Chapter Text
He settles into his job at the TVA surprisingly easily, given how long he has been away. Well, long for him at least.
B-15 almost begs him to take one of the vacant offices. She tempts him with talk of cozy armchairs, custom wallpaper, and plants that never need watering but never grow. Mobius is flattered, he really is, but he imagines sitting in that room, working isolated and alone for uncountable hours, and doesn’t find it all that appealing.
He talks her down, and they eventually compromise on a larger desk at the front of the analysts’ bullpen. He arranges his desk the way he likes, setting up his computer and organizing his files. He props up a couple of framed photos: one of him and his giant salmon, one he took of an especially beautiful latte Cheryl made him and a slice of key-lime pie, and one of Loki during one of their walks in the park, his hair windswept and his eyes closed in laughter.
Mobius looks around at the endless rows of desks, catching the eyes of the people he’d worked with for hundreds of years, and is comforted by their familiar kindness. They ask him excited questions about the timeline, laugh at his anecdotes about Loki’s antics, and just generally seem happy to have him back at work.
So much has changed at the TVA, but the people here remain the same: friendly, clever, and driven by a need to protect timelines and all the lives that reside on them.
The transition isn’t completely bump free, however; the coffee is terrible, and he remembers why he tended to gravitate toward the hot cocoa machine. He misses the fresh air and the sun more than he thought he would, and looks into bringing some sort of therapy lamp from the timeline to put on his desk. O.B. has a constant stream of questions for Loki about current projects, and Mobius remembers that Loki is now the leading mind in physics and engineering at the TVA. He tries frantically to write them all down, hoping Loki will be able to piece together the fragments and figure out what O.B. is asking.
This is all somewhat expected, for the most part. What he doesn’t anticipate, is how much he misses Loki looking out for him.
He spills hot chocolate on his desk almost daily. He lines up for lunch in the cafeteria, tapping his foot impatiently at having to wait in a queue. The first time he burns his mouth, he almost yelps in surprise.
He had no idea just how much Loki had done for him on the timeline.
Mobius feels Loki’s absence as keenly as when he first decided to leave for the timeline, still sees in his memory Loki at his desk, in the hallway, at the automat. Moments between them he had somehow forgotten rush back to him as the sense memory returns, the scents and sounds of the TVA.
But the grief no longer overwhelms him, and he is grateful to have spent time where time actually flows to try and put himself back together. Of course, it’s also easier now knowing he can see Loki whenever he likes, and is, in fact, expected to do so. They say to do what you’re good at, and luckily there is no one better at thinking about Loki than Mobius.
It's a new era of the TVA, and this new, changed Mobius feels nothing but profound joy at being a part of it.
That being said, one of the best things he learned on the timeline was the art of knowing when to take a break.
He stands now where he feels the most at peace, knee-deep in the river. He has his own gear now, his own waders and pole, no longer needing to rent. It was exciting at the time, researching all the different brands and reading the reviews of each in order to make his choice. In hindsight, it should have been obvious how much he missed his job.
He revels in the feeling of the breeze on his face, the sound of the water rushing past his legs, the smell of the pine trees that line the river. He has found no greater way to clear his mind.
He catches a few largemouth bass, common enough for this time of year, reeling them in and letting them go. He wonders if he were to catch something good, if he could take it back to the kitchens at the TVA and cook something up for his coworkers. It might be fun to show off the cooking skills he learned on the timeline, it’s not like he really had anyone to cook for while living here.
As if on cue, he feels an insistent tug on his line, and he struggles to reel in the large fish. When he does, he is met with a good-sized salmon, maybe fifty inches in length. Inspecting it, he finds some discolouration of the scales and is initially worried, but rolls his eyes instead when he makes out a pattern in the shifting colours.
‘Hello’.
“Loki, stop torturing the poor fish, will you?” he says, trying to sound exasperated despite his wide grin.
“There’s no need to be so dramatic,” a voice from beside him says as Mobius lets the fish go, “I think it looks spectacular.”
“I refuse to be called dramatic by you of all people,” Mobius laughs, and looks over to the man beside him.
There will be times where Loki will say something ridiculous without realizing, or his eyebrows will do that pulled together thing they do when he’s confused, or he’ll stretch and all the muscles in his back will be visible through the tightness of his shirt, and Mobius will think to himself: there’s no way I can ever love him more than I do in this moment. Love is a physical emotion for him, it makes his chest ache and his head swim, and he cannot think of anything more addicting in the world.
It is nothing compared to what he feels now, looking at Loki: hair tied back into a loose bun, with a cozy-looking black fleece sweater zipped up to the very top, and a pair of black fishing waders that have a small pair of horns embroidered onto their front.
I will never love him more than I do in this moment, Mobius thinks, and he suspects this will be true only until the next time he sees Loki.
“Hi sweetheart,” Mobius breathes, watching Loki roll his eyes at the nickname.
“Hello darling,” Loki says, and while Mobius is sure Loki means it to embarrass him, the richness of his voice and the love he weaves into the pet-name makes Mobius’s cheeks warm.
Mobius reaches up and plants a kiss to the underside of Loki’s jaw, just because he can, and he wants to, and when he pulls back he sees that Loki’s cheeks have become as red as his own. He smiles and turns back to the river before them, knowing that if he looks at Loki for too long, he will abandon fishing all together for a different kind of recreational activity.
“No Mark today?” Loki asks casually, looking around.
“Nope,” Mobius replies, popping the ‘p’ slightly, “just me.”
Loki nods smugly. “Good.”
“Really, there’s no need to get jealous,” Mobius teases.
“I am not jealous,” Loki scoffs, offended. “Given how many times you referred to Sylvie as my ‘girlfriend’ with those sad, puppy dog eyes of yours, it stands to reason that you are the jealous one, not me.”
“Sure, tell that to the poor bartender you terrorized.”
Loki stiffens, looking at Mobius from the corner of his eye.
“Who?” he asks, overly blasé.
“Man, what was her name again…”
“The weather is just lovely today…” Loki says, looking at the sky and the trees and everywhere but Mobius.
“Lauren!” Mobius says triumphantly. “Yes, you smashed all her glasses.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Loki replies haughtily, but Mobius can see the whisper of a smile curled in the corner of his mouth.
“Mmhmm…” Mobius hums skeptically. He decides to let it go, and instead asks: “How is Thor?”
Loki’s smile widens at the mention of his brother.
“Well,” he begins, leaning close to Mobius, “he’s not as solid of an anchor as you were—he moves around a lot and just generally lives on a much more discordant timeline—but he’s certainly much more entertaining, I will give him that.”
Mobius chuckles at that. “That’s not a hard bar to hit.”
“Don’t sell yourself so short, Mobius,” Loki teases, “sometimes you would almost burn yourself on the stove, before yours truly had to step in and rescue you. It doesn’t get more riveting than that.”
“Quiet you,” Mobius says, bumping Loki’s shoulder with his own. Loki laughs in response, a real, genuine, from-the-belly laugh, and Mobius cannot help but grab him by the buckle on his ridiculous waders and pull him in for a kiss.
It’s short, but tender, and Mobius can feel the curl of Loki’s smile against his own.
“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” Mobius breathes.
“Really?” Loki replies. “I had been working rather hard to make sure you noticed it.”
“Not that,” Mobius laughs. “I can’t believe I’m the one lucky bastard in the multiverse to have what all those people I met on the timeline always wished they had, exactly what every person in love desperately wants.”
“And what’s that?”
“Time,” Mobius replies. “All of it.”
Loki nods, looking down at the water rushing around his legs and the rocks that lie at the bottom of the river.
“You’re sure you won’t tire of me?” he asks. “In all that time?”
Mobius thinks of centuries spent studying variations of the same life. He thinks about the truth of his past unmasked by a notorious liar. He thinks of an embrace surrounded by the Void. He thinks of a movie premiere, and the world fair, and the automat. Mobius thinks of a man pulled through time, and the price he would pay to save him.
He thinks about the loom, the gangway, the branches woven into a tree, and the price of having a destiny.
He thinks about a 3-year ache spent in a place where time moved, when he was hardly able to even think his name.
He thinks of the friends he made, who shared their experiences to make him feel less alone. He thinks of the friends he already had, and how deeply they know him, and knew what he needed. Who he needed.
He thinks about Loki, from their first moment in the time theatre, to the End of Time and beyond. He thinks how they’ve both changed and grown, together and towards each other.
He thinks about a future, stretching infinite and limitless in front of them.
“Get tired of you, sweetheart?” Mobius says. “Never.”
