A Roman Heart

He had said goodbye to Akhmenrah and Sacajawea telling them that he was fine and that he preferred to walk back to his diorama so that he could think on the way.

But the truth was that, as soon as he had turned the corner out of the Egyptian exhibit, he had thrown up everything in his stomach behind one of the museum's plastic plants.

The past six hours had been literally torture, in which guilt had turned his stomach.

Octavius had been right, he told himself in those moments, when he had warned him that the whole Mobius business and Loki's visits were strange. He didn't blame the one he now knew it was a god from northern Europe, as Akhmenrah had explained, he really didn’t.

“Loki's story is an epic tale of tragedy. It always reminded me, without its intrinsic evil, of the story of the Egyptian god Seth. Loki was condemned to be second in everything and was mistreated by the other gods who always preferred Thor. He was the scapegoat for all troubles and his punishments were horrendous. No matter how cruel he had been, no matter how evil, which in fact he was not, he did not deserve the fate to which he was condemned. Which, as in this story, consisted mainly in watching the loss of everyone who cared for him. Although I must admit that this is an even harsher experience, if his identity as a frost giant had been hidden from him as a child. Asgard was the biggest enemy of the frost giants. If the previous life story hinted at in this series its true... they taught him to hate himself before he learned to walk. And, apparently, the people his brother surrounded himself with despised him, which must not have contributed much to the image he had of himself"

No, Loki was not the one to blame.

The tablet didn't have the fault either.

It had been the creation of Akh's parents at a time of grief over the loss of their son, which had given him the possibility of a full life, many thousand years in the future.

A second chance.

Like his, like Octavius's, like Teddy's, like Gigantor's.

Damn it.

Even Laa had had a second chance, with his virtual long-distance courtship with the London night guard.

If there was anyone responsible were those who had created such a hopeless story.

What happened to the people of this century?

Where he came from the stories used to end well, because life was already problematic enough to add literary or theatrical sadness. That was a thing for Europeans who loved to suffer. The cowboys preferred epic and happy endings, in which the protagonist, in the end, stayed with his boyfriend or girlfriend and they lived happily ever after.

Was it too much to ask that their descendants respect that little rule?

Not turning the life of a fictional character into a pearl necklace of misery?

He put his hands to his head and lowered them in denial.

To add insult to injury.

Not one of the three.

Not Loki.

Not Sylvie.

Not Mobius.

None of them had achieved a small grain of happiness.

Mobius had not been able to reform the TVA as he had proposed.

Sylvie had realized too late that she had made a horrendous mistake by killing that madman, rejecting Loki.

And Loki… for the love of… Loki had ended up with a broken heart, not once, but twice, having barely rebuilt it after learning about everything that had happened in his past life.

_To then wake up here like this... what a shitty situation.

He mumbled sighing, as he decided that... he didn't want to be alone tonight anymore.

So, nodding to himself, he adjusted his hat and took a more energetic step towards the dioramas.

Lazy asses or not, his mate's legionaries were going to lose their General tonight. He needed to hug Octavius and, if possible, fall asleep hugging the Roman. Although the next day, Larry scold them for it.

-------------------------------------------

He cursed himself.

He had promised not to do it anymore. Jedediah was not Mobius. He need to stop follow him around like a pervert.

Especially when he knew that the partner of the blond hated him.

But mostly because, seriously, it wasn't good at all for him specially to behave like that.

However, there was no remedy for his situation. He couldn't help it. The cowboy crossed his path and his own feet carried him behind the little guy without a second though. Even when he knew that it was not convenient. Even if it was completely wrong. Even if he condemned his soul to misery doing it.

Watching Jedediah from a distance was, sadly, his tragic consolation.

The only connection that he would have, from now on, with the possibility of having been happy in his story. That he now discovered, in addition, that it had been totally fictional and that, in this reality that he had to live, his glorious purpose have been reduced to entertaining the masses during the day, when he became a rigid doll in the middle of a full room of posters and wardrobe items.

The night guard had told him to cheer him up, not without some kindness, that several of the exhibitions had been amazed at the publicity his had received and the influx of people related by the cameras and something called Instagram.

Fantastic, he had thought at the time. In a place where he was totally alone and whose leader was a pharaoh with the powers of a more powerful god, he did not stop making "new friends", in the style of those who had always accompanied his brother.

He shook his head, as he hid behind a screen in the hallway, so that he could follow the cowboy with his eyes, without his being able to see him.

Yes, Sif had been right.

His was a pathetic and unnecessary existence, that brings nothing good to anyone and only served to, perhaps hopefully, prop up others.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard, as he remembered the real reason why he was walking the same steps as a small museum figure that did not exceed eight inches.

Mobius.

He had breathed when he saw him in the hallway next to B-15.

Mobius.

The TVA analyst who had always remained true to his word, who had learned to distinguish the truth from the many lies that surrounded his words, who had supported him to such an extent that, he had given up on his feelings for him, when he had believed it necessary.

He wasn't stupid.

A disaster, sure. Stupid no

That hug of both on the hill. N ... he hadn't realized what it had meant until, totally defeated in the TVA interrogation room in which Sylvie will throw him, while going through everything he had done wrong during those days, everything that would cost to the multiversal reality in which until that moment he had believed he lived, he had realized that the scene that played in his head over and over again was not that of the kiss that he had lived moments before, but that of that hug in which the circumspect analyst simply had wrapped him in his arms and held him so tightly against his body that he had been able to feel his heart beat.

Mobius.

Mobius had been careful to even joke with Sylvie, so that she did not take the scene the wrong way, because he knew how it could be interpreted.

It had been a farewell.

Yes.

But also a reaffirmation.

From someone who had gained nothing by supporting him. No honors, no revenge, no pleasures, not even freedom. And that, in return, had given everything.

He remembered how he had gotten up to run among the minute men, looking for him. To breathe a sigh of relief at find Mobius safe and sound. Without finding that any of the versions of that dangerous man they had met in the citadel at the end of time, had caught up with him and decided that the analyst was too dangerous. Or the judge, which for the case was the same. He had approached who now he knew he should never have left, with such hope drawn on his face, only for to be destroyed into a thousand pieces when he asked him who he was, with an ignorance in his look that had ripped the floor from his feet.

And then… the museum.

In which he had awakened crying and confused, while the night guard and the pharaoh whose tablet gave them life, tried to explain the rules of coexistence and the care that he had to have as an exhibition.

He had listened almost silently at first, because he had thought it was the work of the one who remains or of Sylvie. But no. The days had passed and the fact that his story was not exactly the product of reality, but a cinematic illusion, had been proven. Strange people outside the museum, whom he had met by briefly escaping from it, had enthusiastically recounted his entire life. All. Even his biological origin. Which, he knew that no one but Odin and the Asgardian royal family or the most important agents of SHIELD and the Avengers knew about. His life was a film production. An illusion for entertainment. And if he was breathing now, it was by the simple chance that, to the traveling show of that invented universe, there was an exhibition of Loki left over and, before the novelty passed, they preferred to donate it than store it.

He took a deep breath and turned around as he saw the cowboy enter the diorama room without problems.

Dawn was approaching.

It was necessary that he return to his space in the museum.

Although still, he didn't really know why.

------------------------------

_Good thing the museum artist, has a ready-made sculpture of the guy that looks like Jed, Teddy

He told the former president as he watched the figure of the Norse god walk away from the entrance to the diorama room, head down and hands tucked into the pockets of his TVA variant jacket.

Tilly had made contact for them and the guy had turned out to be passionate about comics and the actor who starred the analyst, so with the first chapter of the series still airing he had begun the sculpture of the character because, in his own words, “there was going to be too many doing Loki”. Then, a chapter before the end of the series, he had finished the sculpture and had offered it to the authorities of various museums, not only the London wax one and they had rejected it, since the lack of public influx to the exhibitions, such as it happened to them, had put them in red in the numbers.

So, they had been able to get a perfect Mobius, at a discount price, who along with Ahkmenrah's parents would be embarking on the same day to New York, since they had achieved the enthusiasm of the artist by explaining that he would complete the New York exhibition of Loki and by find that, having closed the deal verbally, they had transferred the money. Fact that proved the saying that, only because of money, the world turned.

_That's right, Lawrence. We have been fortunate.

The former president replied and he nodded thinking how tough it must be for the black-haired man, compared to the other exhibits.

Octavius had been right.

It was going to take a special kind of intervention to keep this particular one on his right mind.

It just that… it was too much.

All the other exhibitions had one or another tragedy behind their story, but none came from the most catastrophic moment of it. None had awakened the museum's nightlife from such a crisis. Loki does.

He had gone from his season finale, where he had neither a lover, nor a friend, nor a family by his side, to learning that he was a wax sculpture and that everything he had experienced was, basically, a great fiction.

He sighed. At least, thanks to the actions of one of the leaders of the diorama hall, they had a plan to deal with this situation. With a bit of luck, the romanticism of the Roman, could change the fate of the Norse god completely.

And… speaking of romance.

_I'm going to see Ahkmenrah - he said, patting Teddy on the shoulder - I've left him alone most of the night and I wouldn't forgive myself if the day comes and I haven't been able to see him."

_I am going to do the same with Sacajawea - the former president replied, smiling, before both followed different paths.

Dawn was approaching.

And honestly, after that sad moment, they both needed the smiles of their respective partners to enlighten them for what was left of the night.