Mobius explains it like this: you buy yourself a new jet ski. Upon seeing this jet ski, it has such a unique color to the point that, before this shopping trip, you’re certain you’ve never seen such a shade in your entire life. However, after buying the jet ski, the color appears more and more — becoming this sort of constant whenever you go out, whether it be seeing the color in other jet skis or more day-to-day objects. Now that you’re aware of it, it’s impossible to ignore.
In response, Loki asks Mobius if he’s had a drink too many.
Despite the peculiar allegory, the scenario does give a bit of light to the otherwise absurd situation. Loki would think that, after supposed millennia of doing this, the workers would have to have spotted variants of themselves on the job at some point. Then again, it was all business with these ones; he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t bat an eye to the sound of a bomb if it didn’t correlate to their mission at all. It’s been a while since they’ve all figured out they were variants (weeks, months, years — Loki’s found all specifics have lost their meaning when you’re quite literally outside of time itself), and an equal amount of time that they’ve been on the hunt for Renslayer, popping in and out of timelines with every lead they get.
The hunt itself doesn’t progress much. Renslayer is slippery, every mission seeming to loop back to square one in the most futile sense possible. That is, to entertain the fact they’ve left square one in the first place. The TVA knowing about the existence of their respective clones and failing to be discreet about looking for them throughout the multiverse is both a silver lining in the sense it brings some sort of distraction to consistent failure, and a curse in the sense that they’re more distracted than ever before. Subjectively, Loki cannot completely blame them, especially not when it gets everyone on board with the search. Objectively, having more people hardly matters when the job is now the second most important thing on their mind.
What comes back from these missions isn’t Renslayer nor Miss Minutes, but tales. Loki hears the hunters speak in such wondrous tones of how similar or different their variants were to them — how they’re either glad they don’t live the life they saw, or how much they envy it. It’s a sort of sentiment that Loki can’t relate to, particularly on the longing side. There is nothing to really long for when, as far as he’s concerned, all of his variants are the same. His mind along with probably many others has developed this sort of checkbox into what makes a Loki: they are selfish, mischievous, and they never get what they want.
They also have style, but upon sharing this to Mobius, the man thoroughly disagrees.
Mobius does not have a checkbox for his variants. In fact, Mobius hardly talks about his variants at all. Loki only knows he has seen them due to an offhand comment of, “Sure I have,” once Loki had finally bothered to ask, but it’s brief overall, and when silence progressed with Loki obviously expecting more with a raise of his brow, the elevators opened and Mobius asked if he wanted some key lime pie instead. Loki’s curiosity does the opposite of quell at the terribly short response, yet it does not get the better of him when the forefront of his mind is currently focused on other means, such as, well, saving the TVA.
He is sure Mobius’ variants have the same amount of style as the man himself does, though. That being none at all.
Bored, Loki spawns into the coordinates of his TemPad. It is his fourth and last round of searching for the day, and he isn’t expecting much more than Mobius tripping on a bump in the sidewalk. It’s their first mission together in a hot minute, having been split up between supervising the newer members on the field. Sidewalk, as Loki recognizes, places them in a relatively modern setting. So modern that he pinpoints it as Midgard — or whatever this realm’s equivalent — the buildings surrounding them solidifying this. Momentarily, Loki is brought back to his days in New York City, although this place cannot be it; the structures are less suffocating, cars breezily passing the street now and then rather than being constant obstructions in the road, and the stuffy scent of it all does not reach his lungs.
It’s peaceful, but, unlike New York, holds nothing of interest.
Mobius, unfortunately, does not trip and therefore does not give Loki at least one thing to laugh at. A long-suffering sigh escapes the agent’s lips instead, Mobius rolling out his shoulder.
“Ready to roll, Kitty-Cat?” asks Mobius in a terribly sarcastic tone that implies he’s sharing the same amount of disinterest as Loki, who wrinkles his nose at the name.
“Do not call me that.” Loki has to wonder if terrible nicknames are just something that makes mortal’s vernacular, a bearing you simply could not dispute from the beings. Thinking back to Reindeer Games, he can’t decide if he prefers that or Mobius’ grander, more ludicrous range of titles.
He decides he’s accustomed to Mobius’ tendencies enough to prefer his. This does not mean Loki likes the names.
“A Lokes day it is, then,” Mobius declares. “Unless you’d prefer Loki-Doki.”
“Would it kill you, Mobius, to use my actual name?”
“You know what, it might. I don’t feel like testing it.” With a smile, Mobius starts them on their journey to the meager spike of variant activity. Despite the large sidewalk, Mobius is casually pressed against Loki’s side as they walk. It has been an unidentified yet undoubtedly no short amount of time since they have known each other — since they’ve become this unusual pair — and Loki is still baffled at how easy it seems for Mobius to be comfortable with him in a way no other has. Loki pretends he does not see the looks some of the agents still point at him, even with the knowledge that he is fully on his side. He’s lost all threat to his name long ago, but not the oddity that comes with it. Loki wonders how Mobius can be so free with his camaraderie whilst knowing everything the god has done.
After a life of being reprimanded greatly for his actions, it’s peculiar how little Loki is in the grand scheme of things.
The two walk at a leisure pace. The lack of anything particularly interesting has Loki’s listless gaze wandering to everything. There is a bird that captures his attention for a moment, then he gets distracted by the pole it flies around. He wonders if the tiny spark of a Nexus Event was caused by nothing more than a piece of trash rolling off a trash can when it wasn’t supposed to, and considers proposing to just go back to paperwork.
When he turns to look at the civilians around them, they’re just as unconcerned as their surroundings, chatting, sitting, walking along. Then, across the street, parallel to them, Loki sees it in all its glory, standing in front of a shop’s window. Not too tall, greyed hair, and with clothes that look vaguely reminiscent of something one would find in Eldfjörðr (or, Dillards, as Midgardians branded their own): a Mobius variant.
Loki stops abruptly, grabbing Mobius’ forearm. In turn, it makes Mobius stop and confusedly follow his gaze. Loki is a hair away from excitedly pointing Mobius’ other self out, though his mouth seems to dry the minute he opens it, because he sees another man standing next to the variant.
Himself.
He is not just standing next to Mobius, no. They are close. Closer than they should be, perhaps, not pressed together with the insouciance Loki and his Mobius were a moment ago, but something… more.
Loki wonders why, and figures that it’s probably because the other two are holding hands.
“Would you look at that,” Mobius hums, brows raised. “It’s us.”
Disturbance would be the natural reaction, Loki thinks. However, any disturbance would root from a deeper understanding of the situation, thus discomfort, but Loki doesn’t really understand it at all even as the scene plays out in front of him: he and Mobius locking fingers, staring at each other with these… faces on their faces.
So, disturbance isn’t the applicable word to what Loki is feeling. Loki looks at the variants with an expression that’s less disturbed and more confused. “And they are…?”
“Dating,” Mobius says, helpfully. “Or, you could call them intertwined. Soul-bound. Hopelessly in love. Whichever resonates with you the most.” And he lists all of these things without a sense of tease to his tone, Loki going so far as to say it’s almost casual how the man says it — as if the whole thing is common knowledge. It makes him inclined to believe that Mobius is not surprised at all.
Granted, they’ve seen weirder things, but…
“You’re not surprised,” Loki points out flatly, his gaze flicking down at the other. “What is this, a common occurrence?”
He doesn’t expect Mobius to nod, chipperly informing him that, “Oh, yeah. Happens in more timelines than you think.”
____
In the end, the spike of a Nexus Event was a fluke. Loki feels like he should be more annoyed, but, really, for a bit he’d forgotten they were even searching for anything in the first place, mind elsewhere. Mostly, it’s been on him and Mobius — or, other-him and other-Mobius.
Technically, an infinite amount of timelines means an infinite amount of possibilities of every scenario possible, meaning that, logic considered, he and Mobius are together in an immeasurable amount of universes. There should also be an immeasurable amount of universes where they aren’t together, so it’s a bit odd how Mobius had played the whole thing off back there as if this was another known law of the universe. As if there was simply another addition to the list that made a Loki, unbeknownst to Loki himself: they are selfish, they are mischievous, they never get what they want, and they are dating Mobius.
It’s ridiculous.
“Actually, it’s not that ridiculous,” O.B. says, tinkering with some object behind his desk. It sparks. Somehow, it does not catch Loki’s attention at all.
“No?” Loki tilts his head. He tries to keep his expression level, as if he’s not as befuddled as he immediately is. It’s an extremely hard feat.
“No, it’s not. That’s what I just said.” O.B. continues to mess with the contraption in his hand — a large, important looking metal ball that just slightly resembles a virus, what with all the poles sticking out of it — all while Loki waits for him to continue. O.B. does not, and, minutely, Loki has to baffle at the lack of social cues from the TVA. It’s strengthened Loki’s patience, at least.
Fingers twitching, Loki just barely resists the urge to rub at his temples. He clears his throat, prompting, “Right. You did. And, not ridiculous… why?”
“Well, it’s basically a common law of the universe. At this point, nobody’s surprised you and Mobius are a constant.” Loki makes a face at the implication that this is some sort of general awareness throughout the TVA, but he doesn’t get the chance to comment on it before O.B. continues. “An infinite amount of timelines means an infinite amount of possibilities of every scenario possible, meaning that—“
“— There should be an immeasurable amount of universes where Mobius and I are together. Yes, I know.” Loki feels a headache coming on. “But, that means it’s a 50% chance that we do run into the pair. Given the concept of such a vast, diverse multiverse — would that not make consistently running into myself and Mobius significantly rare?”
“Yeah, it would.” O.B. seems to think about it for a moment. “That would mean that there’s a chance you and Mobius defy logic and are together in more than 50% of universes. You know, it’s actually really likely!”
This time, Loki does rub at his temples. He holds a hand up. “Sorry, correct me if I’m wrong,” Loki is certain he’s not, “but you don’t even go on missions, O.B. How could you know?”
“You two are always together, aren’t you? It makes perfect sense if you were together for all of time, no matter what time.”
It does not make sense, Loki concludes. “So, this ‘common law of the universe’ of yours is purely a sort of hasty generalization?”
O.B. tilts his head. “Hey, I guess so!” Then, he goes straight back to tinkering. The contraption sparks once more, and so does Loki’s annoyance. In a failure of self-restraint, he grabs the object and twists it. It makes a satisfying hiss, and the sparks stop.
O.B. frowns, concerned. “Loki, that could have been really bad.”
“Tell me, O.B.,” collecting himself, Loki takes in a breath, “how many people know of this… constant?” He places the metal ball back on the desk. “Between Mobius and I?”
“Loki, if you twisted that item the wrong way it could have caused a rupture in the space time continuum. Worse, we all could have exploded with it!”
“But, we didn’t, did we?” Loki flashes a grin, noticeably strained. “The question.”
“I don’t know.” O.B. looks a little off-put. Not because of the topic, but because of the contraption which the inventor so carefully retrieves into his own hands once more. “But, if Mobius knows and sees a lot of it, it should be reasonable for other agents to have seen it a few times, too! Like I said, it’s kind of indisputable.” O.B. looks up at Loki, shrugging. “They probably didn’t tell you because it’s really not so weird.”
That, out of everything, is the main thing Loki cannot wrap his head around. It’s not simple companionship that makes it hard to stomach; it is apparently being so closely intertwined with someone to the point that everyone around them chooses not to bat an eye to the fact that, together, they are something as common as spotting the sky itself.
Not so weird rings in the god’s head, as if a mantra. “I find,” Loki’s brows draw together, “that that’s the weirdest thing about it all.”
____
He ends up staying at O.B.’s shop for only a short while longer before he leaves, deciding that feeling weird while O.B. was not only did so much to highlight the oddity of Loki’s current predicament.
Afterwards, Loki does not ignore Mobius, because there’s really no point. Out of everyone at the TVA, Loki finds that Mobius is the most tolerable; he’s known him the longest, Mobius is the only one who is actively comfortable enough to approach Loki on his own, and, above all, he’s interesting. Just when Loki thinks he has a handle on the man, Mobius eventually exhibits something so crazily out of left field, like have an infatuation for jet skis, or have a diet consisting majorly of key lime pies, or trust Loki with the most life-or-death tasks yet not with simple tasks. Loki would call these things uncharacteristic, but, all-in-all, he feels oddly detached from Mobius altogether. It is not in the sense they aren’t close, rather that he doesn’t think he knows Mobius at all. And how odd that is: to have someone know everything about Loki, for once, and Loki knowing nothing of him.
If anything does not fall into the lackluster classification of “uncharacteristic”, though, that is Mobius not seeming affected whatsoever by the knowledge that he and Loki were an item in various timelines. Mobius, perpetually unfazed and at most just a bit inconvenienced, is the majority of everyone; he’s not uncomfortable, nor unsettled… Hel, the man is not even remotely surprised. Loki feels like he shouldn’t be as taken aback as he is either, but to him, that’s an even crazier notion — to not be stirred at all.
Loki is not the crazy one.
It takes a bit for Loki to bring up the topic to Mobius of all people, but he eventually does, simply because he cannot help it. They’re looking at paperwork over lunch, Loki doing more contemplating rather than actually picking up his pen, and the moment he looks up to meet Mobius’ gaze, the agent’s mouth opening to undoubtedly spew what sort of cat’s got his tongue or some other odd jargon, Loki speaks.
“Picture this,” Loki proclaims, hands elevating to motion in the air.
“Oh, no.” It’s apparently allusive enough to what Loki had done the last time he delved into a detailed scenario, because at this, Mobius makes a sudden noise of protest. “Don’t touch my salad, again. Please. I already skipped breakfast.” He holds said salad just a bit closer. Loki cannot help but roll his eyes.
“I am not going to touch your salad, Mobius. Anyways, you’re on a mission.”
Mobius interjects, “I’m not. I’m hungry.”
“You see O.B. and Casey—“
“Me not being on a mission is the point of a lunch break—“
“— In a relationship. In another timeline. Thoughts?”
“Theoretically possible.” Mobius replies. It comes out exasperatedly, as if he doesn’t really know what to say, nor where this came from.
“Yes, obviously,” Loki huffs. “Subjectively, I mean.”
“I’d think it’s a little odd.”
“Exactly. Now, would you say the same thing if you saw…” Loki gestures around, thinking, “B-15 and Brad romantically involved in one of these timelines.”
“On B-15’s behalf, I’d be more concerned than anything.” Receiving Loki’s expectant gaze, Mobius sighs. “Yes, it’s still odd.”
“Right.” Loki clasps his hands together. “So, why is it that whenever we are the ones to constantly just… pop up in universes, nobody bats an eye? Do you not think that it’s a little weird?”
For the most part, Mobius doesn’t look terribly shocked at the subject being brought to light. He just looks a bit tired. Loki can’t decide if it is better or worse than Mobius being offended. “Weird that we’re together in a bunch of universes,” Mobius begins to ask, “or that nobody bats an eye?”
“Either one.”
“Come on. Even if it is weird, we’ve seen about everything ever in the TVA, and that’s not even an exaggeration. This is hardly a big deal, Loki,” Mobius sighs, rubbing his face. “Besides, an infinite amount of timelines means an infinite amount of possibilities of every scenario possible, meaning that—“
For crying out loud. “There is an immeasurable amount of universes where you and I are together. I am aware, thank you,” Loki drawls, giving his best unamused face before straightening once more, something more serious flickering onto his face then. “It’s just… You’re not uncomfortable? Not even the slightest bit?”
Mobius brows draw together in an expression that looks odd on a face that’s always just piqued at worst. It is not anger, not offense, but it’s something more that holds a twinge of concern, as if Mobius is realizing something. Loki finds himself regretting his words; he does not want that face to be on Mobius.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Mobius asks.
“No,” Loki immediately assures, raising his hands. “No, not at all. It’s just…” For one who was once a renowned wordsmith, Loki finds himself struggling to get the words to roll off his tongue. “Well, I’m still new. It’s not often I see myself hold hands with another. That’s all.”
There’s still an odd expression on Mobius’ face. Despite the fact that the man seems as open as ever, Loki frustratingly cannot read it. The expression goes rather quickly though, Mobius shrugging and picking at his salad once more.
“Hey, I get it. It’s all a little weird, seeing yourself do things you normally wouldn’t. I thought it was weird the first time. Seeing myself, I mean. Not the whole… you and me thing. You get used to that stuff.” Mobius shoves some leaves into his mouth. “What you don’t get used to is seeing your other-timeline-self marry a duck instead. Ten times weirder.”
Trying (and failing) to pick apart Mobius’ momentary shift in countenance, Loki cannot help but lean in with a toothy grin. “That sounds like a story.”
Mobius matches Loki’s smile with a smirk of his own. “Have I ever told you what happened with Brad?”
____
There is something so unsettling about longing.
Loki has longed before. He has longed for his father’s approval and to become king. Perhaps, once, he’s longed to be good. Not once would he have thought he’d be longing for something another version of him has, because, for all he’s concerned, all versions of him were the same.
Except some were animals, some were younger, and some were just in a relationship with Mobius.
Most were in a relationship with Mobius.
A scary part of Loki wants that. Loki tends to want, really — he wants, and wants, and wants in an unhealthy spiral of overconsumption, but wanting Mobius doesn’t seem to come out of pure impulse. No, it’s more of a realization.
It isn’t that Loki now actively seeks out these variants, because he doesn’t. Yet, sometimes, on missions, his gaze wanders whenever they’re in a more crowded civilization and he’s able to pinpoint a sweet couple who resembles him and Mobius enough to the point Loki is sure it’s them. The god wonders if he’s overlooked sightings of them before, if this… thing other versions of him and his friend have was always right in front of him. Now, Loki sees that the pair is together in roughly one out of three timelines he visits, meaning they’re everywhere. It makes them impossible to ignore.
Like a new jet ski, Loki thinks.
But, two out of three times, Loki finds that they are not there. Or, rather, Mobius isn’t. Loki can spot himself easily in most universes either with or without Mobius, yet seeing a variant of himself without Mobius is kind of like seeing half of a whole — a question of where is the other one?
His idle thoughts are consumed, eventually. He thinks back on the variants he’s met personally: Sylvie certainly had no mention of a Mobius, although he doubts she’d have told him if she did have one. The alligator, boy, old, and boastful version of him certainly didn’t reminisce when they all shared their stories. For what Loki had seen on the first day he came to the TVA, he was not meant to have a Mobius in his own timeline either.
“It’s not a me thing,” Loki squints. They are on the hunt again — presently at a detour — atop a hill and staring into the view. The sunlight hugs the sides of Loki’s face in passing, but it mostly shines down on the two figures below them on flatter ground. Another him and another Mobius, naturally. They tumble around the grass plains without a care in the world.
“Nope,” Mobius pops the p. “There’s universes where you don’t have a Mobius. A bunch of them, actually.”
Loki hesitates. It’s not that Mobius is wrong, but he still feels as though them together is too frequent to be a coincidence. “Right. Is it a you thing, then?”
“Seems like it.” And Mobius is wearing that ill-fitting grin again as he says it, the one that looks so wrong on the agent’s face. It makes him look terribly exposed. Loki’s urge to wipe it all off resurfaces once more. “It’s like that list you have, although mine’s running a little short. All Lokis are selfish, mischievous, and never-winning,” Mobius rats off, “while every Mobius frolics around in the daisies with a Loki.”
“So,” the simple concept holds so much weight to the point that Loki has to reiterate to understand, “in every instance, a Mobius has a Loki.”
Mobius is silent. It’s a momentary thing, but an obvious slip under Loki’s scrutiny.
“Well,” Mobius starts, avoiding eye contact. He is distant and resigned, like he knows he cannot get what he wants. It’s a feeling Loki knows all too well. “Maybe not in every instance.”
“It could be,” Loki blurts out in a manner that’s too instantaneous to be casual. “Every instance, I mean.”
He regrets it the moment he says it. Mobius looks at him like he’s grown three heads. Loki sounds too soft, too unguarded, too weak in his proposition. It’s not like they were destined to follow timeline rules, given they’re outside of the timelines in general. What was he thinking?
Yet, there’s something in Mobius’ eyes after the initial wave of shock (something so familiarly welcoming, green lighting the chance to explain. A chance that Mobius tended to give Loki when nobody else did.) that provokes Loki to proceed.
Loki clears his throat. “I wouldn’t say we frolic around in the daisies, given I have a reputation and all — I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with the concern.” He laughs as Mobius pushes at him, but on a whim Loki makes the decision to grab Mobius’ hand and hold it close. Not quite to his chest, but close.
The resounding silence makes the wild pounding of Loki’s heart far too audible. He steels himself against it, closing his eyes before properly looking down at Mobius.
“But,” Loki forces himself to go on, wetting his lips. “To abide by these universes’ constant, I would be… amiable.”
“By abiding by it,” Mobius sounds horribly amused, “wouldn’t having me break that rule of you not getting what you want?”
“Exactly. A wonderful loophole.” He grins, full of teeth. “I’ve always wanted to be a winner.”
Mobius sighs, probably in an attempt to resemble a long suffering one. Something about it, Loki recognizes, is positively giddy. Mobius shifts his palm around so that their fingers can properly interlock — each finger in the crevice of the other’s.
“Guess being with you means I’ve gotta break a few rules,” Mobius considers. “Comes with the package.”
“Indisputable,” Loki recites. “Practically a law of the universe, at this rate.”
Mobius gives him a weird look. “Did O.B. talk to you?”
And, more out of impatience than unwillingness to admit anything, Loki responds by insistently pressing their mouths together.
They fit together so seamlessly. Loki has to wonder if, maybe, the pair of them aren’t so ridiculous after all.