DISCLAIMER: I claim no ownership of Marvel's Loki or affiliated branding (sadly).
SUMMARY: Three hundred and fifty eight TVA cycles after Loki's unexplained disappearance into the Void with the timelines in tow, the universe begins to collapse. Metaphysical horror. A fix-it (of sorts).
NOTES: See end.
Chapter Twelve: Yap
"We have a problem!"
"Can you at least try to say that like you're mildly upset."
O.B. dumps a handful of technology onto the worktop, the smaller items scattering across the wealth of notes that are plastered to the surface, flattened with how long they've spent strewn there. Mobius doesn't know why he's always carrying things, nor why his preferred method of freeing his hands for explanatory gesturing happens to be surrendering whatever he's holding to gravity – be it onto an actual surface or otherwise – but he's grown accustomed enough to not flinch when the crash echoes through the room. "I was going for incredibly urgent," O.B. corrects.
"Oh good. That's what I wanna hear," Mobius replies, the dryness in his voice not without a level of tempered strain. "How bad are we looking?"
"Would you like a numerical or descriptive answer?"
He shakes his head. "I really don't care."
"This is like..." O.B., deliberating, dims for a second, before giving an enthusiastic, "like, a thousand bad."
Mobius blinks at him. "Actually, the descriptive answer might be more helpful, 'cause I can't quantify that."
"In that case, this is catastrophically bad! Universe shattering bad!"
He sighs. "Yeah, you know what? That sounds like a thousand bad."
O.B. gives a cheerful nod. "You got it! Turns out the problems we had from a while back turned into actual problems, not just mild issues we could pretend weren't happening. At least it means we've had some stuff to work on though."
"O.B., I'd really rather we were bored out of our minds if the alternative is the universe dying. Again."
"Don't worry, it's not an immediate issue. It's like… an almost immediate issue. Is Loki around? I think it might be best if he's here too."
"Think he's still sleeping, but I can go get him up."
'Get him up' turns out to be a very polite way of describing the act of dragging the god, who has taken to slumbering in various unhelpful places in Mobius' apartment, out of said places – this time referring to the entirety of the couch, which was not constructed with the intent of containing a Norse deity's stature. Despite progress being made over the past few days in terms of bolstering Loki's resilience to the ever-present weariness, it seems that managing to stumble out of the bedroom upon waking was the hoped sum of his efforts, and he's not overjoyed to have to add to that calculation now.
"You're cruel," he proclaims, once more refusing to budge even as Mobius grips his upper arm to try to entice him to sit up.
"You've slept for almost a whole cycle. C'mon, get up," he says, voice firm.
Loki finally lowers his hand from his eyes, a protest against the barely noticeable fluorescent ceiling lights, and raises his eyebrows, equal parts amused by and dismissive of what should be an easy command to follow.
"O.B. said this was important," Mobius insists, at long last getting a hold and managing to pull him a full two inches from his reclined position. "Scooch."
"Can you not relay the information? Preferably after I have finished my nap."
Resorting to drastic measures, Mobius grabs one of the cushions from the other end of the couch and whacks him lightly over the head with it. It's good that Loki has largely gotten over his temporary aversion to touch, especially given the TVA upholstery was not made with comfort in mind and the cushion amounts as much to a slab of concrete as to seat padding, so he only raises his arms to defend himself, a muffled, "Hey!" before he finally shuffles up. "One would think saving the timelines might guarantee permission to sleep uninterrupted," he says, a world of malice in his tone, "but apparently not." He clambers to his feet, looking for the first time since his return every bit the dangerous creature he is, eyes narrowed with a seething displeasure.
Mobius has no doubt that any other person in his position – and there are many people who have been – would cower at having that stare turned upon them. But, frankly, he really does not care, and thinks Loki currently looks more like a cat that's been lightly nudged off of a seat it was taking up the majority of the space on – vaguely adorable.
In a slightly scary way.
"Don't look at me as though I've done something endearing when I am actively plotting your downfall," Loki mutters, retreating to the bedroom to – hopefully – change into some suitable clothes.
"I'll look forward to it," he returns lightly.
An indiscernible amount of time later and Loki is tailing him through the corridors, dragging his feet with an almost comical indolence. If he'd not proven on previous excursions that he's mostly recovered well enough to walk without major issue, this would be worrying, but instead is only exasperating. In a step towards readjustment, he's tried to wear the mismatch of TVA clothing he used to – the same items from his preferred illusionary form – but clearly gave up with the tie, which is draped over his shoulders, his top two buttons undone and the smart shoes abandoned for a comfier pair of soft loafers.
Mobius has to hold his arm across the elevator door to stop it sliding shut, Loki trailing several meters behind. However, instead of approaching, something catches his eye down the right side corridor. As though pulled by thread, he changes course, disappearing behind the corner.
"Loki?" Mobius calls. He holds the door as a gaggle of minutemen take up residence in the lift, then abandons it in favour of following the new pathway. True to form, now he's not being summoned to a conversation he'd rather not have, Loki's steps turn brusk, already nearing the end of the corridor. Mobius follows at a leisurely pace now he's got him back in eyeline, watching as he enters the following room and stops short.
He approaches slowly, announcing his presence with footfalls just too loud to be natural. Reaching his side, he lets a measure of distance hang between them, a gap by which to process things alone, and waits.
It's some moments before Loki speaks. "This is…" He trails off, eyebrows drawn in consideration.
"Really damn weird?" Mobius offers. He traces the direction of his gaze to the spattering of angular panels that form the depiction of the Tree in its original glory, the god in the centre holding it all together.
A soft, "Hm," is all he gets in response, the soft yellow shade of the illumination blurring the sharp angles of Loki's face, expression lost under the encompassing light. Impossible to read.
"If it makes you feel better, the idea wasn't ours. Apparently when the board said they wanted rid of the old propaganda, they meant rid of the old and in with the new."
"I'm surprised they didn't rope you in too," he says, still with that unwavering stare fixed on the image across the atrium.
"Believe me, they tried," Mobius mutters. "I wriggled out of it, but wasn't around long enough to stop them getting you."
Loki takes an uneven step forwards, crossing over the open floor in one movement. Not for the first time, Mobius wonders at what point the way he carries himself became so uncanny – miles away from the hurried, unrelenting franticism of his first steps in the TVA, and even further from the ensuing diminuendo. The stilted elegance was always there, of course, fluctuating in intensity, courtesy of his upbringing, but now everything he does seems curiously motionless. Slow, even when it's urgent, and more careful still when it isn't. Mobius doesn't know whether that's a gift from the loops or his ages in the Tree, that calculated deliberation, but he's got a gnawing feeling it may be a skill learnt from painful necessity.
"I was worried, when I left," Loki starts, angling to half-face him, "that you may think I'd abandoned you in search of glory. A throne."
"I'd be lying if I said the possibility didn't cross my mind," Mobius says. Loki gives a short nod. "But I never really believed it. Was just a little more comforting to think you might've wanted whatever was happening to you out there. That you chose it." In contrast to Loki, now standing at the foot of the display, neck craning to memorise the finer details, Mobius makes his way to the bench opposite, sitting down with a sigh.
"I was fairly past the point of worrying about my reputation, but it did cause some turmoil, to think that a misinterpretation may come of my intentions. A misinterpretation not dissimilar to this." He gestures at the wall. "I'll admit to wasting a handful of loops while I considered how I might communicate the reasoning of my actions."
Mobius shakes his head. "You didn't have to. Not to me."
Loki bows his head, still facing away from him. "I know. That doesn't mean I shouldn't have."
An old flare of betrayal ignites, sparked by the buried-deep part of Mobius' heart that agrees. He swallows, doing his best to quench it, knowing now is not the time or place to bring up the body of ancient hurt that's made a home in his heart. A pain to be examined when the ground is not so unsteady between them. "Yeah. You probably should've," he says, before biting back the line of conversation cast by that bait, "but maybe let's leave that for later, 'cause I might get unfairly mean about it."
A grateful nod. "With good reason. It's a topic I am open to discussing, but I agree a later date may lead to a more constructive interaction."
A group of hunters wander through, temporarily obscuring Loki from his view. By the time they've dispersed into the adjoining corridor, he's taken a few steps back, taking the image in as a whole again. "I feared you'd make me like him," he murmurs.
Mobius doesn't need to ask who 'him' is. "You freed the timelines, Loki. How could you be more dissimilar?"
He turns, a sad smile sharpening the corners of his eyes. "The timeslipping allowed me access to plenty of TVA eras I imagine they erased from your mind." He exhales. "Let's just say this place has a habit of elevating people it shouldn't. Like this."
Mobius breathes out, folding one leg over the other. Considering an approach. "You're not automatically like him just because the TVA decided to make a martyr of you."
"But I'm not so far off, surely? The power to intervene, to write the script –"
"Which you never did," Mobius interrupts, and in his insistence gets to his feet, picking a slow path towards him.
"This place has dedicated itself to the memory of what I should stand for. And it – and you – have done so many good things in the name of that. But it doesn't mean it's right."
"Hey, I'm on your side here," he soothes, raising a placating hand. "I don't like it either."
"He wanted me to take his place," Loki blurts out, as though the slight kindness has plunged a hand into his chest and tugged at something hidden until it yielded. "I didn't – I didn't just timeslip around the TVA, in the loops. There were other places. The end of time."
"I figured," Mobius admits. He places his hand gently on his arm, wordless support.
Loki seems to wilt, breath shuddering as he calms. The flicker of his eyes, cast downwards, bears so much semblance to the terror of the first timeslipping, all those years ago, that Mobius' heart twists. "He had so many ideas of how this was meant to go," Loki says. "I was so convinced I could find another option. I thought – I still think I did find another option, even now, which was to create the Tree. I think we've gone against his plans. But even so," his gaze draws again to the figure in the centre of the Tree, "I often wonder if this is just how he wanted it to end. If we're all still playing along the path he set for us. If this is where he wanted me, a figurehead for the TVA in the same way he was."
Mobius tilts his head. "I can't tell you that's not true, 'cause I've got no clue. What I can tell you is that, planned or not, you creating the Tree, saving the timelines, that was a good thing. And he's not around anymore, not that version of him – plus we've got a tag system for his variants in on the branches, so we know they're not writing the story behind our back. None of him are running the show anymore, so even if we've played into his ending then we can make our own choices going forward. Write a new ending."
Loki remains unconvinced, eyebrows drawn. Mobius gives him the tiniest of shakes to attain eye contact. "You're not him," he whispers. "The TVA worked to save you because you saved us, not out of some manipulated sense of worship. We're loyal to you because you made things better."
"You were loyal to me before you knew any of that," Loki says, a little wetly.
"Yeah, well, I've got other more selfish reasons." He shrugs, trying not to lose his nerve in wake of the note of hope in his eyes. "And you know that."
"Mhm." The vulnerability of the sound breaks through the exposure of the moment, and Loki takes a hurried step back, his shields returning. He clears his throat, looking once again to the wall. "I should wear my hair like that."
Mobius, amused, glances at what he's referring to. "Yeah, it looks nice when it's long. Now, are we gonna move? I don't want O.B. to kill us for taking too long."
"I can't imagine him killing anyone," Loki mutters. But when Mobius leaves, he follows.
It seems unquestionably cruel, now, to drag him to what is probably going to be an unsettling dress-down of everything they feared might go wrong. Put through the emotional wringer already today – as much as he's trying to hide the worst of it with a mask of calm. It falls back over his shoulders in a shroud as Mobius steers him towards the elevator, letting go only to use both hands and an elbow to select the right combination of buttons to drop them at Repairs and Advancement. He watches the gradual smoothing out of the worry lines in Loki's face, all of it re-contained.
He knows what rattles Loki most, and he knows to the exact extent that branding of saviour will bear down on his spine, another horned crown amongst many phantom afterimages he still wears heavily upon his head.
It was never about the glory, not now and never then. Even when warranted, it appears to have the opposite effect to that desired. Recognition was always about the singular, rather than the collective. Clamouring for the attention of a few, cloaking it under a ruthless desire for more from everyone.
It does not escape Mobius, how similar Loki's earlier desires align with those of He-Who-Remains, twisted only in the pursuit of affection rather than genuine power.
It also doesn't escape him how much that clearly terrifies Loki.
The doors ding open, casting a fracture line through his thoughts. He buries them into his collection of later, tossing them to the forefront of that cluttered attic in the hopes he'll see them stand out later, remember to analyse those connections properly.
For now, he simply nods Loki out first, following him down past the untouched green-grey lockers, stacks of papers lining the top, untouched by the likes of entropy or age, not a speck of dust on the covers of the books piled high at the end of the row.
"I haven't seen O.B. since I got back," Loki says lightly, no trace of his previous turmoil. "I should have made a greater effort to thank him."
Visits from the rest have taken place at scattered intervals, most often with Loki falling asleep approximately five sentences into the reunion. His introduction to L-23 – introduction of the corporeal sort – was notably characterised by a singular "Hi," before he promptly closed his eyes. Luckily for him, or perhaps not, she seemed amused by the whole thing.
O.B., on the other hand, has been so swamped with whatever this universe-shattering disaster is. So much so that he's not had a spare second to pop upstairs, which Mobius feels as though he should have been more concerned about earlier.
They round the corner and take the few steps down to his workroom side-by-side, finding the room deserted.
"O.B.?" Mobius calls. No answer. "Huh. He was here when I was last here. But I s'pose we took forever, even by non-linear standards."
Loki shrugs, moving to peer over the desk. "O.B.?" he tries in turn, finding as little success.
"Observation Room?" Mobius offers.
An affronted look. "I've spent far too much time there." His words carry no heat, and he falls into step as Mobius begins the circuit to check there instead.
"I didn't miss these corridors," Loki mumbles. "I feel as though I could wander them blindfolded."
"I bet." Mobius ducks to avoid a low hanging beam. He pauses to wait for him to catch up, his attention having been stolen by the string of new posters adorning the walls – these blissfully free of personal ascension. As though illustrating his point, he doesn't tear his eyes from them as he moves, yet manages to navigate the clutter with ease, stooping to avoid the beam even as his gaze remains on an information board over his shoulder.
Mobius opens his mouth to ask if he's just showing off, but when Loki pauses before him, a mildly confused look at their halting, he realises it really was just instinctual.
"How long were you in those loops," he says, and it's not a question, more a voice to his devastation.
Loki takes it as such, and doesn't reply. He only blinks at him sorrowfully, his share of the pain far greater than Mobius could ever even imagine.
He exhales. "Sorry. I just – don't like not knowing."
"Me neither, to be honest."
"You should have said something," Mobius replies, tone soft. "I'm sure O.B. can figure it out, it just wasn't a priority earlier."
Loki shakes his head. "It was never too much of an issue. I'm not sure how I'd react to the true length of time."
"Okay. I'll add it to the research list, and you can tell me if you want to know."
"Thank you." He tilts his head. "Shall we?"
They approach the secondary blast doors, both deep in the swirling pool of memory that drowns these walls, unspeaking. Beyond the reinforced frame sits the Observation Room, the hub where it started and where it continued in so many shades.
They're taking their first step over the threshold when O.B. appears. Out of nowhere. In front of them. Suddenly.
Loki lets out a low yelp, and Mobius swears, nearly jumping half out of his skin. "O.B.! What the –"
"Ah! Loki, step back!" O.B. exclaims. Then, and Mobius feels as though he's stepped into a fever-induced dream, O.B. leaps at Loki and shoves him bodily, both of them teetering back across the threshold of the Observation Room. Given O.B.'s comparative size, nothing more comes of it than making Loki stumble a few inches, his arms wrapping around to catch him so he does not continue with a downward descent.
"... hello?" Loki manages, as O.B. rights himself.
"I'm so sorry! And hi! Wait right here. Don't move." He hurries back into the room, leaving behind a frazzled looking Loki, who shoots Mobius a helpless glance.
"Don't look at me, I've got no clue," he says. He steps towards him and rights the crumpled lapels of his jacket, smoothing down the creases. "You okay?"
Loki's face is a shade paler than before, not quite readapted enough to take a wave of adrenaline and sudden human contact in his stride, even as he straightens and takes a breath. "Fine."
"That can't have been fun."
"Mobius, it's fine, don't fuss. Besides, O.B. will likely have a very good reason for this. I imagine. Probably."
As it turns out, he does have a very good reason. He strides out of the Observation Room, hair askew and flustered gestures making a mess of his composure. "Sorry about that! Loki, it's so good to see you."
"And you, O.B.," Loki replies, courtesy dimming his evident confusion.
Mobius is not so tactful. "O.B., what the hell was that about?"
O.B. beckons them back the way they came, heading at speed through the winding passageways. "Loki can't go in there."
Fighting to maintain a solid line of questioning while navigating O.B.'s sharp turns, a shortcut made of the tight corners, Mobius huffs for breath. "Why?"
"The universe will implode," comes the call, as he disappears into another corridor.
"What do you mean the universe will implode?"
He rounds the turn, and comes face to face with O.B., standing in wait, face grave. He lets out another startled yell, stopping short. "O.B.! Stop doing that, I'm gonna have a heart attack –"
Loki, lucky enough to be several paces behind, is not as affected by the abruptness of O.B.'s movement. "The universe? Is it okay?" he presses, and the timbre of his voice snaps Mobius out of his shock, a desperate mixture of concern and efficiency, a custodian of the timelines not forgoing duty in his absence.
O.B. opens his mouth helplessly. "We have a problem."
"I gathered," comes the reply. When it becomes clear no elaboration is immediately forthcoming, he continues, "Should we perhaps have this conversation upstairs?"
Gathered around O.B.'s workspace, they wait as he pulls up the holographic representation of the Tree. Even now, peeking through the green, the white timelines remain like stains, scar tissue running deep fault lines across the skin of the multiverse.
"You said no more timelines were disintegrating backwards, right?" Mobius says, drumming his fingers on the cool surface of the worktop.
"Yeah, that's all good now. It's all stabilised exactly how we thought it would."
"So what's the problem?"
"Well, like I said, there's no immediate problem."
"You said an almost immediate problem. An almost immediate universe-shattering problem."
"The problem," O.B. says, moving to click at his monitor keyboard, "is this."
The holographic Tree flickers, most of the branches dimming as threads of colour are highlighted, each timeline intertwined with a spider's web of brighter green.
"The extraction worked," O.B. says, "evidently, because Loki is here." He gestures to where Loki is standing, eyebrows drawn as he scans the Tree. "But," he turns, gesturing in a similar way to the Tree, "he's also there."
"Hold on. Loki's still in the Tree?"
O.B. raises his hands in a wide shrug, usual scientific curiosity dimmed by the futileness of it all – that they've been doing this so long and they're here, once again, back at square one. "I don't get it. I thought it could be because we extracted him too early, but that would have ripped him apart." He turns to Loki apologetically. "You would've been half here and half there, entirely fragmented. I don't think you would have survived it."
"Well, that's good," Loki offers, "that it didn't happen that way."
"But this? It's like you never left. I thought it was a quantum echo, something that would die down after a while, but it's still there. You're still there."
"Duplicated?" Mobius suggests.
A head shake. "I don't know. I doubt it. We'd know if he was duplicated because the version of him still stuck would have said something, I think." He looks to Loki for confirmation of his psyche, and receives a nod. "Yeah, so I don't think it's that."
"What was that all about the Observation Room then?"
"I haven't reinstalled the magic dampeners from before you set up the LC-Two, so the whole system is still broadcasting back and forth between the Tree. If Loki has somehow remained as a literal part of the universe, then putting him in direct contact with the branches if he's not in the pocket dimension would cause another ouroboros. It would be like putting the universe inside the universe. An infinite times over."
"Does that mean I can't go on the timelines?" Loki asks.
"I don't – I don't think you can. The TVA is the only place locked down enough to sever the connection safely."
"Oh." Loki doesn't often deign to show the emotions he deems more vulnerable, but a visible melancholy settles, a soft indent forming between his brows.
"So we have literally no idea what's happening." Mobius shoves his hands in his pockets to stop himself reaching out to Loki. Not here, not while he's processing this.
"My best guess? It just might not be possible to separate you from the Tree," O.B. says, looking at Loki, who has elected now to stare at the floor. "The timelines absorbed you. The universe absorbed you. And you absorbed it back. You're just... intertwined. Permanently"
"Hold on. When you say we can separate them, do you mean we can't do that right now or..." Mobius' words die, catching the answer in O.B.'s eyes.
"I mean never. You can't divide sand from sand. Loki just... is the universe. They're the same thing."
"How's he here, then?" Mobius presses, and now he reaches out to grasp Loki's elbow firmly, holding him in place as though he might slip away. Judging by the short intake of air, the grip is bordering on painful, but he doesn't let up. He doesn't think he can.
"Temporarily cut off, maybe?" O.B., in an attempt to catch Loki's eyes, has to lean down, so far lowered is his gaze. "Loki, do you feel… weird? Like… I don't know, missing something?"
No response. The silence tempts dread to the surface of Mobius' mind, the strength of it washing over like an icey wave, breaking over his head. "Loki?" he says, pulling him in the hopes he'll face him properly, finding his eyes remain unmet.
A shaky breath, "I suppose," Loki exhales, voice quiet. "I've not felt... well, I've not felt normal."
"Why didn't you say something?" Mobius asks, aghast.
"I did. The nightmare. I thought it was just an entirely emotional response, that the disconnection was jarring my senses and I would readapt. But evidently it's not so simple." His expression has levelled off with the tell-tale signs of that locking away, eyes fixed on the toes of his shoes. "I should have made that connection beforehand."
"Well, that means the theory is probably correct," O.B. says, not without remorse. "I thought it would be, but if you're saying you've got gaps then that's probably the TVA system trying to lock you out."
"It's not really gaps. I just feel..." he pauses. "Wrong." A hint of a whisper, brought back into focus with a sharp cough. "Actually –" he shrugs out of Mobius' grip, "– may you excuse me for one moment?"
"Loki –" Mobius starts, but he's already turned tail and fled, striding out of the room without so much as a glance backwards. "Shit, I should go after him," he throws O.B. an apologetic look, "sorry, I can –"
"Don't worry. That's pretty much all I needed you for. I'm – I'm sorry I couldn't do better for you."
"No apologies, O.B., you're the last person whose fault this is." He turns to give him a wavering smile. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
When O.B. returns the smile, the edges are marked with doubt.
Mobius, exiting the workroom, makes a beeline for the elevator. He presses the button to call it downwards, then pauses, watching the numeric designation for its current floor tick slowly downwards.
The upper floors – or anywhere that isn't the deserted basement that makes up R&A – will be bustling at this hour. Loki didn't look as though he'd hold out long enough to make it back to the apartment, and he's smart enough to know if he was going to break down halfway, amongst far too many people.
Which means it's more likely he's still around here.
Not that knowing that narrows things down.
Luckily, Mobius has spent the past linear half-decade doing nothing but combing these hallways for the safest places to work, the quiet places, and without a doubt Loki will have found the same respite while stuck in the time loops. Instead of wandering aimlessly, Mobius plots a route through to the nearest hiding spots, the places where he might go to think things through alone.
Unfortunately for Loki, Mobius has little intention of letting him set this aside.
He finds him in the Automat, which was lower on his list of potentials given that it's more his own preferred location to crumble, not Loki's. But maybe that's why he chose it.
If he hears Mobius enter, he makes no move to greet him, cradling his head in his hands, hunched over one of the small circular tables near the counter. Mobius draws out one of the cushioned chairs, the metal legs scraping along the floor, presence announced in more obvious terms. He sits opposite, leaning back and studying the figure across from him.
Loki doesn't initially say anything. Then, after a bit, he mumbles something into his hands.
"Didn't quite catch that," Mobius says, tone as weightless as he can bear to pretend.
Loki drops his arms, letting them rest on the table, stretching across the distance between them. "This sucks."
He breathes out a laugh. "Yeah. Does suck pretty bad."
Loki drops his head back down, this time resting it on his arms, but remains surfaced, blinking at Mobius. "I didn't think this feeling was going to be so permanent. I thought it was all in my head."
"I'm guessing it's worse now you know it's not psychological."
"I thought I could fix it," he replies quietly, "but it sounds like maybe we can't."
"O.B. might think of something. Don't fret before the end has actually made an image of itself."
"I am trying my best not to. Without much success, admittedly."
"We've done the impossible ten times over. You sitting here is proof of that. What's to say we can't do it again?"
"Mobius, you heard what he said. How he said it. When he said never, he meant never."
"And you haven't been 'round here enough the past six years, because he's said plenty more stuff was impossible, but we made it work in the end."
"You're insufferably hopeful at points."
"I have to be."
The hint of irritation dissolves as quickly as it arrived, Loki turning so his ear is resting on his folded arms and his eyes are locked onto the entrance. "My apologies. That was unfair."
Mobius doesn't deny it, but they've both crossed these lines numerous times before, the edges blurred by the burden of the situation. So he forgets it far more easily. "We're not giving up now. Look at where we are: you're back, and the Tree is fine, no more timelines dying. This is a pothole in the road. The really long road."
"It feels more like a chasm than a pothole."
Mobius sighs. "Yeah, I won't pretend it doesn't."
"I feel stupid for not thinking something had gone wrong sooner. Maybe I did think so, and thought denying its existence would serve me better." He raises a hand to push the hair strewn over his forehead away, letting it rest in disarray over the elbow he's using as a pillow. "I feel worse," he admits, the words the barest hint of sound, "than in the Tree. What O.B. said, about the TVA cutting me off, I can feel where the gaps are."
"Is it like a wall?" Mobius asks, mouth dry. He prods at the back of his own brain, where those defences from the memory wipes still stand, a partition blocking off a slice of his person. Whitespace with a reverberation suggesting something is just beyond, something used to exist there.
"Not really," Loki answers, and he moves to survey Mobius' face. "Is that what you feel? With your memories?"
"Something like that, yeah. B-15 and I thought the white branches had a similar vibe to them, so we were worried that would happen to you in the long run."
"It did. When I started forgetting things, it was like someone had erected a temporary wall, cutting me off. They always crumbled eventually, but," an unfocused look edges its way onto his features, "near the end, it felt like the walls might never come down."
"But you're saying you don't feel like that now?"
"No, this is different. This isn't a memory wipe. This is like... I can't even reach myself. Any of me. I don't exist here. I don't have gaps, I am the gap." He smiles, lips thin. "Does that sound insane?"
"Uh... I mean, yeah, but I believe you. Probably one of the least insane things going on around here."
When Loki laughs, it's shaky. He balls his hands into fists and pushes himself upright, briefly wiping his eyes. "Sorry."
"Again, literally nothing you need to apologise for."
"I know." He shakes his head, frowning. "I hate the fact that I felt better when I was in the Tree."
Trepidation ignites in Mobius, beginning a slow winding around his ribcage. He inclines his head to study Loki, who continues to blink at him, fully aware of the revelation he's imparted. "You did?"
"No need to look quite that worried. I'm not planning to spirit myself back there immediately –"
Immediately. Oh god.
"– but I can't pretend that I feel physically whole here. I'm not... I don't know. I miss the timelines. I miss the universe," he admits. "I'm aware now this might be an actual symptom of missing myself, of being cut off, but even so, I would have missed it either way."
"Uh-huh," says Mobius, even as takes a deep breath to calm the nerves making a rapid mess of his thought process.
"You look as though I've presented you with divorce papers," Loki murmurs, and when Mobius meets his eyes they are unbearably fond, softening his demeanour.
He chuckles despite himself, Loki laughing in tandem. He sobers. "Have you? If you... if you wanted to go back, I'm sure we could figure out a way to make that work. I'm guessing you don't actually need to be physically absorbed to power the branches, especially not now you're part of them, so I think –"
"Mobius," Loki cuts in, halting his rambling, "if I go back, it's not because I want to leave you." He lets his hand drop, palm facing upwards, to the centre of the table. "Whatever may happen, and it is not likely to happen, that sentiment is an absolute certainty."
Mobius swallows. He breaks eye contact, clearing his throat as inconspicuously as he can manage. He blindly fumbles across the table, layering his hand over Loki's. "Appreciate it," is all he manages, shards of ice tearing up his throat.
"There is no place I would rather be than here," Loki continues, a gentleness to his tone, his smile audible in his cadence, "with you. I was unbearably lonely before you found me." It's not clear what 'before' he's talking about. Mobius doesn't know if it matters. "If I am forced to return there, it will be for reasons beyond our control."
"Then we make it so you don't have to go back." Like iron, certainty flares, and he squeezes his hand. "I'm not giving up. I didn't then and I won't now. We'll find another way."
"You know, I never quite believed you when you said so before. One might think you've proved yourself enough times by now."
"Well, one more for my pocket," Mobius says. "It's good leverage."
"I'm indebted enough that I feel bound to permit you holding that over me for the rest of Time."
"Thanks. I'll remember that." He feels a slight tremble run through where they're holding hands. "You feeling okay?"
"Better. Tired. I haven't forgiven you for earlier."
He performs a long-suffering sigh. "You're impossible."
"I do try." Loki stares at him, eyebrows tilted upwards, for a moment more. Then he stands, offering his hand. "I am serious, though, I will actually fall asleep here if we're not careful."
Mobius takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He lets go, straightening his jacket. "Not ideal. Let's get you back. And I promise I won't wake you up this time."
"You're a terrible liar." Loki says. "Nevertheless, I appreciate the sentiment."
Mobius proffers his hand, startling himself. The connection is a habit now, and not one he's willing to abandon so quickly, but he never seems to be the one to initiate it.
Loki takes it without another word.
A/N: Thank for reading and supporting :D