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The first time Loki saw Mobius again after the end of the world, it was nothing more than a flash of silver, a brief glimpse of a side profile, and the faint smell of salt in the air before Loki was lost again.
The second time, however.
The second time was after months of everyone not remembering him or their lives or anything, months of explaining and re-explaining what his relationship was to people and why they had to help him and being met not with the familiarity of friends, but with the fear or outright rejection of strangers. It was after months of being relentlessly yanked through time and space. He had spent every second trying fruitlessly to tie the ropes of the fraying universe back together, but it was proving impossible to even start the knot when he was ripped apart and spat out somewhere new every time he tried. The second time Loki saw Mobius was after spending countless hours at the suggestion of an O.B. who didn't recognize him and went by A.D. Doug (which was an atrocity in of itself) gathering pens and scooping them into cups, only to have those cups be spilled carelessly across a tile floor and the pens skitter away, lost to dust bunnies and the undersides of desks. Lately, at least physically, Loki had been as lost as one of those pens. It was as if he had finally found himself and now the universe felt it had to compensate.
And so the moment he could see again after the gut-wrenching sensation of being pulled through a crack in existence, the moment Loki caught sight of Mobius the second time, his legs nearly fell out from under him. Exhaustion crashed down and collapsed into him from where he had suspended it for hours, days, weeks- for however long it was that he had been riding the timeline like a tiny rowboat tossed in a storm, clinging to its curved wooden sides with slick hands and barely staying above water in the dark, cavernous, swallowing waves of time.
He hadn't realized how much he had missed the man's comforting presence until he was here and he could see it. Let me sit here, Loki's bones begged, at the sight of Mobius just out in his yard, and watch the wind blow through your hair and ruffle it in all the ways I want to.
He was too tired to keep that thought from running through his mind.
Loki, from his place atop a hill, could see Mobius yelling halfheartedly after his kids. Kids. Two boys, that he could see, one of them chasing the other. Care wrapped around Mobius like a blanket and wove its way around him and those two boys. Toys hung limply from his hands. He smiled, out there in the sunny patch of his yard, and he looked settled. A man at peace with his place in the world.
Let me smile at you, Loki's heart whispered fondly. Let me come down, stand with you, and smile with you.
Let me be with you.
Loki smoothed his jacket and ran a hand over his hair, taking a deep breath before walking towards Mobius. As awful as it was to feel anything over someone who wore khakis and puffy dad vests, he ached seeing him. Part of him felt foolish for admitting that but most of him was just glad to have found Mobius and wouldn't let himself be embarrassed for caring for people. He had made a home, in his time at the TVA, with this man he trusted and could miss and maybe that was what had him leaning forward slightly, the smooth m of Mobius's name leaping off his lips and into the fall air.
But then Mobius turned around.
And it was like remembering every word, every touch, every second, every one of Mobius's soft smiles and crinkling eyes and rounded edges and fuzzy laughter that had held Loki together as he built this new figure of himself, as he remade himself over and over into who he wished he could have been all along, into who he would be- like remembering all of that all at once and then knowing just as quickly that it was all gone at the blank unchanging of Mobius's eyes. Mobius didn't remember him, either.
The physical blow of it hit him so hard in the chest that he shrunk back from the pain, his breaths sharp gasps in his lungs.
Mobius, on the other hand, barely reacted at the sight of Loki. His gaze was simply inquisitive. He waved slightly, the casual gesture of neighbors. As if Mobius didn't know every detail of Loki's life. As if they weren't the same people that had clung to each other at the end of purgatorial hell with death breathing down their necks, as if Loki's body hadn't violently ripped itself through time and space over and over again to find this man, and as if Mobius hadn't stepped out into the literal heart of all that held reality together and nearly been pulled apart into threads because of it just to bring Loki back.
Neighbors. A laugh bubbled in the back of Loki's throat when Mobius's expression still didn't change. They had been so much more than neighbors. But now, Mobius was looking at Loki and not seeing.
And Loki, Loki who had always wanted nothing more in his whole life than to be king, would have been on his knees, begging, crying, screaming, desperately pleading to any higher power for the sake of this man- but now he, Loki, was the highest power he knew and yet it didn't matter- and fuck, the ancient part of him swore, fuck- because he had already tried with the others and he knew there was nothing he could do to erase this empty look in Mobius's eyes and bring Mobius back to him. The delicate symphony in Loki's heart of Asgardian harps and whatever shitty modern rock music Mobius had listened to less than a month ago when they were doing nothing more important than tracking down Sylvie screeched to a halt because this man, this creature, this soul had held his up like no one else had ever cared to do and now it was the blindness of that same soul, of Mobius's soul, as soft and gorgeous as he was like the browned and curled pages of a weathered book, that would kill him.
Loki didn't know the words. He had never stuttered before in his life, had always been a dancer, a weaver, a proud manipulator of words and poetry, but he knew nothing but choked syllables would come out now if he tried to open his mouth. Despite the curling of the simple English language on his tongue, the verses of ancient Asgardian whirling circles in his mind, Loki's silver tongue was finally failing him.
Mobius had dropped the toys and was now walking toward where Loki stood at the foot of the hill. A friendly smile was on his face. The distance between the two of them couldn't have been more than a room's length, but it might as well have been the Baltic Sea.
Loki didn't try to speak. He forced his lips into a tight smile and raised a hand in a mirror of the wave Mobius had given him. Not you too, was all he could think. Not you too.
Mobius's voice was a soft rumble as he approached, as gentle as he was. "Hey there," he said. He inclined his head slightly. He was the same as he had always been. Same rumpled shirt, loose tie, and unshaven stubble. The same concerned look in his eyes, which Loki sharply realized Mobius was giving him as a complete stranger- one who had stumbled into his lawn in a trenchcoat, no less. Loki felt a sweet pang of love for this man and it hurt. He knew he should have known. Loki had known, somewhere deep inside his mind, that Mobius would have forgotten him, too. He just hadn't wanted to believe it was possible. But he wished he had confronted the truth earlier because it would have made this so much easier now.
Mobius, close enough now that Loki could count the laugh lines around his eyes, held out a calloused hand. His long silvery-gray hair fell in his face as he did so, and Loki tucked his hand in his pocket with the effort it took not to brush it away. And he would never get to do that. The thought jolted through Loki’s mind and he winced. Not if Loki didn't bring him back.
Mobius's grip was strong when he shook Loki’s hand. He smelled like sea salt, and Loki hoped it was because he had finally gotten to ride one of the jet skis he could see peeking out of the garage. Mobius’s eyebrows raised slightly and the corner of his mouth quirked up as if he and Loki were sharing a secret. "Have we met?" he asked.
The question echoed in Loki's mind. Have we met?
It was asked so kindly, so innocently, and at those words, all that was left of the flimsy defenses Loki had built over the past few weeks crumbled- they blew away into ashes and smoke on the wind as if they had never been there at all, fading like the last scraps of light at dusk to clear for this man before him who was, undoubtedly, dawn. Yes, Loki wanted to say.
"No," he said. The word was a sour lie on his tongue and rough in his voice. He wanted Mobius to refute him as soon as he said it. But it was an empty wish, and Loki was not a wishing man. Wishing was for beings without power and will. Wishing was for mortals in their naive little fairytales, not gods. Loki needed Mobius and everyone to remember the truth. But he would not wish for it like some sort of helpless child. He would bring Mobius back to him. He would rebuild the TVA to make it happen. He would fix it all, piece by piece if he had to, like the world's most cursed jigsaw puzzle with total annihilation coming for him and everything in the universe if he failed.
Loki’s resolve solidified. It strengthened to a stone, settling in his chest- he would find the TVA and he would return it from oblivion. He might not have all the pens yet, but this was the same Mobius, these were all his same friends, and Loki had the cup. He just needed to collect the pens. And then everything would be fine. This would all be nothing more than a blip in history. A footnote.
A footnote, Loki assured himself. And right now, all he had to do was remind Mobius who he was and get him to come with him. A pen in the cup.
But Norns, Loki cursed, how in Hel was he even supposed to begin?
Loki cleared his throat and ducked his head, suddenly all too aware that he had been staring off into space for the past ten seconds. Mobius, to his credit, was still just looking at him empathetically and didn't seem to mind. Loki took a breath and started again. "Or, we haven’t met yet, at least," he said. Though that wasn't quite true, either. "Or, we have. It's, um-"
"Hey, wait a second!" Mobius said. His expression brightened. He pulled his rough hand away from Loki’s smooth one and their prolonged handshake. Loki dug his nails into his palm to keep from reaching after Mobius's hand and missed its comfort as soon as it was gone. "I do know you!" Mobius said.
Loki's heart jumped so fast that he nearly toppled over. "You do?" he rushed, the words practically bubbling out of his mouth.
"Yeah, of course!" Mobius said. He leaned back on his heels and put his hands in his pockets, the sun cutting across his face. "Long lanky guy with the nice hair, you were in the shop the other day, right? Are you here about the jet ski?” His gaze darted to the jet skis in the garage and Loki could almost taste the breeze in his hair and the salt on his skin from the way Mobius completely lit up looking at them.
And Loki's words failed him once more. Because a light, a joy had erupted in Mobius that was absolutely blinding. It was a joy that was ordinary and beautiful and had rarely been there in Mobius's TVA days, despite Loki's best efforts. It wasn't born of exhaustion and sheer gladness for the tiniest scraps of peace but was real, raw, unfiltered joy. Mobius had been carrying a soft-spoken version of it, more of a hazy glow than anything, since Loki first saw him with his boys. It had likely been more obvious when he had been with them, too, and Loki just hadn't been close enough to see it. But now that he was? It was overwhelming. Mobius was beaming, and everything else paled in comparison. His smile was brighter than Loki had ever seen it. He was practically bursting with joy. And it was pouring out of him here, solidly in his whole face, in this yard, at his tiny rundown house with his silly kids running from him and the sun dancing in the dusty brushes of his hair.
And Loki was so damn happy for him, he nearly started crying, knowing that this man was finally getting everything he deserved because Loki would have given him the world but he knew he never could have given him anything close to the life and love he was experiencing now.
And all of a sudden, it hit him so hard he stumbled, because Loki didn't care anymore. He didn't care.
He didn't care that his tongue was dead. He didn't care that he had surely fallen apart, he didn't care that he was the devil breathing his dying breath as long as this fallen angel of a man, haloed in the soft afterglow of his own love, was happy.
Mobius didn't love him anymore. Loki had lost that and he was accepting it now. But it wasn’t over. Loki would rebuild the TVA, and he would make them all remember. He wasn't giving up on Mobius. And now, he knew something else he wasn't giving up on: Mobius’s happiness. Loki would fight, dagger and nails, to give him this life back. Mobius would smile this bright again- he would have his kids, his house, his fucking jet skis. Loki would make sure of it.
But first, Loki had to bring Mobius back.