Chapter 10
Mobius thanked the doctor as they took his vitals for the last time, their brows furrowed in confusion as they remarked on his swift recovery. After jotting down some notes on a clipboard, they walked out of the room, leaving Mobius to change out of the scratchy hospital gown and into his own clothes.
Someone, whom he suspected was Loki, had brought him a pale blue shirt, black slacks and polished boots, which he quickly pulled on before he could be told otherwise.
He was desperate to leave. The confinement was suffocating, and he ached to return to his normal routine. He was even looking forward to sorting through all of the paperwork that had no doubt accumulated since he’d first left.
Mobius had hoped to be released earlier, having shown no signs of relapse or any pain since he woke up, but despite his protests, the doctor had insisted on further tests and monitoring.
The insomnia and frequent nightmares also concerned the doctor, which they proposed to be a common response to a severe injury but shouldn’t be left untreated.
Finally, the doctor had agreed that Mobius could return to his usual living quarters, on the condition that he visited for scheduled check-ups until the doctor was satisfied that everything was still going smoothly.
Mobius struggled to tie his shoelaces. Lately, a tremor in his hands inconvenienced the agent, an infrequent reminder of the trauma he’d suffered, and the constant fear that he kept concealed deep within himself. His frustration built, the cords slipping through his fingers again, and he threw the boot across the room. It hit the wall with a thud, echoing in the cold room as it dropped to the floor.
He took a moment to compose himself, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He relaxed as much as he could and was relieved when the shaking dwindled into stillness.
Mobius retrieved the boot and finished tying his laces.
He stood up and walked to the bathroom, peering into the mirror to check his appearance. He tugged on his sleeves and ran a hand over the stubble on his face. It aged him. Even without it, the sleepless nights and his lack of appetite had left him hollow-cheeked and pale, looking far older than he had before.
Age wasn’t much of a concern for those outside the bounds of time, but Mobius decided that a middle-aged complexion suited him far better than this senior version of himself.
He sighed, smoothing back his hair and walking out of the door. There was nothing he could do to change the way he looked, short of getting a good night’s sleep - which wasn’t likely, if his current sleeping pattern had any indication.
His shoes squealed across the vinyl flooring in the hallway as he made his way out of the medical wing. There were very few people around, leaving many areas dark and empty until he triggered the automatic lights. Most soldiers had either already healed and left, or were still immobilized in their beds.
A familiar guilt tugged at his heart, making Mobius question his worth. He didn’t believe himself to be superior to the hunters in any way, and felt undeserving of his second chance at life, for his swift recovery when so many continue to lie in agony.
Mobius, intent on pushing all of his feelings aside, debated stopping by his room to freshen up, perhaps that would lighten his spirits a bit, but he was keen to see Loki first.
There were things that he wanted to say to him, that he needed to say, and wished he’d said earlier.
With that thought in mind, he marched towards the cell block, smiling politely at each face he recognised as he passed them in the maze of corridors. His long, brisk strides made short work of the distance between him and Loki.
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Loki laid on his bed in his cell, resting on his back with his arms folded beneath his head.
He had already counted the number of bricks that made up the walls many times before, so he decided to count the cracks in the ceiling instead. He followed them, counting each line until his vision blurred and his eyes drifted shut.
In the darkness, a single image flashed in his mind. An image of Mobius, his life-blood pouring onto the concrete as he gaped at the sky. His shirt was a vibrant red, leaching the colour from his skin and leaving him a pale grey.
This picture was still, silent. There was no screaming or grunting, any sound from the battle raging around them. He couldn’t hear Mobius wheezing or groaning in pain.
Fear and despair welled inside of him, hopelessness tainting every thought and every breath.
Loki sat up, trying to cast the memory from his mind. The pain during that moment was great enough, he felt no need to relive it. Yet the image lingered.
A surge of energy brought him to his feet and he began pacing around the room, one arm folded across his chest and the other hand resting on his chin as he bit his nails to the quick.
He paced until his legs grew tired and collapsed onto the bench. His fingers drummed into the thin mattress as his thoughts churned.
And that was how Mobius found him.
He halted in front of the cell, leaning forward on the bars.
Mobius felt a warmth in his chest as he looked at his friend. It made him relax, feeling like he could breathe again. He had waited for their reunion for some time now. He had missed this - the way his heart skipped a beat at every stolen glance, the smile that came so easily at the sound of his voice, his grounding presence, and even his antagonizing snark.
The feeling was marred, however, by a vivid recollection of the day he was injured.
He could almost feel Loki’s hair tickling his forehead and see his hauntingly sorrowful expression as he gazed down at Mobius.
Phantom pain flared in his abdomen in response, and it was an effort to keep his hands hanging through the bars of the cell and not clutch his stomach, to fight the urge to check that the wound hadn’t somehow reopened and that his blood wasn’t pouring through his skin.
Mobius buried the negative feelings, shoving them deep into an abyss within himself to be uncovered late at night when he fought for sleep. Instead, he tried to focus on the happiness that seeing Loki brought him.
“Hey,” he said with a smile.
Loki lounged across the bed, a cold smirk fixed upon his lips.
He had decided to close himself off to Mobius completely. The decision nearly killed him, but he felt that this was the right thing to do.
This is what’s best, Loki told himself, he’s better off without me.
No longer would he put Mobius at risk for the sake of companionship, he cared too deeply for him to waste his life like that. It might hurt the agent at first, but he would recover and ultimately move on. Such was the way of the fickle human heart, and the way it should be.
If Mobius were to linger with heartache, Loki may have been tempted to selfishly open himself back up, regardless of the consequences.
“Hello.”
“Is that all I get?”
Loki shrugged.
“How else would you like me to greet you?”
“It’s not the greeting that’s the issue.” Mobius said, “What’s going on with you?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Loki’s face was the perfect portrayal of innocence, but a darkness lingered in his eyes. He tried so hard to hide how difficult it was for him to be so close, only to hold himself at such a distance.
Mobius watched him in silence. He thought he saw a flash of pain in the god’s eyes, but it vanished as soon as it appeared.
“What’s going on?” He repeated quietly, furrowing his brow in concern.
“I have decided that the nature of our relationship has strayed from professional. As your prisoner, I think it would be wise if we terminated our friendship.”
Mobius laughed in disbelief.
“You’re running away?”
Loki shot him a glare, “I am not.”
“Well, that’s what you’re doing,” Mobius shrugged. “You care about me, and that terrifies you. So you’re running before you get hurt.”
“I already did,” Loki whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.
Shock flashed across his face, hardly believing he had spoken out loud, but he buried it.
“What do you-”
“You should go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you talk to me.” Loki opened his mouth to speak but Mobius continued, “Properly. Whatever it is you’re feeling, you can share it with me.”
Loki scoffed, rising to pace around the cell.
“I’m serious. I want to hear it, whatever it is.”
“Fine,” said Loki, stopping in the centre of the room.
His lips curled as uncertainty twisted his stomach. A moment of silence passed before he drew a shaky breath and spoke again.
“I can’t even close my eyes without picturing it. Picturing you, bleeding out on the street. I keep remembering it, over and over again,” he hissed through clenched teeth, jabbing his finger into his temple. “Looking at you makes it even worse, it makes the memory stronger.”
Loki felt surprised at himself. He didn’t expect to say that, hadn’t meant to say much at all, but once the words began to pour out, he couldn’t stop them.
Standing alone in the cell, he felt exposed, like he had been stripped bare. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Mobius, and instead stared up at the ceiling with his fists clenched at his sides.
Frozen in place, Mobius was thrown back into the memory against his will.
He could feel the gravel digging into his back, could feel the warm stain spreading across his middle. He could hear screaming and shouting, the thunderous roar of bullets and stamping feet. Thick smoke shrouded his vision as he stared up at Loki’s panicked face, his eyes wide and shining. Ash was clumped in his hair and soot covered his skin in uneven patches.
His fingers touched his cheek, partly to comfort, and partly to ground himself, to anchor himself to this world and not let go.
Pain ripped through his stomach. Blood bubbled at his lips, a result, he had later learned, of the knife puncturing his lung as it angled upwards. His breaths rattled in his chest, wet and rasping-
Mobius fell back into his present body. The memory vanished, and he fought to keep his breathing steady. He dug his nails into his palms, the pain helped him to focus and bring him back. He struggled to remember what they had been talking about, trying to read Loki’s expression, but to no avail.
Unsure what to say, Mobius waited in silence, using the time to compose himself. Loki, oblivious to what Mobius had just experienced, looked at him, anguish burning in his pale, blue eyes.
“It was my fault. I distracted you whilst you were surrounded by people who wanted to hurt you. I didn’t see the variant coming, and I certainly didn’t stop them!” Loki’s voice rose in volume with each word until he was nearly shouting. “It may as well have been my own dagger,” he whispered, staring at his hands as though he could still see the blood covering them.
Resentment bubbled up inside of him and he felt sick. He clenched his hands into fists to hide their shaking.
Mobius felt guilt like a weight in his gut. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t even consider that Loki would blame himself for what happened. He cursed internally. Mobius knew how deep Loki’s self-loathing ran, and should have realised why he would try to distance himself.
“Loki, it-”
“I think you should leave,” Loki interrupted.
He stood up and faced the wall behind him, waiting for Mobius to leave.
Loki believed that Mobius deserved better. That he shouldn’t have been wasting his time here, when he could have been resting or catching up on his work, perhaps even celebrating the fact that he was alive. Whatever he did, it would have been better for him to stay away.
Mobius unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. He reached out a hand and rested it on Loki’s shoulder, only to be brushed off.
Hurt flashed through him, but the agent buried it as his hand fell to his side.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mobius said quietly, “I don’t blame you, at all. You healed me. If it wasn’t for you, I would be dead.” He nearly choked on the last word, but managed to force it out between clenched teeth.
“You did die.”
“You know what I mean,” he sighed. “You saved me.”
“You don’t look very alive to me,” Loki said.
It was an exaggeration, but not entirely untrue. Mobius looked awful.
His skin was pale and his cheeks gaunt. His bloodshot eyes stood out against the dark shadows beneath them. There was stubble growing along his usually neatly-shaven face. His shoulders hunched inwards, as though carrying an invisible weight.
Mobius refrained from wincing. He knew he didn’t look his best, but he didn’t realise his exhaustion was so noticeable.
“I’m fine.”
“If you’d rather not talk about it, then tell me that. But don’t you dare lie and tell me you’re fine.”
“Well, I am fine,” Mobius insisted, keen to let the matter drop.
“Mobius-”
“Please. I’m-” he sighed heavily, “-I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Fine,” Loki said, giving in. He paused for a moment, surveying the man in front of him as he decided on how to make him leave - Mobius needed time to relax, not to stand around talking to a vessel of chaos. “You should go.”
“I came here to talk.”
Mobius was growing irritated. Anger didn’t come often to him, but lately the bitter feeling was becoming frequent. Loki insisting that he leave so soon, after all the time he had waited to be released from the medical wing so that he could visit and talk to him, was frustrating, to say the least.
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
“You-” Mobius groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the strands. “You always do this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Loki growled and crossed his arms defensively across his chest.
Mobius’ anger boiled over and his temper flared. Words spilled from his mouth before he could hold them back.
“You’re always looking for an excuse to run away! As soon as things get a little complicated, or, god forbid, you actually start to care, you get scared and run. It’s pathetic.”
“Pathetic? Do you know what’s pathetic? Pushing yourself to go on a mission where you have to fight, as someone who does nothing but sit behind a desk all day, and then you end up getting seriously hurt. You can’t stand to think that you’re weak. You’re mortal. So you risk your life to feel strong, and guess what? You weren’t as strong as you thought you were,” Loki replied bitterly, not entirely talking about Mobius.
“Maybe you’re right. But at least I want to be strong, to do the right thing. To be able to face my fears, and admit that I get scared. Why don’t you just open up and be vulnerable, for once?”
“You want me to admit it? Fine, I was scared! I was fucking terrified! I watched you die, Mobius, knowing that it was all my fault and there was nothing I could do to save you. You were dead.” His voice broke on the final word.
His throat tightened and his chest heaved as he fought for breath, holding back tears.
Mobius felt his heart clench. It hurt to think that Loki blamed himself, it ached worse than being stabbed. He wanted to comfort Loki, to hold him and make him believe that it wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t have the right words, and the distance between them was a chasm. He had to fix this, had to bring them closer together.
“And then you saved me. You brought me back,” Mobius said with a gentle smile. “You’re my hero,” he chuckled, only half joking.
Loki rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, or the faint sense of pride that made his guilt waver.
The tension between them eased slightly.
“Shut up.”
“Make me,” Mobius said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
His eyes darkened as he locked eyes with Loki, the hurt and pain still there, but clouded with something new.
Loki prowled forward. He slowly rested his hands on Mobius’ face, feeling the soft stubble beneath his fingers. Mobius licked his lips, swallowing as Loki followed his gaze with pure intensity. Suddenly Mobius grabbed his wrists, and in one swift movement had his arms pinned above his head on the wall.
"Remind you of sometime, kitten?"
Loki nodded, remembering their first meeting. But now the roles were reversed and he was the one trying to get his thoughts together, the soft pressure on his arms and warm breath on his neck preventing any form of worded communication. Mobius let out a soft chuckle, the sound sending a small vibration by his earlobe.
"You're so beautiful, Loki," he murmured, "and although you might not think you're worth it, goddammit, I think I lov-"
Footsteps clacked in the hallway, and the pair sprung apart.
Mobius cursed quietly, ran a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. He refused to look at anything, or anyone, aside from the hallway beyond the cell bars.
Before turning his attention to the interruption, Loki spared a glance at Mobius, hiding a smile when he noted the pink across his cheeks.
Renslayer appeared in view, marching through the hallway and coming to a stop in front of the cell. A surprised look flitted across her face before she replaced it with an expression of disdain.
“It sure is cozy in here,” she said, aiming a pointed look at Mobius.
He cleared his throat and shifted his weight between his feet. Loki smirked beside him, radiating arrogance, as he suppressed the feeling that Mobius’ words brought him.
Renslayer merely observed them, noting the way that Loki subtly positioned his body between her and Mobius.
“Do you need something?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” A sly smile curved her lips. “Mobius, you have been reassigned. From this moment on, the variant will no longer be your responsibility.”
Mobius went rigid, gaping wordlessly. Whilst Mobius stood frozen, Loki sauntered forward, his steps unhurried. He paused in front of the bars, towering over Renslayer as his fingers clenched around the cold metal. He looked at her through lowered brows.
“And who, exactly, will be?” His voice was cool and calm, the complete opposite to the way he felt.
Anxiety gnawed at his stomach but he tried to quell it. He was afraid that if he showed how much the news affected him, Renslayer’s conviction would only grow.
“I will,” she said simply.
Mobius felt the shock ripple through him like a wave. Renslayer overseeing Loki could only end badly. He had to convince her to reconsider.
“Ravonna-”
She held up a finger, interrupting Mobius before he could continue. His mouth snapped shut.
Loki was furious beside him, taking great care to keep his temper under control. It was one thing to tear them apart, but the blatant disrespect was wholly unwarranted.
“I will not hear any arguments. If you have any complaints, you may take it up with the timekeepers themselves.”
Loki fumbled for a retort, a phrase that could slice through her ego, to wound her in such a way that she felt she had no other choice but to appease him. The rage was building within him, ready to explode.
As though he could sense it, Mobius threw a look in his direction, a silent warning to calm down.
“And what will you be doing with him?” Mobius said.
“I’ll see how useful he really is. If he doesn’t meet up to my expectations…” Renslayer tapped the ret-can hanging at her hip.
Mobius felt his heart skip a beat, dread pooling in his gut. He felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare, struggling to escape whilst some unknown creature hunted him down and ensnared him.
But this wasn’t something he could escape, something he could run away from. If he didn’t fight back, Loki could die.
Loki could die.
“You can’t just prune him!”
She raised an eyebrow in cold amusement. He had no authority over her, to even challenge her should have been out of the question.
“And why not?”
Loki laughed bitterly, unable to keep silent. He glared at the wall. He couldn’t stand to look at her, to watch, helpless, as she dangled his fate over a precipice. So he stared at the wall and counted the bricks, each one cementing in his mind and building a wall, a wall that his fear could not penetrate.
He would not be afraid, and he would find a way to survive.
That’s what he did best.
“Because- because he’s important,” Mobius said, feebly trying to dissuade her.
“To the TVA, or to you?”
Both, Mobius thought, but instead of voicing the word, he merely gave Renslayer an irritated look.
“Thanks to Loki, we’ve managed to distinguish patterns in the movements of variants and he’s been helpful in eliminating them. It would be a shame to waste that.”
Renslayer smiled, almost as if she had heard what Mobius truly thought, but she brushed it aside and shrugged.
“Shame it may be, but he is clearly a distraction. In fact, I’ve made up my mind.” Renslayer stepped into the cell, drawing the ret-can from its holder.
She held it in front of her, smiling as she fixed her gaze on Loki, who had finally turned to look at her. His eyes narrowed as she neared.
“The variant will be pruned.”