Chapter Text
Loki trudged through the winding streets of London.
Amidst the panic ceasing his chest he could hardly resist the temptation to sprint along the cobbled roads. Yet his fear of jostling the man curled within his arms outweighed his alarm.
Loki clutched Mobius’ form gently against him from where he hung limp in his grip, Loki’s arm nestled into the crook of his legs and Mobius’ head curled into his chest almost serenely.
Loki didn’t experience desperation. He was a man of action and only the most selfish of motives. Why then was he so foolishly plagued with alarm at seeing this man, usually so brimming with life, listless and vulnerable.
Mobius’ forehead gently lolled against Loki’s chest and delicate, almost fragile breaths puffed against his shirt as he hastily strode through the streets of London, occasionally glancing down at the man cradled within his arms and how his brow furrowed with pain. In a moment of rather irrational sentiment, Loki longed to smooth out that crease.
Afterall, it was Loki’s inadequacy that had caused him harm. And yet all Loki was confronted with was Mobius’ harrowing trust in Loki. His unflinching certainty that Loki wouldn’t abandon him and how pitiable that he was correct.
Even now, Loki lamented Mobius’ abandoned Tem-pad and how it had lain shattered across the cobbles, dismantled from Loki’s lack of vigilance. If only he’d had the foresight to stay alert as they revelled in their brief success. Otherwise, would Mobius be safely nestled within the confines of the TVA? Is there a possibility Mobius could be settled at his desk uninjured instead of bleeding out within Loki’s arms in the depths of 18th century London?
Loki faltered as he helplessly looked around, his ears thundering with the sound of Mobius' breathing only growing more sparse.
It was a time of night where even the most boisterous patrons of local establishments had begun to dwindle, leaving the streets desolate. The need to find a safe building and supplies was mounting with every passing minute.
It was then, as the night descended and mists filled the air in swirling puffs, that Loki noticed the innocuous building sitting right beside their intertwined forms. As his arms tensed beneath the weight of Mobius, his eyes traced over shattered windows and flaking boards that had been rammed over the gaping openings in an apparent haste.
It would have to suffice.
Hoisting Mobius up securely into his arms so as not to disturb him, he lifted his leg and forcefully kicked through the rickety boards barricading the front door with a thunderous shattering of wood.
Shards and splinters of ply rained onto the cobbled street. With another smashing blow, Loki was able to shoulder the door open and illuminate the room with fractured emerald light from one palm of his hand, its soft glow slightly muffled where he clutched Mobius’ curled form.
The room was eerily preserved despite its abandoned exterior, with a seemingly intact living area that Loki approached as he pulled the door shut behind them with a thud. Hanging ornaments dotted around the room suspended with evident care, something Loki eyed cautiously as he approached a dining table within what appeared to be a rudimentary kitchen.
Loki carefully laid Mobius across the table and cupped the back of his neck, his fingers curling in soft silver hair at the apex of Mobius’ neck as he eased his head against the surface.
Time was running out. Cupping both hands together, the room bloomed alight and his eyes quickly came to rest on the ornaments dangling right beside them.
Not ornaments. Herbs.
Loki moved frantically towards one of the cupboards beside them, hardly daring to breathe as he yanked it open, its shelves bedecked with carefully organised glass preserves. He didn’t dare to stop as he frantically yanked open draws and doors until his eyes rested on a small oak shelf, its surface laden with gauze and glass vials of alcohol.
Piling his arms high, he dumped the items besides Mobius’ unmoving form and unbuttoned the thick brown buttons of Mobius’ tweed suit with frantic fingers. Unravelling Mobius’ arms from the garment, he left it prone beneath the man as he focused on the stark crimson painted upon the man’s shirt and Loki’s hasty dressing.
With the shirt unfastened and Mobius’ torso bared, his wound lay stark and scarlet just below the curve of his ribs. Uncorking a glass vial, the sharp scent of alcohol steadied Loki’s hands as he laid a palm firmly above the gash, his fingertips resting against Mobius’ sternum, and poured a trickle directly into the wound.
Mobius' chest heaved as he gasped hoarsley and his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and clouded with pain. In Loki’s peripheral, a weak hand clasped at where his fingers lay upon Mobius’ chest as he hissed in pain.
“Breath,” Loki murmured reassuringly as he squeezed those imperceptibly trembling fingers and found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Mobius’ frightened gaze. Teeth gritted, the man's head thunked back down onto the table as he nodded, bleary eyes resting on the ceiling as Loki placed their clasped hands against the oaken surface and spoke softly. “Just one more time.”
Mobius nodded once more and Loki didn’t hesitate, pouring the liquid into the wound even as Mobius gasped into the night, even as he tightly clutched Loki’s palm until crescent moons melded themselves into his skin. He shuddered as Loki picked up a cloth and carefully ran it over the wound, his unsteady breaths thundering in the quiet of the room as he tried to focus on Loki.
“There we go.” Loki said, almost painful in his care, his diligence. Lithe fingers nimbly unravelling rolls of gauze before once more placing his hands upon Mobius, his touch almost as much as a brand as the wound stealing his words. He eased Mobius into slowly sitting up and politely ignored how he winced, instead focusing his attention on beginning the careful process of dressing the wound.
“That was certainly new.” Mobius said, voice still hoarse, palms still feverish and yet stubborn to a fault as he smiled weakly up at Loki. It became quickly apparent that his stubbornness outweighed his vigour as he quickly sagged into the other man and his head dipped once more to lean against his shoulder.
Loki resolutely didn’t look away from where he was binding the wound. Even as he neatly secured the gauze he didn’t shift Mobius off of him, allowing himself to finally breathe, just for a moment. “They say I’m the reckless one.”
“You’re supposed to be,” Mobius retorted weakly and lifted his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips that Loki chose not to examine too thoroughly. “Seems I got stuck with a boring Loki.”
Loki laughed. He laughed in relief. He laughed for the ridiculous man before him who saw the joy in everything and the good in everyone.
He laughed because he had been ever so scared.
Loki needed to get Mobius back to the TVA and fast. And, with Mobius’ Tem-Pad shattered and abandoned, the success of their mission now determined whether they could get a ticket back to the TVA.
Mobius propped himself up on one arm, continuing eagerly, “Well? We’re ready to go.”
Loki’s eyebrows shot up into his raven hair, “We’re not going anywhere,” He ignored Mobius’ attempt to interject, “You’re staying put whilst I head out and scout for our only ticket out of here.”
Almost instinctively, Mobius’ left hand patted down his trouser pocket, grappling at the empty fabric uselessly as realisation dawned on him. “Damnit! I didn’t even notice.” he hissed through his teeth with alarm as he tried to swivel his legs over the ledge of the table, his face twisting with a poorly concealed wince.
“You’re staying.”
“You know I can’t just wait around.”
“You don’t make the rules this time Mobius.” Loki said, perhaps just a little too smugly.
Mobius shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as Loki pulled away and peered around the room. “Where even are we?”
“I didn’t have time to be fussy, found this little place abandoned and took my chances.” Loki said absently as he continued his apparent search.
“A herbalist?”
Loki blinked at Mobius with interest from where he stood in the next room, “Appears so, from the reserves I discovered I suspect it was a temporary store house.”
He returned to Mobius’ side and tucked an arm around his waist. Mobius stiffened as he was pressed flush against Loki’s side and was pulled to standing, his wound pulling taut and making him suck in a sharp breath.
“Careful.” Loki murmured encouragingly.
If Mobius wasn’t suddenly feeling so tired, he might have said something he regretted. He looked away and instead deigned to remain silent, his lack of response lingering in a way that made Loki hesitate as he guided Mobius to the adjoining room.
It was intimate, fitted for function rather than frivolity with its little bed sitting tucked in the corner and thread bound curtains drawn in front of the window to ward off the night-time chill. Loki set Mobius gently upon the rickety wooden frame of the bed and warily noted how pale he still appeared.
“May I?”
Mobius looked up at him as Loki gestured at his shirt. He hesitated, his usually expressive face carefully blank as he nodded tiredly.
Loki lent before him, his black hair hanging in front of his face as begun to rebutton his unfastened shirt. As he slipped each button back into place, the tips of his hair brushed against Mobius' collar.
Mobius didn’t move a muscle, even as Loki pulled away with satisfaction, even as he looked down at Mobius and noted how his gaze appeared distant.
Warmth flickered to life besides them, drawing Mobius from his reverie as he stared at the candle blazing atop the window sill and upon the quaint bedside table alongside where he lay.
He curled his lips gratefully at Loki, the effort to form words suddenly requiring more strength than he could muster as he settled into the increasingly enticing bed.
“You’ll be alright?” Loki asked.
“Course.” Mobius managed to get out, nodding vaguely as the lure of sleep began to encroach upon him.
The receding click of footsteps slowly grew softer.
“Thank you, Loki.” Mobius said quietly from across the room, his form concealed in a thin blanket and his head cradled within the embrace of his pillow.
Loki, shrouded in shadows, hesitated in the doorway and gazed back at Mobius, his silver hair painted in flickering golden hues.
“Rest.” Loki said, his throat inexplicably tight.
Always. Is what Loki meant, as he ventured out into the stark chill of the winter’s night.