Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since Loki - his Loki - had stumbled upon the timeline wherein which Mobius was residing– purely by chance, as it turned out.

Two weeks since Mobius had finally been able to identify an end to the seemingly infinite slog of days that had begun to blur into each other as he continued on with the unvarying routine that had somehow become his life following the inevitable downfall of the TVA and all who had stood with it until the bitter end;

-wake up

-monitor (the frankly hopelessly branching) timelines

- search said timelines for Loki

(his Loki),

-return to his TVA weighed down with so much disappointment it was almost sickening

-attempt to catch a few hours of restless and overall unsatisfying sleep…

(-search for Loki…)

Rinse. Repeat.

For Mobius, the routine had continued for almost a full Midgardian year, dull and drawn out and seemingly so unending that not even the threat of a potentially collapsing multiverse could quite shake him from the clinging sense of malaise and hopelessness that had begun dogging him not long following his and Loki having gone their separate ways after finding each other again the Void.

For Loki, however, Mobius feared the length of time that had lapsed following the split had been much, much longer.

So long, in fact, that by the time the god had staggered unsteadily through an unnaturally flickering Timedoor and into the middle of the abandoned TVA archives, Mobius had hardly recognized him for a long moment.

Granted, Loki’s physical appearance had not altered overly-much. His hair had grown somewhat longer, sure; the dark curls - tighter than Mobius had ever seen them - nearly reaching the tip of his shoulderblades where they had fallen out of the messy bun they had been pulled back into.

Even his clothing - Mobius would consider later with no small amount of horror - had remained mostly unchanged; the TVA issued button down and slacks worn thin with time and use.

No, the true change that had Mobius faltering - albeit briefly - the second he caught sight of the other man was the look of absolute defeat in his eyes.

Mobius had seen a number of emotions behind those familiar blue eyes, in the past–

Anger, despair, near-overwhelming sadness…

And resignation? Sure. He’d seen that particular look flicker over Loki’s features more times than he cared to recall– fighting not to wince outright as he watched as Loki was proverbially kicked while he was down for what felt like the millionth time since the beginning of the timeline reels Mobius had studied several times over.

But defeat? It might have been almost impossible for Mobius to even picture such a look on his Loki’s features, had he not been seeing it for himself, in that moment.

(Even as he had been hanging off of the side of the Rainbow Bridge, eyes wide and pleading–)

(No, not even then.)

It was this - coupled with the exhausted slump of Loki’s shoulders - that caused Mobius to pause even as briefly as he had, before his breath had caught painfully in his throat and he had staggered to his feet from where he had been slumped at one of the dusty library tables.

“Loki–” he had whispered hoarsely, a semi-hysterical laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep within his chest when those blue eyes had snapped up to meet his own.

From there, it had hardly been the heartening, warm reunion Mobius had begun to allow himself to envision, over the previous several months.

Rather, Loki had blinked owlishly in reply before surging forward with an almost animalistic snarl, a knife appearing in one hand as he seized Mobius by the collar with the other.

“How do you know me?” he had demanded, eyes wild as they tracked over Mobius’ face with an almost desperate sort of urgency. “Why–How–”

“Hey,” Mobius had breathed, raising one (badly shaking, he had registered distantly) hand in a placating gesture before slowly, ever so slowly, allowing himself to grasp loosely at the wrist of the hand Loki still had tangled tightly in the fabric of his shirt at the collar.

(Too thin. His mind had immediately supplied, his throat tightening slightly as he felt the fine bones jutting up against the skin beneath his touch).

“Hey,” he had repeated, forcing his attention fully back to the present, for the time being. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“How do you know me?” Loki had repeated - demanded, really - and Mobius might have been intimidated, were it not for the way his voice had wavered, and finally cracked on the final word.

That, or the way his jaw had begun to quiver minutely, as he continued to study Mobius warily.

Warily, Mobius had thought, or maybe…

Maybe hopefully, was a better word.

Something about the realization had filled Mobius with a renewed sense of surety, and he had found himself smiling softly, even as a bewildered furrow began to form between Loki’s fine brows.

“I know you.” he had whispered, after a beat, warmth and a sort of giddy triumph beginning to burst to life in the space between his lungs. “And you know me.”

A beat had passed, before Loki inhaled sharply before fairly pushing him away in his haste to stagger back a few tentative steps, the dagger in his grip disappearing just as soon as it had appeared.

In spite of this, however, Mobius had not missed the way Loki had swayed back toward him even as he took another small step back, almost as if magnetically drawn.

“H–How?” he had hissed, then, though there was little venom behind the tone. “How do you–do you know me?”

In reply, Mobius had offered a small, almost helpless shake of his head, his shoulders shrugging almost of their own volition.

“How could I not?” he had offered, dimly aware that the answer would not be satisfactory enough for Loki - not by half - but unable to stop himself, all the same.

As it was, it was practically a miracle that he hadn’t simply burst into tears where he was stood.

Not just yet, at any rate.

A battle that Loki himself had seemed to be losing rapidly.

“Tell me how you know me!” he had demanded, then, chest heaving and eyes tellingly bright as he gestured wildly toward himself. “Tell–How do you know me?”

He had seemed to pause then, before pointing to his own chest with one badly trembling hand and whispering, almost soundlessly, “Me.”

At that, Mobius had felt himself break, and shook his head again before striding across the room so that he was stood directly before the trembling figure before him.

“Oh, Loki.” he had whispered, heart twisting within his chest as he raised one hand to rub soothingly at one of Loki’s shuddering forearms where it had come up to curl protectively around his own waist.

“Still just a scared little boy…” Mobius had mused, then - more to himself than anything - as his gaze settled on the single point of contact between them.

Not a moment later, however, Mobius’ attention had been all but forced back to Loki’s face–

Loki’s face, which was crumpling rapidly– a shift that was subsequently all the warning Mobius had received before Loki was all but collapsing into his arms, a wretched wail working itself up from what sounded like the very depths of his lungs.

“O–Okay,” Mobius had grunted, dimly aware of the tears welling up from behind his own eyes as Loki’s hands had begun to scrabble for purchase against the fabric of his jacket at his back. “There we go. It’s alright. We’re–”

Abruptly, Mobius had felt his throat close up to the point of near-constriction, before his own arms shot up to cinch tightly around Loki’s waist, his next exhale shuddering almost painfully out of him.

“Loki,” he had breathed, turning to press his face tightly to the side of Loki’s head, his nose buried in the thick curls there as an overwhelming sense of relief threatened to overwhelm him entirely. “Loki.”

“Mobius.” Loki had replied in turn, through what was undoubtedly a breathless sob. “I found you.”

He had paused, then, and sucked in an unsteady inhale before repeating, almost disbelievingly, “I found you.”

“You found me.” Mobius had reassured, running one hand soothingly along the space between Loki’s sharp shoulder blades while the other came up to cradle the back of his head protectively. “You found me, Loki.”

“I–I found you.” Loki had repeated, almost as if not having heard Mobius’ words at all, even as he continued nuzzling his face almost frantically against the side of Mobius’ neck. “I found you. IfoundyouIfoundyouI–”

“Easy,” Mobius had cut in, then, fear constricting his chest as he felt Loki beginning to gasp for breath against his side, “Easy, Loki.”

“I–I–” Loki had gasped, his hands tightening with almost painful strength in the fabric at Mobius’ back. “Mobius.”

“It’s alright.” Mobius had been quick to offer, swallowing back more of the sobs that had begun to build within his chest with considerable effort. “You can rest, now.”

He hadn’t been sure what he was expecting, following the words, though he had mentally prepared himself for any number of reactions.

Loki nodding woozily and exhaling a shuddering sigh, before going completely limp in his arms, however, had certainly not been one of them.

“Whoa, now.” Mobius had sputtered, staggering slightly beneath the sudden weight. “Hey–Loki? Loki!”

Despite the somewhat vigorous shake Mobius had given the figure in his arms, Loki had failed to awaken, and Mobius had felt his heart beginning to race in panic, his own breaths beginning to leave him in short, uneven pants–

(I just got him back. Don’t take him from me again. I just–)

–Before Loki had shifted ever so slightly, moving to tuck his face more comfortably into the junction between Mobius’ jaw and shoulder, before letting out a mighty snore.

A surprised, breathlessly relieved laugh had burst forth from Mobius’ chest, then, and he shook his head before staggering backward to collapse onto the floor just inches from his abandoned seat, Loki’s long limbs half-draped in his lap.

“Huh,” Mobius had mused, his watery grin softening into something small and considering as he tucked his companion more comfortably against his side, hands tightening almost possessively around Loki’s lean shoulder and the nape of his neck. “Guess you took me literally.”

—

It had been two weeks since the two had found each other again, and Mobius was beginning to realize that he could count on one hand the number of times Loki had been farther than a few feet from his side for more than five minutes, since.

Not that he was necessarily complaining. Monitoring and attempting to reign in the endlessly branching multiverse - an effort that was mostly fruitless, at best - was often dull and discouraging work, and it made a world of difference to have Loki there more often than not— typically armed as he was with a surprisingly insightful comment or an encouraging hand hovering scant inches above Mobius’ elbow, when the atmosphere got too tense.

(Not to mention the fact that Mobius was not quite ready to let Loki out of his sight for any long stretches of time, just yet– afraid that he might turn his back for a second too long only to find his companion having vanished yet again, when he turned back).

Nevertheless, Mobius found that the significant amount of relief that Loki’s company brought with it was not quite substantial enough to outweigh the worry that had begun to gnaw at the pit of his stomach, the longer the god continued to work tirelessly at his side without so much as visibly wavering.

Not that the signs of exhaustion weren’t there– that much had been clear the second Loki had collapsed into Mobius’ arms not minutes after their reunion, and had subsequently remained unconscious for another hour on the floor of the archives, head pillowed on Mobius’ thigh and breaths deep and even.

Even still, it had not been much longer following this that Loki had reawoken, and almost immediately burst into a flurry of activity in spite of Mobius’ insistence that they take even a few minutes to recharge and settle.

To his mingled surprise and exasperation, the occasion had been one of the few he had found himself in wherein which he was unable to get through to Loki, and Mobius had eventually relented with a small huff before allowing Loki to follow on his heels back to where he had left his TemPad deep within the archives.

From that moment, the two had continued to work seemingly without pause, Loki alternating between following Mobius into the field to prune wayward branches of the multiverse, and tirelessly monitoring the timelines on a TemPad of his own that Mobius had - with no small amount of effort - finally convinced Hunter B-15 to provide him with.

She had, following her being informed of the news of Loki’s return, initially been convinced that the offer of a TemPad would ultimately end in Loki fleeing the second he received the device– a sentiment Mobius himself had attempted valiantly to ignore as it occasionally flickered to life at the back of his own mind.

It had only been after Mobius had reminded her that technically, with the timelines branching as they were, one Loki escaping a reality he did not even - technically - belong to would hardly make a ripple in what was left of the sacred timeline, that B-15 had finally relented.

This, coupled with the fact that so many ex-agents and hunters had already fled the remainder of the TVA months beforehand - opting to escape to their chosen destinations when it became clear that the operations of the Time Variance Authority were about to go sideways - therefore leaving the scant few that had remained in desperate need of all the help they could get.

And, to B-15’s obvious - and Mobius’ private - surprise, Loki had remained good as gold, only utilizing the TemPad to aid Mobius in monitoring the expansion of the multiverse and, occasionally, during field missions.

Beyond this, he had seemed entirely content to trail after Mobius’ every move throughout the workday and beyond– going so far as to eagerly accept Mobius’ invitation to join him back at his apartment for a late dinner, the first night following his return.

From there, it had seemed only natural for Mobius to offer Loki his sofa for the evening - during which Mobius had slept more soundly than he had in weeks - and the routine had seemed to permanently stick following that, carrying on throughout the following two weeks as naturally as if the two had been conducting it their entire lives.

And, while he was inarguably pleased with the development, Mobius could not quite deny the nagging sense of mild bewilderment the entire ordeal had left him struggling to comprehend.

Why, after all, would Loki remain so steadfastly within the confines of the TVA when he finally - finally - had achieved his goal of relative freedom?

He was no longer a prisoner under any circumstances - Mobius hoped that he himself had made that clear enough - and the two had made no effort to pretend as if Loki could not leave of his own free will at any given time.

Yet, oddly enough, he had remained. Perhaps, Mobius had considered initially, purely out of a sense of guilt.

He had, in what had been an almost painfully obviously abbreviated version of the story, admitted to Mobius the truth behind what he and Sylvie had discovered at the end of time - and, subsequently, the truth behind the birth of the multiverse - after a few days following his return, after all– eyes downcast and shame so clearly etched into his features Mobius had longed to reach out and run a soothing thumb along the deep furrows that had developed between his fine brows as he had relayed the tale.

(Or, perhaps, to press his lips gently to the worry lines that had creased at the edges of Loki’s eyes– a featherlight touch and, quite possibly, a desire far more difficult to ignore).

This aside, it had been clear that Loki harbored no small amount of blame for the development of the multiverse– something he had not seemed ready to shake himself free of, no matter how many times Mobius had reassured him of his own lack of judgment concerning the way things had turned out.

And for a number of days it had seemed to Mobius that this guilt had been a key factor in why Loki had remained in the TVA at all, continuing to help mitigate the branches of the timeline with not even a hint of complaint or reluctance.

There was no doubt that it played a major part in the decision, at any rate.

Nevertheless, as days turned into weeks, and it had begun to grow clear that Loki had no intentions of leaving Mobius’ side anytime soon, Mobius’ own curiosity to the reasoning behind the uncharacteristic behavior had only continued to grow.

It seemed odd, after all, for Loki to remain within an institution he had so often proclaimed to viscerally resent entirely of his own accord, based upon the pull of guilt alone.

And yet he had remained, working with a fervency Mobius had rarely seen from him until Mobius all but demanded that the two of them take a break, and fairly had to threaten Loki into retiring to his sofa in order to give the two of them a chance to catch a few hours of sleep.

Or, more accurately, to give Mobius himself a chance to catch a few hours of sleep.

Which brought him back to the root of the worry continuing to grow within his gut with almost alarming speed, the longer the two continued to work together.

For, however often he insisted that he and Loki take a break and simply breathe, for a moment, he was fairly certain that Loki was not sleeping.

Scratch that– Mobius was almost one-hundred percent certain that Loki was not sleeping, and had not since his having collapsed in the archives two weeks before.

It was not necessarily uncommon behavior, to be fair. Mobius had watched - always with a mingled sense of concern and dismay, in spite of his own attempts to detach himself - as Loki had deprived himself of sleep several times throughout his life, typically in order to devote himself to a new scheme, spell, or project with an almost worrying amount of fervor.

And, as this was the case, the signs of such behavior having resurfaced were almost laughably easy to spot, at this point.

The dark circles beneath Loki’s eyes, while often present, had begun to grow almost purple in intensity– a fact that was only accentuated by the sallow tint that had begun to overtake the skin of the rest of his face, as well as the increasing sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones due to a telltale dwindling appetite.

The signs were there, and yet Mobius had no idea as to what the root cause of the sleeplessness might have been– nor as to how he might be able to offer any help that might not be immediately dismissed with a casual shrug and a scoff of mild irritation.

He had been worried, at first - when the realization had dawned upon him about a week following Loki’s reappearance - that Loki was remaining awake simply to work, avidly studying the branches of the multiverse on the tiny screen of his TemPad while Mobius slept, blissfully unaware and foolishly ignorant.

Again, Loki’s somewhat tremulous track-record with guilt had caused the possibility to seem all too plausible for Mobius’ liking.

And, for only a brief moment, he had considered confiscating the TemPad entirely and confronting Loki about the behavior outright, before the idea had been hastily dismissed almost as soon as it had dawned upon him.

Such a reaction would likely only end in Loki drawing further back into himself, after all, and the last thing Mobius wanted was for his own behavior to cause Loki to lash out and distance himself further, at this point.

Beyond this, it had been clear to Mobius after only a single night of dedicating specific attention to the situation that Loki’s TemPad typically remained in the same place from the moment they entered the apartment up until the following morning– tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table beside the sofa, landing precariously near enough to the edge that it always seemed ready to tumble onto the carpet below, entirely.

It was clear, therefore, that the cause of Loki’s refusal - or otherwise inability - to sleep did not lay in his own dedication to the TVA’s - somewhat reformed - cause.

A fact that was in equal parts relieving and almost amusing, in a familiar and slightly exasperating way.

This being determined, however, had not left Mobius any less concerned than he had been upon discovering the development of the poor habit in the first place.

Not that this was a necessarily surprising revelation.

And for a number of days following, Loki’s apparent exhaustion had seemed only to worsen, leaving Mobius beginning to think that the only option left to him was dragging his companion to bed by the scruff of his neck, and standing over him with a pruning stick until he agreed to sleeping for even a scant few hours.

Not that it would have done any good, he knew. He had determined long before he had even met the god, after all, that Loki responded to praise and encouragement far more agreeably than he did threats– verbal or otherwise.

A fact that surprisingly few others in his life had seemed to catch onto.

Before Mobius could grow too desperate, however, it seemed that the universe finally decided that enough was enough, and the ramifications of Loki’s habits finally caught up with him in a truly merciless fashion.

Or, more accurately, Loki abruptly fell ill before Mobius could mentally devise what might have been his millionth scheme to coerce him into sleeping.

It hadn’t been obvious, at first– at least not to the average outside party.

However, it had taken Mobius only about an hour to determine that something was amiss with the god.

Though, to be fair, it might have taken him a few moments longer, had he not entered the archives in search of a specific file and turned a corner distractedly, only to stumble upon where Loki was tucked into the corner of one long row of shelves entirely by accident.

Loki, who was currently alternating between muffling harsh coughs into the crook of his elbow, wiping at his dripping nose with the cuff of his sleeve, and tucking his chin in against his chest as he shivered pitifully.

Though the sight was something of a relief - Loki had disappeared over fifteen minutes before, after all, which was the longest break he’d taken since his reappearance, and in itself was cause enough for worry - Mobius could not ignore the way his stomach bottomed out slightly at the sight of Loki so obviously in discomfort.

Nor could he quite quell the immense rush of protectiveness that surged up from somewhere deep between his ribs at the thought.

“Okay.” he declared after a beat, before beginning to stride toward the somewhat startled and almost guilty looking Loki. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?” Loki shook his head, his eyes going wide as he watched Mobius’ hasty approach with obvious wariness. “Mobius?”

Then, to Mobius’ dismay, he flipped the TemPad he had clutched in one hand with nimble fingers to display the pixelated image of the branching timelines on the screen.

“I’m just monitoring.” he reassured, voice a little frantic. “Not going anywhere. I–I thought–”

At that, Mobius groaned slightly.

“I’m not worried about that,” he grunted, before reaching down to clasp at one of Loki’s elbows and hauling him unceremoniously to his feet.

“Oh,” Loki blinked, his brow scrunching slightly as he seemed to struggle to comprehend exactly what was happening, then blinked again. “Then–I, um–I have to admit that I don’t know why–”

From this angle, Mobius was just able to make out the glassiness of his eyes, and the deep flush that was spread across his nose and cheekbones that seemed almost scarlet in the dim light of the archives.

“You’re sick, you idiot.” Mobius cut in, and turned to level Loki with a stern glare when the other opened his mouth as if preparing to argue the point. “And it would be really dumb of you to deny that to me, right now.”

Abruptly, Loki shut his mouth with an audible click, and Mobius found that he had to fight to keep a wry smirk off of his face at the sound.

“I–What makes you think that I’m sick?” Loki stammered, shaking his head again as if thrown off entirely by the words. “I’m–”

“If you’re about to finish that sentence with ‘fine’.” Mobius interrupted, raising one finger to brandish it just beneath Loki’s nose before turning to begin leading him out of the archives by the hand still gripping his elbow. “Then you really don’t understand the meaning of the word dumb.”

At that, Loki turned to glower at him with admittedly impressive force.

“That seems unnecessary.” he challenged, though whatever heat the words might have held was quickly doused by the way he sniffled pitifully not a moment later. “Especially considering the fact that you’re the one who’s insisting that there’s something wrong with me in the first place.”

“It’s not, and there is.” Mobius countered, and nearly allowed himself the smirk before Loki staggered slightly beside him, his legs tangling in what might have been an almost comical manner, under any other circumstances.

“Hey,” Mobius murmured, all good humor evaporating as he extended the hand not still at Loki’s elbow to catch him lightly by the opposite shoulder, his thumb automatically beginning to run gently along the sharp jut of his collarbone there. “Easy there, pussycat.”

“I’m fine.” Loki muttered, though it seemed more an automatic reaction to the concern than anything, and his eyelids fluttered slightly as he leaned further into Mobius’ touch as if not quite realizing he was doing so.

“Yeah…” Mobius whispered, feeling a small furrow form between his brow as he struggled to keep his companion upright. “Sure you are.”

“M–Mobius.” Loki slurred, frowning slightly like he was struggling to maintain his focus as his gaze flitted unsteadily over Mobius’ face.

“Hm?” Mobius hummed distractedly as he continued to haul the both of them toward the elevator gleaming at the end of the hall, silently cursing his own lack of strength as he felt sweat beginning to bead along the skin at his temples.

Then again, he bemoaned mentally, had Loki weighed nearly as much as a Jotun of his age (even a runt) should have, Mobius likely would not have been capable of shouldering as much of his weight as he currently was, at all.

He’d probably need to address that, sooner or later.

Now, however, a majority of his attention was occupied by the way Loki staggered again, before digging his heels into the carpet below so forcefully that the two of them stumbled to a clumsy halt.

“Mobius.” Loki repeated, his eyes going slightly wide as he raised one hand to grip at the lapel of Mobius’ jacket with surprising force. “This–I don’t–”

He cut himself off with a small, choked sounding grunt, his eyes slamming shut a moment later and nose scrunching up in what might have been mistaken for an expression of disgust, had Mobius himself not know that the particular reaction meant that Loki was attempting valiantly not to reveal how much pain he was in at the given moment.

“It’s okay.” Mobius was unable to stop himself from murmuring at the sight. “Just breathe through it. What hurts?”

“I–” Loki began, his eyes flickering back open a moment later to land on Mobius’ face, something almost like pleading lingering just behind the gaze.

“I’m afraid I don’t feel quite myself.” he admitted, at length, before beginning to sway dramatically.

“Whoa–” Mobius pressed his hand more firmly to Loki’s shoulder in hopes of keeping him upright for just a bit longer, and continued to babble, “That’s okay. It’s okay, Loki. Let’s just get you somewhere more comfortable, okay?”

“More…” Loki repeated hollowly, though to Mobius’ relief he allowed himself to be led down the final few steps to the elevator in what was more or less a relatively steady manner.

It was only as the two were settling into the compartment, and the elevator doors were sliding shut before them that Loki seemed to register exactly what was happening, and he turned his attention to Mobius, reaching out to grasp at his hand with long, cool fingers as his brow furrowed, his mouth twisting into a miserable little frown.

“But the–” he sputtered, “The timeline. Lines! We can’t–”

“They’ll still be there.” Mobius interrupted as firmly as he could manage, his heart constricting slightly when Loki’s features did not seem to calm at all at the words. “I promise. The others can handle it until we get back.”

There was a beat, wherein which Loki opened his mouth as if preparing to argue–

Then, something likely confusion furrowed his brow, and the corners of his mouth tugged further down as he inquired, almost hesitantly, “We?”

It was so far from the response Mobius was anticipating that he felt a frown of his own tug at his mouth in response. “What?”

“We,” Loki repeated, his tone taking on an almost frantic edge, now. “You said, until we get back. You–You’re–?”

Abruptly, realization dawned upon Mobius, and he felt his heart twist again at the hesitant expression Loki was casting him, almost as if he was preparing himself for disappointment.

Rather than react as he wanted to (smothering Loki with reassurances and affection would likely overwhelm him in his current state, Mobius knew), Mobius simply shot Loki a small smile, and allowed himself to squeeze his arm briefly.

“I’m not gonna go anywhere.” he muttered, his smile widening slightly when Loki’s expression broke into one of almost pained relief, before he seemed to catch himself and attempted to school it into something more neutral. “Can’t lose my best analyst because he somehow managed to die of the common cold, after all.”

The words felt heavy and somewhat metallic in his mouth, particularly when faced with the way Loki’s strained and somewhat wet breaths seemed to echo within the enclosed space as they rattled in and out of him.

(And that’s all it is, Mobius reminded himself. Just a cold…)

The jest seemed to do the trick, however, for Loki’s features creased, caught somewhere between preening at the compliment and bristling as the shot at his own potential weakness.

Eventually, however, he settled upon exhaling a small, amused sort of huff that tapered off into a long series of worryingly rough coughs after only a moment.

“O–Okay.” Mobius mumbled, finally letting go of Loki’s arm to run his hand soothingly along his badly shuddering shoulders as he continued to hack into the crook of his elbow. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Let’s just–Here.”

A small ping sounded from overhead, and moments later the elevator doors before them slid smoothly open to reveal a hall lined with doors that led to the apartments the TVA had issued to their analysts and agents, Mobius’ itself just a few feet from where they were stood

“Just a little further.” Mobius reassured, and began to lead the both of them through the elevator doors when Loki did not seem to react to the development at all. “We’re almost there.”

“Mobius–” Loki breathed, though it seemed that the coughing fit had taken what little was left of his awareness out of him, and it was clear that he was fading fast.

“Just a little further.” Mobius repeated, fishing in his pocket for the key to his apartment even as he felt Loki begin to rest his weight more heavily against his side. “Hold on, Loki.”

“You–you said we…” Loki whispered, the ghost of his breath tickling along the side of Mobius’ neck as they finally - finally - reached the door to his apartment. “You…”

“I did.” Mobius confirmed, something within his stomach fluttering at the words, before he fairly kicked the door before them open and staggered unceremoniously into the space, trying and failing miserably not to notice the way the taller man’s hand had begun to grasp tightly at his waist– as if Mobius was the only thing that was keeping him upright, in that moment.

“I did.”

—

Somehow, Mobius had anticipated that Loki might be a worse patient than he was turning out to be.

He’d watched and re-watched the part he’d played upon the Sacred Timeline, after all, and had seen firsthand how Loki’s reaction to falling ill - yet again - had swung wildly between silent, mullish contempt, to outright fury at his situation.

In his youth, he had dealt with the feelings by simply pretending that he was not ill at all and sneaking out of his chambers, typically to attempt to follow along at his brother’s heels or hole himself up in the library until the All-Mother found him, at which point he was dealt a stern lecture before being shooed back to his bed.

As he grew older, however, Loki’s tolerance for his own seemingly hair-trigger immune system had grown almost painfully thin – and his patience right along with it. Countless meals had been tossed across his chambers as a direct result of his irritation, leaving countless Asgardian servants scurrying from the room in a hasty attempt to comply with the prince’s wishes to be left alone.

Unsurprisingly, only the All-Mother and - occasionally - Thor had been able to soothe Loki when his tempers had reached such a point, though even the two of them had been all but completely shut out, after a time.

After all, Loki had always viewed his near-clockwork illnesses as a weakness. A vulnerability.

And, though several had tried valiantly, Mobius had never encountered a single Loki who had dealt with their own vulnerability particularly well.

It was to his considerable surprise, therefore, that L1130 - his Loki - had not so much as uttered a single complaint since he had been unceremoniously dumped onto Mobius’ bed, quickly losing his fight with total consciousness, some twelve or so Midgardian hours before.

In fact, he’d hardly awoken for more than a handful of minutes at a time, at all– a fact that Mobius might have been more concerned about, were he not entirely certain that the sleep was sorely needed.

Even still, when Loki did not offer much more than a grunt of acknowledgement before allowing Mobius to hold a glass of water up to his lips for what felt like the millionth time in the past several hours, his hand gently cradling the back of Loki’s head - fingers tangled in the silky curls there - as he sipped tentatively at the offered liquid…

Suffice it to say that Mobius’ ever lingering worry was not at all aided by the uncharacteristic behavior.

As if just to be obstinate, Loki’s eyes fluttered closed not half a minute after Mobius had deposited the glass back onto the nightstand beside the bed, and began to cough weakly into his shoulder as his already ruddy cheeks flushed anew.

Despite not knowing specifically how cool - or hot, he supposed - a Jotun should run, on average, Mobius knew for a fact that Loki had been running a fever for the better part of the past twelve hours– something that only seemed to be increasing, rather than improving, as time went on.

“Hey,” Mobius muttered, and reached out with one hand to jostle at Loki’s shoulder as gently as he could manage, the corners of his mouth tugging down in concern as he felt the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric of fabric there. “How about you stay awake for a little longer this time, huh? Think you can do that?”

In reply, Loki let out a low whine, the space between his brows furrowing as he turned away to bury his face into the generous amount of pillows Mobius had hastened to stack behind his head practically the second Loki had been deposited on the bed.

“Come on.” Mobius whispered, though he knew that any effort he were to make at this point would - more likely than not - be in vain. “This has gotta be the longest I’ve gone without hearing you yacking away since I met you…I know you don’t want to make that a record.”

Almost unthinkingly, he allowed his thumb to begin running soothing circles into the wiry muscle between Loki’s shoulder and neck, taking careful note of the tremors running through the frame beneath his touch with no small amount of concern.

This was his fault, he realized with sudden and certain clarity. He should have– Should have kept a better watch over Loki. He was well aware of his tendency to avoid sleeping for long periods of time, after all. Knew that he tended to fall ill because of it…

He should have confronted Loki about the behavior sooner. Should have seen the signs for what they were.

It was his responsibility, after all.

“Hey, Lo…” Mobius breathed, after a moment. Swallowing back the feelings of guilt in order to shift his focus entirely to the situation at hand.

(It was the least he could do…)

“I’m gonna need you to answer me. Or at least–”

He inhaled sharply, then, and glanced down to blink rapidly as the emotions bubbling within his chest threatened to overwhelm him with startling abruptness.

“Or at least let me know that you can hear me.” he managed, after a moment, unable to quite manage to feel ashamed over how his voice came out as more of a croak as he studied the prone figure before him– Loki’s flushed cheeks, and his almost purple eyelids where they fluttered over swollen eyes…

(Don’t take him. Mobius found himself thinking, inexplicably. I found him. He’s mine. I won’t let you take him again…)

“C’mon, Loki…” he murmured, after a beat. “I know you can–that you–”

Abruptly, the sound of someone pounding at the door to Mobius’ apartment filtered into the quiet space of the bedroom, and Mobius found himself swiveling around to face the sudden intrusion even as he lamented having to take his eyes off of the trembling figure before him in the first place for even a second.

Rationally, he knew that it was likely only a Minuteman or B-15 on the other side of that door, there to check in on Mobius or request his help.

Irrationally, however, Mobius found himself having to bite back the urge to shout in that general direction, demanding to be left alone until–

Well, until he could fix this.

Or at the very least pay recompense for his own blatant negligence.

Something like shame prickled at the back of his mind the moment the urge had ebbed slightly, however, and Mobius hastened to scramble to his feet from where he had been perched on the edge of the mattress just at Loki’s hip, casting the now almost certainly sleeping figure an apologetic glance as he did.

“I’m gonna be right back.” he reassured, though the words almost certainly fell on entirely deaf ears, before turning on his heel to exit the room before he could convince himself to remain and simply ignore the second knock that was currently resounding through the space.

“I'm–Just a sec.” he muttered, though it was low enough that whoever was waiting outside his apartment likely could not hear the response.

And, if the somewhat stunned look on B-15’s face was any indication, this had almost certainly been the case.

Regardless, the hunter seemed to collect herself quickly enough, her expression hastily morphing into one of steely determination that Mobius had come to recognize meant that his presence was about to be requested none too gently.

“Mobius–”

“I need another day.” Mobius cut in before she could finish, squaring his shoulders and forcing himself not to grimace when B-15’s eyes went briefly wide at the insistence.

Then, unexpectedly, her features shifted, and she exhaled a slow sigh before her posture relaxed almost imperceptibly.

Had it been anyone else, Mobius considered vaguely, they might have already been leaning casually against the doorframe.

“I thought you might say that.” B-15 replied with a small, seemingly defeated shrug, before nodding toward the space over Mobius’ shoulder. “How’s he doing?”

Mobius didn’t bother to pretend that he didn’t know what she was talking about. He had sent a notice out to B-15 and a select few others almost as soon as Loki had fallen ill, after all, explaining the both of their sudden absences in as few details as was possible.

He should have known, however, that B-15 would have caught on to the truth of the situation before anyone else– something Mobius lamented now with a wry, somewhat exhausted upward tilt of his mouth.

“He’s sleeping.” he admitted, after a beat. “For now.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

Mobius blinked at the sudden exclamation, his brow furrowing as he fought to make sense of B-15’s words.

“What–”

“It’s about time.” B-15 interrupted, before Mobius could continue. “I thought he was going to fall over in the middle of the archives if he kept going the way he was.”

“He–He kind of did…” Mobius muttered with a grimace, relaying the information more out of pure bewilderment than anything else. “H–How did–”

“I noticed him flagging.” B-15 replied matter-of-factly. “We all noticed him flagging. Badly.”

“Right.” Mobius muttered, reaching up to scrub one hand over his face as the guilt bubbling low within his stomach threatened to surge to life, once again.

Sure, he’d noticed Loki’s slow waning for himself. And yet…

Yet if it had been so obvious to others, why had it taken him until things had reached a proverbial breaking point to do anything about it?

“Mobius…” The sudden, unanticipated hesitance lingering just behind B-15’s tone drew Mobius roughly back to the present moment, and he glanced sharply back upward to find the hunter studying him with a considering expression.

“You know it’s not your fault.” she told him, after a moment. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I did know.” Mobius snapped, probably a little more sternly than was necessary. “I knew almost immediately and I didn’t do anything.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” B-15 returned at once, matching his tone almost completely in ferocity. “He’s not a child, Mobius. He’s–”

“He’s Loki.” Mobius interrupted, though he could feel himself losing steam quickly– the events of the past twelve hours catching up with him with a sudden and unexpected force. “He’s–he’s traumatized. And often scared. He’s not just gonna tell anyone about things like this! And–And he’s my responsibility–”

“No.” B-15 corrected, her expression shuttering into one that left room for absolutely no argument.

Never let it be said that Mobius was good at heeding warning signs, however.

“Yes!” he gestured a little helplessly with both hands. “I literally signed up for that when I–”

“That was then.” B-15 cut in smoothly– sharply. “This is now. Like it or not, Mobius, Loki is no longer your pet variant.”

Mobius frowned. “But I–”

“No.” B-15 repeated, something like exasperation coloring her features, now. “You know as well as I do that the branching of the timelines has shifted his role– Has shifted all of our roles in–in whatever this is.”

She exhaled sharply, then, before turning to shoot Mobius a dubious look from the corner of one eye.

“You can’t take total responsibility for all of his actions.” she informed, seeming to suddenly sag with exhaustion, herself. “Or the consequences.”

A heavy pause stretched out between the two of them, then, B-15 continuing to study him as Mobius gnawed thoughtfully at the corner of his bottom lip.

In truth, he knew that she was right. Loki was his own man– god, in fact. Older than Mobius could ever dream of living and yet somehow still so impossibly young.

How could Mobius, then, relinquish total responsibility of someone he had found himself caring about far - far - more than he had anticipated, to that same someone who very clearly did not know how to take care of himself without strict guidance?

As if to draw his attention away from the perplexing conundrum, B-15 spoke again, her tone far more solemn than it had been moments before.

“Mobius,” she began, “We have a quadruple branch situation. We need you on the field.”

“Quad–” Mobius’ head shot up, his stomach sinking slightly as the words caught up with him. “Really? Again?”

“Again.” B-15 confirmed, before the TemPad clipped to her belt chirped noisily, and she quickly drew the device up to eye level to study the screen, a frown beginning to mar her features as she did so.

“And it’s about to get worse if we don’t do something.” she declared after a moment. “Mobius–”

“I hear you.” Mobius raised one hand placatingly, his eyes fluttering briefly shut as he hastily considered his options.

Unsurprisingly, his mind immediately wandered back to the image of Loki, curled up upon his mattress with his features pinched in agony as he shuddered beneath the mound of blankets Mobius had piled atop him.

With a reedy inhale, Mobius’ eyes snapped open, and he grit his teeth against the almost staggeringly forceful urge to scurry back into the bedroom and lock the door behind himself, shutting out the rest of the world and the rapidly settling reality that this - this multiverse - would not rest for anything.

Not even for Loki.

(However hard Mobius had prayed for otherwise).

“I can give you two hours.” Mobius declared, at last, squaring his jaw and jutting his chin out in a manner he hoped was convincingly stubborn enough to sell his case.

To his surprise, B-15 nodded immediately, curtly, before turning on one heel to face the corridor beyond.

“That’s all we’ll need.” she promised, hand already drifting down to rest upon the butt of the pruning stick at her hip.

“Right.” Mobius echoed the nod, though his attention was already drifting to the cracked door to the bedroom just over his shoulder.

He still had his shoes and jacket on from when he had entered the space earlier, so he couldn’t pose that as an excuse to linger. But maybe…

“Mobius.” B-15’s stern tone cut through the fog, and Mobius spun back around to raise both his brows in what he hoped was a convincingly innocent manner.

“We can’t afford to wait.” she continued, though her tone was not unkind. “He’ll still be here when you get back.”

Unbeknownst to B-15, the words were a wholly unwelcome echo of Mobius’ promise to Loki the afternoon before, and he found himself having to swallow back a sudden surge of discomfort at the realization.

“Lead the way.” he managed, finally, taking one tentative step out from the doorway and after B-15, who wasted no time before abruptly striding back down the hall toward the elevator.

Two hours. Mobius reminded himself firmly, and allowed himself only a brief glance over his shoulder before shutting the door firmly. Just two hours.

In all likelihood, Loki would remain asleep for the better part of two hours– particularly if his track record over the past twelve was anything to go by.

And he’d be back, Mobius considered as he hastily sped down the hallway after B-15’s already disappearing form. Likely before his two hours were even up.

Likely before Loki even realized that any time had passed, at all.

He’d be back.

—

Four and a half hours later, Mobius staggered back into the TVA through a glowing orange Timedoor, dread already pooling in his stomach as he glanced up to eye the clock that was mounted above the lockers that stretched out before him.

“Damn it.” he muttered, his jaw working as he turned to face where B-15 and their small squadron of Minutemen were filing through the portal behind him. “You said two hours!”

“You said two hours.” B-15 pointed out, hardly sparing him a glance as she unclipped her helmet with a weary grunt.

“And you said you wouldn’t even need that.” Mobius countered, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he was bothering to argue the point, at all.

“I did.” B-15 admitted with a small, almost flippant shrug, before she turned to face him with a delicately arched brow. “But do you really want to keep wasting time pointing fingers?”

“I–” Mobius opened his mouth, before allowing it to fall shut again.

This was, he realized, as close as B-15 was going to get to apologizing.

At least over something like this.

“Do you need my help with the wrap up?” he questioned, rather than continue the line of conversation, though he could feel himself already turning toward the direction of the elevators as if magnetically drawn. “I could–”

“We’re good here.” B-15 interrupted with a nod.

She paused, and frowned slightly before tacking on, somewhat stiffly, “Thank you, Mobius.”

“Anytime.” Mobius returned, though he was already striding out of the room before he had quite registered his intent to do so, and he had to call over his shoulder to add, “I mean–Maybe not any time. In situations like this, maybe–”

“Just go!” B-15 cut him off, though Mobius thought he might have caught a glimpse of a begrudgingly amused smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, before he exited the room entirely.

—

By the time he reached the door to his apartment, Mobius found that whatever had remained of his good humor had long since vanished, and the all too familiar cocktail of dread and guilt had once again begun to assault him with near alarming force.

“Damn it.” he muttered to himself for what felt like the hundredth time in the past several minutes, fumbling his keys as he made to draw them from his pocket and watching in dismay as they tumbled to land on the carpet below with a dull thud. “Damn.”

His hands were shaking, he realized. He wasn’t sure when they had started, but as soon as the fact registered, he was also made aware of the nausea beginning to churn within his stomach, as well as the light sheen of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

He couldn’t lose his cool, he reminded himself sternly. Not now.

Especially when there was no guarantee that anything was even wrong.

Try as he might to remain optimistic in light of the thought, Mobius could not quite find it within himself to wholly believe the sentiment.

Whether it was the product of nearly a lifetime studying Lokis - or simply the entirely unanticipated bond he had forged with this Loki in particular - somewhere along the line Mobius had developed a sort of innate ability to determine when something was off when it came to Loki– specifically this one.

A fact that made it all but impossible to enter his apartment with anything less than wary trepidation, now.

Upon stepping into the dark of his living room, Mobius opened his mouth to call out, before allowing it to fall shut almost immediately.

If he was wrong - on the very slight chance that he was mistaken - and Loki was simply slumbering as peacefully as Mobius had left him before ignoring his better judgment and following B-15 out into the field for hours, then the last thing Mobius wanted to do was wake him unnecessarily.

However, if he was right, and something was truly amiss…

Then there was a good chance that Mobius’ call would not be heard at all– simply because there would be no one else in the apartment to hear it.

Nevertheless, Mobius forced himself to creep toward the bedroom door as quietly as he could manage, his heart hammering so loudly within his chest he could have sworn it would have been audible to any outside party.

Had any outside party been present.

Stop, He scolded himself forcefully. There was absolutely no reason to get worked up.

Not yet, a small, cruel voice at the back of his mind reminded.

Cruel, but not untruthful.

Though the thought was not a pleasant one, Mobius found himself suddenly emboldened to face whatever was on the other side of the tightly closed bedroom door, confident that–

Closed.

Abruptly, Mobius drew to a halt, his breath catching in his throat as he eyed the door before him.

The bedroom door…

The one that was currently, firmly closed.

No–

He had left it open.

Or, at the very least he had left it cracked– wide enough that he might have been capable of catching sight of where he had left Loki curled atop the bed, had he turned to glance over his shoulder during his conversation with B-15 in the front doorway.

Of this he was certain.

Which meant that somebody had closed it. Likely after themselves. Which meant…

“Shit.”

Before he could allow himself to hesitate further, Mobius surged forward and barreled toward the door, his damp palm slipping at the knob for one terrifying moment before he managed to get a tight grip on the metal and practically fell through the doorway as the door swung open before him to reveal–

Rumpled sheets. A blanket strewn across the floor not three feet from the doorway. An empty bed–

Loki, gone.

“Shit!” Mobius cried with a bit more force, now, one hand rising automatically to run through his hair as his gaze continued to flit almost desperately around the room, as if Loki might have been tucked beneath the bed, or in the small space between the wall and the door that led to the bathroom– obviously empty, as well.

He wasn’t there. Mobius knew he wasn’t there, and yet he hesitated, fear as tight as a vice constricting within his chest the longer he lingered.

Not this, he thought wearily, almost unaware of the sudden, hot stinging building behind his eyes. Not this. Not again. Not–

Not again.

The thought brought with it a sudden surge of resolve and clarity, and Mobius found himself turning swiftly and fairly sprinting for the front door the second it registered.

For Loki’s TemPad was still resting on the nightstand where it had hastily been discarded by Mobius the afternoon before.

Which meant that he hadn’t gone far, and Mobius was determined to find him before he had the chance.

—

Unsurprisingly, a facility as large as the one that had once housed the formidable Time Variance Authority was bound to be large– large enough that Mobius didn’t think that he’d ever quite made it from one corner to the other in any one given workday.

Not that he’d ever found himself facing the need to do so. There were several departments and wings he’d never bothered to visit for more reason than simple common courtesy, or occasionally as a favor to another agent who had found themselves too overwhelmed with work to make the trip themselves.

This being said, Mobius had never quite thought that he’d ever manage to traverse nearly three-quarters of said facility in under two hours.

At the very least, not while simultaneously attempting to breathe past the panic he could feel steadily mounting up from somewhere deep within his chest, over the course of that time.

The all but abandoned cafeteria, unsurprisingly, had been a dead end, as had the long halls that overlooked the city surrounding the main TVA facility.

However, both had laid directly within Mobius’ path as he had exited the elevators following his near-frantic jog from his apartment, and he would have felt foolish if he had combed the entirety of the TVA, only to discover that Loki had been lingering in such an uncharacteristic hiding place the entire time.

Which was really the heart of the issue, wasn’t it? This was Loki he was searching for, after all. To consider any potential whereabouts to be “characteristic”, therefore, would be to sign himself up for inarguable failure before he had even begun the search.

Particularly as Mobius could not quite call to mind any location within the TVA where Loki might have felt even a modicum of comfort or well-being–

(beyond, perhaps, Mobius’ own apartment)--

which left every option he had available to him feeling more and more like a dead end with each passing minute.

And that had to have been the reason he left the apartment in the first place. A search for comfort and familiarity where Mobius’ newly empty apartment had held none. It had to have been.

Because if he had left out of bitterness, or anger, or–

Or, Time Keepers forbid, something as simple as feverish confusion…

Then Mobius wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do when–

(If–)

(when–)

–he found Loki.

Which, he reminded himself sternly as he sped past the med bay, sparing only the briefest glance through the window - Loki hated anything even vaguely resembling an infirmary - before carrying on, was a problem for him to consider later.

Preferably as an already faint memory, following his having found Loki and managing to coax him back to the relative safety of the apartment.

And shit, that thought in itself had him picking up the pace, boots whispering through the shag carpet beneath his feet as he hastened forward.

Because Loki wasn’t safe– not wandering the halls of the TVA in the state Mobius had left him in. And Mobius had made himself a promise - a vow, Loki would call it - to keep him that way.

(He’d just gotten him back).

And he’d be damned if he broke that promise now.

It was with this thought reeling through the forefront of his mind on what seemed to be an endless loop that Mobius turned another corner and practically threw himself toward another long flight of stairs, too impatient by far to wait for the elevator.

Not now. He reminded himself, hardly registering as his lips moved to silently mouth the words as he surged forward into one long wing of the archives.

Not now. Not again. Not–

“Loki!”

Not quite believing what he was looking at, Mobius slowed to an unsteady halt, eyes wide and heart hammering in his throat as he took in the sight of the figure before him.

For a moment, he hesitated, the scene playing out far too similarly to the occasions - that had occured far more frequently than Mobius would have liked to admit - that he had found himself listlessly wandering the long and winding halls of the archives over the past several months, only to freeze, his breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of a figure just out the corner of his eye - long, dark curls. sharp cheekbones…a wicked and clever grin - only to turn sharply to find himself completely alone, the ghost of a soft chuckle echoing faintly at the back of his mind.

There was no doubt, however, that the figure Mobius found himself facing now was Loki. His Loki.

Even from where he was stood several yards away, Mobius could make out the sharp jut of his cheekbones and shoulder blades, the dark and sweat dampened curls tumbling over his shoulders, and the–

Shit.

The way those shoulders were shaking almost violently, Loki’s hands following suit where they were clenched into tight fists at his sides.

And though he could not quite see it from his vantage point, Mobius could easily envision how pale those thin fingers would be - knobby knuckles near-white - and the deep, crescent moon creases the god’s fingernails might be cutting into his palms, even now.

Somehow, the thought in itself was enough to break Mobius out of his trance, and he found himself hastening forward, jaw tightening as he approached where Loki was stood, surveying the statue of the Time Keepers to their left with what could only be defined as a lost expression, his back still half to Mobius.

Which…Wasn’t right.

Suddenly, and without warning or reason, Mobius found himself needing Loki to turn and look at him. Really look at him.

(Just–Just to make sure…)

“Loki,” he breathed, reasonably more steady than before, before falling another step forward in order to reach out, the tips of his fingers hovering inches over one of Loki’s still badly trembling shoulders. “Hey. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where–”

“--’s’not real.”

Mobius faltered, the relieved smile that had been beginning to slowly tug at the corners of his mouth fading as Loki’s breathless whisper caught up with him.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s not real.” Loki repeated, more firmly than before, but still lowly enough that it was painfully obvious that he was simply repeating the words to himself, rather than in answer to Mobius’ inquiry.

And, to Mobius’ horror, the trembling in his shoulders began to increase, after a moment, his breath beginning to whistle unsteadily in and out of him with what must have been painful force.

“Hey,” Mobius murmured, finally allowing the hand that had remained outstretched between them to fall hesitantly back to his side. “Loki…C’mon, now. Talk to me. What’s not real?”

He was well aware that he was babbling a little nervously, though he could not quite find it within himself to care.

Not when the answer to his own question was so frighteningly easy to determine for himself.

“This isn’t real.” Was Loki’s only muted reply, before he began to turn slowly - finally - to face where Mobius was stood, his red and puffy-eyed gaze landing somewhere just over Mobius’ left shoulder and an expression of absolute, deadened resignation pinching at the corners of his face.

And, try as he might, Mobius could not quite stop himself from inhaling sharply through his teeth as he took in Loki’s features– the bright, mottled red flush of fever that had spread from his cheekbones all the way up to his temples and the tips of his ears, and - arguably more importantly - the thick and salty tear tracks that streaked all the way down his face to his chin and jawbone.

For a moment, Mobius could only stare, his stomach rolling in dismay as he took in the sight before him.

Then, Loki spoke again, and every coherent thought was driven from Mobius’ mind with almost blinding force.

“You’re not real.”

“No!” Mobius found himself protesting, stomach sinking slightly as he took another small step forward, only for Loki to skitter another three steps back, arms coming up to curl almost protectively around his own waist.

And, as much as Mobius wanted to push - wanted to press and prod and plead until Loki believed him - he forced himself to remain where he was, both hands raising slowly so that they were level with his own shoulders, as if he were attempting to soothe a spooked and somewhat feral creature.

(A comparison that felt a little too on the nose for comfort, at the present moment).

“Loki…” Mobius muttered, his heart constricting slightly when Loki flinched ever so slightly at the word, his eyes skittering frantically over the carpet that stretched out between them as he continued to shake and gasp for air. “I’m real. You know I’m real. We’re–This is real.”

Almost immediately, Loki shook his head– violently enough that his curls nearly whipped into his face, and squeezed his eyes shut with enough force to cause another few stray tears to escape out the corners and careen down his cheeks.

“No–” he whimpered.

“Yes.” Mobius cut in, as forcefully as he dared, given Loki’s obviously tremulous state. “I’m right here. We’re in the TVA. You found me–”

“You’re not real.” Loki interrupted firmly, something like frustration coloring his tone now as his eyes snapped open to glare balefully back down at the carpet just shy of the toes of Mobius’ boots.

He sucked in a wet, near desperate sounding breath, then, before breaking off into a series of fitful coughs that had him curling forward with startling suddenness as he attempted to muffle them into the crook of his elbow, his entire being seeming to shake with the force of it.

Alarmed, Mobius could not help but stagger forward again, his arms half-rising out before him in an awkward, aborted sort of gesture.

“Loki,” he attempted again, though his voice came out so softly that he feared it might not be heard at all over the sound of Loki’s continued hacking. “I need you to listen to me…”

“No–” Loki managed to gasp, his head already shaking as he raised one badly trembling hand to cup it over his left ear in a gesture that was near achingly vulnerable. “St–Stop it.”

“Not until you listen.” Mobius pressed, though something deep within him hurt to do so– particularly when Loki shook his head again, mouth twisting as several more fat tears began to paint his ruddy cheeks.

“I–” Loki gasped, still not meeting Mobius’ gaze as he fell back another unsteady step. “I can’t–”

“You can.” Mobius insisted, though not unkindly, taking care to keep his tone both firm and gentle in a way he knew Loki had responded positively to in the past. “Just listen.”

“No!” Loki barked, loudly enough that Mobius had to fight the urge to recoil in surprise. “Enough!”

And, in spite of their situation, Mobius found himself sighing slightly in the face of such familiar resistance.

“Loki…”

“Leave me be!”

“Just listen–”

“You’re not him!”

At that, Mobius did recoil, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as Loki continued to fairly heave for breath– his gaze finally meeting Mobius’ own in an almost frighteningly detached manner.

For a moment, the two simply studied each other in the resounding silence, the only sound in the hall Loki’s harsh, ragged breaths echoing off of the endless shelves of files to their right.

Then, Mobius sucked in his own unsteady breath, and felt his mouth turn down into a truly miserable grimace.

“But I am, sweetheart.” he whispered, the endearment slipping out before he could quite swallow it back, as he had managed to thousands of times before. “You know I am.”

There was a beat, wherein which Loki seemed to freeze, his only movement the shakes that continued to wrack his frame as he studied Mobius with wide, seemingly stunned eyes.

Then, he seemed to crumple in on himself, features creasing in agony as he all but collapsed to his knees, both hands now to press tightly over his ears as he rocked forward with something like a choked-off wail.

And, unable to remain still for a moment longer, Mobius finally allowed himself to surge forward, grunting slightly as he knelt forward to crouch beside Loki on the dull grey carpet beneath them.

“Hey,” he soothed, hands moving forward seemingly of their own accord to brush lightly over Loki’s forearms. “Hey, Loki…Please don’t do this.”

“Leave me be.” Loki hissed, though it seemed more a familiar mantra than a direct reaction to Mobius’ proximity, his eyes remaining firmly shut even as he continued to whisper, “You’re not him. You’re not real.”

His next trembling inhale seemed to catch in his throat, then, and he fell forward to begin coughing roughly into his knees.

This time, however, the sound was far weaker than it had been even a minute ago, each cough having taken on an almost whooping edge that had Mobius’ gut bottoming out in alarm.

“Loki,” he moaned, “You’re gonna hurt yourself. Please, just–Just try and calm down. Try and listen–”

“Can’t,” Loki argued with surprising swiftness, his eyes flying open to flicker wildly about their surroundings, again. “Don’t–Not again. Please, not again.”

Not again…

Abruptly, Mobius blinked, realization crashing to the forefront of his mind so suddenly it was almost reassuring.

He had to get Loki out of the archives.

Preferably as quickly as possible.

How he hadn’t fully seen it sooner was bewildering, in hindsight. The archives…The backdrop to their reunion…

Loki staggering wearily through that Timedoor, hunched and defeated and with eyes far, far older than Mobius had last seen them.

(And, while he’d gotten the truth of what had happened following the Void out of Loki with far more ease than he’d anticipated, Mobius still had not quite managed to find it within himself to inquire after exactly what had happened following that).

(How long Loki had been searching…How long he had been alone–)

And now, he faltered again, fingertips just brushing over the warm and clammy skin of Loki’s birdlike wrists as he continued to struggle to catch his breath before him.

This wouldn’t be easy, Mobius considered, though he was almost surprised by the somewhat comforting sense of familiarity the thought brought with it.

After all, if Loki managed to maintain the self awareness to remain characteristically stubborn even while caught in the throes of a state such as this, then he could not have been too far gone.

Not far enough that Mobius could not reach, at any rate.

Somewhat emboldened by the thought, Mobius rose up on his haunches and squared his shoulders before speaking, his voice coming out far more steadily than he had anticipated.

“Loki,” he began, “I know you’re scared. And I know you don’t believe me– That’s okay.”

To his surprise, Loki seemed to still ever so slightly at the words, his white-knuckled grip on his hair around the ears loosening just a fraction as he shifted to study the floor again, brow furrowed.

When it didn’t seem that he was going to offer a verbal response, however, Mobius continued, “It’s okay that you don’t believe me right now. But I need you to listen, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Not quite confident that the words would have any effect at all, it was to Mobius’ great shock that Loki seemed to still further, before offering a small, almost imperceptible jerk of a nod.

It wasn’t ideal - Loki was still fairly gasping raggedly for breath, after all - but Mobius decided to take it as a win, for now.

Particularly, he supposed, because Loki was continuing to gasp raggedly for breath before him, his mouth turned slightly down at the corners as if he was confused at his own compliance.

Unwilling to let that thought fester for too long, Mobius was quick to intervene, “Okay. Good job. We’re gonna move for just a minute, okay? Just long enough to reach the office at the end of the hall.”

Since the veritable destruction of the TVA, there had been several large offices - typically occupied by judges or those of equal ranking - that had been abandoned, subsequently leaving them the perfect location for the occasional midday rest– or simply somewhere to be alone with your thoughts, even for a moment.

Or, in this case, somewhere quiet where Mobius could - hopefully - help talk Loki down from whatever fever-induced panic he’d managed to work himself up into.

After a moment, Loki seemed to still even further, his deep, uneven gasps for air tapering off into short, shallow pants as he fell forward to press his forehead to his knees, something painfully close to a whimper escaping out the back of his throat.

Again, it wasn’t ideal, but Mobius was still capable of recognizing the shift as the exact opportunity he’d been waiting for.

“Okay,” he whispered, before hesitantly taking a gentle hold of one of Loki’s elbows with both hands and slowly working his way to his feet, his knees groaning slightly in protest. “Alright. It’s just a few steps. Can we do that?”

There was no guarantee that Loki’s legs would be able to hold him at all, at this point, and Mobius made sure to tighten his grip accordingly as Loki finally unfolded himself in what was clearly an effort to mirror Mobius’ own movements.

It seemed, however, that some unspoken switch had briefly been flipped.

For not a moment later Loki rose fully to his feet, shoulders hunching and hands slowly lowering from his ears to grip at either of his elbows tightly as his mouth thinned out into a small frown.

It was the expression he typically wore when trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears, Mobius registered distantly, though he forced himself to tuck the knowledge away for evaluation at a later date.

At the very least, until he had managed to move the both of them into a more calming environment.

“Okay,” he breathed, voice coming out far more steadily than he himself felt, at the present moment. “We’re gonna walk together now. Tell me if you need to stop at any point, alright?”

Unsurprisingly, Loki only studied him blankly in response, and Mobius found himself having to swallow back a sudden surge of horror at the idea that this was likely one of the first and only times someone had offered Loki such a phrase.

(Evaluation at a later date, he reminded himself firmly).

Choosing to take the silence as a confirmation, Mobius slowly began to inch the two of them forward, one hand moving from Loki’s still badly trembling arm to rest lightly at his lower back, his thumb automatically beginning to rub soothing circles into one of the all-too prominent knobs of his spine there.

“That’s it.” he encouraged lowly, when Loki began to stumble clumsily alongside him. “Just like that. We’re almost there…”

Loki did not respond, and Mobius didn’t expect him to. Rather, he continued to walk the two of them as firmly forward as he could manage, gaze trained forward and jaw locked so tightly he could feel the beginnings of a headache beginning to take up residence just behind his temples.

Almost there…

He hadn’t been lying– the office he had mentioned was just around the next series of shelves.

Beside him, Loki seemed to stumble again, and Mobius hastily slipped his arm around his waist to keep them from toppling entirely.

“I got you.” he whispered. “Just a few steps more. Doing okay?”

The question, it seemed, was his mistake. For not a moment later Loki stiffened almost imperceptibly. before he began to struggle weakly in Mobius’ grasp, a low and almost frightened grunt escaping him as he began to shake with a renewed vigor, frightened eyes snapping from Mobius’ own to the–

No.

To the edge of the parapet that stood between them and the long, seemingly endless drop that formed the centerpiece of the infinite floors of the TVA archives.

Not that.

(Never that…)

“Loki, no!” Mobius could not have held back the frantic shout if he had wanted to, and he found himself dragging Loki back toward the ajar door to the empty office they’d been approaching with a strength he hadn’t at all been aware that he possessed, up until that moment.

“Let me go!” Loki cried, a new series of sobs beginning to bubble up from within his chest as he dug his heels in and struggled weakly within Mobius’ hold. “Don’t touch me! Don’t–Don’t fucking touch me, you–”

An almost violent series of coughs seized hold of him, then, and Mobius took the opportunity to drag him the rest of the way into the darkened office, kicking the door shut behind them with a grunt of effort.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, unsurprised to find that a few stray tears had slipped out over his own cheeks, at some point. “I’m so sorry, Loki.”

Rationally, he knew that the apologies would mean nothing to Loki, at this point, yet Mobius continued to murmur an endless litany of them as he fell forward to deposit Loki clumsily upon the orange leather settee that was tucked into the corner of the room–

Only to pause, a surprised jolt running through him as Loki’s hands flew up to tighten with almost painful force at the skin just above his shoulder blades.

“Don’t go.” Loki all but gasped, then, his voice wretched and cracking upon each word. “Mobius–Mobius, please–”

Mobius hesitated, awkwardly bent with Loki half in his arms as he furrowed his brow.

“Loki?” he questioned tentatively, though he automatically tightened his hold when Loki let out a small keen in reply. “Do you know me?”

The words were surprisingly painful to force out, though Mobius found that he did not have much time to dwell on the sensation, given the fact that Loki was beginning to nod frantically against the side of his neck.

“I know you.” he babbled, “I know you–Mobius. Mobius–Mobius, don’t–don’t–”

“Okay!” Mobius was quick to soothe, taking care to keep both arms wrapped loosely around Loki’s waist even as he lowered him slowly all the way down so that he was half-laid out on the surface of the sofa, “Calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t go.” Loki repeated, almost as if Mobius had not spoken at all. “You–You weren’t real, and–”

A sharp, forceful sneeze interrupted him, then– the force of which catapulted him into another series of wet coughs he didn’t even bother to try and muffle, this time.

Meaning that Mobius’ shoulder took a majority of the hit.

Not that he was perturbed in the slightest, at the present moment.

Rather, he found himself somewhat preoccupied with shifting slightly in order to accommodate his sudden armful of shuddering Loki, one hand rising to run gently through his sweat-dampened curls as the other continued to rub wide circles between the expanse of his sharp shoulder blades.

“I’m real.” he reassured, “I’m here, and I’m real. Shhh, shh shh. I’m here.”

At that, Loki shook his head fiercely, though the force of the movement was somewhat mellowed by the fact that he moved to burrow himself more firmly against Mobius’ side almost immediately following.

“You–You left.” he hiccuped, then, voice hardly perceptible beyond the hitching of his breath. “You weren’t there–”

Oh. Mobius realized dismally, his arms around Loki tightening impossibly further as the meaning of the words caught up with him.

Oh.

It hit him, then, with unyielding force–

The cause behind Loki’s sleeplessness…His following at Mobius’ heels unfalteringly…

("...you said 'we'.")

Loki's silent, nightly vigil...Unable to sleep, or–

Or perhaps simply unwilling. Unwilling to sleep and risk Mobius disappearing again.

Which was, Mobius realized with dawning horror, exactly what he had done, the second fate had played its hand, and Loki had been left with little option but to sleep.

And now here they were, Loki shuddering in his arms as a result of his very reality seeming to have been upturned.

Shit.

“I know,” Mobius whispered, his throat tightening unexpectedly as he began to rock the still violently shaking figure clutched within his grasp. “I know. I’m so sorry, baby.”

It was the second endearment he’d let slip in under an hour, yet Mobius could not quite find it within himself to care.

Not when Loki was still shaking fit to fly apart in his arms, his breaths ghosting hot and uneven against the side of Mobius’ neck.

Something he should probably work to rectify, come to think of it.

“Loki,” Mobius breathed, then, turning ever so slightly to nudge at the god’s clammy temple with the tip of his nose. “Loki, sweetheart, you have to breathe for me.”

In reply, Loki only seemed to choke on another breath, his chest heaving and eyes widening almost as if–

As if he wanted to follow Mobius’ instructions, yet couldn’t quite figure out how.

“Okay,” Mobius was quick to reassure. “That’s fine. I’ll help you. Just breathe with me, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Within his hold, Loki began to buck– began to stiffen and jolt and seemingly fight for breath.

It did not come, however, and Mobius felt his stomach constrict painfully when Loki released a low, pitiful moan, his head jerking weakly against Mobius’ shoulder as he continued to gasp.

Time for a different approach, Mobius registered distantly.

Before Loki could protest, he pulled back slightly, a soft exhale billowing out of him as his gaze fell upon Loki’s face– his tear stained face, and those wide, fear-filled eyes.

“Breathe.” Mobius commanded, a bit more firmly than before. “Focus on this.”

He moved to slip the hand still cradling the back of Loki’s head to the side of his face, then, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently at the fragile and damp skin just beneath one of those still red and puffy eyes.

“That’s my hand on your face.” Mobius murmured, something within him melting slightly when Loki seemed to relax slightly at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed even as he continued to pant wildly for breath through his nose. “Can you feel it?”

After a moment, Loki offered a jerky sort of nod, the corners of his mouth pinching as another few tears slid down his sharp cheekbones.

“Good.” Mobius was quick to praise. “Good boy. Just focus on that for me.”

Almost immediately, Loki’s chest jolted in an aborted sort of half-breath, the end of which tapered off into a desperate sounding sob.

“Shh.” Mobius soothed, his own chest tightening. “That’s okay. You’re doing great.”

He paused then, studying the way Loki had begun to bow forward, ever so slightly– curving toward Mobius as a plant might the sunlight.

In response, Mobius leaned forward slightly and - mostly chasing a wayward hunch - pursed his lips to blow out a gentle breath against the warm and tear-soaked skin of Loki’s face.

The reaction was instantaneous.

For a moment, Loki jolted, his breath catching in his throat as he began to sob in earnest.

“Shh.” Mobius repeated, the hand still at Loki’s waist tightening protectively. “It’s just me. Breathe like that for me, baby. In and out, just like that.”

To his surprise, his next inhale was met with a shuddering one of Loki’s own, their mingled breaths echoing with startling clarity upon the walls of the office surrounding them.

It was Loki who faltered first, unsurprisingly– his next exhale tapering off into another sob as his head dropped forward, and he sucked his lower lip in between his teeth with enough force to immediately draw blood.

“That's fine.” Mobius breathed, fighting the urge to gather Loki up into his arms in a protective embrace and forcing himself to press him back another few inches as he encouraged, “Let’s try again. Same as before. In and out.”

Again, he moved forward to blow a gentle breath out along the skin of Loki’s face, though this time Loki’s eyes snapped open– bright and aware and suddenly desperate for approval.

Something Mobius was only too happy to offer.

“You’re doing good, Loki.” he reassured. “Really, really good. We just gotta get you calmed down, okay? Just breathe with me, sweetheart. With me.”

And, to Mobius’ unending surprise, Loki did.

It took several attempts - wherein which Loki dissolved into another several series of gasping sobs - but eventually Mobius managed to get his companion to follow his own breaths as steadily as was plausible, at the moment.

(And, if they both were still breathing a little unsteadily, at the very least they were finally breathing in sync).

“There we go.” Mobius praised, when Loki’s eyes fluttered shut, after a time, his breaths finally steady enough that Mobius’ own heart had stopped racing. “Feeling better?”

At the inquiry, Loki’s jaw tightened slightly, and he glanced down to pointedly avoid Mobius’ gaze, a small furrow working its way between his brows.

“No,” Mobius chided gently, before Loki could quite manage to rebuild the barriers he normally kept so firmly in place. “None of that. You did so good, Loki.”

He offered a small smile, then, before continuing to run the edge of his thumb alongside the jut of Loki’s cheekbone.

“I’m so proud of you.”

There was a beat, before Loki’s still swollen eyes seemed to shine over with a new wave of tears, and Mobius had only a moment to chide himself for having caused the step backward before he found himself automatically reaching up to catch Loki as he all but threw himself into his arms.

“You left,” Loki all but wailed, his tone wobbling dangerously. “And I didn’t–Didn’t know where you–Where I–”

“Shh.” Mobius whispered, moving so that he could bury his face into the curls at the crown of Loki’s head as he continued to run one hand gently along the god’s shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. Loki, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t go.” Loki interrupted, his tone almost painfully young, as his arms came up to wrap around Mobius’ waist with surprising force. “Please don’t go. Not–Not yet.”

Not again, were the words that went unspoken.

At this, Mobius sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, his heart twisting as he felt tears beginning to dampen his collar and the side of his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.” he promised, a small smile quirking at the corner of his lips as he felt Loki burrow further against his side almost immediately following the words. “I’m here. I’m real, Loki.”

“How–” Loki began, a little tremulously, and shuddered through another few weak coughs before continuing, “How can I be sure?”

“Hey,” Mobius countered, before moving the hand still at Loki’s shoulder to begin scratching lightly at the back of the god’s neck. “Can you feel that?”

“I–” Loki’s breath hitched, and he squirmed ever so slightly in Mobius’ hold before replying, “I can.”

“And this?” Mobius pressed as he began to run those same fingers through Loki’s curls again. “Feel that?”

A beat, before Loki offered a short, jerking sort of nod, his face still hidden in the crook between Mobius’ neck and shoulder.

“Good boy.” Mobius praised warmly.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned to press a firm kiss to the still slightly warm skin at Loki’s temple.

“What about that?” he whispered. “Can you feel that?”

“I–” Loki exhaled shakily, his shoulders trembling mightily beneath Mobius’ touch as he whispered, “I can feel you.”

“Then you can be sure.” Mobius replied immediately, firmly, “That I’m real, Loki. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Beneath him, Loki sniffled weakly, though to Mobius’ utter relief he did not tense– nor did he seem to be in any danger of bursting into tears, yet again.

Though, Mobius considered, maybe that was only due to the fact that he had simply spent all the tears he could spare, for the time being.

Regardless, Mobius took the opportunity to tuck Loki closer in against his chest, something within him warming when Loki seemed to absolutely melt into the embrace, his own long fingers moving to tangle loosely in the fabric of Mobius’ shirt at the waist.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Mobius repeated, pleased when Loki seemed to relax further at the words. “I’ve got you.”

Loki released a small, contented sort of hum, then, and Mobius could not help but press another soft kiss to his forehead at the sound.

“I’ve got you.”