Work Text:
There are just some things Mobius M. Mobius would prefer to keep close to his chest. His middle name, for example (although there has been some speculation as to what that M stands for, with the first guess hitting a home run. He is, after all, dealing with a guy, or rather god, who is too smart for his own good).
It’s not that Mobius doesn’t like getting to know people. He does, some more than others, though the talky face-to-face doesn’t always appeal as much as sitting at his desk and watching a life play out in front of his very eyes. And sometimes (but rarely, these days), he decides to avoid both of those things and instead kicks back with a magazine, letting himself dream a what-if or two.
He’s not that much of a complicated fella, considering all that. So they might say, anyway, during one of those face-to-face meetings. (Truthfully, he doesn’t mind the talky talky, depending on his conversation partner. He might even get a kick out of it, when that partner is someone he looks up to, physically or otherwise). Again, it’s not that Mobius doesn’t like getting to know people. He just thinks it’s a wise move to keep some distance when dealing with a professional relationship.
Because that’s all it is, this thing between him and Loki. No matter what wild ideas Ravonna has about Mobius having a soft spot for broken things. “I don’t think so,” he counters, his confidence levels sitting at around a seventy-five when she brings this up. But he has reason to be somewhat confident (except he probably doesn’t, and they both know this).
He doesn’t tell Loki his last name, not at first. There’s a lot of things Mobius doesn’t tell Loki, or shouldn’t, until he does, or it gets drawn out by a guy who has a never-ending supply of . . . God, so many Loki-like qualities. Pure arrogance. Neediness. A curious hint of sweetness. The aforementioned smarts working overtime, not to mention his tendency toward being a self-proclaimed mischievous scamp.
It’s exhausting, is what it is. And Mobius tells Loki that to his face, during one of those moments in the break room when a little peace and quiet is sorely needed. And then Mobius brings it up again, at his desk. And once more, who knows where. Maybe the break room again. This newfound and frequent habit of addressing Loki’s complaints department might have caused said complaints to blur together (though not really. Mobius just likes to tell him that, because the reaction he receives is something to remember).
“You know, I seem to recall a time when you knew how to keep your mouth shut.”
“What, here?” Loki immediately replies, his eyebrows shooting up as if he just can’t believe it. And that makes two of them, even if the memory of their first day together is still incredibly fresh in Mobius’s mind.
“On Asgard. Before you got a little too green-eyed for your own good and ruined Thor’s big day.”
“You’ve studied my file that closely, have you?” Loki asks with a grin, then changes his tune. “Clearly not, or you’d know that my envy toward my brother started long before his coronation.”
“No, I know that,” Mobius says, because he does. There’s not a file he knows better than Loki Laufeyson’s.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“It wasn’t that I was quiet, Mobius,” Loki starts up again after a blessed five seconds of silence, though his expression isn’t that of arrogance, but something far more reserved. Almost delicate. Which should be odd, given his stature, but it is what it is. “I just knew when to make myself scarce and listen.”
Mobius recognizes that expression. It’s one he’s seen featured countless times in a file he knows all too well. Not the face of a scared little boy, but enough to make him want to reach out a hand or offer a few words of comfort.
He doesn’t. It’s an advantage of having taken in so many of Loki’s greatest hits. Lies aren’t always spoken. Mobius figured that one out a long time ago. The words might be the truth (not always, yet this time, sure, why not), but that delicate expression is painting a pretty picture made up of some curious falsehoods. And why? A closer look makes it damn clear there are no sad tales attached to this particular notion of Loki listening.
“What are you up to?”
“What is your fascination with asking me that question?” Loki counters, looking like he’s almost hurt by this well-founded accusation of mischief. It doesn’t hold. That smile breaks through a moment later. “I would have thought we were past suspicion by now.”
“Yeah. But the thing is, Loki, I know your entire life. I know you.”
“So you keep saying.” In the beat that follows, they stare at each other, the searching glint of Loki’s eyes causing Mobius to feel a little too seen (and warm, although he would never admit that out loud). “Do I impress you?”
“Every Loki variant impresses me,” he replies, then—because he just can’t help himself—immediately adds, “Some more than others.”
It makes its mark, that comment, garnering the exact reaction he knew it would. “But none more than the actual Loki, right?” Loki asks, pointing to himself like the needy not-little god that he is. And truth be told, it’s a fair question with a three-letter word response. “Mobius?”
“I think it’s bedtime,” is all Mobius says before patting Loki on the arm and abandoning him for the evening.
The thought of having a bit of a rest is pretty appealing. But instead, Mobius heads to the Time Theater, shuts the door, and pulls up a familiar file. It’s Asgard he finds himself watching, a conversation he knows too well. All these lies, Loki . . . They don’t come as a surprise. Why would they? He is, after all, history’s most reliable liar, a skill which, Mobius thinks, developed early on as a means to garner attention. Or ward it off.
Sometimes, Mobius sits there, smiling to himself as the most conniving and eloquent bullshit is thrown out into the world. Other times, however, he feels kinda bad for the guy. And then there's the rest of the times . . .
“Why are you watching this?” Loki asks, and Mobius almost falls out of his seat.
“What the—the door was closed, Loki!”
“Well, it wasn’t locked.”
“No, that’s not . . .” he trails off, throwing up a look that does little to change the situation. “What I mean is, how did you sneak in without me hearing you?”
“I don’t need magic to make an impressive entrance, I have my ways.”
“Well, yeah, obviously. But knocking works just as well as sneaking.”
“I wasn’t sneaking.”
“. . . okay.”
“Why are you watching this?” Loki again asks after a beat, his gaze turning only briefly toward the screen.
There’s a logical answer, Mobius is sure. It just isn’t coming to mind. Not immediately, anyway. “Because it helps.”
“Oh?”
“It . . . the better I know you, the better I can understand the other Loki.”
“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Loki counters. It’s a very good question, one that Mobius chooses not to answer.
“Do you want to watch?” he asks instead.
“I’ve lived it.”
“So that’s a no?”
Loki’s gaze again flickers toward the screen to take in Odin’s sleeping face before finding Mobius. “Turn it off.”
Mobius does as he’s told. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Whatever is on your mind.”
Deflection, as it turns out. “The M in your name—”
“I’m not telling you what it stands for.”
“I’ve already solved it, haven’t I?” Loki asks, his smile saying he knows the truth. And he’s right to think that. “Was I right? Is it a third Mobius?”
“I’m not telling, Loki.”
“And I respect your decision.”
“No, you don’t.”
In the brief pause that follows, Loki’s expression again loses any hint of arrogance, his apparent vulnerability shining through. “Do you really think so little of me?”
“No,” Mobius honestly replies, “I don’t think that.”
“You can trust me, Mobius.”
If only that were true.
Two days later, he’s back in Ravonna’s office, again being told he has “a soft spot for broken things.”
“I don’t think so,” he counters, his confidence levels sitting at around a fifty-five, the twenty percent drop suggesting something he’s still not sure he’s ready to admit to himself. Not yet.
As it turns out, he has no choice. He’s tired, he’s a tad cranky, and maybe, just maybe a little vulnerable himself. In a fabricated world, perhaps he would be able to pretend that’s why he (very) briefly becomes flustered when Loki reaches out, the word ‘adorable’ leaving his lips. However, it’s just another lie, and Mobius has already had his share of them. He can recognize an attempt at a double-cross, and he knows manipulation works like a charm at least thirty percent of the time. Maybe forty. Who even knows anymore? Mobius. But not in that moment, not when Loki reaches out to adjust Mobius’s tie.
No, when that happens, there’s only one thought that springs to mind: I am so screwed.