Chapter Text
Trust. (noun)
\ ˈtrəst \
“Assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something.”
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Trust is a shield. You wear it as armour, a steel wall of defense against the blood that runs through the world as prevalent as water.
It stains even the cleanest of hands because when something turns the gears of the universe, you cannot escape from it.
There is battle after battle after battle and they're impossible to win unless you have trust in the people you’re fighting alongside.
Trust is shiny and it's beautiful and you wear it with pride. You've earned this shield and the warrior against your exposed back has earned it too.
Your movements are fluid as you fight against the world. Together you succeed and together you would fall, and it's all because of trust.
But trust only works for as long as it's in one piece.
Trust can be broken.
And sometimes, those jagged pieces act as a double-edged sword.
And sometimes, when your eyes are locked on the enemies in front, you don't realize you've been left standing on the blood stained battlefield alone, blissfully unprotected and unaware of the hole in your defenses.
“You betrayed me.”
“You betrayed me."
The words echoed.
The guilt boiled.
The shame burned.
And the trust was broken.
It was no longer a shield and his chest was bare.
-
“You're just kind of an asshole.” Mobius shot back at him, voice calm but detached.
He was used to that.
“And a bad friend.”
That one hit the mark. The nerve Mobius was looking for. It cut a little too deep because he knew it was true, but he really didn't enjoy hurting others.
Especially the ones he’s grown to care about.
-
Trust was like a wall made of moss-covered stones.
Trust was sturdy and strong if built on the right foundation, but when it topples it shatters and will never fit right again.
It takes so much to build, but so little to break, and sometimes Loki wondered if it was all worth it.
-
“Right, yes, I guess you don't do partners.” Mobius started, tone seeping with venom. He was sitting across from Loki, fingers wound tightly around his pen as he took notes. The frustration came off him in waves, but the anger covered up something else.
“Unless of course it benefits you, and you intend to betray them at some point.”
Loki replayed the sentence over and over again, and the words left a bad taste in both of their mouths.
-
“I'm going to miss these little tete-a-tetes.” Those words had truth to them.
“Me too.” And Loki’s did as well.
“One guy playing checkers, you, old Mobius playing chess.”
The only way to win at checkers is by removing everyone else from the board.
Fitting, for a Loki.
-
“You like her." Now Mobius was just taunting him. With harsh animosity he insisted what he and Sylvie had was a sick, twisted romantic relationship.
Sometimes things like anger can blind you.
But he wouldn't tell him what he couldn't see, because if he couldn't see it, he wasn't looking for it.
Loki wished he could tell Mobius the truth.
But he wouldn't do that, he couldn't do that.
So he didn't.
“What an incredible, seismic narcissist. You fell for yourself!” The jealousy dripped from Mobius’s tongue.
That's not at all who he fell for.
“She's not my girlfriend!” Loki yelled, frustration boiling to the surface.
I fell for you.
-
“You’re all variants!” Loki interrupted. “Everyone who works at the TVA.”
Something flashed on Mobius’s face, but it left as quickly as it came. “Nice try.” He laughed, voice hollow.
Loki must be the boy who cried wolf then.
Was that his glorious purpose?
“Well, I'm gonna have to close this case now, ‘cause I don't need you anymore.”
Being needed is good. It means you can relax a little. No longer in fear of your life because someone thinks you're more valuable breathing than not.
But sometimes, he longed to be wanted, instead.
Because need is a necessity. Want, means the person you love chooses to stay with you.
-
“Do you really think you deserve to be alone?” Mobius appeared through the timedoor, frantic.
This was another moment where he wished that he spoke in a tongue that wasn't lies.
“I don't know.”
“Then you better figure it out quick, because the nexus event the two of you caused, I think can bring this whole place down.”
Ah. He’s talking about Sylvie again.
“So we better understand-”
"We?" Loki couldn't stop the words from escaping.
The man across from him sighed heavily, tired. “Do you swear she didn't implant those memories in Hunter C-20?”
“Yes, Mobius, I believe her.”
“So, I just have to trust the word of two Lokis?”
Trust. There was that word again. “How about the word of a friend?” He tried tentatively.
Mobius gave the smallest hint of a smile, before letting the seriousness of the moment wash it away. “You were right, about the TVA. You were right from the beginning. And if you want to save her, you need to trust me.”
“Can I try and save you, too?” He whispered the words, carefully keeping his tone neutral.
Mobius tilted his head slightly. Squinting his eyes like he was thinking, trying to find the deeper meaning being Loki’s words.
He felt like a glass pane, watching Mobius detect the thoughts in his head as his faint blue eyes ran over every line on Loki’s face.
“Yeah, I think you can do that.” This time Mobius’s smile was still small, but warmer, and Loki found his own face reflected it.
He met Mobius’s gaze, and for the first time since they had met, his eyes glittered with hope.
-
Trust was a crown.
-
They walked through the timedoor, together, shields of trust glaring off the light of the hunter’s batons waiting for them on the other side.
“I think you have something of mine.” Mobius stiffened beside him as Ravonna spoke.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I got all the way down there before I even realized I picked up yours.” Mobius lied easily.
Loki stood there, silent, unsure what to do but sensing the tension.
“What's going on?” Mobius feigned innocence. “What's the problem, Ravonna?”
She made a solemn face, one Mobius seemed to recognize, because Loki heard his breath hitch slightly beside him.
He knew what was coming.
They both did.
“You know where I'd go, if I could go anywhere?”
Something caught in Loki’s throat as the words fell out of the man’s beside him.
“Wherever it is I'm really from.”
I could go with you.
“Yeah, wherever I had a life before the TVA came along. Maybe I had a jet ski.”
Both parts of his jaw felt glued shut as he tried to speak, and his greatest tool quickly became something he resented immensely.
The guards across the room changed positions, their baton’s now pointed at the two of them.
“That's what I'd like to do. Just riding around on my jet ski.”
Surely you want more than that.
But Loki will never know.
“Prune him.” Ravonna said, and how dare she. How dare she have regret in her voice.
Before he could do anything, the hunter closest to them moved. Ramming their weapon right into Mobius's stomach. Golden-orange light ran from the tip of the baton as shards of sunlight, and he watched Mobius go up in flames.
Such a violent death for such a gentle person.
The tears stung as they fell from his eyes, and he didn't try to stop them.
-
Love. (noun)
/ləv/
“An intense feeling of deep affection.”
-
There it was.
Like the last piece of a puzzle it fell in place, and the jarring truth of what he already knew was too blatant to ignore.
Love really was a dagger.
And now the world’s blood is his own. It spilled from his body just as the hot tears fell from his eyes.
Mobius went up in showering sparks, and the match he had lit inside of Loki was put out.
Death. He had seen so much death. It was behind every corner he turned. Presence undeniable, he walked through life followed by the thud of bodies hitting pavement.
He was saturated in death, yet for him it never seemed to stick. Loki’s were good at surviving, yes. But when you’re in a constant state of war, you never really live, do you?
And right as he tried to live, to love, it was snatched away, right from his grip.
The universe was toying with him, he was sure of it now. A mere puppet with strings too strong to cut, he was destined for a life of isolation. For the predetermined path of glorious purpose layed out for him.
Glorious purpose.
The phrase was laughable.
But Loki’s learned his lesson, with love’s dagger serving as a white hot and unceasing reminder, leaving behind a wound that would never heal.
He won’t let himself go to battle with a dagger or a shield anymore.
The armour of isolation would be enough.
Sometimes the lies he told himself were more damning than the illusions he crafted for others.
-
End of File.