Chapter Text
Routine had always been something that Mobius relied on. It became even more important after Sylvie’s visit.
If he sat still too long, let the quiet creep in, he’d start thinking. About Loki. About his friends at the TVA. About the implications of whatever this threat was to the whole of the multiverse.
Loki was the biggest occupier of those thoughts.
The idea that someone might be going after him was as ludicrous as it was terrifying. He always seemed to draw the most dangerous people to him, and he was always used as their means to an end, with an intention to toss him away afterward.
So he did what he could to not think about any of it.
He started his mornings not with coffee but with exercise. Taking up his old hunter's workout helped keep him limber and decently healthy. He may no longer have to worry about getting older, but his body was still at the mercy of too much pie and sitting around too much. Mobius ran the roads, watching for traffic, careful to be visible by anyone who might be driving, despite traffic being nonexistent most of the time. When he got home, he went through the drills he used to have to run, the time stick replaced with a baton of similar weight. After that, a shower, then coffee, then facing the day. He didn’t have classes every day, so when he didn’t have anything to work on, he would volunteer at one of his haunts. He’d do that until closer to dinner, where most days he headed back home, but on Friday, he would meet Nate at the others at the pub.
Saturday was for housework or helping Nate if there was someone in the neighborhood who needed something. If not, Nate would usually find his way over by the evening when they would decide if they wanted to head into town or just stay on Mobius’s porch or in his living room.
“Why are we never at your place?” Mobius asked one night, a few weeks after Sylvie had been by.
“Because your place is better,” Nate replied. “That, and I never know when my brother is going to decide that he’s going to crash in my spare room, and I would rather you two never meet.”
Mobius snorted but didn’t say anything. He’d caught glimpses of Nate’s brother. He had looked eerily familiar, and Mobius had a gut instinct that if he actually did meet Nate’s brother, he would end up calling him by a name he wouldn’t know. That would just open a whole can of worms, and so Mobius didn’t argue that it wasn’t a real excuse.
But, he supposed, it wasn’t like Nate overstayed his welcome, always going home at exactly the right time. Mobius might have known why his friend was always a cautious gentleman, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate it anyway.
“Well, you need to start buying beer, because it’s only fair if you’re going to keep raiding my fridge,” Mobius countered as he drained his bottle.
It had been a mild night, and so the two of them had decided to utilize the porch, as was their habit on warmer evenings. Mobius had invested in some excellent, comfortable deck furniture, some decent lighting, and a little outdoor heater for the nights when the chill was a bit too much.
That’s where they were, staring out at the ocean, a pizza box on the little table between them, the majority of it eaten.
Nate looked pointedly at the box and then up at Mobius.
“Picking up a cheap pizza on the way home isn’t the same as buying beer.”
“But it’s the really good pizza, from the place you like,” Nate retorted, only flirting a hair.
“Which I could get, too,” Mobius smirked.
“Fine. I will bring the beer next time,” Nate said as he tipped his head back and finished his own. “And I’ll even be nice, and bring you one out from your own fridge while I go grab another for myself.”
He then got up, jerking his head like he was flicking hair over his shoulder, and headed into the cottage.
Mobius shook his head, grinning to himself, content so long as his mind didn’t wander to his other friends or how much he worried for them.
The fact that it had been so long since he’d heard from anyone was concerning, and there had been many times he almost caved, got his tempad out and powered up, and popped into the TVA to check on them.
But he couldn’t go back. If he did, he would want to stay, and then he would be haunted by the ghost of Loki down every hall, in every space, and he wouldn’t have the heart or guts to leave again. They wouldn’t want that for him. Mobius knew without a shadow of a doubt that they wanted him to be happy, and while he knew he was a long way off from being really, truly happy, he was at least starting to get there.
A decade, maybe two, and he might actually be ready to - if not move on - then to maybe try and build a life that would include risking his heart again.
Mobius went to take another sip of his drink, only to remember it was empty.
He was about to set it back down again when he heard the patio door slide open.
“Took you a bit,” Mobius said half over his shoulder, his position meaning he couldn’t quite see Nate from where he was.
The bottle came into view, a familiar hand wrapped around it.
But not Nate’s.
Mobius stared at the pale skin and long, elegant fingers, trying to remember how tired he had been, and if there was a chance he dozed off and was now dreaming.
On autopilot, he reached up with a trembling hand and took the drink. He looked at the bottle as a dark form moved in his peripheral vision, taking a seat in Nate’s chair.
Mobius took a deep breath, then looked over and met blue-green eyes.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here.” Loki said softly, “But to be honest, I don’t think I knew for sure I would ever come back.”