Work Text:
The thing about the TVA was that it’s a full time job. It isn’t an average full time job, where one works 8-10 hours a day and comes home. No, the TVA is the home. The people who work there live there. All of them had forgotten about their normal lives on their timelines. The TVA is the only home they know. Of course, off days do exist, but you could never be off guard. Maintaining the balance and sequence of the timeline is a 24/7 job. If one branch went off its track, an immediate deployment of a cleanup team is critical. In a way, the TVA is a military. It is a military. There are soldiers, leaders, analysts, almost everything in a standard military on a normal timeline. Yet, on a normal timeline, people usually get to leave enlistment. For the TVA, you never leave. There is nowhere else to go.
Except, that wasn’t the case for Mobius.
He did have a place to go. Unlike almost everyone else, Mobius knew of his past life on his timeline. He was a watersports salesman named Don, with two young children and a missing wife. Mobius was unsure of where exactly his wife from the timeline went. However, out of not remembering her, he didn’t really mind; he believed he was capable of raising the two boys alone.
(Capable is a vastly different word from desire.)
Desire? What else could Mobius desire? He voluntarily came to his life on his timeline. Nobody pointed a gun at his head, nobody threatened him, instead he walked there on his own two feet. He wanted this. He was willing to leave everything at the TVA behind to give his old life a chance. Besides, it seemed peaceful. A normal, everyday life without the perils of having to protect a sacred timeline. Now, there is even a god protecting the timeline, after all. Nobody needs an average Joe analyst hanging around the office.
So, he wanted this. He knew he was capable of this. Mobius made the sacrifice himself in hopes that maybe, this wouldn’t turn out to be a sacrifice, but instead a monumental choice. So, why did he feel as if something was missing? There was something he desired so deeply, yet he buried it under layers and layers of regret and grief.
The god that holds the timelines together, the one who created Yggdrasil himself, none other than the former God of Mischief, Loki. He took it upon himself to become the God of Stories after realizing what duty he had in the universe. He knew he would have to sacrifice himself to save everybody. Now he sits on his throne, wearing his crown on his head, holding the timelines together, forever. He is stuck on the very throne he had longed for his entire waking life, wearing the very crown he had chased for his entire waking life.
Mobius first handedly saw Loki walk out into the rampant temporal radiation; he walked further and further away until he suddenly disappeared into the distance. Afterwards, he never saw him again. He knew he would never see him again. And, it ailed him. He never got to say goodbye. Not even a wave or a pat on the back, just nothing. Mobius had no idea that watching Loki shut himself out of the control room would be the last time they’d see each other. In a way, it was like death. Even if Loki was alive, what would be the point? There would be no way for him to leave, and absolutely no way for Mobius to get to him. After all, he was just a normal person. Albeit quite special (no average person is working at a place that uses Infinity Stones as paperweights), he had no special powers or abilities.
It felt bleak. Mobius knew he had a wife and that she could even be out there, but it didn’t feel right. He knew who he wanted. He wanted the odd and frenzied man he had worked with. He wanted another deep glance into those mischievous eyes.
He just wanted Loki. He wanted him to show up again someday to tell him that he was ok. He wanted him to stay with him in this timeline, even if it were just for hours at a time.
Mobius was capable of handling whatever came at him here. It’s just that, he longingly desires to have someone. To have him.
Every night after putting his boys to bed, Mobius goes to his own. He sits on the edge of his mattress and opens the drawer of his nightstand. He quietly slides out a journal; just a plain journal with a cardstock cover and white college ruled pages. There is a black ballpoint pen conveniently clipped onto the front cover. The journal is already half written, so he flips to the first empty page available.
With a heavy sigh, he unclips the pen from the cover, clicks the point out, and starts rapidly scribbling:
“ Been an interesting time here, cannot lie to you. My new job isn’t as time consuming as what I did at the TVA (no pun intended!), so I feel like I have more free time than I did before. Of course, I got the kids, but they’re still lovely. They’re lovely to me. Like all kids, they detest their bedtimes, but end up asleep before the clock hits half past 9. Such a silly bunch, was this what I was really missing out on?
Anyways, yeah, this is the 17th day in a row I’m writing about you. I don’t know why I'm still ashamed of it. Nobody is going to find this journal, well, hopefully. And, you’re never going to read it either. Which is the painful part. If you showed up right now on my doorstep… and you didn’t, I would show you everything I wrote in here. EVERYTHING. I don’t want to hide anything from you. I just want you here. You have such a crazy role in the Universe now, I guess, but I hate it. There you go, I hate it. I admitted it.
I just want you here. I just want to hear from you again. Your weirdly poetic way of speaking because of your Asgardian bullshit. I love all of it. I want to hear all of it just one more time. I want to see your crabby face after something doesn’t go your way. It was hilarious. Oh, and your awfully messy hair. You went through all my hair gel just like that!
I never got to tell you, Loki. I want all of you back. Sometimes at night, I close my eyes, and we’re sitting at the cafeteria sharing a slice of pie. You’re going on about some crazy story or concept while I quietly nod and eat. I never knew such a mundane thing would be what I miss the most right now.
Just fucking come BACK! COME BACK! COME BACK! COME BACK…”
Suddenly, the man found himself scribbling hasty, illegible lines on the paper, rather than words. He pressed down the pen so hard, he created a hole that punctured straight through the sheet. Mobius paused for a few long seconds, then finally loosened down. He shut the journal and tossed it straight into the drawer, not even bothering to clip the pen or to close the drawer itself. Instead, he listlessly shut off the lamp then fell onto his side on the bed.
“This is the only way you can come back for now…”
He thought to himself for a few moments, then slowly closed his eyes, hoping that at least a wonderful dream would grace him tonight.