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 Thirteen: The Divorce™
Time – in its own, non-linear TVA way – passes.
A lot of it.
In Loki's defence, it's clear he tries very, very hard not to go stir-crazy. He lasted long enough on the throne, albeit by necessity, that you'd think he'd be able to endure the veritable months following his escape from the Tree, at least until they've made some headway on a solution for their newest problem.
One issue is that interest in their division has largely died its death now the branches have stopped disintegrating and Loki is physically free from their clutches. Although management is sympathetic to their position, in which Loki is very much not right and clearly deteriorating in at least three mental categories, they're more than happy to settle for that middle ground.
So much for rewarding the guy who saved their asses, and Mobius spends plenty of his breaks grumbling about as much. Loki clearly agrees, but is reticent with voicing it.
It's a slow pathway towards recovery, especially hampered by newer side-effects, but they manage to drag their way up eventually. In a bid to stop himself completely losing his mind, trapped in the TVA without any hope of branch-leave, Loki throws himself into work.
Mobius is stunned by the efficiency with which he navigates their division, the way he manages to take charge and operate with a keen focus, sharp and practised. He supposes he shouldn't be, really, given the looping, but it's off putting seeing it in action. Concerning, even, because Loki seems to forget that he's no longer _in_ the loops; he'll arrive at the start of the cycle and concentrate as though he'll die if he stops, only breaking away when Mobius physically pulls him out of the room.
Unfortunately, this leads to a spattering of not-so subtle workplace arguments – a lot of them perhaps escalating beyond, to what might just be considered having personal confrontations in front of whole swathes of the TVA personnel. Then there's the question of technically Mobius being in charge, but Loki being probably in charge just based on his knowledge of the Tree, making for a rocky see-saw of an exchange.
In the end, Mobius decides that they're on a one-way track to a very messy fallout. B-15 keeps calling it a 'breakup,' which is not helpful when both parties are present as she says it.
To avoid the aforementioned fallout, he switches departments. If he's honest, he really could use a change in career path after running their sector for a heck of a long while. Loki doesn't take too badly to the separation, and it renders the rest of their off-the-clock time together a lot more friendly.
If he continues to secretly work on solutions for the Tree problem in his spare time, nobody needs to know about that. That's just a hobby.
One other thing drawing him back to the main TVA hub, up in the central department, is the long-expected alarm bells for Richards going off, lighting up a decent chunk of the universe with amber alerts. All early signs, at this point, variants of him raising their hackles without any bite, but worth Mobius having something new to sink his teeth into.
After he finishes up his tasks, usually deep into the artificial night, where most have cleared out and only those on late-shift are scattered about, he clears off his desk and wanders down to pick up Loki – who no doubt would work all through the night and into the next week too, if not dragged away. He's more receptive to leaving with their new arrangement, his face lighting up when he sees Mobius arrive to herald the end of the working day.
But now Mobius has wandered down, a longer shift making him blink back sleep, and he's nowhere to be found. He does two laps of the place before he gives in.
"O.B., you seen Loki?" he asks, entering his workroom in full confidence that O.B., at least, will be present. Always. Turns out he can be convinced to take a nap, but only one about every two centuries or so. He's ended up being an even tougher rock to crack than Loki.
"He was here a bit ago," comes the cheery reply, as expected, not a hint of tiredness in his voice.
"Yeah, he's not at his desk." He pauses. "Did you get time to look at any of my submissions?"
A nod. "I don't think any of them are going to work. Casey and I are giving the modified extractor a look over, but it's not simulating anything right."
"What about the one where we move the pocket field here instead?"
"Breaks the TVA defences, which we definitely need up right now."
"Yeah, thought it might. You guys got anything good?"
"Not much. Still throwing ideas around."
He raps his knuckles on the table. This impossible task is turning into an actually impossible task, rather than an impossible-but-not-really task. "Thanks, O.B.. We'll get it eventually."
O.B. blinks at him. "Uh. Yeah. Maybe."
He shoots him a look. "Right. I've gotta go track Loki down."
His TemPad chimes long enough into his search that worry is beginning to stir in his stomach. He tugs it from his pocket, fighting as it catches on the fabric, his heart slowing as he sees who it's from.
[At Sylvie's.]
He corrects his course, doing an awkward U-turn past a crowd of technicians, toiling away at some exposed wiring behind a panel. He takes a few steadying breaths as he makes his way towards Sylvie's apartment. Keep it together.
Maybe he's not as over this whole separation thing as he thought he was.
Sylvie is at the door the moment he knocks. She unlocks it and opens it wide, but doesn't hold it for him, so he's forced to catch it as he enters. Not that he wasn't expecting it.
Stepping in is like moving into another world. Though still dated, the colour scheme has been entirely turned on its head, blues and reds taking the place of orange and green, only a hint peeking out from behind the small fridge – which isn't standard, so another thing pilfered from somewhere other than acquisitions. In addition to the colouring of the room, the cupboards have been replaced with wooden variations, dating from more of a twenty-first century Earth. "Refurbishment looks nice," he says.
He gets a shrug. "Thanks."
Mobius looks to the living area, also entirely remade, with one settee that looks vaguely Victorian, and a pink armchair, in which he finds Loki sat in. He's straight-backed compared to his usual sprawl. He gives a small wave. "My apologies. I lost track of the cycle."
"Don't worry about it," he replies. He scans him, attempting to gauge a reason for being here in the first place. "You okay?"
"Wonderful," he says, flashing a smile with too many teeth.
Sylvie snorts. "Me when I lie," she murmurs, and before Mobius gets the chance to ask her what the hell that means, she's opening the cupboards and saying, "Am I supposed to be hosting here? Serving tea and coffee?"
"No, we're leaving." Loki rises from his chair, navigating past the settee and grabbing Mobius by the elbow. He tugs him towards the door.
"You forgot your TemPad," he says, indicating where it's been abandoned on the side table.
Loki curses as he turns back to go get it. As he passes Sylvie, a level of milder manner returns, and he says, "Good luck with packing, by the way."
"Woah, hold on, packing?" Mobius looks at her, arms folded defensively across her midsection. "You going somewhere?"
A thin smile. "Yeah, actually." She shifts, looking away, as though she can't dare to be seen hoping for anything. "Thought I'd give living on a branch another shot. Now that somebody isn't going to ruin that."
Loki punches her shoulder lightly as he returns to Mobius' side, drawing a scowl on her part, and a smothered smirk on his.
He ignores Loki's attempts to immediately continue steering him, staying stationary long enough to give her a grin. "Well, good luck. Keeping my fingers crossed I'll see you 'round."
She hesitates. "Maybe. I dunno. I kind of like this place. A little bit."
It's the closest they've ever got to reconciliation, and he feels his gaze soften. "Glad to hear it."
A grimace. "Okay, that's enough of that. Both of you can get out now."
He gives a lazy salute. Loki practically radiates exasperation until they finally make it over the threshold to her quarters, into the corridor beyond, where his demeanour wilts to something more serious. The door swings shut behind them, clicking closed.
Loki is walking away before he's even had a chance to think. "Hey," he says, "slow down. What was that about?"
"Absolutely nothing of interest. She corralled me into helping her select a destination." He doesn't stop, pace on the tad uncomfortable side of too fast.
"Loki," Mobius says again, and this time he halts, facing him. "Are you good?"
"Of course I'm good," Loki snaps. He seems to startle himself, deflating slightly. "Sorry. I'm okay. Tired. I didn't expect her to be leaving so soon."
Mobius narrows his eyes. That sounds like a small truth blanketing a secret truth, hiding it from view. But it seems callous to attempt to uncover it, especially given the small truth does appear to be grating on him anyways. "Yeah, me neither. She'll probably pop up more often than we think, though. She loves that kitchen."
"Mhm," Loki agrees. His eyes flit down the corridor, though his shoulders have lowered, visibly losing some of the previous agitation.
"You wanna go for a walk before we turn in? Lap of the place?" Mobius offers gently.
A nod, laced in suspicion, but grateful. He indicates for them to continue, taking a leisurely pace this time. They don't talk, and it's clear that any chance Mobius has to uncover what's really eating at him has vanished, at least for tonight.
Seems he'll just have to wait it out.
The door to Mobius' room opens with a loud thud, the handle catching the edge of his closet. He raises his eyebrows over his TemPad, lowering it so he can peer at Loki, who is now attempting to remove his shoes at a speed faster than is really practical. When he succeeds, he straightens, stalking the few paces to the bed with his shoulders drawn and face a mask of indifference – though tiredness has worn away the front, a world of exhaustion breaking through the calm.
"Long day?" Mobius asks, lips quirking upwards. Loki promised to return at a reasonable time himself this cycle, given he was working on something on the opposite edge of the compound, and Mobius really didn't fancy the many kilometre trip.
Loki doesn't answer, merely manoeuvres across the remaining mattress between them. For a brief second, he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he considers the inches between them, apprehension battling whatever desire for comfort has led him here. Then, mind made up, he closes the gap, resting his head on the junction between Mobius' shoulder and neck, one arm reaching up blindly to yank the TemPad none too gently from his raised arms.
Taking the hint, Mobius swipes it back and switches it off properly, setting it on the bedside table in favour of wrapping his arms around Loki, now a heavy line of warmth resting on his chest, his slow inhales suggesting he's not keen to hold any measure of conversation. "Okay. Great chatting with you."
He gets a muted grumble in response, a hushed command along the lines of be quiet, which only makes his grin widen. "What happened that's got you so testy, your Highness? O.B. working you that hard?"
A drawn out sigh, and Loki twists until his face is entirely hidden in the crook of Mobius' neck. Uncomfortably so. "It's nothing. Jus' tired," he murmurs. His tone, however, is terse, words sharp behind the guise of sleep.
"Terrible liar, remember?" Mobius replies, concern flaring in his chest. "Hey," he says, cupping Loki's chin and bringing him upwards, earning a flash of eye contact for his trouble, "tell me what's going on."
Loki leans into the touch, head dipping as he presses into Mobius' palm. His eyes flicker shut as he exhales, long and weary. "I will. But… later. Please."
Narrowing his eyes, he searches the planes of his face for a hint of severity, for clues from which he can piece together a preview of what's to come. None found, and with the realisation that his intense observation has coaxed distress onto those same features, he gives in. "Sure. When you wake up." There's no room for argument in his words, a meeting formally set, and he keeps a firm hold on Loki's face until he gets a nod.
"Yes, let's do it then," he agrees, then promptly curls up closer than before, wrapping both arms around his midsection and fairly crushing him.
He chokes out an aborted laugh, letting him settle back before he rests his own arms back where they were, one hand combing lightly through the longer strands of his hair, tumbling over his back.
Loki doesn't move as he asks, "How are things with He-Who-Remains?"
He purses his lips. "Fine. Ish."
"Oh?"
"There's… I don't know. It's not been so bad. We expected better coordination, but the monitoring we've been doing all this time has paid off, and the early warnings all rippled into nothing."
"Perhaps we overestimated him," he says, words softened with a sleepy type of consideration, doubt resting dormant below the surface.
"I dunno. I'm guessing these're the seismic shocks before the proper quake hits us."
"That's likely. But I have more than enough faith that you're equipped to handle what's coming."
"Is that faith in my department or in me personally?" he says, through a wry smile. "I got a whole load of trust in the systems we've thrown up, but I'm not so sure I'll be keeping my cool when they actually get tested."
"You're very good at maintaining composure."
"I'm good at pretending. Different thing."
He tilts his head, looking up at him. "If it's impossible for me to tell the difference, then I can assure that not one member of your team will know. They'll trust you either way."
"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried it'll come down to choosing something and I'll pick wrong. Hell, maybe I won't be able to pick at all."
A very small smile. "You made a fairly tough choice recently. I imagine it will be hard for a new issue to beat it in emotional significance."
"Don't flatter yourself," Mobius chides, nudging his shoulder, "but yeah. All this Richards stuff feels pretty small after what happened with you. Maybe that's why I'm worried. Worried because I don't feel worried. Not about this."
"In that case, best not dwell on the matter. I imagine there will be plenty of time for that when he decides to pick up the pace."
"I'm sure there will be," Mobius replies. He leans back, wincing when his skull hits the headboard with a dull thud. "Can we shuffle? This is real uncomfy."
Loki complies without complaint, and thankfully picks up on the fact that it was the slanted position causing Mobius issue, rather than their proximity, so once he's lowered onto the mattress in a horizontal position, he retakes his place resting across him. The tangible quality is more soothing than Mobius wants to admit aloud, though he supposes it's probably not too weird provided the very long time in which they weren't allowed to have this.
They remain quiet now, both painfully awake despite the pretence of rest. All Loki's initial signs of fatigue have evaporated. Though his face is hidden by his hair and the angle of his chin, Mobius can hear his steady inhales, the pace of which indicates anxiety more than anything else. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, when no improvement arises.
"I'm okay," Loki whispers, words raw and shaky and doing absolutely nothing to conceal the biggest lie Mobius thinks he's ever heard.
He brushes a hand through the wave of hair falling across his eyes. Pity is not what Loki seeks; Mobius has no idea if he's remembering some distant conversation or if he's drawn that conclusion on his own, but he's certain it's true.
Instead, he settles for as minimal support as he can manage, reaching down and clutching Loki's hand tightly within his own. He gets a soft pressure in return.
"Sorry," Loki murmurs, tone weary once more.
"Don't worry 'bout it."
"No, I mean... sorry for not telling you. Not that this is about that. I don't know what this is." A thin laugh. "I often wonder if perhaps I was just born predisposed to melancholy."
"Or it could be, I don't know, the various life-shattering traumatic events you've gone through," Mobius deadpans. He's awarded with a startled chuckle for his effort. "But whatever floats your boat I guess."
"We both know me well enough to agree that omission very much does 'float my boat', as you put it."
"How on earth did I guess?"
"You're a lucky man."
Mobius raises his eyebrows. "Okay, now I feel like we're erasing my very stressful years of studying your whole life, so if we can backtrack on the sarcasm front –"
"Yes, I'm flattered. Honoured. Whatever floats your boat. Can I sleep now?"
"You were really not tired about ten seconds ago, but sure."
"Thank you." When Loki falls silent this time, it's even, the still of ice over a lake, the rhythm of his heart a faint, slow beat resting over Mobius' own. Not instant, but a slow descent into a measure of calm he seems unable to attain anywhere else these days.
Mobius forces his muscles to relax, strung taught by worry, a nervous tension running through his limbs. A deep breath.
He doesn't sleep for a while after Loki does, but at some point it must pull him under, because he wakes a decent period of the cycle later. The first thing he's aware of is the distinct lack of body weight upon his own. He's rolling his eyes before he's even opened them, the lack of any breathing besides his own tipping off that a certain god has not stuck around long enough for their scheduled chit-chat. "Scamp," he murmurs, twisting around to begin the process of clambering up and locating a clean shirt.
The new TVA leaves a lot more room for leisure, most of which Mobius does not utilise. He does, however, use a slice of that extra time to make himself a coffee before he heads out. He sets the percolator on the stovetop then goes to clear off the coffee table by the couch.
One thing about having two people inhabiting the same space is that the mesh of cleanliness habits can go in the wrong direction. While both of them are fairly tidy in various other sectors, files tend to pile up. Literally, in this case, because Mobius definitely did not leave that stack of folders taking up the entire left side of the table.
The right side was probably his fault though.
He makes a slight misjudgement, and attempts to balance everything in his arms at once to save making two trips to the pile near the door which they've allocated as the work-dumping area. But the tower proves too precarious, and the top binder slips from the stack and clatters to the floor, some of the sheets dislodging as the ring spine pops open. He curses, electing to come back for it once he's dropped the rest off.
The percolator is whistling by the time he's stooping to collect the scattered paper. He scrunches it at the corners in his hurry, still fighting to clip it back into the folder.
One of the plastic wallets gives him pause. He furrows his brow, the shrill hissing of the coffee drowned by the alarms blaring into life in his head as he sees a hasty sketch, typed notes alongside Loki's looping scrawl.
He slips out the paper, able to see it properly without the sheen of the plastic obscuring the words. He reads through. Then he reads the next page. Then the next.
When he finishes, he goes back to the other folders and reads them too.
The contents should herald the feeling of betrayal that goes hand-in-hand with disillusionment, but instead a bone-weary heartache returns to its home in his chest. "Oh, Loki," he murmurs. "What're you doing?"
And then he goes and takes the coffee off the stove.
Loki must know he's slipped up, intentional or not – though Mobius is banking on the former – because he doesn't appear for the whole of the working cycle. Usually he'd appear at Mobius' desk in his breaks, or at the very least pop by for a chat while he works on his own stuff, each separately labouring away with the balm of company. Often he finds a way to drag him out of his cubicle entirely, usually with a tempting offer of automat pie, or a sprinkling of mischief to his tone that's a little too intriguing to ignore.
When he doesn't show up, Mobius assumes they're leaving the talk for when they reunite later. A talk which he now knows the secrets of, which makes it all the more important they have it.
But then he doesn't show up at the apartment either, and it's with a drawn out grumble that he laces his shoes back up, faced with the task of tracking him down.
Which, as it turns out, is less difficult than he thought.
"Why'd you do it?"
Loki's shoulders tense as Mobius enters, footsteps loud on the floor. As Mobius draws level with him, on the opposite side of the room, he sees his hand trembling around his mug. "Given the various events I have had some influence over, you may have to specify."
In the Observation Room – finally locked down by O.B., safe for Loki to enter as he would any other room in the TVA – the backlight casts harsh angles on his face. It's an odd contrast: a loose shirt soft on the lines of his shoulders, then a broad thinness which speaks to his worsening condition, set against the dark shadows circling his eyelids. A glint of green catches in his eyes when he tilts his head in question, lit by the dim control interfaces behind them.
Mobius sighs, and drums his fingers on the worktop. "You want more tea?"
Loki, with a distracted head shake, replies, "No, thank you. I still have some." He leans back on his stool and places the mug on the nearest surface, before resting his hands in his lap. "I will go ahead and presume the beverage offer is because you're buckling down for a discussion. The discussion."
It's not often that Mobius forgets how long Loki spent in the loops, but occasionally it blindsides him. Always in the startling ability Loki has in reading him, the same way he no doubt reads Loki. An exchange neither of them consented to, but not an unwelcome one. Though possibly not so endearing in this instance. "Yeah, something like that." He folds his arms and studies the tense line in his forearms across the room. The few metres between them suddenly reads as a lot more.
He wishes he'd waited for a kinder opportunity to do this.
Loki, sensing hesitation, meets his eyes briefly. "It will have happened sooner or later. Why not now?"
"Because I'm really damn tired. And there's a high chance I might not like whatever you have to say."
"Animosity is likely," comes the dry reply, "but necessary."
He huffs. "S'pose so. I just should've left it till tomorrow."
"I have a feeling you may have been leaving it until tomorrow for a long time, Mobius."
He sets his cup aside and brushes his hand briefly across his forehead. "I was waiting for you to not be on the verge of death before I started tearing into you, 'cause that would've been a little mean. But then you were starting to be okay and I still couldn't do it, despite the fact I'm miles on the wrong side of pissed off."
The 'at you' remains unsaid, but definitely heard, and is met with surprising earnestness from Loki, if his nod is anything to go off. Encouraging him to continue.
Except he doesn't know how to continue. He doesn't know how to compress so much into such little space.
Loki, tempered hesitancy evident in the pause, seems unwilling to encroach on what he's unable to say. But the heavy silence indicates that they won't get anywhere at all unless they're willing to wait for a good few hours for him to formulate his thoughts, so he's thankful for the nudge when it comes. "You want to know why I did what I did. Leaving."
"It's not why you did it. Hell, of course I know why you did it, you didn't have a choice." He rests a hand on the workspace behind him, glad it's steady underneath his fingertips. "I just – I just want to know why you did it like… like that."
On Loki's inquisitive eyebrow raise, he elaborates. "Couldn't have, I don't know… explained yourself? Taken literally two minutes to give me the rundown?"
Considering this at length, Loki tilts his head to the side, fingers drumming a broken rhythm on the side of his stool. "I was afraid that, had I taken time to give you an overview, the plan would not have succeeded."
"What, you couldn't have gone for another loop and cut to the chase to squeeze an explanation in? 'Cause I –"
"No," he interrupts, "– no, I don't mean failure in a… timely sense." An inhale. "I mean to say that I would not have had any measure of fortitude remaining. Not enough to accurately formulate a suitable parting message, and certainly not enough to then complete the task. I would have faltered the moment you tried to convince me there was another way, despite knowing very well there was no other way, and spent the rest of time with far too much hope to accept what I needed to do."
"To put it lightly," he continues, "I had long lost any sense of reality. The slightest kindness may have caused me to lose a viable grasp on myself." A shaky inhale. "And you are a man who has proved, time and time again, how dreadfully kind you are. To me." His voice settles in a grimly pragmatic region. "I could not afford that weakness."
"You could afford it." Mobius wraps his arms closer to himself, folding them over his midsection. "You could have, if you'd really tried. Yeah, might've set you back, but if it really was the only way you would've circled back around to it eventually."
Loki goes dangerously still, jaw tensing. A harrowed stare overcomes his previous moderation, eyes darkening. Visibly, he swallows, his eyelids flitting shut briefly.
Mobius allows him to regain focus, waiting for a nod to signal him onwards. "We deserved an explanation. I deserved one. Or just… a goodbye." He pauses for breath. "If I know you half as well as I think I should, you knew that you could manage one, even if it added a little more time on. So I don't think that's it, whether you believe it or not."
He's answered with a humourless huff of a laugh. "I did believe so, at the time. Genuinely. However, you are right that later analysis did not lead to the same conclusion."
"What did it lead to then?"
"A – a scattered reasoning, at best. I presumed – evidently wrongly – that the least painful approach would be one without details."
Now it's Mobius' turn to laugh, short and sharp. "Loki, why in god's name would you think that?"
"There is a reality in which the plan varied in direction. Had I proceeded to perish in the task of providing power to the branches, I'd have rathered you not to know the torment that preceded it."
"Oh, and the alternative was better? I'd much prefer to know you'd exhausted all other possibilities. Everyone thought you'd gone mad. I thought you were downright suicidal, and then you had me thinking –"
He breaks off, and breaks eye contact in the same moment, pressing his lips together as he stares out of the wide windows and into the dark void beyond. The platform of lights, glimmering white, are blurrier than usual.
"Mobius," Loki says, his timbre rough, "I swear, I did not intend to cause the type of pain I did. I believed wholeheartedly my course of action was the logical final step."
This sounds genuine enough, and there's a raw apology behind those words, but Mobius can't shake the dull ache of resentment resting dormant in his stomach for years. He's not sure if any explanations would suffice, really, and Loki seems to know this too, if the vaguely fearful upturn of his eyebrows is anything to go by.
He sighs, saying, "I know, don't look so worried, I just... I've got to work through it. I'm glad you've realised, but doesn't change the fact it was a really shit move."
Loki inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Understandable and understood."
They fall into silence. Loki retrieves his mug and wraps his hands around it fully, cupping it in a reflexive search for comfort. There is no steam rising from the rim, and it must be long gone cold, but he sips at it anyways, keeping it close to his mouth. His eyes are vaguely unfocused, staring at the ground a few metres away.
"You're going back, aren't you."
Loki shoots him a panicked glance, deception flickering across his features. He opens his mouth.
"Don't lie."
His jaw snaps shut. He breaks eye contact, the falsehood splintering to make way for consideration, story swallowed back. "I am… contemplating the possibility."
"Loki. I saw the folders. That's not just 'contemplating the possibility,' those were plans, and real detailed ones. I'm not stupid."
"You would have to be, to miss the signs, given I left them fairly exposed. Stupid is something I know you are not."
"If you wanted me to find out, it would have been nicer to tell me."
Loki lowers his head, his hair framing his face as he runs a finger around the rim of his mug, over and over in a repetitive motion. Mobius traces its path, watching the tip of his nail catch at a shallow chip each time it nears the handle. "I was going to attempt to. When I was last with you, that was soon after I made up my mind." He raises his chin up just enough to look at him, most of his face still masked under the shadow of his curls. Even so, there's a self-deprecating smile peeking through the darkness, edges curved like a fishing hook. "I couldn't quite bring myself to break the news. I wanted to have more time where we thought… where we thought things might turn out differently. Better. I chose the cowardly way out it seems, in letting you make that discovery on your own, and that is one mistake amongst more of that kind."
Mobius shrugs, some of that self-righteous anger dying at the sheer amount of regret radiating from Loki's words. Remorse at the thought that he might have – that he has – caused pain in the route he chose, and not for the first time. Mobius exhales a chuckle as he says, "At least you didn't just vanish again. That would have really pissed me off."
Loki, in counter to this, freezes. "Mobius, I would never, I –"
"I know." He exhales, the breath climbing up from his lungs in a long sigh, kept close.
"I would never," Loki says again, his face an excruciating mix of apologetic and earnest, guilt still snapping at his heels from years prior, reaching through the ages to drag him back. Staring into his eyes here, Mobius is struck by the faintest hint of the magnitude of the emotions involved in his initial departure, a cacophony of warring devastations. Still, his own bubble of grief withstands, as it has since he left and even since he returned, a source of hurt with no groove to flow into.
Mobius never thought he'd need that grief again. But now it seems as though it may be just around the corner.
"We've sorted it out," Loki says, tentative, "the logistics of it, anyway. The branches won't absorb me physically again. I'll be able to leave when I want."
"But you won't," Mobius challenges.
Loki ducks his head. "I can't stay in the TVA without feeling strange. I can't go on the timelines without causing another paradox. The pocket dimension might be the only place I can exist properly." A strained silence. "It's not a question of picking where I'd actually rather be. Who I'd rather be with."
"Obviously it's not, but what am I meant to do with that Loki? Just let you confine yourself to the Tree forever?"
"Would you stop me going?"
"No!" He puts his hands on his hips, scrunching the fabric in an attempt to temper himself. "No. I want you to do what you need. I'm just..." he tails away, swallowing, then stares at the tiles underfoot. "I really don't want you to go back," he whispers. "I was so alone. And I know that's damn selfish of me, 'cause I had everything compared to where you were, but I couldn't help it. I don't want that ever again."
Loki looks even guiltier, which makes him feel worse. "All of our original technology stands. I can visit you, if O.B. opens this room up again, and you can visit me."
"And we do that forever?"
"If need be," he replies, firmly, "we will make it work."
Mobius maintains eye contact. Then he raises a hand to his forehead, the inevitability of the future branching before his eyes, leading in a direction he never wanted to follow. The realisation forces him to double over. "God, Loki." He straightens, turning to pace a few steps away, flexing his fingers to ward away the trembling that's overcome them, even pressed against his eyes as they are. A low rushing in his head, like water pouring past, means he misses Loki's next words, only the faintest murmur reaching his ears. He faces him, letting his hands drop to his hips. "What was that?"
"I'm sorry," Loki whispers, words more air than voice. "I…" his expression twists, as though he's grasping at more, at explanations or elaborations, but the tension levels off, a conscience-stricken element to the way he wrings his hands. "I'm sorry," he echoes.
And, because Mobius' heart has taken a damning personified form over these past few years, he forgives him before he's even finished speaking. Still, there's an unfamiliar desperation prickling the back of his neck, forcing his mind to clutch at anything that might ground Loki here, might convince him to find a better way. "I don't need you to be sorry. I need you to believe that we'll get a solution if you give us a chance. I need you to stay."
"I don't know how to stay, Mobius."
"You've made that pretty clear. But I'm asking you to trust me."
Loki presses his lips into a thin smile, eyes impossibly sad. "You are trapping yourself in limbo, my friend. By no means do I want you to live your life in this half-state, fighting the inevitable."
"You don't get to tell me shit about how I should live. I've been fighting the inevitable long enough to know there isn't a damn thing in this universe that's even remotely certain. You should know that by now."
Loki rises to his feet, shoving his thumbs into his pockets. "I want you to live your real life, Mobius. And I don't mean your timeline life, whichever variant you are, I –" he waves an aimless hand, "– I just mean a life where you're not always waiting for me. Trying to save me. Maybe we just… won't get that win anytime soon."
Realisation hits, a shard of ice to the chest. "You're leaving to make things easier for me?"
A grimace. "For the sake of transparency, I will admit that I've been musing over various feelings for a long while. There is a certain amount of burden that comes with being an inconvenience at this level."
"You're not a burden," Mobius rebukes. He's cut off by an upheld hand, silencing him.
"I'm not asking for platitudes. I am well aware that I've caused somewhat of a bother, to put it lightly." He says this last part with the slightest of raised eyebrows.
"Okay, I'll concede. Some stuff has been mildly difficult, yeah. But that's nothing I'm not willing to push against."
"And you would just like me to live with the knowledge that I am causing you that issue? That I seem to always have been? I said I didn't want pity and I meant it, if only for the entirely selfish notion that it makes me feel worse." He shakes his head. "It often feels as though I'm the one holding the dagger that is repeatedly causing issue."
"Then I'm dead serious when I say I don't mind you stabbing me. I'd take that a million times over if it means you're not turning and skewering yourself on the blade."
A part of Loki's expression crumples, a tantalising uncertainty flickering into his eyes before it vanishes, spirited away in an instant. Mobius clutches at it though, pressing forward, physically closing some of the distance between them until he's in the centre of the room, Loki barely a stride away. The shock is something he can use. The conclusion of this conversation isn't decided. He can hear the way Loki has rehearsed these feelings, over and over in that Tree, in the same way he dissected his own back on his old timeline, wondering how he would say things if he'd got the chance. Now they're both here with different scripts, each spinning the world in their own direction, dancing between topics to their own tune.
"I won't stop if you go back." Mobius scrutinises him, gaze going unmet. "You're not getting rid of me, Loki. I'm going to find something."
A muted laugh, even as he's blinking faster, his voice a wavering rasp. "I did believe even you were not so stubborn."
"Guess again," he replies. He can feel himself wilting, heart aching with a sharp sort of pain, heightened by the fact Loki is doing a very unsuccessful job at hiding how close to falling apart he is.
"I thought this was the right choice. I thought it was then, too. I left to save you, but I thought it was also a way to prove how much I cared. I was doing it for you. All of you. But also just… you."
"There are easier ways to do that, Loki. Not to circle back around, but you could've –" he opens his arms helplessly, fumbling. He stops, wordless.
"Could've what?" Even in the semi-darkness, the light from the consoles catches the vulnerability in his expression, casting away the shadow he wears like a second skin. "Told you that I love you?"
It's one thing to know something in theory and another thing entirely to hear it said aloud. Mobius thinks, in the space of a second, or in the space of a thousand years, or in the space of no time at all in this place, he forgets to breathe. It's as though the mass of the universe has dropped upon his shoulders for an instant, crushing him with overbearing awareness. His life recontextualises around those words.
And then the heaviness is gone, lifted from his back. Lightness takes its place, an onrush of warmth soothing the beating of his heart. He lets his eyelids flutter shut, processing it in the safety of the darkness.
He knew. Of course he knew.
Still. Having it said is something else.
Loki, in contrast to his own alleviation at the words, has grown ever more shattered. A piercing fright settles in his face, fingers clutching so tightly at his palm they turn white, bones outlined sharply through the skin. "How would that have helped? How would that have made anything better? I didn't – I wasn't –"
"Loki," Mobius interrupts.
Loki shuts his mouth. He holds onto Mobius' gaze without refrain, only anticipation keeping him from turning and fleeing.
He steps forward again, closing the distance between them. Slowly, careful not to startle, he reaches out and tugs at where Loki's nails are digging into the back of his other hand, pulling until he gives in and lets him hold the hand in his own instead. "It's okay," he says simply.
"It's not," Loki replies, voice breaking. He presses his free fingers against his eyelids, pinching until it must hurt. Mobius pretends not to see a considerable teariness to his lower lashes when they are revealed again. "It's not okay, because here I am about to do it again."
"And I'm saying please don't. You just said it yourself, you thought you could show how much you cared by saving us. But now we don't need you to save us. I'd like it a whole lot better if you were here making stupid jokes under your breath at meetings and getting us both into trouble, or making my coffee with way too much sugar every time, or pissing me off by doing what I say and still finding a loophole in there somewhere. Just –" he waves his free hand, gesturing up and down, "– existing. Here. That is telling me that you love me."
A mournful glance is all he receives. The lack of levity in it sends a resurgence of panic through his ribcage. He half-raises his free hand to Loki's face, letting it hover an inch from the skin. "I know you feel terrible right now," he presses, "I know. But I can't help but feel like you're doing this for the wrong reasons. Please. Let me try to find a better solution."
He knows, from the moment the words leave his lips, that they're his final pleading on the matter.
He also knows, instantly, that they aren't enough.
"I'm not saying it's forever," Loki murmurs. "Just for now. With me, and Richards, and everything else, it just… makes sense for me to be with the Tree. Until we find another option."
Mobius hears O.B.'s doubt ringing in his ears, doubt that they'll ever find anything at all. For all his own insistence that they will, he can't help but fear. But he can't back down now. He lowers his hand. "Okay," he chokes out.
"Okay?" Loki says, startled.
"Okay," he says again, firmer this time. "You gotta go back? I'll make sure it happens."
"Oh." Clearly he didn't expect agreement. His brows are furrowed.
"It does… it makes sense, to have you there. 'Specially with the whole multiversal conflict looking a hell of a lot closer."
"It does," he replies. He grips Mobius' hand, intertwined tightly in his own, and gives a weak smile. "Mobius. Thank you."
"Don't thank me," he says, voice gruff as he tries incredibly hard to hold himself together. "I'm fuming. You'd better visit. I want regular check-ins. I did not waste a whole decade of my life for you to give me the cold shoulder."
A swift nod, Loki's face having brightened to a sad sort of elation at being allowed to take the steps he thinks are best. "I promise. I'll stay in touch." He pauses, a little breathless. "It's only for a bit."
"You don't know that, Loki," Mobius mumbles.
"Hey," and this time it's Loki who reaches out, resting a careful hand on the side of his face, cool fingertips encircling his cheekbone, "I'll be back. Just heading out to the lighthouse for a while."
Mobius allows himself to lean into the touch. "I'm still mad at you."
"Evidently," Loki says, raising his eyebrows.
Mobius breaks the contact with a low sigh, standing beside him instead, both looking out to the void beyond the bay windows, leaning against the worktop. There's no urgency, now he's given in. For now they can stay here. Pretend.
Loki breaks the silence. His voice shakes, a sob finally making its way to just behind his words. "Do I actually put too much sugar in your coffee?"
Mobius exhales, head still spinning with dread. "Yeah. Like way too much."
A breathy laugh, a short 'hah,' even as he blinks back tears. "You told me in the loop, once, how much sugar you have, and that is what I committed to memory."
He sidesteps to look at him properly, finding no tell of a lie. "Okay, firstly that's probably not healthy. But secondly, loop-me was full of shit, because he was straight up lying to you. Why would I say that."
"He was one of the few I told about the looping, so perhaps he was attempting to sabotage the next iterations."
"Then I'm an idiot."
"A very amusing one," Loki says, softly. "Maybe you were hoping I'd laugh when I found out. In which case, you succeeded." His lips twitch. "You'll have to tell me your actual additives preference when I return, so I may make it up to you."
"I'll look forward to it."
They stare into the darkness.
Loki shuffles. Looks him in the eye. "Do we want to do goodbyes now? In case?"
Mobius huffs a laugh, recalling a similar conversation. "Have we ever really been ones for goodbye?" he parrots,
Loki rolls his eyes. "My apologies. I'll make it back, I suppose."
"You always do," he replies.
He doesn't sound as certain as he should.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Writer's block had me doubting everything for a bit lmao. Thank you for the support!