Work Text:
The TVA is as soulless and senseless as Sylvie remembers.
Not much has changed since she became a target on the timeline, the witness to her life being viciously uprooted. No kindness resides here, no mercy. And certainly not justice, never that.
The sacred timeline might be hailed as the beacon maintaining peace across the universe, might be the impartial thread that holds balance.
But it is far from anything good. Far from fair.
A mottled bruise on the universe that burns and burns and burns.
What did I ever do wrong, what did I do wrong-
This wasteland fashions false truths into insidious propaganda, lacking both humility and humanity. Perhaps the cruelest part of it all - those doing the bidding have no idea what has been stolen from them.
Their lives, their memories, their homes.
All that stripped back and erased, leaving malleable minds to fall into line. To hunt, chase and destroy variants despite being variants themselves. They fight for a freedom they never really had, never realised had been snatched away.
I looked happy.
Sylvie brushes the damp strands of hair off her forehead. They haven't killed her yet. That has to mean something, possibly even a visit to the Time-Keepers on their tarnished tacky thrones.
Whatever it takes, she'll get to that elevator. She will open those doors wide and swing.
Loki said it best, when they were tucked into the edge of their very existence. Waiting for a fall.
We don't die. We survive.
Surviving, that is quite different to living. A far cry from what keeps a soul splintering. There’s a cagey restlessness to all the running that never stops.
Just once, she wonders what it would be like for survival to rearrange itself into something without so many serrated edges. Something better.
Funny, when facing ruin on Lementis-1 she almost glimpsed it.
"Renslayer's orders," Hunter B-15 says from behind the door, jolting Sylvie from her thoughts.
"They are to be collected shortly. Move aside."
Sylvie never did find her name, the real one. The one that defines who Hunter B-15 truly is at her core. Her memories only contained so much, the enchantment reaching for whatever it could.
But Hunter B-15 does not remain a number anymore. The despair that cracked her admirable resolve open is a mere echo in the face of what she has chosen.
Who she truly is.
Sylvie doesn't know her, but she's fiercely proud of her.
Because this is proof that what the TVA foolishly hinges itself upon will be its undoing. For the Time-Keepers are fools, they underestimate the resilience of a person who has nothing to lose anymore. They don't value the resounding ripples that come from that.
Grief can be potent. Powerful.
It'll be their mistake for instigating this collective turmoil.
Hunter B-15 steps into the room, revealing Loki and someone Sylvie doesn't recognise. Then, in a demonstration of the force that has been etched into her programming, she shoves them both into the room.
"Don’t even think about trying to get out of this.”
Convinced the words hold enough bite to appease the guards outside, Hunter B-15's tone melts.
“You won’t make it far like this.”
Sylvie hears the message within that. Whilst not being much of a team-player herself - mostly because she never had the chance to try - there is strength in numbers.
Nodding weakly, Sylvie watches Hunter B-15 make a brisk retreat.
Maybe - just maybe - they've got this.
And then, there are three.
“Sylvie,” Loki breathes, darting forwards and stopping just at the edge of their unspoken threshold.
There are a dozen urgent questions parcelled into her name. All a little frantic. She’s not heard anyone use her name like that before. Like they’re being purposeful with it.
Just one look at those eyes tells her he’s tired and slightly tormented. What they’ve put him through, it was intended to grind him down. It didn't fully succeed, but chipped away enough to leave him too exposed.
“I’m okay,” she offers gently, but not quite able to muster a smile.
That doesn't seem to matter. Her words settle some of the tension stewing beneath Loki’s veins. He looks less rattled now there’s tangible evidence to work with.
“Are you?” Sylvie prompts. “Are you okay?”
Loki nods, weakly. It’s not the most convincing thing she’s ever seen but things are kind of dire. So she'll take it. They’ve jumped out of one nightmare straight into another.
Besides, the intensity of his inner storm continues to recede. This visible shift grows the more Loki glances from Sylvie back to the man she doesn’t know. It smooths down the sharpness, like he's comfortable to be settled in the space between them.
Relieved, even.
Cocking her head, Sylvie probes. The teeming curiosity is a welcomed change. She'll pursue it whilst they can slip into whatever this is.
“What’s the story with this one, then?”
“Oh!”
Loki nudges the man forwards, a strange and incredibly misplaced vigour in his eyes given their circumstances. For some reason, he's all too eager to introduce them to each other.
And there it is. Suddenly, he’s all animated again.
“Well. Sylvie, I’d like you to meet my-”
Sylvie kicks her feet off the table to sit up. Hold the Tempad.
My what, your what.
Not to be harsh or anything, but from what Sylvie has experienced it seems like Loki doesn’t really have anything. Not really. A lost identity, a lost cause, a lost scheme. He doesn't even have a plan because he doesn’t know what he wants or what he needs.
He is the loose cannon of chaos.
So this - this firm definition is interesting.
Before Loki can continue, the man wedges himself between them with an outstretched hand.
“Mobius.”
He looks like an agent, but the absence of a title catches Sylvie’s attention.
“Sure heard a lot about you from old Casanova over here.”
Right. Okay.
That veers her observations completely off-track. As far as introductions go, that was weird.
Catty.
Nose scrunched in confusion, she looks to Loki for an answer. He averts his gaze, biting down on his fist. Visible irritation bubbles beneath his veins. Fine, then. She'll figure it out alone.
Sylvie stares down at the hand, wary and altogether unimpressed. Despite reservations, she takes it. The same breed of bizarre pettiness that laced his words now gleams in those eyes.
She can’t put her finger on what is feeding this. But she has her suspicions this is yet another scorned agent’s pride, unable to accept she evaded capture this long.
Mobius leans forwards, speaking in a hushed tone.
“Just so you know, Loki and I are friends. He even said so himself. Given his overall lack of interpersonal skills, I’d say that’s kind of a big deal. Maybe the biggest.” Pause. “Bigger than the whole Bonnie and Clyde thing you two have going on.”
Oh my god.
So that’s what this is.
There is no way this man considers her a dangerous variant for all the wrong reasons at the worst possible time. Except he does. He actually does.
This is supposed to be their final fleeting moments before fate eclipses everything.
Yet here they are.
Sylvie snorts at the sheer stupidity of it, releasing his hand. But not before giving it a tighter squeeze than necessary. This mooning moron deserves it. He sounds like he’s boasting.
Casting an incredulous look towards Loki, she quirks an eyebrow.
“Is he seriously your friend?”
“Adopted.”
“That’s not how friendship works,” Sylvie quips back.
For fun - not been much of that around here or anywhere lately - she emphasises the word friendship . As expected, Loki holds his ground. No matter how futile it is.
“It could be. How would you know, anyway?”
“Oh shove off!”
It’s a shame she has nothing to lob at his stupid big head for that besides her boots. Just because it’s kind of true doesn't mean he should say it. Hel.
What Loki forgets is this mirror reflects both ways. And despite his silver tongue, Sylvie doesn't have to dig that deep to find the gold hidden behind it.
He is the most open of books. Each blink is pointed and forced. He can’t seem to decide what to do with his hands, balling them into fists and then rubbing his fingers furiously together.
Embarrassed. He's actually embarrassed. Like he would rather be anything else than standing here.
Weird.
She's seen many things in him, but never this. Not yet.
“Sorry," Loki blurts gracelessly. "This - he’s not usually this puerile, I swear.”
Turning to Mobius, he narrows his eyes.
“Can you stop this now? Please. It’s getting rather ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Mobius replies without missing a beat.
Well. So much for not being puerile. That's pretty much a live demonstration of the definition.
And apparently, lucky for her, it's a double act.
“You’re more ridiculous.”
“Loki, you’re so beyond ridiculous that ridiculous isn’t even the word I’m looking for anymore."
Mobius flourishes the words with a series of furious finger jabs. Unfazed, Loki folds his arms across his chest. It's no longer a self-soothing gesture, more pronounced and pointed.
For show.
Double act, see.
“Well that in itself is ridiculous, I hope you’re aware.”
God what even is this. What is this.
Why is this.
Sylvie rolls her eyes. She deserves a better crescendo to the event horizon. This is underwhelming. This is stupid.
“Alright, enough!” she hisses, eyes clamped shut to regather some composure.
Just looking at them bloody hurts.
“You’re both ridiculous. And giving me a headache, so shut-up already.”
Pause.
Loki obliges, skulking a few paces away. Turning to Mobius, Sylvie is tentatively hopeful.
She and Loki began with a tenuous truce. This could be the same.
“Are we done here?”
Mobius ducks his head, a warped disbelieving laugh escaping him.
“Almost, almost. I’ve got a few extra things tucked up my sleeve.”
Great.
“Can’t wait,” Sylvie snarks, lips toying with a smirk.
“Alright there sassmeister of sassytown,” Mobius starts.
Honestly, it’s absurd how he can say that so seriously. Sylvie can’t even find it in herself to be mad.
“All I need you to do is sit tight and listen up. Loki, come here a second.”
After a moment of vexed deliberation, Loki marches over. And what happens next is actually ridiculous.
Mobius clasps Loki’s shoulder, using it as some kind of anchor that keeps them close. Like he's afraid of losing in the face of a different gravity. One forged on a dying planet, found in the heart of an apocalypse.
They are not the same. He's drawing comparisons in constants where there are none.
Sylvie is already bored, already done.
Unfortunately, Mobius is not.
“Really, really take this into account. I want you to let it sink in deep. Are you ready?”
Clowns should stick to juggling clubs, not whatever the Hel this is. Sylvie gestures, curtly.
“Say whatever it is you wanna say. I’m always ready.”
Steeling himself, Mobius takes a breath. What comes out his mouth next is beyond absurd.
“Okay, so here it is." Pause. "I’ve known him longer than you.”
He delivers that with such brazen finality, like it’s a proper revelation worlds would bow to.
Sylvie glances over to Loki. He can't decide where to look, eyes playing elaborate acrobatics. An evasive manoeuvre that doesn't get him very far.
“Seriously?” Sylvie asks. "Is he actually being serious?”
Chewing on his bottom lip, Loki gives no answer. He seems to think if he just stands there and says nothing it makes him invisible. But there's no magic here, and he can't hide. As much as he might want to.
That awkward sway on the balls of his feet speaks volumes.
Sylvie pinches her lips together, swinging a leg over the arm of the chair to lounge in the seat better.
"Anything else, Morbius?"
Nobody laughs at her little wordplay, which is a shame. If anything, it just raises the hackles on this unhinged man further. But whatever.
He's practically harmless - like a kicked puppy that still is silly enough to yap when others get too close.
All bark, no real bite. She wonders what kind of boring, simple man he was on earth. He probably had a jet ski or something to compensate.
"It's Mobius, actually.”
Sylvie shrugs, disinterested. She feigns picking out dirt beneath her nails.
“Potayto potahto.”
How’s that for a roast.
“You know," Mobius starts, invigorated. "Now that you mention it, yeah. Yeah - this little potato here has plenty more left in him to mash.”
Oh my god.
“What, um-” Loki blinks. “What is this.”
Unfazed, Mobius continues.
“You’re not the only one taking promenades through apocalypses. We did that too. Countless times.”
That is hardly the mic drop moment Mobius seems to think it is. It's just plain embarrassing.
"Once," Loki amends, cutting desperately through the resulting silence and barely making it through. "We did it once."
“Twice.”
“Alabama 2050 doesn't count.”
“Remind me why that is again?” Mobius starts, still demonstrating puerile. “Oh yeah - cos that’s where you betrayed me.”
“Mobius, this is absurd! We’ve already been through this. For heaven's sakes, it was-”
“A means to an end yeah, yeah. Keep reeling off those lines why don't you.”
It's officially official - Hunter B-15 made a horrible and terrible mistake sending these two morons here.
This is not remotely comforting or comfortable. Instead, Sylvie is really having to sit here and listen to them argue about the number of dates they’ve had.
Enduring the waiting alone would have been better. This is beyond painful.
But despite the bickering, the pair do seem familiar with each other. There is no denying they share something. It’s different to herself and Loki - their souls are naturally entwined. These two have branched into a whole new realm that for some reason reminds her of Princes and Postmen and-
Oh.
Oh.
Realisation settles in, then. The pieces of their puzzle finally slip into place - it’s quite the picture.
Sylvie understands what this is now, why Mobius is so puerile and petty.
He's jealous.
Finally, some true entertainment around this place. If they’re meeting the makers soon, might as well enjoy the free show.
“Hold on,” Sylvie asks above their ceaseless verbal parrying. “That stuff you said before, all of this shit - are you calling dibs on your Loki?”
Before she can assess the reaction, Loki is diving right into the spotlight. Of course.
“I beg your pardon?” he exclaims, glancing between them in abject disgust at the idea. “Now, hang on. I am not anyone’s beside my own.”
“Shhh!" Sylvie hisses in his direction.
"You shhh."
The very model of maturity.
"Just - argh! Stay out of this - I'm onto something and you're bloody ruining it."
"Well, I-"
"No, no. Wait," Mobius interjects, dark amusement creeping up his face. "We should all let the Detective here wrap up her investigation."
He wants to play the game, fine. He'll lose.
Sylvie's tongue flicks out, grazing over her teeth. Annoyance simmers beneath her bones.
"I'm right, aren't I?" she asks.
The casual cool air Mobius has struggled to keep together is becoming more rattled by the minute.
“Look. I’m just stating the facts here, Sylvia-”
“-Sylvie.”
Okay. Now this man is really pushing his luck.
Getting out of her seat, Sylvie saunters closer to size up her opponent. Mobius might be fairly good with words, but he doesn't look good with his fists.
Oh yeah - she could take this fool in a fight, easy.
Bring it on, she's all for it. Compared to TVA soldiers, this one would be child’s play.
Barely worth her time.
But for some reason, he is worth Loki's time. And energy. And attention - a substantial amount of it. That has her holding onto withering patience.
“Tomayto tomahto,” Mobius says with a casual shrug, too swept up in his tirade to be bothered by the oncoming threat. “Not my problem you can’t take a little competition.”
That's it. The catalyst.
Nobody calls Sylvie a tomato.
“There is no competition,” she says with a sharp twist of her lips.
Mobius invited this idiocy, he can’t complain if it backfires. And because she can’t help add fuel to this stupid fire, she continues.
“If anyone’s the third wheel here, it’s you. Loki never mentioned you, and we talked about a lot on Lamentis-1.”
“Don’t…” Loki starts, a low warning. "Sylvie, don't."
The hand he holds out is placating but goes ignored. By both of them.
Sylvie smirks knowingly, leaning over to Mobius. She has a theory to test, a boat to rock. But the best methodology sits cradled in the hands of mischief.
She probably shouldn't say what burns on her tongue - she shouldn't push them too far. Not now.
But it's fun. The most she's had in ages.
This is a welcomed distraction from mere survival.
"We talked about love."
Boom. The reaction is everything Sylvie could have hoped for. Mobius practically combusts at the words, spinning on his heel like a man possessed in a frenzy.
“Will you both just stop-" Loki starts, hunching over to hold his head in his hands before exploding. "Stop this infernal nonsense!”
“Nonsense - that’s good, that’s good."
Mobius glances over at Sylvie a final time before another one of those laughs consumes him. It doesn't sound very mirthful, which is kind of sad. He seems like he could be a mirthful man in different circumstances.
Reassuring, even.
Right now he’s just pushing his luck.
"Real fitting for what we’re dealing with here.”
“Oh give it a rest, will you," Loki scolds, head snapping up. "This grew tiresome the first forty-thousand times you brought it up.”
“I agree,” Sylvie says. “You can pack up the circus now.”
Fine. Hindsight is a thing, and maybe she shouldn’t have goaded. Because now Mobius can't seem to let it go. He's pacing the room agitatedly, spieling a deranged speech.
“It makes so much sense that it's amazing I never even considered it before. Until there- there it is just staring me in the face."
Stopping, Mobius glances between them.
"The only person who could ever live up to your own expectations is you. And of course, even that falls short and won't be enough.”
Unexpectedly, that stings. And Loki must catch her wince because he isn’t having it.
“Sylvie is a marvel.”
The ebbing flicker of hope in Sylvie’s chest flares at those words. Spoken without hesitation, without a shred of doubt. It’s strange but really nice, to have someone so unconditionally on your side.
Even if this situation is beyond absurd.
“I wasn’t talking about her, I meant you. But I like that, a marvel. Wow. Wow." Shaking his head in morbid amusement - see, Morbius - he continues. "You guys should put that in the vows.”
Okay, that's it.
Making a mockery of the rare solace they have found isn't funny anymore.
“Can I hit him?”
The disapproving look Loki gives is not an answer. Well, what can she say? She tried. It had been nice of her to ask in the first place. She didn’t have to.
“I’m going to hit him,” Sylvie decides, then.
Throwing an arm out to brace her, Loki huffs in avid exasperation.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“Yeah, me too..." Mobius chimes from the corner he's now loitering in. "Though kicking someone when they’re down sure feels like something a Loki would do.”
Ugh.
Sylvie tugs Loki by his useless peace barrier of an arm until they're standing in the opposite corner of the room to Mobius. Like a weird, inane stand-off.
"You like me," she ventures, not phrasing it as a question.
"Let's not get too carried away."
For that, she pinches him hard. God. He's such a little shit.
“You like him."
This time, there are no smart remarks. Either because Loki fears another sharp pinch to his skin, or because Sylvie has cracked this whole case open. He glances over to Mobius, not fully aware he's leaning in the same direction. As if they are magnetised.
“Yes.”
Okay. That's some progress.
Sylvie persists, voice hushed. Keep it quick, keep the pace fast and relentless. Maybe Loki will trip into over an overdue confession.
If she's clever about it, he definitely will.
"So you like him."
"Yes."
“You more than like him.”
With a dramatic sigh, Loki snaps right at the bait.
“I am rather fond of him, yes. But we've already established that. I'm sorry, what is this - what are you doing?”
"More than like him," Sylvie repeats slowly, stressing each syllable.
Her eyebrows raise in a coy taunt.
Bingo. There it is.
Nobody can play a Loki like a Loki.
Pleased with the results, Sylvie returns to her seat. In her wake, Loki is reduced to a gawking, glorious mess.
“He likes me," Sylvie calls out to Mobius, propping her legs on the table. "But he also more than likes you. Do you get it now?”
The expression settling over Loki’s face is caught between bewilderment and amazement, undecided on where to stay.
“How did you know that before me?" he asks. "They're not even your feelings."
Something wistful creeps into Sylvie's voice as she answers.
"Your eyes, they always give us away.”
Their gaze lingers, quiet acknowledgment passing between them. And maybe this is what it feels like to belong somewhere, to feel bold and brave in the makings of a scattered soul that has never stopped running.
Sylvie and Loki are tethered in such a way that almost evades description.
In many ways, they’re all each other has ever known. Together, they could weather any storm - they were defiant in the face of defeat.
A Loki who can learn to love themselves could do anything.
That scared the very foundations of the universe so much, so deeply. It rattled the bars of the cage so much that they came loose.
Incredible - the whole of time got twitchy from a mere teaser of it.
That's why Sylvie will have his back in more than just the upcoming fight. She supports Loki in this too.
Uncertainty plagues him, keeps him seeking and searching. It's the same as the running.
Their anthems hold the same poignancy, never resolving.
Sylvie gestures towards Mobius, who seems to have tuned them out in favour of whatever personal plight he is dealing with.
Jealousy is just the tip of the iceberg here. He has the same look in his eyes that Hunter B-15 did.
It explains a lot.
None of this is what it appears to be. It never was. Yet again, the TVA is responsible.
Well, mostly. The disjointed quiet is not something Sylvie will take under her wing. It isn’t her job to sort this out.
Loki is just hovering beside her, flapping uselessly. Mobius is mentally elsewhere. They could easily meet in the middle - but they won’t. Out of stubbornness or sabotage, she doesn’t know.
"Say something!" Sylvie hisses, trying to shoo Loki away from their corner and back into the ring.
"What do I say?!" he whispers back, a little desperate.
Truly, a ridiculous fool.
Sylvie is not giving him some weird whispered peptalk. She’ll wheedle it all down into a sentence.
"Just be honest with him, before you lose the chance to."
They're not exactly lounging around here on some lovely relaxed holiday. This will all splinter and collapse in the face of harrowing judgement. And they've wasted too much of it on different pages.
Clearing his throat, Loki walks towards Mobius. He's tentative in his approach, still unsure.
“Sylvie’s right. I’m um - well. I'm bad at this. Dreadful, in fact."
Mobius folds, warmth spilling back into his eyes.
Wow. That really didn't take long - this man is quite enamoured.
"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it too much-"
"Not exactly the best choice of words," Loki quips, slipping easily into the rapport they have.
Sylvie doesn't understand the reference but Mobius clearly does. He ducks his head. The smile that surfaces is much more vulnerable, unyielding. When he meets Loki's gaze again, all of him is drenched in fierce affection.
"Yeah. Guess not." Pause. Sigh. "Dammit. As you probably noticed, I could do with some work in this department too. So you're not alone in that, or anything. Not anymore, Loki. You don't have to be."
The words aren’t directed at her, but Sylvie feels them catching in her chest nonetheless. When returned to himself, Mobius is an endless source of easy reassurance. No longer a colossal pain in the ass.
She still isn’t ecstatic and singing his praises - but she can see why they teeter on the edge of something rather precious.
This kind of thing, it’s what Loki needs. What they’ve both always yearned for.
"Mobius. The truth is, I don’t even know what love is. Not really."
Eyes watery and full of brazen sincerity, Loki continues. He's sheathing the imaginary dagger, and she's proud of him for that.
"My mother she- that was love. And Sylvie. Sylvie... it’s hard to explain. I don’t quite understand it myself.”
Mobius listens attentively. No, appreciatively. Without judgement or any of the nonsense that resided from earlier.
Instead of sinking into that opportune moment, Loki glances over to Sylvie as if asking for assistance.
God. He is utterly hopeless.
The mood has basically been orchestrated for him. This is why they are doomed to be alone. Without a postman or a post lady, or anyone else. At least they’re alone together.
But really - Sylvie cannot carry the entire fate of the sacred timeline and this budding relationship on her shoulders too.
She'll help. Just this once. Because there's something healing and heartwarming about all of this. The three of them, sharing the different shapes their bonds have taken.
“I think it’s easier to notice when love exists elsewhere, when it's far away enough to be a mirage. It's not often close,” Sylvie offers, hands rubbing down her legs absently.
She turns her gaze to Mobius.
“We struggle with love that comes in, for ourselves. On Lamentis-1, I think we found it in each other. Together.”
Meeting Loki's eyes, she smiles. It's worn and it's weathered but it is echoed back tenfold and that's enough. Beside Loki, Mobius frowns.
“That was the nexus event," he muses, thoughtfully. "Not just knowing who you are, but finally accepting yourself. Feeling worthy of love, understanding that you don't deserve to be alone. You never did."
Pause.
Sylvie readjusts herself on the chair, uncomfortable in the raw exposure. This isn't meant to be about her.
“I don’t know if anyone should get to decide that for you. Or for anyone.”
They don’t really have much of a choice, apparently. Destined to lose, destined to fall.
Destined to hurt and be hurt.
“Well,” Loki lowers his gaze, voice low. “I suppose you were right. Born to cause pain and suffering and death. That's how it is, how it was and how it will be... all so others can achieve their best versions of themselves."
What the Hel.
That’s horrible. Way heavier than it needs to be. All laced up in a twisted truth that is quite excruciating to process. Sylvie takes every moderately nice thing back she has thought about Mobius.
This man can perish.
“Did he say that?” Sylvie asks, narrowing her eyes.
Before Loki can confirm or deny, she continues.
“Oi. Did you really say that?”
"Sylvie," Loki says, as if he has no idea how any of this even happened when he was the instigator. "It was just - it doesn't matter. Really."
"You brought it up, so clearly it does!"
Sputtering, Mobius shuffles. He has the grace to at least look skittish and a tad sheepish.
“See, what I need you to understand about when I said that is we-"
Sylvie leans over to smack his shoulder.
“What I understand is that you're an ass!!”
Mobius takes the furthest seat from her, soothing over the spot.
"Ouch.”
Resigned, Sylvie slumps backwards.
“That was mean.”
Mobius gestures to his arm.
“So was that, guess that makes us even.”
“No, you’ve got a way to catch up.”
“You're such a basket of delight. Sure wish I got to interrogate you first," Mobius admits in wisps of absent playfulness seeping through. "He talks more but you're better at it.”
“I'm honoured," Sylvie says, a little sardonic. "But you still didn’t pass.”
“Pass what?”
“The boyfriend test.”
"Sylvie!" Loki exclaims in abject dismay, scurrying over to Mobius as if to reassure him that is not true.
He perches on the edge of the seat, like there's nowhere else he would rather be. Good.
She's not doing all the work for them.
"Then again, it's not up to me." Lips twitching, Sylvie tilts her head in Loki's direction. "He's already decided."
Huffing, Loki stifles a really stupid noise.
"Don't listen to her wiles, there is no test."
"What is there, then?" Mobius asks, a little more unravelled than before.
That pulls them out of the petty squabbles and heated irritations. The question is vast and hopeful, despite the bleak expanse before them. It's a reminder of why they're here, what awaits them.
"What could possibly be left when the TVA just goes ahead and takes it all again and again and again?”
Pause.
“For all time,” Mobius recites dejectedly. “Always...”
Something about hearing those words spoken with such a bleak context has Sylvie sitting up. None of them deserve this. The TVA is the enemy here.
"It can't take everything," She spits fiercely. "It just can't."
She won’t let it.
Outside, a strident march gets closer to the door. The rhythm marks the beginning of their end. Loki sucks in a sharp breath, inching ever closer and closer to another potential nexus event of a different design.
"Mobius, to answer your question. I suppose what’s left is this." He gestures towards Sylvie. "And this."
Loki reaches for Mobius' wrist, pressing chase against the pulsepoint. He's not quite ready to tangle their fingers, be further entwined. Not just yet.
Mobius solves that problem for him, clasping Loki's hand in his own. The touch is unwavering and exactly the kind of firm reassurance Loki needs to speak this story into existence.
"You and I are in a loop of our own."
That sounds like it has a personal meaning, deeper than Sylvie can glean.
"Our interests aligned, yeah. Yeah. Good answer," Mobius breathes, awed by what has been coaxed out into the open. "Really good answer, actually."
"Now look who's swooning," Loki teases with a strained smile.
"Oh shut-up. Come here, you."
The fondness laced into those warm words is felt even from where Sylvie sits. Biting down a smile, she watches as they close the slither of distance between them.
Finally.
Maybe it's a little convoluted and a lot cheesy, but having all of this on their side could give them the edge.
Hunter B-15, mourning the life she forgot. Mobius, levelled by lies. Sylvie, bracing for her fated fight. And Loki, forever burdened with glorious purpose.
No longer single threads fraying alone and left to dwindle behind a blanket of dying stars. Here, they have been woven into an engine fuelled by one almighty driving force.
With this weird and wonderful ensemble of love, they could triumph.