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 Eleven: They have a nice nap
Loki sleeps for about the equivalent of a week. In the scattered moments of wakefulness, he's rarely energised enough to attempt anything more than very relaxed conversation, which he often proceeds to forget entirely by the next time he's alert. Despite the various medical tests he's forced to perform, often through a hazy jumble of snide commentary – the usual wit remaining largely undimmed in spite of exhaustion – the infirmary staff don't find anything amiss, not on the physiological side of things.
O.B., on the other hand, has gathered a spattering of potential issues that could arise, based on his own metaphysical analysis of the situation. In the snatched moments Mobius has stolen with him, always wary of leaving Loki for more than a handful of hours, he's been a little more sober about the prospect of healing. Given he's dedicated more than half a decade to the study of, quite literally, getting Loki out of the Tree, Mobius is inclined to believe in his logic.
But O.B. also assures him that nothing has yet popped up out of his theoretical backlog that is an instant damper to the first steps of healing.
"And the Tree is still looking all good?" Mobius says, trying to round off one of these hurried meetings in R&A so he can rush off to grab some food on his way back upstairs, and maybe something for Loki to try other than just water.
"Uh… yeah. Kind of."
He raises his eyebrows. "You sound way too cheery to be saying 'kind of'."
"It's fine," O.B. hastens to assure, throwing him two thumbs up. "I think."
"Think?" Mobius says, the word sprinkling mild alarm. "I thought it was fine like… fine with a full stop."
"It is! It just looks a little weird."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
O.B. shrugs. "No idea. We're seeing if it smooths out. I'll message you if it doesn't."
Adding that issue to the pile really does nothing to settle his mind.
Once they reach ten days post-rescue, Loki begins to show a little more life. Mobius returns from an urgent analysis task in the main hub to find him propped up in bed, fingers drumming an anxious pattern on the mattress. His face contorts into visible relief at his return, eyes wide in the lamplight. He's progressed fairly quickly in terms of readapting to visual stimulation, helped largely by the constant illusion projections in which that element was key, but he still flinches just a slight amount as a brighter light filters through the crack in the open door, relaxing when it dims.
"Hey there," Mobius greets, drawing up his chair beside the bed. "Sorry for vanishing, I got called to help track someone down." Then he notices the odd assortment of items on Loki's bedside table. "What is that?"
"B-15 visited whilst you were gone." His voice is still rough with disuse, unadapted to speaking in a physical form.
"That explains literally nothing."
The corners of Loki's lips quirk upwards. "It appears she was simply the bearer of everyone's well-wishing gifts, so as not to overwhelm me with company. I believe that is Casey's offering."
That refers here to something resembling a small potted plant, but amounting more to what could be described as an alien-looking shrub, of which the various leaves are transmuting between existing and not existing. Occasionally, the shrub-and-pot collective vanishes entirely.
"Apparently it may cause me to re-scatter through time if I touch it at an inopportune moment." Loki seems genuinely amused by this, for whatever reason, his teeth glinting as he grins at the plant.
"Tactful. Y'know, he was one of the few people I thought could maybe manage to be normal. Like… flowers or something." Mobius leans across the bed slightly to study the other objects. "I guess O.B. is the book collection?"
"B-15 warned me they were likely selected to specifically align with my situation. From reading the blurbs, I would guess she's perhaps right."
"Yeah, maybe save them for when they might be a little less traumatic."
Loki snorts.
"Gamble sends her regards, by the way."
His eyebrows shoot up.
"Don't look so surprised," Mobius says, smiling, "Saving the multiverse tipped the scales in your favour, as far as TVA standing goes." He takes a sip of coffee, most of which he spilt over the rim in his haste to return. "I think she wants to retire. Go branchside, now it's safe."
One thing they really hadn't considered was the social impact saving the timelines would have on the TVA. All of the branch integrations – either via memory wipes and reinsertion or by simply locating areas for safe installation of agents wishing to disembark from service – all of those plans that had been halted at the initial disintegration of the timelines are suddenly viable again. Adding a linear seven or so years of harried employment has only increased the number of those wishing for a fresh start, especially from the people particularly involved in the Tree operation, who feel as though their aid has come to a well-rounded completion.
Mobius admits the thought of branchside life has crossed his mind again. In a very different font to his previous attempt, he thinks as he looks at Loki now.
Baby steps. The future can wait.
"Who's in the running for her place?" Loki asks, smirking. "You?"
Mobius pauses, coffee halfway to his mouth. "Don't make me laugh, I'll spit this everywhere."
"If they have a nominations box, I'll put your name in," he says, a glint in his eye.
"I will send you back to the Tree," Mobius mumbles against his cup. This draws a laugh. "No, my vote's on B, if she's interested. I think it would be good for her, and she'd sure as hell be good for the TVA."
"She would."
Throughout the course of the conversation, Loki's eyes dart between the coffee cup and his face, tracking the movement. Mobius, amused, finishes his final sip with a flourish, already expecting the immediate hand held open in his direction. "I've got two of these, y'know?" he says as puts the cup aside and delicately layers his hand over Loki's.
A brief flash of discomfort, a wince detailed in raised shoulders and narrowed eyes, before he adjusts into the touch. "Yes, and I require the entirety of your attention," he counters.
"Is it getting easier?" Mobius says, hopeful the gradually lessening reaction points to improvement.
"Somewhat." Loki squeezes his hand experimentally. "A little painful, but I think that's a lack of recent familiarity. Everything is rather an assault on the senses." He gives a dramatised shiver, casting his head back against the pillow. "Nobody tells you how cold existing is."
"Probably because we're all just adapted to it. I can ask them to knock the heat up in here if –"
"Or –" Loki starts, drawing out the word as he twists to rest his chin on the hand he pulls free from his grip, expression reforming into a wholly innocent facade.
"That is the look you give me when you want something," Mobius cuts in, "usually at my expense."
A sharp smile, "– or you could go pester them until they discharge me from this blasted infirmary."
"I've been told off far too many times to try that again."
"Yes, but perhaps you could try once more, especially given little actual medical aid is taking place."
"You're under strict observation," Mobius retorts, shaking his head, "and that's pretty damn important given we've got no clue about this whole thing."
Loki huffs, the pleading expression returning in full force, not a small amount of energy wasted on the act. "But you could observe me for them. It's not as if anything bad has happened."
"You're forgetting that when you get clearance, you're technically meant to go right back in your holding cell."
Loki's mouth falls open, looking decidedly affronted. "You don't mean to tell me that nobody thought to alter my status when I, and pardon my slight arrogance, saved the multiverse?"
"I thought you were dead, Loki," Mobius replies, sobering despite the joviality.
Loki takes his hand again, more firmly, and this acts as apology enough, immediately dampened as he continues his tirade. "That's no excuse. I would expect better treatment. What if someone had searched my name in the archives and thought I was still a mere captive?"
He chuckles. "Fine, I'll add it to the to-do list. Doesn't change the fact that there's a lovely single-bed room with your name on it downstairs. Unless," he continues, his heart fluttering in an odd sort of way, even as he asks the question he's pretty sure they both know the answer to, and are already both taking as given, "you'd like to stay with me? The analyst apartments ain't bad compared to your lot."
"Yes." No hesitation in the reply. "Thank you."
"Nice," he says, relief flooding his ribcage. He's not sure his mental shields would withstand separation at this point. Too often he catches himself making sure Loki is real beside him, the pressure of his fingers on the mattress, the noise of shifting, thrust into stark contrast when compared with the ghostly illusion from before.
"Go ask them, then," Loki says. "See if they'll let me out."
"This again?" Mobius exclaims, wondering if he'll ever not be surprised by how single-minded he can be, despite all of his study. "I've asked them literally ten times. B was bullying me, because apparently I pestered them so much that one of the nurses sent her a message, to get her to stop me being annoying."
Loki starts laughing, the sound ringing clearly through the room. "Oh dear."
"I've got my pride to think of," he reiterates. "Not doing it. They'll let you out when they let you out."
A sigh. "If you insist," comes the reply, a tortured exhale.
This approach lasts approximately three more days, before Loki decides, in typical fashion, that being mature about it has led to a dead-end, and the old-fashioned methods of trickery and blackmail are his best friends. Mobius spends their numerous conversations dodging pitfalls, desperate not to have to go to the main reception desk anew to ask about getting him clearance to leave care.
It's the emotional manipulation that eventually does it.
"I seem to remember," Loki starts, and Mobius knows from his tone where this is going, shooting him a glare over the top of his TemPad, "something you told me on a dying timeline once."
"We've been on loads of dying timelines. Specify?"
"You happened to be the cause of this one dying –"
"Oh, don't throw that back at me. You can't be using this as –"
"– and you happened to admit something to me."
"I told you I loved you," Mobius replies, choosing bluntness in face of turmoil, and definitely not letting his embarrassment show.
"Ah, but what are mere words in the face of the hardships of life? Is it not the actions we perform that demonstrate the true depths of –"
"Fine!" he snaps, standing, "I'll ask them again. You can stop waxing poetry, your Highness, I'm going."
"Thank you." Triumph. "I appreciate that."
To his great surprise, this time it works, the team signing Loki off on condition of extensive rest and constant observation on Mobius' part. Judging by the stunned look he receives upon returning with the news, Loki was equally doubtful of success, and has therefore been hounding him just to be irritating.
Now he has custody of one god of lies and trickery, and probably also god of the universe and who-knows-what at this point, and isn't quite sure of the next steps from here.
Although, speaking of steps in the literal sense, the act of rising from the bed costs Loki far more than anticipated, his face blanching to a sickly shade, stumbling against the wall.
"Maybe we should've test driven this," Mobius says, hovering awkwardly next to him, too uncertain of touching him in a less-controlled scenario, "'cause you ain't making it more than five metres."
"Evidently not," Loki huffs. He looks at Mobius' hands, outstretched to catch him if he sways. "You are welcome to touch me. I won't readjust without exposure, and you will have to be the administrator." He tilts. "I may also be about to fall over."
At the consent, Mobius places a steadying hand on his elbow. A wince, a ripple on a lake, before it stills to neutrality. "Right," he says. "I reckon they won't mind too much if I open a 'door in here. Probably."
"You sound certain." Loki's eyes flutter closed.
"I'll get B-15 to sign it off. We'll be fine," he assures, reaching for his TemPad. In truth, he has no idea, but he fiddles with the log as he inputs the coordinates to his quarters, in the hopes he can pass it off as necessary without an administrative commotion. The Time door lights up the room, painting the walls yellow. "You ready?"
A tense nod. Loki reaches out a hand to grab onto his shoulder, clutching at him tightly as they step through the door and into the foyer of Mobius' apartment.
He closes the door behind them and shoots a quick message to B-15, fairly certain she'll approve – given that, when he glances up, Loki looks as though he's swaying on his feet, exhausted from the few steps taken.
"Hey, c'mere, sit down," he says, cajoling him towards the couch with the lightest of touches. He feels the way he tenses, muscles going rigid under the jacket, but does his best to remember their conversation about progress. As much as he's not best impressed to be the principal executor of that plan, he knows that Loki will appreciate the attempt at normality.
As they move, he lets go briefly, with Loki in that instant making a quiet noise of protest, halting in place.
"Just dimming the lights," he reassures, reaching for the panel near the kitchenette and switching all but one off, leaving the room in a state of very dim warmth, set in shadow.
He turns back to Loki, watching the furrow in his brow ease at the darkness. "Thank you."
"No problem. You want something to drink, or do you just wanna crash?"
A complex mixture of emotions flits across his face, eyes narrowing, and he tilts his head down. "Do you have tea?"
"Yep." He pauses. "Always kept it in stock, just in case."
Mobius never drinks tea. Loki does.
Something wordless passes between them.
"Is it possible to combine the two options?" Loki asks. "I believe I may fall asleep fairly promptly afterwards."
"Sure thing. If you wanna get out of the infirmary stuff, I've got some spare sleepwear in the bedroom. Left of the wardrobe."
Loki makes his way over, slightly more stable now.
It occurs to Mobius, as the kettle begins whistling merrily, that Loki is far too assured in the space for someone who has never visited for longer than a spare evening – pointing to a host of other meetings via his timeloop counterparts. A fairly terrifying thought.
Brewing the tea takes long enough that he figures Loki is probably finished changing by now, confirmation ringing from the bedroom when he knocks on the door. He pushes it open to find Loki standing awkwardly in the space, the comfortable slacks cutting off an inch above his ankles. "You can take the bed; I'm not letting you sleep on the couch," Mobius presses, leaving no room for argument.
He inclines his head in thanks, then makes his way to the edge of the bed, settling onto it slowly.
Mobius plucks a coaster from behind the base of the lamp and places the tea next to him, before moving to the other side of the bed. "Okay if I sit here? Haven't got any spare chairs, unless I want to drag a dining one through."
A hasty nod, Loki scrambling to make room.
It quickly falls into a similar atmosphere as the infirmary, but more homely. A comfortable sort of silence. Mobius pulls out his TemPad to finish up with some of the messages he has to ping off in order to authorise the transfer.
After a while, Loki reaches for the tea, cupping it carefully between his hands. He raises it to his lips, holding it there as he inhales the remnants of steam. When he finally takes a sip, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'd forgotten what this tastes like. I've forgotten what everything tastes like."
"That's a bonus, I guess. I'd kill to try Josta again."
"I would still not touch that carbonated monstrosity, millenia without sustenance or not. I don't know how you stand it."
"We can't all adore the finest of tea. Sometimes a little sweetness is good."
"Debatable."
Loki finishes his drink slowly, savouring every sip, even when it must be long gone cold. The moment he finishes, he sets the mug aside, missing the coaster and lowering it straight onto the wooden surface – which would be problematic if it was not already tarnished with Mobius' similar disregard for the tabletop – then promptly turns over and proceeds to immediately fall asleep.
"Okay then," Mobius breathes. He switches the TemPad onto his mission reports, and begins to work his way through.
Time, although not exactly real, passes at an oozing pace. Loki occasionally tosses, but otherwise is still.
Mobius has done probably ten pages worth of forms when this changes, a linear two hour's worth, and the silence is suddenly permeated by unsteady breathing. He looks down, to the pillow beside his own.
He's a little unnerved to find Loki's eyes open.
"Loki? You awake?" he asks, because you can never be sure.
His anxiety spikes at the lack of response garnered from his inquiry. He sets aside his TemPad, shuffling down the bed a little so that he can be at eye level, taking in the strange, almost glassy look in Loki's eyes, his pupils wide from sleep, only the faintest line of green visible around the edges. His hair, already unkempt, has become ruffled from tossing, curling over his forehead in a tangled wave.
What causes his heart to spike, however, is noticing how badly Loki is now shaking. He frowns, shifting slightly closer, and Loki's eyes stay on him – which is a good sign. But now he can feel the trembling, so ferocious it's sending rushes through the mattress. "Loki?" he says, letting his words come in a low, gentle whisper. "Can you tell me what's happening?" It's phrased to offer leeway, allow room for a head shake if necessary, but with the hopes of tempting an actual answer from the torrent: a line cast carefully.
Loki takes the bait, as much effort as it seems to cost him. "Just –" he breaks off, a low noise in the back of his throat, his voice thin when he continues, "– just a bad dream, I think."
"Okay." Mobius exhales, a light dusting of relief that a nightmare seems to be the worst of the current, when his mind had decided to conjure up a multitude of disheartening options. But this doesn't lessen the personal severity of the situation by any means, and Mobius intends to treat it with the care required. "Anything immediate I can help with?"
Loki presses his eyes shut, lowering his head. His breathing has skyrocketed to a concerning speed, and doesn't seem to be returning from that high.
"Okay, Loki, this might be a pretty unpleasant fallout coming up. Can you try slowing down that breathing for me?"
It would be so much easier with the ability to touch, as he's utilised time and time again, with this Loki in particular, who used to respond absurdly well to methods involving physical consideration. Always preening for more attention of that kind, and finding it grounding in times such as these, a guiding hand on his back or a careful grip on his shoulder – things he'd sought out with the same attitude as a cat, dancing between reluctance and insistence, always settling into it at the end of the day.
But Mobius knows touch would likely hurt more than help right now. Especially with the way Loki has edged away, towards the edge of the bed, raising his arms to cover his face. Hunching inwards, into himself.
"Loki," Mobius says firmly, "I'm going to get up and move to your side, so I can sit you up. Is that alright?"
For a moment, Loki seems too het up to respond. But then he nods, the slight movement visible behind his hands. "I'm fine," comes an uncertain whisper. "This is entirely irrational."
"That doesn't mean it isn't scary," Mobius replies, the tightness in his chest loosening at Loki's obvious awareness. He rises from the bed and, contrary to the earlier consent, Loki lets out a small objection, the word torn from his lips. He ignores it, ripping the bandaid off fully now the job is half-done, making his way around the foot of the bed to the side where he's curled up. "Can you make my job easier and turn over?"
Loki twists, the movement taking several aborted attempts, hampered by the shaking. Halfway through, he emits a strangled gasp. "On second thoughts, I think the bathroom is a good idea."
"That bad?" Mobius says, though the pallor and sheen of sweat suggest it really is that bad, as does the sudden hand outstretched in his direction, requesting aid. He hesitates. "I don't want to hurt –"
"In the name of speed," Loki breathes, swallowing back queasiness, "it is advisory."
He grimaces, then takes the hand, hoisting him to his feet in one fluid movement. Inhibitions laid waste by illness, Loki lets out an unusually weak noise of pain at the contact, his voice breaking into something higher-pitched. On his feet he regains purpose, letting go of Mobius and stumbling towards the door by himself.
Mobius follows, leaving a few paces between them to give as much initial privacy as he can without becoming too nervous that the vomiting will escalate into a symptom of something other than just anxiety. He hears retching and finds Loki leaning heavily on shaking arms above the bowl, hunched over miserably. Slowly, careful not to brush any skin, he reaches out and pulls his hair back from his mouth, holding it out of harm's way until the assault has calmed and he falls back, collapsing next to the basin.
"D'you reckon that might happen again?" he asks, already plotting the next course of action.
Loki shakes his head, skin almost white in the harsh light of the bathroom, his eyes shut and breathing easing to a normal rate. "No, I think I'm... I think I'm okay. It was purely emotional."
"Well, that's something. C'mon, see if you can sit up here, I'll grab you a drink."
Loki labours to his feet, and when Mobius comes back with a glass of water in hand, he's finishing washing out his mouth in the sink, proceeding to stare solidly at his reflection in the mirror above the taps. "You'd think I'd look different after everything."
Mobius sighs, "Yeah, you would, but that's one of the pros of illusion possession I guess." He gets a low hum in response, the gaze not wavering in his direction, even as he passes over the glass. "Do you want to look different?"
"I feel different," comes the reply, quiet. "And though I am glad I don't look as I did on that throne, that body was representative of what I felt like. Still feel like," he admits, words strung into a weak shake. "If anything, I suppose it would solve this... discordance."
Mobius doesn't have a reply to that. Instead, he gestures for Loki to drink, which is followed through without complaint. He raises a hand and hovers it over his elbow, not touching, but close enough that he can feel the subtle chill of Loki's body heat through the thin clothing. He waits for him to meet his eyes, then jerks his head in the direction of the other room. "Let's get you back. You look like you're about to pass out."
Once more this is heeded without a word, Loki's clinging fear evident in his face, the dark tension like fault lines forcing cracks in the calm veneer. He sticks close as they make their way to the bedroom, and upon entering makes immediately for the bed, climbing back in with the same eagerness as a child, chased by imaginary monsters.
Mobius settles beside him, on top of the duvet, plucking his TemPad from the bedside table and checking through the tail end of his hastily abandoned work.
"How can I be dreaming in the TVA?" Loki has drawn the duvet right up to his chin, a defensive measure. "I thought that wasn't possible."
"Well, it's not exactly common. I'll have to check with O.B. on the actual occurrence rate." Holding the TemPad aside, he takes in the way his eyes are still fluttering over the still room, not settling anywhere for too long. "It's probably not a good sign, either way." A moment of silence. "Want to talk about it?"
"The dream? Not particularly. It was unpleasant, to say the least, although mildly imaginative of my subconscious." His face distorts into ropey amusement.
"Yeah, you probably got enough weird nightmare fuel for the rest of your life."
Loki huffs lightly and turns over to face the wall. "Is that meant to make me feel better?" he snarks.
"I dunno. Maybe you'll just have really creative bad dreams from now on," Mobius replies, to the back of his head, "so at least you won't be bored."
"Hooray for me."
He lets his eyes linger on the fingertips, now mostly hidden by Loki's back, that clench around the covers, pulled tight to keep the warmth in. "You want to try again?"
A small nod. "I'll try."
They don't speak again. But no progress is made in returning to sleep – Loki shuffles and turns, pulling at the duvet before casting it aside, then tugging it back up again. His eyes are wide and unblinking, arms folded as he elects to stare at the ceiling. He gives in and returns to his side. Then his other side. Then his back again.
After another bout of tossing, Mobius gives in, setting his work status to unavailable. He won't get anything done now. "Okay, you're getting on my nerves. Budge over."
Loki, who at this point is on his side facing him, startles at his voice, before shuffling back so he can manoeuvre himself under the duvet. "Don't feel as though you have to –"
"I'm not doing anything because I 'have to'; I'm tired and you're not getting back to sleep, so might as well work on that together." He turns back to dim the lamp, switching it to the lowest setting. Now, the shadows long and deep in the dwindling glow, the dark shade underlining Loki's eyes stands out, even more prominent against his skin. "Is this okay?" he asks, indicating the way they are now lying horizontally to each other, albeit with a decent gap between them on the spacious bed, heads resting on separate pillows.
A nod. "It's fine. Good. It's good." He falls silent, but the furrow in his brow indicates a blossoming attempt to continue further. "Are you okay with this? I assure you, I don't need fussing over if –"
"Yes, Loki, this is fine," Mobius replies, both endeared and mildly saddened by the extremity with which he believes that this is wholly a duty performed, rather than a comfort on both sides. "You're not actually annoying me, by the way, I just think it might be a good idea if you tell me why you're struggling right now."
His eyes, wide in the light, are impossibly tired. "I don't know. Is a nightmare not reasoning enough?"
"I mean, yeah, but doesn't give us much to go off."
A ghost of a laugh, barely an exhale. "True. But I – I'm really not sure. It's not... it's not easy to..."
"Figure out what you're feeling?"
He hums in wordless agreement.
"Is it different now? Than it was in the infirmary?"
"Somewhat. Yes. It's more... everything feels real here. Familiar."
"And the dream was about that?"
The mask falls apart, chipped away enough to break along its fine edges, crumbling at the lines worn thin by exhaustion. Loki's face crumples into a worn devastation. "Not really," he whispers. He lingers on his thoughts, brushing over half-formed sentences before he settles, fingers pressed into the heart of the fear. "When things got bad, in the Tree, I started to – I didn't really know what was real. I still don't know what's real."
"You said that was happening." Mobius keeps his voice soft, inviting elaboration.
"It kept getting worse," Loki continues hoarsely. "I could feel the multiverse absorbing me. It was like... like being pulled apart. Being pulled apart so that the universe could seep into the cracks, and I couldn't – I can't figure out which parts are me and which parts are everything else." Now the initial dam has broken, the waves flood through, fractured currents of weariness seeping from sources bubbling many years previous, all pent up into a singular being. One who is only now letting the time catch up. "It's like I'm holding the whole universe inside of me, but it's – it's taking up all the space. I don't know which parts of me are the real me." Instead of terror, as any human in their right mind would be suffering copious amounts of, Loki sounds quietly resigned. Matter-of-fact, as though discussing a hard day in the office rather than an affair of psychological distress. "I don't know if there is a real me."
Mobius doesn't have any suitable words of comfort in his holster for something like that.
"I'm not –" Loki says, lips pulling into a small smile, "– I'm not actually fairing too badly, considering. This is the first time I've suffered any real emotional backlash, which I apologise had to occur in your company."
"Shit, don't apologise. I'd have fallen apart years ago. I don't know how you haven't yet."
"Perhaps my time in the loops served me well. To be honest," he says, and only now does a haunted look grace his features, gaze becoming distant, "not a moment of being in that Tree was worse than the looping."
"They were that awful?" he murmurs, bringing his focus back to the present conversation. At the confirmation evident in the face opposite, he continues, "I guess you didn't really have time to tell me the worst of it, huh?"
"And I think it best it stays that way. If I find I must speak of it, I will locate someone not directly involved in those events."
"Hey, we've got a counsellor now," Mobius offers, already expecting the disdainful wrinkle of Loki's nose. He grins. "I can put your name –"
"I will make good on my threat to nominate you for the board." He raises his eyebrows. "So I believe that puts us at a stalemate."
"S'pose it does. But you really don't have to do this alone. I'm worried –"
"I'm not a child, Mobius. I will seek out help if I require it, and can alert you of dips in my wellbeing if that would settle your concerns."
He sighs. "I know you can look after yourself, Loki. I know. It's just you shouldn't have to. It can be nice to have someone else run the show for a change, y'know? And knowing what's going on with you is helping me, too. It's taking me a bit of time to get a hold of reality as well."
"Oh," Loki says. "I didn't consider your perspective. That was thoughtless of me."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," he deadpans, although the consideration soothes his constraint. "But as long as you let me know how you're doing, I'm happy to let you take the reins –"
"No," Loki lets out, loud. He flushes slightly, even in the darkness, the colour bringing a healthier shade to his skin. "No, the caring is nice. I'm just not used to it."
"We'll take it slow then," Mobius replies, relieved to find his concern has not gone amiss, "Anything I can do to help you now?"
A charged pause, fraught with uncertainty. "When we were… when we hold hands," he fumbles, avoiding his gaze, "it helps me know what's… it helps me know –"
"That you're here?" he supplies.
"Yeah. Yes. It's… grounding."
Mobius doesn't torture him by forcing the matter to be vocalised further. He untangles his own hand from the duvet, then reaches out and holds it over Loki's shoulder, raising his eyebrows in question.
A nod. "Yes. Please."
Slowly, he lowers his hand, letting it rest lightly on Loki's arm.
He tenses at first, shoulders going incredibly still under the loose sleepwear, broken only by another faint shake crawling through his limbs – drawn out into a painful shudder. Though dark, cast in varying shadows by the lamplight, his face visibly twists, before calming to a shade of minor discomfort.
"That can't be helping you," Mobius murmurs, going to pull his hand away.
Loki shakes his head vehemently, voice brittle, like ice cracking, "It would if you weren't doing it so slowly."
"You reckon this is a pulling out a dagger kinda situation?"
A nod.
"Okay. Wanna go in three?"
Another nod.
A beat. Mobius opens his arms at the same moment Loki curls closer. He pulls him into the contact, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, chin resting on the mussed tangle of hair now tucked against his collarbone.
What had been merely tension spikes, the fierce trembling returning as Loki lets out something that sounds horrifyingly like a sob. Yet his fingers, grasping so tightly to Mobius' shirt that he can feel the nails digging through the fabric into his skin, indicate it would be an equal cruelty to pull away.
He lifts a hand to rest gently at the back of his head, wary of creating too much simulation and pushing the pain threshold too far. But he melts into the touch, the hitched breaths calming a shade.
"Any better?" Mobius coaxes.
No reply is forthcoming, but Loki moves one arm to wrap around his side, pulling him nearer. He clings forcefully to the back of his shirt, as though he wants to merge into a singular entity, so much so that Mobius can almost see the countless wrinkles he'll be ironing out later. The warmth is tangible, the heavy weight of Loki real in his arms, the shaking calming to nothing. The rapid inhales soften, going from fast to deep, the grip loosening.
"Okay," he whispers. "You're okay."
Time passes, weaving a slow peace from the calamity.
A/N: Feel free to review if you enjoyed :D