Chapter 9
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady beeping of the machine was the only noise in the room. The only thing that told Loki that Mobius was alive.
At first the TVA had locked Loki in a cell, questioning them relentlessly about Mobius’ injuries.
“Did you stab him?”
“No, he was already bleeding out when I found him.”
“And you used your magic on him?”
“Yes, I was try-”
“To do what? Find information?”
“No! No, to heal him.”
“Why would you try to heal him?”
“Because he’s my… he’s my friend.”
“I’ve looked at your file.You don’t have friends.”
And they were right. They didn't have friends. But Mobius had been the first guy who’d tried to give her a chance. He’d accepted them for who she was. And she had unknowingly become very attached to this mortal, working for his smiles and praises, forgetting momentarily what happens to everyone they love. They get hurt.
She may not have stabbed him, but they put the target on his heart.
Eventually, Renslayer had let them visit Mobius in the hospital. What made her change her mind was a mystery, but Loki had run to the infirmary as quickly as she could, and hadn’t left her partner's side since.
She watched him now.
He lay motionless, chest faintly rising and falling. His skin was white, bags under his eyes a testament to how hard he had been working recently. There was no smile, no calming quip, no words of comfort. A reminder of what they had done.
Loki sat in the rigid chair, legs stiff and irritated with the scratchy surface. They ran their hands through their hair, tugging aggressively at it, feeling overwhelmed with her thoughts.
She loved him. She loved him so much and it hurt. He doesn’t love them. No one could. Everything they do they mess up, it was deep-rooted in her. Chaos. Destruction. She was meant to be alone.
But Mobius, he was not. He was destined to be happy. His way with people, the way he calmed everyone when he walked in a room, when he spoke to someone and they’d believe they truly mattered, that was all to be treasured. They would not allow themself to infect him. No matter how much it hurt her, she couldn’t see him become like her.
They sniffed, viciously wiping away tears she didn't know were there. She felt small, and dirty. Never again will Mobius look upon them with an impressed smile, praising them for something they had done right. She was foolish for thinking she could be someone he liked. He merely tolerated their presence. He probably thought she was weak, the amount of times he'd had to step up for them when they got too overwhelmed with it all, crying and whimpering like a puppy.
"You look like a puppy."
Those words had lit something inside her at the time, warming her heart to goo. They denied it, of course, and had acted annoyed to cover up this unfamiliar feeling. It was only when she was alone in their cell did they think about it.
A puppy was cute. A puppy was something that people couldn't help but fall in love with. Something people wanted to look after. And, tragically, Loki realised they liked that idea. Being looked after. After so many years of running and hiding and fighting, she just wanted someone she could be with, be honest with, feel safe around. Mobius was the only person who had given her that chance.
And now he was almost dead because of her. She had become the puppy that chewed everything and barked all night until the owners saw no option than to give them away. She had to distance themself away from Mobius.
They got up, chair squeaking with the sudden movement, and gently stroked a bit of silver hair.
"Goodbye, my love."
She walked away, back to their cell.