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Möbius M Möbius.
Maybe that’s not even his name. Of course it isn’t his name. He figures he would have had a beautiful, ordinary, human name like Bob or John or Mike.
It now makes sense that he cares so much, that his empathy has always been his best and worst asset. The time keepers hadn’t created or predicted it; that was just him, the man he had been born to be lifetimes ago. He was right for the job, so they had made him do it.
Möbius rushes, and he’s not a man who ever rushes voluntarily. But he rushes now, because if he has to go down, there’s something he has to do first.
There’s no way he can undo all the pain or untie the wild, tangled web of all the misguided acts he’s been coerced into performing. He can’t fix history or even begin to imagine how to remedy the horror of the TVA’s existence. But if Möbius knows one thing after all the years, it’s that one simple act can have incredible implications. He doesn’t need to change the world; he just needs to change the broken heart of a shivering little boy turned desperate-eyed man. He can fix one thing; he can fix Loki.
He wouldn’t have blamed the God of Mischief for being far angrier and rejecting his words outright, but as usual, Loki listens to him, even after the torment of a time loop prison. He says what he came to say, knowing it will likely be his last act.
“You could be whoever, whatever you want to be, even someone good. I mean, just in case anyone ever told you different.”
Loki smiles, and the pain and distrust between them fall away. The smile reaches his eyes, and they’re the eyes of the boy as much as the man. In the moment, Möbius is satisfied. His last act has done its work. The insatiable longing for approval in Loki’s gaze has been replaced by peaceful satisfaction at receiving it—from someone whose opinion he genuinely values.
There is no time for Möbius to evaluate whether he considers himself worthy of such trust; he is simply glad to have provided salve for a wound so long in the making. He wonders for a fleeting second if he ever had children; he might have been a good father.
Walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Loki is a proud way to go. He doesn’t mind it, because he now knows that he’s done something genuinely good, a small, giant act to rest a life and a legacy against. He meets Ravonna’s eyes, and he is not afraid.
He still wishes he’d gotten to ride a jet ski.