I've had this sitting half-finished since the middle of Fluffbruary, and finally managed to at least polish it up a bit. Stil nothing but fluff, be forewarned.
Loki has been back for approximately three weeks when a massive hurricane makes landfall in the Florida Keys.
This would not, in normal circumstances, pose a problem for someone who regularly lives outside the bounds of a linear timeline, such as within the walls of the TVA. Neither Mobius nor Loki really pay much attention to the branch in linear time, as they can always enter or exit the branch at any point; but in this particularly busy week, their lack of foresight and planning badly backfires, when they walk through a Time Door into what would seem to be an only slightly lesser storm than that which had destroyed that Alabama Roxxcart store so many years ago, at the start of their partnership.
It certainly looks like an apocalypse.
They're both soaked through and Mobius is shivering in mere seconds, despite being indoors at the time. They can hardly hear anything over the roaring of a dangerously high wind. Four inches of water is already standing in the living room, and the back deck is nearly submerged.
On a field op, if something of this sort were to happen, they would simply retreat back through the Door, and emerge at a more fortuitous time period, making a note to avoid this particular time and location in future; but this is Home, not some nameless city on a far-off planet and even-further-off time period.
Also, in this case, Mobius' Tempad fritzes dangerously for a second and then dies, leaving not so much as the low battery icon blinking far too cheerfully at them from its dark screen.
He'd forgotten to trade it in before leaving the Void TVA, its power drained by too many jumps today. There is a charging station for the thing in the kitchen and another in the bedroom; however, the storm has clearly already brought down all the local power lines, leaving the house in utter darkness save for the occasional jump-scare of sheet lightning as eerie accompaniment to the howling wind. Broken windows and a banging back screen door bespeak their complete failure to look ahead in this branch for the danger, and now they have no way to escape it, much less save the house from it.
They're really kind of screwed.
Sloshing to the back door with catlike balance amid dangerously hidden piles of water-logged debris, Loki takes one look outside at the roiling surf, crashing waves only inches from the threshold of the house, and promptly disappears without another word.
Mobius stares for a dumbfounded moment at the empty space where he had stood.
And then nearly jumps out of his skin when all around, everything seems to grind to a slow stop; the roaring whip of the wind, the swirling of the dangerous current both freeze in place around him. The faint sound of sirens somewhere nearby, warning of active evacuation orders and imminent flooding, cut off as if they'd been choked. Everything, suspended in one silent second that seems to stretch on forever, distorted and unpleasant and just plain wrong. His ears pop at the dizzying sensation of time dilation.
Then, as if by magic – and clearly it is just that – it all vanishes. Water, wind, broken glass and even darkened sky. Gone, as if it had never been. The lights flick back on, the floor is bone-dry, objects have returned to their proper places, the sun is actually peering hazily through a thin cloud cover. The silence abruptly flips to children's laughter, the barking of a dog, the drone of a tour helicopter somewhere overhead, sightseeing tourists in the Keys.
It's so incredibly unnerving that he startles violently when Loki suddenly reappears in front of him, time-slipping in something that looks more like a frenetic slide into home plate than anything more controlled.
"Don't do that!"
"I'm sorry," Loki says, cutting off Mobius' rant with an unusual sincere apology once he's caught his balance again. "I'd forgotten how unsettling that might be to an outsider."
"I'm a little spooked, yeah. What just happened?"
"Natural disasters, particularly apocalyptic ones, are a tricky business," Loki replies readily. He glances over Mobius and then waves a hand, immediately drying them both and leaving only a strangely phantom chill behind. "Averting one by unnatural means in the moment produces a dangerous number of nexus offshoot branches which were never meant to be, since the parent branch was supposed to end at that apocalyptic point.
"That is why nexus events were so dangerous in the Past TVA; they subvert the natural structure of what has been pre-determined, and they can de-stabilize both that branch and any close to it, as they push the boundaries between. I believe you used to refer to them as Fixed Points, and they are still that, to an extent."
"So…what happens now, when you avert an apocalypse? Because this whole island was probably about to be wiped off the map. I didn't think about checking its entire lifespan when I settled here."
"I did not avert it in the moment; I slipped back to forty-eight hours prior and sent the storm on a much more southerly course. The worst of it has petered out by now, well before making landfall here. You will likely see residual precipitation and possibly minor flooding from it later this evening, but nothing like what we walked into."
"Whew." Mobius takes another look around, still marveling at the change. "Thank you for saving the place. I'd miss it."
"As would I. But that is the extent of what I am capable of, without interfering so much that it infringes upon the natural order, upon free will. It would de-stabilize the branch at that point. That is a dangerous path to tread, morally and temporally."
This much, Mobius does understand. It is the primary reason why they've had a non-interference policy for many years now, implemented soon after the Loom meltdown. Once you start putting restrictions on free will, it by definition stops being free; so they do not interfere with the natural order, with a few notable exceptions. All of those exceptions, being variants who could threaten the stability of the Tree in its entirety.
It's not a perfect system, but it's the best they can do, at least right now.
"I would recommend you have one of your Observation agents look into this branch, however, and make sure something of the kind will not happen again; or at least monitor it, so that you are not taken by surprise a second time."
"Yeah, good call."
That might have been the end of it, but for the fact that Mobius is called back to the TVA some six hours later to oversee the secure check-in of a bunch of thirty-first century weaponry in the locked archives, to be stored safely until they can take it apart and figure out what makes it tick. The process isn't difficult, just tedious, but he also doesn't want the responsibility of it to rest on any old agent's shoulders, just in case.
Loki offers to assist, but in these things, Mobius prefers fewer distractions; and besides, there's no reason for both of their days off to be disrupted. And so he ends up returning to the TVA alone, some two hours before the storm hits, but gets so caught up in things that he doesn't return to the branch until the following morning, linear time.
The beach house is empty, though the grounds surrounding still show signs of a rapid but powerful weather system blowing through. Piles of palm fronds dot the yard and sidewalks, either street cleaners or neighbors having clearly tried to sweep up the debris left in the storm's wake, enough that life can resume in a normal fashion. The few houses on his street seem almost suspiciously untouched by water or wind, and he suspects he (and the immediate neighbors) have Loki to thank for that.
The god himself is nowhere to be seen on the property when Mobius arrives, but about an hour later strolls through the front door armed with a plate of cookies, two spiral-bound books and half a dozen magazines, and a flower-printed tote bag from which protrude several skeins of yarn and half-a-dozen dangerously long knitting needles.
Mobius blinks. "What."
"I assisted in retrieving an escaped cat and removing debris from the guttering, and was gifted this as recompense by the local populace." Loki dumps the entire kit and caboodle on the kitchen island, and then shoves the plate across it in Mobius' direction.
Mobius picks a cookie up and bites into it appreciatively. He's the only person he knows who actually likes oatmeal raisin, but it has the added benefit of typically netting him all the leftovers alongside the eyerolls at his lack of sophisticated taste, so. It's a net positive, in his opinion.
"'S good. You don't want one?" he still asks politely, eyeing the plate.
Loki tosses a skein of wildly multicolored yarn over his shoulder, still rummaging through the tote bag. "The bakeress in question allows two felines full run of the place. I have zero intention of eating anything which would come out of that home."
"The cats are hairless," Mobius points out, filching another cookie from the plate. "And you shed around here more than a cat would, anyhow."
Loki's snort is muffled in the bag, but he emerges from its depths a moment later, holding a rubber-banded set of long objects, what Mobius assumes are yet more knitting needles, though these look more like plastic than metal. Behind him, a ball of white yarn makes its grand escape through the archway to disappear down the hall.
"Are you actually gonna learn how to do that?" he asks curiously. It doesn't exactly seem to be something Loki's speed, though it's not like Mobius is an expert in handicrafts.
"I am going to keep attempting it," is the rueful reply. "Thus far, I believe the result could be described most accurately as enthusiastic rather than expert."
"Huh." Mobius picks up the poor scrap of raggedy-looking knit that might, in some variant timeline, have been intended as a pot holder. "I mean, it's not that bad, for a beginner, is it? Little wonky, but that gives it character."
"I have no desire to essentially out myself to anyone as the aforementioned beginner," Loki retorts, with an injurious sniff. "There is no excuse for anything short of perfection, when one has the knowledge and skill set I possess."
"The humility, too." Mobius observes innocently, as he returns to his coffee.
That gets him an eyeroll.
"But seriously. Is that you talking, or Odin's top-tier parenting? Because there's basically no real upside to demanding perfection from imperfect people. We humans call that religious bullshit."
Loki throws a ball of bright yellow yarn at his head as he leaves the kitchen.
Mobius isn't exactly surprised to learn that in actual fact, Loki picks up the basics rapidly enough to thoroughly impress the irrepressible neighbor.
As he's trying to pull weeds near the fence separating their properties' front lawns the following day, because they grow like – well, like weeds – after every storm, he has to patiently endure a glowing review of this last installment of lessons, wincing every time Mrs. Bates says 'that nice young man of yours,' because only one of those four things is accurate, and regardless, the whole affair amuses Loki himself to no end, and he does not need any encouragement in the matter.
Meanwhile, the basket containing various skeins of yarn and woolens beside one of the living room chairs in the house seems to grow like a fungus, creeping its way over everything in the vicinity in a slow-moving tidal wave of yarn and over-ambition. A pot holder here, a lopsided tea cozy there, even a misshapen hat of such ugliness it was relegated to the discard pile before even finished.
Mobius still half-suspects the hobby is only intriguing Loki because they watched a crime documentary about how to kill someone with a knitting needle, but he's just going to let that one slide, because plausible deniability.
Besides, he's well aware of Loki's inability to sit still for long or to keep his hands still for long, after centuries spent without either activity being optional; and at least, adopting such a tactile hobby seems to be helping with the latter. Nothing is so distracting in a work setting as someone who cannot stop fidgeting with pens and pencils, except maybe someone who is sitting beside you on a couch fairly vibrating with repressed tension.
The council seem to take the whole thing in stride when the needles and a skein of TVA-brown yarn make their first appearance during a council meeting, and many meetings thereafter. A few of the work force even seem to take an interest, forming little groups and post-work cliques around knitting and other mundane hobbies. It's kind of neat, even if it's a little unexpected.
"How exactly is it unexpected?" Loki inquires when Mobius mentions this over the lunch-time break one day in late summer.
Loki has long since discarded a half-eaten sandwich to the side of the small table in favor of returning to his latest project. Mobius is poking at a very bland bowl of soup, and making mental notes to have it removed from the menu entirely, at least in the new cafeteria. It's a really, really weird shade of green, but does not taste like anything green Mobius has ever had.
"For centuries, the TVA did its expert best to stamp out every scrap of individuality from its trained minions."
"I know. I was there."
"But not everyone has a death wish, as you do. This is a far more harmless pastime than that mobilized hazard you ride around on in the Gulf, on your timeline branch."
Mobius snorts into his soda can. "Fair point," he admits ruefully. "I guess I don't have any room to criticize."
In actual fact, the more time that passes, the less eager he is to ride the aforementioned jet ski; while the exhilaration is certainly addictive in itself, there's also something strongly to be said about a quiet, peaceful approach to life. The older he gets, the more attractive the idea of growing old is.
That's something he isn't ready to examine in himself, just yet.
Loki's agitated leg-bouncing has finally subsided under the rhythmic clicking of knitting needles, though his long legs are still tangled up in Mobius' personal space. His hands are working at an almost frenetic pace.
"That's starting to actually look like something," Mobius observes, as he gives up on trying to choke down the awful soup. This yarn is a much softer, almost fuzzy version, in a shade of muted blue flecked with sea-green undertones. The loose pattern has a clearly-defined, if slightly crooked, lightly fringed finish at the ends. It looks soft and cozy, something you'd want to run your hands over.
A scarf, maybe? Or a sweater for one of Mrs. Bates' hairless cats. The fringe is a bit much, if that's the case, but you never know.
"It is still quite crooked. But an improvement, I suppose. Not that the bar was set high, in that respect," Loki adds that last in a disgruntled mutter. "This is the third attempt at the same project, and I have already dropped a stitch somewhere. Again."
"You might be just a liiiiiiittle bit of a perfectionist," Mobius says, holding up a thumb and forefinger close to each other for visual emphasis. "It looks good to me, for what it's worth. Nice and soft."
"Hmph." Loki's oddly non-committal snort is accompanied by an almost angry click of needles. "I suppose it has served its primary purpose of being a distraction during your exceedingly boring inspection tour this morning, if nothing else."
"Uh-huh." Mobius finishes his soda and sets the can down with a hollow clunk. "You do understand inspections should be boring, if everything's going as planned? Especially on a construction site?"
"Yes, I do, which is the only reason why I did not leave you and Kirby to your own exceedingly boring devices for the duration," Loki retorts, as he starts to wind the unused wool back up into a neat and tidy ball. "I'd no idea there were so many different types of concrete in the multiverse, or that they had such fascinating variances in structural composition. Who would have ever thought it could be so enthralling."
"Okay, you're just being mean now," Mobius says mildly. "If it's work you need, I can give you some. We've got lots of archiving that needs done. O.B. needs somebody to proofread that novel of his. And I got half a dozen minor projects I de-prioritized the last six months in favor of trying to figure out how to break somebody out of a giant magical tree at the End of Time."
Loki maintains eye contact across the table and viciously stabs both needles into the heart of the skein of yarn.
"…Right. What was I thinking."
"I'm sure I have no idea," Loki says loftily, as he flicks a hand to banish their plates back to the communal TVA kitchen.
Mobius was thinking that he knows better than to keep a Loki bored for very long. It's just not a smart thing to do, and there's a fine line between wholesome mischief, and practical jokes that are neither practical nor actually a joke to the unsuspecting victim.
Fortunately, despite his innate love of chaos, Loki has matured with Time, perhaps not quite gracefully but at least noticeably, and has the sense enough to behave himself in this new TVA, with a few very memorable exceptions. He is even suspiciously helpful with things such as paperwork; perhaps years of watching thousands of timelines has made the mundane more appealing. He also takes on any number of minor tasks from Mobius without (much) complaint, a significant portion of the time.
Today, some weeks after that conversation in the cafeteria, is not one of those times. Loki has been unusually petulant all morning, and Mobius just does not have the time or desire for coaxing cooperation out of him. They're only six hours away from the mandatory branch reset-break, so he convinces Loki to go ahead and depart this morning, whereupon they will both catch up later tonight.
He does not have the patience to do a field op with someone hanging over his shoulder and questioning every move with the wondrous curiosity (and minuscular attention span) of a Loki.
Granted, Mobius' patience levels are known to plummet in pretty close correlation with the weather, and the Void is already in the middle of a nasty windstorm. Despite knowing their safeguards are effective, it nonetheless creates an uneasy atmosphere as the gale whips around the buildings, whistling ominously.
To top that all off, this field op into an apocalypse straight out of the Casket of Ancient Winters has long since gone to Hel in a very frozen handbasket, by the time Mobius regrets the decision to lead the operation himself.
Yeah, he definitely should've let the literal Frost Giant take this one. He could be home, in the sun, on the beach right now, but he's not; he's stuck in the middle of a flash-frozen city block while his team liberate a bunch of electronics from a broken storefront while dodging animated ice monsters, all because he can't seem to relinquish control over these acquisitions operations. And he was an idiot tenfold, to not swallow his pride and don the insulated minutemen's uniform instead of this stupid blazer and trouser combo.
The standard operational ten minutes doesn't sound like very long, but it's long enough to build up a good coating of frost on basically everything, and also a hefty amount of regret.
When they make it back, fully restocked but abjectly miserable, he doesn't even bother to protest when told to make himself scarce by his slightly-less-iced-over and more-than-slightly-annoyed task force. He's going to hear about it for days, because his team is perfectly capable and it kind of serves him right for not letting them do their jobs. He was just already in a bad mood and thought cooling off would be a good idea. (Pun fully intended.)
It was clearly not a good idea, and not even a good pun.
And while he does live partially off-site on a timeline branch in a sub-tropical climate, for some reason only known to Fate and karma and possibly the recent storm system, it's unusually chilly for the Keys at the time he finally makes it home some two hours, a stack of paperwork and one boiling hot shower later. (The shower's done nothing to help either mood or internal temperature.)
Sitting in the old armchair in the living room with some documentary playing silently on the television across the room, Loki raises an eyebrow when Mobius steps through the Time Door and immediately beelines for the thermostat. He's not going to turn the heat on this time of summer, particularly if Loki's in the house, but the dismal number 66 is blinking mockingly at him on the device, informing him he'd better break out the sweaters because it's too low to be considered warm right now.
There's a flash of green behind him and the fwompf of the fireplace igniting into a tall inferno, despite there being no logs to fuel the flames within. The thermostat indicator is already flipping over to 67F and steadily climbing.
"Thank you," he mutters, a little gracelessly, as he slouches into a weary position on the couch, arms folded tightly across his torso in an effort to repress a lingering shiver. "Somebody ratted me out, huh."
"No, but it was not a particularly difficult conclusion to draw, based on the reports of the day and your somewhat bedraggled appearance." Loki clears his throat, eyes on his hands as the knitting needles held within them nervously click away at something new, this piece in solid black. "I did not intend to negatively contribute to the stress of the day."
"Hey, no. You're good. We're good." Mobius pinches his forehead briefly, and then sighs, letting his hand fall back to the couch. "I just…I think I've gotta slow down. Somehow. Or I'm gonna burn out here sometime soon. I admit it. The cracks are starting to show."
"I would agree with that self-evaluation," Loki says, in a neutral tone. "And I believe your work forces would as well, if that changes matters at all. No one will think less of you for taking a step back."
"I know. It's just hard to accept I can't do it all anymore. You're not the only one with an over-inflated ego."
Loki snorts, fingers still busily working. "Ego, yes. Over-inflated, in my case? Certainly not. Accuracy is not arrogance."
"Well, it's sure not humility, now is it," Mobius retorts, though he's started to smile again.
Loki rolls his eyes, and then waves a peremptory hand toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. A faint tingle of magic rolls lightly through, sending the window curtains swaying in the gentle breeze. It leaves Mobius blinking in its wake; that casual use of such incredible power never fails to amaze him, even all these years later.
"I have no desire to slowly melt in the common areas, but you might find your bedroom a more palatable atmosphere to thaw your frost-bitten temperament."
"God, I could marry you, right here and now. If you were into that," Mobius says fervently, already hauling himself off the couch with more energy than he's had all day.
Loki snorts. "You could not possibly come up with the requisite dowry. Now may I at least extinguish this accursed fireplace?"
Mobius waves absently at him over one shoulder as he disappears down the corridor, and hears the slight hiss of the fire going out as he enters the bedroom. A wall of unnatural heat envelops him in a pleasantly warm cocoon of comfort, finally banishing the lingering chill and the fatigue of a long day. Swapping out the uniform for more comfortable clothing helps to leave the TVA behind, and by the time he's had another hot shower and a wardrobe change, the world seems a little brighter again. He's just about to retrace his steps in search of a much-belated dinner, when a neatly folded flash of blue on the bed catches his eye.
Loki glances up as he re-enters the living room, and immediately turns bright red, hiding his face again immediately in his new project and muttering something unintelligible under his breath.
"What was that?" Mobius calls, as he finishes stirring water into a cup noodle and pops it in the microwave. "'Cause if it's you complaining again about how it isn't just oh-so perfect, I'm gonna ignore you. I like it."
"Yes, well. Your standard of measure is considerably less aspirational than mine," Loki drawls, the tone dripping with disdain. "That weakness for imperfect things will be the death of you someday."
"Uh-huh. I'll keep your feedback in mind, your majesty."
Mobius removes the foam cup and retreats back to the living room with it. There's nothing quite like a warm cup and warmer blanket to chase the chill away.
Perfection is overrated, anyhow. Who cares if the blanket is a little crooked at the edges, and slightly shorter than it should be. It's cozy, and it took valuable Time to make, and it says a whole lot without actually saying anything at all.
And that's always worked just fine for them.