Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It did not take long for Loki to recognize that when Sylvie pushed him out of the Citadel, her need for revenge that had consumed her since childhood and her inability to truly trust anyone driving her towards betrayal in that tense moment, she did not send him to the TVA. At least, not the one that he knew. He stumbled into one where none of those familiar faces recognized him and the lies of the Time-Keepers were replaced with more honest tales about a Variant of He Who Remains. The warnings about a multiversal war resuming and more dangerous versions of the unnerving man springing up to fill the void left by his death? All had come to pass as promised. And the Time Variance Authority had been replaced with a distorted reflection of the one he left behind.

Loki once thought there was nothing as shattering and horrifying as seeing his skin being flooded by a gut-wrenching shade of blue and hearing the man that he’d always believed to be his father confirm his monstrous origins. He once thought that there was nothing as painful and frightening as falling through the endless void between the realms into the merciless grasp of the Mad Titan.

He thought that nothing could compare to Sylvie metaphorically plunging a dagger into his heart as she refused to accept that he’d changed since she had not. When she stole his ability to choose, betraying him by sending Loki away and leaving him raw and wounded on a deep level, he thought that there was nothing that could ever hurt and scare him more. Everything had gone wrong, she was alone, and someone worse than He Who Remains might be coming.

But then Mobius, the first friend that Loki could truthfully claim as his own, looked at him without any recognition. His kind, concerned, and reassuring words were followed by questions about his name and department. Worrying over an “analyst” rather than knowing every aspect of Loki’s life. And that felt like salt in those previous metaphorical wounds.

Sylvie killing He Who Remains returned free will and unleashed the multiverse back into existence, but it came at a high cost. It wasn’t merely the timelines that began branching, the effect of her actions retroactive in addition to affecting events moving forward. It changed everything. Even the TVA, which supposedly existed outside of the timelines, split into countless variations. And there was no possible way to tell how many or which one might have originally been part of the Sacred Timeline.

That didn’t stop him from deciding to search. For the right TVA. For the right Mobius. And for Sylvie.

A stolen TemPad, a little practice to figure out how to use it to jump between the new timelines instead of merely along the same timeline, and then Loki raced through the TVAs. Some were nearly identical to the one that he knew. The differences were minor details that were easy to miss. In those versions, it was often only the horrible confusion in Mobius’s eyes when he saw Loki that destroyed the illusion. Other versions were far more distinct and different. Terribly different.

Some remained the same orange and brown halls filled with mindless drones who eagerly followed their orders, but with statues of various versions of He Who Remains instead of the trio of space lizards. There were fewer pretty lies about the purpose of the TVA in those branched timelines. Sometimes the TVA was populated by robots instead of people. Instead of recruiting from brainwashed Variants, their founder chose instead to build obedient automatons. Other versions might still have people, but they behaved more like an army. Armed and aggressive towards any strangers, even those wearing increasingly ragged TVA clothing. And yet other versions of the TVA were trapped in active combat when Loki arrived, two different forces from two different timelines trying to wipe each other out in order to leave only their own version of reality in existence. Then there were the worst ones. A few that he found only showed the aftermath of such battles for supremacy: empty halls, damaged architecture, collapsed structures, and lifeless corpses left abandoned where they fell.

He hated those versions the most.

Again and again, Loki caught glimpses of the man behind it all. Sometimes only as statues. But other times, he saw the man in the flesh from across the crowds of Minutemen. His face appeared on posters and on screens where Loki would have expected to see records of Miss Minutes instead. He was everywhere. But never under the title of He Who Remains. That specific Variant was gone. Instead, he used numerous other names across the different versions of the TVA.

Nathaniel Richards. Immortus. Scarlet Centurion. Victorex Prime. Mister Gryphon. Pharaoh Rama-Tut.

But the most commonly repeating alias that Loki kept encountering was Kang.

Loki didn’t know how many Time Doors that he went through. He didn’t know how many unnerving, depressing, and terrifying versions of the TVA that he faced. He didn’t even know how long he’d been searching since time was always strange and unreliable there. All that he could do was keep going until he found what he was looking for, the TemPad ran completely out of power, or one of the more violent versions of the TVA managed to bring him down.

He stumbled through another glowing door. Another familiar brown-and-orange hallway like countless others. But there were no sounds of fighting or signs of destruction. Or robots that stalked the corridors. Or even a crowd of the exact same person who had been duplicated countless times instead of simply kidnapping Variants, which he’d encountered in a couple of timelines. Everything was quiet and calm. A little of the tension eased. It seemed to be one of the more peaceful versions of the TVA. He had at least a few seconds alone. Loki could almost hope that he could catch his breath or maybe figure out how to charge the TemPad.

Almost, but not quite. Someone would figure out that he was there. Most versions of the TVA had methods of detecting unauthorized Time Doors opening in their headquarters. It was a wise precaution. Especially once some of them started attacking each other, trying to become the sole remaining TVA under the orders of their respective founders. He would be found soon enough.

For the thousandth time since they first dragged him in front of Judge Renslayer and he was nearly sentenced to pruning, Loki cursed the fact that magic didn’t work in the TVA. A few illusions would have made things much easier.

Four Minutemen turned the corner, wearing their bulky black armor that would be immediately mocked on Asgard and their Time Batons already glowing. He didn’t immediately recognize any of them, but that didn’t mean anything. He only knew a handful of them well enough to identify them on sight. It didn’t prove or disprove anything about the timeline. But Loki did fall into a defensive stance. Fighting multiple enemies while unarmed and with no magic was not easy, but he unfortunately had a lot of practice by now.

Disarm them and then get away long enough to determine that it was the wrong TVA. Then escape to the next one. It was a familiar plan.

“Stand down. Do not engage him.”

The Minutemen reluctantly lowered their weapons at the order. Loki, however, did not drop his guard even as he recognized the voice. B-15 stepped forward as the small group parted before her. She held one hand raised towards him in a gesture that suggested she was indicating that she meant no harm, but he saw that the other hand hovered near her own Time Baton. She was no fool. And he knew better than to blindly trust someone just because they wore a familiar face. Their Variants could easily be more ruthless than the ones that he knew. She could be attempting to get close to prune Loki herself.

He was fairly certain that it was a multiversal constant that all versions of B-15 would happily and eagerly prune him.

“Take it easy,” she said, somewhere between an order and the careful tone that might be used to sooth a skittish creature. “Are you hurt, Loki?”

He ignored the way some flicker of hope tried to spark. That lurch in his chest at her knowing his name couldn’t be trusted. It could be a trick. Or maybe his Variants were just as common of a problem for this version of the TVA as the one for the Sacred Timeline. This wasn’t proof of anything.

Footsteps behind him had Loki immediately cursing himself under his breath; he was in a hallway, meaning that enemies could approach from either direction. He knew better than to let his guard down like that. Clearly he was too tired to remember basic tactics. Loki twisted and practically flung himself so that his back was against the wall, providing himself a sliver of protection while letting him see in both directions of the hall. And he immediately froze as he caught sight of the lone figure.

The brown suit was a little more rumpled and his necktie slightly crooked, like he’d fallen asleep at some point at his desk. His short hair needed to be combed back into neatness. And he was overdue for a shave. They all hinted towards a man who was not getting enough sleep and trapped under a newly-formed mountain of stress.

But it was the eyes that held his attention. Not merely the dark circles under them. It was the way that his eyes locked onto Loki. With relief. With recognition.

“Mobius,” he said quietly.

The right Mobius.

Loki collapsed back against the wall, letting it support his weight. It was better than letting his legs give out completely. He made it back to the right TVA. He found his way back. It felt like a tight pressure around his chest had loosened and he could finally breathe easier. The tension and combative stance melted away. Loki closed his eyes as he listened to Mobius talking to B-15 and the others, quietly convincing them that he could handle things. He let that folksy dopey voice wash over him without focusing on the actual words.

“Hey,” said Mobius as the Minutemen withdrew carefully, leaving them alone. “Look at me.”

Loki wearily opened his eyes. Mobius was looking him up and down. Studying the Asgardian with intense focus, trying to figure out what might have happened since they parted.

He knew that his appearance was not currently the most reassuring. The standard-issue TVA button-up shirt was now wrinkled, torn, stained, and ruined. The cuts on him were no longer bleeding, but he knew some of the bruises were still healing and colorful. It was hard to get out of some of those more dangerous timelines untouched. The robot versions of the TVA hit especially hard. Loki knew that his hair was a greasy, frazzled mess. He looked nothing like the youngest prince of the Asgardian royal family.

“You look like something that the cat dragged in,” said Mobius, apparently satisfied that Loki wasn’t about to keel over. “You’re definitely a bit banged up. Is it any worse than that? Do we need to get you to the infirmary?”

Loki managed to shake his head. While healing magic had never been his strong suit, he was practical enough to learn a few lessons from Lady Eir about injuries and how to fix them. Magic might be out of his reach in the TVA, but not the knowledge. He knew his body’s limits well enough to know that he didn’t need any outside assistance. He would heal with a little rest.

Not looking completely convinced, Mobius nodded slowly and said, “All right, we’ll leave that alone for now. How about Sylvie. Where is she? Is she in trouble? What happened?”

“We made a mistake,” he said. The words came out slower and duller than the almost frantic tumble that came out right after the Citadel. “The man behind everything, the one who created the TVA. He told us that his death would unleash something worse than him. That the vacuum left behind would be filled with other versions of himself that were far more dangerous. Multiversal conquerors instead of a single dictator. I wanted to take a moment. We needed to think it through. It was… It was too big of a risk to be rash. I tried to ask her to wait, but Sylvie—”

“But she wanted her revenge,” said Mobius.

Nodding reluctantly, he continued, “She couldn’t… I think she was scared to consider the idea that He Who Remains—”

“Super creepy name.”

“—might be telling the truth. Because then all of those centuries would be wasted. It was all meaningless. She spent most of her life alone, growing up in apocalypses, and with nothing except her need for revenge. And seeing it slip away… She couldn’t trust me. Not that anyone really trusts me, but… She thought that I… that I would choose a throne over trying to keep her safe. That I would choose to fill that vacuum myself because… But I didn’t want a throne. Not anymore. I wanted to keep her… to keep all of you safe. She couldn’t trust me because she needed her revenge more than anything else. It was all that she’s had for so long.”

Loki swallowed hard against the heartache trying to return. It was so hard to put it into words. His silver tongue was slipping. He tightened his trembling hands into fists by his sides while he was quietly grateful for the support of the wall at his back.

“I lowered my guard and she sent me way. Because she didn’t want to hear what I was saying, to protect me, to keep me from interfering… I don’t know. Maybe all three. I just know she picked her revenge and I ended up landing in the TVA… The wrong one. I’ve been trying to get back here ever since.” Shaking his head, Loki said, “I don’t know where she went after that. Maybe she’s even still stuck there, alone and miserable because I know revenge won’t fix anything. Hurting everyone because you’re hurting... It doesn’t help. But we have to find her.”

“And we will. We’ll find Sylvie. But let’s get you sorted out first. You’ve been jumping between timelines since everything started branching, right?” Stepping closer and placing his hands on Loki’s shoulders, he asked, “How many?”

“I don’t know. I lost track a while back. There seemed to be no end to them.”

“And when was the last time you got anything to eat? Or any sleep?”

Not having any good answers to those questions, Loki said, “It doesn’t look like you’ve been getting enough rest either.”

“You’re not wrong.” Mobius chuckled faintly, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “Come on. Let’s get you taken care of, Loki.”

The first step in that plan was apparently to take Loki to the closest break room and shove a sandwich in front of him. He barely noticed what kind it was. The first bite seemed to awaken a roaring beast of hunger that had been waiting for the chance to make itself known. Loki wasn’t Thor when it came to indulging himself at a feast and he certainly couldn’t compete with Volstagg when it came to a powerful appetite. But he hadn’t eaten anything since his Variants roasted them a parting meal before they faced Alioth and he’d barely touched it then, too distracted by what was to come. Some of the shakiness and lightheadedness turned out to be from not eating for far too long. Several sandwiches followed the first as Mobius tried to explain what had happened since they separated.

The Sacred Timeline branched and divided at an increasingly fast pace from the moment that it was freed. But while Loki had only observed the chaos from the various different versions of the TVA, Mobius had seen how all those new timelines grew and spread. Most remained isolated, but others began to interact. Some people found ways to crossover in limited fashions. They learned to influence those other versions through advanced science or with magic. Or a mixture of both since they were not so different.

Apparently one of the most commonly reoccurring ways was through a dreamwalking spells from a malevolent tome of magic called the Darkhold. Those interactions tended to always be dangerous. At least until all versions of the Darkhold in every timeline were abruptly destroyed instantly on November 24^th, 2024. But at any point prior to that date, the Darkhold could still cause trouble. The kind of trouble that could annihilate universes.

That was the problem. Not all of the timelines were surviving. Granted, it was sometimes their own fault. The people and their choices leading to mistakes that destroyed themselves. That was the risk of free will. But other times, those destructions were caused by an outside catalyst.

Sometimes the different timelines, the different universes created by the Sacred Timeline splitting, would clash. These events, these “incursions,” would usually result in the annihilation of one or both timelines being destroyed. Even small groups or individuals physically traveling between the timelines ran the risk of the boundaries between the timelines being breached completely if done incorrectly or too often in a small enough timeframe. Reality would literally start melting away, the weather and even gravity began to warp, and it would make the Void seem like a delightful place to live until every shred of existence unraveled into nothingness.

They could have walked away. That was the plan. Burn the TVA to the ground as the multiverse of possibilities runs wild. But none of them could stand aside and let those more aggressive timelines wipe out all the others with endless incursions. Free will might mean that they could destroy their own timelines with their own mistakes, but allowing them to begin annihilating others? It felt too much like the multiversal war that the TVA was created to prevent. Even when everything else was a lie, none of them could bear the idea of trillions of lives being destroyed over and over for no greater reason.

They made it part of their new mission. They might not be able to prevent all incursions and protect all of the timelines from destruction, not with how fast everything was spreading out, but they could try reducing the number of timelines destroying each other. Especially those that kept threatening others after the destruction of at least one of them.

Apparently someone named Doctor Stephen Strange had several Variants that either caused the destruction of his own timelines with his actions, accidentally or purposefully destroyed other timelines, or at least came very close to causing similar timeline destruction that was barely prevented before it was too late. Mobius went on quite a rant about him.

And in between trying to deal with the entire TVA learning that everything that they knew was a lie and restructuring it to deal with the multiverse rather than merely the Sacred Timeline, Mobius had been attempting to figure out where Loki and Sylvie ended up. Which was oddly nice. He didn’t know for certain that his own family searched for him after he fell from the Rainbow Bridge.

But then again, his experience with Thanos’s “hospitality” and then the negative influence from prolonged exposure to the staff, which he knew could shift emotions and color thoughts in darker ways, meant that he couldn’t completely trust his memories of what happened around that stretch of time.

As Loki finally began to slow down, his hunger easing enough that it no longer seemed all-consuming, he was left struggling with another problem during Mobius’s explanations. He kept needing to smother his yawning. He knew that it was important to know what happened in the interim. And yet weariness settled over him like a heavy blanket, weighing him down and making even the prospect of moving difficult to contemplate. Everything that he’d ignored in his desperate hunt for the right TVA was making itself known now. After one too many yawns escaped, Mobius chuckled faintly.

“All right then. I clearly should have stopped a while back. I was just relieved that you’re here now and didn’t notice how long we’ve been sitting here.” Mobius stood up and brushed himself off. “Now that you’ve gotten something to eat, you should probably get some rest. Everything else that we needed to deal with can wait until after that.”

Without thinking, Loki immediately stood and grabbed his wrist. Making Mobius stop and look at him questioningly. But Loki didn’t have any good answers about why he did it. The act was completely instinctive.

Despite his exhaustion, dragging himself off to sleep in that small gray cell that they gave him wasn’t appealing. It wasn’t that far from one of the locker rooms where they stored their body armor between missions in the field and the common showers meant for washing off from the messier visits to the timeline. Just one of a few empty rooms kept for temporarily holding “lesser threats.” Dull blank walls and an uncomfortable metal contraption that unfolded into something vaguely resembling a bed. Not to mention the lock that they pretended could contain him and the guards outside the door who potentially could.

Loki barely spent any time there. It was merely a place to sleep when he wasn’t watching those mind-numbing recordings about the TVA, reading thick case files, or attempting to capture the Variant that turned out to be Sylvie. And other than the uncomfortable chairs, it was easier to doze off at a desk or one of the tables in the archives.

But it wasn’t merely the depressing room that he was reluctant to revisit. It took him a moment, but Loki eventually figured out why he’d instinctively grabbed for the man. He didn’t want to let Mobius out of his sight just yet. Loki knew it was foolish. And yet part of him worried that Mobius would disappear the moment that he looked away and Loki would be alone once again. Or worse, Loki would turn around and see that awful lack of recognition in his eyes. The one that meant he hadn’t really found his way back and it was the wrong Mobius after all.

Mobius was still waiting for an explanation. There was confusion and curiosity in his expression, but he wasn’t pushing yet. He wasn’t using all of his interrogative skills to pry out the answers that Loki barely understood himself. Mobius was simply waiting for Loki to figure out what he needed. He could be patient.

And unlike so many, he might actually be willing to do what he asked. Because Mobius wasn’t a servant. He wasn’t a tool or a victim of a trick. He wasn’t some well-born Asgardian or other member of the Nine Realms who was trying to curry favor. He wasn’t even a friend of Thor’s who was attempting to be polite because of that relationship with Loki’s brother.

Mobius was his friend. The first one that Loki could truly and honestly call his own. As impossible as it might seem.

Taking a breath and trying not to sound nearly as vulnerable as the request made him feel, Loki said softly, “Stay with me. Please.”

The request came easier than he expected. Almost naturally, but still with that feeling of risk. Rather like when he pulled Mobius into that hug before they parted. Or maybe Loki was simply too tired to care. Still, he almost trusted that it was not a mistake to ask. Especially when Mobius gave him a proud half-smile.

“I mean, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere without you. You’ve kinda grown on me,” he said. “Like a particularly stubborn fungus.” Ignoring the look that Loki gave him, Mobius continued, “Come on. I feel exhausted just looking at you.”

The Time Variance Authority was a vast, sprawling, and impressive place that seemed endless at first glance. Though considering it had a strange relationship with the passage of time, perhaps its geography was similarly incomprehensible by normal standards. Most of his time there had been spent inside the same building, but he knew that there was more. He’d seen plenty of it outside the windows and balconies. Not to mention the sheer logistics of the place demanded that there was more happening out of sight. Just as there had been more to Asgard besides the palace. Loki knew that there must be people who handled food production, who made and repaired their machines, who crafted the clothes and materials that all bore their familiar logo, and even those who produced the various boring recordings that explained how the TVA worked. It was an entire city that supported the work required to maintain the Sacred Timeline. At least until the multiverse was unleashed and threw everything into chaos.

But despite knowing that there were all of those people beyond those who worked in their headquarters, Loki hadn’t set foot outside it. And he hadn’t thought deeply about what they might do when they weren’t on duty. They were people, after all. While it was true that most seemed to live solely to do their job and served the so-called Time-Keepers with a devotion that bordered on worship, there must be more to their limited lives than that. They would need time to themselves to rest and relax.

The closest structure outside the headquarters was a large, dull, and gray building that Mobius off-handedly mentioned that most of the Minutemen stayed in. The proximity made sense; they would want their warriors close in case of an emergency, though there were always at least some of their Hunters active at all hours. Loki wasn’t certain how many people the building could easily house. Apparently, they were often sharing assigned quarters. The number of people per room depended on their ranks. Promotions and seniority provided the various TVA agents more space and privacy.

That was apparently one of the incentives to work hard and succeed within the TVA since there was no currency or monetary rewards: better quarters for their off hours and a chance to use a proper name rather than the string of letters and numbers that were so similar to those assigned to rogue Variants before pruning.

Mobius continued with his brief tour and sharing bits of trivia as he guided Loki to another building. A more curved and tall structure with far more windows than the stouter building that housed the Minutemen. It would certainly never match the grandeur of Asgard. But it wasn’t completely hideous and Loki could admit that it was impressive for a place without magic. Though the gray elevator that they entered could have been a bit more cheerful.

“I used to stay on a lower floor with a few people,” said Mobius as the elevator climbed steadily. “Back when I had barely any successes to my name.” Chuckling wryly, he added, “Or even any name.”

“What did they used to call you?” Loki shifted slightly next to him, fighting the urge to just lean back against the wall of the elevator to rest. “Or would that be impolite to ask?”

Smiling slightly, he said, “Nah, I don’t mind. It wasn’t that great, but I don’t have any problem with it. I used to go by M-333 back in the day. You pull up my old records, you’ll still see it in the paperwork.”

“I think… ‘Mobius M. Mobius’ suits you better.”

He smiled a little wider, but didn’t say anything further before the elevator reached the correct floor. A long hallway with multiple doors stretched out in front of them, each marked by a metal placard. Most of them seemed to identify who they belonged to, though there were a few that seemed to be for more practical purposes labeled “laundry,” “cleaning services,” and “requisition requests.” Loki easily spotted Mobius’s name further down the hall. But he still allowed him to lead the way since it was his home.

“This has been my place for a while,” said Mobius proudly. “One of the perks of being one of the top analysts for so long. I know it’s nothing compared to the golden palace of Asgard where you grew up, but I don’t need anything that fancy. I spend most of my time working.”

Mobius was right that it couldn’t live up to his memories of home. Not simply because of the lack of gold and ornate architecture. It didn’t have Loki’s family there. No elaborate tapestries woven by Mother, no cup of wine waiting for Father to take another sip, and no hammer that Thor left lying around because he could always summon it to his hand if he had need of it.

And even now, knowing that version of his family was gone the moment that he was taken by the TVA and most would be gone in less than a decade regardless, part of him still wished for those touches of home. Loki had lost so much: his sense of identity, his family, his home, his place in the timeline, Sylvie, and even Mobius for a time. Was it wrong to grieve for what he could never get back? Even with the lies, the heartache, and his previous rage and fear, Loki wished that he could have his family back.

No, it could not compare to the palace of Asgard. But it was at least an improvement over where Loki had been staying of late.

His living quarters turned to be mostly a single room, but with enough space for a bed, a small nightstand, a small wooden dresser next to a closet, a brown couch covered in stacks of files and paperwork, and a short wooden table similarly covered in work in front of it. Other than what appeared to be a washroom to the left, there was nothing except that one room for Mobius to call his home. Soft gray carpet stretched from one wood-paneled wall to the other and all the furniture was simple and functional in style. Nothing particularly ornate or elaborate. Nor was there much of his personality on display; his desk at the headquarters with his precious jet ski magazine served as a better reflection of who the man was. Other than the round orange lamp and a strange cube that looked like it was related to the TemPad, perhaps a device to help charge its power supply, there was nothing resembling decorations in the room. The only true point of interest was the window looking out towards the rest of the TVA, carefully framed by dark orange curtains that matched the comforter on the bed. Without any sun, moon, or stars to help differentiate between night and day, the TVA would always remain the same; the curtains would be necessary to give the room enough darkness in which to sleep.

“I wasn’t really expecting company,” said Mobius apologetically, hurrying over to try straightening up and moving some of the files from the couch. “I tend to bring my cases back with me and my workload has only gotten worse recently. Not that I’ve made it back to my place much since everything happened.”

“So I was correct when I guessed that you have not been sleeping.”

Grimacing, he muttered, “You’re starting to sound like B-15.”

“I would have never imagined her as a mother hen. I would have thought she would just slap a collar on you and keep using the Time Twister until you were forced to stay in your room.”

“She probably considered it a couple of times.” Running a hand through his hair, a weary gesture that explained his unruly appearance, Mobius admitted quietly, “It’s been a stressful time.”

“Worrying about the multiverse,” asked Loki hesitantly, “or me?”

Straightening up from next to the couch, he said, “Maybe a bit of both. After everything that’s happened, it’s a weight off my mind to have you back in one piece.”

Loki smiled faintly. Part of him wished that he’d embraced Mobius as soon as he saw him again, squeezing the man tightly just as he did before they parted in the Void. His friend apparently would have benefited from similar gestures of reassurance. But there had been too many people to witness it and Loki was not one who easily displayed affection physically. He didn’t take the chance then and now it felt like the moment had passed.

But it would have felt good to hug him close and reassure himself that it was truly the proper Mobius, that he was real and solid.

“All right,” said Mobius, gesturing towards the attached washroom. “Soap, towels, and everything is already in there. I can get you some new clothing from requisitions while you clean up.”

It was hard to tell which he honestly wanted more: to scrub off the sweat, blood, and general filth from his body or to collapse and finally get the rest that he desperately needed. But getting clean and into clean clothes would feel so much better than trying to sleep in his current state. And it would be nicer than washing off the worst of it in the communal showers.

The washroom immediately became his new favorite place the moment that he stepped inside. Not because of the large orange tiles on the wall, the dark gray ones along the floor, the pale gray sink, or even the round mirrors that showed Loki exactly how ghastly he looked. His harrowing journey had left him pale, wan, bruised, and scratched up. No, it was the large, pale gray, and perfect tub with the waiting stack of orange towels that won him over.

“Perhaps the TVA is not completely beyond hope,” he muttered.

A few moments later, hot water poured out of the faucet and filled the room with steam. Loki peeled off the Midgardian-style TVA clothing and left them in a pile on the floor like the discarded rags that they were. Maybe the leather belt or the shoes could be salvaged, but not much else. It did give him a chance to grimace at some of the healing cuts and discolored bruises that were previously hidden and hadn’t disappeared yet. But they weren’t the worst that he’d ever experienced, so he didn’t worry about them overly much.

Slipping into the hot water made those cuts sting briefly, but the way that the warmth sank into his sore body made him moan in a way that normally required two people to produce. He felt the tension melting out of him. Loki slid down into the water until his chin was barely above the surface, eyes falling shut as he surrendered to the feeling of bliss. Even the lack of wine to drink did nothing to lessen his pleasure at getting a proper soak in a tub.

It felt completely glorious.

Loki didn’t know how long that he lay in the hot water, basking in the warmth sinking in all the way to his bones. Long enough to steam up the mirrors and for the lure of sleep to nearly pull him down. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in ages. His worries about the Variants of He Who Remains, Sylvie, and everything else seemed quieter for the moment.

Eventually, however, a soft knock pulled him out of his pleasant doze. Loki pried open an eye in time to see the door open a crack, some neatly folded clothes slid through, and then the door closed again. He took that as a signal to start properly scrubbing up. He reluctantly sat up and reached for the soap.

He couldn’t help wrinkling his nose faintly at the lack of a proper scent for the soap. No lavender oil or rose hips like he would have expected on Asgard if someone wished to be properly clean. But the TVA seemed to specialize in draining out all of life’s pleasures. Even when he reached for the bottle in order to wash his hair, it smelled dull and bland with no hint of life or warmth. The lather would burn the eyes and sting at a few cuts. But in the end, Loki was left clean and at least smelling better than he had before.

The water had grown tepid by the time that he finally climbed out of the tub. Loki dried off quickly and went to retrieve the clothing that Mobius left for him. Not the same types as what he wore before. Softer brown satin fabric in the shape of a loose button-up shirt and a pair of loose trousers cinched at the waist with strings. There was also a small pocket on the shirt with an orange logo of the TVA, though it was too tiny to be useful for holding anything. The sleepwear didn’t strongly resemble what he would have worn on Asgard, but its purpose could be easily inferred.

They weren’t fashionable, but the material was at least soft and comfortable.

“Hey, look at you,” said Mobius as soon as he left the washroom. “That has to feel better, right?”

Loki opened his mouth to thank him for both the fresh clothes and the use of his tub, but caught sight of what Mobius was wearing and stopped. And immediately laughed.

The material and style were similar to the sleepwear that Loki was wearing. But his version was white with dozens of images of Miss Minutes all across the fabric. The entire thing looked ridiculous on him. That didn’t seem to phase Mobius though. Nor did Loki’s laughter.

Not that his laughter lasted long before a yawn interrupted. Loki was warm, clean, and with a full stomach. All of that alone would be enough to induce drowsiness in someone. But Loki had been running for far too long and that exhaustion could no longer be ignored.

“Go to bed, Loki,” said Mobius. He gestured towards the couch that now sported a pillow and a gray blanket. “I’ll see if we can figure out a better setup in the future. Maybe a room on this floor or something. But you can have the bed for now. I’ll camp out on the sofa.”

“I would not wish to impose that much—”

“Get in bed, Your Highness. You’re practically dead on your feet and we’re both too tired to argue about it right now.” Smiling as he sat down on the couch, he added, “I’ll be fine. And I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

He shouldn’t need that reassurance. Loki wasn’t a child. But his earlier plea for Mobius to stay with him would have already stripped away his pride if he had the energy to care for such things currently. And it did comfort him to hear those words. To know that he wouldn’t wake up to find that it had been a fanciful dream, leaving him still racing through the wrong TVAs and finding only the wrong versions of Mobius.

To know that he hadn’t lost everything quite yet.

“Thank you, my friend.”

Chapter Text

Despite Loki’s love of chaos, he found himself trying to help reestablish some form of order in the TVA in the aftermath of the multiverse erupting out. Most of the large-scale, big picture, overall work was being done by Mobius with assistance from B-15 and even people like Casey, who turned out to be talented at organization. But Loki found himself surprisingly motivated for a few reasons. Some more important than others.

He needed to find Sylvie and they all needed to prepare for the more violent Variants of He Who Remains.

Those two motivations in particular continued to help drive him. He kept stepping through the Time Doors. No longer racing through different TVAs, but visiting the actual timelines. Searching for answers. And for Sylvie.

They didn’t have any direct ways to track her. Without a single Sacred Timeline, they couldn’t search for variances or branches from her presence causing changes. She wouldn’t have to hide in an apocalypse to remain invisible. There were countless timelines weaving into the complex pattern of the multiverse. But Loki did have a few ideas that he and Mobius used to work out at least a potential method of narrowing down the possibilities once they were within a timeline.

Loki had remembered the strange device that he walked through when he first arrived at the TVA, the one that would have melted him if he turned out to be secretly a robot. It recorded a Variant’s temporal aura. And Loki had heard enough to know that the former Judge Ravonna Renslayer was the one that originally brought Sylvie to the TVA after her Nexus Event. It turned out that Renslayer was a Hunter back during Sylvie’s childhood escape. That meant that somewhere in the infinite paperwork was a record of the event, which would include Sylvie’s temporal aura from the intake process. A little digging turned up a heavily redacted file, mostly likely an attempt to erase a rather humiliating failure from Renslayer’s record. But there was still enough information for them to use.

Scanning for her temporal aura once they were within a potential timeline could at least eliminate possibilities. And once they found the right timeline, it would help them find the right location within that timeline.

But searching for Sylvie wasn’t the only reason for him to go out into the field. They still had jobs to do. Or rather, Mobius and the others still felt obligated to protect things somewhat and Loki somehow ended up feeling the same. At least enough to keep helping. He and Sylvie were responsible for the new mess, after all.

The TVA’s new purpose of keeping the numerous timelines from wiping each other out remained an important and continuous task. And they also tried to “free” other versions of the TVA when they could, revealing the truth to them. Letting them know that they were Variants that were brainwashed and that their purpose of protecting for the greater good was built on the foundation of a lie, one designed to benefit a single individual instead. Though each one had a slightly different version of that man. Some of the different TVAs could be potential allies moving forward. They needed all the allies that they could gather.

Because not all versions of the TVA could be trusted. Some of them were blindingly and unquestioningly loyal to their version of He Who Remains to the point that not even the truth would be enough to sway them. And they might be more than willing to assist the more conquest-oriented Variants in their grand plans concerning the multiversal war.

And if that wasn’t enough to worry about, there were also actual armies under his control in many timelines. Well-armed, well-trained, and aggressive forces. Each Variant’s methods and armies were slightly different. But whatever forces that might be involved, they were always a threat.

The Minutemen made certain to be prepared for any potential attack even during the most mundane missions. The majority of the time, everything went smoothly. But when it went wrong, it could be fatal.

Rather like when Sylvie was attempting to bring down the TVA.

But even with the inherent dangers— he grew up on Asgard, so danger was rarely a true deterrent regardless— Loki continued to visit the timelines. Both to search for Sylvie personally and because he preferred to be involved in any potential encounters with the He Who Remains Variants. Despite how terrifying the man was, treating the flow of time and countless lives like a simple game for children with no real importance, Loki knew that he and his magic had the best chance of getting them out of such situations alive.

That was where Loki could be the most useful. In the timeline, where he could access his magic and do more than read files. He might be good at identifying patterns and working out how everything operated in the newly-reestablished multiverse, but there was a feeling of urgency that demanded action. Similar to the impulse that kept him racing through various TVAs in search of the right one.

Loki joined a large number of the missions in the field. And despite having minimal combat training and being one of the new unofficial leaders of the TVA who should thus remain somewhere safe, Mobius tended to join him. Maybe because he worried about Loki disappearing again. Maybe because he still somehow felt responsible for Loki like he was at the beginning. Or maybe he wanted an excuse to spend time with him, a visit to some new timeline to take readings for foreign temporal auras not much different than tossing around theories over lunch or having philosophical debates while working through a stack of files. Regardless of why he continued to join him, Loki preferred having Mobius by his side.

Was it similar to how Thor felt when he went into battle with Sif and the Warriors Three? And then later, the Avengers? Loki couldn’t say for certain. But he did know that he preferred it to being alone with just another group of Minutemen, even if some of them were growing familiar to him.

It should have been a relatively simple and straightforward mission to a version of 2167 AD, the TVA’s tendency to use Midgardian dating a rather obvious-in-hindsight clue that their creator was originally from that world. Their destination for the current mission was Terma, an unremarkable world near the edge of the Kree territory. Loki only vaguely remembered it from his studies growing up. Asgard had minimum dealings with the Kree and very little diplomatic contact, so there had been no need for a thorough education on such an obscure planet. He knew that three moons orbited it, that the world possessed some admittedly lovely pink-purple skies, and that there were some large research laboratories and manufacturing on the planet. The TVA had more information. Including the identify of a scientist working on some new weapons, including one that would eventually connect and wipe out several other timelines if they didn’t intervene.

All that they needed to do was prune that version of the scientist and his discovery before it could branch off fully. They were more sparing with such measures now, but it was still necessary on occasion to protect countless other timelines and trillions of other people. The only other reasonable option, when they had the right temperament, would be to try recruiting them into the TVA, without the brainwashing. A quick intervention and a brief check for any sign of Sylvie. Not that different than any other mission.

Except for Hunter D-90 being one of the four Minutemen on the team. He might have apologized to Mobius for pruning the man on Renslayer’s orders, but Loki hadn’t forgotten the helpless horror that gutted him when he saw his friend dissolving away. He hadn’t known that it wasn’t fatal in that moment. As far as he’d known, they were responsible for Mobius’s cruel demise.

No, Loki had no plans to forgive him.

Besides, D-90 might be an ally and a relatively competent Minuteman, but he was still a jerk. Loki tried to keep B-15 as a buffer between them whenever he was forced to deal with the detestable man.

It should have been an impossibly simple mission. The type that could be done in his sleep and where the bulky armor of the Minutemen seemed more like an over precaution. Not that any of them would ever go into the field without it. Even Mobius had been fairly consistent about strapping on a protective vest ever since the multiverse erupted into existence. Loki had no intention of wearing such awkward and clumsy armor when his entire fighting style depended on speed, maneuverability, and grace. But he was also finished trying to fight unarmed with only a thin button-up shirt for protection. Asgardians may be more durable than Midgardians, but he was not a fool. The compromise was dark leather armor similar to what he’d once worn on Asgard. Not black, but a darker shade of green. Because Loki still had standards when it came to his appearance.

There had been no reason for concern. They were all protected and they had no reason to suspect the sorting out the Kree scientist would take more than a few moments. It should have been easy. The group had relaxed as D-90 slapped a collar on the target, looking around the laboratory casually while waiting for the TemPad to return any results on Sylvie’s temporal aura in that timeline. Mobius even gave Loki a familiar admonishment against poking at everything that was being tested and developed, “like a kid in a toy store.” All while ignoring how many objects in the former Judge Renslayer’s office were souvenirs that Mobius brought back. The entire exchange always made B-15 roll her eyes. It wasn’t Loki’s fault that he was curious about what they were studying and they had some spare time.

Everything was going perfectly according to plan.

Until the confused Kree scientist was struck by a bright blue-white bolt of plasma, deafening loud and sizzling as it left a burnt and bleeding hole all the way through his chest. His blue skin immediately paled, thick blue blood poured out as ripped-open veins and arteries bled past what flesh had been cauterized, and he hit the ground within seconds. Loki instinctively ducked behind a cabinet for cover before the second shot fired towards him.

“Ambush,” shouted B-15, already overturning a large and sturdy worktable for them to hide behind. “Variant deceased. Take cover and fall back.”

Knives materialized in Loki’s hands without a thought as he peered across the large lab. It wasn’t the most open space, which did work somewhat to their advantage. But there was enough room for the armed forces to come swarming in. The all-concealing dark armor with the pale blue face-plates were a common and dehumanizing trait for the armies of the Variants of He Who Remains, especially those that went by the name of Kang. Loki was fairly certain from how they moved that these versions weren’t robots and he knew that there were a few weak points that he could exploit with his knives. Up close would be most effective, but their plasma rifles would make close quarters difficult. But at least he had the option of throwing his knives; the Time Batons were not meant to be wielded at a distance.

Loki counted seven enemies on the far side of the room when his blade buried into the thinner armor of the throat. The soldier dropped even as the rest continued to fire. An eighth came through the door a moment later. Black marks scorched the walls, furniture, and equipment. The Minutemen were scattered between whatever forms of cover that they’d managed to reach in time. Though it looked like K-21 found one of the experimental weapons and was eager to return fire.

When this was over, perhaps she could be promoted for initiative.

Another knife flashed through the air, piercing deep into a shoulder. Between him and K-21, some of the soldiers started seeking cover as well. Loyalty to their leader could not outweigh survival instincts and reasonable tactics. Between the scientific equipment and the projects under development, there were plenty of options for them to hide behind while still having the option to continue their assault.

But Loki knew that the TVA agents were outnumbered. Their best option was to retreat. They needed to reach the upturned table where D-90 and B-15 were. Her initial order to fall back was a sound one. They had the largest source of cover. If they could get everyone together, they could use a single Time Door to escape at once and ensure that no one was left behind.

It was merely the matter of getting over there. Loki was the farthest from them, but he could figure something out. He was a survivor. K-21 was on the opposite side, but she might need to move last because she had the potential to lay cover fire. J-76 was not too far from the others. He had the shortest distance between him and relative safety. He also likely needed to move soon. Whatever machine that he was barely hidden behind was taking massive fire from the plasma rifles. And the jolting, stuttering, and grinding sound and the high-pitched whine were both noticeable over the blasts of the weapons. Neither noise seemed promising from a purely safety concern. And that left—

“Mobius?” called Loki over the cacophony of plasma rifles, trying to spot the man as worry tugged at something in his chest.

Plasma rifles weren’t commonly used on Asgard, but Loki knew how they worked. Odin ensured that he and Thor understood the more commonly used weapons that they might encounter even away from the Nine Realms. Plasma wasn’t easily harnessed by the more primitive civilizations, but it was effective once they figured out how to get around the issues of it dispersing quickly into the surrounding atmosphere. Essentially, each bolt was a condensed and concentrated example of ball lightning; the smell always reminded him of Thor at his most deadly. The power behind the blasts was unforgiving: burning through flesh, scorching bones, and boiling blood until it tore open all of the surrounding tissues. Like it did with the Kree. Even an Asgardian’s resilience and durability would be vulnerable to a direct hit. Or a Frost Giant wearing the shape of an Asgardian.

At least the furniture in the laboratory seemed to be reinforced to withstand extreme temperatures. It was the only reason why none of them were dead from the attack.

“Still alive,” yelled Mobius, sending a wave of quiet relief through him.

Loki spared a brief moment to throw another knife to discourage the soldiers from attempting to advance. Then he tried to determine where the shout came from. Mobius couldn’t have been far from him when everything went wrong. His eyes slid across the laboratory until they landed on what looked like another extremely dented desk. It wasn’t standing up to the onslaught as well as some of the furnishings. Loki barely liked his hiding spot more than J-76’s cover, but at least it didn’t sound like it was on the verge of exploding.

As much as Loki might wish otherwise, getting Mobius to somewhere safer needed to wait until they helped the one in more danger.

“J-76, get ready to move towards B-15,” he commanded, sounding like that prince that Loki truly was. Hopefully she wouldn’t complain too much about him usurping control until they were back at the TVA. “K-21, you need to cover him with that weapon. Lay down cover fire when I give the signal.”

“And what are you doing, Loki?” shouted Moibus.

Grinning, he said, “What I do best.”

Loki reached for the magic within himself. And unlike in the TVA, it responded eagerly to his desires. Projecting illusions had been his specialty for centuries, second only to duplication-casting. When J-76 broke into a desperate run for the upended table, three other versions also tried to escape and somehow looked more helpless. Between the bright red shots from K-21’s stolen weapon and the decoys, J-76 managed to dive for safety without being hit.

The shots only seemed to come faster in response to the failure. Not as many were hitting the whining and shaking piece of machinery that had previously protected him, but Loki was growing more convinced that it would not remain intact much longer. The table was still taking most of the fire since half their group was huddled behind it. Time was not their ally. Loki knew that it would only grow more difficult for them to reach that shelter with each person.

Mobius needed to move soon and then K-21. Loki would save himself for last.

Loki reached with his magic towards one of the shelves against the wall. A swift yank sent it crashing down on two of the soldiers and pinned them in place. It wasn’t one of his more precise abilities, but telekinesis was useful on occasion.

“You’re next, Mobius. Same plan, K-21.” Loki gathered his magic again. “Wait for my signal.”

The illusionary copies of Mobius ran in a staggering and clumsy manner as K-21 fired towards any of the soldiers that poked their heads up. Giving the four fake images a head start, Mobius made his move. Loki kept the decoys active as he watched his friend race past the damaged and screeching piece of machinery, hunched over and hurrying towards the safety of the large table.

Except that the dead Kree’s body lay sprawled on the floor near the relative safety of cover. His blue blood pooled across the ground. And when Mobius’s foot hit the blood, it slid. Forcing him to stumble, straighten up, and stop for a brief second in order to recover his balance.

Only a second.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl like Loki’s first encounter with B-15 and her Time Baton. One horrible instant stretched out to eternity. Letting all the details play out before his eyes.

Loki saw him jerk hard as the bolt of plasma struck Mobius in the chest. The hit barely slowed by the thick clunky armor. He saw the smoldering wound burned deep into the man, the first trickle of blood, and the look of stunned confusion that crossed Mobius’s face. No pain yet, but the nerves that weren’t burned way yet would hit him soon. Mobius met his gaze, but his eyes were already losing focus.

Loki had viewed the recordings of what was meant to happen to him in the Sacred Timeline; he had seen himself on Svartalfheim, a blade driven straight through his body. Now he felt as if he was experiencing it himself, sharp pain slicing deep into him as the sight tore a scream from his throat.

“Mobius!”

And suddenly the world was moving again, too loud and awful. Plasma flashed right next to his hiding place, but Loki could only see the way that Mobius abruptly collapsed. Like a puppet with his strings severed. Crumbling to the ground like a broken and lifeless doll. Terrible and wrong.

There was no thought. No hesitation. The universe narrowed down to the limp figure lying on the polished floor. The continued weapons’ fire didn’t even register as Loki sprinted from cover. Eyes locked on Mobius, he flung out his arm and magic in a violent jerk, sending the large piece of machinery flying towards the closest clump of soldiers. Potentially the ones responsible.

The shouts of panic and crash of crumpling metal were unfortunately accompanied by the expected explosion, the force and fragments knocking Loki sideways. But he rolled back to his feet in an instant. Any scrapes and bruises inconsequential.

B-15 must have dragged Mobius behind the table in that brief second that Loki needed to recover from the blast. Giving them shelter from the renewed plasma bolts. He dropped to his knees as she tried to get the remnants of the protective vest off of the man. Loki gestured sharply and his magic practically shredded it in the attempt to get rid of the obstacle, letting him see the injury. Any hope that it wasn’t serious evaporated as he tore open the ruined shirt.

The plasma bolt had practically torn him open, leaving behind a burnt, bleeding, and gaping wound the size of his fist. Not quite perfectly centered in his chest, but slightly to the right and horrifyingly deep. It hadn’t immediately incinerated his heart due to the position, but it left burnt chunks of ribs and damaged his lung to leave him struggling to breathe. One working lung and one useless. The burns also extended beyond the primary injury and certainly within his body beyond what Loki could see. But even the visible damage was bad enough: the gaping wound, the blackened edges, and the raw burns that stretched away from the impact point.

He'd seen terrible wounds before. Fandral survived being impaled by an icicle on Jotunheim, but that recovery had required Lady Eir’s rapid care. And Fandral was an Asgardian. They were a hardy and durable people; anything that didn’t immediately kill them could generally be recovered from with time.

And Mobius wasn’t. He was a Midgardian. A fragile, vulnerable Midgardian.

Mobius had already lost consciousness, sparing Loki from hearing him cry out as he pressed both hands hard against the wound. And not merely to staunch the bleeding. Bright emerald green magic shone beneath his palms as Loki poured it into the man. Letting it spread and weave its way through Mobius’s body as Loki pressed his eyes shut to minimize distractions. He needed to concentrate.

Despite lessons with Lady Eir, healing spells did not come naturally to him like some forms of magic. Illusions, duplications, telekinesis conjuring, and even summoning flames came more easily to him than healing spells. Perhaps it was his temperament or perhaps it was the permanency of the results. There was a complicated mixture of subtlety, precision, and durability that made it difficult and attempting it without the right understanding could do more harm than good. And he lacked her collection of tools, salves, and poultices to aid in the process.

But what he lacked in experience, natural affinity, or useful articles to aid in his efforts, Loki made up for with the knowledge that she’d imparted and his own raw power. His older Variant recreated an elaborate and detailed illusion of Asgard far beyond what he’d ever imagined; Loki must share that same potential. He could fix this.

Blood coated his hands, thick and sticky, as his magic sought out everything that was wrong. The burned-open lung that left blood in his mouth with each gasp, the arteries, and even the injuries to the heart that stretched beyond the primary wound stole his focus first. Mobius’s breathing was strained and nearly drowned by blood and his heart was fighting through the shock. Loki’s magic pushed into those more demanding injuries. Trying to coax flesh to knit back together, help Mobius breathe, and keep that struggling heart beating. The latter two taking up most of his energy, making it harder to make progress with the actual repairs.

All of his concentration was on the vital task of preserving his life that Loki barely noticed the sounds of battle. He barely noticed B-15 next to him, digging into a medpack in front of her. Or when D-90 knelt down.

“We need to retreat and get him back to the TVA,” he said urgently, though he seemed to be speaking to her. “We can open a Time Door directly to the infirmary.”

Loki heard that. And he couldn’t allow it. Mobius wouldn’t survive the trip. He was barely hanging on with Loki’s magic flooding into the man’s body. Midgardians couldn’t survive with injuries like this.

He would lose Mobius. Like when he was pruned and Loki was certain that he was destroyed completely. But there would be no Void to bring him back from. It would be permanent. The man would be gone forever.

“No,” said Loki through clenched teeth.

Ignoring his warning, someone reached for Mobius. The tiniest flick of magic pushed them back. Not enough to harm them or risk knocking someone out from cover. He didn’t have the energy to spare for more aggressive matters anyway. He just couldn’t let them take Mobius. Especially to the TVA.

“My magic,” said Loki shakily. “He… If I stop…”

He’ll die.

Loki couldn’t say it, but he knew it was true. There was too much damage and Mobius was barely hanging on.

“It’s fine, Loki,” said B-15, tense and yet firm. Her hand pressed hard against his side; perhaps she was attempting to be reassuring. “Just focus on getting Mobius stabilized. We’ll take care of everything else.”

Loki managed a slight nod, but his focus stayed on Mobius. His magic trying to keep him alive, but also slowly knitting the destroyed organs back together even as thin threads spread out to map other injuries. The incinerated nerves, the blood vessels burst open from the boiling heat that had struck, vertebrae cracked by the same heat—

He dragged his attention back to the vital organs. He needed to keep him alive. The ragged gasps for air that seemed too horrible to bear and the unsteady heartbeat that Loki refused to admit was worsening. He couldn’t accept that. Loki kept pouring his magic into his friend as blood kept pooling from the burnt gaping wound.

He kept muttering under his breath, barely audible. He probably looked like he was reciting an incantation. But it was far simpler.

“Stay with me. Please, Mobius. Stay with me.”

As if Mobius could hear him. As if he could do more to keep the struggling heart fighting a little longer if Loki begged hard enough. As if the painful reality of mortality could be denied.

Despite most of his focus and magic being directed towards keeping Mobius alive, Loki could still sense everything else that was wrong with him. Everything outside of that was barely noticeable. Only occasionally did the surrounding noise of battle, reinforcement arriving through opening Time Doors, and voices manage to reach him even in the midst of his desperate efforts.

“—happened here? What is he—”

“—enemy is falling back. Do we—”

“—and alert the infirmary to expect patients arriving shortly, at least two in serious condition—”

The fragments that he heard weren’t enough to keep Loki from noticing that despite his efforts to keep him going and repair the damage, the blood loss and shock was taking its toll on Mobius. The heartbeat was starting to stumble. Losing the rhythm. Trying to give up completely even as Loki forced more magic into his dying body.

“No, no, no,” he whispered frantically.

Leaning closer, her hand still pressed firm against his side, B-15 asked, “What is it?”

“His heart is— I’m trying, but I can’t keep ahead.” Loki, hating the desperate tone, squeezed his eyes tighter because tears would solve nothing. “His heart is failing. I can’t heal him fast enough and keep it beating.”

She hissed a sharp curse before he felt her moving around somewhat. Loki reluctantly opened his eyes. Though he immediately felt nauseous and lightheaded as he saw Mobius’s deathly pale face, his own bloodstained hands glowing the deepest emerald, and how slow and weak the gasps from Mobius were becoming. He forced himself to look away to see B-15 digging through the medpack again with her free hand before pulling out a long white cylinder with an orange cap.

And when he was distracted for just a moment, the shuddering gasps fell silent. Loki’s head snapped back around. He grabbed at his magic from the deepest parts of himself and pushed it hard enough into the dying body with enough force to make his hands shake. Trying to make him live.

He couldn’t lose Mobius. He couldn’t lose his friend. He’d lost too much. Not this too.

B-15 abruptly leaned in and jammed the cylinder into Mobius’s chest, just above where Loki’s hands still pressed down. A few brief seconds later, Mobius gasped hard as his heart raced like Sleipnir at a full gallop.

“What—”

“A stimulant,” said B-15 shortly. “It’ll buy us some time. Is he stable to move?”

Loki shook his head, but ignored the tightness in his throat as he returned all of his attention to healing the man. He was alive, but it was borrowed time. No longer needing to keep a fading pulse going, he could focus solely on recovery and restoration. The organs, the muscles, the nerves, the arteries and veins, the ribs, everything. The heat damage to the spine was healed carefully to ensure that there would be no chance of paralysis. His lung was finally sealed fully and the burns to the diaphragm soothed enough to ease his breathing. Ribs growing back together, the denser structures taking more energy to repair. There was so much, but he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t risk it. Every spark of magic in him poured into Mobius.

He had to fix this. He had to fix everything. He needed to ensure that Mobius would survive. He couldn’t lose him.

Mobius was all that he had left.

Loki kept pushing, replacing finesse with raw power and desperation. The deep and gaping wound beneath his hand growing shallower from his efforts. He could do this. He could heal him. It might be the most important piece of magic that he’d ever performed. One that he couldn’t afford to fail. Loki couldn’t stop until he was finished.

Except he was straining to focus and he was breathing hard, drawing on reserves of power that he was rarely forced to use. Exhaustion was settling on him like a physical weight. He was struggling to continue. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t—

Loki gasped at the uncomfortable sensation of emptiness inside him, the green light guttering out. The last spark of his magic used up and leaving him hollow in the aftermath. Hollow and strangely cold. It wasn’t blocked off like in the TVA, but truly gone for the moment. Almost like when he was a child and still learning his limits.

Tension still in her voice in a way that he didn’t like, B-15 asked, “Loki?”

“That’s… That’s all I have,” he mumbled.

He wearily opened his blurry eyes, vaguely wondering when his cheeks had grown damp. Loki noticed that his bloodstained hands were shaking as he pulled them away. But despite no longer being quite as deep, the wound was still there. Not burnt or horrifying, as if something had carved a large chunk out of his body to expose organs, scorched bones, and shredded muscle. It had certainly improved, but the injury remained raw and the surrounding tissue looked bruised. Internal bleeding or just remaining damage to the muscles and bones that he hadn’t managed to fix? He didn’t know. Loki just hated that he wasn’t good enough. He’d failed his friend. He was still hurt.

But despite looking battered and pale, Mobius was breathing. Loki clung to that thought even as guilt and worry twisted in his chest.

He didn’t know when he stopped hearing the plasma rifles, but they were silent now. Loki had only vaguely noticed when the other TVA agents arrived, but two of them were carrying a white stretcher between them and seemed to be attempting to move Mobius onto it. Loki wanted to reach out towards him. He didn’t like the idea of someone taking him out of reach. He didn’t have any spark of magic left to draw on, but he needed to do something. He still needed to make sure that his friend wouldn’t be taken from him, one way or another. But B-15 wrapped one arm around his back supportively even as she kept the other hand pressed to his side like before.

“We’re going with them,” she said firmly. “The medical staff are waiting. You’ve done plenty for now, Loki. We just need to get you on your feet and we’ll be following him.”

Loki opened his mouth to complain that he was fully capable of standing up on his own, but he was too weary to find the words. And he wasn’t feeling quite right. Enough that he didn’t shrug her off right away as he stood up.

And immediately stumbled as his head swam. B-15 seemed surprised by his weight when she was forced to compensate; he might not be as solidly built as Thor, but he was still as sturdy as any Asgardian. But despite her surprise, she kept him from falling on the blood-streaked floor. Loki did, however, get a glimpse of blood drying down his leg. The location was wrong to have come from Mobius. Which led to him looking for the source.

He saw it. A piece of metal, likely from the explosion, was buried into his right side. He didn’t quite feel it yet, but plenty of Asgardian stories of the battlefield included someone not noticing their grievous wounds until long afterwards. B-15 was holding gauze against it, pressing hard in an effort to staunch the bleeding and keep the large chunk of shrapnel from shifting. She must have been doing that the entire time that Loki had been healing Mobius. But the gauze was completely soaked by now. Leaving it a dark and concerning shade of red. He didn’t need his lessons with Lady Eir to know that much blood, the dizziness, and the chill that he felt were not good signs.

“Oh,” said Loki quietly.

Trying to get a better grip to support him, B-15 said, “You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you to the infirmary. They can get that out without making it worse.”

Loki swallowed hard. That was probably best. He didn’t know how large the piece of metal was or how deeply that it might be embedded in him. Lady Eir’s lessons were very firm about not yanking swords and knives out of people unless he was prepared to immediately start healing them. And he didn’t have anything left to try any spells for his own injuries. It would be better to leave it alone for now. But he did need to have someone trained in medical matters to handle it. Very soon. He was certainly more durable than a Midgardian, but there were limits.

Movement yanked his attention back to the stretcher held between the two TVA agents. He hated how pale and still Mobius looked even after the attempted healing. It was wrong. Despite the vaguely-foggy thoughts making it harder to focus, the sight left him with an anxiousness that he didn’t like at all. And when they vanished through the Time Door, Loki couldn’t help the small involuntary noise of protest as his friend was taken away. That fear of losing Mobius was still too strong to ignore.

“Don’t worry. We’re following him to the infirmary,” said B-15 quietly.

Trying and unfortunately failing to sound casual, he said breathlessly, “Practically being nice to me? Can’t be the right B-15.”

She didn’t say a word. She merely encouraged him silently to move forward. One shaky step at a time towards the Time Door with B-15 trying to keep him upright and prevent the shrapnel from moving too much. Unfortunately, the numbness that allowed warriors in battle to ignore their injuries was now wearing off. Every movement sent a flash of pain radiating out, leaving him panting, clammy, and increasingly lightheaded. He couldn’t think. He could merely follow her lead.

Loki shuffled unsteadily through the Time Door and returned to the TVA. He could hear the flurry of activity ahead of him, the medical staff swarming the stretcher. But his vision was too blurry and his head swimming too much for him to properly figure out what they were doing. He just knew that Mobius was in the center of it all. A thought that made his chest tighten and his breathing even more difficult.

His legs abruptly buckled under him and B-15 wasn’t prepared to support his entire weight. Loki gasped as he hit the ground, pain exploding. He didn’t know if the metal was driven further into him or torn out by the impact. All he knew was that he could barely hear the shouting over the ringing in his ears as darkness narrowed his vision. All he could see was the floor covered in fresh blood.

Was it Mobius? Did something happen to him? Loki couldn’t tell. Everything was a painful blur. Why did his head feel so light and spinning when the rest of his body felt impossibly heavy?

There was nothing that he could do. The encroaching darkness swallowed him. Dragging Loki down into the depths of an endless and lonely void.

Chapter Text

The slow and steady beeping was mildly irritating. That was Loki’s first thought. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it kept brushing against the edges of his vague awareness. Insistent and annoyingly persistent. He couldn’t ignore the sound. And the beeping seemed to pry and pull Loki slowly back towards consciousness.

He gradually became more aware of things. A dull throbbing in his side. The minor sting in the crook of his arm. The feel of cotton against his skin and the soft weight of a blanket on top of him. And somewhere not far away was the sounds of voices and movement, but not close enough for him to make out any distinct words or identify the speakers.

The knowledge that he wasn’t alone put him on edge. He was exhausted and he felt like his body was weighed down, but he couldn’t just drift back off to sleep. He needed to know what was going on. Where he was, who he might be facing, and what had happened while he was unconscious. His memory was coming back in bits and pieces. But he needed to be prepared for whatever was happening. He couldn’t risk being vulnerable and helpless.

Also, that annoying beeping sounded a little faster now. He should figure out what was causing it.

Loki managed to slowly crack his eyes open a sliver. The first thing that he saw was a dull orange screen with some numbers that meant nothing to him and a line that slid across it in a steady pattern. Occasionally the line jerked up and then down on its journey across the screen, matching the irritating beeping. It would seem that he’d found the source of the noise. Perhaps he would be able to slaughter it soon.

Beyond the machine, Loki could make out a brown curtain instead of a wall and the circular lights overhead. Like giant eyes staring down at him. He blinked briefly as he tried to take in more details about his surroundings. The white sheets and pillow against his left cheek. The dull chemical smell that he’d learned to associate with cleaning. Between all of that and his gradually returning memories, Loki realized that he must be in the TVA. Presumably the infirmary, though he’d never visited it before and couldn’t recall yet why he would be there now.

Shifting his head revealed more of the dull ceiling and the bright overhead lights that seemed determined to stab him the eyes. Loki couldn’t help wincing slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut. He managed to avoid making a sound complaint, but even the small movement was apparently enough to draw attention. He heard someone approach from the foot of the bed and pull something across the tile so that they were next to him.

Deciding that pretending to be unconscious would not do him any good now, Loki turned his head the rest of the way and risked opening his eyes again. And sitting in a chair right next to his bed, arms already crossed in front of her chest, was B-15. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I should have known that you’d be waking up already,” she said gruffly. “Do you remember what happened?”

Swallowing and grimacing at how dry his throat felt, Loki said quietly, “Some. There was… an ambush?”

“Correct. You were hit by some shrapnel. The medical staff managed to stitch you up before you completely bled out.” Leaning back in her chair, B-15 said, “They have the ability to produce synthetic blood for transfusions here, but they struggled briefly to change the parameters to make some that would work for you. Since all their patients tend to be TVA agents and human… Anyway, they worked it out in time.”

She gestured briefly towards the thin tube that was attached to some type of clear bag before snaking its way down to his arm, just inside the elbow. The red color suggested that it was the blood that she mentioned. Blood loss would explain his weariness to an extent, but not completely. There were still a few pieces of the puzzle missing.

Magic. Something about his magic.

Loki slowly pushed himself up until he was sitting, trying to ignore the twinge in his side of how unnatural the tubing in his arm felt. He would heal soon enough. Even a pummeling from the Hulk couldn’t keep him down for long. The cut was only still bothering him because of the depth and because he lacked Lady Eir’s poultices. He would survive the irritation.

“Asgardians heal faster than you,” he said hoarsely. “If they’ll get everything off me, I’ll sleep in my own bed and be fine by morning.”

Because it wasn’t merely the thin tubing attached to his arm. There were a few wires connecting to something sticking to his chest and the annoying beeping machine. And Loki seemed to be dressed in the flimsiest garment. Thin white cotton with a pattern of tiny TVA logos across the fabric, held together by strings tied in the back. He didn’t like any part of it. Loki would prefer to discard all the annoyances and go find—

“Mobius,” he gasped, horrifying memories of the dying man and Loki’s glowing hands pressed to his chest returned with all the force of a charging bilgesnipe.

B-15’s reactions remained sharp. She grabbed his shoulders as a panicking Loki tried to climb out of bed. Normally, he could have shoved his way past her with little effort. Especially when fueled by worry and fear for his friend’s life. But between his exhaustion and the stern expression on her face, Loki paused rather than fight her in his panicked desperation. And the first words out of her mouth rewarded his self-control.

“He’s alive.” When Loki’s breath caught in his throat, B-15 continued, “Mobius is alive. I promise. Don’t do anything stupid. The medical staff worked too hard on putting those stitches in your side for you to tear them loose now.”

Loki took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Trying to release all the terror and panic that had erupted so suddenly. He could almost feel the blood still coating his hands and the heart stumbling towards silence. It was hard to let those emotions go even if he could hide them behind a metaphorical mask. But she claimed that Mobius was alive and B-15 wasn’t a skilled enough liar to fool him. He clung to that fact and used it to slowly calm down.

And as a pleasant bonus, the irritating beeping began easing off again. It had started speeding up at some point.

B-15 cautiously released Loki’s shoulders, eyeing him suspiciously in case he used the opportunity to try escaping. When he stayed seated, she moved to one of the curtains.

He spared a moment to quickly glance around and noticed that the foot of the bed pointed towards the rest of the room, which seemed to have similar beds all partitioned off with curtains. Most of them appeared empty, but he saw at least one other person having someone in a lab coat looking at their wrist.

The sound of the curtain being pulled back yanked his attention towards B-15 again. She drew aside the divider between him and the neighboring bed that was nearly identical to his own. It even had a softly beeping machine and a dangling bag connected to a thin line of tubing that ran down to the unconscious occupant.

“Mobius,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He was still pale, but maybe not quiet as gray if Loki felt optimistic about it. Mobius wore a similar flimsy garment and thin wires slipped under the loose collar. Loose enough that Loki could glimpse bandages wrapped around his chest, further proof that Loki failed to heal him fully. And in addition to the beeping machine, there was a clear plastic object covering his mouth and nose.

“The oxygen mask is more of a precaution than anything,” said B-15, her voice calm and even. “He’s breathing on his own and the medical staff said that he’s fairly stable, all things considered.” Chuckling faintly, she said, “Honestly, you managed to spook them a bit. We told them what happened since we needed them to be ready when we brought the two of you in. And they saw the state of his protective vest. But then they saw him and Mobius was in much better condition than he should have been. The medical staff never leaves the TVA and have very little experience with the actual timeline or magic, so they don’t know how to handle healing spells or whatever you did for him. That’s why I’m talking to you instead of one of them.” She shrugged. “Apparently I’m the unofficial Loki babysitter when Mobius is unavailable.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to complain about how he did not require supervision and how he’d outgrew the need for a nursemaid centuries ago. All he could do was keep watching the slow rise and fall of the man’s chest. It was a reassuring sign that Mobius was alive.

Alive, but not well. Not truly healed.

“It wasn’t enough. He remains hurt despite my efforts. I could not—"

The light cuff on the back of his head, barely any force behind the gesture as if she could possibly harm him, interrupted Loki. B-15 gave him a stern look.

“Are you even listening?” Rolling her eyes, she said, “That hit should have killed him. You know it. I know it. The medical staff knew it the moment that they heard what happened. Even D-90 knew it. Honestly, it was a miracle that Mobius held on long enough for you to even reach us. Mobius should be dead right now,” she said bluntly. “By all rights, he should be dead and you’re the only reason that he isn’t. Keeping him alive was more than enough.”

“I still should have done more.”

“How? Maybe you don’t remember, but you were bleeding out at the time. And you even told me that you used up all of your magic healing him.” Pausing a moment, she added, “Also, according to the medical staff, your blood sugar was also crashing by the time that we got here. They theorize that the two were connected. All that energy for magic must come from somewhere.”

Looking away, Loki said, “Perhaps. Magic is a form of energy and it comes from me, but how you study the body is different than how Asgardians would.”

Though it did sound reasonable. His mother would have him drink something sweet when he was young and prone to overexerting himself with his magic. It tended to help. If magic exhaustion was connected to a lack of “blood sugar,” then it made sense to treat the issue with sweetness.

The brief memory of the fresh apple juice and her brushing back his hair from his face while whispering reassurances made his heart ache in a new way. He still missed his mother desperately.

“Regardless, you put everything possible into saving him. And it worked. He isn’t dead or dying.” She gestured towards the other bed. “Mobius is right there. Humans might not bounce back as quickly as you, but he’ll recover. A few others from the mission might be banged up and the target didn’t survive, but we didn’t lose any of our people. Despite everything that went wrong, you helped ensure that everyone made it back alive. And while I would hate for your ego to grow, I prefer it to you beating yourself up over this.”

Loki tried to smile faintly at her words, but it was a wan and fragile thing. Then he looked back towards Mobius. She was right. The man was alive. That was what mattered. Mobius was alive, breathing, and not dying under his hands. Some of the fear and guilt began to unknot from his chest.

Some, but not all.

“He will… truly be all right?” he asked quietly.

“You turned a fatal plasma rifle hit into a shallow wound the size of someone’s palm. There’s still some deep bruising, including his ribs, but the medical staff don’t expect any complications. Mobius might be uncomfortable when he wakes up and he’ll be on desk duty for a while even after he gets out of here, but he will be fine.”

He closed his eyes and breathed out a slow sigh of relief. Midgardians were so short-lived, so fragile, and so slow to heal. It was hard to believe that they could survive anything, let along an injury that could have easily killed even the greatest Asgardian warrior. But B-15 was confident that Mobius would recover. Loki wanted to believe her.

And maybe part of him already did. Maybe some part of him actually trusted her.

How strange to admit that, even to himself.

“Try to get some rest. The medical staff want you to stay a couple of days before they release you.”

“I should be fine by tomorrow. I don’t need any of this by now.”

“They aren’t as familiar with non-human patients and are being overly cautious. Besides,” she said, “if you’re stuck in here anyway, you can keep an eye on Mobius. It might make you feel better and I won’t have to deal with you moping around or causing trouble. Mobius is the one who is supposed to be in charge of moody Lokis.”

He wanted to scowl at the description, but he did faintly appreciate the attempt to offer her version of comfort. And he was still tired. Loki didn’t have the energy to slice her to ribbons with his tongue. He felt better than before, but staying in bed where he could keep watch over Mobius honestly sounded appealing. The only problem was—

“Could someone please kill that infuriating racket?” he muttered.

“The heart monitor? It detects and displays your heartbeat. Having the machines for you and Mobius beeping like that is a good sign. It means that you’re both alive.”

Loki didn’t truly allow himself to fall back asleep. Even after the medical staff finally worked up the courage to poke their heads over, spoke briefly, and then left. Mostly because he managed to glare them into leaving him alone after he grew tired of their prodding and examinations. And he was getting better at blocking out the beeping noise, though he would have immediately reacted if the alarm that B-15 warned about sounded. Sleeping would have probably done him some good. He did manage to relax into a vague doze, but he stayed aware enough to be alert if anyone approached his bed.

He doubted anyone left in the TVA would attempt to murder him in his sleep, but old habits were difficult to put to rest.

When he heard the quiet groan from the neighboring bed, Loki immediately shoved himself upright. The faint complain from his previous injury barely registered. The medical staff had removed the tubing from his arm hours ago. That made it easier as he shoved himself off the thin mattress. The chair that B-15 abandoned previously was easy to push over to the other bed.

Mobius didn’t wake up quickly. There was another soft groan and his eyes squeezed tighter. Trying to block out the light. Loki could see through the clear plastic mask and watched Mobius’s mouth twitched into a faint frown. It was a slow and gradual process. But eventually he glimpsed the faintiest sliver of blue from his eyes.

“Mobius?” he asked cautiously.

His head shifted, turning towards Loki’s voice. His eyes were foggy and confused from whatever the thin tubing was providing to dull any pain. But when he met Loki’s gaze, the spark of recognition made it through the fog. He opened his mouth, but the rough sound came out muffled.

“Hold on,” said Loki.

He reached over and carefully lifted Mobius’s head enough to loosen the rubber strap, allowing him to slide the oxygen mask off his friend’s face. Loki settled him back on the pillow with the same level of care. He didn’t want to risk hurting Mobius worse.

“What happened?” whispered Mobius.

Loki closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, some of the tension that he hadn’t even noticed in him melting away at the rough and unsteady sound. Relief washed over him from simply hearing Mobius’s voice. Part of him hadn’t truly believed that Mobius would be all right until he heard him speak. Somehow, the sound made everything feel more real.

He hadn’t lost Mobius. He kept his friend alive somehow. That was enough. For once, Loki hadn’t lost everything.

“Loki?”

Opening his eyes, he asked, “How much do you recall?”

“I remember… an ambush.”

“You are right. The mission went wrong and there was indeed an ambush.” Trying to maintain a calm façade, Loki said, “You were hit by a plasma rifle.”

Grimacing, Mobius muttered, “Guess that explains why I feel like I was trampled.”

“Midgardians are fragile, but you shall survive.” Swallowing, he continued, “But don’t listen to the medical staff. They are nervous and anxious things that overexaggerate everything.”

“And what about you?” Mobius’s eyes moved across the flimsy and humiliating garment that Loki was still wearing. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Barely a scratch. As I told you, they fuss over nothing.”

The lie came easier than his attempt to downplay Mobius’s wound. His side didn’t even hurt if he remained still. Not even worth paying attention to by this point. And perhaps the substances that dulled the pain and Mobius’s wits would cloud the man’s mind enough not to recognize the lies. Loki didn’t want him to know how grave the injuries were originally. Perhaps for once, Mobius’s ability to see right through him would fail.

But even with the faint glassiness to his eyes, his disbelief and suspicion was impossible to miss. He knew Loki too well. He could see the loose threads of his small lies. And the man knew how to tug at them.

“Loki,” he said slowly, “if it was nothing, you would be gone already. Tell me the truth.”

“You do recall that my title is the God of Lies, do you not?”

“I know. And Mischief.” Mobius smiled weakly. “Please?”

Looking away, Loki admitted quietly, “The plasma rifle… It hurt you worse than I might have implied.”

He could still see it vividly in his mind. The blood, the burns, the deep wound like someone tried to carve out a pound of flesh. Loki could practically smell the burnt flesh even now. He fidgeted and fussed with his hands while trying to convince himself that they weren’t covered in warm and sticky blood.

There had been nightmares. About Mobius being pruned. And about countless versions of him that were never the right one, looking at Loki with that horrible lack of recognition. He knew that his new nightmares would be the plasma rifle burning into the man’s body and how easily it could have ended differently.

It could have been worse. The first shot went all the way through the Kree scientist. The protective vest meant that it had only gone most of the way through Mobius’s body. But the damage had been bad enough that Loki knew it would haunt him for a long time.

“But I’m still here, right?” said Mobius. It was hard to tell if it was a question or a reassurance. “Whatever happened back there, I’m still here.”

“Yes, you are.” Loki turned back towards him. “You survived it.”

He almost didn’t. It was terrifyingly close. But for once, it did not end in tragedy.

Mobius tried to raise his head, possibly intending to try sitting up. But he gasped in pain before he could move very far. Loki didn’t even have time to stop him before Mobius gave up on the attempt. He was forced to settle back on the pillow. Not all of the pain was blocked and he was clearly too tired to fight through it. Loki deeply regretted that magic didn’t work in the TVA so that he could do something to help.

Not that his magic had fully recovered enough to attempt anything much, but that wasn’t the point.

“I would recommend not doing that again, Mobius,” he said dryly, though one hand drifted over to pat his arm.

“Yeah, bad idea.” Slowly bringing up one of his own hands, he gingerly pressed at his chest with a grimace. “I guess I’m stuck here. Could be worse though. It sounds like I almost qualified for that warrior afterlife of yours. Dying in battle, right?”

Swallowing hard, he said softly, “Valhalla would certainly welcome one such as you through its gates to feast at their table. You belong there just as much as any Asgardian who fell in combat. You have more than earned that honor and I will fight any who tries to deny your worth. But I would prefer to deny them your company for a while longer.”

“I’ll try to be more careful, Loki. Not like this has been a fun experience for anyone. But if I’m being more cautious moving forward, so do you. I know what kind of trouble you can get into.”

Loki smiled faintly. He was starting to feel a little calmer. A little more normal. Mobius might sound tired and a little rough, but he also sounded more like himself than before. There was something reassuring about that.

“That should be simple enough to avoid for the foreseeable future. I feel that it will be some time before anyone allows you to do any paperwork at a desk, let alone anything more strenuous.”

And the next time that Mobius went out into one of the timelines and Loki’s magic was recovered sufficiently, he would layer countless protective spells onto him and the new protective vest to ensure that Mobius would never suffer such an injury again. Loki might even need to start researching new protective spells from across the universe and history if that was what it took. He would keep his friends safe.

“What happened to everyone ‘overexaggerating things’?” asked Mobius, starting to look weary enough that he might fall back asleep.

“On the topic of you taking time to rest and heal,” he said firmly, “I am in perfect agreement with those nervous medical staff people.”

Giving him a drowsy glare, Mobius muttered, “Fine.”

His eyelids seemed to be struggling to stay open. Which was understandable. Loki had been worn out and exhausted when he first woke up. And Mobius was recovering from far more serious injuries and he was a Midgardian. It made sense that his energy was flagging.

“Loki?” mumbled Mobius.

Absently tugging at the thin blanket to better cover his friend, he asked, “What is it?”

“Stay with me… Please?”

Loki smirked as he settled into the chair. It wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture, but he had dealt with far more unpleasant surroundings.

“There is nowhere that I would rather be, my friend.”

“And why are you down here?” asked Loki, his mildly curious tone concealing his annoyance, frustration, and concern.

Mobius had the good sense to look guilty as he turned around to face him. The TVA agents that he’d been speaking with took one look at Loki’s toothy grin and decided it was wisest to scurry back into the archives or towards their own desks, leaving the two of them alone among the shelves. He seemed to have a preference for vanishing into the more isolated corners of the place, finding a table tucked away out of sight or at least a place between the shelves that was rarely visited, but Loki had long since identified his favorite spots when his friend decided that he needed a moment to clear his head or somewhere to work without distractions.

At least before recent events limited his ability to wander the TVA.

“If I recall,” he continued with forced casualness, “you were only cleared for light duty two days ago—”

“Time is a little quirky here. Who can really say how long ago that was, Loki?”

“—which means that you’re supposed to stay at your desk and have someone else run around instead. Why else have minions at your beck and call if you do not utilize them when it is necessary?”

“Okay, Casey is not a minion,” said Mobius.

“But he was supposed to be assisting you while I was busy with that minor issue—”

“You mean another mission to an obscure timeline. Not exactly a minor issue. Was it successful?”

“Yes, but don’t change the topic.”

“Right. Because that’s one of your tricks to get out of things.”

Loki’s eyes moved across him, studying his friend carefully. He might have long since recovered, but Mobius was still healing. He knew that the man was still hiding colorful bruises under his buttoned shirt, that his bandages still needed to be changed until the wound full sealed, and that the wrong movements stole his breath away from the pain. Mobius grew exhausted far too easily and would try to ignore it.

But he’d also grown too frustrated with resting in bed and needed to feel useful again. He’d needed to do something productive. Loki understood the impulse. Mobius needed something to preoccupy himself, but it was supposed to be light and easy work that could be done from a desk while everyone else performed the legwork. It wasn’t supposed to involve him running all over the place while he was still healing.

Because Loki could see how much the trip to the archives had cost him. The unhealthy pallor had returned, along with a pinched look around his eyes. While Loki was hiding his worry with casualness, Mobius was hiding his pain and weariness from pushing his recovering body too hard.

“What,” asked Loki, one hand gently pushing the man towards the closest chair and forcing him to sit, “is so important that you had to run off instead of letting them come to you?”

Grinning tiredly, he said, “It was an update that we’ve been waiting for. We came down here to double-check the records because I didn’t want to say anything unless we were certain. But it does match. They don’t have an exact location yet, but they picked up Sylvie’s temporal aura.”

“What?” he whispered, shock washing over him.

“We found the right timeline. It will take a little more work to narrow it down, but we’re fairly certain that she’s on Earth somewhere between 1970 and 1985. Which is still easier to search than the entire history of that timeline. As long as she doesn’t try running to another timeline, it shouldn’t be difficult to zero in on her from there.”

Loki didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know how he felt. He’d known from the start that they needed to find her and Loki understood why she did what she did at the Citadel. He truly understood. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. And the idea that he would be facing her soon ripped those metaphorical wounds open once more. It left him raw and aching. And Loki knew that the reunion would be rough.

But he still needed to find her and make certain that she was safe. That was what mattered. He could sort out all the conflicting and uncomfortable emotions surrounding Sylvie later.

Smiling, Loki said, “Mobius, I do not believe that I have thanked you properly for all that you have done to assist on this matter. As soon as we know what year, I’ll go after her.”

“The two of us hunting down Sylvie.” He chuckled faintly to himself. “Just like old times.”

“But that is no excuse for pushing yourself like that,” he continued. “Do you want your recovery to take even longer?”

“Impatient with my slow human healing?”

Shaking his head, Loki said, “As long as you continue healing, I have no complaints about the speed of that progress. But that does not mean that you should set your progress back by being foolish.” Giving his friend a wry grin, he said, “You wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to join me when I chase after Sylvie because you strained yourself now. Who knows what we’ll find there? Perhaps she has found somewhere interesting to hide this time rather than an apocalypse. Or at least somewhere more pleasant.”

“Mobius, what in the Nine Realms is a ‘McDonalds’?”