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Chapter Text

It had been one hour and twenty-three minutes since Loki returned to him.

Since he’d appeared out of thin air, his limbs clawing strings of what-might’ve-been skin out of reality like knives through fabric; since he’d collapsed into the table, face blanched, but his eyes wild with terror and then hope as he yelled out Mobius’ name– charged for him as though he was the only thing that could keep him from disappearing again. If he just hung on tight enough – if Mobius hung on tight enough – he could keep Loki here. He barely understood his beau’s ramblings about a man at the end of time, a man who struck fear into the core of his very being, the first person Mobius witnessed break Loki down into a terrified, tumultuous chaos– and then he was ripped from reality again.

Seventeen seconds would pass before Loki materialized; Mobius had gotten out his watch to time, unable to do anything else but count the seconds. Nothing to grasp at– no evidence that Loki was there in the first place.

“Did you see it?” His love would ask. All that was visible after the initial outburst was the pain he eagerly tried to tamp down; he took deep breaths, cracked his neck. His teeth were bared in a grimace. He would insist that it was no big deal. When Mobius grasped at his arm again, he could feel the muscles tremble and twitch. His body buzzed with energy, like electricity; a byproduct of his terror, or his body cramping in preparation for more agony, Mobius wasn’t sure.

On the way to Repairs and Advancements, Mobius had grown a habit out of checking his watch. Loki would timeslip, leave for approximately 20 seconds, and materialize once again; each slip tore resolve out of him, as his moment to recover took longer each time, which he attempted to reserve in secret, leaning against a railing or trying to stretch whenever Mobius wasn’t looking. In the elevator, he said he could handle it with a semi-confident flip of his hair (that might have been to fix how disheveled it was rather than a display of nonchalance). But Mobius, seasoned by all of his years working with Lokis, could see right through it. He kept his hand on his beau’s elbow. If he just hung on tight enough. He made a comment about going to the infirmary after seeing what Ouroborus had to say– Loki asked who that was, and he said he would find out soon enough. He plucked his stopwatch from his suit. One hour and twenty-four minutes.

…

Mobius took Loki down, introduced him to O.B., brought up the issue (while Loki conveniently timeslipped as he began to explain), and received an answer that confused him further. But, O.B. had a solution. Apparently, he had a Temporal Key at his disposal. A solution to a problem that Mobius couldn’t quite wrap his head around. All it would take to deploy the Key into the loom was some preparation. It had been crucial that the two stay in Repairs and Advancements, according to O.B.-- he cleaned off a century old ottoman for Loki to sit down. Mobius joined him. They were so close, their knees pressed together.

“Can we at least get him to the Infirmary, O.B.?” Mobius asked, keeping a hand on Loki’s arm in a vain attempt to lock him in place. “Does he need to be here for all of this?”

“I’d prefer for him to stay here. I need to get a sample of his Temporal Aura so I can match his Temporal Signature to this Temporal Key, to attach it to the Temporal Loom and not have anything go wrong when he prunes himself.” O.B. wandered around the scrapped technology piles, pecking at each one, grabbing then discarding pieces; he worked with a strange steadfastness that anyone who wasn’t Mobius could interpret as incompetency. He dumped his pile onto the counter closest to the two to face them while he talked.

“Can he get some Temporal Pain Management?”

Loki’s head cocked toward O.B. like a dog reacting to a whistle. “Wait– A sample? Of my Temporal Aura? What does that mean?”

O.B. crouched under the lip of the counter, disappeared for a second, then came back with a contraption Mobius couldn’t even begin to theorize the use for. A metal and plastic thing with a maw made out of steel at the end, with a handle on the top and bottom like a pair of scissors. There was no plastic encasement to make it look presentable. O.B. explained: “If we match the Signature to the Key, it’ll be a guarantee you come back to the present.”

“Wouldn’t pruning myself do that anyway?” While Loki rebutted him, O.B. began to fit scraps into the contraption; they must have been finishing touches. He spoke:

“Well, technically, when you prune yourself you automatically go to the end of the ti– Oh.” With a shout, Loki’s body stretched violently, warping into strips of skin or fabric or both before disappearing altogether. “That’s even worse up close.”

Thirteen seconds. Loki emerged back to them from above, landing on the cushion with a heavy thud; he doubled over, breaking through reality once more, groaning as he held his stomach and braced his other hand on his knee with a white knuckled grip.

“We gotta hurry.” Said O.B.

Mobius concurred, glancing up from his watch. “The timeslips are getting more frequent.”

He tucked it away just as Loki rolled his head over to him; his eyebrows tightened in confusion. He asked: “You’re timing them?”

“Get ready, this is going to hurt.” Hiking the contraption off of the counter, O.B. approached.

“Hey, hey–” Mobius put his palm forward; he shifted to practically shield his beau as he ushered O.B. back. “Just give him a second, will you, O.B.? What even is that?”

O.B. looked down at it, said: “It’s my Temporal Aura Sample Extractor–”

“You’re very creative with names, y’know that?”

He turned to Loki, seemingly ignoring Mobius’ slight. “We need to do it now, Loki. We don’t have much time.” He said. The contraption stayed close to the side of Loki across from Mobius; its teeth waited open and expectant.

“Alright. Do what you need to–!” Having made the decision before Loki spoke, O.B. jammed the contraption into his upper arm. He muttered something about needing to stay still as he drew it away. The sharp metal mouth of the thing didn’t cut into Loki’s skin; there was no blood, but in the teeth of his contraption sat a translucent bluish-greenish-yellow glob, almost intangible. Satisfied, O.B. turned on his heel. “Agh!” Loki grasped his arm, wincing. His ribs rattled with the ragged breaths he drew in through his teeth.

Reaching around his beau’s back, Mobius set his hand over Loki’s, and by extension, over the wound. By further, inadvertent extension, he brought Loki close to him, pressed him into his side. His beau didn’t seem to fuss about it. Or notice. Mobius felt a phantom pain in his own arm as he called to O.B., who shoved the sample into some machine that was not the Key. “This is Step One, right? And it’s done?”

“Technically, this is Step One and Step Two done.” O.B. shot him a reassuring half-smile, tapping incessantly into a handful of keyboards that may or may not have led to the same computer. Mobius wasn’t sure; this wasn’t his forte.

“Good.” Mobius nodded to himself. He nudged Loki, leaning in to ask: “You hanging in there?”

Loki didn’t respond. He was clenching his jaw so hard Mobius thought his teeth were going to break inside his mouth.

“Hey,” His voice grew softer the more he spoke, he urged: “Talk to me. Are you hurting? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Mobius–” Loki gulped, “this is the most excruciating pain I have ever felt.”

“Good, thank you for being honest with me.” Nodding, Mobius patted his beau’s hand where it still held onto his shoulder. Before he could say anything else, Loki cut in, remembering the second half of Mobius’ question:

“I– I need a distraction. Something, anything.” He pleaded.

“Okay, I’ll– I’ll think of something,” Mobius ran a hand through his hair. Something, anything. His eyes followed an invisible line to the knife harness tightly hugging Loki’s back. There was no knife (that he could discern) pocketed in it. While murmuring: “Well, first, I think it would be a good idea to get this off; has to be uncomfortable–” he reached for the harness around his beau’s shoulders, undoing a buckle and when he began to work one half of it around the bend of his shoulder Loki hissed and reflexively pushed a palm into his inner elbow, as if telling him to stop or to slow down. He flattened his palm against Loki’s back. He drew his hand to take the one Loki had outstretched, and kissed it as an apology. The second time, he approached the harness slower, softer, discovering he could loosen the straps manually first.

Loki glowered at the floor, blinking slowly, and he didn’t look at Mobius while he pulled one strap down, then the other. Even when he wasn’t directly touching him he could feel how tense his muscles were. Mobius thought this might’ve been what it would be like to help a toddler change, as he finished removing the harness with no help from his beau. Neatly, he set it aside.

“...Thank you.” Loki said, relieved. He rolled his shoulders.

“Anytime.” His face relaxing, Mobius scratched his beau’s upper back and pressed his free hand to his chest. “Is this a good distraction?” Loki leant his head onto his shoulder with a nod. Something became apparent in Mobius’ peripheral vision and he jerked his head toward the movement; it was O.B., standing there awkwardly. He cradled the Key like a baby in one arm.

“Uhm…?”

“Can we not have one moment here? One moment?” Implored Mobius, who threw a hand into the air to emphasize his annoyance. He thought he could feel Loki smile against his shoulder.

O.B. wobbled his head, considering, then pushed it aside as he said, resolutely: “Well, we might not have any more moments ever if we don’t hurry up and do this. The Key is ready; Mobius, I’ll get you in the suit, and Loki, there’s a pruning stick somewhere in here, go get it.”

“Do I get any hints as to where it is?” Asked Loki.

“No time.” O.B. turned stiffly, walking out of Repairs and Advancements. He glanced back at the two of them, who were still scrambling out of their seat. “Come on, Mobius. Let’s go.”

Mobius stood first, bringing his beau up to his feet by the forearms; they were already drifting apart as they were set on their separate missions, but Mobius did not want to let go. He quizzed: “You know how to get to the Temporal Core, right?”

“Yeah, just– just go. I’ll meet you there.” Giving him a final nod, Loki finally split from his grasp, feverishly looking through a selection of stick-shaped contraptions just to his left; Mobius’ hands felt empty.

Sighing in resignation, he breathed out an ‘okay’. He turned, and joined O.B. in the hallway; the moment he left the room, Loki shouted into the air, cut off when he was ripped from reality once more. Mobius could only hear it, but he gritted his teeth in empathy. He couldn’t stop and turn around. Pacing just behind O.B., Mobius plucked his watch from his suit pocket, did the math in his head. One hour and forty-seven minutes.

It was one hour and fifty minutes when Loki joined them in the Temporal Room with a pruning stick. When he approached Mobius; when he said those words.

“Mobius, if I– If I don’t make it back–” He looked Mobius in the eyes, emotion making his body tighten as he visibly gathered words for what he was going to say.

Mobius insisted: “You’re gonna make it back.”

“If I don’t make it back–!” Then Loki was ripped away from him again. The fingertips he’d left wrapped around Mobius’ wrist only stayed with him through a phantom impression. Drawing in a breath, he got his watch, and he counted. Two, three, four–

“The suit’s ready,” said O.B.. He patted the puffy, teal thing that reminded Mobius of an old fashioned space suit. “We need to hurry.”

“He’ll be back.” Mobius muttered to himself.

…

He didn’t remember much after that. It was a blur. He got in the suit, he did what he was supposed to do, sure, absolutely, and he heard the blast doors beginning to close; but all he could recall was staring up into the endless, rainbow, radioactive weave above him; looking for Loki. He stayed on that bridge, blinded from the light but still hoping for a glimpse, for a speck of evidence that Loki was going to come back to him.

O.B. called out to him from the control room, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You need to come back, the blast doors are going to close!”

“Just give him more time!” The window of his helmet began to crack. Radioactive wind peeled back the paint of his suit, began to peel the metal away– he still stared, searching, yearning.

“We can’t push it any longer! If we do, we risk the integrity of the TVA. Come back, Mobius. I’m sorry.”

All Mobius got was one hour and fifty-one minutes. And he was gone. Lost to the unforgiving maw of time. Biting back tears, he turned, and began to walk.

But there he was. Flung from the weave of Time, sky-bound and flying toward him at rocketlike speed. Loki. Mobius would have thought it was funny if it weren't for the fervent fire erupting in his chest– only a flash of Loki crossed his eyes before he was launched off his feet and into the safety of the Temporal Core. The blast doors sealed shut as they hit the ground. Mobius was too disoriented to process that he’d landed on top of his beau, only grunting as he was maneuvered off; the awkward loops of metal that made up the joints of the suit jutted into his back and limbs– his head throbbed, his body ached, he thought his skin was beginning to burn off; but he saw that dark hair in the pint-sized window of his helmet, and everything was okay.

He could barely feel Loki’s hand press into his suit; “we need to find Sylvie,” his beau said. Grunting, he pulled himself onto his knees, just as Mobius attempted to roll himself into a position to get up; his helmet came off after some fiddling from Loki and O.B. combined. The helmet opening was so large, they figured they could pull him out of the suit. They did; Loki worked with a passion that Mobius hadn’t seen before. Both of them filled with adrenaline, Loki yanked him up onto his feet– patted him down quickly for wounds– and repeated: “We need to find Sylvie.”

“Okay– hold on–” Mobius had gotten only a second to recover when Loki began tugging at him, ushering him toward the entrance of the Temporal Core.

”I saw her, Mobius.” His chest heaved, his eyes a frenzy of emotion; his head was figuratively ripping side to side, looking around him in an attempt to grasp at his vision, the descriptions of which tumbled out of his mouth after Mobius questioned:

“Saw her? What do you mean you ‘saw her’?”

“She was there. In the future. She was there– we need to find her, now.”

“There? Where were you?” Mobius’ body began to ache; he limped along as Loki charged backward.

“Here, in the TVA. The Temporal Loom was collapsing and everyone was evacuating but she was there– she was looking for me. We need to know how and why she’s involved.”

Mobius tilted his head in an attempt to appeal to his beau, suggesting: “I mean– she killed He Who Remains, right? She’s involved no matter what.”

“But why there? Why then? That’s what I don’t understand.” He stammered; his attempts to keep talking were stifled, the world “I” stuck in his throat. Mobius stopped him from reaching into his hair by holding onto his wrists and pulling him that much closer.

“Look, Sylvie can wait–”

He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands so violently that Mobius lost his grip on him. “No, she can’t, we need to find her, Mobius!”

“I know, I know how badly you want to go get her, but your body can’t give out on you in the middle of it! You being okay is more important to me right now than finding Sylvie. The stint with the Key bought us some time, let’s use it. You need to go to the infirmary.” He said, returned his hands around Loki’s forearms, trying to make eye contact to emphasize his point. With every word, his beau calmed that much more; he still wouldn’t look Mobius in the eyes, too focused on the universe inside his head. “I can send B-15 on a reconnaissance mission to try and get a trace of her, but in the meantime, you’re going to the infirmary, and you’re going to get cleaned up, and you are going to rest. Do you hear me?” When Loki didn’t respond, he shook him a little. “Do you hear me, Loki?”

“Yes– Yes, I hear you. I hear you.” Said Loki. The two were silent for the moment it took him to collect himself again. He breathed in, and out, in, and out. He nodded. “Okay. Infirmary.”

“Yes, Infirmary.” He breathed “let’s go”, and hooked his hands into each of Loki’s inner elbows, ushering him forward. Loki’s body no longer buzzed with electricity – he trembled due to the adrenaline, due to crashing into the ground from the weave of Time and hoisting himself up with not a second to spare – but his muscles did not glitch per se, did not feel barely tangible. He was there, and he was alive.

They, arguably, left O.B. to fend for himself. Mobius gave him a two-second thanks as they charged together to the Infirmary. Loki led the way to the Infirmary in a vague sense, being pushed along by Mobius, who forced him to use him as support, wrapping an arm around his shoulders while Mobius hung onto his waist.

Loki’s legs began to slow down. “I think I’m going to lose adrenaline before we get there,” said he, grimacing in pain; though, his half-chuckle afterward seemed to be an attempt to brush it off. Mobius did not find it funny.

“Then let’s hurry.”

“It hurts so bad.”

“I know.” Mobius grasped onto the statement, repeating: “I know, Loki.”

…

It had been two hours and twenty-six minutes since Loki returned to him.

He was solid, material. Mobius kept a hand on him at all times to make sure of it. If he held on long enough– but he didn’t need to hang on now, he just wanted to.

A private room was available to them, thankfully. Mobius (gently) dumped his beau into bed, demanding urgent medical care while Loki bickered back that he could wait. Mobius told him, lovingly, to shut up.

The medical professional (whose name Mobius could not recall) tended to his beau soon after, stammered in awe examining his injuries– which were mostly invisible to Mobius, having been told Loki had hundreds of thousands “micro-rips” throughout his entire muscle system. She was surprised he could still walk, nevermind without pain.

“No wonder it hurt so bad,” Mobius would say, nudging his beau playfully. As if sparing his feelings, Loki nodded along with his own tormented half-grimace, half-smile. Then, he was fit with primitive looking I.V.s, his limbs sporadically wrapped with bandages. He would maneuver himself to lay his head on Mobius' shoulder despite being specifically told not to move. He leant his weight to him; Mobius gratefully took the pressure, holding him as close as he could despite the awkward position the stool pushed against the bed forced him into.

Two hours and forty-four minutes. Mobius would lose count after that. He wouldn’t bother checking his watch, too focused on Loki to even look away for more than a few seconds. That, and his hand was slapped away by his beau when he attempted to check the time. It didn’t feel as though he needed to count, anyway. Loki was there, and he was okay. (For the most part.) He was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

It had been somewhere around seven hours since Loki returned to him.

Mobius sat by his side in the Infirmary for five of those hours, only leaving to grab them both a bite to eat; he’d even asked for a pillow and blanket to prepare to stay the night, when the doctor, who he now knew as Dr. Sandra, approached to discuss getting him discharged. Loki was stable enough to leave, his condition wasn’t considered an emergency anymore, according to her.

“Does he have anywhere to stay?” Dr. Sandra asked.

“I can take him back to my apartment.” Suggested Mobius. Loki shot him a concerned glance.

“Good. He needs to be resting for at least two more days; even though he’s stable, his body is still recovering from the time-slipping.”

“Two days?” Asked Loki. Mobius could tell the sudden panic rising in his beau, he put a bracing palm up, reassuring:

“It’s just to make sure you heal correctly, Loki–”

Loki cut him off to argue: “No! We don’t have time for me to just lounge around. Everything as we know it could collapse in two days.” In response to Mobius’ sigh, he shuffled into his personal bubble. “I agreed to stay here until I was okay– and now, I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still injured.”

“I can walk, I can talk.” He gestured to himself. Ghosted his hand over Mobius’ chest as he made his point: “Mobius, we need to find Sylvie.”

“Dox and her team are tracking her right now.”

“They might not find her in time–”

“Loki, please. I just got you back, I don’t want you running off again. Remember when I said I didn’t want your body to give out in the middle of tracking her down?” He grabbed his beau’s hand, squeezing for emphasis. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself beyond repair. Dox’s team can handle it. You need to rest.”

Mobius was the only person he could recall that could get Loki to stand down so easily, as he leaned back into bed, huffing: “...Fine.” He squeezed Mobius' hand. “Fine.”

“Can we get him discharged, please?” She nodded. “Thank you.”

…

So to Mobius’ apartment they went. Fortunately, they only had to make two elevator trips and the walk, as a collective, wasn’t that bad. Mobius could tell Loki was antsy– he darted his eyes around and constantly glanced at any TVA worker who would pass them by. To make sure he didn’t run off, he kept a hand on his elbow. He suggested: “Seeing as you’re going to be staying at my place, in the TVA, we could do some hunting of our own; look at the logs of everyone’s Tempad transmissions, see if we can find Ravonna or Sylvie that way,” He glanced back, ran his eyes over Loki’s disheveled and dirt-smeared body. “but in the meantime, we really need to get you a bath.”

Loki moved a hand over his torso, like he was suddenly self-conscious. “Very kind of you to say, Mobius.”

“My pleasure.” Mobius held off from entering the first elevator until his beau walked in first, as if holding the door open for him.

When Mobius threw the question “did they at least give you pain meds?” to his beau, he said: “they did.” Supposedly, the dose they gave him was going to last until 7:00 PM, then he would need to go back. Mobius asked why they didn’t just give him the bottle; they didn’t trust him, Loki lamented, they likely just saw a Loki, not Loki. Mobius told him he would’ve trusted him. Loki smiled.

Despite his good attitude, Mobius could tell he was still in pain. He kept a hold on every railing he could, sitting on them if possible; his expression permanently carved a grimace into his face.

On more than one occasion, he silently offered his arm or shoulder for his beau to hang onto, and was denied every time; there were too many people, according to Loki. When they left the elevator to find Mobius’ apartment in the maze of hallways that made up the Agent Housing department, however, his beau practically collapsed onto him. Despite being completely surprised, Mobius recovered quickly, letting Loki get the hold on him he needed to keep walking. It ended up with Loki’s arm around his shoulder, with Mobius anchoring his own around his waist, and using his other hand, on Loki’s chest, to keep him upright. His beau openly grunted and winced with every step. Mobius was a little proud of himself for it, in a weird way. Knowing that his beau didn’t feel the need to hide his discomfort from him. Though the fact that he was still in so much pain even after every form of management the Infirmary exhausted concerned him.

He halfheartedly quipped: “You’re gonna make it, don’t worry.” Loki didn’t think it was as amusing as he hoped he would.

…

“Oh, here,” A light bulb appeared above Mobius’ head, he carefully maneuvered around Loki – who sat on the lip of his tub – and pulled a shelflike thing from the side of his medicine cabinet, it apparently having its own perch; “This’ll work,” he explained: “I use this rack to keep my magazines dry if I wanna read them.”

“You read magazines while you bathe?” Loki shot the questions with a mixture of pain and judgment in his voice; he had a good seat, on the edge of the tub, (the whole tub forced against the wall as a half-bath/half-shower) but he still struggled to keep himself upright. The only bathroom in Mobius’ apartment had been made for one person to move comfortably, so having two was challenging; “bulky” was a good way to describe it – squared off finishes and angular decorations, one singular potted succulent atop his cabinet; everything was colored a mixture of teal, orange, or white.

Mobius huffed. He reached for the towels he kept stashed in the top shelf of the cabinet. “A bath is one of the only breaks I get, I like to make the most of it.” He said; pulled out one of the bulkier ones, rolling it up into a log, and placed it onto the rack. Then, he locked the rack in place near the drain, so when Loki set his head on it, he’d be facing the showerhead. Theoretically, this would be the most comfortable position for them all. Granted, Mobius’ tub was a little cramped. He patted the lip of the tub closest to him, making a face toward his beau that said “here you are”.

Loki shot him a slightly judgemental look that he dismissed; “so, are you going to…” he muttered, pointing toward the door with his thumb (in doing so, he winced). “What’s your role here?”

“Well, my role would be your boyfriend, presumably. I can wash your hair, help you out; or just stand there and watch if you’re into that.”

He rubbed his face in annoyance (Mobius inferred that it was to hide a coy smile). Then, he pointed a stern finger up at him. “You can help, just don’t treat me like a child.”

“Noted.” Said Mobius, quickly. “You can think of me as one of your servants if that makes you feel better. You had those on Asgard, right?”

Playfully disappointed, his beau shook his head. “You’re incredibly cheesy.”

“Just doing my best to help.” In a smooth motion, Mobius turned on the bathtub faucet. He checked two or three times to make sure it was a temperature Loki liked.

Then, he helped Loki undress. He mostly just helped with getting his beau’s arms out of the sleeves without him hurting himself. The pants and everything underneath that was Loki’s job. In the meantime, while Loki struggled with getting off his slacks, Mobius removed his overcoat, shoes, and tie, rolled up his sleeves, feeling overdressed in comparison. This was a stark contrast to the other evenings they’d had; sure, having Loki naked before him was always a delight, but it didn’t come with any of the more intimate or sexual feelings; that part of his brain had turned off, dedicated instead to keeping his beau in as little pain as possible, almost protective.

He insisted on helping Loki remove his bandages, however. That was to mean that he would do it for him, gently peeling off the dressings, wincing at the dried blood, resisting the urge to grab a washcloth right then and there and clean it, when it would get cleaned anyway. Loki seemed to appreciate not having any more work to do.

Despite his knees aching in protest, Mobius lowered down to kneel beside the tub. He set a hand on his beau’s back to keep him from falling backward as he sank into the water. He’d crossed his legs to fit, set his head on the toweled rack, and carefully, Mobius sweeped his hair out from beneath his head– having moved his hand to the back of Loki’s head in the process. His body became obscured under the water. He sighed. Mobius didn’t realize how tense he was until he relaxed. The tension in his eyebrows released after a minute, his face softened. His eyes closed as if this was the first comfort he’d indulged in in years.

“Comfortable?” Asked Mobius; Loki nodded, just barely. “Good.”

He let the moment simmer. As quietly as he could, he got up and rummaged around the cabinet beneath his sink; he found his fancy shampoo and conditioner, products he saved for special occasions (occasions which were getting more frequent with Loki around).

With a hum to let his beau know he was approaching, Mobius rinsed his hair with the showerhead, poured a quarter-sized dollop of shampoo into his palm, and began to work it in. It had been so long since he’d taken proper care of his own hair that his memory was lost when it came to most things about general hair-care. But Loki didn’t seem to mind. Mobius had a hunch that he’d fallen asleep. Though, he was surprised to hear a noise of contentment when he gave him his best attempt at a scalp massage. It ended up lulling him into a deeper sleep, Mobius guessed, not stirring when he rinsed out his hair once, then twice.

After two rounds of shampoo, he applied the conditioner, and went on a five-minute adventure to find a hairbrush; he returned with one he stole from Ravonna’s abandoned office. He figured a nice brushing while the conditioner soaked would have been a good move. And she wasn’t going to miss it.

Loki’s soft breaths morphed into quiet snoring, (much to Mobius’ delight), as he brushed through his hair in sections; he learned as he went, starting from the bottom and working his way up. He made sure the pressure he used was feather-light, both because he didn’t want to wake up his beau, and to not add to the discomfort he was already feeling. This had been the first time he’d brushed anyone’s hair. He never thought he would be brushing someone’s hair. Especially not a Loki’s. Especially not a Loki who had spent the better part of two hours tearing himself in and out of reality after fighting a man who controlled all of time and fabricated the basis of his very existence to ward against multiversal war; in a strange predicament, he was. But, when he really thought about it… he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He rinsed out the conditioner thoroughly, brushed his hair with his fingers. Then, he watched. Not creepily, he hoped– he set a hand on Loki’s face, almost cradling his head as he slept; his face held no tension. He looked so peaceful when he slept. Mobius watched in adoration.

“Hey,” He said, softer than a whisper, as he gently pressed his thumb into Loki’s cheek; he was about to again when his beau’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi.”

“...Hi.” Loki whispered back with all of the affection of a moody tiger that’d just been forcefully woken up from its nap. Mobius beamed at him.

“I didn’t wanna wake you up, but I just thought I’d ask permission: can I scrub you down?” Loki’s eyes widened in alarm for a half-second before Mobius quickly added on: “You’re probably in too much pain to do it yourself, so I thought I could do it for you. You can say no.”

“Uhm… Yeah. Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Good, good. Oh, also–” Quickly, he reached over Loki, grabbed his two bottles of body wash, and presented them for his beau. Even when he was mostly awake, Mobius spoke in a low voice so as not to disturb him. “Do you want Summer Beach Day, or Ocean Glow?”

“Is everything you own beach themed?”

Mobius conceded: “I also have a Eucalyptus and Mint body wash somewhere. I can go find it if you want.”

“No,” He shook his head– glanced at his wrinkled fingertips before putting his hand back in the water. “Ocean Glow is fine. Sounds the most appetizing.”

“Well, you’re not gonna eat it.” Loki’s mouth thinned into a line, unamused, but Mobius very well was. “Here.” Flicking the cap open – after setting the other bottle down – he held Ocean Glow up to Loki’s nose. He gave a questioning thumbs up, to which his beau nodded.

Nodding in response, he set the bottles down– dipped his washcloth into the water and wrung it out. “Let me get this first…” He muttered to an invisible audience; he tilted Loki’s head toward himself with a gentle hand on his chin, and he dabbed at the cut on his temple– a cut he’d been eyeing since his beau returned. Loki barely winced. He stared at Mobius, eyes wide with more curiosity than fear; Mobius worked in silence, making sure to get any dried blood without disturbing the scab, and he broadened out, wiping off his beau’s face of any excess dirt. “There we go.” When he pulled back he got the full picture of Loki’s expression– he looked awestruck, eyes watering.

Mobius was concerned for half a second, but then his eyes softened, he sighed out his nose; he set his hand in his beau’s hair, thumb brushing over his forehead and into his hair.

“‘m sorry.” Loki whispered.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” He breathed his words out; his throat closed at the very end, he gulped– forced himself to break out of the trance. A tear sat just beneath his eye; he took his hand out of the water to wipe off his face, surprised at himself. Before he could look away, though, Mobius leaned in and kissed his forehead.

Pulling away, he held his hand out for Loki to take, and when he did, he ran the washcloth up his arm as if scanning for more wounds; he held Loki’s arm in such a way that he didn’t have to hold his muscles tense for Mobius’ convenience. Humming victoriously to himself, Mobius wiped down the cut on his beau’s upper arm.

He explained when Loki lifted a questioning eyebrow toward him. “I figured soap would irritate it.”

Loki didn’t fall asleep again, too preoccupied with staring a hole into Mobius’ head as he scrubbed him down with a now-lathered washcloth. (Mobius muttered something about being embarrassed that he didn’t have anything to work as a more efficient scrubber.) He started with Loki’s left arm, then his right, then his shoulders and neck; he pointedly avoided any more wounds he came across, making a mental note to get his first aid kit later. He waited for Loki’s go-ahead before moving down his chest and stomach; it required him to start draining the tub – much to his beau’s chagrin – but he explained it was so that he didn’t have to get out or move. Killing two birds with one stone, he scrubbed his back as well; he plugged the drain again when the waterline lowered to Loki’s waist. He scrubbed his legs and outer thighs, handing him the washcloth to do the rest; despite being partners, Mobius didn’t want to overstep. Especially when Loki was so vulnerable.

When it was all said and done, he gave his beau a final rinse off with the shower head, helped him out of the tub– Loki seized his arm tightly.

“Thank you.” He whispered. Like someone had hit the pause button on a TV show, Mobius froze.

“...You don’t need to thank me. It’s really no problem.” Leaning in, he kissed his forehead again, and murmured: “Let’s get you dressed.”

Loki seemed to be feeling better altogether, adding to Mobius’ pride, as he slunk into a new set of clothes. They redressed his wounds, and Mobius made him a quick meal. He was still in pain, sure, he complained about that plenty, but the hot water did him good, physically and mentally. Mobius gave him his bed to sleep in. Loki slept for the rest of the day. Seven hours turned into twelve. He couldn’t help but count the hours. He had no reason to be afraid of his beau leaving him again – that problem was solved – but every second that passed was another second to spend with him. Every second was so important. He had fallen asleep somewhere around the thirteen hour mark, just beside Loki. When they woke up again, they would find themselves with their hands entangled.

They had work to do, but not right now. They could relax. They would be okay.