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A little over a week had passed since their recent brush with death.
It would be fair to assume that this was blatant hyperbole, and yet, the very real threat that Mobius and Loki had faced at the culmination of their most recent timeline mission had indeed been fatal.
A test of endurance straight from the depths of Hel, the two of them had suffered through inhumane sleep deprivation; their neurological processes temporarily affected by a prototype of an insidiously weaponised device they’d had the misfortune of encountering offworld, leading to the terrifying revelation that falling asleep would quite literally kill them. Several relentless days were spent together in a quarantine suite, forcing themselves and each other to stay awake until the effects wore off.
Once their attending neurologist had finally declared them out of danger, Mobius had been understandably preoccupied with his own recovery from the harrowing experience, and as such, it had taken him the entire week since to discern that something was still not quite right with Loki.
Logically he knew he should forgive himself for this lapse, given the extenuating circumstances. Still, the fact he'd had no idea that Loki remained out of sorts until he’d uncharacteristically snapped at him earlier — devoid of any of the playfulness or fond exasperation they both regularly embraced — felt like negligence of an almost mortifying degree.
What kind of Loki expert was he, if unable to detect something so obvious before it almost literally slapped him in the face?
Anyway, it was fair to assume that the lingering stress of their ordeal, in addition to the tragic passing of the pair of hunters who had accompanied them offworld, was perhaps having some lasting psychological effects. Perfectly reasonable, especially as the aforementioned deaths were the only reason Loki and Mobius didn’t themselves follow suit, ultimately saved by their impulsive decision to pull an all-nighter in order to complete their report, instead of retiring upon their return to the TVA.
However, trauma or not, it didn’t feel entirely satisfactory as sufficient explanation for Loki’s behaviour, and after sitting alone in the archives for a good two or three hours following his partner’s turbulent departure, Mobius found himself growing more and more agitated by the minute.
Surely it won’t hurt to go check on him? he thought for the dozenth time, the extent of his deliberation far beyond what was rational.
Reaching a point where he was resigned to achieving nothing productive henceforth, or at the very least not until this issue had been dealt with, he pushed to his feet rather stiffly after being immobile for so long, ignoring a flash of guilt at neglecting to clear away the scattering of papers and files on the table before him.
It would have to wait, as Loki’s wellbeing ranked a million miles above– well. Pretty much anything and everything, if he was truthful.
If only he had the vaguest idea where he’d gotten to…
* * *
“Loki?”
The exponentially frantic search for the wayward god had taken an agonisingly long time, Miss Minutes' assistance with accessing security footage unfortunately only getting Mobius so far. But now, upon exiting a fire escape at the very top of one of the far-distant towers, well removed from the building where they worked and lived the majority of the time, he felt weak with relief at finally locating him.
“Hey,” he continued quietly, cautious of startling him as he crept closer to where Loki sat; his elbows resting upon bent knees, and slouching despondently. Staring directly ahead, his unfocussed eyes were clearly not registering the hive of activity beneath and around them. “Y’know, you’re not really supposed to be up here. It’s more of an 'access platform' thing, for maintena–”
His gentle reprimand was aborted as Loki shot him a withering glance, and turned away again wordlessly.
Wisely choosing to say nothing more, Mobius sidled even closer, hesitating for a long moment before sinking down beside him.
There was no reaction at all from Loki, and this was likely the best he could currently ask for, given the pervasive moodiness.
The silence stretched out between them, disconcerting in its unfamiliarity, as it was not the comfortable lull they typically enjoyed when spending quiet time together, both on duty and off. It was tense, almost frigid, and more than once Mobius was tempted to retreat, leaving Loki to his solitary brooding.
But really, doing so would only cause further and excessive worry, not to mention a touch of paranoia with regard to Loki’s mental state, because why exactly had he chosen to sequester himself somewhere so damn perilous?
With this chilling thought, he was compelled to finally break the ice.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice quiet and gentle, imbued with all the care and concern that tugged at his heart.
Loki sighed heavily, lifting his shoulders briefly in a half-hearted shrug.
It was an answer, at least, if unhelpful.
Giving him ample opportunity to say more if he wished, Mobius watched as a row of airborne mail carts darted out from a nearby loading bay, adjacent to one of many of the TVA's internal mail sorting centres. A single cart trailed behind the others, jumping erratically as though badly in need of maintenance. Making a mental note of the number emblazoned on its side, he drew his attention back to Loki, brow furrowing at his troubling demeanour.
“You're not coming down with something, are you?” he prodded, noticing the unusually dark shade of the circles under his eyes. “Or is it something to do with… uh, the mission?”
He'd almost mentioned the designations of the two deceased hunters, but had thought better of it. Though the omission was hardly subtle, he realised with remorse.
“Sort of,” Loki reluctantly muttered. “The latter.”
Mobius hesitated in consideration.
“You sure that’s what it is?” he pressed, “‘Cause no offence, but you don’t look too well.”
“I’m fine,” came the expected response, terse and clipped.
“Okay,” Mobius shrugged, letting it drop for now.
Another lengthy silence, both less strained and more, somehow… the atmosphere bowing under the weight of whatever hadn’t yet been voiced.
Uncertain of what would be helpful for him to say, if anything at all, Mobius resolved to simply be; to keep a close eye on Loki, and make sure he eventually got back inside safely, however long that was going to take.
Despite the lack of weather in the TVA, it was cold enough outside of the climate-controlled buildings to be a little uncomfortable, and after a good quarter of an hour or more, he caught himself shifting a little closer to Loki, unconsciously seeking out his warmth — lesser to a human’s, perhaps, but certainly sufficient.
He felt Loki’s glance as their arms brushed, and immediately stilled, realising too late that the closeness may not be welcomed. Especially given his uninvited intrusion in the first place.
“Sorry,” he whispered, looking askance at Loki once his attention was again diverted.
Eyes that were heavy with unequivocal fatigue blinked sluggishly — once, twice, and the third time remaining closed — and Mobius found himself frozen in scrutiny as Loki’s chin slowly dropped over the course of a minute or so, before he sharply jolted back to something approaching alertness.
The cycle restarted only a matter of seconds later, and suddenly Loki’s mounting stroppiness that had culminated in his little eruption in the archives earlier made a whole lot more sense.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” Mobius accused, and it wasn’t a question.
Prying his eyelids apart with an effort that was near painful to witness, Loki was demonstrably shattered, possibly no better off than he'd been several days ago in the quarantine suite. He turned to face Mobius once more, listless and drowsy, his expression alone conveying the accuracy of his observation.
“Oh, Loki. Why?” he asked plaintively, before his eyes flew wide with earnest worry. “Please tell me you at least slept after we were first cleared by Medical?”
Loki nodded, though it wasn’t terribly convincing.
“For a short time,” he admitted. “But then I had a nightmare, and… well.”
A helpless gesture with one hand, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed once more, rubbing wearily at the inner corners of his eyes.
“How long was ‘a short time’?” Mobius ventured, not bothering to hide his dismay, then promptly dismissed his own query. “You know what, it doesn’t even matter. What matters right now is that you get some rest, stat. You're dead on your feet.” He glanced down for a moment, lips twitching despite himself. “Or your ass. Whatever.”
Huffing softly — a fleeting moment of humour, perhaps, but more likely something darker — Loki hunched over, brow resting upon folded arms.
“I’ve tried,” he mumbled dejectedly. “I’ve tried, Mobius. But I- I can’t seem to fall asleep, no matter what. And I’m starting to feel like absolute Hel.”
‘Starting to’ was utter bullshit, because he was patently as feeble and helpless as he sounded… voice unsteady as it shook with agitation. And nothing short of Loki’s outright objection could have prevented him from slipping a comforting arm around his shoulders.
“Damn it, Loki,” he sighed. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Empathy softened his palpable frustration, and Loki merely shook his head. “I could’ve helped. I could’ve at least gotten you some meds, or- or something, I dunno…”
Trailing off, he gazed back as Loki regarded him, those beautiful eyes becoming suspiciously wet, and redder than they already had been.
“Shit. Hey, don’t…” he began, then reached out with his other arm as well, enfolding Loki into a firm hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Loki shook his head against him, shoulders hitching on a choked breath.
“S’okay,” he mumbled raspily, swallowing hard. “It’s not you. I’m just. Ugh... So tired.”
“I bet you are,” Mobius murmured into his hair. “Why can’t you fall asleep, though, when you’re this out of it? I don’t understand.”
As he spoke though, his analytical mind finally caught up.
(In his defence, he was still pretty tired himself.)
“You’re scared,” he guessed, careful at raising the idea.
Shallow breathing was the only response for an extended pause, then finally from the vicinity of his shoulder, he heard a whispered, “Yeah.”
And gods, was that understandable. Although Mobius himself had certainly not had any trouble sleeping the past few days, he’d definitely felt uneasy about releasing the very real and perfectly justifiable fear of drifting off and never waking up.
Although they’d helped each other to stay awake, during the living nightmare they’d faced, Loki had been almost maddeningly protective of Mobius for the duration, his godly endurance presenting enough of an advantage that he’d been responsible for rousing Mobius far more frequently than the reverse. And the frightened tears Loki had shed whenever he’d had a close call himself had been enough to communicate the burden he believed he was shouldering, keeping the both of them alive.
Arms tightening around him a little, Mobius’ gusty sigh ruffled dark curls that tickled his cheek.
“You might need some drugs. To help with this,” he ventured tentatively, well aware that Loki detested taking anything that affected his cognitive capacity.
It said a lot that there was no immediate protest, and much to his surprise, a nod of acquiescence.
“Okay. Okay, great. So, can you, y’know… make it to the infirmary?”
The question was genuine, because Loki seemed incapable of basically anything right then, let alone ambulatory movement across a huge expanse of the TVA. It was amazing that he’d gotten this far in the first place, come to think of it.
But Loki pulled back to look at him, damp and bloodshot eyes still managing a glare that dripped with disdainful haughtiness.
“What?” Mobius said indignantly. “You look like you’re seconds from collapse, and I’m sure as Hel not dragging you there myself.”
As if to prove his tenacity and might, Loki surged confidently to his feet… then immediately listed sideways, staggering a little.
“Whoa, easy.” He leapt up, catching Loki by the wrist and pulling him to his side. “Maybe we should hitch a ride with someone, okay?”
* * *
“Here,” Mobius said, later that evening, proffering a blister pack of tablets they'd recently obtained from the medics. “Take two of these.”
Perched on the edge of his bed, Loki eyed the offending item warily before reaching out to accept it, uncertainty written all over his features.
Eyes crinkling with amusement, Mobius grasped his shoulder.
“They’re perfectly safe, Loki. Medical aren’t actually out to poison you, despite what you might think.”
Shadowed eyes glanced up at him guardedly. Then, as if fearing he’d change his mind, Loki quickly popped two pills from the pack and swallowed them down, sipping water from the glass Mobius had earlier supplied.
Taking both from his hands and placing them on the nightstand, Mobius gave him a gentle push, guiding him to lie down.
“Come on, bedtime,” he intoned cheerily, as if talking to a toddler, wholly deserving of the contemptuous frown directed his way.
“Will you stay?” Loki asked quietly, curling up on his side, and Mobius brushed back several stray curls that had fallen over his face.
“Hey. You looked out for me all that time back in quarantine,” he replied, indulgently carding his fingers through Loki’s hair. A soft smile tugged at his lips as Loki visibly relaxed into the pillow, huffing a gentle exhalation in something akin to relief. “The least I can do is return the favour.”
Stepping away from Loki’s side for a moment, he moved to drag over a chair from the opposite corner of the bedroom, settling in close enough to be within arm’s reach, if Loki needed the proximity.
And it turned out he did, wasting no time in fumbling blindly for Mobius’ hand the moment he dimmed the bedside lamp.
“Anything yet?” he queried, after a short stretch of peaceful silence, unsure of how quickly the medication would affect Loki’s physiology.
“‘M not certain,” Loki muttered into his pillow, fingers twitching compulsively around Mobius’. “Kind of… numb, I suppose.”
“Well, numb’s better than scared.”
“I’m still scared,” he readily admitted, heavy lethargy lowering his inhibitions. “I’m still… still-”
“Shh. You don’t have to be,” Mobius assured gently. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. To us.”
Despite his eyes having fallen closed, Loki attempted to speak again. But whatever he wanted to say trailed off into nothing, as sleep effortlessly claimed dominion.
Waiting somewhat tensely, Mobius sat quiet and still, hand wrapped around Loki’s as he braced for the latter to startle back to full consciousness at any given moment, much as they’d each done far too many times following that fateful mission.
Before he knew it, however, more than half an hour had passed, and Loki hadn’t so much as moved, completely dead to the worlds as his deep, rhythmic breathing was broken by an occasional and rather adorable little snore; an understated testament to how depleted he was.
Running his thumb over the back of Loki’s hand, Mobius fancied that the lines of tension around his brow and eyes had already nearly vanished, and the subsequent relief eased the mirroring knot of tension in his chest.
Obviously Loki wouldn’t be magically cured overnight, but at the very least, the lingering trauma would be easier to confront with a clearer head. And, once he awoke, it would only serve to confirm that he no longer needed to fear falling asleep.
Yet rather selfishly, Mobius acknowledged that he wouldn’t mind however long Loki needed for his sense of security to reassert itself.
There were far worse ways to spend an evening, after all.