Chapter Text
“We’re going on vacation,” Mobius announced, plopping a pair of thick files atop Loki’s already cluttered desk.
Loki raised a questioning brow and slowly looked up from the maintenance report he’d been writing. B-15 stood with her arms crossed behind Mobius. A frown curled her lips, contrasting, quite perfectly, the wide grin plastered stubbornly onto Mobius’ face.
“Take a look,” Mobius said, gesturing to the orange folders.
Loki looked back down. The file on top was an incident report and the one under it brandished a name in large, thin print: Fabien Royce. With a thoughtful hum, Loki flipped open the incident report and scanned briefly over the first page.
“The attempted mass Timeline elimination of Hunter A-38 AKA Shaw,” Loki said slowly. “What is this?”
“Our one-way ticket to paradise,” Mobius said.
“Come again?”
“Read the other one.”
“Fine.” Loki slung the file open. Inside, he was met with a description of Fabien, the next few pages detailing his early life. “I still don’t understand.”
“Just tell him,” B-15 said to Mobius.
“We’re going on a trip. Uh, mission. Destination: Italy,” Mobius said. “B, if you would…?”
B-15 rolled her eyes. “A-38 is planning another attack. We just received intel that verifies he’s building a weapon to bomb the loom.”
“With the help of one:”—Mobius tapped his finger atop Fabien Royce’s file—“this guy right here. B wants us on the field. Our intel intercepted a few messages between them; it doesn’t look pretty.”
“Quite a thrilling vacation, don’t you think?” Loki said.
“Okay, I guess it’s not technically a vacation. But Fabien owns a yacht. A really big yacht.” At Loki’s bewildered look, Mobius hastily continued, “Shaw is meeting him in Sicily. He needs something from Fabien, but… well, we don’t know what it is. Yet.”
“Which is why we need you two out there,” B-15 said. “It’s gotta be part of the bomb.”
“Exactly. And we can’t let him get that piece,” Mobius said.
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. Fantastic, he thought. The last thing he needed after everything—He Who Remains, saving the loom, stopping Sylvie—was another threat to the multiverse.
“What’s the plan?” he said.
“Basically, we’re gonna run a mean spy-op,” Mobius said. “We still don’t know much, but Fabien’s taking that mega yacht across the Mediterranean. Embarking at Egypt. The first step is: we need to get him to trust us. Loki, I’m gonna need you to pop out somewhere before the rest of us and enchant him.”
“My enchanting skills—“
“Are good enough. Sylvie’s taught you a lot, I’ve seen you practicing on those cafeteria ladies.” Mobius sucked his teeth. “It’ll be easy. Fabien just needs to see us as old pals, then we’ll sail with him to Sicily. Secure that trust and gather evidence as we do. After that, we strike. We need to know exactly what their plan is; there’s no room for second guessing here. There could be other people involved, more parts of the bomb, anything goes with these two.”
“Do we, at the very least, have coordinates on Shaw?” Loki said.
“Nope,” B-15 said. “He disappeared off the map about a month ago.”
Loki sighed heavily. “Excellent. Forgive the harsh assumption, but this entire plan seems tenuous. Idiotic. What exactly is at stake?”
“Millions of timelines. Trillions of people,” B-15 said.
Mobius patted Loki’s shoulder. “Look, we can always abort if things go sideways. We have plenty of boots reading magazines in the break rooms, I’m sure they’re itching to get out there.”
“No, we need Loki,” B-15 said.
“Perhaps Sylvie would—“
“Hell no,” B-15 interrupted, just as Mobius said, “She’s been AWOL for weeks.” They exchanged a glance.
“No tellin’ where she’s run off to this time,” Mobius continued in a mumble. Then, to Loki, “You’re the best man for the job.”
“It seems so,” Loki said faintly. “B-15, we need to prioritize locating Shaw.”
B-15 nodded. “Casey’s been at it the whole time.”
“No luck?” Mobius said.
“A little. We’re checking out a few locations he’d been to before he disabled his TemPad’s tracking. Other than that… no. No luck.”
Loki stood from his chair. “Then we need to go. Now. We’re running out of time.”
“I’m ready when you are,” Mobius said. He grinned. “Already packed the essentials.”
Loki groaned. “No. No more of those awful shirts.”
“The God of Fancy over here can’t handle a little Hawaiian flair? Aw, well that’s too bad,” Mobius said. He extended Loki a TemPad. “Coordinates are already set. You’re Luke and I’m Don. Gimme something good this time, capiche? I want the juiciest backstory you can think of.”
“Just be quick,” B-15 added, sternly.
“His back’ll be turned to you; he won’t know what hit him,” Mobius said. “Good luck, Lokes. Don’t eat any pizza without me.”
Loki smiled. “I have no idea what that is.”
“You’ll figure it out. See you on the other side.”
With a terse nod, Loki tapped a button on the TemPad, opened a Timedoor, and stepped through.
“How’d it go?” Mobius said. A hefty, cerulean suitcase stood at his side, littered with stickers of various American national parks.
“He’s human.” Loki shrugged. “Therefore, easy enough.”
Fabien’s mind had compared to that of dried clay, in its brittleness. The man was objectively dense; Loki didn’t know how he’d managed to acquire his incredible wealth with a brain so vacuous.
“And you’re sure you can hold the tether?”
“It may prove difficult, with time. I’ve never enchanted someone from a range, no less for multiple days.”
“You got close that one time with the coffee machine.”
“It wasn’t the machine. It was haunted. And I only enchanted it because it refused to make my coffee.”
“My point still stands. I think you’ll be fine.”
Loki winced. Yes, Fabien had been easy to enchant, but the tether linking his brain to Loki’s felt like trying to herd a bear. His inexperience required constant tweaks to the spell—metaphorical fingers aching. He massaged the space between his eyebrows. A headache had been steadily building there for the past half hour.
“You okay?” Mobius said, planting a gentle hand on Loki’s back.
“Fine.” Loki smiled at him, but it felt strained. “A headache, is all.”
“Just… tell me if it gets worse. I don’t want you keeling over on me from some dumb magic.”
“Dumb magic is what this entire plan is founded on, mind you.”
“Which is exactly why you need to tell me if it gets worse. If you can’t hold the enchantment—“
“I’m well aware,” Loki interrupted with a huff. “I just need to adapt to it. I’ll be fine.”
Mobius frowned at him. “If you say so.”
A loud horn blared from behind them and Loki jumped. Mobius hissed something to himself and dragged Loki to the sidewalk, out of the street where a small, three-wheeled car had snuck up on them. The rollers on his suitcase rattled noisily across the concrete, completely drowning out whatever he was trying to say to Loki.
Alexandria, Egypt was nothing short of glamorous. Domed, sandstone spires carved the midday sky: strikingly azure and completely absent of clouds. However, the city sat within a desert, and therefore burned miserably hot. Loki swiped a bead of sweat from his eyebrow. He hoped, once aboard the ship, that the ocean breeze would calm this stifling heat. His lunch felt heavy in his stomach and paired with his headache and the heat, he longed for nothing more than to sit in the shade with an ice water.
Alas, that would have to wait. After Loki’s enchantment, Fabien had scurried off to greet his guests at the dock. Loki must’ve wandered around for ten minutes before Mobius finally found him in the street. There was no time for this.
“Do you think we should head over now?” Mobius said, as if having read Loki’s thoughts.
“We should. Fabien plans to embark in an hour.”
Mobius sucked his teeth. “God, it’s like an oven out here.”
Loki scoffed. Clad in an ugly Hawaiian shirt and navy shorts, Mobius had no right to complain. Not when Loki donned both a long-sleeved dress shirt and black slacks.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry, I know,” Mobius said. “Maybe ditch the Sunday best, next time.”
“I would rather this than”—Loki gestured loosely at Mobius’ tacky shirt—“the disaster of clothing choice you call an outfit.”
“Hey, Casey gave me this one.”
Loki smirked. “Thor used to bestow me his ugly garb, too.”
“No way. This was a gift.”
“And what is a gift, if not a kinder method of disposal?”
Mobius huffed a laugh. “Alright, you got me there. But I’m not changing.”
“You’re putting your title to shame. I worked very hard on that, I’ll have you know.”
“Why did you pick actor for me, anyway?”
Loki shrugged. “I thought it suited you.”
“Oh, so you think I’m handsome? Maybe I’ll give our old pal Brad a chat about starring in the next big horror shtick.”
“Can we go?” Loki huffed. His face burned and he wasn’t so sure it was the sun. “I’m quite bored of standing here.”
Mobius furrowed his brows. “Yeah, you are lookin’ kinda red. Think Fabien’s ready for us?”
“I’m ready for a cold bath,” Loki grumbled.
“Chop, chop, then.” Mobius winked. Badly. “I hear a strawberry margarita calling my name.”
Loki rolled his eyes and forced himself into a steady stride forward. The sandy sidewalk shone bright under the sun and Loki had to keep from looking at it, instead turning his gaze to the glimmering seas—small waves crashing against the harbors and sailboats lining the shore.
Fabien’s yacht rose high above the other ships, effectively flaunting her hefty worth. Loki watched her rock and swallowed nervously. Boats had never agreed with him, physically, and he doubted the larger scale of this vessel would change that.
Mobius splayed his arms wide and approached the crowd of people gathered at the gangway. “Fabien! Love the ship, man. She’s a beaut!”
Fabien noticed him and Loki and his expression brightened. “Don, Luke! Holy shit, it’s been ages! Never heard back on the invites, didn’t think you’d come!”
Loki opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Fabien gathering both him and Mobius into a tight hug. Loki awkwardly patted his back.
“Lukas, buddy, how’s the internship going?” Fabien said, squeezing his shoulders.
Annoyance pricked at Loki’s skin. He grinned anyway. “The ESA has been a fantastic opportunity. I’ve learned a lot.”
Fabien laughed. He was a rather short man, mildly tanned, salt and pepper hair combed neatly. “You can tell me all about it at dinner, Einstein. It’s gonna be one hell of a party. I wanted to throw something special for sail-away, like those cruise ships do. Speaking of that”—Fabien pointed at Mobius—“Don, this one’s for you. Twin Caterpillars. 1500 horsepower, 278 feet. I bought her around a year ago. Incredible, right?”
“Damn right she is,” Mobius said. “What’s her name?”
Fabien grinned brightly, gesturing to the massive ship behind him. “The Imperial Crest.”
And, despite Loki’s dislike of water vessels and modern human architecture, he couldn’t deny the yacht’s quality design. It was, admittedly, a tasteful beacon of wealth. Midnight teal paint adorned the hull, the decks above white, and the windows glistened seamlessly black. It sat elegantly atop Alexandria’s crystal blue waters, some couple hundred feet away from the stone dock Loki, Mobius, and Fabien stood on. Behind Fabien, a crowd of wealthy-looking people intermingled.
“Oh, don’t mind the guests.” Fabien smiled. “Family and business—mostly. Fun group, I think you’ll like them.”
“Well…” Mobius rocked on his feet. “Shall we board?”
“Oh, yes, of course! I’ll rally everyone up. Meet you for a tour in five?”
“Sounds perfect,” Loki said.
“Great. Prepare yourselves, you’re boarding the pinnacle of luxury.” Fabien winked, and then walked off toward his guests, white suit jacket flapping dramatically in the wind.
“I do not like him,” Loki said once he’d fallen out of earshot.
“Me neither,” Mobius said. “But we’re gonna have to play along for at least a couple days. Hopefully B and the crew will figure something out soon.”
“May the Norns bless us.” Loki smoothed the front of his shirt with his hands and approached the rest of the group, Mobius following closely.
“Ah, you must be Fabien’s new friends!” said a woman with strikingly blond hair, blue eyes glittering in the sun. She wore an emerald miniskirt, white and black patterned blouse, and cream sandals. “Hi, I’m Catherine. But you can call me Cathy.”
Loki shook her extended hand, silver bracelets jingling. “Lukas. It’s a pleasure, Cathy. Fabien talks about you all the time.”
“All good things, I hope,” Cathy said, laughing sharply. She turned to Mobius. “You’re with him, right?”
Mobius shook her hand. “Hi, I’m Don. Luke is my… partner.”
“Really? How long have you been together?”
Loki’s face ignited like a firework. “Business partner. His agency reached out to me a long time ago and we kept the deal.”
“You betchya,” Mobius added. “This guy taught me everything I know about space. We worked up a sci-fi gig in ‘08 and he’s been my wingman ever since. Pretty much owe him my career.”
Cathy gasped. “Wow that’s literally so awesome—what was the gig?”
Mobius blushed. “A movie. You wouldn’t know it. Festival exclusive; it never released to the public. But Luke and I helped out on that Disney cartoon the same year.”
“My boyfriend would totally love you guys, where the hell did he go?” Cathy turned around and scanned the crowd. “Alv-ie! Alva, babe, come here!”
A tall, tanned man with dark hair emerged from the crowd, bringing Cathy’s extended hand to his lips for a terse kiss.
“Don, Luke, this is my boyfriend Alva. Alva, this is Don and Luke,” Cathy said.
Alva glanced briefly at both of them. “Nice to meet you.”
Loki and Mobius exchanged a perturbed look. The kid’s accent was shamelessly Italian, holding a touchscreen telephone in his right hand and scrolling away.
“Don’t mind him, he just doesn’t wanna be here,” Cathy said, lips twisted in an exaggerated pout.
“Evidently,” Loki said. Mobius flicked him in the arm.
“Well I’m sure he spoils you to hell and back,” Mobius said.
Alva snickered. “Nah, bro, she’s the one who spoils me.”
“Yeah, sure, anyway, I’m so excited for Sicily,” Cathy said. “Have you two ever been before?”
Mobius scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, we shot some scenes in Rome a couple decades back. For that Gladiator film.”
“Huh, never seen it.” Cathy nudged her boyfriend. “Oh, that reminds me—Alvie, tell them about that game you like so much! Y’know, the one with all the… space stuff?”
“Helldivers.”
Mobius grimaced. “Sounds scary. What’s it about?”
Alva remained silent, eyes glued to the device in his hand.
“He doesn’t talk much, does he?” Loki said to Cathy.
“Nope. But I like him that way.” Cathy pressed a kiss against Alva’s cheek. “Right, babe?”
“Right.”
Loki forced a smile onto his lips. He knew love. Alva did not love that girl—but that wasn’t his business, so he didn’t spare the pity. Nobody in this group would remember him, anyway, after this was stashed away as just another file in the archive.
“How cute,” he said, though he made no effort to sound sincere. Mobius flicked him again. Loki snatched his hand and squeezed once.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Mobius said quietly to Loki. He turned his attention back to Fabien’s guests and smiled. “Love a happy couple. A happy wife is a happy life, as they say… Hey, does anyone know when Fabien’s letting us on? Gettin’ a little hungry out here.”
Loki nodded toward the gangway. Fabien had climbed atop, silhouetted by the blazing sun, his shadow unfurling across the crowd. “Right now, I believe.”
“Okay, everyone!” Fabien bellowed from his lordly perch. “Who’s ready for the time of their lives?”
The Imperial Crest housed a helipad, 2 lifeboats, and 16 emergency exits. Loki chose to ignore everything else. None of it aided in a quick abort or an ambush or anything else that might happen on Fabien’s multi-million floating paradise. It also had five mini-bars. And a massage room. The only parts of the ship Fabien excluded were his own quarters and the crew quarters. Two women in thin, white tank-tops and navy skirts had greeted the group upon entry; Loki knew the ship was well-staffed and almost certainly carried security at all times.
This mission, he came to realize, relied solely on waiting and observation. There would be no sudden ambushes, no interference by the TVA, no help. The plan, whatever it may be, needed to be tactful and deliberate and flawless—minutemen already stationed for cleanup services and arrest.
The staterooms appositely brandished names of famous Italian racehorses. Mobius was currently fighting with the keycard to his and Loki’s shared room: located on the main deck fore, dubbed “Nearco”.
“I hate these things,” Mobius said. “They never work half the time.”
“Maybe I should try it,” Loki said.
“No, wait—Ha! Got it.”
The door whooshed open, bright LED bulbs illuminating the room immediately. Curved, elegant furniture adorned the floor; a queen bed with expertly-laid sheets sat neatly in the middle, atop a white, plush rug. Two sizable windows carved into the umber walls, shades drawn closed. Mobius pressed a button on the wall and they slowly began to roll upward.
“Oh, that’s neat. Everything’s automatic in here,” Mobius said.
“The pinnacle of luxury, I believe he said.” Loki brushed his hand across the wood paneling. “It’s not even real wood.”
Mobius barked a laugh. “Things start to get really cheap around this decade. I guess that goes for everyone, huh? Oh, there’s one of those tablets on the nightstand. How much you wanna bet these light bulbs change color?”
“I do not waste money on such foolish behavior.”
“You’re ruining my vibe, Mr. No Fun... as the kids would say.” Mobius picked up the tablet and played with it for a moment. “How about this?”
The light bulbs above the bed slowly faded from an off-white to a vibrant green.
Loki winced at the harsh color invading his eyes. “Light is not supposed to be green, Mobius.”
“Aw, but you like green! What about this one?”
A deep red engulfed the room. “No, that’s too romantic…” Mobius pressed another button and the bulbs returned to their normal color. “Okay, no more of that. It hurts my head.”
Loki tried to ignore the burning behind his cheeks. It did not help that Mobius was gawking at him wide-eyed like a goddamned owl. “What? You’re staring.”
“Sorry. Zoned out for a second there. Thought I—nevermind. Anyway, you were saying?”
“I wasn’t saying anything.”
“Oh. Well. I think Fabien wants to start that party… soon… Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving.”
“We are not here to indulge in Fabien’s festivities. Has B-15 contacted you?”
“Haven’t heard a word.” Mobius grinned. “I think I smell some Alfredo coming from the hall. Ohh, I haven’t had Italian in years—and I’m not talking about that cheap crap the cafeteria serves on Thursdays.”
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll have dinner. But absolutely no parties.”
“But the parties are the best part,” Mobius mumbled sullenly. He glanced at his watch. “Fabien said dinner’s at eight. We’ve got a few minutes to spare, anything in mind?”
Loki kicked his shoes off and flopped down on the plush bed. “I’m going to lay here in the air conditioning. Feel free to explore without me.”
Mobius sighed. “You know, that sounds kinda nice actually. Scoot over.”
Loki rolled onto his back and shot Mobius an annoyed look, shuffling over to the side. The bed shook as Mobius fell onto it. He stretched out with a groan.
“God, that heat really takes it out of you.”
“I feel fine.”
“We need to get you some shorts.”
“Absolutely not.”
“If you say so, Your Majesty. But I think you’re gonna regret it. Five bucks. Come on, Lokes, humor me.”
"I do not have any American currency.”
“Okay, fine. Four quid.”
Loki rolled his eyes. “Deal.”
Mobius shook his hand, a wide smirk crinkling his features. Loki raised a brow and laid back against the pillows. The clock on the bedside table read 7:55 PM. Oh well, he thought. Outside the opened windows, violets and pinks and oranges ignited the sky, night encroaching. Five minutes was plenty for a quick nap.
“Lukas, Don! Was beginning to think you two weren’t gonna show,” Fabien said from his seat at the large table.
The clinking of glasses and silverware paused for a moment as everyone at the massive table glanced at Loki and Mobius, and then promptly resumed.
“Wouldn’t miss Alfredo night for the world,” Mobius said. “Call me a connoisseur. Italian’s my favorite. Right, Luke?”
Loki nodded. “I’ve seen him wolf down entire pots of rigatoni. It’s quite disturbing.”
Fabien laughed heartily. “Come, sit. I saved a couple spots just for you. Bottomless drinks all night. Plenty of tequila and rum and anything else you can think of. The main course is Alfredo but we also have…”
Loki stopped listening, instead scanning around the table. He recognized the girl from earlier—Catherine, joined by her not-boyfriend Alva. Others he recognized from Fabien’s mind, and some he didn’t recognize at all. He cleared his throat and eyed a stocky, bald-headed man sitting in the chair across from him.
“Hi, I’m Lukas. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“Oh, hello. You’re Fabien’s mate, right? The name’s Heath.” A faint, brief smile curled Heath’s lips. His accent carried a wild mix of Australian, English, and American.
“And I’m Tracey,” said the woman next to Heath: comparatively older, perhaps mid 40s, her long, brunette hair fluttering gently in the breeze.
The 13-person table sat tastefully atop the upper deck, positioned near the aft, outside a pair of sliding glass doors that led into a grand saloon. Hints of Alfredo and roasted vegetables and spiced meat drifted lazily through the dewy air, tong-wielding hands darting out to sample an arrangement of appetizers laid neatly across the sandy wood.
Loki felt a buzz from the device in his pocket. Mobius had gifted him a modern touchscreen cellphone upon their meeting at the dock; TemPads were not an Earthly invention and would therefore draw questions. Loki discreetly fished the device out of his pocket and woke the screen. A message from Mobius materialized on the bright display.
Heath has a gun
Loki searched for the application that allowed him to respond.
Keep and eye on him.
You spelled that wong
Loki elbowed Mobius in the side and whispered, “So did you.”
“Pay attention,” Mobius hissed through a tight smile. He faced the guests. “Evening everyone, nice to meet y’all. My name is Don, and this here is my buddy Lukas.”
The table erupted into a flurry of greetings and questions, hands garnished with thousand-dollar watches and white gold bracelets outstretched. Loki shook as many as he could reach.
“Your accents are so unique,” said a woman with heavy makeup and hoop earrings, blond, curly hair tied neatly atop her head. “My name is Lottie.” She pecked a kiss onto the short-haired, black man next to her. “And this is my husband Sandy. Where are you from?”
“London,” Loki said, just as another guest blurted, “I love your hair, Luke! It looks so soft.”
Before Loki could react, a hand reached out to caress his hair. He blinked several times, surprised.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” giggled the woman, sitting between Mobius and another man. “I’m Jolie Traversini.” Jolie Traversini sported short, red-dyed hair and fierce eyeliner.
“And I’m Dorian Traversini,” the man beside her said. His chin bore the ugliest arrangement of facial hair Loki had ever seen. It resembled a goatee, but without the mustache. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
Loki forced the muscles that made him smile. “How lovely.”
“Don, Cathy told us you make movies,” Tracey said. “Tell us about them!”
Mobius chuckled nervously. “Well, Lukas and I worked on a few together. You know that Disney animation with the robots in space? Luke thought up all the math behind it. And I mean all the math. I shot a few scenes for Gladiator, acted in Tombstone way back in the 90s, and helped out with the script for the 2012 Life of Pi adaptation. Just to name a few.”
“Damn, you’ve got some crazy-ass hits under your belt. How come we’ve never heard of you?” Dorian Traversini said.
“Call me a diamond in the rough. Most people just see a rock, right? But if you look a little deeper… you find the value.” Mobius winced. “Also they tend to, uh, hide me in the credits.”
An attractive, young man wearing a three-piece suit clapped loudly from the table’s opposite end. “Ahh, how clever! I don’t think I’ve introduced myself, have I? Lukas, Don, my name is Isacco and this”—Isacco gestured to the near-identical man next to him—“is my twin brother Sante.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sante said, through a mouthful of Alfredo. He swallowed and grinned brightly.
“To you as well,” Loki said. All the names and faces of everyone melted together in his mind. He struggled to keep pace. Sante’s eyes glued onto him like sap to a tree.
“What do you do for work, Luke?” Tracey said. “Tech? Sales? I heard something about math.”
Loki laughed nervously. “Oh, no, I’m an astronomer. Astrophysicist, technically speaking.”
“Oh, shit, no kidding? Tell me something smart, quick,” Dorian said.
The entire table fell silent.
“Well…” Loki began, slowly, “I discovered and mapped a star using the Hubble telescope and spectroscopy techniques pioneered by my own research. At the time, it was the most distant star we knew of. MACS J1149 Lensed Star 1, but I thought Icarus suited it nicely. So it stuck. This was… gosh, five years ago now.”
Time passed, to Loki, in shattered glimpses and fleeting echoes of once-understood principals. Traveling from timeline to timeline to timeline interrupted, skipped, and bent it to his will; time did not matter once harnessed by mortal hands. He rarely spent longer than a few days on a single timeline, and the TVA was, of course, absent of it entirely. The year was 2022, August sixth, in a universe very far away from his home. And yet Loki did not miss it.
“Must’ve been a rough five years, huh?” came Lottie’s voice through his rumination. “You kinda zoned out there, kiddo.”
A weak smile crossed Loki’s lips. “Apologies. I had a long flight.”
The hollow sound of clunking and a sudden lurch beneath his feet dropped his smile, stomach twisting. Right, he thought. He was on a boat. Boats move. Norns help me.
“Oh, lookie there.” Fabien stood abruptly from his seat, champagne bottle in hand. He severed the top with a knife and champagne splattered all over the floor. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have officially set sail. Cheers!”
Loki rolled his eyes and raised his glass—somehow already filled with a sparkling wine. The lively melody of clinking and chatter slowly drifted away from Alexandria’s sparkling shores, into the yawning night.
“Cheers, Lukas,” Mobius said quietly, extending his glass for a quick tap against Loki’s. “Here’s to saving the multiverse. Again.”
A chuckle bubbled from Loki’s chest. Laughing with Mobius was easy. Regular. The mission may have been tense and the waters growing rough, but through it all Mobius would remain. Loki knew it, just as he knew stars were hot and ice was cold. Order and chaos, said a small, familiar voice in the back of his head.
“Cheers.” Loki took a sip from his wine. He grimaced. “Prosecco. Honestly, I don’t know what I expected.”
“Oh, yeah, you prefer reds, don’t you?”
“I do. Wine should never be sweet.”
Mobius shrugged, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Well I think it’s alright. Definitely not in my top tens, but y’know. It’s alright.”
A sound of whooshing doors opened behind Loki. He turned around just as two waitresses carrying plate-laden trays approached the table, setting out a few appetizers before presenting Loki and Mobius with their entrées. Mobius had chosen Alfredo and Loki had left his decision to Fabien, instead focused on the many conversations that had been ignited with him. He looked down. A hefty fillet of blackened cod sat neatly in the middle surrounded by artsy swirls of red and yellow sauce, steamed broccoli and cauliflower on the side. It looked delicious.
Loki glanced at Mobius, already tucking fervently into his own meal, and then back down at his plate. He wasn’t particularly hungry, and the steady rocking of the ship made his stomach churn, but refusal to indulge would arise suspicion, so he ate anyway.
By the end of it, most of Fabien’s guests had scurried off to the after-party. Only Fabien, Loki, Mobius, and the large, bald man—Heath—remained. Loki swallowed reflexively.
“Fabien, that was absolutely amazing,” Mobius said, breaking the viscous silence.
“I’m glad. You know, I’ve been planning this one for a long time. It’s nice to see everyone together again.” Fabien stroked his fingers across his handlebar mustache. “Welp, it’s about time we let our beautiful ladies clean up. Gotta get ready for the party. We’re doing karaoke and cocktails. See you two there?”
Loki opened his mouth to deny the invitation but was interrupted by Mobius.
“Absolutely. Been looking forward to it all night.”
Loki kicked him in the leg. “I’m going to bed. Apologies, Fabien, but today has been quite exhausting.” He made to stand up, but Mobius clutched his arm.
“You’re not gonna make me drag you there, are you? Come on, loosen up a little, Lukes. A little fun’s not gonna hurt anything.”
A dismissal sat at the tip of Loki’s tongue, but the pleading look in Mobius’ eyes made him swallow it. “As you wish. But no more than an hour, understood?”
Mobius scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, okay. No more than an hour.”
Three hours into the sail-away party, Loki’s dinner had begun to threaten a surprise reappearance. The Imperial Crest had drifted into stormy waters, anticipated several minutes prior by her captain—a Greek man named Nikolaos Omiros, Loki had learned. Nikolaos had warned of twelve-foot swells over the intercom and slowed the ship accordingly, dragging them behind schedule by a couple hours. The vessel rocked and jolted and rolled, sending Loki constantly crashing into walls and furniture and, embarrassingly enough, the occasional person.
Everyone on the ship seemed unbothered by the motion except for Loki, who felt rather like a newborn bilgesnipe discovering its legs for the first time. He’d somehow managed several shots of tequila and was beginning to regret it deeply, the effects of the alcohol bolstering the yacht’s movement tenfold.
The party had largely condensed to a single room as the hours dragged by: the grand saloon on upper deck aft. The elevated height of the deck did nothing to relieve the constant rocking, and, in fact, it seemed to worsen it greatly. Loki winced and pressed a hand against his stomach. He needed out of this Odin-damned party. Now.
Somewhere amidst all the motion, Mobius had scurried off the the other side of the saloon, sparking conversation with anyone he could. Loki had tried in vein several times to reach him—but the ship bucking and heaving below his feet made that nearly impossible. Loki swallowed thickly, instead attempting to shoot concerned glances in Mobius’ direction in hopes he’d wander over.
Several text messages to Mobius’ cellphone remained unseen and unanswered. Loki finally managed to catch his eye and gestured him closer.
All at once, Mobius’ expression flooded with concern and almost certainly a myriad of questions. Loki sighed, watching him bob and weave around the sea of platinum blonds and combed, tuxedo-drest men. The ship rocked mightily beneath Loki, pitching Mobius briefly off course by a couple feet. Heat pricked at the skin of Loki’s nape, his stomach churning and writhing and begging to spill his dinner in front of everyone.
“You feelin’ alright?” Mobius said.
Loki twisted the button on his sleeve cuff back and forth, staring out the windows into inky black. “Not entirely.” He swallowed with difficulty, sweat beginning to pearl upon his forehead.
“Gonna be sick?”
Loki nodded, subtly.
“Like… right now?”
Loki nodded again. Swallowed, hard. And then his stomach lurched and a gag tore from his throat, the force of it bending him in half. The ground below him drifted and swirled in cascading fractals, faded teals and ambers and greens intermingling with the marble, book-matched tile. Mobius clasped a gentle hand around his bicep, forcing him upward and then swiftly forward, in the direction of the saloon’s nearest dayhead.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” Mobius hissed as he towed a very dazed Loki down the lambent hallway.
Loki pressed a fist against his mouth and stifled a groan. “You were clearly busy,” he said, sounding far more breathless than he’d intended.
An umber and cream door, unisex sign plastered neatly in the middle, cleared through the haze in Loki’s vision and he broke away from Mobius, turning the knob and staggering inside the lustrous, marble-clad dayhead. Another gag welled in his throat and he slammed the toilet lid open, falling heavily to his knees and immediately retching.
A hushed curse from above was lost amidst the sound of Loki’s vomiting, but the hand pulling his hair away felt cool against the hot skin of his neck. He panted heavily into the toilet bowl, stomach rolling with the Imperial Crest and with the sea cradling her. Mobius’ other hand brushed lightly up and down the length of Loki’s arm, soothing him as a whimper squeezed from his throat.
Another large heave of the ship sent Loki’s stomach turning and he vomited again, tasting tequila for the second time that night.
“Geez, it’s got you good, huh?” Mobius said.
Loki spat into the toilet. “Everything about this is unnatural.”
“Nah, you just need to get your sea legs.”
“I do not like boats. Or ships. Or sea-faring vessels of any kind.”
“Well, that’s too bad, cap’n. We’re in for a long one this time. How’s that tether holding?”
“It’s fine. Strong as ever.”
“Alright.” Mobius sighed quietly. “Are you done?”
“…I think so.”
With a nod, Mobius stood from his crouched position beside Loki and produced a rag from beneath the floating sink vanity. Loki graciously accepted it and mopped the mess off his chin, a grimace tugging at his features. The acrid taste of bile sat heavy on his tongue.
“I guess that storm won’t be letting up anytime soon,” Mobius said, just as the yacht dipped heavily to her starboard side. “Better hunker down for the night. It’s already past eleven.”
Mobius reached over to flush the toilet and then assisted Loki to his feet. Once upright, Loki stumbled to the sink to rinse his mouth, and did not complain when Mobius aided him down the hall, toward their shared stateroom.
“I brought nausea pills,” Mobius was saying, as he struggled with the door’s keycard. “Kinda figured you’d get sick.”
“Of course you did,” Loki mumbled. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders and his mouth felt as if filled with sand.
A final swipe of the keycard unlocked the door. The lights assailed Loki’s eyes and Mobius dimmed them considerably, aiding Loki to the bed, who immediately kicked off his shoes and slipped beneath the thick comforter. Mobius hastily unplugged the analog phone on his bedside table, scanning briefly around for hidden cameras. He shrugged.
“You never know.”
“Fabien is incredibly dense, I sincerely doubt he’s spying on us,” Loki said.
“Better safe than sorry,” Mobius said. He removed his shoes and shorts and sat on the bed beside Loki, pulling out his TemPad. “I’m sending B an update. So far we have one confirmed weapon on board. Did you see anything else worth noting?”
“There is a helipad and two tenders.” Loki’s eyes slipped shut. “I doubt Heath will become an issue. My concern lies within the whereabouts of Shaw.”
“Yeah, me too. Here, take this pill for me.”
Loki cracked an eye open and squinted at Mobius’ outstretched hand, a small, white pill pinched between his forefinger and thumb.
“I’m fine. The waters have settled considerably.”
“Nuh-uh. I’m not dragging your sorry ass to the bathroom at three AM to throw up.”
Loki scoffed and accepted the pill from Mobius, placing it under his tongue.
“These are the extra-strength ones,” Mobius said. “I’m sure it’ll knock that sickness right outta you.”
“I told you I feel fine.”
“And I told you I’m not helping you if you get sick again.”
“I bet you would.”
Mobius sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I totally would.”
A smirk pulled at the corners of Loki’s lips. Mobius would always be there for him, there was no mountain he wouldn’t climb, no river he wouldn’t cross. Mobius was his partner. His best friend. His titanium anchor to the shore.
And whatever might happen, Loki knew he wouldn’t brave it alone. Because “alone” had, somehow, somewhere, become foreign to him. A fading relic of his troubled past. No, there was no “alone” with Mobius. Despite Loki’s mild annoyance with him on occasions, they’d become essentially halves of one another; there was no Mobius without Loki, and there was no Loki without Mobius.
It was unfathomable. Fated. Solid as the steel hull rocking Loki to sleep. Real as the arm wrapped around his waist, scented of salt and Alfredo and home.