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“Loki, what the hell is going on with you?”
The number of times he’d heard that by now must have been at least a hundred. Possibly a lot more.
Although Mobius had no idea, of course.
But Loki kept walking, because he had to. He had to get away. It was one of those loops, the sort where the helplessness and crippling despair of his singular situation was simply too much for him to maintain a façade of composure, let alone the swagger of easy confidence he usually tried to portray.
However, it was also one of those loops where Mobius was determined to follow him, likely because Loki had allowed his mask to slip too soon… his face crumpling fleetingly before he'd managed to turn away, and Mobius asking if he was okay before he’d even taken two steps towards the door of R&A.
Thus he found himself striding almost panickedly down the seemingly endless curved corridor, wishing he could run, but knowing that would be the final nail, and hoping against hope that Mobius would get the message and leave him alone.
“Loki! Will you stop?” Mobius tried again, tense with both worry and ire.
And something about that tone was different, somehow, unlike anything he'd heard in previous loops. Urgent, but to the point of verging on anguished. So, despite his own desperation, Loki obediently complied, a startled hitch to his breath.
He was too tired to run, anyway, he grudgingly conceded.
“Thank you,” Mobius said, quickly reverting to mild exasperation. “Now can you tell me what you’re doing? And where you have to rush off to that’s suddenly more important than what’s going on back there?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious more than anything else.
Loki didn’t answer immediately, mostly because he couldn’t. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to come up with an adequate excuse. Another white lie, like the multitude he’d grown used to rattling off without thought over the past… weeks? Months?
Years?
He didn’t even know.
“Hey.”
Mobius’ voice was closer now, and a warm hand caught him gently around the wrist, tugging in a silent plea that he turn around.
And Loki did, because pulling away would have hurt Mobius’ feelings, and even if each loop’s end was imminent — and hence each Mobius too — it broke Loki’s heart every time he caused him pain.
It was admittedly unavoidable sometimes, part and parcel of this bleak, infernal undertaking. It frequently happened when he was overly focused to the point of dismissiveness, or was generally far too irritable to be civil, or if Mobius did something that forced him to reset, and he lost his temper…
There had been too many times he’d inadvertently hurt him, and every single one of them was unacceptable. So he refused to so much as chance it this time, in a situation where all Mobius was doing was showing him solicitous concern.
“Gods Loki… what’s the matter?” he asked once they were facing each other, his voice now breathy and subdued. Loki frowned at the abrupt shift in tone, though as he did, the tears he felt wet upon his cheeks provided the explanation.
And yet still he found he couldn’t answer.
He had nothing at all to offer, neither truth nor fallacy.
Mobius waited patiently for a response, but once it was clear to him that none was forthcoming, he brought a hand up to settle carefully upon Loki’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. Despite the gesture of comfort, however, or perhaps because of it, Loki caught himself involuntarily shuddering with repressed…
Well. Take your pick, he thought sardonically.
Pretty much every fraught emotion one could think of, he supposed.
“You gotta give me something here,” Mobius pleaded quietly. “Don’t shut me out just because you’re– you’re scared.”
It was likely an educated guess at how Loki was feeling, his eyes scanning him keenly, and it certainly wasn’t far from the truth at all. He was most assuredly terrified.
He was a million other things too, but 'scared' would be top three, he figured.
And because he was steadfastly refusing to hurt Mobius this time around, he was well aware that he couldn’t put off answering him indefinitely.
“I don’t-” Loki began, with wavering resolve, though he cut himself off when it was apparent how hoarse his voice was. He cleared his throat and swallowed, sniffling a little before trying again. “I don’t mean to shut you out,” he promised him. “But I also can’t explain what’s going on.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Mobius pressed, though it wasn’t by any means demanding or brusque.
“This time around? It’s ‘can’t’,” he confessed, almost chuckling through his tears. “Sometimes it’s ‘won’t’. But most times, I do actually tell you.”
The confusion blossoming in Mobius’ expression was terribly endearing, and it made Loki’s heart ache. Yet, like the magnificent analyst he was, it took only seconds for him to cotton on.
“‘This time around’,” he echoed, with a pensive but troubled frown. “You’re… you’re looping?”
His voice almost rose an octave as he said the last word, confusion fast morphing into horror as Loki responded with a small but sharp nod.
“You’re timelooping? How? Why?” he demanded, aghast with incredulity, then shook his head, dismissing his own questions. “No, forget all that. What can I do?”
“Nothing,” Loki replied, as brittle as cracked glass. “You can’t do anything.”
“No, I refuse to believe that.”
“It’s true,” he forced out, almost through gritted teeth, because they were back on this conversation again, and they’d had this one far too many times, to the point that every time it popped up again, it made him want to scream in frustration.
But he wouldn’t hurt Mobius, damn it, not this time.
“Okay,” Mobius nodded reluctantly, obviously seeing something in his demeanour that gave him pause. “Okay. So maybe there’s nothing practical I can do. But what about impractical?”
Now it was Loki’s turn to be confused.
“What do you mean?”
“I might not be able to help in a way you need, Loki, but how ‘bout in a way you want?”
“I’m… not sure I understand,” Loki replied, although he perhaps had an inkling of where this was going.
“If I could do anything at all for you, right now — just basic, clueless old me — what would you have me do?”
That was a loaded question, if ever he’d heard one. And the possible responses were wildly varied, ranging anywhere from ‘bring me a nice hot cup of tea’ to ‘slam me up against this wall and have your way with me, however you’d like’.
But really, every one of them amounted to much the same thing, if he were to boil it right down.
“Don’t leave me?” he suggested, growing tearful again, and Mobius wilted, closing the space between them to wrap his arms around him.
Burying his face in Mobius’ shoulder, he took the chance to inhale his scent, finding it ever comforting despite the nightmare scenario that had become his unending reality. It was a little difficult to breathe, what with the congestion from crying, but he cared not in the slightest.
“Never,” Mobius rumbled in his ear, heavy with certainty. “I’d never leave you, Loki. Not unless you told me to.”
But unbeknownst to him, that was a lie.
Because when Loki glanced up over Mobius’ shoulder, the corridor was of course already spaghettifying with the forced end to this loop… the encroaching phenomenon no less surreal and disturbing than the first time he’d seen it in the chrono bay, after the loom had initially melted down, sending his friends scattered across the timelines.
“Never,” Mobius whispered vehemently, holding him tighter, and Loki closed his eyes, living the lie for a few seconds longer.