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Loki, alone, wanders numbly through the halls of the TVA. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or what he’s looking for, he just has that nagging feeling inside him that he needs something. That something’s missing. Incomplete. Some task left barely unfinished, like a puzzle with a single piece missing.
Oh well.
The TVA is a wreck. The bookshelves have been toppled, almost like dominoes, really, Loki thinks as he skirts piles of books strewn across the floor. He passes offices with chairs on their sides and papers and pens scattered everywhere. Something flat cracks underfoot, and he looks down to see a scuffed-up TemPad, its blank screen cracked beneath his heel.
Beyond offices, through locker rooms, past the library and the cafeteria, Loki reaches Judge Renslayer’s office. The TVA’s Judge always got the most lavish office, with couches and tables, an ornate desk and chair, shelves for trophies and crystalline bottles of liquor, and a large, albeit nearly opaque, window filling nearly the whole of the far wall, bathing the room in a dim, golden glow, at times almost reminiscent of firelight.
This, however, is not the office Loki steps into. Ravonna’s office is covered in debris. Tables are overturned, trophies and little marble busts smashed on the floor, and papers covering the intricately patterned carpet. As for the window, if you could’ve even called it that, thinks Loki, it’s gone. Torn entirely away, leaving nothing but a gaping hole open to the void. There is now nothing separating him from the vast and unforgiving universe. The sunny glow, it seems, had been artificial the whole time. He had assumed so, but had never been able to quite see for sure. The TVA exists outside of time. It does not exist within the universe he knew or experienced before being taken as a Variant, but rather sits outside the timeline, in its own dimension of space and non-time, observing. Looking out toward the sight beyond Ravonna’s battered desk, Loki sees the entirety of the Sacred Timeline laid out before him. Or, more accurately, what was the Sacred Timeline. Now destroyed, it lays scattered throughout the pitch black void in more color than Loki has ever seen in his life. There is no sign here that a single, cohesive timeline ever existed. Basking in the glittering, multicolored glow of thousands of universes, each one different from the next, Loki feels something inside him loosen. A weight lifts inside him, and he breathes deeper than he has in as long as he can remember. He’s free. The timeline is no longer a tunnel, an impenetrable tube hurtling the whole of the universe to its sacred, ineffable destiny whether it likes it or not. The timeline is no longer anything. Anyone can do anything, be who they want, go where they want, do anything their hearts desire. That’s all he ever really wanted, Loki realizes. Free will. Pure and simple allowance to do as one pleases, and love as one pleases, without fear of loss.
Coming to his senses, Loki notices someone else in the room. They’re sitting quietly on the edge of the gaping hole where the window used to be, their legs hanging over the edge and their back to him. Their head turns slightly as they take a swig from a chipped glass bottle, and Loki glimpses enough of their face to identify them. It’s Mobius.
Taking a steadying breath, Loki ignores the small flicker of warmth in his chest at the sight of him and goes to sit down. Mobius must hear footsteps, because he turns and, upon seeing it’s Loki, smiles. It’s a tired smile, but Loki knows it’s genuine. The corners of his eyes are crinkled into little crow’s feet the way they never are when he’s being sarcastic or spiteful ( or jealous, Loki’s mind provides, but that’s for another time). Mobius motions beside him with a nod of his head, inviting Loki to sit, which he does, secretly hoping he doesn’t look too eager.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mobius asks.
Loki looks out again and considers the colorful display in front of them. “It really is, somehow. I never would’ve thought something like this could come out of the ruins of a timeline.”
Mobius hums and takes another swig. He offers the bottle to Loki silently, who takes it and takes a sip. It’s sweet, and burns on the way down, leaving him pleasantly warm inside, content sitting here with Mobius, outside of time at the edge of the universe.
“So I’ve had a thought,” Loki starts, and Mobius chuckles, taking the bottle back.
“Always dangerous when the Lokis start thinking,” he says, and Loki can’t help but smile despite himself.
“You remember how I said love was a dagger?”
Mobius turns to him, deadpan. “Dude, that analogy was so bad, how could I possibly forget that complicated, pessimistic mess of a metaphor?”
Loki huffs out a laugh. “Then I suppose you’ll be delighted to hear I’ve found a replacement,” he says.
“Do tell.”
“I think… love is like liquor. At first, at least.” Loki takes the bottle back from Mobius and takes another sip. “It goes down burning, but then it fades and just feels warm.”
“Makes people really stupid, too,” Mobius adds.
“That it does,” Loki agrees.
There’s silence for a while more, not exactly a comfortable silence, per se, but a familiar one nonetheless. The two simply exist together, no more, no less. Then Mobius speaks.
“That liquor feeling,” he starts, a bit awkwardly, “all hot and stuff. Have you ever felt it?”
Loki pauses, caught off guard. “I don’t entirely know. I think once or twice, but it never lasts long.” He stops, considering something, then breathes out, “Or at least, it never did. It’s only lasted once.”
“Who was she?” Mobius asks, his face politely curious, but covering… something. He can’t tell what.
“He, actually,” Loki corrects. Mobius nods, quiet approval and an invitation to continue with his story. “To be honest, he was quite boring,” he continues, ”no idea in the slightest why I fancied him. Office worker with a desk job. Dreadfully dull. But even so...” He trails off, lost in thought. A nudge of cool glass against his hand brings him back to the present when Mobius offers him another drink. He takes it gratefully, then turns the conversation around, not really wanting to talk anymore.
“What about you? Have you ever had this terrible alcoholic feeling people call love?”
Mobius thinks, then speaks slowly, as if measuring his words. “Well, I don’t remember anything before the TVA, so I really have no idea if I liked anyone on Earth like that, but after the TVA… Just once, I guess.”
“Who was it?” Loki prods. He’s curious, and some little spiteful thing inside of him wants to know who in this timeforsaken place had caught Mobius’ attention.
“Really terrible guy,” Mobius laughs to himself, eyes softening, “just a bastard all round. Caused trouble wherever he went. I have to admit though, he sure was a hell of a looker, I can’t deny him that.”
Loki smiles a bit. “What‘s the lucky person’s name, if you’d be ever so kind as to share it?” he asks, half kidding but still genuinely curious.
“I get the feeling if I told you you’d just go and try and stab him, so that’s a definite no,” Mobius says, dangling the knowledge over Loki’s head and looking self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Really? Do you truly think so low of me?” Loki asks in mock offense. “I, a god of mischief, trickery, and deception, slinking off to jealously stab the one who’s caught your eye? Never!”
Mobius raises an eyebrow. “Jealously, huh? Do elaborate on that.”
...Fuck.
Well, his cards have been seen. May as well play them.
“Alright, so maybe there is some jealousy in there. Honestly, though, I’m a god, how many boring office workers do you think I’ve interacted with?”
“You do make a- a point there…” Mobius takes a swig from the bottle, which is nearly empty now. “You say he was boring, dreadfully dull, et cetera. What did you like about him?”
“Let me think... he was stubborn,” Loki says, “just completely bull-headed. Damn near impenetrable skull.” Mobius laughs, and Loki continues, “But he was tricky about it sometimes. I mean, incredibly clumsy by my standards-”
“Of course he was, O God of Mischief,” accompanies an eye roll.
“-but for a human he was rather good. He also had a really weird thing for jet skis. I have no idea what he sees in them, I mean, there are so much more effective methods of water travel-”
Mobius laughs and knocks his shoulder against Loki’s. “Shut up, jet skis are cool. You just have no taste.”
“Alright, alright, enough about my guy. Tell me about yours. I want to hear all about him.”
“Christ, you really are just a huge narcissist, huh? Always wanna hear other people talkin’ about you-”
“So it is me! You’ve fallen directly into my trap,” Loki says triumphantly, taking the bottle and downing the last mouthful of whiskey.
Mobius rolls his eyes and takes the bottle from Loki, setting it down behind them. “Yeah, man, it’s you, it’s been you for a while, I honestly have no idea how you never noticed-”
“Oh, hush, hush, shut up and talk about me. Tell me absolutely everything you adore about my perfect being.”
“Well first of all you’re an asshole, I’ve always valued that in men-” Mobius deadpans before Loki elbows him. “Honestly though, the chaos of being around a mischief god so much? Gotta admit, that was a lotta fun. Really broke the monotony of that oh so dreary desk job. Life was just so boring chasing every possible version of you across god knows how many timelines.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Loki says, slipping an arm around behind Mobius, not as smoothly as he would’ve liked, but settling his hand on Mobius’ waist anyways. “I do seem to remember you mentioning something about me being - what was it - ‘a hell of a looker’? Care to elaborate on that?”
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of mirrors in your life, ego like yours.”
“You wound me.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
Loki scoots closer to Mobius, slotting himself neatly against his side. “You underestimate yourself.”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but thanks,” Mobius laughs.
“You’re absolutely welcome. I’ll be here for eternity, your constant provider of ambiguous statements that could possibly be compliments.”
“Anything else you provide in your little shop of horrors?” Mobius asks.
“Hmm, we’ve not got much in stock at the moment, but I can check the back room if you’d like.”
“By all means, please do.”
At that, Loki takes Mobius’ hands and tangles their fingers together, searching their hands like he’s looking for something.
“So sorry, sir,” he says after a moment, looking up at Mobius, “but our back room appears to be nearly empty as well. I’ve only managed to find one other item still in stock.”
“And what’d that be?”
Loki grins that very specific mischievous grin Mobius has come to know so well, and pulls Mobius’ hand, still in his grasp, behind him, so that Mobius falls flush onto him.
“This,” he says, and without hesitation, kisses him.
Mobius freezes. Of all the things he had been expecting out of that situation, this is not one of them (alright, that’s a lie. This is definitely one of them).
That’s not to say he’s not happy with the outcome, though, he thinks, letting himself sink a little deeper into Loki’s arms as he returns the kiss. Loki’s hands move up to hold Mobius’ face, and Mobius hums a little into the kiss, sliding his hands up and tangling them into thick black hair that’s surprisingly soft. Loki smiles against his lips, and Mobius presses closer, wanting more, more, god this is exactly what he’s wanted for so long-
Loki breaks away first, but moves back just enough to breathe, his nose still pressed against Mobius’ endearingly crooked one.
After a moment, having caught his breath, Mobius mumbles something. “That was…”
“Wonderful? Amazing? Sexy? Awe-inspiring?” Loki prattles off teasingly, his eyes still closed.
“So long overdue,” Mobius finishes.
“Mhm,” Loki says in agreement, because it’s all he can say, because Mobius is already kissing him again, and he’s sitting on the edge of the universe, as time as he knows it disintegrates into brilliant color before his very eyes, and neither of them are watching because they’re each too busy kissing the other to notice anything around them at all.
To be fair, though, Loki thinks, Mobius kissing him is a rather good excuse to not look at some sparkly time dust. This is a much better way to pass the time.
And now that the Sacred Timeline’s nothing more than multicolored dust, sparkling across an endless expanse of space? They’ve got all the time in the world.