Archive of Our Own

You are alone, and you always will be.

.

Loki’s head is spinning.

“Just - tell me your name, and I can - “

His feet start moving.

“Hey, wait - “

If only he had his magic here.

He has about a thousand feet to act. 

He holds his left arm up, palm open, showing his intent for peace. Then, in one, quick, forceful motion, he pulls his dagger from the holster and plunges it deep into his own abdomen. The pain is immediate and immense, and he still pulls the dagger free. He moves to stab himself a second time, but halfway back the dagger clatters from his shaking hand to the floor, his knees following. 

He pitches forward and rolls onto his side, cheek making contact with the soft shag carpet of the library.  

As soon as this happens, he’s crowded by TVA Agents.  Mobius, or - some version of him, maybe - lands on his knees in front of Loki, ripping off his jacket and pressing it to the gaping wound in Loki’s side. It’s only a couple of seconds before the fabric is soaked through with blood. His frantic, worried face is the last thing Loki sees before he passes out from blood loss. 

. 

When Loki wakes, it’s to a flurry of aches and pains. At the top of the list is unquestionably and unsurprisingly his abdomen, which is quite frankly, searing. He also has an absolutely pounding headache. Every muscle in his body is sore. He inhales sharply at a twinge in his left arm, and triggers a series of worryingly chesty coughs.

“Loki?” a sweet, familiar voice asks through the haze.  “Loki? Can you hear me?”

He opens his eyes and his vision swims into focus. Mobius hovers over him. For a second, he’s still blissful, reality cruelly forgotten.  But then he realizes where he is - some sort of infirmary room - and he remembers.

He was crushed under the weight of being utterly alone.

Mobius didn’t remember him.

The one person in universe - uh, now multiverse, he supposes - who had known every part of his darkness, had seen it all, every version, and loved him anyway. 

Sylvie had betrayed him, had taken his care for her and used it as a weapon, and he realized, horribly, that maybe she had never felt the same way after all. Even what little love he could give was ground into dust.

And Thor.

Loki was never going to see his Thor again. He was never going to meet his future Thor, the one who fought side by side with him on Sakaar, who had proudly declared he thought the world of his brother, who would ultimately watch in dismay as said brother was choked to death by the Mad Titan. A Mad Titan who looked like nothing but a schoolboy compared to the Conqueror. 

He couldn’t do this. 

He had nothing to live for.

And yet this painful echo of Mobius had saved him anyway.  

“Loki?”

He meets Mobius’ worried stare.

“How did you find out my name?” he croaks, the words barely escaping the scratch in his throat.  

“Read through your file,” Mobius answers.

Loki blinks, realizing he doesn’t even know what that means to him anymore.  “My file?” He repeats.  

Mobius hums in response.  “This particular variant of you, anyway.”

The room spins violently even though Loki is completely horizontal in bed.  He closes his eyes with a sigh.  “And what exactly does it say I’ve been doing since I got to the TVA?”

Mobius frowns slightly.  “It just says Ravonna made you an analyst, why?”

“That’s all?” Loki prods.

“Why don’t you start answering some of my questions?” Mobius challenges, taking a seat in a chair that just happens to be as close to Loki’s bed as possible.

Loki only groans.  

“First - how are you feeling?”

That halts him. He was expecting a different kind of interrogation. Loki actually has to consider it for a moment. It’s not a question people ask him often. 

“I feel … unwell,” he answers honestly, a shiver racking his spine.  

“Unwell,” Mobius repeats, sounding almost annoyed.

Loki tries again, focusing on what’s really bothering him. He feels hot. Maybe like he’s burning.  It feels like his skin is on fire, and he’s drenched in sweat. There’s a steady pressure building between his eyes, and his chest is painfully tight.

“I feel like I’m running a fever,” he finally acknowledges.  “I feel ill.”  

“You are,” Mobius says seriously.  “On both accounts.  In addition to the messy suicide attempt you made right in front of me - “ Loki winces “- you’ve also shot out your immune system and apparently picked up a nasty lung infection. Don’t even get me started on your wound. I don’t know how the healers sorted that out so quickly.

“Why did you save me?” Loki says bitterly.

“Because,” Mobius says.  “You came to me for help, and you clearly need it.” 

Loki coughs, deep and loud.  “You can’t give me the help I need.  Not anymore,” he grumbles.

“What does that mean?” Mobius pushes.

Loki tries to sigh heavily, but his breath catches in his throat, and he’s put through a rather long coughing fit.  While he’s dealing with that, Mobius quickly grabs a glass of water from somewhere, and holds it in front of Loki. As he tries to lift his head up, Mobius gingerly places his other hand behind Loki’s head, fingers slipping through his damp, greasy hair, guiding him forward.  Mobius presses the glass to Loki’s lips and he drinks slowly.

Once Loki can breathe again, Mobius backs off, retreating to his seat once more.

“Why are you still here?” Loki croaks.  “Don’t you have other things to be doing?”

Mobius checks his TemPad.  “Well, considering you tried to kill yourself in front of me, no. There are not other things I need to be doing.  Besides, I’ve only been here for roughly twelve Earth hours.”

Loki lets his eyes slip closed for a moment, his head throbbing particularly painfully.  “Mobius,” he begins, but doesn’t really know where he’s going.  “You - you can leave.  You should leave.”

“Why?” Mobius asks. “Why do you want me to leave, Loki?”

Without warning, hot tears brim in Loki’s eyes and roll down his cheeks. He’s feverish, he’s in a massive amount of pain, and he wishes his stupid last-minute attempt would have worked. It never does.  

“Loki,” Mobius all but whispers, and it nearly breaks Loki to hear his name said that softly.

“I can’t do this,” he says again, but it’s a halted whisper.

His insides itch like they do when he’s feeling flighty. He wants to make a break for it but he’s too sick, and nearly fatally injured. As he focuses on his pain, the details come to him. He looks down at himself for the first time, and his vision is blurry, unfocused, but he can make out enough. He’s shirtless, possibly wearing some kind of undergarment, but his torso is wrapped in thick bandages. A blanket is pulled up to his waist. And then he notices - glowing orange bracelets. He attempts to move his arms close to his face, but then chains materialize, slowing, and ultimately killing his movement. His hand drops back to the bed.

“What the hell?” he growls.

Mobius shrugs. “Doesn’t seem unreasonable to me.”

Loki closes his eyes and drops his head back against his pillows. Sleep is the next best thing to being dead.

“Why do you even care?” Loki asks. A bitter taste floods his mouth. “You don’t know me.”

“You came to me,” Mobius repeats, quietly. “I don’t know why, but you came to me - terrified, out of your mind, and you stabbed yourself. I can’t help but take it a little personally.” 

“Don’t,” Loki says pointedly. Then he retracts. “How much of my file did you read?”

“Just the most recent stuff. Started shortly before your brother’s coronation.”

Loki hums, irritated by the ever-growing pain swirling around in his head, and the rest of his body. “So you know about - “

“I know this isn’t your first suicide attempt,” Mobius says bluntly.  

Loki tries to laugh, tries to let out a low, unhinged chuckle, but his lungs are too weak. He coughs violently instead. “That barely counts,” he mutters.

“You’re at zero for two, Loki,” Mobius says, and it sounds harsh, but his voice is gentle, tinged with concern and care.  “Now, the first time, you were reacting to a plethora of things Odin had done or said to you. Daddy issues,” he murmurs, “most mortals have them.”

“I’m a god,” Loki reminds him.

“Mmmm - demigod. And you can still die,” Mobius says, unbothered.  “Hence - mortal.”

Loki huffs, then coughs weakly, turning his head away from Mobius.

“You can sleep,” Mobius says after a moment, voice barely above a whisper.  When Loki glances at him, his eyes are light and brimming with sincerity Loki can’t quite handle.  He looks away.  “I can interrogate you any time in the future.”  Right.

Loki tries to roll onto his side, but moving makes the pain a thousand times worse, so he stops. “I haven’t changed my mind, you know,” he says. “If you let me go, I can’t promise I won’t try again.”

Mobius doesn’t say anything at first.  Then, “I know. I wouldn’t expect you to feel any different. It’ll take time.”

Loki focuses his eyes on the white pillow underneath his head. “Are you going to leave when I fall asleep?”

It’s the honesty, the fact that Mobius doesn’t even think about answering differently, that gets him. “Maybe. I’ll need to eat soon. And change clothes. But I’ll be back.”

Loki desperately wants to ask why again, to understand why this Mobius, who apparently hasn’t dedicated his life to pursuing Lokis, even cares about him in the first place.  Before, he assumed it had everything to do with the job and nothing to do with the budding feelings that crept up between them. Now? He’s confused and exhausted. He said it himself: love is a dagger. And he plunged that dagger deep into his own guts. 

He says nothing at all. Instead, he lets his eyes slip closed and the pain overwhelm him until he’s unconscious again. 

.

When Loki sleeps, he dreams of another life.

He dreams of life beyond the Mad Titan, beyond the Conqueror. A village in the foothills, near the place that Odin died. He dreams of a New Asgard, a place where the sun still shines on him and his brother.  In his mind’s eye, they live in a humble abode - a small house with views of the fjords. Behind the house is a luxurious garden, and a duck pond.

There are others: Jane, Thor’s Midgardian ex. And Brunnhilde, the Valkyrie from the memories of his he never experienced. Although, he does remember her from when they were younger; Thor had loved the Valkyries. He finds himself sitting on the front porch, looking out across the other houses, Asgardians tending to the land as they build their new home.

“Loki?”

He turns, and Thor comes through the front door.

Even in his dream, Loki expects some sort of outburst, maybe several billion questions on Thor’s part, but nothing of the sort happens.

“Oh, there you are, brother,” Thor says with a wide smile. “You don’t usually wake up so early.”

“Is it early?” Loki asks.  He’s lost the ability to feel time passing “normally.”

Thor sits down next to him, in the chair right next to Loki’s, a small table between them.  “Usually you sleep for another hour or so.”

Loki realizes Thor is holding two steaming mugs, one of which he offers to his brother.  Loki takes it with a small, “Thank you,” and Thor frowns.

“What?” Loki asks, sipping what turns out to be a very familiar tea blend. 

“Nothing,” Thor says quickly. “It’s just - you’ve changed so much.”

Loki looks at him with crinkled eyebrows. “Is that a bad thing?” He fears he’s still too young for this Thor. He didn’t experience everything Thor’s dead Loki did. 

“No,” Thor says, almost too excitedly. “No, it’s just - I’m proud of you, Loki.”

A horrible, hot blush creeps up Loki’s neck, and he turns his gaze away from his brother. “I don’t know what there is to be proud of, but thank you, Thor.”

Without warning, Thor claps him warmly on the back, and rubs his fingers back and forth for a moment.

“You know,” he begins, and Loki feels uncertainty settle in his stomach. “For a while, I thought we might never have this,” he admits, voice oddly quiet. “I thought we’d be the end of one another. I thought we’d never survive everything that came our way, but you were right.” He looks up at the sun, unobstructed by clouds. “We made it.”

Loki smiles slightly, but sadness still tugs at his chest.

“I wish Mother was here with us,” he all but whispers.

Thor nods. “She is, in spirit. In your magic.” He leans closer to Loki. “In you .”

Loki huffs a small laugh, but he really wants to cry. “Thor,” he says tentatively.

“Yes, brother?”

“Do you truly love me?”

It’s a question Loki’s had for centuries. Yet Thor seems utterly taken aback by it. Maybe the other Loki didn’t care as much, maybe he stopped needing desperate approval from his brother, maybe he decided he didn’t need Thor’s love, but this Loki still does.

“Of course I do, Loki. W - why would you believe otherwise?”

Loki smiles sadly. “What would you like me to say? That I’m Jotunn? A trickster? The God of Lies and Mischief. I’ve done so many unforgivable things, Thor. Never, not in all of time, would I ever be worthy, but you are.”

Thor lowers his tea to the side table between them. With both hands, he grabs his brother’s shoulders, forcing Loki to look at him, to meet his eyes.

“Loki,” he says slowly. “You have made mistakes, just as all of us have, and you have done everything in your power to care for and save the people of Asgard. Not only would Mother be in awe of all you can do, but Father would be immensely proud to see you now. I think they both would agree - I couldn’t have gotten through this without you - Asgard couldn’t have gotten through this without you.” 

Something sticks in Loki’s throat, and he realizes his eyes are wet. “Thor,” he says, voice low but carrying extreme fondness. He feels slightly undeserving, knowing he wasn’t the Loki who saved Asgard.

Thor just smiles, dropping his hand from Loki’s shoulders and picking back up his tea.

“You would do well to let go of your insecurity, Loki. You are not the frightened little boy you used to be.”

Loki smiles through the tears. He sniffles. Which leads to a cough. And then another. The sunlight up above dims, a single cloud hovering. 

Thor eyes him suspiciously. “Are you okay, brother?”

He nods but is betrayed by a violent sneeze.  Thor frowns, and presses the back of his hand to Loki’s forehead. 

“I think I’m coming down with a cold, or something,” Loki says hurriedly. He suddenly feels very hazy. 

“You don’t feel too warm,” Thor says, withdrawing his hand. “But if you want to stay home today -“ 

Loki looks up, eyes slightly unfocused. “What’s going on today?” 

“Well, Jane and Val - “

“Val?” Loki asks.

“Valkyrie,” Thor says, simply.

“You know that’s not her name, right?” Loki asks. “That’s her title.” A deep, painful cough ripples through his chest and Loki winces.

Thor returns his hand to Loki’s back, rubbing back and forth gently for a minute. “Brother, -“

“I’m fine,” Loki says, voice a little too sharp. He sighs. “It’s just a cold.”  

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go back to bed?” Thor asks.

Loki sniffles. His head really is aching. The thought of sinking into a warm bed, head cradled by a soft pillow - “Maybe,” he finally admits. 

At that exact moment, Thor catches sight of two people coming up the path. He smiles, and Loki finds himself faltering. Thor stands, waving a hand out at Jane and “Val.” 

“They’re here,” Thor says excitedly, so Loki swallows his reservations and vows to power through. He stands up, swaying a moment before forcing a smile at his brother. 

He feels very lightheaded. It’s as if his ears are stuffed cotton; he can’t hear very well. The blood rushes too quickly and too loudly to his head. He winces as he follows Thor down the steps of the porch.

“Hey, look who it is!” Val says, nodding at Loki. She smiles genuinely. “Welcome back, sort of,” she says, offering a hand.

Loki tries to take it and shake, but he misses by a wide margin. He frowns, and blinks rapidly a few times. 

“Loki?” Thor asks, but Loki can’t hear him.

His insides are raging. He feels like his organs are going to eject themselves, probably out of his throat. He reaches out a blind hand for his brother, slurring, “Thor? I feel like -“ 

His knees give out underneath him, black clouding his vision. 

When his eyes open, he’s back in the TVA. The churning in his gut and all the other symptoms are very, very real, and are much worse now that he’s fully conscious. He sits swiftly upright, and leans over the side of his bed, vomiting onto the floor. 

Mobius is still there, just like he promised he would be, and in a second, is on his feet. His hand grips the side of Loki’s face as he coughs weakly, worried eyes peering down into his own. His other hand cards through Loki’s sweaty hair, removing the strands that are in front of his face and tucking them gingerly behind his ear.

“Loki?” he asks gently.

Loki groans in response. The pain is a lot more pronounced this time around, and his body is practically smoldering from the fever. He wonders why he isn’t seeing steam drifting up from his skin. Has he ever had a fever this bad before? What happens to a Jotunn when their temperature goes above a certain point? Does he have a different threshold? Is he dying?

“You're not dying,” Mobius says, pulling back the blanket that covers Loki’s abdomen.

Huh. Had he said that out loud?

“Yes,” Mobius replies. “You’re saying everything out loud.” A cool, delicate hand touches Loki’s stomach, just over his wound. “Hmmm,” Mobius hums. “The healers did a hell of a job closing your wound up, but it’s likely infected. It’s hot to the touch - although, all of you is hot,” he adds with a disapproving frown.

Loki would love nothing more than to make a joke about his own charming good looks, but he is in an obscene amount of pain. “Call them back,” Loki croaks. “Please, I - “ He breaks off and shivers violently. “Mobius, I - “

“I can try,” Mobius says. “But they’ve really done everything they’ve can.”

“I need - something ,” Loki whimpers. “Everything hurts.” His eyes fill with tears, quickly boiling over. He knows he did this to himself, but if they refuse to let him die, the least they can do is help with the pain and the illness.

Mobius sighs, “I’ll see if they can give you any more pain relief.” 

He disappears for only a second or two while Loki attempts to breathe. Not only is the pain in just about every corner of his body making it hard to take in air, but whatever respiratory illness he picked up is getting worse. A jagged series of coughs erupts from his chest, leaving him exhausted and dizzy.

Mobius returns to his field of vision, looking downright terrified. “They’re coming along now,” he says. He looks anxiously over Loki’s head. “They’re going to help with the pain and hopefully bring your fever down.”

“How high is it?” Loki asks. He truthfully feels like he’s sitting in the center of a large bonfire. He’s surprised he doesn’t hear his bones crackling in the heat.

“Hundred and three, Fahrenheit,” Mobius answers. “Thirty-nine-point-seven, Celsius. I’m sorry, I don’t know what Asgardians use.”

“Neither,” Loki croaks. “But I understand.” No wonder he feels like he’s roasting from the inside out. He hasn’t been this sick since he was child. He really wishes he could see his mother right now, even a variant of her.

She was the one who took care of him every time he fell ill - which was a lot. His Jotunn biology wasn’t like that of Asgardians, and he spent many summer evenings cooped up in bed, his mother running her fingers along his fevered brow, while Thor played outside with his friends. Of course, he never knew then why he kept getting sick. Asgard’s climate wasn’t made for him.

Silence fills the space between them for a moment. Loki’s head spins with the effort to keep himself awake and present, while the fever makes him absolutely delirious. He still isn’t sure that he’s not dreaming. Everything feels fake. The only thing that is definitely real is the pain coursing through his body, sent in shockwaves from the wound in his abdomen.

“Loki,” Mobius says, voice warm but strong. “You’re going to be okay.”

He shakes his head, although he’s not sure how much he actually moves. “I might live through this fever, but I won’t be okay,” he mutters, eyes flickering shut despite his best attempts at staying conscious.

As if trying to please his wishes, his lungs pinch, and his breath catches in his throat, forcing him to open his eyes and hack for his life. Mobius grabs the glass of water again, holding it while his free hand rubs large, soothing circles in Loki’s back. The force of the coughs have him doubled-over in bed, pain ripping through his stomach. He fears he might worsen the wound. 

Before he knows what’s happening, healers in smocks crowd around him. One of them immediately gets to work cleaning the vomit on the floor. As his coughs die down, one of them replaces Mobius, grabbing the water and shooing him away. Loki wants to protest, but he can barely speak.

“No, wait - “

The healer closest to him helps him drink, and he concedes. Another one places their hand on his forehead, pulling back just slightly when she feels how hot he is.

“Push morphine and acetaminophen,” she says. “And - will you grab a couple of cooling blankets, and several ice packs, just in case. The fever’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Loki wishes he would pass out again, but there’s too much commotion. It’s riling his body back up, even though all he wants is to rest and sleep. He can’t fathom feeling any worse than he already does, and not for the first time in the last day or maybe two - he can’t tell anymore - does he wish this stupid version of Mobius hadn’t saved him.

Although, he reasons, as a sudden wave of calm washes over him (the healers are injecting him something, likely whatever the one who checked his fever called for), his Mobius definitely would have saved him too.

.

It’s evening in the TVA when Loki’s healers leave to let him rest. They’ve cleaned and re-dressed his wound as best they could and started him on antibiotics against the infection. If he’s lucky, they might help with what is quickly looking like severe pneumonia. He’s fallen asleep, the morphine and fever reducers working overtime to help him relax otherwise. Mobius had already gone home to shower and change before Loki had woken earlier. Given the fact that most of his clothes look the same, Loki hadn’t noticed. Although he did look relieved when he had looked up to find Mobius beside him.

It’s been a trying twenty-four or so Earth hours for Mobius. It had been yet another eventful day at the TVA, but normal for his pay grade. He had been surveying three different timelines with Hunter B-15, trying to keep them from converging on their own. It was their job to help keep the timelines from interfering with each other, though more often than not that meant doing a backlog of work once something or someone had already crossed from their timeline to another. Not to mention a new Nexus Being on the radar; he’d had more than enough to worry about for one day when an analyst he had never seen before came rushing to him, spewing nonsense about a man and his variants before plunging a dagger deep inside his own abdomen. It still gave Mobius a slight stomach ache just think about it.

Though he’s sure he’s never met Loki, something about him is deeply familiar. He quips back at Mobius like they’ve had time to develop banter. He had approached Mobius like they were old friends, as if - 

It was him.

Mobius knows that whatever happened, whatever drove Loki to attempt to kill himself had to do with him. Something changed when he responded. Whatever it was that Mobius had said had been the end of the line. After that, Loki was consumed by his fear. Mobius had called over other TVA agents, prepared for exactly what happened next. Loki had been slipping into hysteria. Unfortunately, he was a lot quicker than Mobius predicted. He watched Loki’s dagger move as if it were in slow motion, his heart jumping to his throat.

He was already halfway down the hall when Loki’s dagger clattered to the ground. Loki fell with it, blood gushing from the wound, staining his shirt bright red. Mobius had ripped off his jacket then, the only extra fabric he could scrounge up to try to stop the bleeding, but it was futile anyway. The healers showed up within minutes, moving Loki to a stretcher and carrying him to the infirmary.

After that it was just waiting. 

Loki’s surgery was absurdly long. Eight Earth hours to be precise, before the healers conceded that they had done all they could. All that was left now was to hope Loki pulled through. 

Then, three hours after surgery, his temperature started to climb and his breath began rattling. The healer tasked with observing him called in others, and they searched for symptoms before agreeing to take a look at his lungs. In the imaging, his lungs showed severe inflammation. He wasn’t just fighting off the potential infection of his wound, but a lung infection as well. Loki was suicidal and sick, and Mobius wasn’t exactly sure how to handle this.

He thought Loki waking up would be the hardest part.

As the day progresses, it’s only gotten harder.

Loki’s file burns through the stack of folders on Mobius’ lap.  He looks down, eyeing the name on the tab: Loki Laufeyson, L1130. Asgardian. Freed from his timeline in 2012 Midgard. He was a version of the most powerful Loki, but he was young; too young to understand just how strong he was. 

Mobius had brought up various footage on his TemPad. He’d seen this Loki on Jotunnheim, trembling from shock and fear when he watched his skin turn blue. He’d seen this Loki scream at the Allfather, tears streaming down his face until the Allfather had collapsed into Odinsleep.

He’d seen this Loki dangling over the side of the Bifrost, staring brokenly at his father and brother before letting go, letting himself fall into the Abyss in the hopes that it would kill him.

It didn’t.

Instead, this Loki spent a year being violated by Thanos, the Mad Titan who would eventually break his neck like it was nothing. He wonders if this Loki knew about his future. Probably. He had ended up at the TVA, had been offered an analyst position. Maybe the reality of his own timeline was a crushing weight on his shoulders.

And maybe Loki never stopped being suicidal.

Mobius sighs, flipping his TemPad shut, and setting his files aside. He leans forward, putting his head in his hands and violently rubbing his eyes for a minute. How could his life change so much in a single day?

A knock on the door pulls Mobius from his thoughts. He turns, expecting a healer, but it’s Hunter B-15. She steps through the entryway and closes the door behind her. Unsettled, she glances at Loki in the bed.

“How’s he doing, sir?” 

Mobius looks back at his pale, ashen face. “He’s surviving,” he replies. “Wound’s infected. And he’s fighting some kind of pneumonia. His lungs are inflamed and filled with fluid.”

B-15 winces. “Have you gotten any information out of him?”

Mobius sighs. “Not really.” 

B-15 nods, looking around the room awkwardly. “What are you still doing here?” she says at last.

Mobius meets her eyes slowly. He blinks twice. “He stabbed himself. In front of me - and for some reason, because of me.”

“Because of you?” B-15 repeats, as if it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “You didn’t even know him - for all you know, he’s just some rogue analyst who lost his mind.

“I read his file,” Mobius says, not looking at her. 

“Mobius,” she chides. “He’s not your responsibility. We have real work to get back to - “

“I’m not leaving him,” Mobius says shortly and pointedly. 

B-15 huffs in frustration. “Do I need to call Renslayer to come back here and talk some sense into you?”

“No,” Mobius says. “No, don’t - don’t bother her. She’s busy. We don’t even know when she’ll be back, or where she is - “ He shakes his head, falling into silence for a moment. “Just - give me some time, B-15. You can’t tell me you weren’t affected by this.”

B-15 shrugs. “I don’t know him,” she says. “And you don’t either.”

Mobius lets that sit for a minute. He looks down at the files he had set on the table. He thinks about the horrible shake in Loki’s voice when he had approached them. 

“I think he knew me,” Mobius says, quietly.

B-15 stares at him, as if she’s afraid he’s losing it too. “What are you saying, Mobius?”

“I think Loki knows me,” he says, finally meeting her eyes. “Or, or a variant of me. But - he came to the two of us. He was scared - not just frightened, I mean - shitting-his-pants scared, B-15. He looked like the world had turned upside down, and when I didn’t - when I asked him who he was, he gutted himself.” 

B-15 nods slowly. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, I see your point. But Mobius - don’t get too close. I know you care way more than any analyst should, but keep your distance. Don’t let this get to you.”

Mobius nods again, idly thinking, “How can I not?” , but he doesn’t say that. Instead, without making eye contact, he says, “I won’t.”

B-15 sighs. “You already have,” she realizes. She puts her hands on her hips, turning to look up at the ceiling while she thinks. “The rest of the team and I will keep working on the converging timelines, but we need your help.”

“Nah, you don’t,” Mobius says, eyes drifting back to Loki. “It’s standard stuff.”

“Mobius,” B-15 says seriously. “Just let me know you’re okay. That you’ll come to us before getting too deep. You know I won’t hesitate to send a message out to Renslayer if I think it’s necessary.” 

Mobius turns his head to look back at her. “I won’t get too deep. I just want to make sure he’s okay. Give me a week or two, tops.”

B-15 nods. “You don’t owe him anything, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Mobius says. He heaves a deep breath. “I just don’t feel right walking away.”

B-15 shakes her head. “You’re too good for this place,” she mutters, before turning toward the door. “I’m available whenever you need me, Mobius. And I’ll be checking back in.”

He nods, watching as she leaves the room. He swallows hard. B-15 isn’t wrong. He’s always had a soft spot for broken things. His empathy and understanding make him an exceptional analyst, but they also make it very difficult for him to work on cases like Loki’s.

Except this isn’t really a “case”, is it?

Mobius just wants to understand what happened. He stepped slowly into the dark cesspool of Loki, and he’s fully prepared to drown before this is over.

.

Loki only manages to sleep a couple of hours before he’s waking up again, groaning. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter before he opens them, still bloodshot and rimmed in red. He feels the fever high on his cheeks. It’s lower than it was before, but it still burns steadily. He’s starting to feel trapped in the fiery prison that is his body.

When he looks around, he doesn’t see Mobius, and panic quickly settles in his veins.

“Mobius?” he tries to speak, but his vocal chords are shot to hell. All that comes out is a whiny croak, followed by several violent coughs. He’s hazy, but he can still feel the way the aches in his body reverberate out from his bones. He can still feel the way his abdomen screams around his wound, nothing but a chasm of blindingly agonizing pain.

He doesn’t feel like he was saved. He feels like he’s being tortured again.

Hot, fat tears build up in his eyes, and they fall before he has a chance to stop them.

A sudden noise to his left has him looking up, and Mobius reenters the room, surprised to see him awake.

“Loki,” he says, and it’s just as soft as it was earlier. Loki’s never heard anyone else say his name like that - save for the Mobius he loved, he supposes. 

That’s what hurts so much about the Mobius standing in front of him. He has everything, every facet of who he is that Loki fell hard for - the folksy way of speaking, the kind and honest eyes, the way he sees the good in every living thing, even if no one else can see it there. There’s just one problem. He doesn’t know Loki at all.

“Hey, hey, hey - ,” Mobius says as more tears escape Loki’s eyes. 

He steps up to the edge of Loki’s bed, placing one, cool palm on Loki’s forehead. He isn’t sure why Mobius keeps checking his fever this way when a list of his temperature in various measurements is up on the screen behind his bed, along with everything else the healers could ever need to know; he saw them all watching it like prey animals earlier. 

“What’s wrong?” Mobius asks. “Does something hurt?”

Loki coughs, his whole body shaking. “Everything hurts, Mobius,” he says dryly. “I just - “ A sneeze cuts him off. “I woke up, and I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, sorry,” Mobius says, and a tempting smile plays at his lips. “I went to the john,” he says, sheepish. “But - “ he holds up his other hand, which holds a styrofoam cup and a straw. “One of the healers stopped me outside your room. They want you to try to drink this.”

Loki narrows his eyes, “What is it?”

“A terribly-tasting smoothie, I’m sure,” Mobius retorts, shaking the cup back and forth. 

Loki shakes his head, frowning. “No - no, I’ll just throw up again.”

Mobius sighs. “Yeah, yeah - that’s possible, but you should try.” 

Loki moans, nausea already rising in his stomach. “I don’t need to eat like Midgardians do,” he argues.

Mobius lets out a long breath, irritated, but still smirking. “Okay, sure, but you are sick as a dog right now and recovering from a self-inflicted stab wound. Plus - when’s the last time you ate?”

Loki actually considers that for a moment. He hasn’t had a proper meal in, what - over a year? He hasn’t had anything to eat at all since - well, since the train on Lamentis-1. But Mobius has no idea any of that happened. He has no idea that all he’s ever done is save Loki over and over and over again. He sighs heavily.

“Fine,” he rasps. “Fine, I’ll try it.”

Mobius’ smirk expands into a toothy grin. He pulls his chair back up to Loki’s bed, so close that his knees dig into the side of the mattress. Part of Loki wants to forget about that chair altogether. If only he could move, he might scoot over and ask Mobius to join him. But this is probably for the better. Loki doesn’t need to get re-attached.

Careful not to poke him with the straw, Mobius holds the cup in front of Loki’s lips. Loki wants to do it himself - he really hates the level of vulnerability he’s being forced to experience - but his wrists are still chained to the sides of his bed, and he’s way too weak and shaky to feed himself anyway. He sips slowly, surprised when he can barely taste the smoothie. He sniffs, feeling how congested he is, and turns his head to cough slightly. 

“You okay?” Mobius asks.

“Fine,” Loki croaks. “I can’t taste it.”

“Probably for the best,” Mobius remarks. “I got shot a few years ago while on duty, and I was sucking these down for a week.” He shudders.

Loki pulls away to take a breath. He’s only had about an eighth of the smoothie, but it’s already settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He shakes his head, trembling from the chills that rack his body. The cold of the drink has only made them worse.

“Take it slower if you need,” Mobius says, voice so gentle that Loki barely hears him.

He hums, the end of it turning into a groan. “I think I need to stop,” Loki says, honestly. “I feel like I’m going to be sick again.”

Mobius nods, pulling the cup away. “Just rest for a minute. Take it easy.” He rubs his hand up and down Loki’s upper arm. “Just breathe, Loki.” He coughs immediately at that, and Mobius sighs, shaking his head. “You’ve really done a number on yourself.”

Loki rolls his eyes, but he harbors no animosity. 

“I’ve done worse,” he responds casually. 

Mobius frowns, pulling his hand back. “Loki?” he prods.

Loki looks at him lazily, his eyes exhausted. “What?”

“When - when you found Hunter B-15 and me in the library, what were you talking about?”

Loki feels his stomach bottom out. He has to close his eyes to keep the nausea at bay. “Mobius,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Why does that matter now?”

Mobius leans back, away from him. “I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

“What happened?” Loki repeats, meeting his gaze again. “You mean me? Why I tried to kill myself?”

Mobius holds his stare, his blue eyes nothing but sincere. “You involved me,” he says. “The least you can do is follow up.”

Loki swallows hard. More sobs are creeping their way up his already sore throat. He doesn’t have the energy to handle them. His eyes flicker away from Mobius’ face, down to his own torso - the thick layers of bandages, soaked through with dried blood. The stain is turning more brown with each passing minute. He doesn’t want to talk about this, especially when there’s nothing anyone can do to fix it. 

“Trust me,” Loki says, although he knows that it's an oxymoron. “It’s better if we don’t.”

Mobius narrows his eyes. “Don’t - what?”

Loki takes a deep, shaky breath. “Talk about this. I told you,” he rasps. “There’s nothing you can do to help me. It’s over.”

Mobius hangs his head in frustration. “Look, I know I’m not a healer, and you probably wouldn’t be honest with one anyway, but - “ He leans forward, looking desperately at Loki’s face. “Loki, something happened in those sixty seconds that made you give up. You came to me, looking for help, and - and what? What changed?” 

Loki doesn’t look at him; doesn’t say anything.

What could he possibly say? There is nothing that can be said that would change what happened. Sylvie killed He Who Remains - well, Remained, Loki supposes, but Mobius assuredly doesn’t even know who Sylvie is or was. This Mobius didn’t spend his entire life trying to track her down and make her face justice. This Mobius thinks Loki is an analyst for Gods’ sake. He isn’t the same Mobius who plucked Loki from the courtroom and forced him to face himself. He isn’t the same Mobius who let Loki tag along on his missions, who gave Loki a way to be good and promised him that he could change. 

When all is said and done, this Mobius means nothing to Loki, and Loki means nothing to him.

Two complete strangers in the multiverse, who only happen to be sitting together now because Loki reverted back to his old self, the self-destructive monster who doesn’t want to face any repercussions for his actions - the old, lonely, solitary Loki. 

“Please,” Loki says, voice shaking more than he expected. “I can’t talk about this.” 

Mobius nods, his endless understanding showing itself again. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I get it.” His hand returns to Loki’s forearm, his fingers trailing back and forth for a moment. “You don’t have to talk right now.” 

Loki nods, a few tears running down his cheeks. “Thank you,” he says.

.

Sleep doesn’t return easily. 

He’d been in a medically-induced coma for twelve hours, then slept about six more hours out of the next twelve. Despite how much his body actually needs rest, Loki hasn’t been able to get comfortable enough to drift off again. 

His fever has been climbing since he woke up, and he’s ready to cry over how awful he feels. He can barely breathe, his lungs rattling with every aching breath he inhales, which is constantly interrupted by coughs that consume all of his energy, coiling his lung and abdomen muscles without mercy. It feels like his entire body is just falling apart. 

God, he wishes he was dead.

Mobius notices when his temperature rises back up to a hundred and three, and then keeps going. While Loki lies in bed, small noises of distress escaping his throat every so often, Mobius wordlessly crosses the room to grab a washcloth and an ice pack.

When Mobius approaches Loki’s bed, he looks up through rheumy eyes and opens his dry, cracked lips. “How bad is it?” he asks, eyelids fluttering, voice nothing more than a wrecked mess. 

“Bad,” Mobius answers honestly. “Your temp is hovering just under one-oh-five Fahrenheit right now.” 

Loki nods, but it probably doesn’t register to Mobius. He’s been shaking from the chills for the better part of the last hour, unable to stop even for a few seconds. And understandably, they refuse to give him any more blankets. His breath hitches, and Loki curls in on himself as a coughing fit rips through him, tearing at his throat until he tastes blood. He moans, pressing his pounding head back to his pillows. 

“Shhh,” Mobius comforts him quietly. He wraps the ice pack with the wash cloth and lowers it gingerly to Loki’s forehead.

Loki winces when it makes contact, but then his expression eases. He sighs softly.

“There,” Mobius says, dabbing at the beads of sweat across his face. “Try to relax, Loki.”

He’s breathing in gasps now. It hurts to close his eyes, but it also hurts to keep them open. He isn’t sure how can still see if his eyes are burning like the sun. Tears trail down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fever, or if he’s crying. He is sad, that much is true, but he’s pretty sure he’s fully dissociating from the horror show that is his body now anyway. 

How many times is he going to have to try to die before it works? 

When he opens his eyes next, he doesn’t see Mobius. He doesn’t see the TVA. For a split second, he sees Frigga in all her glory, light emanating off her as she pulls from the seidr to heal him. He’s definitely hallucinating. Or dying. 

But his mother is in Valhalla, and if he’s going anywhere, it’s Hel.

Something cold touches his neck, and his breath catches in his throat, triggering a few rattling coughs. A sharp pain pierces his chest. He glances down, expecting another dagger, but there’s nothing there. When he lifts his head back up, Loki sees someone else above him. Red eyes lock on his own, a foul smile splitting blue lips.

“L-Laufey,” Loki chokes, but when he blinks, the Frost Giant is gone, replaced with someone even more horrifying. Loki hears his heavy breathing before he speaks, before the shadows give way to the purple skin of his face. Loki turns his head to the side, not even daring to look.

“Look at you,” Thanos says with a wide smile. “The Asgardian pretender. Runt of his Jotunn bloodline. Failure.”

Loki inhales quick, shaky breaths. 

“Do you know what happens to failures, Loki Laufeyson?” Thanos asks.

Loki trembles. “P - please,” he chokes out. He’s already in so much pain; what more can Thanos possibly do? But Loki already knows the answer, having been split apart by Thanos over and over again, a true master of torture. Sure, Loki learned how to be ruthless by watching Odin, but only Thanos taught him what true pain and terror feels like. 

The Titan chuckles, reaching one giant hand forward.

Loki lets out a whimper, contorting his face into a grimace.

If only Loki wasn’t a runt. If only he hadn’t spent his entire life hiding his Jotunn form, compressed under Odin’s magic, then undeniably tangled underneath his own glamours. He doesn’t even know if he could consciously change back anymore. 

But if he could only fight back - 

“Loki?” 

Thanos is gone, replaced by the blurry surroundings of the TVA infirmary. 

He groans, and a hand grabs one of his wrists - a human hand. As he flows in and out of consciousness, sweltering under the fever, he feels just the slightest twitch of a smirk on his face, thinking, I’m going to die after all .

Somewhere, outside of the fire that is currently his mind, Mobius speaks.

“Loki?” he asks desperately. “Loki, can you hear me?”

It’s all he can do to make a noise loud enough to be audible, but all that comes out is a small whine. 

“Is that a yes?” Mobius continues.

“Yes,” Loki’s voice crackles out, and he realizes that speaking is agony, pure agony. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

Loki wants to cry.  “TVA,” he forces.

“Do you know who I am?” 

At that, the fever halts. Clarity breaks through the haze and Loki immediately feels fresh tears again. He laughs. Or, he tries to laugh, but what comes out instead is just frantic wheezing. 

“Of course I know who you are, Mobius,” Loki grates out. “It’s you who doesn’t remember me .” An alarmingly violent cough rips through him, and he tastes blood again.

Mobius frowns, and he presses a cloth-wrapped ice pack to Loki’s cheek. Loki winces away.  

“That’s why I did this,” Loki whispers, a small sob coming through his lips, falling back into fevered delirium. “I couldn’t be alone again.”

He passes out, and it’s either the fever or the exhaustion, but probably both. Mobius moves the ice pack from Loki’s cheek to his forehead, an uneasiness settling in his stomach. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say when - and then he thinks, terrifyingly - if Loki wakes up again. 

.

Waking up is like wading through water. Loki knows he is drenched in sweat, but the fever still clings.  Deep, rattling coughs escape from his lungs as he opens his eyes to Mobius yet again. He’s looking through files, a fresh can of that terrible soda on the side table next to him.  

“Do you ever sleep?” Loki says, but it sounds like he’s swallowed nails. Nothing but an incoherent croak. 

Mobius looks at him with a wide smile. “Hey, welcome back. That fever had you for a minute.”

Loki doesn’t respond.  

Mobius sighs heavily. “I know it's not exactly your forte, but be honest with me - how are you feeling?”

Loki breathes heavily, lungs struggling. “Feel like Hel,” he mumbles. His stomach turns. He can’t say that he actually remembers any of his fever-induced haze earlier. He’s not even sure he’s awake right now.

“Your fever went down this morning, finally,” Mobius remarks, and Loki does not miss this emotion in his voice.

“Yeah?” Loki asks. “So, I’m not dying?” He chances a look at Mobius, who doesn’t find that very funny. He looks like a kicked dog. 

“No,” he says, with a small, breathless huff. “No, your wound - actually, it’s healing up now. Infection’s improving.” Mobius says all of it as clinically as possible, though the folksy swing to his voice is hard to temper.

Loki hums, closing his eyes again for a second. To put it lightly, he is fucking exhausted. The fever might have let up, but everything else still feels pretty much the same. Breathing is getting harder, and harder, and that’s likely due to the mucus he can feel filling up his lungs. His head is throbbing; it feels like his brain is beating a symphony against his skull. His throat is raw, soothed only by the post-nasal drip that keeps running down his esophagus, and yes, he still very much feels like he’s going to hurl at any moment.

“”M still sick,” he coughs, weakly.

Mobius makes a small noise of disapproval, but his voice is nothing if not nurturing when he speaks. “Yeah, you’re still really sick, Loki. You’re going to be here for a while.”

Loki groans. 

“Hey,” Mobius says, so soft it's almost inaudible. He steps the last few feet to Loki’s bed, hovering over him once again. He smiles, but it looks so, so sad. 

“Mmmm?” Loki asks, one eye open, one eye squeezed shut as he looks up at Mobius.

Instead of answering, Mobius wraps one of his hands gently around Loki’s right wrist. Slowly, he pulls it up, showing Loki his own hand. It takes him a second, and then Loki notices - the orange bracelets are gone.

Loki stares, disbelieving. “You uncuffed me?” he asks.

Mobius nods, letting go. Loki lets his hand fall to his stomach, resting over his bandages. 

“You trust me not to hurt myself?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or you?”

Mobius presses his lips together, shrugging. “Yes,” he answers simply.

Loki blinks, not at all used to being trusted like this. Mobius said it himself, all those (days? weeks? months?) ago: if all of this hadn’t happened, he would have been returned to a cell on Asgard, desperate to escape, destined to keep running, until what? He doesn’t know anymore. It’s suddenly overwhelming to realize that with the multiverse intact, Loki has more of a chance to change than he ever has before.  He feels tears pricking at his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, meeting Mobius' eyes with the most sincere look he can muster in this state.

Mobius nods again, offering a happier smile. “No problem, Loki.” He grabs a cup, bringing it into Loki’s field of vision. “Here, drink some water. You’re dehydrated.”

He can’t move, but Loki accepts the cup to his lips and drinks slowly. Mobius returns it to the side table when Loki is finished. Although Loki isn’t quite with it yet, eyelids fighting to stay closed, Mobius stays hovered over him, watching him as he reacts to all the pulsing pains throughout his body.

“I can feel you worrying,” Loki mutters, eyes still shut, and for the briefest flash of a second, he forgets who he’s talking to, given how many times he’s said that to Thor.

“Sorry,” Mobius says quickly. He turns around and grabs his chair, dragging it across the floor with a horrible screeching sound. Loki winces, turning his head and opening his eyes.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Loki rasps. “All I want to do anymore is sleep.”

Mobius nods, seemingly to himself. “Well, that’s good, because you need it.”

Loki sniffs thickly. “You freed me. If you trust me not to hurt myself, then why are you still here?” He coughs sharply into his shoulder. “I know you have real work you should be doing. Don’t your Minutemen expect you?”

Mobius shakes his head. “I told them not to expect me. They can handle it.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Can they?”

Mobius shrugs. “If I don’t trust my Minutemen, how can I go out into the field with them?”

Loki snorts, remembering the first briefing he had with Mobius’ team. “Would you trust me in the field?”

Mobius looks thoughtful for a moment. “How would I know? We’ve never worked together.”

The familiar lump sprouts once again in Loki’s throat. He’s tired. “Right. Of course.”

Mobius clears his throat. He shuffles his feet a little while Loki looks up at him. “Um - is there anything I can get you, Loki? Another pillow? Something to drink that isn’t water?”

Loki narrows his burning eyes. “Okay,” he croaks. “I know you’re a talented interrogator, but I’m the God of Lies; I know when someone is trying to keep something from me. What is going on? You’ve been behaving strangely since I woke up.”

Mobius forces an innocent smile. “What do you mean?” he says with a small laugh. 

“Why’d you really uncuff me?” Loki asks, and despite his voice being nothing but rasp, it still comes out authoritative. 

Mobius places his hands on his hips and stares him down for several seconds before sighing exasperatedly. “Fine,” he concedes. He lets one hand drop from his side, using it to gesture instead. “When your fever was at its worst, you admitted something to me - something which I already expected, but now I’m kind of at a loss without further information, so - “

Loki narrows his eyes again. If he weren’t sporting an impressive fever right now, his blood would be running cold. “What did I say?” he demands.

Mobius sighs, cocking his head and looking sideways at Loki, eyes absolutely forlorn. “You said you knew me, but I don’t remember you.”

A chill that has nothing to do with the illness runs through Loki, causing him to tremble. “Well,” he says shortly. “Seems I let the cat out of the bag.”

Both of Mobius’ hands drop to his pockets, his eyebrows shooting up his face. “Loki,” he says desperately. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Loki challenges. He realizes he’s angry; upset rolling through his insides, disagreeing with the pain and pestilence that’s already there. “You got an answer out of me - without my consent, I might add.”

Mobius snorts, all but rolling his eyes. “You had a temperature of over a hundred and five degrees, Loki - I didn’t make that happen; you did. And it was you who told me - no prompting, no questions.” 

Loki turns his head away from Mobius, looking down at the bed instead. “Fine. Yes. I know you. Or, or some variant of you, maybe. But you don’t know me, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it, so it’s pointless to keep discussing this.”

“It is not pointless,” Mobius argues, raising his voice. “This is what made you try to kill yourself.” At that, Loki whips his head back to stare at Mobius with a horrified expression. He opens his mouth to speak, but Mobius holds up a hand, talking over him. “Yeah, you also told me that. So, please, Loki - I’m begging here, let’s talk about it.”

Loki smiles sickly, that signature twisted grin appearing on his face. “If you read through my file, then you know I don’t really like talking about my emotions.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Mobius snaps back. “You love to talk about yourself - especially your feelings. You want anyone and everyone to know how tragically sad you are.” 

Loki stiffens at that. “Oh, fuck you,” he spits, before launching into a coughing fit. Mobius grabs the cup of water again, all visible anger seeping from his body, but Loki pushes him away.

“Loki,” Mobius sighs. “You’re ill - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - we shouldn’t be fighting right now.” 

When he’s finished, Loki shifts his weight around, groaning. “You’re the one who started asking questions,” he grits through his teeth. A shiver wracks his body, and he makes a sound of frustration. His head is spinning from the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Mobius repeats. “We - we can talk about this another time.”

Loki opens his mouth, but only more, violent coughs come out.

“I’ll see if the healers have anything for your cough,” Mobius says quietly, before ducking his head and turning to leave the room.

“Wait - “ Loki chokes out.

Mobius halts and turns back around. “Yes?”

“I - I don’t need anything,” Loki rasps. “Just - just stay here, Mobius.”

Slowly, a small smile works its way onto Mobius’ face. Loki ignores it, ignores the yearning feeling in his aching chest. 

“Of course I will,” Mobius says, retracing the steps back to Loki’s bed. Tentatively, he reaches out, running his fingers through Loki’s hair, hand coming to rest on Loki’s jaw. His small smile is sad again. Loki keens slightly, nuzzling Mobius’s palm, though he actually barely moves. “I’m not going anywhere,” Mobius says, voice barely above a whisper.

Loki nods. “Thank you,” he says again, but he’s not sure what for.

Everything, he supposes, as he drifts off again. 

.

While Loki sleeps, Mobius takes the opportunity to do some research. One of the healers had given Loki a sleep aid, hoping that he’ll get more than just a few Earth hours this time. The more energy he seems to exert, the worse his fever gets, and after their spat, Mobius thinks it’s best he leave Loki alone for a while. Hopefully, he won’t wake anyway. 

(He doesn’t think too hard about Loki asking him to stay. Not when he’s made up his mind to help.)

He hunkers down in some corner of the library, books and files on the history of the TVA spread around him. He has a high level of clearance, but not high enough to get the information he really wants; he’ll just have to start with what he has.

He’s deep into a book about the mechanics of variants and variation when someone approaches him. Hunter B-15’s voice comes from somewhere to the right, and he’s startled, slamming the book shut - which probably isn’t smart; now he’s lost his place.

“Mobius,” Hunter B-15 greets him.

“H - Hi,” Mobius stutters. “I was just, uh - “ he trails off awkwardly.

Hunter B-15 eyes him suspiciously. “Doing research?” she offers. 

“Yes,” Mobius says with a fake smile. “Research.”

“For our case?” B-15 asks, but the hostility in her voice suggests she already knows the answer. Mobius doesn’t speak, which confirms her suspicions. “Mobius,” she continues seriously. “It’s been a week.”

He blinks. Had it been? He’ll never be used to the way time works in the TVA. He’s almost certain a week in the TVA is not the same as a week on Earth or a week on Asgard. Every mission fucks with his perception further. He has the luxury to take time off, to pick and choose what he does, but the Minutemen don’t; which makes him wonder just how different their perceptions are, and whether or not it affects the job.

“B-15,” Mobius starts, eyes trailing over the cover of the book he just closed. “Have you ever met a variant of yourself?”

She stares at him, eyebrows furrowed, frowning. “No, that’s - that’s crazy, Mobius. There are no variants of us; we’re TVA agents. We work for time itself.”

“I - I know,” Mobius says hurriedly as Hunter B-15 shifts her weight and crosses her arms, watching him worriedly. “It’s just - there are infinite timelines, right? Why shouldn’t there be an infinite amount of us, all working to detangle them together?”

Hunter B-15 shakes her head slowly, slightly, looking at him sadly. “Is Loki giving you these ideas, sir? You - you know that Kang is the one who created us - “

“But I’ve never met him,” Mobius points out. “Have you?”

The expression on Hunter B-15’s face changes from concern to confusion. “No, I - I haven’t, but what does that - “

“Just think about it for a second, B,” Mobius says. He picks up the book he was reading. “I was looking into the creation of variants and variations of the timelines, and - and there’s nothing. Everywhere I look, there’s nothing.”

“What do you mean?” B-15 asks. 

Mobius flips the pages, stopping when he reaches a diagram in the fifth chapter. “I mean - there are no answers, B. Everything I’ve looked over today, or maybe longer, I don’t know - everything starts with the entanglement of timelines. It says nothing about how we got here. And, the TVA - we never make any real changes do we? It’s just one coverup after another - we detangle our timeline from the others and what? It doesn’t matter what happens to the rest of them? Whose out their detangling the other timelines from each other? Why is our timeline special?”

“Mobius - “

“Think about it - we’re not! We’re just one version of one cog in the endless machine, B - “

“Mobius,” she says pointedly, grabbing his wrist. 

“What?” he asks, frustrated.

“I think you need some time off,” B-15 says slowly. “I’m going to call Renslayer - “

“No, no, no, no, no,” Mobius says hurriedly. He frees himself from her grip and deposits the book back on the table. “Listen - I am not losing it, B-15. I am just getting started.”

Fear crosses her face momentarily. “That sounds like a threat, Mobius.”

“No,” he sighs, and he lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, not even bothered by the way she towers over him, defensive. “I’m not posing a threat, I just - “ he frowns, thinking for a second. “You’re the best Minuteman I’ve got, B-15, and I trust you.”

She nods, still looking at him with a mixture of pity and worry. 

“And you’re smarter than the rest,” he adds with a small shrug. “I need you on my side.”

“Your side?” she asks.  “What exactly is ‘your side’, Mobius? The more you tell me, the more I think we need to cuff or perhaps collar you, and I don’t want that, Mobius.”

He hangs his head, sighs heavily, and then looks up again. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence, B-15, and I think we need to hear Loki out. He didn’t show up in front of us and execute something like that just for fun - and, he’s not crazy.”

“He’s not,” B-15 repeats, raising an eyebrow. “The man who rushed up to us spouting nonsense and then stabbed himself in the stomach with a dagger isn’t crazy?”

“No,” Mobius says firmly. “He’s traumatized. And I think we need to concern ourselves with whatever it is he was trying to say.”

B-15 stares him down. “You’re absolutely sure you’re not losing your mind?”

“I don’t believe I am, no,” Mobius replies, a bit too casual, but B-15 softens anyway, uncrossing her arms. 

“Alright,” B-15 says, defeated. “Tell me what you know.”

“Well,” Mobius says, clicking his tongue. “That’s the problem - I don’t know all that much. I need answers. From Loki.”

B-15 nods. “I can back you up, but you know my bedside manner is. . . lacking, to say the least.”

Mobius claps her shoulder. “All I need to know is that you trust me.”

B-15 laughs dryly. “For some reason, I do.”

Mobius smiles, unsure, and looks back at the messy table behind him. “Well,” he sighs. “I should probably clean all this up before one of the librarians strangles me. Then we can head to Loki’s infirmary room.”

B-15 hums. “What do you want me to do about the other Minutemen, sir? Do you want anyone else’s help?”

Mobius shakes his head. “No. Just you. Tell everyone else I’m assigning you to a special project. Delegate the work on this case to Hunter D-60.”

B-15 nods. “Yes, sir. I’ll head to the infirmary when I’m finished.”

Mobius catches her by the elbow. “Thank you, B-15,” he says, seriously.

She smiles, sincerely. “I’m just looking out for you, Mobius. The same as you would for any of us.”

Mobius watches her walk away, wondering what she really thinks of Loki, and what she assumes Mobius sees in him. She seems to have a certain hostility toward their unknown analyst, and Mobius can’t help but think another version of her harbors strong feelings against him, but there’s also a softness he can’t explain. Maybe it’s just Loki. He brings out strange emotions in everyone he meets.

.

Loki wakes with a start, absolutely drenched in sweat and his heart and head pounding in time together. The congestion in his sinuses has fully solidified in place and he can’t breathe through his nose at all. His mouth and throat feel like they’re full of steel wool, and he heaves deep, shaky breaths, no doubt terrified by the dream he can’t remember. He coughs until his lungs burn. 

“Here,” Mobius' voice says, and Loki turns to his left to find Mobius handing him the glass of water. He takes it, both arms shaking as he pulls it to his mouth. He tries to sip, but ends up spilling most of the water on his neck and chest. 

Mobius reaches out tentatively. “Let - Loki, let me help.”

Loki gives in, allowing Mobius to pluck the cup from his grip and hold it steady. Loki drinks greedily until the feeling of sand on his tongue and throat goes away. 

“Thank you,” he gasps, collapsing against his pillows again. 

“Bad dream?” Mobius asks.

Loki nods. “I don’t remember, I just - “ 

“Probably for the better,” Mobius remarks. “It must have been bad to scare you awake like that.”

Loki watches him tiredly. Mobius glances at the screen of his vitals. “Your fever’s going down.”

“Then why am I still so hot?” Loki grumbles. 

“Because it’s still over thirty-nine degrees Celsius,” Mobius responds. 

“And it’s going down?” Loki asks, disbelievingly. 

“Slow but steady,” Mobius confirms. “You might just walk out of here, after all.”

Loki looks at him, but he doesn’t have the energy to scrunch his face in confusion. “What do you mean? You’re just going to let me go?”

Mobius falters, taking a miniscule step backward, away from Loki’s bedside. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Loki makes a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know,” he croaks. “I’m not - not used to getting along with people. I - I just - “

“Assume everything is a trap, a plot, an evil scheme?” Mobius asks, with a hint of a smirk.

Loki looks at him seriously. “Yes. You don’t grow up with my family and not learn to believe everyone has ulterior motives. I thought I knew yours; now I don’t.”

Mobius goes quiet, and Loki heaves a deep breath. His lungs crackle; and Mobius frowns at the noise. Loki whines, pain obvious. 

“What if I said I don’t have any ulterior motives?” Mobius says, oddly quiet. “What if I said I just - well, I just want you to be okay?”

Loki feels the hollowness inside as if he’s just freshly been carved out. The unknowing echo of those words throws him a hundred and eighty degrees into a spiral. He peers into the face of this Mobius who won’t ever love him the way he wants, and he feels the tears quickly seep from his eyes. He’s sobbing before he can even understand what his body is doing. Mobius approaches him, but doesn’t touch him without consent. Loki doesn’t object, so Mobius places one hand on his back and one on his forearm, holding him steady while he dissolves into a mess of tears and snot. Eventually, the force of the sobs irritates his throat, then his lungs, and he’s left coughing, gasping for breath so desperately that Mobius’ eyes widen in terror. Loki pushes him unceremoniously out of the way and vomits on the floor once again. Smaller, wet coughs follow until he’s caught his breath again, and he’s too exhausted to keep weeping. He curls up on his side, shaking, and cries silently against the pillow. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Just stop - “

“Stop what?” Mobius asks, horrified. 

“Stop being nice to me.” 

The words escape Loki’s lips like poison. Mobius stands there, stunned, in silence, scrambling for something - anything - to say, but everything falls flat. He bites his tongue for the moment, and asks, “Loki, can I touch you?”

Loki doesn’t answer. He’s trembling, eyes closed, as if he’s trying to convince himself he’s anywhere else. He’s at home - though he doesn’t know where that is anymore - and Frigga is there. He pictures her face, and it only makes him sadder. He imagines Thor, but the pang of their last encounter doesn’t ease Loki’s mind at all.

“Loki,” Mobius tries. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes crack open. “Mobius,” he begins, but can’t bring himself to finish. Mobius interrupts him anyway. 

“Loki, I’m sorry that your family treated you the way they did. I’m sorry you’ve lost them. You’ve lost so much - I just - I hope that you let me continue to help you. You deserve to walk out of here and find whatever peace you can.”

Loki shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “No, I don’t. And I can’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Harsh coughs rip through his body, causing him to tremble even more. “Please, Mobius - “

“Loki?” Mobius asks, cocking his head. His eyes are wide, wet, and pleading. “You don’t think you deserve to live?”

Loki coughs again, wrapping his arms more tightly around himself, as if he’s trying to hold himself together. “It’s never been my choice,” he rasps.

“That’s bullshit,” Mobius says, but there’s no anger in his voice. “You always have a choice, Loki.”

At that, Loki feels another break in his sanity. He laughs dryly to himself a few times, coughs, then continues laughing until he’s absolutely hysterical.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve died and been brought back,” he chokes out. “Even - even when I throw myself off a bridge, or - or stab myself - I always have to live, Mobius. It’s my punishment. Mischievous old Loki, always alone, always alive - in some way.”

The tears start coming faster, and Loki is quickly gasping again, trying to fight off the sobs. Mobius doesn’t wait for an answer this time. He reaches out and grabs either side of Loki’s face with his hands. He forces Loki to meet his eyes. 

“Loki, listen to me, please ,” he begs. “Death has never been the answer. You might not believe it, but you deserve good things. You can leave this place - you can find somewhere to go - to - to Asgard, or - or Earth. Wherever. You can see Thor again. You can do these things; you just have to want them enough, and fight for them.”

Loki smiles, and it’s twisted, not at all happy. “I can never have what I want, Mobius. And if you’ve read my file, then you know that. You know that my father was right. My birthright is to die, over and over and over again, always resurrected for the next one. There’s nothing but this,” he hisses, gesturing to his wound. “Do you really think it’s so absurd for me to want it to end even though I know it won’t?”

“No,” Mobius says instantly. He rubs one of his thumbs back and forth across Loki’s flushed and flaming cheek. “No, I don’t think it’s absurd. I just think you need to talk to me, and let me help you, Loki.”

He closes his eyes, sighing heavily. “I’ve already told you, Mobius - you can’t help.”

“You haven’t even told me everything,” Mobius says, looking into Loki’s eyes, desperate. They’re still glazed over, still distant and dark. “Tell me what happened before you found me, and I will do everything in my power - “

Loki interrupts him with a small sob, tears overflowing. Mobius wipes them gently away.

“Please, Loki,” he breathes. His eyes move around every corner of Loki’s face, frantically hoping that something will change.

“I can tell you,” Loki croaks, eyes dead. “I can tell you everything, but there’s nothing you’ll be able to do, even if you believe me. Which you won’t.” 

“You haven’t even given me a chance,” Mobius whispers. “Try me, Loki. You say you know me, and you think - what? I’m going to give up if something seems too hard. Does that sound like me?”

Loki sits with that for a second.

His own Mobius spent who knows how long tracking Sylvie - from her childhood until now. That’s hundreds of Asgardian years. And Loki has to admit that despite everything, despite all of the atrocities he committed in his life, despite the fact that Loki tried to betray him too - more than once -, he never gave up. Mobius never stopped fighting for him. He stuck his neck out again and again because he believed in Loki so strongly. Out of everyone that ever entered Loki’s life, Mobius was the only one who told him he could change, and meant it. 

“No,” he answers honestly. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Will you talk to me, then?” Mobius asks.

Loki nods, hiccupping. “I will, but - “

“Not right now,” Mobius agrees, dropping one hand from Loki’s face. The other stays, and Loki leans into his palm just slightly. “No. Right now, you need more painkillers, I’m guessing, and the healers have suggested you try another smoothie.”

“Painkillers sound delightful,” Loki coughs out. “Smoothie, not so much.”

Mobius smiles, half sad, half genuine happiness. “Just try,” he pushes, and Loki rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he concedes. “But painkillers first.”

For a brief fraction of a second, Loki wonders if Mobius is going to kiss him. The affection on his face is certainly something Loki has never been used to; seen only on his own Mobius, but the moment passes. Mobius pulls his other hand back, away from Loki, who has to stop himself from whining at the disappearance of his calloused but cool fingers.

“I’ll be back with a healer,” he says quietly before turning and walking out the door.

One last surge of tears rushes behind Loki’s eyes, and he blinks them rapidly away.

.

Loki has just finished drinking the smoothie when Hunter B-15 enters his room. He starts, the last several sips coming halfway back up. If nothing had changed, he’d still be afraid of her, but he tries not to let his apprehension show as Mobius looks up to greet her. He smiles, which calms some of the anxiety in Loki’s chest.

“Hey, B,” Mobius says, and she nods curtly. “Uh, Loki - “ Mobius says, turning around to face him. “This is Hunter B-15, as I think you know.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “Hello,” he says icily. 

“Don’t be alarmed,” Mobius says, which isn’t really helpful, because Loki immediately raises his eyebrows in question, panic flooding his body. “But since you approached the two of us, I’ve asked B-15 for backup.”

“Backup?” Loki questions, narrowing his eyes.

“For both of us,” Mobius clarifies.

Loki isn’t entirely convinced. He looks between the two of them. “Us?” he repeats.

Mobius sighs then gestures for B-15 to come farther into the room, next to Mobius himself.

Loki watches her move, swiftly and without hesitation. Just like she was before; all business. Loki suspects this version of her has no questions about her place in the universe, unbothered like she was before Sylvie showed her memories from Earth.

“Why is this necessary?” Loki asks, not taking his eyes off either of them. “I thought you were going to let me go.”

“I am,” Mobius says, and the look of utter perplexity on his face is enough to stop Loki’s  accelerating heart rate.

Loki nods slowly. “So - uh, Hunter B-15, you - you’re not here to - “ Loki doesn’t know how to phrase what he’s asking delicately, and he has yet to see anyone get pruned in this TVA. 

She simply narrows her eyes, looking to Mobius for guidance.

“No one’s here to hurt you,” Mobius says, in that tone of voice that indicates he’s getting a little exasperated. He’s never lied in that tone of voice before. It’s the voice he uses when he’s tired of Loki’s distrust. 

“O - okay,” Loki says, peeling his eyes away from B-15.

“I told you - I want to help,” Mobius continues. “You approached the two of us. You interrupted B-15’s report. Tell us what happened.”

Loki hesitates, so B-15 speaks.

“Loki,” she says, “May I call you that?”

“It’s my name,” he says, but there’s surprisingly a lack of venom in his voice.

“Alright,” she continues easily. “Loki, I am not a healer, and I won’t pretend to be. I’m here because Mobius asked me to be here. To protect the two of you.”

Mobius smiles. “And two heads are better than one,” he says. 

“So,” Loki says, blinking, the gears in his head turning. He’s still fevered, which isn’t helping much with the confusion. “The two of you are here to help me? How?”

Mobius shrugs. “I don’t know, Loki, because you haven’t told me much, yet. But you’ve got me, and you’ve got the best hunter on my team. You came to us before - even if we don’t have memories of you, I’m going to assume we’re still your best shot.”

Loki closes his eyes out of frustration. His voice grates against his sore throat, and it gets sharper the more he speaks. “I - appreciate it,” he says thickly. “However, I think you two are vastly unprepared for what you’re up against. You simply have - no idea.”

Mobius sighs, looking from Loki’s face, then back to B-15. “If you would stop being cryptic for two seconds and tell us something useful, then we might have an idea.”

Loki scowls, sniffling. “Okay,” he huffs, rolling his eyes a little. 

He thinks about where to start, and realizes he doesn’t exactly know how to communicate what he’s been through since New York. Sylvie changed the makeup of the universe to a multiverse. He looks between Mobius and B-15 and wonders exactly who they are. They could be variants, although Loki knows they already were. Their former selves were people from Midgard - how could there be more variants that are TVA agents? But the other option is worse, Loki thinks, because that would mean these two are the same people Loki left behind, their memories permanently altered to never remember him. 

He decides to just start at the beginning.

“I was pulled from my timeline,” he starts. “By you.” He gives a dry smirk at B-15. “You punched me in the face and fitted me with one of those lovely time displacement collars. Then you dragged me to the TVA, stripped me, put me in a stupid jumpsuit, and put me on trial - well, your mechanized system did all of that.”

“Trial?” Mobius repeats.

“That’s where you found me,” Loki continues, taking his eyes off of B-15 and looking at Mobius. His throat tightens, emotion swirling in his chest. “Renslayer,” he says the name with a slight snarl, “was going to prune me, but you requested that I help you with a case.”

Mobius looks thoroughly confused. “So - Ravonna made you an analyst?” he says.

“No,” Loki croaks. “I was still a prisoner.”

“What was the crime?” Mobius asks, and it's exactly this kind of response that makes Loki so exhausted. A small whiny moan escapes him.

“There was only one timeline - the Sacred Timeline,” Loki sneers. “I stepped off of it, and that was it.”

“One timeline?” Mobius asks, incredulous. “But, there’s an infinite amount - “

“Not then,” Loki interrupts. “That’s where this story is going, Mobius. It’s - it’s my fault there are infinite timelines. I - I couldn’t stop her from killing him - “ He’s starting to feel the hysteria creep back into his veins as images of their fight play through his mind. Mobius reaches out a hand to steady him, gripping his upper arm firmly. 

“Loki,” Mobius says. “Take a breath.”

He does, which, predictably, sends him into a coughing fit. Mobius rubs circles in his back while he struggles for air, continuing for a minute or so even after Loki has regained control of his lungs. 

“You’re going to need to back up again,” Mobius says gently. “The case I was working on - why did I need you?” 

A sharp pain (that could very well be the pneumonia, but probably isn’t) goes through Loki’s chest. “You were hunting another criminal,” he rasps out. “A variant of me. She named herself ‘Sylvie’,” he adds, his voice cracking severely. Mobius still hasn’t taken his hand off of Loki’s back, and he appreciates the grounding touch. “She wanted to get to the bottom of the TVA, find out who was really in charge - “

“You mean Kang?” Mobius says, raising an eyebrow.

“Kang?” Loki repeats. “Is that the man whose statue - “ His eyes are getting wild again, and he’s shaking like a leaf.

“Loki?” Mobius asks. He rubs his hand in a circular motion again, bringing Loki to the present moment

“That’s - that’s him then?” Loki asks. “You know him as ‘Kang?’”

“Well, that’s what he calls himself, yeah.” Mobius says. He looks closely at Loki’s face. “Is - is that who you were talking about? When you found us in the library?”

Loki nods, still trembling. “He’s not whoever you think he is, Mobius. He is dangerous .” 

Mobius looks just short of alarmed now. He glances back at Hunter B-15, who checks over her shoulder and checks the door, joining them once the room is secure.

“You can tell us,” Mobius says. 

Loki glances at him apprehensively. He knows he probably looks just as terrified as he did the moment before he grabbed his dagger. Now that they’re talking, Loki’s mind is racing a million miles a minute. “Kang” - the Conqueror, is in charge here. Loki can’t possibly announce his presence, not after their first meeting.

“I - “ Loki starts, looking frantically between the two of them. “How do I know I can trust you? If - if this man is your boss - “

Mobius frowns. “I wouldn’t call him that. And to tell you the truth, none of us have ever met him. He’s more of a legendary figure than a real person. How often do you interact with the people who have giant statues erected in their honor?”

Loki blinks. “On Asgard? Frequently.”

Mobius gives him an exasperated look. “Well, we all know Asgard is a bit different from other realms.” 

Loki decides not to take that personally. He still doesn’t speak, waiting for more reassurance.

Hunter B-15 chimes in. “Kang may have created us, but I have my doubts that he really oversees us.” 

Given the way B-15 was treated by Renslayer after they discovered the Time Keepers weren’t real, this small admission of doubt is enough to temper Loki’s uncertainty. He nods. 

“You both say you haven’t met him, but I did. And Sylvie killed him - well, I didn’t see, but I assume she did.”

Mobius and Hunter B-15 exchange a look. 

“Hold on,” Mobius says, backtracking. “Sylvie - “

“Who you spent your entire career hunting,” Loki interjects.

Mobius blinks. “Right. And she’s a Loki variant?”

“Precisely.”

“And she killed Kang?” 

“Yes,” Loki answers, then clarifies, “But there’s a catch.”

Mobius settles his hand on the back of Loki’s shoulder. Loki closes his eyes and focuses on it for a few seconds.

“When we met him, he was the only one. He had killed all of his other variants in what he described as a ‘multiversal war’, which is why he created the TVA in the first place, to preserve one timeline over the others and avoid future wars.”

Mobius turns his head slowly, looking at Hunter B-15 with a fear similar to the one Loki feels coursing rapidly through his own body. 

“So when your variant killed him - ?” Mobius prods, but all three of them already know the answer.

“She resurrected all of his variants. And their timelines.” 

Mobius runs his free hand across his chin. “Well,” he says. “I can understand why you were so panicked now.”

B-15 turns to him. “You knew,” she says, with a noise of disbelief. “You knew there were other TVAs, other variants of us.” She looks at Loki, “But - how?”

“Wait,” Loki says, ignoring the increasing pounding in his head. “Variants of you - but you’re already variants?” He tries to sit up more fully, but the resulting pain in his abdomen almost makes him pass out. He sinks against the pillows again, the blood draining from his face. “You,” he winces. “At least - that’s what we found out. Variants from Midgard.”

“Yeah,” Mobius says, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “We thought that too.”

“So, there are other variants of us that are TVA agents?” Hunter B-15 asks, thoroughly confused. “I - I thought Mobius was out of his mind - “

He turns back to look at her, frowning. “I don’t just pull theories from nowhere, B-15. I do my research.”

Loki hisses in pain, forcing the attention from the two of them.

Mobius clears his throat, rubbing his hand up and down Loki’s upper arm. “Thank you, Loki,” he says, voice low. “You’ve given us a lot of information to work with.”

“I’d like to rest now,” Loki forces out.

Mobius withdraws his hand, allowing Loki to lay back down completely. He moans in discomfort.

“Rest,” Mobius agrees. “That conversation took a lot out of you.”

Loki watches his eyes move from Loki’s face to the screen behind him, checking Loki’s vitals.

“Your fever’s going back up,” Mobius says with disapproval. 

Loki can’t tell the difference anymore. He’s hot and achy, and that’s all he can register at this point. His tired eyes meet Mobius’ worried gaze. “Are you going to leave?” he asks, and he thinks about the first time he asked this amnesiac Mobius that question. The answer is the same.

“Maybe,” he remarks with a small smile. “Only once you fall asleep. I need to return to the library.”

Loki nods briefly, letting his eyelids flutter shut. He dozes off again with the feeling of Mobius’ hand on his arm. 

.

Hunter B-15 is no longer in the room when Loki wakes up again. Mobius is in the same spot as always, but he’s now surrounded by a mountain of books, files, and other artifacts. The book he’s currently holding has an impressive lock on it, hanging open. The front cover includes an insignia that looks vaguely familiar to Loki’s sleepy mind.

“That looks . . . interesting,” he croaks out, and Mobius starts a little.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he says with a chuckle. He closes the book and holds it up. “Are you talking about this, because it is.”  He leans forward, and whispers the following, “Between you and I, I’m not supposed to be looking at this. But what Ravonna doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Loki blinks, astounded. “Are you telling me that you stole something out of Renslayer’s office?”

Mobius opens the book again. “Yeah, shout that to the world,” he says.

Loki actually huffs a laugh at that; he couldn’t shout even if he tried. He’s surprised Mobius could make out all of those words given how gravelly his voice is post-sleep. He watches Mobius read for a minute, admiring the crinkle of his eyebrows, the squinted eyes, and the hard line of his mouth. 

“Have you found anything?” he asks. 

Mobius purses his lips. “I don’t think so.” He flips a page. “I’ll let you know when I do.” 

Loki shifts his weight, testing the limits of his body, and is not at all surprised to find that movement is still torture. He pulls in air through his teeth as the wound in his abdomen twinges, forcing him still.

“Mobius?”

He looks up from the book, a bit surprised. “Yes?”

Loki glances around, eyes landing on the water sitting next to another one of Mobius’ cans of soda. He hesitates. “Would - would you help me drink?” he asks, trying not to sound too defeated. He’s not upset with Mobius, just upset that he still can’t do something as simple as drink water by himself.

Thankfully, Mobius is the kind of person to not make a big deal out of it. He closes his book and sets it aside before grabbing the water. They’ve gone through these motions several times already, but for some reason, Loki feels less reassured than he has before.

“Where did B-15 go?” he asks, eyes on the closed door.

Mobius sets the glass back down with a small clink against the table. “She’s running a few scouting missions,” he replies nonchalantly.

“By herself?” Loki asks.

Mobius nods, meeting his eyes. “I told you she was the best. She’ll be fine. She’ll call for backup if she needs - “ Loki immediately feels a swell of anxiety, and Mobius must see it on his face because he says, “ - while still keeping everything between the three of us.”

The urge to continue protesting is strong, but Loki supposes he has to extend his trust to Mobius again at some point. Maybe he doesn’t have the same memories anymore, but he’s still spent all of his time and energy trying to save Loki, and that has to be enough. 

“Hey,” Mobius says, leaning close to him again. “Do you think you could eat?”

Loki frowns. “Another one of those awful smoothies, or real food?”

“Either,” Mobius answers. 

Loki considers it. “Neither,” he decides.

Mobius hangs his head in defeat for a second, then looks back up with a tired, pleading expression. “Okay. We’ll shelf that for now. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Loki only moans at first. He closes his eyes with a sigh. “Bad,” he settles on.

“Well, I appreciate the honesty,” Mobius says. “But maybe you could be a bit more detailed?”

Loki stares at him with a deadpan expression for a solid thirty seconds. 

Mobius concedes, holding up one of his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll uh - ask some questions then. How’s the suicide wound?”

A small irritated noise comes from Loki before he uses his words. “Feels like I stabbed myself with a dagger.”

Mobius fully folds over at that, chuckling quietly even though he clearly doesn’t find any of this funny. “Okay,” he says, lifting his head and grinning at Loki uncontrollably. “Nevermind, then. Just let me know when you need more painkillers or whatever. You’re officially off suicide watch, by the way, so there’s no longer a healer outside.”

Loki blinks. “There was a healer outside the door?” he asks. “For the past - “ He attempts to trace time back, but it worsens his headache.

“Ever seen a two-way mirror?” Mobius asks, pointing across the room. Loki had never looked really closely at the panel of glass situated on the far wall, facing his bed.

He sniffles, then mutters, “Impressive. I had no idea.”

Mobius clicks his tongue. “That’s the point.” He watches as Loki twists his neck back and forth; he’s so stiff and sore. 

“Loki?”

His voice is quiet, almost shaky, and Loki feels a pang of alarm as he looks at Mobius. “Yes?” he croaks. 

“What was our relationship?”

The question takes Loki completely by surprise. His chest swells with emotion, and he swallows hard, brain short-circuiting.

“What - what do you mean?”

Mobius looks away, not meeting his eyes. “What were we to each other? In - in your past, I mean.”

Loki heaves a deep, rattling breath. A cough bubbles through, but he forces his body to regain control as quickly as possible. He blinks, those precious (days? weeks? months?) playing back in his mind. He remembers Mobius offering his hand, Loki having fallen hard on the ground, all of his bones and muscles throbbing, the pain so intense he could barely breathe. He remembers the uncertainty he felt taking Mobius’ hand, allowing himself to be dragged back up. He thinks about his own moment of zealous overconfidence, his hands coming up to grab Mobius by the tie, then straightening it roughly, Mobius going slightly limp underneath his fingers, grinning and blushing, but not pulling himself away. He remembers watching Mobius be pruned, Renslayer looking on with that regal apathy, while he felt his entire world crash down again. He remembers finding Mobius in the Void, his chest bursting with hope he rarely ever felt, and their subsequent splitting up. Mobius, despite his affectionate nature, had offered Loki a handshake, knowing his aversion to touch. Loki had been so overwhelmed by the simple act of respect that any reserve he felt disappeared, and tentatively, then maybe too eagerly, he had pulled Mobius into a tight, tender embrace, face tucked into his neck, fingers involuntarily stroking Mobius’ back. 

Thank you, my friend .

It was probably the only time he’d ever genuinely meant those words. 

He’d been so blinded by Sylvie’s rage and bloodlust.

“We were friends,” he says at last, aware of the hot, stinging tears filling his eyes. He blinks rapidly against them, but it's fruitless.

Mobius watches his face carefully, eyes sad and forehead creased with concern. 

Loki clears his throat and continues, “You told me I could change,” he says, and he can’t help the small, dry laugh that escapes his throat, causing him to cough a few times. “You’re the only person who ever believed I could. Not even my brother believed in me, though he tried. I - I didn’t understand then why you kept sticking your neck out for me, and I guess I still don’t, but - “ he sighs heavily. “Maybe I’m starting to understand.” 

Mobius presses his lips together. His own eyes are wet, brimming with unspoken emotion.

Loki coughs harshly into his shoulder, body trembling with the effort afterward. 

“When I approached you in the library, and - and you didn’t recognize me, I thought I was completely alone in the world again. What was the point, you know?”

Mobius nods. “I understand, Loki. Thank you for telling me.”

He heaves a deep, rapid and shaky breath, trying to stop the sobs he can feel coming. He doesn’t have the energy, and he thinks his torso might explode with the effort this time. All the injuries he’s accumulated to his organs are really starting to catch up to him. He can’t afford to exert himself anymore. 

Abruptly, Mobius stands up. Loki watches him with slight apprehension. 

“Why don’t I get a healer?” he suggests. “They can give you something to help you relax.”

Loki nods a little. “Yeah,” he agrees, sniffling. “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

Mobius disappears out of the door, and for the first time since he arrived here, he’s a bit relieved to be alone. He doesn’t want this Mobius to watch him cry right now, mourning everything he was too stupid and scared to pursue, convinced a relationship with himself was the only thing he could ever make work. He was too afraid to love the Mobius who knew him better than he knows himself, and now he’s lost his chance.

.

The drugs have long worn off, allowing Loki’s anxiety to creep slowly back in. He’d forced down another smoothie, failing to win the argument with a healer once Mobius backed her up, and it isn’t settling as well as he’d hoped. He’s still sweating out the fever and coughing desperately to clear his lungs. To put it simply, he is very much feeling miserable.

He lets out a small, involuntary groan.

Next to him, Mobius looks up. Hunter B-15 still hasn’t returned from her scouting missions, and although Mobius is clearly pretending to read, Loki knows he hasn’t taken in a word in the last hour. He keeps checking his TemPad every few minutes. Defeated, he closes the file he’s been poring over and clears his throat.

“Do you want me to find you something to read?” he asks, and Loki is slightly startled.

He thinks about it, but only a few seconds pass with his chest burning and his head throbbing, and he decides no - despite the boredom, reading will just make him feel worse. “No,” he says quietly. “No thank you, Mobius.” 

He nods. “If you change your mind, just let me know.” 

Loki sighs, and his breath catches in his throat. With a noise crossed between a whine and growl, Loki is thrown into a coughing fit, white-knuckling the sheets until he can breathe again. Mobius frowns deeply, wordlessly helping him take another few drinks of water.

As Mobius pulls away, Loki mutters quietly, “Am I ever going to get better?”

He doesn’t know whether he’s talking about the pneumonia, his addled mind, or his personality, and neither does Mobius; he comforts Loki anyway.

“You need proper rest,” he says, standing up. He readjusts the blankets over Loki’s legs, untangling them. “I can ask the healers to give you that medicine for dreamless sleep again.”

Loki appreciates that he doesn’t say anything else, knowing that he’s no doubt subjected Mobius to witnessing his nightmares and night terrors, whether or not they wake him up or simply force him to thrash around. He knows he should take Mobius up on that offer, but it feels like a stupid indulgence, so he shakes his head. 

“I’m not sleepy.”

Mobius gives a half-smile. “You’ve done a lot today. You’ve talked to me, had some food, and oh, yeah - you still have a gaping stomach wound and pneumonia. Sleep is about the only thing you really need.

If he had more energy, Loki would stick his tongue out childishly and cross his arms, but instead he just rolls his eyes, coughing weakly.

He lets the silence hang awkwardly between them before speaking up again.

“What am I going to do when I am healthy enough to leave? Where would I go?”

A terse expression crosses Mobius’ face momentarily, but he hums, easy and thoughtful. “Well, you don’t have to stay here, if that’s what you’re wondering. But you could.”

Loki doesn’t answer right away. He stares at the mirror across the room. He can’t see himself in it, just a reflection of his vitals, and the wall. “I don’t know,” he whispers. 

“What?” Mobius prods, softly.

Loki shakes his head, turning his gaze to his lap. “I just - I don’t know. I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t know what’s out there for me. It feels like maybe there’s just . . . nothing.” He sneaks a glance to see Mobius’ eyes wide and sad.

“Loki,” he says. “I know things are difficult. I know you’ve landed somewhere you never even dreamed would exist, but there’s a whole multiverse out there. Don’t you think there’s got to be something, somewhere where you can just - I don’t know, be happy?”

Loki wants to laugh. He wants to write that off as an absolutely ridiculous way of thinking. His old self would respond that way, chortling, “Is that what Gods and Kings strive for? Their own happiness? I find that doubtful.”

Instead, he stutters, “I - I - I don’t know. I don’t want to be alone.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and Mobius lets out a small, “ Oh. ”

He reaches out, hand settling on top of Loki’s over the blankets. Loki doesn’t flinch.

However, before Mobius can speak, a portal materializes on the other end of the room at the same time the physical infirmary door bursts open, Hunter B-15 breathing heavily in the entryway. She yanks off her helmet and gives herself a shake.

“Mobius, I found something - “ 

She’s silenced as all three of them notice and watch the portal open, a man in tactical gear stepping through. B-15 brandishes her pruning device. Mobius stands up swiftly, positioning himself between the stranger and Loki, whose heart is pounding inside his throat, fearing that some variant of Kang has found him at last, prepared to return the favor.

The stranger takes off their own visor, white hair slipping down to his chin.

All three of them freeze, weapons and worries forgotten.

Loki’s breath hitches, then stops altogether for a second.

Mobius steps aside, and Loki meets the eyes of the stranger who isn’t so unfamiliar after all. He looks different, certainly, with his longer hair, a few new cuts and bruises on his face, his mustache unkempt and the rest of his facial hair overgrown and scraggly. Those gorgeous blue eyes lock onto Loki’s gaze. A wide, toothy smile splits his face. 

“Loki?” he asks, eyes brimming with wetness.

Loki inhales sharply.  “Is - is it you?” he asks.

In lieu of an answer, this Mobius rushes forward and pulls him into a tight hug, causing Loki to grunt and gasp in pain. 

“M - Mobius,” he chokes, using what little strength he has to pull himself back - just enough to breathe again.

“Sorry,” Mobius mumbles, letting him go.

Loki looks at him, really looks at him, noticing the length of his hair - floppy and nearly as wavy as Loki’s is. Cautiously, Loki reaches up, settling a pale, shaking hand against the several-days-old stubble on Mobius’ face. 

“You - your hair,” he mutters. “You look different. Are - are you sure?”

“That I’m your Mobius,” he says, suddenly smiling. “And you’re the Loki I know? I can see things that you can’t yet, Loki. I know what makes each variant unique. Especially since I’m the original Mobius - you guys created variants of variants - do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“But,” Loki protests.

His Mobius cuts through. “Look, when Sylvie came back - “

“Sylvie?” Loki repeats, eyes going wide. 

Mobius nods. “She’s just through the door,” he says, pointing over his shoulder to the portal. “She came back looking for you, and we realized - there are an infinite amount of TVAs now - each one protecting their own timeline, - well actually, some have been overthrown - anyway, she sent you somewhere neither of us had ever been, and - “

Loki blinks, taking in his rushed words and his changed appearance. “How - how long have you been looking for me?” 

A hardened look crosses Mobius’ face for just a fraction of a second. “You know time doesn’t work the same for me,” he says simply.

“But your hair - ,” Loki repeats. He grabs a piece, smoothing it between his fingers. Mobius’ hair is surprisingly soft. 

“You seem awfully offended by the change in my appearance for a shapeshifter,” Mobius says with a breathy chuckle. “But you - “ he looks down Loki’s body, noting the wound, the flush of fever on his cheeks, the sweat dotting his hairline. 

Loki doesn’t meet his eyes.

“What happened?” he asks, but Loki refuses to move or say anything. Instead, his Mobius looks at the other Mobius. It only takes a shared glance lasting ten or so seconds for the original Mobius to understand. His expression falls, and he frowns, swallowing hard. 

“Loki,” he breathes, and it’s something in the “o” - the way it carries in his voice, that tells Loki this is the Mobius he’s been missing. No one says his name like Mobius, and no one says it with that much affection except the one who saved him first. 

“I’m sorry,” Loki gasps, and he realizes that the pressure in his sinuses, the wetness in his eyes, and the ache in his head are all increasing because he’s started crying a little. “I’m sorry, Mobius,” he whispers. “I didn’t - I didn’t know what had happened, and I just - I was so tired.” 

“I know,” Mobius assures him. “But I’m here now, Loki.”

“How did you even find me?” Loki asks, breathless. 

His Mobius turns his head, meeting the eyes of the other Mobius, the one who looks just the slightest bit uncomfortable witnessing their intimacy for himself. “It was easy once there were two of me on the case.”

Loki follows his gaze, finding the shorter-haired Mobius smiling sadly back at them. “I told you I could help.” 

Something that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob escapes Loki’s mouth.  “Thank you,” he chokes, before turning back to his Mobius, who is still standing over him with the fondest look in his eyes. 

“I’m just sorry I didn’t come any sooner,” he says, voice soft. 

Loki wants to smack him, but he doesn’t have the energy, so instead he leans forward, tenderly grabbing Mobius’ face with two shaking hands. He’s straining the muscles in his abdomen, already sore from all the coughing and trying to heal a deep stab wound, but it doesn’t matter. He powers through and pushes his lips to Mobius’, enjoying the rough feel of his unshaven face on the lily white skin of his palms. Mobius hums, probably involuntarily, against Loki’s mouth. He delicately places one of his hands behind Loki’s head, helping support the weight and allowing Loki to relax just the slightest. It makes Loki’s heart flutter. 

They only pull apart because Loki has to cough.

“Sorry,” he splutters, turning his face away from Mobius as he hacks up his lungs.

Mobius moves his hand back to Loki’s face, cradling it gently in his palm, feeling the fever burn through his skin like a wildfire. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, “Don’t forget to breathe, Loki.”

The coughing fit subsides, and Loki is left clinging to Mobius’ upper arms for dear life. “Sorry,” he repeats, sniffling. “Hope I don’t get you sick,” he says with a small smirk.

Mobius smiles widely. “You won’t,” he says, dipping his head back down for another, slower kiss. “And don’t worry about getting better quickly. I have all the time in the world to wait.”

Loki almost rolls his eyes. Instead, he returns Mobius’ toothy smile and lowers himself back to the bed. His Mobius hovers closely over him, grinning uncontrollably. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki watches as the other Mobius grabs Hunter B-15 by the wrist and leads her out of the room, a smug and satisfied expression on his face.

Once the door clicks shut, Loki looks up at Mobius with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know,” he says, “if you help me scoot over, I can make room for you to join me in bed.”

Mobius laughs breathlessly. “You’re suddenly so forward, Loki.”

Loki snorts. “As opposed to before?”

Mobius shakes his head. “You know what I mean - there’s a difference between you wanting to charm someone to manipulate them, and this.” 

Although his lungs burn with the effort to keep breathing, Loki feels like he can finally take in air. To once again have this person who knows him so intimately and without judgment, this person who truly sees him, makes Loki feel tonnes lighter. The poisonous resentment that had settled in his gut, buried deep by the dagger, finally dissipates. He eagerly holds out his arms, inviting Mobius in. 

“And what is this?” he asks with a smirk, wiggling his fingers. 

Mobius grabs him by the waist without another word, gently scooting him closer. If it weren’t for the flush of fever already painted across his cheeks, the creeping blush that comes from feeling Mobius’ strong arms around him would betray his feelings immediately. Not that it matters.

With Loki situated, Mobius climbs into bed next to him.

Loki frowns, one hand coming to tug the tactical vest Mobius still has on. “Take this off,” he demands.

Mobius looks down at Loki’s hand on his chest. “Oh,” he says with a small chuckle. “I forgot I was wearing this.” He leans forward just enough to shimmy out of his vest. Underneath, he’s wearing a rumpled dress shirt, sans tie.

Loki presses his lips together and licks them. His eyes linger over the undone top button of his shirt, white chest hair poking just above the fabric. He smiles to himself, and with the slightest bit of hesitation, lays his head down on Mobius’chest, ear pressed up against where his heart is beating fast against his ribcage. It’s the white noise Loki didn’t know he needed. He hums happily.

“Go to sleep, Loke,” Mobius whispers, wrapping an arm around Loki. His hand comes up to stroke Loki’s curls. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m never leaving you again.”

“Good,” Loki says sleepily, before nuzzling his face deeper into Mobius’ shirt. 

He closes his eyes, and with Mobius’ body surrounding him, his heartbeat keeping time under Loki’s head, dozes into a sleep that finally, finally feels restful.