dealt with, and for now, no other immediate threats are in evidence.

The Void is eventually fully mapped and charted, and plans are put in motion for a more controlled pruning process from various low-risk timelines. The hope is that they can train Alioth to follow a particular 'feeding schedule' with a rotation of drop zones, which would remove some of the risk from field missions in the Void by ensuring the monster is not in the vicinity at the time.

The secondary Hub, backup archives, and a huge observatory take shape, and become a sprawling nucleus of thriving activity, at all hours of what isn't particularly day or night. Perimeter defenses, scanning systems, and a powerful digital mainframe are installed, the latter of which will put the Central mainframe to shame within a year.

Thank you and rest in peace, Stark Industries of the doomed 0999.003 branch.

Though he's open-minded about the progressive nature of this satellite hub, since its intended use is to be the first line of defense in a multiversal, technology-forward war, Mobius had reluctantly vetoed Casey's initial proposal for installation of Stark's powerful AI system in addition to the advanced technology they liberated from that impending apocalypse. Even the archivists can't agree on whether or not JARVIS was actually sentient in this particular branch, or just became unstable due to Stark's lack of foresight in not creating an ethical sub-routine for Ultron. The deadly combination of both programs was what eventually brought about the End of All Things in that branch.

Mobius is taking no chances on another corrupt intelligence having the opportunity to stage a revolution they didn't ask for. He's one of only ten people who knows that O.B. rebooted Miss Minutes with an instant kill switch; they have no such opportunity to implement a failsafe with an AI created outside the TVA.

And so, life goes on; and before any of them really realize it, months have passed.

Mobius reduces his time on the branches to one day a month as the satellite hub draws closer to Stage 1 completion. And while Ouroborus is fiddling with a communications portal concept that might someday allow agents to work remotely, right now, that's just a pipe dream.

Soon, the living quarters in the satellite will be finished, and it'll be time for the project manager to make a near-permanent departure from TVA Central, and finally shift his primary focus: To make the Void hub a fully functioning entity. And it's strange, the idea of leaving a place that's been home, office, vacation spot, city hall, social center and literally everything else for as long as you can remember.

"I dunno how I feel about the idea," he muses quietly, as he sweeps a pile of sand off the back deck.

He's taken to talking on the timeline as if Loki is always listening, even if he knows that's likely not true, and even if it's been unusually long since the last illusion manifested itself. Mobius is, however, still careful not to mention specifics of the Plan, because if it all goes wrong someday or the war comes before they're ready, he doesn't want to offer false hope.

For now, his darker secrets will remain secret, even from a nearly omniscient Being.

"I mean, I know you called the TVA Fifty Shades of Lukewarm Beige at one point, and you're not wrong, I guess. It is kinda boring, from a certain point of view. Individuality just wasn't something that was ever encouraged."

He shakes the broom out briefly, shoos away a couple curious lizards, and returns to the task at hand.

"Although we're actually working on that now. There's a chess club forming down in Archiving, and someone said the WRE-008 sector is hosting a bowling tournament soon…"

Mobius stands for a moment with his hands folded over the broom-end, to watch the sun set brilliantly golden over the glistening ocean. One brave little boat floats silhouetted against the fiery horizon. The distant cry of seagulls and not-so-distant crash of surf add soothing background noise that should be peaceful; he's not quite sure why this time is so different.

"But still, it's…when it's all you've ever known, for as long as you can remember? It's a little scary." He chuckles briefly, resuming his sweeping. "I feel like a kid being dropped off at college for the first time, or something. Spending the night in a new place, all alone, no family or friends to lean on. At least that first night has to be rough."

There is no answer, but there hasn't been for a while now.

"Anyway. I'm guessing you have more interesting things to listen to than inconsistent commentary on my personal issues. Gonna sign off now, I think." He finishes the last brush over the worn boards, and shakes the broom off the side of the deck to remove any clinging particles.

Turns around, and finds that every last grain of sand is right back where it was. As if someone had just rewound his last ten minutes of work.

"Oh, you mischievous scamp."

Mobius collapses into the closest deck chair, and laughs until he cries, then cries a little until he can laughs again.

-THREE WEEKS LATER-

Mobius' half-asleep brain is startled straight into fight-or-flight mode when an illusion pops out of nowhere behind him, causing him to narrowly avoid cutting himself shaving.

"Boundaries, Loki!" he snaps into the mirror, because really?

The apparition looks completely surprised, as if it had zero intention of actually being here, and when it takes a look around at its location, flares up a bright chartreuse and disappears again.

He tries not to laugh. "I assume practice isn't exactly making perfect, is it." The inquiry is fully rhetorical, but now he feels kind of bad for snapping. "Sorry. It was just a reflex. You don't have to leave?"

There's a ghostly flicker to his left, barely seen from the corner of his eye, but nothing more.

-0-

Later that evening, it happens again, but this time in the living room, and this time in a more controlled fade-in, which Mobius at least appreciates.

"Hey, Lo–" He stares in sudden bewilderment, because the figure hasn't even fully solidified before it abruptly winks out again. "…Loki?"

"Why is this so difficult!" The almost animalistic snarl comes hurtling from the opposite end of the room, where the lamp-light is casting a half-dozen shadows on the wall. One stands much darker than the others, looking almost sharp and prickly in the soft light. "I do not understand!"

Mobius sets his book down and moves, somewhat cautiously, in that direction. "Loki." The shadow shrinks back slightly. "You okay?"

"Do I sound okay." The arrogant derision spit into the last word is almost normal, almost familiar, and it makes Mobius' heart ache for a world no longer possible.

"No, you don't. So talk to me."

"I can't seem to do it again." The quiet answer comes only after a prolonged silence. "The illusion-casting. It isn't working, Mobius. I don't know what's wrong. I can't even seem to project an image for more than a second or two. I have been trying for months. Years, possibly. I'm not even certain, anymore."

Mobius carefully slides down the wall to sit next to the shadow, frowning in thought. "You weren't in that much difficulty the first couple of times, at least not that I could see. So what's different between then and now?"

"If I knew, I would be rectifying the situation under my own not-insignificant power, not resorting to the assistance of a mere mortal, now wouldn't I!"

"Don't get all temperamental with me," he says, calm and even. "I'm just trying to help."

"I know." An unsteady exhale. "Norns, Mobius, I know, I'm so sorry. I am just –"

"Frustrated."

"And tired." The word is so sad, so weary, so utterly void of the bright humor and hope it once held. "I am so tired. Of all of it."

"I know," Mobius whispers, blinking back painful tears of failure. When he'd started this ridiculous project, he'd hoped it would be completely finished in a few years; but in retrospect, that just wasn't anything but foolish optimism and ignorance.

However, this isn't the time or place for such self-recrimination, and so he resolutely puts it to the side. "I'm here. Talk to me, Loki."

There is a strained pause, but in the end, Loki does. He talks, and talks, and talks, and with every rambling tangent and animated recollection Mobius realizes anew how horrifying it has to be, to have no one to talk to.

For all time, and all ways.

"I have all of space and time literally at my fingertips…" Loki finally muses, in an almost dreamlike tone. "I can see everything, hear anything, watch anyone I so choose." The shadow seems to fade just a fraction, and the words grow even fainter. "But I cannot remember the sensation of walking on sand, or sitting amid dewy grass. The heat of a hearth, of a warm bed during first frost. Of riding a horse against the wind, or sharing a drink with a friend."

That's what Mobius has been afraid of, all this time.

"I can't even recall the taste of that gelatinous viridian pastry you're so unnaturally fond of."

Mobius chuckles, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. "I knew you were just humoring me with the pie. Oh, hey." He smiles, as there's a shiver of movement beside him. "There you are."

The paler-than-normal apparition looks down at himself in evident displeasure. "It is an improvement, I suppose. But still not right. And certainly no closer to an actual duplication-casting."

"Okay. So we need to troubleshoot this, don't we?"

Loki snorts, although it now sounds nothing but fond. "I am not one of your TVA files you can analyze to a very bored death, Mobius."

"Uh-huh, sure, sure. So from what you've said, the big difference between the Past and the Now, is that you've been trying for a long time here without success, and you're significantly more tired?"

"I suppose."

"So it looks like the ability to maintain your current state as Supreme Overlord of Time, or whatever, but also divert enough attention and power to illusions, is tied into either your physical stamina, or your emotional state. Or both," Mobius observes, gesturing vaguely up and down in that direction. "You're agitated, and stressed, and tired, which drains your strength, which drains your willpower. And your seiðr feeds off of those, unless I'm remembering the lore incorrectly."

The illusion frowns, clearly considering this.

"So if you slow down, focus on something else, and just rest for a little while, maybe it'll resolve itself. You can do this, I know you can. But you gotta take care of yourself, too. For now, maybe you should just…take a few years, and rest?"

The apparition stares at him with an almost discomfiting intensity.

"What?"

"Nothing," Loki then says quietly. "I am just reminded once more, how steadfast an anchor you truly are, Mobius. A faithful constant, in the midst of unutterable chaos."

"I guess I said something similar in one of those time loops I don't remember," he mutters, a little self-consciously.

"You did. Once in particular, actually."

"Tell me about it?"

"It was otherwise uneventful…somewhere around the two thousandth cycle, perhaps." Loki's image brightens just a bit, and he settles into a more comfortable position on the ground, even if the illusion cannot actually feel the floorboards. "I had just watched all of you die, again, and reset the timeline, again."

Mobius closes his eyes and tips his head back against the wall, legs drawn up and one arm resting on them. "It sounds horrible."

"It was," is Loki's frank reply. "And, well. I just could not bring myself to begin it all yet again, at that precise moment. I was finished, Mobius."

"So what did you do?"

"Had a meltdown to rival the Loom's, would be a kind way of putting it," comes the wry response. "I…simply walked away, and broke down, alone."

"Understandable."

"Even now, I cannot recall where I ended up in the TVA. I'd never seen the room before. But somehow, and I don't know how…you still found me, in the proverbial wreckage." A slight smile, even if it's tinged with sadness. "You sat with me, as you are now. Told me to talk to you, as you did a moment ago. And listened without judgment, as you did a moment ago."

"Seems like I can't really do much else, then or now," Mobius replies, almost to himself.

"But you did. You looked at me, and said You can do this, I know you can. But you gotta rest, Loki. Just take a loop, and rest. Please."

"And did you?"

"Yes." The word is barely audible. "And you stayed with me, until the Loom failed the next morning."

"And you watched me die again. And reset."

"I did." The illusion looks over at him, face deathly serious. "But you may have saved the world that night, Mobius. I am yet uncertain if I would have found the strength to carry on, by myself."

"I've seen your life, Loki. All your lives." Mobius tries to keep his voice steady, but it isn't particularly successful. "I know the last thing you actually want, is to carry on by yourself."

The image flickers like a candle in the wind.

"But…you're going to have to, just a little while longer," he says, and the words are almost cruel in their dreadful finality.

"I don't want to," Loki admits, in a rare show of vulnerability. Then the apparition flickers again, and a look of horrified dismay crosses his face. "I can't hold it, Mobius. It's going to fade again!"

"Shh, it's okay. Don't fight it."

"But –"

"It'll be okay, I promise. I know you're tired, I know."

"I can't –"

"Look at me. I'm working on it, I will figure it out. And Loki?" The image looks up at him one more time, just on the verge of vanishing. "You can do this. I know you can."

Gods are sustained by belief. Mobius can only hope his is enough.

-NINE MONTHS LATER-

Okay, this is bad.

This is incredibly bad.

And the worst part of it is, Mobius has only himself to blame. He knows better, he has literal centuries of knowing better, and if he manages to survive here, he's never going to stop kicking himself for such an egregious error. It's a colossal mistake, probably brought on by exhaustion and overconfidence and a somewhat imbecilic amount of faithful optimism because things had been going so well lately, and maybe it was only a matter of time, but still, this is bad.

Rule number one, in fact the single most important cardinal rule of all time, when dealing with a dangerous variant, and specifically a Loki?

Never, ever turn your back to them.