Chapter Text
It’s a lot to take in.
Heart racing, Loki scans the giant carved figure, his eyes lingering over the mysterious face, searching for any resemblance to the one he’d just left at the citadel. Terrifying, he’d said to Mobius just a moment ago. He blinks at the particular way he’d characterized the man—terrifying—instead of downplaying it like he normally would. Concealing it.
He’s aware of movement behind him, even if he’s finding it a bit difficult (since he’s bent on being honest) to pull himself together. Nonetheless he hadn’t missed Hunter B-15’s call for backup; he can hear now the rustling of fabric and coordinated tread of boots as a small group of Minutemen trot in pairs through the Archives, presumably for him.
He takes it all in, even as his mind works to rapidly determine what precisely has changed. As he’d run up to Mobius minutes ago, he’d overheard B-15 asking the agent whether He expected them to simply let the branches redline. Not Renslayer, not Them: just He. That was before Loki realized what else was different here: in place of time lizards immortalized in statues, only a solitary, solemn figure looms before him. Now, as Loki gazes at the stone giant’s blank eyes, he wonders what else is different about this TVA while simultaneously concocting a plan to survive the next moments of his life.
That, at least, is familiar.
The stacked floors full of endless files rise up like ribs in the vast space of the Archives. Standing in the shadow of the great statue Loki peers at empty granite eyes that don’t look back; they’re a stranger’s eyes, just like this new Mobius’. Even so, at the moment it’s far easier for Loki to meet the statue’s stone gaze, versus that of the man standing somewhere behind him. He knows he has to face this Mobius, and hopefully find a path out of the mess he’s in, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to withstand the lack of recognition in those eyes. You can be anyone you want—even someone good, or so Mobius had said to him. Loki nods as if in agreement, takes a deep breath to compose himself, then turns around. He can’t help the mischievous grin that comes from habit, a nervous tic.
Well, his nerves are frayed.
“I’m sorry about all that,” he says smoothly, walking slowly toward the strange Mobius and B-15. “With this onslaught of branched timelines,” he shrugs, “I sort of panicked.” Hands on his hips, Loki glances toward the oncoming Minutemen, then back at Mobius. “Is all that really necessary?” he asks, as calmly as he can, while he looks into eyes that are both familiar and unfamiliar.
As Mobius returns his gaze, Loki can sense the agent sizing him up, questioning. If Loki knows anything about Mobius (but does he know, anymore?), this can go one of two ways: the agent will be compassionate, or borderline cruel. He respects both, but hopes for the former while realizing he’s holding his breath.
The agent’s eyebrows quirk before he turns and says to one of the Minutemen, “Stand down.”
Loki breathes.
Locking eyes with Loki, Mobius says, “But you and I are going to go talk.”
“Talk,” Loki repeats, and he can only wish that were the truth. The Minutemen retreat, then Mobius gives B-15 a glance before turning to Loki, an arm outstretched in invitation. They fall into lockstep, and Loki feels a wave of sadness ripple through him, because somewhere the Mobius who truly knows him is maybe, hopefully, wondering about him. Wondering what happened. Beyond explaining to Mobius the plan to enchant Alioth, Loki realizes none of them had really considered whether they would cross paths again; nor had they decided upon some means of exchanging word of what they’d seen or done.
His mind drifts toward Sylvie then, because there at least what happened is certain: He Who Remains is gone. Loki remembers, painfully, the determined look on Sylvie’s face just before she shoved him through the Time Door. What expression plays across her features now? It’s not hard for him to guess; how many times had he himself engaged in some act of revenge, only to complete it, then find himself wanting? Unsatisfied? No, it’s not hard at all to predict Sylvie’s reaction. Trouble is, he sympathizes—which is new, he admits. He feels sorry that she’d made that choice, knowing what he knows. Sorry that she’s not likely celebrating her victory. He shakes his head, knowing there’s a small part of him that wants to sneer at himself right now: for his wretched sympathy, because pitying her choices is a stone’s throw away from pitying his own. For now, he pushes the thoughts away—he can worry about his friends later. Friends, he thinks, surprised at how quickly (and often) the word comes bubbling up now.
As Loki walks the corridor with Mobius at his side, he is drawn out of his head and into the chaotic energy that surrounds them. Agents and Hunters trot past, and as they enter an open office area Loki spies one of the large monitors hanging from the ceiling. He nearly shudders as on screen, timeline branches angrily criss-cross and redline, while nearby, workers huddle together in anxious conversation. He knows how his Mobius would react to all of this, prior to the adventures they’d experienced together; he’d be very cross, indeed. Likely panicked. But since all that occurred in the Void, Loki’s curious about how Mobius might react to the current chaos unfolding. With glee? No, certainly not—but resolve, perhaps, now that he’d accepted the truth of the TVA and the fictions it had been peddling.
But what is the story here, in this new place? Loki recalls overhearing this Mobius’ query to B-15, before Loki had accosted them both a moment ago: At this point, how are we even going to stop them? Based on what Mobius had asked her, there’s a sliver of hope, he thinks, that this Mobius—and this TVA—hold a similar philosophy about the sanctity of timelines. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, he’s yet to determine. He tucks that knowledge away with the rest of the observations he’s made thus far, as the agent calmly leads them through the budding mayhem.
It’s a lot to take in.