Chapter Text
Interviewer: Now, Dr. Mobius, you were already a well-known and respected expert in criminal psychology…
Mobius : I think you might be overstating it a bit.
Interviewer : … You’ve written six books, four of which made The NY Times bestseller list.
Mobius : Well yes, I guess that’s true.
Interviewer : As I was saying, you were already well known before this, but you instantly became a household name when it was leaked that you would be a key witness in the trial of James Thanos, the billionaire founder of Titan Industries, long suspected to be the head of the Black Order crime syndicate and recently revealed to be the mastermind behind the brutal eco-terrorism group Sanctuary. I know you can’t discuss the case, but I think it’s fair to say there’s a price on your head right now.
Mobius : Yeah, that’s fair.
Interviewer : You seem remarkably calm about that.
Mobius : Well, I can’t do much about it, you know? This is what I do, I deal with particularly dangerous people. I guess I’m used to it.
Interviewer : You’ve accepted a security detail, but have said that you refuse to otherwise curtail your usual activities.
Mobius : Look, I’ve learned over the years that I can’t let these people dictate how I’m going to live my life. Right now I’ve got a book to promote— not about Mr. Thanos.
Interviewer: Indeed. Today you’re here to discuss your latest work, Variant, a fascinating profile of serial killer Nathaniel Richards, better known by his moniker Kang, who had dissociative identity disorder and was convinced that all his victims were copies of himself from other dimensions…
There’s someone else in his apartment.
Normally waking up to the sounds of someone moving around his kitchen would be cause for serious concern, but much has changed about his life in the past few days. He still thinks the bodyguards are a bit much, but the DA’s office had insisted, especially since he refused to do anything else they’d wanted, like go into hiding for the next two months. Yeah, right. Mobius had stared down countless murderers, sadists, and psychopaths. James Thanos didn’t scare him, no matter how much he “should.”
They’d also insisted on the private security firm, since they suspect that Thanos has people in the police department. Whatever. He doesn’t care who they send, as long as they stay out of his way and don’t try to keep him a prisoner inside his own home. He’d also prefer if maybe they wouldn’t make a racket and wake him up, though. There’s a car with two guards parked on the street outside the apartment, but one guard is supposed to stay near him at all times. Mobius considers it a small miracle he’s been allowed any privacy at all.
He stumbles out of his bedroom, still clad in his pajamas, expecting to see the guy who’s been sleeping on his couch for the last two days. That’s definitely not who’s sitting at his kitchen table, though. The new man is wearing the same black suit that his previous guard had worn, down to tie bearing a pattern of the firm’s insignia, but otherwise couldn’t be more different. He’s slender but broad-shouldered, with black hair that isn’t tied back like Mobius would expect, but instead falls in loose waves to just below his chin. His entire demeanor is different from the other guards’, who tend to terminally stiff, nearly blending into the walls around them. This guy is relaxed, almost careless in his posture, his long legs stretched out under the table as he sits half-hunched over, munching on toast. He also seems to be more interested in his phone than Mobius.
“Who are you?” Mobius demands. “Where’s Casey?”
The man looks up at him, then, and holy fuck, he’s gorgeous. Those cheekbones should probably be registered as weapons. The man takes a moment to look Mobius over, his gaze trailing almost palpably from his bare feet up to his face, and Mobius briefly wishes he’d actually gotten dressed before coming out here. Maybe at least ran a hand through his hair.
“He got called back for another assignment,” the man tells him. “I’m Loki. I’ll be your new personal detail.”
Mobius figured as much, but it would have been nice to get some advance warning. Also: “Are you eating my toast?”
Loki looks down at the toast in his hand. “Guess so,” he answers nonchalantly before looking up at Mobius again. “I made coffee.”
Well. At least there’s that, he supposes. Even if it is Mobius’s coffee. Mobius walks over to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup, watching Loki out of the corner of his eye as he does so. The other man has returned his attention to his phone for the moment, and Mobius isn’t entirely sure what to make of him. A few minutes later, Mobius is still watching when Loki gets up to carry his plate and mug to the dishwasher, and he freely admits to taking a moment to admire his rather exceptionally formed ass as he walks by.
Mobius decides he’s not too upset about the swap. At least if he has to put up with this circus, he’s gonna some eye candy out of it.
A week later, Mobius is reconsidering that decision.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Loki. That is, in fact, just about the opposite of his current problem. It would almost be easier if Loki were a raging asshole, or had the personality of a post, or something unappealing. Sure, it’d be kinda unpleasant to have to be around him, but it still feels like it would be better than this. Certainly it would have to be better than pining over a man who’s only spending time with him because it’s his job to do so.
Jesus, could he get any more pathetic?
Loki, it turns out, is a talker. This is another oddity among his fellow bodyguards, who really only speak when spoken to, even after they warm up to you a bit more. It’s probably desirable, Mobius suspects; most people who need bodyguards don’t really want to hear what those guards have to say. The fact that Loki likes to chat is definitely unusual, and Mobius can’t fully figure out if this is how he always is or whether it’s just that there’s something about Mobius that invites it. Because there is, actually: Mobius is an exceptionally good listener. More than once his friends and coworkers have said that he just seems to draw it out of them, which is part of why Mobius is so good at his job. Criminals tend to tell him everything. They can’t help it.
Even so, Loki talks a lot. It’s how Mobius finds out that he’s clever, and mischievous, and funny, and thoughtful. It’s also how Mobius’s aesthetic appreciation of just how hot he is has turned into a big ol’ fat crush. Which is certainly less than convenient. Mobius is pretty sure that hooking up with your bodyguard is a bad idea, even if said bodyguard would be open to the idea. It’s probably a good way to get a bodyguard fired, in fact. Mobius has considered asking that Loki be reassigned to avoid the potential conflict of interest, but he’s too afraid that if he does that, he won’t ever see Loki again, and he’s not willing to take that risk.
Yeah, turns out he can get more pathetic.
So now he’s stuck in some kind of purgatory that swings constantly between heaven and hell, because he gets to spend pretty much all his time with Loki, while also knowing that what he really wants cannot—and most likely would not—ever happen. The fact of the matter is, he’s fairly certain that Loki isn’t remotely interested in him like that. Mobius happens to be quite good at reading people, as it turns out, and although Loki seems to enjoy his company, Mobius isn’t kidding himself that the younger man would be keen on anything more. In this matter, at least, Loki is nothing but professional, which cannot always be said of the rest of their time together.
“Do you ever do anything besides work?” Loki asks one evening from his position on Mobius’s couch, which he has haphazardly draped himself across like an overlarge cat.
“One of us should,” Mobius counters, not looking up from his laptop.
“I’m working,” Loki, honest-to-god, pouts. “I’m looking after you.”
Mobius snorts. “Pretty sure that’s not your job description.”
“I disagree. If I weren’t here, you probably wouldn’t even stop to eat.” He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares pointedly at Mobius, who favors him with a quick glance. “I ordered us dinner, by the way. That Thai place you like.”
“You get the rangoons?”
Loki scoffs. “What do you take me for? Of course I did.”
Something clenches in Mobius’s chest. He’s never had someone around who cared enough to learn what his favorite foods were, much less order them for him. Loki is being paid to be here, he has to remind himself, and his knowledge of Mobius probably has more to do with how frequently he orders takeout than anything else.
“You never answered my question,” Loki says after another minute of silence.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever not work, or is this just you, 24/7?”
Mobius pauses in his typing and looks over at him, scrubbing a hand wearily over his face. His hours had been extra terrible lately, what with the big trial coming up, but he can’t fully deny that he doesn’t have much outside his work. Hence the lack of people who want to be around him; none of his previous romantic partners had ever been able to handle him in times like these. A previous girlfriend had once accused him of spending more time with the latest criminal he’d been profiling than with her, and the sad part was that she wasn’t wrong.
“I like going to the beach in the summer,” he answers eventually.
Loki cocks an eyebrow at him. “The beach?”
“Yeah, you got a problem with the beach?”
“Me, personally, no,” Loki says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I mean, I don’t particularly care for it, but I just can’t imagine you sitting around doing nothing.”
“Well, I don’t,” Mobius clarifies. “I swim. Ride jet skis. Catch up on my reading.”
Loki’s eyes narrow. “You bring work to the beach, don’t you?”
“Ah, sometimes,” Mobius admits, feeling his face heat as he looks back at his computer, as if he’d been called out for doing something naughty. “Not on the jet ski, though.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Don’t worry, the trial will be over by then,” he assures Loki. “You won’t have to go to the beach with me.”
Unexpectedly, Loki is silent after that for long enough that Mobius glances over at him again. He’s not looking at Mobius anymore, instead staring down at his lap, and he looks… oddly disappointed. Enough that Mobius almost invites him to go anyway, even though it’ll be months before it’s warm enough out, before he realizes how stupid that would be. They’re not really friends. Loki isn’t going to want to hang out with him when the job is over.
A moment later, the disappointed look is gone, and Loki pastes a carefree smile back on his lips as he looks up again. “I’m going to insist that you actually take a break for dinner tonight,” he warns. “No eating over your laptop. And then we should watch a movie or something. You deserve to take the night off.”
Mobius tries, and fails, not to feel ridiculously cared-for.
One of the reasons that Mobius had felt the whole bodyguard thing was kind of ridiculous was that he barely went anywhere in the first place. He worked out of his house, save when he was doing interviews in the prisons, with the occasional trip to the courthouse or the DA’s office. Most of those places have exceptional security all on their own, so a personal detail seemed like immense overkill.
Of course, he’d never been in this much danger before—at least, according to the police and the DA—and furthermore, the media circus surrounding the trial happened to coincide with the release of his latest book. His publisher couldn’t be more thrilled with the effect on sales, but all the promotional events also forced him out of his normal routine and into the spotlight. He doesn’t really mind all the interviews and speaking engagements, and he actually enjoys doing signings where he gets to spend a few moments with fans, but all the extra security needed now has definitely put a damper on things.
Honestly, he’d been kind of hoping that the trial and the death threats might get him out of some of the fancy parties, but his contractual obligations to his publisher say otherwise, so he finds himself at some gala at the other with Loki shadowing his steps and a few other somewhat conspicuously place guards dotted around the room. At least at this party he’s hardly the only one who needs it; there are people from the DA’s office here, and a few judges, including one very familiar face.
“Getting some research in?” Ravonna asks, in lieu of a greeting, when he finally makes his way across the room to her. He hands her a scotch, which she accepts gratefully and sips as she waits for him to try to make sense of the question.
“What?”
“The man you were just talking to,” she clarifies. “Loki Odinson.”
“Yeah, he’s my bodyguard. You know him?” he asks, frowning at her. He and Loki had been jokingly analyzing some of the room’s other guests based on subtle clues on their persons when Mobius had spied Ravonna. He hadn’t missed how Loki had gone a bit pale, the smirk slipping off his face for a moment, but he also hadn’t thought too much of it.
Ravonna hums thoughtfully. “I was supposed to hear a case against him. Some kind of family dispute that ended up injuring innocent bystanders, but just before the trial, the DA dropped all the charges.” She takes a sip of her scotch and give him a pointed look that offers quite a bit more judgement on the situation. “Never did find out what happened.”
“Just because he was arraigned doesn’t mean he’s a criminal, you know,” Mobius says peevishly. Her implication shouldn’t rankle him this way, but it does. “I’m sure the security firm looked into it. Anyway, people make mistakes when they’re young. He’s a good guy.”
“That your professional opinion?” she asks, one eyebrow quirking upward.
“Sure, if it makes you feel better.”
This time she fixes him with her judgmental gaze—if anyone was better suited to be a judge, he’s never met them—and stares long enough to get uncomfortable before one corner of her mouth quirks up. “You like him, don’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” Mobius huffs automatically.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” she teases, but then all the amusement drops off her face. “Be careful, Mobius. Maybe he’s innocent, or maybe his family money bought him a pass.”
“If his family is so loaded, what’s he doing working as a bodyguard?” he retorts.
“Exactly.”
“You’re being absurd,” Mobius scoffs. “He’s been living in my house for the past two weeks, if he was going to betray me he’d have had plenty of opportunities to do so.”
Ravonna tips her head in a small gesture of concession. “Fair enough, you have a point. I just worry about you, Mobius. Death threats from the Black Order are nothing you can take lightly.”
“I think I’m more likely to die of boredom during the speeches at this shindig,” he says dryly.
“That’s for sure,” she laughs.
Not long after that he gets roped into another conversation, and another, and another; his metaphorical dance card is fairly packed, keeping him talking nearly nonstop and also keeping him from being able to check in with Loki. Nevertheless, he never loses sight of the man; he hovers nearby, acting more like a bodyguard than he ever has to this point. Eventually, after the dinner and the (interminable) speeches, he escapes for a bit. Grabbing another scotch, he makes his way over to Loki, who looks at the drink forlornly for a moment before schooling his expression.
“Bored out of your skull yet?” Mobius asks.
“We passed that point a long time ago,” Loki sighs, momentarily forgetting himself. “But I’m used to it, of course.”
“Probably not any worse than having to hang around my house and do nothing while I work,” Mobius offers.
Loki frowns, and for a moment it looks like he wants to disagree, but then he gives a little shake of his head and lets his eyes sweep across the room again. “You know Judge Renslayer, I take it.”
“She’s an old friend.”
“Ah. You two discuss anything… interesting, or just catching up?”
“She told me about your trial, if that’s what your fishing for,” Mobius says, putting him out of his misery. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, you weren’t convicted—hell, you weren’t even actually tried—and the rest isn’t any of my business. The past is the past. I think by now I know pretty well what kind of person you really are.”
Loki’s gaze snaps back to him. “Oh? And what kind is that?”
The good kind, he doesn’t say. It’s the truth, he can’t believe that Loki’s not a good person at his core, but that also feels a little too presumptuous a verdict at this point. “The kind that looks after idiot criminal psychologists who can’t remember to take care of themselves,” he says instead with a possibly too-fond smile. “Don’t know what I’m going to do when I don’t have you around anymore.”
Loki looks away again, and his jaw tightens. “I’m sure you’ll manage, as you did before.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Mobius blurts before he can stop himself. Goddamn, he’s drunk far too much, if it’s managed to loosen his tongue like that. “That’s— I just meant—”
“Well, I suppose you could hire me yourself,” Loki says smoothly, smirking, before he can say something even more idiotic.
The reminder that this is a job, that Loki is only with him because he’s being paid to be, is a sobering slap in the face. “Right, well, I’m afraid my day-to-day life doesn’t usually call for much bodyguarding,” he mutters, half into his drink. “I better go say hi to the Michaelsons, they’re big fans. You’ll be nearby?”
“Always,” Loki promises, which makes Mobius’s stomach flip in a way that it really shouldn’t.
Hours pass, and he’s signing someone’s copy of Variant when he senses someone step up behind him. He catches enough to know that the person is tall and slender, and wearing a dark suit, so he makes an assumption. He hands the book back to the other guest and frowns at his dying sharpie; somewhere around here there’s a publisher’s rep that should have another he can use.
“Hey, Loki, can you—” he starts as he turns, only to clip off when the person standing behind him is definitely not his bodyguard. “You’re not Loki.”
The man is indeed tall and thin, but that’s where the resemblance ends. He reminds Mobius of a skeleton, or maybe a corpse; deep-set eyes under what seems to be a set of permanently scowling brows only seem to emphasize how almost nonexistent his nose is, as does the sneer fixed on his lips. He’s apparently one of those guys who can’t come to grips with their own hair loss, because he’s pretty much entirely bald on top with a curtain of long grey hair hanging down behind his ears. Even though Mobius has never seen him before, he knows immediately what he’s here for. Then the man shifts, steepling his long fingers in front of him, and his sleeve pulls back to reveal a tattoo that confirms it.
“No, I am not,” the man says, his voice nearly as cold and spidery as his appearance. “Come with me, and no one else needs to get hurt here.”
“You can’t seriously think I’m going to go along with this,” Mobius retorts. He’s never had much self-preservation impulse, to be honest.
“I think that you are missing your bodyguard, none of the security here has any idea what is going on, and you won’t risk the lives of all these people,” the man reasons. “So, am I correct?”
It’s probably that same lack of self-preservation that makes Mobius agree. Although the Black Order usually eliminate their victims almost invisibly, leaving behind scarcely any evidence, they have proved they’re more than willing to take other lives if necessary. If Mobius goes along, he might still be able to escape, but if he tried to cause a scene and got others killed, he’d never be able to live with himself.
His abductor directs him to a nearby staircase, and they ascend in silence until they reach the roof. Mobius guesses he’s going to force him to jump. Hard to prove, or pin on any one person. If he can stall, though, maybe the security at the gala will notice his absence and send someone looking for him. Of course, with the party almost at a close, people might just assume he went home.
“What did you do to Loki?” he asks, turning toward his assailant, who now has a pistol trained on him.
“Concerned, hm?” the man responds, almost smirking. “That’s touching. You should worry about yourself.” He takes a step forward, forcing Mobius back toward the edge of the roof.
“I suppose you’re going to kill me,” Mobius says casually. It’s not that he’s not scared—he’s terrified, in fact—but he does know how to play people.
“You would suppose correctly,” the man confirms.
“No one’s gonna believe I jumped of my own volition.”
“They don’t have to. But it won’t matter. No one will be able to prove who was up here with you.” As predicted, he clearly expected Mobius to beg for his life, so when Mobius regards him with nothing but a measured acceptance, he frowns. “Nothing more to say?”
“Not much point, is there?” Mobius shrugs. “You’re a true believer. You’re not doing this for money. Thanos owns your loyalty and nothing I say will sway that.”
“You like to think you have everyone figured out, don’t you Dr. Mobius?”
Mobius offers a grin. “That’s because I usually do.”
“I’m afraid that will be your downfall,” the man says, taking a few more steps closer.
“Hey, what’s your name? You know, for when I write a book about this case. This’ll be a footnote, probably,” Mobius tries.
“Amusing,” the man says, though he doesn’t look particularly amused. “You can call me Maw.”
With that, it seems that Mobius’s time has run out. Maw continues to advance on him, and he’s rapidly running out of rooftop. He wonders briefly if he should try to make a run for it, to force Maw to shoot him so that there will at least be ballistic evidence, but with his luck Maw would leave him bleeding out up here, which seems like a terrible way to go. At least he has a good chance of dying instantly when he hits the ground from this height. He’s so focused on Maw and lost in his own internal argument that he doesn’t notice that they’re no longer alone.
Fortunately, neither does Maw.
The figure comes flying out of the shadows, slamming into Maw hard enough to knock him sideways and send the gun clattering across the rooftop. Mobius can’t make out much about his savior other than he is a slim figure with dark hair in a dark suit, but it’s enough. Loki. Mobius knows he should take the chance to run, but that would mean leaving Loki behind with this murderous bastard, and that’s certainly not happening. He scrambles away from the edge and roughly in the direction that he thought he heard the gun fall, but unfortunately it’s too dark and the shadows on the roof’s surface are too deep to make heads or tails of anything. Mobius ends up nearly on his hands and knees, groping blindingly, as the two men grapple nearby.
Finally, his hand brushes cold, smooths steel. He snatches up the weapon and turns in time to see the flash of a knife glinting in the glow of the city lights. Maw has Loki in a chokehold and appears to be moments away from putting the blade to use when Mobius fires a warning shot in the air.
“Enough!” he yells, holding the gun in front of him. He’s not particularly fond of firearms, but he does know how to use them.
Maw releases Loki and skitters back out of reach, but he doesn’t drop the knife. In fact, his aim seems to be the edge of the roof, though there’s no reasonable way down. Mobius wouldn’t have expected the Black Order to be suicidal, but he supposes it’s possible; from what he could tell, there were aspects of the crime syndicate that operated more like a cult.
“Now it’s your turn to come with us,” Mobius tells Maw, moving slowly but steadily toward him. “We’re gonna take a nice trip to the police station so you can tell us all about who sent you.”
Maw sneers. “I’m afraid I will have to decline,” he says, just as he reaches the low concrete lip that surrounds the edge of the building. “Never doubt that I will be back to finish the job.”
With that, he turns and jumps from the edge of the roof. Mobius and Loki rush over to look over, but it’s as if he vanished into thin air.
“Goddammit, he took my knife,” Loki huffs in frustration. “He probably went back in on a balcony, we need to lock down the building—”
“Already taken care of,” Mobius interrupts, waggling his cell phone in the air. “I texted Matt from the DA’s office downstairs. Security is on it.” He tucks the phone away again as he steps closer to Loki and frowns at the rather lurid bruise purpling across one of his fine cheekbones and pooling under his eye. “Are you ok?”
Loki scoffs at him. “I should be asking you that. Did Maw do anything to you?”
“No,” Mobius answers with a shake of his head. “I don't think he was inclined to leave any sign of foul play behind.”
“I’m so sorry, Mobius, I should have been there—” Loki blurts in a rush, his eyebrows folding into deep furrows of anguish.
“Hey,” Mobius says gently, taking a step closer. “I’m alive because of you. You made it in time.” He puts a hand on Loki’s forearm without really considering it might be a little too familiar a gesture, but though the other man looks down at his touch he doesn’t pull away. Now that Maw is gone, it’s almost pleasant up here on the roof. Peaceful. Private. Like he and Loki could just seal themselves off from the rest of the world for a moment. It makes him want to admit things he definitely shouldn’t. Loki shifts, not meeting his eye, so Mobius asks, “What happened?”
“The night was almost over,” Loki says, biting back a sigh. “I wasn’t paying as close attention as I should have. You were in busy signing books, so I slipped off to the bathroom. Maw was waiting for me. Knocked me out before I even saw him coming and took my weapons.”
“This is yours?” Mobius asks, offering him the gun.
“Yes. Only the guards were allowed to be armed. He was able to get through the metal detectors without issue, because he wasn’t carrying anything,” Loki explains as he takes the gun back. He checks the cartridge briefly, then snaps it back together and tucks it back into his shoulder holster under his jacket. He’s quiet for another moment, staring off into the night, then takes a deep breath. “Look, I understand if you want a new detail. I failed to protect you, and—”
“Did you not hear me?” Mobius cuts him off, a little more sharply than he means to. “You did protect me, Loki. You did your job. Yeah, maybe Maw got the drop on you this time, but not every bodyguard would throw themselves at an armed man. As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of the few people I can trust right now.”
Loki looks pained for a moment—guilt still eating at him for the slip, no doubt—but he nods. “Ok. If you’re sure.”
“You probably should get checked out for a concussion, though.”
“I’m fine,” Loki answers quickly. “Wasn’t out long, I promise. I’ve certainly had worse.” When Mobius frowns skeptically at this, he continues, “It’s just— if the firm finds out, they’ll pull me from the detail, and you did just say…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mobius sighs. “Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on you.”
Loki’s lips tip into a soft, lopsided smile. “That’s my job, Mobius.”