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Mobius's first instinct had been to comfort him, the stranger who had called his name. He was clearly hurt, terrified, though Mobius saw a wave of relief behind his eyes the second their eyes locked.
That relief was gone the moment Mobius asked him if he was an analyst, when Mobius asked for his name.
He might have even thought the man had gone bonkers, perhaps an injured to the head in a mission, but that couldn't be the case, because he knew him. And if Mobius had to guess, he'd say the man looked like he'd run a marathon trying to search for Mobius, too.
"What's your name?" Mobius asked, clear but not at all harsh. He noticed the stranger's attention was no longer focused on him. He was looking at the statue, the elegant statue of the Time-Keeper, and Mobius could see terror on his face as he took in the sight.
His shoulders, Mobius made a mental note, were trembling. A nasty cut on his arm was seeping out blood. Mobius suspected it was going to need to be stitched, too. He looked like he'd been through a battle of sorts; bruises here and there, other small cuts scattering over his pale skin, his hair disheveled and was covering parts of his face.
Scared little boy, Mobius thought. He was... surprised by the unexplainably urge of protectiveness, the surge of anger that swept Mobius off balance at the thought of something — something so terrible — happening to him that it resulted in this man — this scared little boy — looking beyond petrified.
"Hey," Mobius said again, when it looked like his new company had long lost his voice. A hand placed gently on his shoulder and he flinched, which made Mobius retract the hand back. The last thing he wanted to do, was startle him even more than he already was.
He looked back at him now, the scared little boy, and Mobius offered him a soft, gently smile, hoping it would at least comfort him, if only a little. He was aware of Hunter B-15's presence, the confused look on her face, which was to be expected, considering the fact the man seemed to appear out of nowhere then started talking what Mobius knew, for her, was gibberish. Though Mobius doubted it was gibberish, after all.
Hunter B-15 remained silence ever since his arrival. An unspoken rule, if Mobius had to guess. She knew Mobius was better at this than she was, at comforting people. And this young man, whoever he was, could use some comfort right now.
The man opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something. Like he needed to say something. He closed it and pressed his lips into a thin line after only a huff of air left his throat. Not so talkative anymore, Mobius noted.
Hunter B-15 switched her glance back and forth between them, at Mobius to see what he was doing next, and back at the stranger in case he might start talking again, which didn't look like it was going to be the case, at least not anytime soon.
"I'll go check on Casey," she said, breaking the silence. Mobius simply nodded, he got the message clear enough, the true meaning behind her words; you deal with this. Obviously he came for you, he called your name. Your problem now.
And if Mobius thought them being alone after B-15 excused herself might ease the stranger's mind and coax him into resuming to whatever it was he was trying to say, Mobius bit back a sigh when the stranger remained just as wordless. If anything it looked like he might break down into a series of tears and sobs, if he were to say anything now. And Mobius supposed that was why he didn't talk; he was afraid of himself falling on his knees and weeping right on the spot, that was how broken the man looked right now.
Mobius pitied him, which was normal. What was abnormal was the way he felt like pulling him into a hug and telling him everything was going to be alright. What was abnormal was the way Mobius felt as though it was his priority to shelter this scared little boy from whatever it was this cruel, cruel world threw at him.
"Alright," Mobius said instead. "That's alright, we don't have to talk right now." He tried again, hovering both his hands above the stranger's arms by his side, though he didn't touch him yet. He looked into his eyes then, a silent ask for the permission, and when the stranger said nothing (although Mobius thought he might have cooled down a little bit, with their eyes locked like this) Mobius eventually, slowly touched both his arms, letting his hands rest there, reassuring and comforting.
"Follow me," he said, not a command. "It's quite noisy here."
And the man nodded. Mobius saw him wipe away a tear and opted against making any comment about it. He led the way, but with one hand on the man's shoulder, not persisting, not in a way that might have been intimidating. He made sure the man was relaxed under his touch, he knew he would've removed the hand immediately, if he thought his touching him was making the man uncomfortable.
To Mobius's approval, he seemed to melt into the touch, no matter how light.
Mobius reflectively rubbed his thumb in soothing circles against the muscle of his tense shoulder, feeling surprisingly satisfied when he felt the stranger relax under his touch.
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Loki knew the place, and had to fight back another wave of overwhelming emotions washing over him when Mobius opened the door to the familiar space of his apartment -- Mobius's apartment.
He'd been here before, when things were so... simple between them. When they were some sorts of cop buddies trying to solve a case together. He missed those times he could've dropped on his knees and bawled.
And to think you didn't know what you had until it's gone.
Mobius stepped into the room first, then he glanced back at Loki, silently inviting him in.
"I don't normally do this," Mobius said, closing the door behind once Loki was inside. "You're not from around here, that much I could tell, and I'm actually supposed to take you to Ravonna," he was looking at Loki now, then he sighed. "But I'm not gonna do that. I don't know what you've been through, but I don't think you deserve to be investigated. So unless you give me a reason to, I'm not gonna report you to the authorities."
I know you won't, Loki wanted to say. I know you. You're.... not like them. Instead he hugged himself, unconsciously making himself appear somewhat small.
Mobius continued looking at him, taking in his details. There was pity in his eyes, and normally — if Mobius were to be anybody else — Loki would've taken that as an insult and lashed out. But not with Mobius. Mobius's pitying him was anything but an insult, Loki knew that and had to restrained himself back from throwing his exhausted body into his arms.
"Go take a shower," Mobius said, after another brief moment of silence threatened to smoother them alive. He nodded towards the bathroom, then. "I'm gonna find you some clean clothes. You can use mine. Probably a size too small, but I hope you don't mind,"
"I..." Loki trailed off, finally finding his voice, though it was still small and quiet. "I don't... mind,"
"Good," Mobius nodded, already handing Loki his own comforting clothing. "We can talk about... whatever this is later, when you're ready."
Loki nodded back, taking Mobius's offering with a soft thank you. Then he disappeared into the bathroom. Mobius let him be.
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Mobius sank down on the soft mattress of his bed, legs tangled down the edge and hands held between his lap. His thoughts traveled to the man behind his bathroom door, the desperation in his eyes when he first found him at the archive, the relief when they made eye contact and the confusion when Mobius asked for his name.
You still don't know what his name is.
And Mobius felt he should've at least gotten that much, the man's name. He was an analyst, and here he was; offering a stranger a shelter, deliberately letting him into his apartment without even knowing who he was. Ravonna would probably laugh at him, if she knew, before giving him well-deserved hours of lecture.
He ran a hand down his face, thinking about what he'd do next. Mobius never really had a visitor before, and he didn't particularly expect the first time to be a mentally unstable individual who somehow seemed to know him.
A muffled crying coming from the bathroom broke his train of thoughts. Mobius turned to the direction, his gaze only met with the closed door. The sound of the running water nearly trumped those of the choked sobs, but Mobius heard them nonetheless.
He sighed. For a moment he thought he'd let the man be. Clearly he'd been hurt, and it wasn't even about his physical wounds, or at least, that wasn't what worried Mobius the most. He could stitch him up later. Mobius debated with himself for another short while, if he should pretend he didn't hear anything.
He eventually gave up and got on his feet. Walking to the bathroom, Mobius knocked three times. "Hey," he said. "Everything okay?"
Mobius didn't mean to pry. He was... worried; something he, himself, found odd, considering the man was a stranger to him, after all. He leaned his ear against the door when there was no verbal response coming from the other side. The water was still running, but Mobius heard the muffled sobbing clearer now.
If you only knew his name. If you'd just insisted and asked. Because right now Mobius thought it would have been easier, less awkward, to call the man's name, ask if he was alright (of course, he wasn't, but it would've still been better than not knowing what Mobius should call him at all)
"Listen, uhhh, can you let me know you're okay?" Mobius tried again. Knocking for the second time to no avail.
"I need to know you're okay,"
Maybe he should alert Ravonna. He definitely should alert Ravonna now, but Mobius didn't want that, not because he didn't trust her but because he knew what she'd do. What the protocol would make her do. And Mobius didn't want to put him through that; the protectiveness creeping up his chest that he could never understand, and it bothered him a lot.
After another short moment, Mobius's hand found the doorknob. It wasn't locked, and Mobius was tempted... so tempted.
"I'm going to come in there," he said, a little heads up. "If you don't answer, I'm gonna have to come in there,"
He waited. Seconds felt ridiculously longer than they actually were. When he received no answer, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
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Loki heard Mobius. He wanted to answer, he was afraid of how he would sound, if he were to say anything, how shaking his voice would be. He heard the door open, but was simply too exhausted — both physically and mentally — to bother standing up.
How pathetic you must look right now, huddling on the floor in the corner with your face burying between your knees, like a dog with its tail between its legs. But the thing was, he couldn't care less about how pathetic he looked, or about anything right now.
Next thing Loki knew, the water stopped pouring down on him. He didn't lift his gaze up to look, but Mobius must've turned off the faucet then. A hand touching his bare shoulder, and he didn't flinch.
He did, however, look up to meet Mobius's eyes with his red, bloodshot ones. There was kindness there. Mobius knelt down in front of him. The same familiar pair of eyes looking at him, it promised comfort and safety, and Loki wanted so badly to have Mobius wrap his arms around him, pretending this was just another mission gone wrong, that at the end of the day, they had each other.
It was a lie.
Mobius was here except he wasn't. Mobius didn't know who he was. Everything they had, everything they'd been through. Loki felt another wave of panic attack threaten to take over, he buried his head back between his knees, trying to focus only on his breathing, to not choke on the sobs escaping his throat.
"Hey," Mobius's voice was gentle, his hand still on Loki's shoulder. "Come on," he added. "Come with me."
Loki didn't protest when he was being manhandled, Mobius pulling him off the floor and onto dry space. His eyes fixed on the cold tile beneath his feet. The soft material of a towel being the next thing he felt as Mobius helped him dry his hair.
Why are you doing this? He wanted to ask. But he wasn't really that surprised that Mobius, even without the memories they shared, was literally drying him off with his towel, like he wasn't a stranger to him. Because Loki knew — had always known — Mobius had a heart of gold. The kindness Mobius was giving him, he didn't deserve it at all.
Mobius stepped away, giving Loki a little space when he put on his pants, Mobius's pants. The clothes he previously wore, when returning to the TVA, too torn and dirty for Mobius's liking that he decided it was necessary Loki didn't put them back on his body.
He stopped Loki's hand, to Loki's surprise, when Loki was about to put on the shirt Mobius gave. It must've shown on his face, because Mobius simply gave him a wordless shake of his head. "Come on," he said, only loud enough for Loki to hear, and didn't wait to see if Loki was following him when he walked out the door and back to the main room.
Loki, still shirtless, silently trailed behind Mobius. He watched the analyst rifle through his drawer before pulling out a toolbox, no, not a toolbox, Loki realized, a first aid kit.
"Sit," Mobius said, pointing at the edge of his bed, and Loki obediently did as told.
Mobius sat next to him. The cut on his arm wasn't actively bleeding anymore, but it still needed to be properly tended to. "This is gonna hurt a bit," his voice was apologetic. Loki didn't say anything, he let his silence serve as a green light. Mobius took the message, and began stitching him up.
What followed was silence, save for Loki's occasionally hissing as Mobius's hands continued doing the task, though he tried not to make too much noise, not to show any more of his weaknesses. Not like it mattered. And part of Loki knew he didn't have to pretend to be tough while in Mobius's presence. Mobius wouldn't judge, wouldn't use it against him.
"It's Loki," Loki said, after another minute or so of quietness.
"Beg pardon?" Mobius halted his motion for a moment. Their eyes met.
"My name," Loki said. "Is Loki." You know that. Please, you have to remember.
Though Mobius simply nodded, then he went back to stitching Loki up. "Loki," he said, his eyes on the cut. "That's a pretty name. I'm agent Mobius, but you already know that,"
"Aren't you going to ask how?"
"How what?"
"How I know your name," Loki bit back the frustration from leaving his lips. He wasn't particularly frustrated, more like desperate. But if he was frustrated, it sure wasn't directed at Mobius; the only person who truly loved and cared for him when he'd done nothing to deserving this kindness.
Mobius looked him in the eye again. Maybe it was only in his imagination, but Loki thought he was smiling softly, and in that smile, there was sadness, understanding. "I can tell that you're lost and scared,"
Loki muttered something under his breath, a small sigh leaving his mouth before he averted his gaze, eyes gluing on his lap.
"And whatever happened to you, you didn't deserve it," Mobius went on.
Loki glanced back up at his face again. Mobius smiled at him. This time he was definitely smiling, and it was the smile Loki missed so much, the one he thought he'd never see again.
He didn't mean to break down again. That was... that was embarrassing, but there was nothing he could do when a sob broke free from his throat, followed by a series of tears. Loki didn't fight it when Mobius pulled him close, his face on the crook of Mobius's neck, while Mobius just held him in his arms, gently, reflectively rocking him back and forth.
"You can talk about this later, whatever it is that's happened to you, whenever you're ready," Mobius said, planting a quick kiss on Loki's temple and Loki simply melted into that, the touch, the love and affection only Mobius was able to give.
He clung onto him harder, desperately crying on Mobius's shoulder like a small child, a scared little boy.
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In Mobius's head he didn't know what Loki had been through, how Loki knew his name and why it seemed so important to Loki that he found Mobius when he did in the archive. But he knew one thing; he wasn't going to abandon him. Whatever it was Loki had been through, whatever it was that would come Mobius's way, if he chose to stay by Loki's side, he wasn't going to walk away.
Scared little boy, Mobius thought, holding him close like he'd never let go.