Work Text:
“Am I your special project?” Loki onced asked him very early on in their relationship, way before their platonic chemistry turned into something more decidedly unprofessional.
“In a manner of speaking," was Mobius' perpetually glib answer, delivered always with that benevolent smile (smirk) on his puny mortal face.
“What happened to the others?”
“The Others?”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Loki would then waver between squishing the puny face with his fists or his lips, “What happened to all the Variants before me?”
“What makes you think I know?”
The façade his Handler used to wear back then was this perfect picture of neutrality Loki had hated on sight; he had not grown to love it.
“Do you do this every time?”
“Do what?”
“This dance you do. It’s inelegant.” Loki did not think it was elegant for him to whinge like this, but he could not help it. “I don’t think any version of me would take kindly to your insulting my intelligence like this.”
“Loki, you’ve said it yourself. I am obsessed with you.”
That was the one thing Mobius would always say whenever he caught Loki in a mood. Foul, melancholic, nostalgic, any mood, really.
I am obsessed with you.
Then Mobius got really, really close as if to kiss him or to zap him into obedience or oblivion and Loki hated himself for wanting to be the one to press the button for how dare this mortal think he could manipulate him like this -
"I think we'd be great together."
Mobius then had the gall to laugh in his face, and all terror Mobius must have seen in his eyes dissipated into a cesspool of rage, humiliation and pure hatred.
But still he could not dislodge the hand on his shoulder squeezing ever so gently, could not break the spell the lulling voice cast on him as it said, "Let's get to work."
And work Loki did. He had tremendous fun doing it, jumping from one timeline to another. The more disasters Loki averted, the more he could read of Mobius (or was it deliberate, the gradual warming up to each other?) and with the subtle shift in the balance of power, Loki wondered if it was time.
Time to make a run for it, inelegantly speaking.
But even out here in this lawless place where time was a commodity and Loki was but a pawn in the machinery of this great organisation, his machinations lost their appeal when Loki woke up suddenly one morning with a horrible, horrible sense of foreboding.
"Loki?" Mobius mumbled sleepily.
"Shhh. Go to sleep, love."
The hard earth dug into his back and shoulder blades; the ancient (technically, it was brand new at this point of time. Time was weird) Mayan temple they had chosen to rest in that night did not believe in worldly comforts.
"Okay," Mobius sighed. "Wake me when it's time to go."
Loki felt Mobius run his hand down the steps of his ribs and let him. Mobius was the first person whose willingness to touch Loki was borne out of a genuine desire to care, to nurture.
(To love)
You need more meat on you, Loki, Mobius had said before they embarked on this latest mission, as he enthusiastically packed Loki's bag to the brim with rations he was never going to eat.
If Mobius had suspected anything or deduced any theories from Loki's waning appetite, Loki would not be surprised. The man could see into the future, with the help of machines and timey-wimey science of course, unlike the second-rate charlatan Mister Stephen Strange.
Did Mobius see this coming?
Fighting down nausea, Loki clasped his hands to his stomach.
Fuck.
The dawn pierced the walls of the temple and hit the sundial on the altar, casting a triangle of light that illuminated the golden highlights of Mobius' greying hair and the slight deviation of his nose.
Perfect, Loki thought with a pang of sadness so intense his vision blurred with sudden tears.
"Loki? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Loki whispered as tears ran silently down the sides of his throbbing temples. "Sun got into my eyes, that's all."
Mobius noticed the hand absently rubbing a slightly distended abdomen.
"Is your stomach still bothering you?" Mobius covered Loki's hand with his.
"In a manner of speaking," Loki said tightly. He was not lying, not technically.
Mobius pushed himself up onto an elbow.
"I told you to take some of those ginger honey drops before we left," he grumbled away, feeling Loki's belly with a clinical hand, "You aliens think you're immune to the physiological effects of time-travelling, you're not! You should have taken your supplements like I told you, you're all bloated - "
"Not bloated."
Loki turned his head very, very slowly so Mobius had no choice but to stay and hold his gaze; he wanted to see the terror in Mobius' eyes, just like Mobius once saw in his. "Baby."
Baby? Mobius mouthed.
Loki neither affirmed nor reversed the revelation.
A quiet, awed, " Wow."
Loki frowned. That's it?
There was no terror in those eyes. Only love and longing and...by the Norns -!
"You're...happy?" Loki could not believe it.
"Very happy." Mobius fingered the corner of Loki's eye. His fingertips came away wet. "Why are you so sad?"
"You brought me here." Loki's voice caught. "To the Altar of Sacrifice. I thought you - "
Mobius did not give Loki the chance to finish, choosing to complete the blasphemous sentence with his lips instead.
"You idiot," Mobius chastised fondly, "Why would you even think I would do something like that?"
"You know what happened to all my children before. What happened to me."
"Of course I do. I'm obsessed with you."
There it was again, Mobius' proclamation of love infatuation.
"A baby is going to complicate things."
"Loki, I don't need to tell you what I do for a living," Mobius said. "All I do is uncomplicate complicated things. We've got this."
Hope reared its head like a beast, and it took Loki's breath away; he searched Mobius' face for any sign of doubt or deceit.
Mobius grabbed Loki's hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, shining eyes and all. "We've got this."
Finally, Loki gave a brisk, sharp nod, and Mobius fell forward, draping himself all over him.
Someone once told him happiness was a tangible emotion. Indeed it was, palpable in the way Mobius' arms trembled as he held Loki tighter and tighter, yet still mindful of the precious treasure Loki was currently carrying, until Loki could no longer feel the hard, cold ground beneath him, only warmth.
Still.
"You know the things I would do to protect them, the lengths I would go to," Loki whispered. Grief flooded him. "Now is your chance."
(to escape, get out while he still could. If Mobius had a single functioning neuron in that clever brain of his, he would take that chance)
"Oh, no. Sorry not sorry, but you're stuck with me," Mobius said. "We're in this together."
Loki searched his mortal lover's face and wondered not for the first time if he was not the one being manipulated after all.
How gullible do you think I am? Loki opened his mouth to ask but before he could, Mobius was boldly dotting his face with kisses; he must have seen the terror that had once more glazed Loki's eyes...or it probably never left in the first place.
"We'll figure it out. We've got all the time in the world," Mobius promised. "I've got you, Loki."
Like magic, the grief disappeared, and a peace Loki had not felt in a long time took its place.
He settled into Mobius' fierce embrace and its illusion of comfort. There were still some hours to go before daybreak.
The rose-tinted glasses would come off soon enough.