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Loki stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and picks dejectedly at his hair. It looks like a literal wet rat’s nest. The thought to just cut it all off has crossed his mind a few times, but he doesn’t really like it short. It’s just… He never realized how much he relied on magic for little everyday things. When was the last time he actually brushed his hair? Centuries ago, probably. He honestly can’t remember. He squints at his reflection in disgust, and picks up the glittery purple plastic hairbrush laying on the vanity next to him. It belongs to B-15, according to Mobius who has so far declined to tell him how he actually obtained it. Loki swears under his breath, as he tries - quite uselessly - for the tenth time to loosen a huge knot. All he really succeeds in doing is giving himself a headache.
“Jesus, I can’t watch this anymore,” He hears Mobius complain, and remembers he left the door open. “Give me that.”
Loki flinches as Mobius plucks the brush from his hand. “…Don’t.”
Mobius frowns. “Hey, look, I know you don’t really like being touched after what Thanos put you through on Sanctuary. Yeah, that’s all in your file. Just let me help, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you. Pinky Swear.”
Loki sighs, thinks that he really shouldn’t trust him. He can’t really seem to get a read on Mobius, other than that he does not seem likely to dispose of him at the moment. Of course, Loki has no illusions that he will be pruned once he is no longer of use to the TVA. He nods his head stiffly, when he realizes that Mobius is waiting for a response. He squeezes his eyes closed as Mobius runs his fingers through his hair, and carefully detangles the knot he was picking at. He’s a lot more gentle than Loki expects, and he hates himself for how he leans into his touch, like he’s starved for it. Or, maybe he is just finally passing out from exhaustion, and a few seconds from collapsing on top of Mobius. He isn’t sure how long he’s been at the TVA; it could be hours, days, even weeks. All Loki knows is that he has not slept since being brought here, and it is catching up with him. Without access to his magic he needs to eat and sleep regularly like a mortal, but he has done neither – despite Mobius’ best attempts to feed him, and allowing him to stay in his apartment rather than the glorified prison cell Renslayer assigned him to.
The only thoughts in Loki’s mind, as Mobius carefully picks another knot loose, are of his fall from the Bifrost and the events that followed. His memory is hazy at best. The torture he remembers with stark clarity, but everything that follows is a jumbled mess – up until the hulk, anyway. The blunt force, that knocked him out for a few seconds, must have broken the mind stone’s hold on him. Loki winces; simply recalling that memory is physically painful. Still, he had not expected to be so easily controlled by Thanos. He must have resisted, though. His ‘plan’ was awful and it really does seem that he set himself up for failure all along. At least he doesn’t have to run from the Mad Titan any longer.
“Almost done,” Mobius tells him.
Shame, Loki thinks to himself. The way Mobius strokes his hair as he brushes it is kind of a nice feeling, as much as Loki would rather die than admit that out loud. Maybe he is a bit starved for touch. He watches, with a bit of disappointment, as Mobius puts the brush down.
“Ready? We have a lot of work to do,” Mobius says and leaves the room.
Loki watches him go, barely able to suppress the sudden unexplainable longing for the warmth of his presence. He heaves a sigh, and follows Mobius back to the library. He can barely keep his eyes open, and the text on the file in his hands seems to swim in his vision. It’s his own fault for not sleeping, but sleep means nightmares. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and squeezes his eyes shut. He glances around, and doesn’t see Mobius, or any of the security guards anywhere. Mobius, he knows, went to see Renslayer for something. It wouldn’t hurt, Loki thinks, to rest for a moment. He yawns, and lays his head on top of a stack of files.
The sound of pages rusting, and the soft scratching of a pen on paper are the first things Loki is aware of. He fell asleep, he realizes, as he listens to Mobius mumble something under his breath. Mobius. He’s good as dead, probably. Falling asleep on the job is not likely to be tolerated. Slowly, he opens his eyes and silently watches as Mobius writes something in a notepad. As he sits up, he notices Mobius’ coat draped over his shoulders and unconsciously pulls it tighter. It smells like he does – of old paper, citrusy cologne and something like crisp sea air.
“Sleeping beauty awakens at least,” Mobius quips, tossing a brown paper bag at him. “You’re gonna have to eat something, unless you’re planning on starving to death.”
Curiously, Loki opens it. “What is this?” He asks, taking some kind of sweet roll from the bag and squinting at it suspiciously.
“A cinnamon bun,” Mobius tells him. “Not what I would call nutritious, but it’s calories and that’s not nothing.”
Loki takes a bite of it and nearly swoons. “This is delicious.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it. Don’t get icing on the paperwork.” He looks up, and smiles in a fond sort of way. “Or on my coat.”
“Why are you being kind to me?” Loki asks. “It’s not like I deserve it, or you are not just going to prune me when this is all over.”
Mobius sighs and sets his pen aside. “It’s really sad how you are so used to being treated like absolute shit, to the point that you have to question any basic shred of decency. I’m not going to prune you, by the way.”
“I don’t need your pity,” Loki snaps icily.
Mobius shrugs. “It isn’t pity. I worry about you. Someone has to.”
“Pathetic,” Loki drawls.
Mobius rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m only trying to help.”
“No one helps me without an ulterior motive,” Loki growls.
“Oops. You got me. The thing is, I don’t think you’re really all that bad, or ever wanted to be,” Mobius tells him. “So there, that’s my grand scheme – helping you out of the hole you dug for yourself. You can grab the rope and climb out, or you can sit there wallowing in self-loathing for however long it takes you to accept a little bit of help from a friend. We have nothing here but time, after all.”
“I do not have ‘friends’.”
“No? What are we then?” He cocks his head to the side, a bit like a puppy as his eyes meet Loki’s. “We’re not enemies, or rivals. Colleagues, acquaintances… Lovers?”
“Lovers?!” Loki huffs indignantly. “Do not flatter yourself.”
Mobius leans forward, so that they’re almost touching. “You liked it when I brushed your hair.”
Loki falters, his tongue turned to lead in his mouth. “No,” He says, knowing mobius senses his hesitation. “I did not.”
“And I’m the queen of England,” He replies with a smirk.
“Long live the queen,” Loki grumbles.
“Well, I’m not ashamed of admitting that I like your hair,” Mobius tells him. “Or that I do genuinely care about you, whether you want to acknowledge that or not. We can be whatever you want us to be, just let me help you for fuck’s sake.”
“But what do you want from me?” Loki demands.
“Nothing. I mean, other than your assistance in catching this variant. But, let’s be honest here, you don’t know anything that I haven’t already considered. You’re clever, but completely out of your depth. All you really have to offer is a new set of eyes and a fresh perspective,” Mobius replies. “That’s not nothing, considering the massive hole you found in our security, but it’s not much either. Which is perfectly fine. So, make up your mind. Figure out what you want. I’ll be here when you do.”
They work in silence, Loki not wanting to argue, and completely unable to understand how Mobius could really want nothing from him. Isn’t that just how the universe works – a favor for a favor? Nothing comes without a price in Loki’s experience, especially the kindness that Mobius has shown him. Others are only ever kind to him when they want something, usually something he would rather not give. He looks at the TVA agent, who is completely engrossed in the file he’s reading about a minor apocalypse. He shakes his head and sets it aside, picking up another one. Loki can’t see a single shred of malevolence in him, though. There’s only calm and warmth in his eyes when he catches a glance into them. Why is he so difficult to understand?
“…I did like it when you brushed my hair,” Loki admits sheepishly.
Mobius looks up, and gives him a soft smile. “I know.”