LOKI
Mobius pressed the elevator button down to the holding cells. Without Miss Minutes, the ride was silent. Loki had to give thanks for small blessings. What these people saw in elevator music , he would never know.
“You know, I have to admit, that was pretty impressive,” Mobius commented apropos of nothing, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation.
“Hm? What?” Loki blinked and brought himself back into the moment.
“Your… your magic, back there in London,” the agent waved a hand. “I mean, I’ve seen it before, of course-”
“Yes, when you were spying on my entire life,” Loki cut in drily, but Mobius ignored him with practiced ease.
“But seeing it in person! Wow! It was unbelievable! You really do have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Thank you.” Loki allowed himself a reserved smile, trying not to notice the fireworks that seemed to explode inside his chest. Nobody ever complimented his sorcery. And it had been quite well done, especially considering his seiðr had been out of commission for a while.
This… thing.. This… relationship with Mobius. It was new. So far, it was all tentative touches and fervent kisses. And compliments , Norns. Mobius seemed to come up with something new every hour on the hour to praise. A murmured, “You’re having wonderful ideas today” over pie in the automat, or maybe a note left on his desk in Mobius’ cramped scrawl reading, “your curls look lovely.” Or a compliment about Loki’s magic in an elevator.
Mobius smiled at Loki so tenderly that he could have combusted right then and there. How had this bureaucrat in a terrible suit done it? Chipped past every wall, every layer of ice and every hedge of protection until he was right there, wedged inside Loki’s chest, right beside his heart.
“I love you,” he winked.
“And I you,” Loki replied formally. Even though he had yet to pry those three little words out of his chest and present them to Mobius, the analyst beamed as if Loki had just said something profound.
The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors slid open. Mobius’ grin fell away and he reached for Loki’s hand, squeezing with a clammy palm . “Remember what I said up there, babe. Don’t let him under your skin. Brad’s an asshole.”
“Of course not,” Loki squeezed back. “We’ll be fine, Mobius.”
Famous last words.
***
“You’re just trying to make up for all the terrible, awful shit you’ve done in your life, you pathetic little man.”
The words echoed in Loki’s head. He could feel his heart thumping in his ears. Faintly, the god could hear Mobius trying to intervene. He would not give this dullard the satisfaction. “No, no, Mobius. No, it’s…It’s riveting. Keep going. I want to hear more.”
“Good. See, everything you and Sylvie have ever done to try to help, has only ever made it worse.” Brad reclined lazily in his chair, and Loki clenched his fists.
“Is that right?” Loki just managed to sound unconcerned. He couldn’t bear to look at Mobius, to see his reaction to all of this. He needed to just keep breathing. It would be okay. Loki flexed his fingers. He couldn’t feel his fingertips. The pounding intensified. He felt lightheaded.
“See, I’ve read your file. It’s you. You’re the problem.” Brad sneered, as though he was the first fool to connect those dots. “Every time we’ve ever found a you. Problem is, you think you’re special, but you’re not. So, it doesn’t matter what outfit you put on, play dress up or what little lies you tell your friends- or even the lies you tell yourself. At the end of the day, you just make everything worse. For Mobius, for B-15, for your mother.”
Here, Brad paused for dramatic effect here, examining Loki as if to ascertain whether his words were causing the desired amount of damage. “‘Cause that’s what you do. You lose. You’re a loser .”
Distantly, over the roaring in his ears, Loki could hear Mobius murmur his name. He could hear Brad calling him a villain… . His chest was tight- too tight, too tight, too tight he couldn’t breathe but Brad could never know that so Loki pasted on his biggest, most villainous grin.
He prowled slowly toward Brad’s chair, lithely like a leopard advancing on his prey. He crafted beautiful prose about biding his time, purred threats about doing “terrible, awful things” to Brad. The timing was impeccable, the performance undeniable, and the villainy in full force.
Somehow, despite his rapidly blurring vision, the tightness in his chest and the numbness in his fingers, despite the roaring in his ears and the fog in his brain, Loki could still be a villain. It was automatic. The thought caused Loki to briefly close his eyes.
Which Brad didn’t even notice, because he had shifted his focus, blessedly, to attacking Mobius, and the analyst’s little episode was all the distraction Loki needed to make his escape.
MOBIUS
“That could have gone better, don’t you think?” Hunter B-15 greeted Mobius with a sardonic smile as he stormed out of the interrogation room.
“I- I’m fine,” Mobius pulled up short, mind racing a million miles an hour. “About that…”
“He’s an asshole. It’s fine. I’ll keep working him, see what I can figure out. And I’ll check in with O.B. again.”
Mobius was already on another train of thought. “Loki isn’t out here with you?”
Hunter B-15 gave Mobius a pointed look. “I think,” she said slowly, “you need to go find your Loki.”
Your Loki. Something that used to be said so pointedly, so full of reproach and mistrust. It still spun his head how fast things had changed- at the TVA, on the timelines, and in his heart.
“Where-”
“Seemed like he was heading for your quarters.”
“Thanks,” Mobius called over his shoulder, already breaking into a jog.
Of course. He should have known. All these years studying Lokis- he really should have seen this coming. Especially once Brad started twisting the knife about Loki’s mother, Mobius really should have stepped in. He should never have let Brad get so deep under his skin that he couldn’t see what was happening to Loki.
There were two likely options, Mobius decided as he skidded around corners and dodged irritated-looking Hunters. Either Loki was fully in flight mode and was going to try to run from his problems, or he was going to swing toward apathy and become totally destructive.
“Shit,” the analyst whispered, jogging faster.
Bursting through the door of his spartan apartment, Mobius froze. The living area was utterly pristine, just as they had left it earlier. Loki’s coffee cup from this morning was still beside the sink, next to the tie he had jettisoned for being “simply atrocious, Mobius”. The jet ski magazines were still artfully displayed on the coffee table, not an inch out of place.
His heart dropped. Loki was trying to make a break for it, then. It’s not that Mobius had hoped for destruction, but… he had hoped Loki would trust him enough not to run from him at least. Shoulders sagging, Mobius allowed himself a moment to dither on the spot, wracking his brain for where to search next, when he heard an almost imperceptible sound coming from the sleeping quarters.
He cocked his head.
Another sniffle.
Of course. He was an idiot. His Loki wasn’t like all the rest. That was the whole point. He was such an idiot. Where other variants might lash out or run away, his Loki turned inwards. Hadn’t that been exactly what happened when he had seen the video of his mother’s death? And in the memory cell, hadn’t the same thing happened? Idiot.
Slowly pushing the door to the bedroom open, Mobius felt tears spring to his eyes. Wedged into the tightest corner of the bed, back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest, face buried into his arms, was Loki. His shoulders shook silently and his body trembled.
“Loki…” Mobius murmured. “Sweetheart.”
A shake of the inky curls- matted, like Loki had been running his hands through them in frustration. “Please go.”
“No can do, buckaroo,” Mobius replied softly, toing off his loafers to climb onto the bed. He stopped just short of touching Loki and reclined against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. “Brad’s an asshole,” he said conversationally.
“But he’s not wrong,” Loki peeped over his kneecaps, exposing puffy eyes.
“Well, you know, I dunno about that,” Mobius lifted a shoulder. “I think it’s more likely that he’s just a dick who knew what buttons to push.”
A pause. A shuddery breath.
“Can I…?” Mobius held out his arms, and Loki melted into them, wrapping his pale arms around the analyst’s torso, face tucked into his collarbone, long legs mingling with Mobius’ shorter ones. “Hey, there, babe,” Mobius pressed a kiss into the crown of the god’s head.
“I don’t want to be a villain anymore,” Loki whispered shakily.
“Sweetheart,” Mobius sighed. “You never were.”
This is the part, the analyst knew, where other Loki variants would have pulled back, put up walls, lashed out. This is the part where Loki was supposed to stab him, or disappear into a puff of green mist, or look up at him with a grin and reveal that this moment was all theater in service of a grander plan. And logically, Mobius knew that this Loki- his Loki - was different.
Even so, nothing could have prepared him for Loki to exhale deeply, look up at him through dark, damp lashes, and murmur, “I love you too, you know.”
But then, of course. This was his Loki. Mobius tightened his grip.