Hellooo! If prompts are still open can I request some ticklish loki? :) maybe the prompt “ you’re not ticklish? Really now? Lets see about that”
Or somethin, feel free to improvise :))) teehee
Thank you so much!
In Fond Memory
Summary: As an analyst, Mobius's knowledge of Loki comes from stale sets of data. He wants to know more about his partner. Loki decides to take them on a tour of his memories...to interesting results. Pre-relationship to confessing Lokius!
This got wildly out of hand. We're a little over 6k words. Not super happy with this fic, but I'd been sitting on it for too long to start over. Have the long-simmering origin story of Loki's eighth rib lmao.
The TVA cafeteria is chilled and reliably empty when Mobius and Loki take their lunch break. As usual, the break consists of Loki watching Mobius eat--both lamenting his agonizing pace and soaking in his company.
“I know nothing about you.” Mobius takes a thoughtful bite of his salad. His non-sequiturs phase Loki less and less these days. They make an interesting pair, he thinks--a fallen god burdened with caring and a mustached auditor who speaks only in riddles.
“I thought you knew everything about me.” Loki huffs.
“More like bits and pieces. I know little factoids. What makes you tick.” Mobius points at Loki with his fork, a tomato skewered on the end.
“So then you know what you need?” Loki plucks the tomato off the fork and pops it in his mouth. It crunches beautifully.
“Well, I mean, I’d like to know more. If a certain someone would like to share with the class.” Mobius replaces the stolen tomato with a pointed stare.
“You are terrible at asking for what you want.” Loki steals a crouton from Mobius’s salad.
“Yeah? Pot, meet kettle,” Mobius chuckles, wiping his hands. Loki smiles, but the thought rattles around in his brain. Mobius makes so much noise, truly. Noise about morals and fixing things, about proving himself better than the TVA believes him to be--useless, frivolous noise.
Compelling noise.
“Fine.” Loki sniffs. He holds out his open hand.
“Fine…What?” Mobius raises his eyebrows.
“Your TemPad.” Loki wiggles his fingers insistently. Mobius stares at him, clearly calculating the risk, and then slides his TemPad into the waiting palm. Loki balances the weight of his past smoothly in one hand--he’d expected the TemPad to fall heavier with a sense of occasion. He frowns at it.
These little reminders that he’s not special—significant, really…they start to grate on him after a while.
“You don’t have to do this, Loki.” Mobius’s voice is worn smooth by something like fondness. It’s compelling to the cowardice still within him, but Mobius will stop looking at him like that if he doesn’t at least try.
Loki fiddles with the device until the clock hands on Ms. Minutes’s digital face spin rapidly backwards. A portal of orange light opens beside the table.
“Shall we?” Loki gestures. He can’t quite make eye contact.
…….
They stride through the door to Old Asgard’s throne room in all its glittering glory, when its majesty seemed untouchable by the whims of war and time. Mobius gapes at the high ceilings and intricate stonework with a wide grin. It’s cute, stupidly so, but then the grand doors open yet again and Loki’s hackles raise.
He pulls Mobius behind one of the grand pillars and puts his finger to his lips.
“They can’t see us, Loki. It’s a memory—“
Loki clamps a hand over Mobius’s mouth. Mobius rolls his eyes. He’s right, of course he is, but the survivalist in him can’t take the risk. Not with Odin.
A younger Loki, toothy and tiny, races up to Asgard’s great throne. He stops before the giant steps, cradling something in a bright red cloth. Odin heaves a great sigh.
“Father, look! I got my spell to work!” Young Loki carefully holds up the bundle. The fabric falls away to reveal a bulbous little frog with stark blue eyes. It blinks each eye separately.
“What is this?” Odin looks down upon the creature with disdain.
“It’s Thor.” Young Loki beams. The frog leaps onto his shoulder, then his head, and ribbits triumphantly. He laughs.
“Bring my son back to me at once!” Odin hisses fiercely.
“But—“
“Now!” Odin’s shout still tears something open in Loki all these years later. He flinches back into Mobius. The younger Loki does the same, but there’s no one to hold him.
With a shaky voice, he murmurs an incantation and folds Frog Thor back into the fabric. He tosses the bundle ahead of him and, in a flash of green, a young and shiny Thor stumbles on newly human legs. He’s shorter--still taller than Loki, as he always was--and rounder in the cheeks, but he’s the unmistakable spitting image of his father. His cape, no longer frog-sized, unfurls to brush his ankles.
“Woo! Loki, that was awesome!” Thor cheers. He pulls young Loki in for a sweeping, spinning hug. His boyish giggles are infectious--soon young Loki joins in, clinging to his brother to keep from falling.
“Get out.” Odin seethes. The throne room doors slam open, echoing his command.
“Father--” Thor tries, but one icy look from Odin silences him. He immediately bends the knee, so small that his cape nearly swallows him whole. Young Loki looks at him in disbelief, but when he reaches for his brother, Odin clasps his gloved hand around the shaft of Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven.
Young Loki stumbles backwards, then flees, scrambling right by his older self without a thought. Loki turns his eye to Odin, the golden sack of shit, and scowls.
“Come,” Loki says hollowly, following himself outside. He doesn’t look back. He knows Mobius is with him.
He walks the familiar grounds but the stone doesn’t remember him. The sky is too bright, the torches too warm--this is a childhood preserved in amber. It’s too clear to be real. He passes his hand through the braziers, bitterly amused by the way the flame clings to his fingers. It’s not hot.
Loki finds his younger self exactly where he expects him to be—no amount of years could erase that instinct to hide, to wait, to be forgotten until he could emerge again. The child is tucked between a pillar and one of the giant braziers, his dark clothes lending themselves as camouflage.
Young Loki didn’t have that fire in him, yet. The scorn of being lesser. He was still naive, still thought Odin’s love was a real, attainable thing.
“Loki?” Frigga approaches. Loki looks up at his mother’s face for the first time in years, but she peers directly through him. He steps aside as she approaches his younger self. When the child doesn’t answer, she crouches in front of him. It’s unbecoming of a Queen, but she’d never cared much about that.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Frigga takes his younger copy’s face into her hands. She wipes away his tears with her thumbs and his skin briefly shimmers its natural blue.
“Father, he…” Young Loki shakes his head, retreats further. “I upset him.”
“Oh.” She swipes more tears from his face. “Let us spend the day together, hm? I have new tricks to show you.”
The child allows his mother to lead him away, down onto the giant lawn beneath the terrace. Loki watches them go, the bitter sting of grief still raw, even after all this time.
“My mother was…is everything to me.” Loki sniffs. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. It’s selfish to miss her, but he’s a selfish wretch.
“She seems like a wonderful woman.” Mobius’s hand is warm on Loki’s shoulder. He leans into it.
“Extraordinary. There’s no one like her.” He leads them over to a bench on the terrace, one that overlooks the most spectacular view of the palace lawns and waters beyond. He watches his younger self fling bursts of magic back and forth with his mother.
“Can I ask you a silly question?” Mobius turns to face Loki better. Loki raises his brow.
“Are you still…blue? Under here?” Mobius gestures at Loki’s face. “I’m not too sure about how this magic stuff works. It’s fascinating.”
Loki barks out an embarrassing laugh and does his best to rein it in, but surprise still leaves him chuckling. Mobius looks at him like…well, he’s not entirely sure what that look is. No one’s looked at him so softly before.
“I was raised Asgardian, but the nature of changing forms is…fickle. Do it too much and you lose sight of where you start.” He turns his hand over, back and forth, and his skin glimmers blue. Mobius takes his hand, wrinkling his nose slightly at the cold.
“That’s awful wise of you.” Mobius squeezes his fingers.
“I like to think I have my moments.” Loki smiles. Mobius holds out the TemPad to him. Loki pushes a few things on it, opening another portal. They step through it with lighter hearts.
…
What greets them is not the stale brutalism and dizzying expanse of the TVA cafeteria, but the very same terrace, gleaming in summer sun.
“Okay, so this…isn’t headquarters.” Mobius gestures. Loki scowls. He presses a bunch of buttons at random. The machine beeps at him. The animated Ms. Minutes icon sticks her tongue out at him. He scoffs.
“I noticed.” He slaps the TemPad into Mobius’s hands. Mobius stares at him, plainly amused, and Loki scowls harder.
“Well? Fix it.” Loki turns towards the lawn to lessen the weight of Mobius’s gaze.
A great shout rings out across the green, utterly unmistakeable, and Loki runs up to the terrace railing. Sif and the Warriors Three mill about on the lawn, their chatting only perceptible by Volstagg’s loud and grating laughter.
“Brothers, please. I need some help!” Thor’s voice cuts clear and desperate through the air. He can’t be far past coming of age--he’s taken on all those distinctive features that won’t budge as he grows. His hair sweeps his shoulders the same way his cape sweeps his ankles. He supports a drooping teenage Loki as they stumble towards the trio.
On the terrace, Loki’s eyes widen. He squints at where Thor is hauling his younger self--yep, the little shit is definitely alive and well. Which means only one thing.
“What’s all the commotion?” Mobius shades his eyes from the sun and looks out towards the fields.
“Did you fix it?” Loki snaps impatiently, gesturing for the TemPad.
“Hm?” Mobius blinks. “Yeah. What’s happenin’ down there, though?”
Loki snatches the TemPad and punches in whatever he can. A wave of orange energy ripples over and through them with a loud woosh. Loki opens his eyes to….
The same field. The same day. He’s actually managed to put them forward in time. Just splendid.
“Get help!” Thor spins and launches his Loki like a shotput. He barrels straight through Sif and Fandral. Their mingled screams of surprise and displeasure ring out. Thor cackles, doubling over, as Sif chases Loki around the field.
On the terrace, Loki buries his rapidly heating face in his hands. Mobius snickers up a storm beside him. He leans into him for support.
“Get help?” Mobius wheezes, eyes wet with mirth. Loki’s chest flutters and his face progresses into full redness.
“It was…a phase. An ill-advised distraction--”
“Seems to me like you used it plenty. One of your variants did that with Thor on Sakaar.” Mobius wipes his eyes and flicks the tears away, grin still splitting his face in two.
“Shut up.” Loki groans into his hands until silence falls. He can feel Mobius’s keen eyes on the side of his face. He hopes for a random bolt of lightning to put him out of his misery.
“You’ve changed, y’know.” Mobius bumps their shoulders together.
“Have I?” Loki drawls, mostly unamused. The sincerity on Mobius’s face makes it hard to keep up the act.
“You willingly showed me an embarrassing memory! You’ve changed plenty.”
“I wouldn’t say…willingly,” Loki grumbles, rolling his eyes.
“You and I both know you can fight a lot harder than that. This is growth, Loki. It’s good for ya.” Mobius pats his shoulder. Loki hums in acknowledgment.
“Careful, Mobius. I might start to think you’re fond of me.” Loki smiles teasingly.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”
…
Another flash of orange, another failure to return to the TVA. Loki contains the urge to scream.
“Where are we now?” Mobius puts his hands on his hips.
“…I don’t know.” Loki frowns, turning in place.
“That’s generally not good.” Mobius quips. Loki makes a snarky, incoherent noise at him as he takes in their surroundings.
Vaulted wood ceilings, immaculate stone walls, and green silks welcome them. Atop a giant fireplace, a regal painting of Loki leers at them, foxlike and empty-eyed. He cringes and turns away from it. He briefly considers throwing himself down on the green velvet divan and smothering himself in the throw pillows.
“We’re on Asgard, certainly, and this is my room, but….”
The doors fly open of their own accord and the hearth flares. A brunette with a strong build strides through the doors, their fingertips dripping with red motes of light. They’re clad in reds reminiscent of the magic--flowing fabrics gathered neatly under bits of strong leather armor. With a twist of their wrist, the leather breastplate falls away and arranges itself on a stand, right next to a stand with his own armor on it.
“Who is this handsome devil?” Mobius raises his eyebrows and elbows Loki, but he is far too windswept at the sight of them.
“Signy,” Loki breathes.
“Who?” Mobius furrows his brow.
The doors fly open yet again. A past version of Loki enters in similar dramatic fashion. It’s uncanny to see himself like this. Signy turns their gaze sharply towards him. The fire once again flares in the hearth.
“Hello, darling.” Signy purrs, pulling Past Loki in for a kiss. They drink him in possessively, as if he’s going to evaporate without their claiming touch. He leans into it as much as he can without drowning. When they pull apart, they murmur to one another, low enough for the fire to swallow their words.
“Ah, I see.” The bitterness in Mobius’s tone pushes Loki to clarify.
“They were wonderful, but their jealousy often got to them. For all our happiness, we made each other worse over time.” Loki whispers conspiratorially, but Mobius doesn’t seem entertained.
Signy and his past self begin to raise their voices, yelling at each other in an incomprehensible tumble of Asgardian. Mobius’s brow knits in concern.
“Were you always this…loud?” Mobius frowns. Loki swallows the joke he wants to make.
“Like I said, we made each other worse. Much worse. We were betrothed all of two months before they tried to assassinate me.” Loki pulls back his shirt collar to reveal a thin, curved scar on his neck.
“Assassinate—what?” Mobius touches it and Loki shivers.
“It’s fine, Mobius. My Signy had naught but poison in their soul. This one seems…kinder.” Loki watches as they take his past self’s hands to stop him from wringing his tunic.
“How is that fine—“
Their voices escalate into a tumble of shouting. Concern morphs into frustration and confusion. Why does Mobius even care? It happened, he survived, whatever—
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His past self is…staring at him.
Loki squints at his past self and he squints back. Loki looks over his shoulder, then back at his past self, who is suddenly beginning to behave less like a memory and more like a—
“Variant,” Loki breathes. He opens his mouth to shout, but—
The variant disappears in a gentle flash of green light. Fuck.
“I think you just got outsmarted by yourself.” Mobius hums. Loki whips around, panic starting to bubble in his chest.
“You said this was a memory.”
“It’s supposed to be.” Mobius rubs his chin. “With all the buttons you pushed, it’s possible that you sent us to a branch instead of a projection of your history. I’ll take a look at it.”
“Loki.” Signy eyes him carefully. They take him in with warm, red eyes that crackle with the hearth.
“Heyyy…Signy.” Loki gestures awkwardly. Mobius snorts.
“Darling, I apologize. You’re under much pressure. I shouldn’t add to it.” Signy wraps their arms around Loki’s shoulders and pulls him close. He knows he should derive some comfort from it—he hasn’t been hugged in years—but it feels more like a creature pulling him into its clutches. Their fingers glide over the scar and Loki snatches their hand.
“I’m…also sorry.” Loki pats their arm awkwardly and tries to worm out of their grip.
“No need, my blade.” Signy presses in closer, cradling his cheek. Mobius snickers at the nickname off to the side.
“Don’t.” Loki, blushing, points an accusatory finger at Mobius. He holds his hands up, the perfect picture of innocence.
“I think you’re lovely, but I’m not…your Loki.” He puts his hand over theirs. Their face pinches sharply. The fire kicks up.
“You are beyond ungrateful. You are mine. I made you.” Signy grips his chin and forces him to look at them. Loki presses his lips into a line.
“Signy—“
“Perhaps you need a reminder.” They press their hand to Loki’s side, right over the ribs on his right side. He panics and grabs for their hand. A tiny green spark jumps from his fingers, but it cannot stop the pulse of scarlet magic that wriggles deep into his skin. The magic snaps into cords, winding like puppet strings around one of his ribs.
A strangled sound slips from him before he can stop himself. A terrible, toe-curling tickle—a powerful scritching like the blunt end of a quill over the bone—sends him clutching at Signy’s shoulders for dear life.
“We are each other’s undoing. There is no you without me.” Signy pulls sharply on the threads of red light and Loki yelps.
“Oh.”
“Mobius—“
“Oh my god.” Mobius makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak of delight. Loki flips him off.
“Even when I’m right in front of you, you cast your attention elsewhere.” Signy turns Loki’s jaw toward them, eyes darkening possessively, but their lips curl up in that damn smile that had drawn Loki back in over and over.
There was a time when he’d daydreamed about Signy by his side on the throne. Now, he can’t fathom it.
“You’re mine, Loki.” Signy tweaks their fingers, manipulating their magic, and Loki chokes down a screech. He laces his fingers into theirs and the magic blissfully vanishes.
“Yes, yours. Mobius, help.” Loki casts a frantic look in his direction, gesturing at Signy. Mobius makes a ‘stall’ motion, then starts fiddling with the TemPad.
“Look at me.” Signy pulls sharply on his tie. They sigh deeply, and their edge begins to wane.
“Thanos has you dreaming of more, my love. I want more for you. But have you not enough here? Am I not enough?” Signy smooths their hands down Loki’s chest. He freezes.
“Thanos?” He asks quietly. Dread sinks into his gut. Signy’s expression softens.
“I know that you crave what you are owed. Your family has robbed you of your birthright. You are meant for greatness, Loki, but not at the cost of his greed. Asgard is yours for the taking. By my hand, you shall have it.” Signy leans their foreheads together. He squirrels away as much of this momentary comfort that he can.
“Why would you help me?”
“Have you contracted your brother’s oafishness?” Signy playfully holds their hand to his forehead as if checking for fever. “I love you, you fool.”
“Oh.” He blinks. He looks towards Mobius and finds him with a haunting expression, like some sort of ache had burrowed forth into his face. A suffocating hollowness crawls through Loki’s chest. He swallows thickly.
“Yes, ‘oh’.” Signy curls their fingers beneath his chin. He laughs softly, involuntarily, and flinches away. Mischief and embers dance in Signy’s eyes.
“My, you are…handsier than I remember.” Loki twists out of their grip.
“Can you blame me?” They appear behind him in a scattering of red sparks. Warm hands wrap around his waist, tracing feather-light shapes that seem to burrow into his skin. He chokes on a quiet, suspiciously giggly sound and they light up.
Mobius scoffs and clears his throat loudly. His scowl seems baked into his face, a chilling force against the fireplace.
“Okay, so I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you wanna hear?”
“Bad news first.” Loki wrestles with Signy’s roaming hands. Signy trips and tumbles backward onto the divan, scattering the pillows. They start tugging at Loki to try and get him to follow.
“Your collar is broken. Kaput. S’probably why your variant was able to escape. TemPad can’t get a read on which one of you is real. You also MemLocked us, which is fascinating—“
“I’m sure it is,” Loki huffs, fighting to leverage Signy under him. Mobius barrels on.
“MemLock allows us to manipulate a branch as if it were a memory, but the tech is volatile, so we rarely use it. It is neat though. Lets us walk right through as if we were invisible. Shame it ain’t workin’ on you.” Mobius snaps his fingers next to Signy’s face. They don’t seem to notice.
“And the good news?”
“I can probably fix it.” Mobius smacks the back of the TemPad and a panel pops out the side of it. He starts fiddling with the components.
“Probably?” Loki’s voice cracks.
“Well, I don’t wanna take the wrong Loki back with me. That’d be a fiasco. Though Signy—“ Mobius draws out their name with disdain— “probably wouldn’t even notice.”
“Jealousy is unbecoming, Mobius.” Loki’s joking, but Mobius’s eyes don’t light up the way they usually do.
“Y’know, far as I recall, you got yourself stuck in this mess. You should be thanking me for helping you.” Mobius puts his hands in his pockets. He tilts his head with a smile, easy and mischievous. Loki lobs a throw pillow at him.
Mobius punches something into the TemPad and, with a glorious beep, Loki’s collar disengages and clatters to the floor. Mobius scoops up the collar gently, letting the straps dangle between his fingers.
“I’m keeping track of what you owe me.” His half-smile is somewhat dim.
“I’d expect nothing less,” Loki breathes. Mobius nods sharply and turns towards the door.
It’s an unfortunate distraction, one that lets Signy discover they can buckle his knees if they tickle him there, but Loki can think of nothing else but the reflection of the firelight on Mobius’s cheek.
…
Mobius ducks quietly into the hall, shutting the chamber door behind him. The stone floors eagerly amplify his footsteps, tired of its own quiet.
It’s unsettling, this place. People don’t seem to live here as much as they haunt it. Mobius can see how Loki turned out the way he did. It sets loose an ache in him.
“Stop.”
Mobius turns around with his hands raised. The variant twirls a dagger in his hands. He’s clad only in a green shirt and soft pants, his feet bare against the cool stone floors. This Loki is duller—he’s exhausted around the eyes in a way Mobius’s Loki isn’t.
His Loki. Hm.
“Who are you?”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t concern you, Your Highness,” Mobius says calmly. Loki disappears in a flash of green and reappears behind Mobius.
“I could have you executed.” Loki’s dagger materializes across the plane of Mobius’s throat. Mobius tips his head back slightly to avoid the sharp edge.
“I’m not scared of you, Loki.” He says it firmly, even as his skin prickles at the kiss of the blade.
“Maybe you should be,” he snarls lowly, his lips brushing Mobius’s ear. Mobius flinches away. He kicks himself for it--Loki follows him easily with morbid interest.
“Aren’t you curious about what I know?” Mobius hums. Silence stretches down the long hall. There’s a suspicious lack of guards in this wing. Is Loki’s chamber not worth protecting?
“You have a…clone of me. Why?” The blade presses in again. Mobius takes a careful, measured breath.
“He’s my companion. We took a bit of a tumble, ended up in the wrong place.” A smile quirks at Mobius’s lips. Loki doesn’t look as confused as he thought he might—more…thoughtful.
“Wrong place being?”
“That I can’t tell you. I can tell you that we’re trying to leave. If you don’t mind.” Mobius puts two fingers on the dagger and gently pushes it away from his throat. Loki releases Mobius but keeps his blade leveled at him. He’s tired, so tired, Mobius can see it in his bones. His eyes, dark-rimmed, seem frightened of closing.
“You, uh…” Mobius pauses, taking in Loki’s twitchiness-- “I noticed you tryin’ to escape your beau in there. Signy, right?”
Loki stiffens at the utterance of their name. The blade remains steadfastly pointed at Mobius’s throat.
“They ever hurt you?” Mobius clenches his jaw. Loki eyes him warily.
“No. Never. Never.” The blade wavers with Loki’s voice. “But we don’t…agree on many things.”
“Well, I think you could do better. For the record.” Mobius steps forward—how could he not? But Loki’s knife and hackles meet him. He stops.
“I’ll be sure to tell them you said so.” The fingers on Loki’s other hand twitch, glowing the faintest green.
“You fancy making a deal, Your Highness?” Mobius sticks his hands in his pockets. He tries to keep his demeanor light, but he clasps his hand around the collar where it’s hidden.
“I’m listening.” Loki shifts his fingers on the dagger’s hilt.
“My Loki and I will distract Signy for you if you stay with us long enough for us to secure an exit.” Mobius jerks a thumb in the direction he came from. Loki follows the movement with his eyes.
“All you require is my presence?”
“That and preferably that you refrain from using that toothpick of yours. Rather fond of my Loki.” Mobius inclines his head towards the knife. A wealth of emotions flickers across Loki’s face--he’s always been terrible at hiding his feelings, it seems. He tries to steel himself back into something sharp, but it just turns…sad.
Loki lowers his blade. He loosens his fingers and it falls, but it vanishes before it hits the ground.
“I agree to your terms.” Loki sniffs sharply, once again locating his arrogance.
“Excellent. Shall we?” Mobius gestures. Loki nods. They stroll back towards the bedchamber, relishing in the quiet comfort of their footsteps falling in line.
“What are you to him? To me?” Loki’s voice goes soft. Mobius is usually quite adept at compartmentalizing, but it escapes him at this moment.
“I’m not sure.” Mobius swallows. It’s easier not to think about it.
“But you’re fond of him, as you said.” Loki sweeps closer, a familiar teasing grin playing across his lips.
“I am.” Mobius huffs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“The honor’s all yours, mortal.” Loki tilts his head, his smile growing wider. Mobius rolls his eyes.
…
Mobius opens the door for the variant and they’re greeted by a wall of noise. Loki screams bloody murder and Signy yells over him in Asgardian, their sharp fingernails plucking at his ribs. They’ve switched positions, with Signy expertly pinning and tickling Loki down into the divan.
The variant snickers, covering his mouth to hide it, but Mobius’s ears have long-since been tuned to his partner’s laugh. Interestingly enough, Signy looks up too. They furrow their brow as if searching for something, eyes glazing right past their variant, and then return to taking Loki apart.
An idea prickles at the back of Mobius’s mind.
“You.” Loki shouts from the tip of his toes. His hair is a frizzy, disheveled mess. The variant goes to run, but Mobius scruffs him by the collar.
“You okay over there?” Mobius calls. Loki’s red face grows redder. He points angrily at the variant.
“Come take your place, you sniveling little brat—“ Loki hisses, but he’s cut off by Signy tickling his waist. The most hysterical little giggles slip free and he buckles under them.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. That weakness is your plague to bear, not mine.” The variant’s regret is all mocking.
It’s a stupid idea, but it’s an insistent one—the longer Mobius gazes at this variant, the more he finds that he can’t let it go.
“Sorry, just to clarify—you’re not ticklish?” Mobius doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. The variant eyes him stubbornly.
“No. I’m not a child.” Oh, but like with every Loki, his eyes betray him.
“Well, that’s a shame.” Mobius regards him thoughtfully. The variant turns a lovely pink. “Then, would you mind asking Signy to release my friend? Seeing as they pose no threat to you.”
Mobius crowds in closer. The variant pulls his dagger. Mobius tuts at him and pushes it away. The dagger’s point makes gentle, insistent contact with his stomach.
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” the variant snaps, but Mobius stands before him un-stabbed.
“Sure it was. I said we would distract Signy.” Mobius smirks. “Just never said that you were part of the distraction.”
God, Loki is really rubbing off on him.
“I’ve been told I’m quite stabbable, if you’re not amenable.” Mobius gestures to the dagger between them. The variant shifts his fingers on the hilt.
“D-Don’t you dare touch him!” Loki pipes up through gritted teeth. He’s managed to pin Signy underneath him, but judging by his twitching, they’re not quite done with him.
Mobius grins at him. Loki makes an endearing little pinchy face and refuses to meet his eyes. The variant takes the chance to try and slink away, but Mobius grabs his wrist. The dagger disappears in a flare of green sparks.
In a slick maneuver, Mobius loops the collar around the variant’s neck and it magnetically fastens. It beeps in confirmation of acquiring its target.
“What is this?” He hisses, tugging at it. He flexes his fingers, calling for the dagger, and nothing happens.
“Just a bit of insurance. Now, would you like to deal with them—“ Mobius gestures to where Signy is wreaking havoc— “or me?”
“I’m sure there’s a third option.” The variant chuckles almost nervously. His eyes dart around for an escape.
“Oh, no. I don’t think so.” Mobius sighs deeply, as if it pains him. The variant’s eyes widen, and—
There it is. A flicker of thrill.
“If you think you can stand to a god, I welcome you to try.” The variant spreads his arms wide. Mobius puts his hands on his hips. He’s never considered himself a particularly great fighter, but he prides himself on knowing his targets well. For example, he knows that nearly every Loki lacks small-scale patience. If he just waits…
The variant snarls and charges. Mobius ducks past him and loops his arms around his torso.
Any Loki is deadly with or without their magic, but thankfully Mobius doesn’t have to worry about killing him. Or harming him at all, for that matter.
The variant lets out a confused, almost-offended squeak, like a kitten being bested. Before he can speak, Mobius starts clumsily tickling him. The resulting stilted laughter is interspersed with threats he can’t understand--both for being peppered with giggles and incoherent Asgardian. The variant tries to headbutt him in a way that doesn’t seem entirely on purpose. Mobius dodges predictable flying elbows and waits.
Over on the divan, Loki’s mostly given up. He’s wheezing more than anything, more focused on hiding himself from view than doing anything helpful. The quiet allows for the variant’s patchwork laughter to carry, just as Mobius hoped. He folds on a particularly powerful guffaw and Mobius follows him with a snort. S’cute, sometimes, the ways in which they’re the same.
Signy’s gaze snaps up. Loki squirms out from underneath them and darts to the other side of the room, clutching his side. He makes eye contact with Mobius. His gaze is so full of sheer fondness that Mobius has to look away.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” The variant tries to back up. Mobius squeezes his side and he yelps.
“How’d you get over there?” Signy narrows their eyes.
“Suppose I’m quicker than you.” The variant falls immediately into his role, ever the Loki. Mobius curls his finger into the collar and it disengages. The variant whirls on him, but then Signy starts to stalk across the room.
“We’ll see about that, love.” Signy’s tongue curls sharply around the word. The variant bolts for the door. Signy laughs and chases after them. Their footsteps echo down the empty hall and carry them both from sight.
A wave of green magic slams the door shut so hard that it rattles in its frame. Loki hefts a bookshelf in front of the door, then a heavy chest, then about every piece of furniture he’s capable of moving in the room. He slumps down onto the divan with a heavy sigh. Mobius hovers by his side, shoving his hand in his pocket so he doesn’t start fiddling with the disheveled bits of Loki’s appearance.
“Well, come on then.” Loki bares his throat with an impatient gesture. There’s an imprinted red line where the collar usually sits. Mobius runs his thumb over it, gently, and Loki scrunches his nose with a smile. The sight is so lovely that Mobius spaces out a bit.
“You are cruel and terrible, you know that?” Loki grumbles. Mobius remembers himself and tries not to savor the brush of Loki’s jaw against his fingers. He holds the transmitter box of the collar to Loki’s throat, scooting it around a bit in search of a signal. Loki twitches.
“Mmm, just the worst. Stay still, will ya?” He huffs. Something in Loki’s collar clicks and the TemPad chirps a jolly tune. Both of them sigh in relief.
Mobius punches in a few things and the familiar orange door opens up before them. He looks down at the collar in his hand, then shoves it deep into his pocket. Loki makes a soft noise.
“Why?” He blinks almost innocently. Mobius swallows.
“You wanna go back or not?” He juts his thumb towards the portal. Loki pulls him through as if it’s going to disappear.
…
They have duties to complete, but living so many years in a day has thoroughly eroded what tiny sense of duty Loki has. His mind is abuzz with various iterations of he trusts me--a new and exciting thought--and it leaves him with zero desire to do anything but sit in Mobius’s presence like a flower in the sun.
So, when Mobius heads for the library, Loki hooks their arms together and drags them towards the cafeteria. Responsible grumbling turns into fond chuckles, and soon enough, they’re assembling God's mistake: frozen yogurt.
They enjoy their spoils on a bench deep in the massive sprawl of the TVA. The complex sprawls out infinitely before them, twinkling in the abyss. It’s a prettier sight than this place deserves, but Loki can only pay attention to the unnatural strawberry hue of Mobius’s lips.
“This is awful,” Mobius laughs, cringing through a spoonful of frozen-solid chocolate chips.
“It’s perfect. Completely mediocre in every way. Humanity’s only worthwhile creation.” Loki bites a gummy worm in half with a smile. He offers the other half to Mobius and he takes it.
Loki thinks of Signy, of the look of muddled pain on Mobius’s face through the entire back half of their misadventure, and he cringes. Mobius pauses in picking at his froyo.
“Brainfreeze?”
“No, not quite. I want to…apologize, Mobius.” Loki fiddles with his fingers. He looks up just in time for the back of Mobius’s hand to gently slap against his forehead, as if checking for fever.
“You? Apologize? Maybe I did bring back the wrong Loki.”
“Hilarious, you bastard.” Loki rolls his eyes and bats away the hand.
“Well, don’t let me get in the way of history. Say your piece.” Mobius sweeps his hands out. Loki turns to straddle the bench, facing him fully. He leans his back against the wall. The cold of the concrete leeches through his shirt.
“Earlier, things got…out of hand. I hoped if I showed you my past, you might find some detail, some tiny minutiae that would set me apart from the other variants. But, I suppose nothing you saw surprised you.” Loki runs his fingers over his throat, right where the collar usually sat. He felt lighter without it and, strangely, more exposed.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Mobius mumbles around a strawberry piece.
“I spent my life chasing after destiny. Everyone in my family had a grand purpose to fulfill, and I believed mine would be the greatest of all. Now I know that my destiny is to be disposable. The only significant thing I’m part of is the time I’ve spent here with you.” Loki pokes at his froyo with the spoon. Mobius swings to also straddle the bench, grumbling as he does, but it gets Loki’s attention.
“I’ve got my own confession to make.” Mobius chuckles. “I don’t actually know everything about you.”
“We established this.” Loki scoops up an Oreo piece and pops it in his mouth.
“Well, yeah, but—“ Mobius makes a series of grand gestures— “I mean, I don’t know everything about you, Loki.”
“Now you’ve said the same thing twice.” Loki frowns. Mobius makes a frustrated little noise.
“Look, you’re different. Sure, your story starts the same as the others, but you overwrote my expectations the moment we met. You are unique. You’re a unique pain in my ass, really, but…you’re a good partner. A great one.” Mobius gestures more with his spoon.
“Go on.” Loki takes the cherry into his mouth, stem and all. A few moments later, he pulls out the stem—tied in a perfect knot. He smiles at his handiwork.
“I’m trying to compliment you.” Mobius huffs.
“I’m aware.” Loki grins teasingly, but the mischief caves easily under a wave of genuine joy.
“Alright, wise guy.” Mobius narrows his eyes. A flutter of thrill picks up in Loki’s stomach, but no chase ensues. He tries not to be disappointed.
“What I’m trying to get at—“ Mobius huffs dramatically— “is that it’s not your past that makes you. I’ve always studied you guys in patterns and matrixes. I thought a flip would switch and I’d understand how you fell into my lap instead of any other Loki. But…you defy sense. Turns out, you can bake some drastically different cakes with the same core ingredients.”
“Careful, Mobius,” Loki says softly, so his traitorous heart doesn’t hear. “I might start to think you’re fond of me.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius smiles.
“No, we can’t.” Loki’s eyes flit to Mobius’s lips. The air between them pulls taut. Loki scoots forward, bringing their knees to touch.
“You have something on your face, right here. Terribly distracting.” Loki gestures to his lips. Mobius furrows his brow and pats his face with a TVA-branded napkin. Loki bats his hand aside and kisses him. It’s shorter and tamer than what his heart screams for, but he can’t dive into untested waters. Not yet. Not with something so important.
Mobius, wide-eyed, follows Loki’s every move. He swallows once, thickly, then clears his throat. Not a single coherent word comes out of his mouth. His eyebrows move in nearly every direction as he tries to string some words together. Loki tips his chin up, catching his eyes. Mobius quiets, succumbing to a lovestruck smile.
“Did you get it?” Mobius gestures to his face. Loki laughs, knocking his head into the wall behind him. Mobius scrambles forward to catch him far too late, but they’re close. Close enough for Loki to see the pink froyo flecks actually hiding in his mustache. He smirks.
“Hm, only one way to be sure.” He pulls Mobius in by his tie and kisses him like it's the end of times.
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