Okay I lied, this'll be three parts. Third part probably not until next week sometime.

Have a wonderful holiday, if you celebrate!

-SOME TIME LATER-

Loki dreams of dust and decay.

Of disintegrating spirals of life shredding into oblivion, gone on the next wind and taking with them all that is, or is to come. A peculiar, visceral kind of loss not dissimilar to the Titan's snap, or a friend being pruned; and no less horrifying for its familiarity.

Of the raw, physical pain felt when a branch dies, sharp and nauseating at heart even if the death is of natural causes. A sickening sense of dread, as the branches somehow begin to die of unnatural causes, one by one by one, despite his best efforts. He Who Remains, the Conqueror, leveling the playing field in an ever-encroaching, inevitable path of destruction toward the heart of the multiverse.

Of the horror in realizing that in this form, he has not the ability to stop the satellite TVA from being completely destroyed, when a magical attack far more powerful than anything he has ever seen takes down their defense system in a matter of moments. Loki cannot even stop Alioth from pouncing on what remains when the dust has settled. He has no idea if the evacuation plans had time to be deployed. Has no idea if anyone within was still alive when it fell.

Has no idea how long the rest of the multiverse will last, before the onslaught of inevitable annihilation.

And then, the attack shifts not to the central TVA, but to the Tree itself. The Void hub, only collateral damage; a necessary step, to get at the heart of Time. Every universe in grave peril, destined for destruction and completely unaware of the danger on their doorsteps.

All because the god of Time left his post, an absent guardian of the timelines at the End of all things.

One of the variants, a ruthless dictator in his own universe, leads the final assault on the Tree as reality begins to unravel around them.

As it had before, and again, and again. Endless loops spent in a never-ending exercise in futility.

But it will not happen again without a fight, that much he vows, as the attack renews with more force.

Even struggling back from sleep, it is the work of only a moment to manifest a thin but highly effective dagger, deadly sharp and wreathed in magic, against the threat.

No. Not like this. I will not have it!

But even as he struggles against it, the mist finally clears, taking with it the horrific visions. They dissipate and drift away like a wraith in midnight fog, allowing first sound, and then sight, back in, both clouded but growing less so. That sound is nearly nothing; only heavy, strained breathing and, more distant, the soothing crash of ocean surf.

The sight, however…

"Hey," Mobius says, calm and steady – as if he is not at the moment half-pinned to the back of the couch by magic and a deadly conjured blade at his throat. "'S just me, Loki. Just me, okay?" He unclenches his hands slowly within the magical restraints, palms outward. "We're at home. My home, on Earth. You can hear the ocean, yeah? Just listen for a second."

Loki does, and for a moment only allows the rhythmic crashing to register over his pounding heartbeat. Surely this is just another illusion?

"You're on Midgard, okay, not wherever you were a minute ago." Mobius' chin lifts slightly, straining away from the razor-sharp point. "Think you could put the dagger away for me at least? I'm not going anywhere."

Reality finally strikes like a raging bilgesnipe.

What have I done?

He jerks backward with a horrified noise, and nearly trips over the end table in his haste, knocking a lamp off of it with a resounding crash as he stumbles into the side of an armchair, finally sliding down it to sit heavily on the floor.

The weapon evaporates into green mist, and that is just as well, since his hands are shaking far too much to be trusted with it.

"Whoa, hey. You're okay, you're good. I –"

"Don't touch me!"

Mobius stops on a dime at the hoarse exclamation, hands frozen in midair.

"Please," he whispers.

"Not gonna hurt you, Loki," Mobius finally says, and his eyes are more sad than anything else. "And you're not gonna hurt me either."

"I already have," he chokes out, sickened at the sight of a thin trickle of blood on the left forearm.

"Only because I tried to block it," Mobius replies. "Reflexes, I've been training. You weren't aiming to do more than immobilize."

"This time," he manages to say, before the air seems to be completely sucked out of the room, leaving his head spinning and oxygen in very short supply.

"Loki. I need you to try and take a breath, okay?" Mobius' voice sounds worried, and somehow very far away. "C'mon, you're okay. We're good. We're fine. We're just fine."

He nods mechanically, eyes closed for the moment. Trying desperately to dispel the lingering vestiges of the dream, and the additional nightmare he awoke to. He had thought repeated visions of this tiny little circle of his being ruthlessly pruned or spaghettifying were the worst horrors his mind could conjecture; he has long since found otherwise.

Power corrupts, and he still has a significant portion of all the power in the multiverse in his hands, literally and metaphorically. One would think that would mean the power to banish such dreams at will, but that is not the case.

Assuming the dream was indeed dream.

"Mobius?"

"Shhh. Just breathe for a few seconds, okay? I'm here, and I'm fine."

It was a dream, correct?

Or is this actually the dream, a relatively familiar, harmless fantasy borne of a mind going slowly numb from dissociation. Hearing and feeling a million million timelines, all simultaneously clamoring for attention, and yet still feeling so very, very alone.

Is he about to wake for a second time, the real time, only to find himself still tethered to a throne he never wanted, pathetically fantasizing about the worlds outside?

"Whoa, hey. None of that, just keep breathing deep for me." The voice is familiar, soothing. Also, somewhat dreamlike.

His eyes fly open, and that does not help at all in determining what is reality and what is merely wishful thinking of a mind going mad of loneliness. He has woken many times before, with this same hope, only to find it unrealized.

"Loki?"

"Is this real?" he asks, barely a whisper. "I can't tell. I can't tell, Mobius."

"Yes, you can. I know you can." The response is level and calm. "You can determine time passage to the second in the Tree. Not here, on Earth. Even I can feel the difference, if I really focus. So take a minute and just feel time pass here, Loki."

That seems to make sense.

And…Mobius is right. He cannot determine the exact minute and second here, nor does he have any idea how long the nightmare lasted.

"'Sides, I'm pretty sure a spoiled Asgardian prince could come up with something a hell of a lot more interesting than this humble little beach house to grace their dreams, y'know? No silk and tapestries here. No grand hunts and rainbow bridges and fireside storytelling. Oh, did I tell you the first time I tried to use the fireplace here, I filled the whole house with smoke? Had no idea there was a chute-type thing you have to pop open to make the smoke go up, not in. Who'd've thought."

The ramble is so ridiculous that Loki chokes out a laugh, despite the low-level screaming panic that still has his throat in its relentless grip.

It turns into something horrifyingly close to a sob, and one he isn't quick enough to hide behind his hands.

"Loki, I'm just gonna sit beside you, okay?"

Ugh, this is absolutely puerile. And embarrassing. He exhales slowly, in a measured attempt at calm that only is achieved when Mobius is finally settled into a parallel position beside him, a line of silent but comforting warmth at his left.

The shudder as the next breath escapes must be perceptible, because Mobius reaches up for a second, scrabbling around the arm of the couch before hooking a soft afghan and pulling it down on top of them.

"See, this is a real blanket," he says, inanely, as he tucks it around Loki's shoulders. "No curtains here, just good old-fashioned synthetic knit. It's cozy."

The absurdity of it all forces the panic back another few inches, and then another few, until the ringing in his ears finally clears and brings with it, full clarity.

Of course this is not a dream. His dreams are rarely pleasant.

"How're you feeling now?"

"Awake," he replies, equally quiet. "This is reality."

"Yes, it is."

"And…I almost killed you," he adds, in a rough whisper.

"No, you didn't," Mobius replies, gesturing to his throat. "Not a scratch here. You were only acting in defense, even when still half-asleep. And I should've known better than to physically shake you awake, I forgot how bad the nightmares can be. That was just a stupid decision on my part."

"That does not change the fact that I just had a blade at your throat, Mobius."

"What, you think you're the only variant who's ever done that?" he replies wryly. "You don't even crack the top ten Lokis who've done that."

"Please. Allow me?" Loki extends a hand over the small cut found just above the wrist line, but does nothing further until Mobius gives him a nod of acquiescence.

"Okay, that's very useful," Mobius then observes, watching the wound seal up and fade away under a light green wisp. "And you didn't learn that from an infinity stone."

"My mother was far more adept at the natural healing magicks than I could ever hope to be. But I retain some small vestige of that teaching. Even after so long spent in solitude." He exhales slowly, and feels his mind finally clear. "I must have fallen asleep while reading out here, after you retired for the night."

"Yeah, I woke up to get a glass of water and you looked like you weren't having a good time. What you were dreaming about? The Tree?"

"Not entirely. But in part. Yes."

"Something happening to it?"

"Yes."

"You know the biggest reason we built the hub in the Void is to guard it. To guard you. Advance warning, first line of defense, and all that. No matter what happens, you won't be dealing with it alone, not anymore."

"All you have done is made yourself the primary target, for when He comes," Loki whispers.

Mobius makes a quiet noise of realization. "Yeah, I suppose that's technically true. I'm kinda used to the idea now, but I get why that's a nightmare scenario for you."

A brief nod of acknowledgment.

"I'm also guessing this is why you haven't slept more than an hour or two since the day you woke up, after we pulled you out? Because you probably had some very realistic dreams, during the last few thousand years. And you can't tell what's reality yet, sometimes, when you wake up. So your solution is to just not sleep unless you have no choice."

Loki is silent.

"That might not be a problem if we were still in the TVA," Mobius adds gently. "But we have to sleep when on a branch for longer than a few hours. Our physical bodies need that, even if we don't feel it – because there's an entropy rate here that doesn't exist in the TVA."

Of course this most annoying human noticed his refusal to brave the realm of dreamland, and investigated accordingly. Probably with the help of that megalomaniacal little clock interface back at the central TVA.

Faen.

"You know I speak every language on the timeline, right."

"Wait, really?" This new knowledge is sufficient to fully shock him out of his stupor with its novelty, even if he had not meant to mutter the aforementioned invective aloud. "Every language on the timeline? Every planet, every sentient society, throughout all of history? And without the benefit of Allspeak?"

"Yeah, although we don't have a lot of chance to use non-Earth languages much. Earth is the biggest problem child for the TVA for some reason, guess we're just more chaotic than other worlds. Multi-linguistic certification is a requirement for hunters, or at least it used to be."

"It is no less impressive, for all that."

"Well, I don't really take credit for it. I honestly don't know if I actually learned the stuff, or if He Who Remains just sort of shoved it into my head during the last factory reset."

"I'm sorry." The words are barely audible.

"It certainly wasn't anything you did."

"No, I – I am sorry for this." He gestures vaguely toward Mobius' now-healed arm. "I did not intend to fall asleep. Not whilst I am a danger to those around me."

"Loki. If you wanted to kill me, I'd have been dead before I hit the couch. You're only a danger to yourself, and maybe any idiot stupid enough to shake you awake." A wry smile lurks at the corner of his mouth. "So. Lesson learned. I'll just…throw a coffee mug or something at your head next time."

Loki barely returns the smile, but it's genuine enough. His hands are still shaking, however, and the room feels equal parts too cool and too hot, a sickening swing back and forth between the two extremes.

"I broke your lamp, I believe," he says hoarsely.

"What, that ugly thing? It came with the house. Don't sweat it, it gives me an excuse to actually go shopping for this place. I'm more worried about you. Are you gonna be all right? I've been trying to give you space for the last couple of weeks, but maybe that wasn't the right thing to do."

"I will be fine." He swallows firmly on the lingering nausea. "In time, at least."

"Okay then." Mobius gets back to his feet with a stifled grunt, and extends a hand to pull Loki after him. "C'mon, let's take a walk."

The nearly-full moon hangs high in the sky, glimmering in silvered shards on the face of the ocean, and lending a ghostly grayish hue to the sand beneath their feet.

A faint green glow emanates from Loki's left hand to light the steps ahead, a circlet of illumination driving back the shadows beyond. They are the only ones awake at this time of night, on this beach, but even if they are seen, there are enough strings of multicolored lights hung on back decks and balconies this time of year, for it to blend in as just another holiday bulb. They may make a somewhat comical scene, one in all black and one in plaid pajamas, but even so, no one in this quiet island town is going to notice two strange tourists out for a midnight stroll on the night before Christmas Eve.

"What is the significance of the red and green?" Loki asks, by way of breaking the silence that had comfortably enveloped them for the last few minutes.

"Hm? Oh, you mean the lights? I have no idea, honestly. I don't think color symbolizes as much here as it does on Asgard. But I'm guessing red because it's sort of festive, attention-getting. And green because most people who celebrate put up and decorate a tree." Mobius kicks absently at a piece of driftwood in the path. "An evergreen, usually, and sometimes a fake one at that. Not a Tree."

"Did you just capitalize that in your head."

"Shut up," he chuckles, elbowing Loki hard enough to send him a few inches into the water line.

He's half-expecting a yowl and sprint out of the water, but to his surprise there is none of that, only a curious sort of childlike wonder. Loki stops, and looks down at the swirling foam as it spins and eddies around his ankles, then is washed back out to sea. His gaze follows the spume until it dissipates amid the next wave to wash ashore, and then again.

"You okay?" Mobius asks quietly from behind him, the words drifting away on the wind.

"I don't know." It's an honest answer, if an unhelpful one. "I find myself still listening for voices, on the timelines, even though now I cannot hear them. I am…anxious, I believe is the correct word. That something might go wrong in my absence, despite the fact that we would know in real time. I would feel it, in addition to your TVA having immediate warning. And yet, I am uneasy."

"Do you want to go back and check on things? We can do that, pretty easily now."

"No, no. Not now, at least. It is simply one of many issues I am attempting to compartmentalize, with admittedly limited success."

"Well, that explains the nightmares. Your brain's still trying to process the passage of more time than I can even imagine."

Loki shakes his head. "I feel as if…as if I am cheating Fate, somehow. By being here, instead of enduring the vigil I willingly accepted those centuries ago."

"I'm pretty sure the argument could be made that you've more than paid your dues to the universe."

"Possibly," he concedes. "I slept for decades, Mobius – centuries, even, once – but now I cannot sleep without seeing things I would prefer remain long forgotten, or in my imagination only. I don't understand why, if it is not a sign that I should not actually be here."

"Just a guess, because I've never worked in the Dream department and I dunno how it all fits together. But I'm guessing it actually has to do with Time, not some kind of magical clairvoyance. The time passage rate on Earth versus whatever else we're used to. I always dream when I'm down here, but never when I sleep in the TVA. I don't think it indicates anything wrong with you, other than the fact that you're still running on fumes, even weeks later."

"Perhaps." A strange shiver passes over him. "Or perhaps it is a premonition that something is coming. Much more quickly than we hoped."

"Do you sense something changing? In the timelines?"

"No, not at all. Everything is at peace."

"Well, that's the goal."

"It is. But it is…unsettling."

"Well, one thing I learned, the last few years." Mobius snags his arm at the elbow, guiding them back toward the dry sand. "Is to enjoy these moments of peace while I can. 'Cause there will come a day when it won't be an option."

"But it could, Mobius." Loki keeps pace with him, though his stride is forceful, aggressive. Pushing deeply into the damp sand and leaving weighty footprints behind. "It could be an option. You could have that peaceful life. You could have a family, a timeline of your own. A clean break from being used by an organization, however benevolent it might be now."

"Retirement?" The word is accompanied by a grimace. "I thought about it."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I don't think anybody would even fault me for trying again. About 15% of the original TVA agents returned to a timeline and built lives there, or are in the process of doing so."

Loki sighs, and scuffs a foot half-heartedly in the sand. "How many returned to the TVA, as you did."

"Six percent of that fifteen." Mobius stoops briefly to pick up a mid-sized conch shell, burnished by the waves to a shiny amber with white blotches. "Not a great success rate. But it's difficult. It's not for everyone. And right now, I know it's not for me. There's still too much work to be done, and I want to be the one doing it." He frowns at the shell for a moment, his face half-lit by the pale green glow. "Why are you getting so hung up on this?"

"I have had more time in the last few weeks to speak with your team-mates. To realize just how much you've done, for me and for all of Time. You have given so much for the universe; perhaps it's time you took something back for yourself."

"I did." Mobius looks up at him, and half-smiles. "It just took a few years to figure out how to make it happen."

"Mobius…"

Ignoring the quiet protestation, he hands the conch to Loki, who in turn just looks blankly at it. "People collect seashells," Mobius says, shrugging.

"For what purpose?"

"I dunno. They're pretty?"

"So is a pit viper, but one would not acquire a nest of them for aesthetic purposes alone."

"Well, this isn't gonna bite you in your sleep, so there's that."

Loki looks back down at the shell, absently tracing the spiral with one finger.

"They say you can hear the ocean in these." Mobius takes it and holds it up to Loki's ear. "Like that. Hear it?"

"I hear an acoustic frequency due to the resonant occlusive cavity of the shell. It sounds nothing like the ocean."

"Well, sure, if you want to take the fun out of it." Mobius takes the shell back for a moment and polishes it briefly on his sleeve. "It's just an old earth folk tale. No magic here."

"Obviously. With magic, I could enchant it to sound like anything you wish."

"You could, yeah." Mobius hands the shell back to him, and this time wraps Loki's cold fingers around it. "But then that folk tale would lose some of its meaning to us normal folks, now wouldn't it."

"What are you getting at, Mobius."

"Hey, you're the big metaphor guy, not me. This is just a little human reminder to…well, stop and listen to the ocean sometimes. Find whatever it is that gives you some kind of peace, after all the chaos. And hold onto that, Loki. Hold onto it as tight as you can. You deserve to have it as much as any of us do."

Loki looks back down at the shell, turning it over in his hands.

"I'm still working on it, but living here has helped," Mobius adds quietly. "Getting you back, has helped. And if you want to put some roots down for a while somewhere in the multiverse, it might help you too."

"I believe I, too, do not yet know what I actually want."

"Well. Regardless, you'll always have a home here, if and when you need it. Or want it."

For a moment, there is only the crash of the surf.

"I'm gonna head back and try to get a little more sleep. You're welcome to bunk down with me if you don't want to wake up alone. It might help with the nightmares."

"The offer is appreciated, and I might avail myself of it sometime in the near future. But…" Loki glances back out at the endless horizon, and then back down at the simple conch shell. "For now, I believe I'd like to remain here a while."

Mobius nods in understanding, and after a brief hand on his shoulder, leaves as unobtrusively as they had begun their midnight journey.

Loki tucks the shell away in a small pocket dimension, and begins to wander down the beach.

-TEN HOURS LATER-

The sound of the front door closing is what wakes Mobius up, rather later than usual if the slanting sun through the blinds is any indication. He blinks in some befuddlement at the unusual sight. The late hour is due no doubt to a combination of several stressful weeks and a midnight beach stroll, but it feels strange. He's typically a pretty early riser, because there's something about accomplishing a lot before anyone else is awake that appeals to the workaholic in him.

Not so today, apparently, but then again, that's what a vacation is for.

A brief shower, and then he stumbles into the kitchen intent on starting the coffeepot, only to find chaos personified has laid claim to his entire kitchen island.

"When I said collect, I didn't necessarily mean by the bucketful," he observes, nudging aside one of said buckets to reach the coffee maker. "How far did you walk last night? And where'd you even find those buckets? Please tell me you didn't steal them from someone."

"I conjured them, obviously, since your collection of beach equipment seems to consist solely of some hideous multi-toed footwear, a flotation device, and a jet ski that cost more than your neighbor's transport vehicle." Seated at the island surrounded by various shells of differing shapes and sizes lined up in neat little rows, Loki finally looks up from his sorting and immediately double-takes. "What the Hel are you wearing."

"Color," he replies dryly. "No beige allowed in Florida. It's just a shirt, Loki."

"It is an abomination. Of garish tropical floral, no less."

"Says the guy who chose the ruffled tux option to wear to a cheesy B-movie premiere in 1977."

"Well played." Loki nods toward a paperboard tray sitting on the counter. "I'm told that is a holiday drink and that it is excellent, if you don't want to wait for the brewing machine."

Mobius blinks at the tray and its single disposable cup with cheery pink palm tree logo in some bewilderment. "Where'd you get that?"

"The café in the hotel down the road, obviously, you can't miss it. It is the only place open at sunrise. They will close at midday for the holiday eve." Loki frowns. "Have you not explored the island, at all?"

"Not usually here for long enough to do that," he replies, removing the lid from the cup and taking a look. It smells of mint and coffee with a hint of chocolate, which sounds good, even if it's room temperature by now.

There's a small spark of green in his periphery. The rich, frothy liquid starts steaming once again, and the nearly-melted whipped cream spirals back up into pristine condition. He smiles. "Thank you." And it is good, surprisingly. "You been out exploring?"

"A bit." Loki side-eyes him, with a look of mischief. "Are you aware that your neighbors on both sides are quite garrulous local busybodies?"

"Oh, no." He sighs into the cup. "What'd they tell you."

"They seemed to be very disappointed when I introduced myself and said who I was visiting. Does the word partner have a non-business connotation in this time period?"

The next sip ends up in his sinuses.

"That's a yes, then."

"What the hell, Loki."

"They were quite informative, otherwise," Loki says, grinning. "Your neighbor on the left has said she would gladly teach me how to knit in exchange for more information about you. Apparently you are considered a 'mysterious and handsome stranger in these parts', neither of which did I disagree with."

"I hate you so much."

"There also appears to be a neighborhood wager in progress regarding your occupation. The pool is currently split equally between you being an undercover government service agent or a rich but lonely, retired divorcée still hung up on his ex-spouse and now, I have been informed the correct term is rebounding, with a well-spoken young Englishman."

Mobius slumps into the second stool at the island with a groan, shoving a couple of stray shells out of the way with a clatter.

"You said to allow you a night's sleep before beginning any kind of mischief. I have done so."

"I said a decent night's sleep, for the record." He props his chin in one hand. "But you probably did me a favor, actually. Maybe they'll back off a bit now. There's only so many invitations to boring social activities I can decline without looking mighty suspicious in a small community like this. And I'm not a basket-weaving or book club guy."

Loki hums, non-committal. "Your neighbor on the right brought over a disgrace of fruit-based holiday baked goods a half-hour ago, in a blatant final attempt to win your affections. It is in your refrigeration unit."

"Fruitcake?"

"I would have no idea. Whatever it was, it was quite inedible."

"Your favorite candy is black licorice. You're not even in the same timeline branch as having good taste."

Loki's grin grows fractionally wider. "I'd forgotten how out of sorts you are before being caffeinated. Hardly in the spirit of the holiday, I must say."

"Hmph." He picks up a purplish shell and turns it over in his hand. "What're you gonna do with all of these, once you've picked out your favorites?"

"Banish the rest back to the beach this evening. I'm given to understand a group of regulars typically collect them just before sunset and sunrise, and were quite put-out this morning to find the area rather empty."

"Nice of you." He stifles a yawn, and blinks a few times to try and clear his head. "How are you doing this morning, anyway?"

"I'm fine." Loki shoves a pile of reject shells to the point of teetering on the countertop edge.

"Really."

"Better, at least," is the thoughtful amendment. Loki fidgets with one particularly large bivalve, empty but still connected at the hinge. "I will be fine, Mobius. You should worry about yourself."

"Nothing says I can't do both," Mobius points out reasonably. "I'm a big fan of multitasking."

"You look as if you could return to sleep right here."

"Nah, I'll be golden in a minute." He wiggles the cup briefly for emphasis. "Then to the beach! It's supposed to storm over the weekend, so I plan to take advantage of the sun while I can today."

Loki loudly dumps a large handful of shells deemed unsatisfactory by some arbitrary standard back into the third bucket, which sits on the floor. "There is an appalling amount of dust and grime collected on that jet ski," he observes, poking through the next pile in line. "When was the last time you took it out?"

"During my suspension, I think." He frowns, considering. "Which was actually almost two years ago, linear Earth time. I'm not usually here for long enough to justify asking someone for help in transporting and launching the thing. It's not exactly lightweight."

"Hence the carport, I presume."

"Yup." He drains the cup, and rinses it out before tossing it in the recycling bin. "Think you could give me a hand with that when you're done?"

Loki waggles a finger at the back door without looking up. "No need. Your death-trap awaits, freshly refueled."

"Well, thank you. Hey, you should come with me!"

"Oh, absolutely not."