Chapter Text
“I’m afraid to say I told you so.” Mobius said with a poorly concealed grin, glancing back at Loki as they navigated the winding streets of 18th century London.
As the chill of an early autumn’s evening began to descend, the crisp click of their footsteps upon cobbled ground echoed off the looming buildings either side of them. The clack of distant carriages offered an almost comforting, familiar background to a distinctly unfamiliar place.
For someone so frequently confronted with new surroundings, Mobius was relieved to say the wonders of a new timeline never ceased to amaze him. And yet if he was honest with himself, there was also a stark feeling of uncertainty that crept up on him, time and time again, as he navigated foreign streets and unfamiliar people.
And yet, he was beginning to find one constant in his life.
A swaggering, overconfident constant that had meddled his way into Mobius’ life alarmingly quickly.
Mobius had never met such an enigma. There was just something unplaceable about this Loki that left him off kilter, something almost ironic in the fact a man forged by mischief could temper for a different purpose. That he could be kind and diligent with a modicum of sincerity.
It was almost even more ironic that Mobius, condemned by his traitorous heart, was so taken by nothing less than a Loki.
Shrill, rather alarming beeps blared out from Mobius’ tem-pad as they turned into an alleyway with a curse.
“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Loki said, frustratingly smug. At least, Mobius found himself trying to quash the unreasonable, and frankly embarrassing fondness welling up in his chest.
“Yeah yeah, don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Mobius said absently as he fiddled with the small device, his brow furrowed as he rushed to make it relent its racket. “A straightforward mission is best for the both of us.”
Loki shifted to Mobius’ side with an almost imperceptible movement. “When are things ever straightforward with a Loki?”
Mobius looked up at him, and quickly followed his gaze to where a hoard of silhouettes had entered the mouth of the alleyway. He felt a rather unreasonable urge to laugh, Loki’s and trouble huh.
“Don’t get too excited.” Mobius said with a charming smile, right as he was suckered in the stomach.
He vaguely heard his name shouted as he clattered to one knee but was rather preoccupied with taking a deep gasping breath and ducking as another lurching punch swung straight at his head.
Swinging himself to his feet, he backed away from the looming figure with a smile still plastered on his face and his eyes rapidly scanning for Loki, “You sure aren’t one for diplomacy.” he said to the hulking man who quickly swung once more at Mobius as he scrambled backwards. The presence of gangs would have certainly been a nice nugget of information on the mission brief.
A rush of air made Mobius flinch as he braced himself for contact.
And waited, before a loud thud resounded in front of him and he quirked his eyes open from where they’d squeezed shut.
The brute had been reduced to a mound upon the ground, his form slumped face down beneath the triumphant figure towering over him. Loki knelt at Mobius’ side, a gentle hand braced at his elbow as he scanned him with those wide eyes of his, unconcerned with the remaining aggravated hoard writhing behind them.
“I’m all good.” Mobius murmured, eyeing the approaching crowd warily, “And I believe we have bigger problems.”
Loki snorted, arrogant bastard that he was with his sharp smile and lithe figure and certainly not what Mobius should be focused on at such a time.
Like strands of electricity, the alleyway lit up with blinding flashes of brilliant emerald as shrieks of pain rang into the night. Mobius politely turned his back.
“How exhilarating.” Loki practically growled as he prowled towards Mobius, his eyes glinting with an unrestrained sharpness that belied how he revelled, just slightly, in returning to his former glory. Being confronted with such power compacted into such a familiar form almost made Mobius back away. Almost.
For a tense moment Mobius waited, until only the sound of carts clattering in the distance could be heard. He let out a deep sigh of relief. “I fear you’re making me a little too cocky,” he murmured kindly, watching the tension that laced Loki’s shoulders begin to seep away.
Mobius could never help admiring this part of Loki the most. There was something remarkable in watching a predator, someone betrayed and deceived throughout their entire existence, let their guard down. Trusting Mobius of all people.
Loki seemed to bask in Mobius’ words, something that shouldn’t have affected Mobius as strongly as it did, “Can’t be forgetting I’m a god now can we.”
“Rather impressive I must say.” Mobius said, hoping that Loki didn’t hear the fondness beneath his words. “And I’m relieved to say that despite our delightful diversion, we don’t have much further-”
It all happened rather fast after that.
If Mobius was being frank, he only remembered watching Loki dart towards him. How his chest had heaved with each panicked breath rattling his lungs. His eyes achingly sincere as he clutched Mobius frantically, unsure of what to do for once in his long life.
Isn’t it rather humiliating that the beauty in those eyes is what captured Mobius’ attention, not the pain splintering his side.
Mobius gasped as pure, unadulterated agony stole his breath and he toppled down to one knee.
Considering Mobius had previously experienced a pruning, his mortal soul being ripped away from his corporeal body, Mobius was quite confidant that he’d experienced his share of pain for the rest of his life. Miserably, as his vision began to swirl, he had to admit this came close.
“Mobius. Mobius. I need you to keep your eyes open.”
A body lay in a heap a short distance from them, its form disfigured and practically indiscernible. A Tem-pad lay abandoned at its side, a crimson smattering of blood flung across its screen.
A hazy voice. “Please Mobius.” Hands painted crimson desperately clutched at Mobius’ torso, fluttering uselessly at the blade protruding from his shirt. “Tell me what to do.”
Mobius gasped, eyes fluttering open.
“Mobius, I need you to listen,” Loki breathed with forced calm, “‘We need to get you out of here.”
“Don’t go shy on me now” Mobius coughed out, his throat rasping around the words as his diaphragm contracted with the pain. He grasped both of Loki’s hands that were hung uselessly in front of him and placed them on the hilt of the dagger resting flush against his back. “I'm relying on you here.” he whispered with hardly the energy to get the words out.
“Yes,” Loki murmured, almost to himself as his expression hardened. Amidst Mobius’ blurring vision he watched with pained interest as the man's gaze fixed upon his oozing wound.
Delicate fingers splayed around the blade, pressing firmly just below his chest and almost slippery with blood. Mobius held his breath, his fingers digging into fists as he struggled to retain his composure. Loki gripped the blade’s hilt with a confidence Mobius doubted he felt. Always so brave, his Loki.
A deep inhale, a gentle twist of the blade. And then a sharp flash as Loki yanked it clean out of the wound.
Mobius gasped into the night, as he doubled over, barely able to support himself with his own arms. Loki knelt in front of Mobius and quickly supported him with his shoulder as he worked rapidly, hurriedly tearing off his overcoat so he could access his over-shirt. He dismissively tore a strip off the poor aforementioned article and clutched Mobius with fretful fingers. Knelt before him and bracing Mobius against his shoulder, he methodically staunched the wound with quietly murmured apologies under his breath, forcing the material as deep as it could go.
Mobius’ shoved his face into Loki’s shoulder. He told himself in his exhausted state that it wasn’t for comfort, it was merely to hide how his brow twisted and to muffle the involuntary cries of pain punched out of him in his exhaustion. However even he had to admit that his wanting to be within Loki’s arms wasn't purely selfless.
Loki dedicatedly continued to staunch the wound, tearing strips from his now-scarlet shirt and smothering the wound until the blood no longer flowed. Mobius crumpled into Loki, as the adrenaline seeped out of him.
He could no longer feel his clenched fists or even where he was curled against Loki as darkness descended on his vision. And yet a low, comforting vibration rippled beneath him as a voice drifted around him and, as his eyes drifted shut against his wishes, he swore he could feel a comforting presence on the crown of his head. Almost as if fingers were carding soothingly through his hair, achingly tender.
Mobius accepted the encroaching darkness.