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The proclaimed safehouse had only lived up to its name for barely three days, following the invasion of the TVA.

And when the enemy had shockingly located them, all hell had broken loose.

Somehow, miraculously, Mobius had managed to conceal Loki from the other ninety-six occupants up to that point, keeping him tucked away in his tiny quarters for all of that time without his presence being revealed to a single soul. A feat in itself, but what was even more miraculous was that Loki was perfectly content to quite literally lay low, and basically do nothing for the duration.

Of course, apart from remarkably simplifying the undertaking for Mobius, this was otherwise a significant concern. 

For when he’d first arrived at the bunker facility after his narrow escape from the TVA, and had found Loki awaiting him in his allocated room — appearing out of nowhere, with his powers and spirit crushed beyond reason — he had insisted that the damage he’d taken from the attack on his seiðr was only temporary. This indeed appeared to be the case to begin with, given that later that night he’d already been able to perform some minor telekinesis… even if it had left him gasping for breath. But three days later, when they’d been forced to flee the safehouse, nothing had improved, and Loki was quite literally powerless to defend himself against any threat, let alone assist anyone else. Not only was he still exhausted to the point of debilitation, but he seemed to be in lasting physical pain, wincing and issuing involuntary and rather piteous noises when moving sluggishly around their cramped room, whenever he complained he’d been idle for too long. 

When Mobius had questioned him about it, however, insistent in his mounting concern, Loki had unsurprisingly and unconvincingly shrugged it off, admitting nothing more than that it was “a magical injury” and that he “just needed time to heal.”

Mobius had no choice but to believe him, because what more could he do? It’s not like he didn’t have a thousand other things to be worrying about, anyway.

But then, the warning alarms had blared out of nowhere on their fourth evening in the safehouse, and their instructions for such an event were clear, having been drilled into them in the prior months of training and preparation… ‘Buddy up, and get the hell out of there.’

Every TVA employee who was allocated a tempad had had it pre-programmed with an alternate safehouse for them and a partner to retreat to in case of emergency; each one somewhere different so as to spread them out across the timelines. This was both for security, to hopefully confuse any invading force attempting to trace them, and also so that no other safehouses were unexpectedly inundated with an excess of additional refugees.

However, being the ninety-seventh member of his facility, and the guy on top, Mobius hadn’t actually been partnered with anyone. 

Until now, of course.

Loki’s eyes flew wide when the alarm rang out, shooting upright with a gasp from where he’d been slumped spiritlessly against the wall adjacent to the bed. 

“What’s that?” he blurted in fright, staring up at Mobius, who had only walked in a minute ago from his latest shift in the command centre. 

He was halfway through removing his jacket, having first roused a dozing Loki by scattering kisses all over his face… which had earned him a grumble, a playful swat, and a tease of a smile that had lightened his heart. 

But now he was frozen, his eyes locked with Loki’s.

“We gotta go,” was all he said, then immediately forced himself into action, shrugging his jacket back on, before darting around shoving a few meagre supplies into his TVA-issue duffel bag. 

Loki scrambled to his feet with barely a flinch, consternation apparently overriding his perpetual discomfort. 

“Go? Go where?” he asked breathlessly, “Mobius…”

“Another safehouse,” Mobius explained, then immediately shot him a look, because he knew what was coming.

“I can’t. Mobius, you know I can’t,” he reminded him with a desperate urgency. “No one can–”

“Know about you, I know, I know,” Mobius finished, exasperated and growing further panicked himself. “But what else do you suggest? We have to go now.”

Moving quickly, Loki snatched up the tempad from the corner shelves before Mobius had the chance to grab it, and called up a timedoor, nodding towards it pointedly as Mobius hefted his bag.

“Are you sure?” Mobius asked, but he knew he’d go anywhere with Loki, at his behest, especially now that they were together, in every sense of the word.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Loki replied, and it was both touching and troubling that he would willingly be so frank. “But better this, than me putting anyone else at risk.”

“Oh, but I’m fair game, am I?” he bit back, knowing Loki would catch the humour buried beneath.

“No, I just know it’s utterly useless to try and persuade you to disassociate yourself from me.”

Mobius’ shrug of concession was met with a knowing little smirk, and with a grim smile in return, he grabbed Loki’s hand, tugging him through the timedoor as the unmistakable sound of marching footsteps began echoing ominously down the corridor beyond their closed door.

Three days in the safehouse… but coming up to three weeks on the run. 

Because that had turned out to be Loki’s perhaps not-so-stellar solution. To simply keep on running — world to world, timeline to timeline — despite his unrelenting affliction, and the fact they were massively unprepared, and had to resort to stealing supplies from apocalypses and suchlike, à la Sylvie.

Having said that, they weren’t doing too badly for themselves, all things considered, and so far hadn’t been traced by either the TVA nor anyone less friendly… not to their knowledge, at least. But it was becoming extremely draining for the both of them, and Mobius was a couple of days into feeling as though he wasn’t sure he could keep going, not without stopping to rest for a reasonable stint. 

He was loath to mention it to Loki, and so hadn’t, but once he found himself unable to drag his body completely upright after they’d already taken a couple of hours’ breather, he knew that it was time.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Loki asked him, frowning in puzzlement. 

The days-old endearment still managed to give him a burst of butterflies, even as he fell back against the wall they’d been reclining upon with a ragged breath.

Stepping around in front of him, pale and wan himself; eyes shadowed and creased with suppressed suffering, Loki’s brow was pinched in concern, his cool hand coming up to cup Mobius’ cheek. 

“I think… I think I need to rest, sweetheart,” Mobius muttered apologetically, leaning into the touch. “Properly, I mean. We haven’t stopped since we left the safehouse– and yes, I know why,” he hurried on, as Loki opened his mouth, “I understand why you’re scared to stop. But I think I have to. We have to,” he amended pointedly. And, looking into his eyes, he could perceive the naked longing there; Loki not bothering to hide that he too was craving respite. “Is there anywhere we could lay low for a while, where you’ll feel relatively safe? Just for a short time… a day or two, tops.”

Loki backed into the wall beside him, slouching into the rough brickwork, his fingers catching Mobius’ and squeezing weakly.

“Let me think,” he breathed, head tipping back as his eyes closed, and despite his haggard appearance, Mobius couldn’t help but stare at him dazedly, ever astounded that this beautiful, clever, powerful being genuinely wished to be with him.

They’d both shown remarkable restraint with regard to taking things slowly in their fledgling relationship, though of course, it helped that the expected intensity of feelings and desires amplified by spending every second together for more than three weeks was sufficiently offset by their dismal circumstances and mounting fatigue, not to mention whatever was causing Loki’s unrelenting condition.

Naturally there had been plenty of incidents — though no more than passing moments, really — when they’d let themselves become swept up in each other… indulging in mere teases and tastes of what one day might be, if ever they were fortunate enough for their trials to be over.  

Or at the very least, indefinitely suspended.

But as he allowed himself such a moment right then, gazing at Loki as he traced his enviable jawline with his eyes and fantasised that it was instead with his lips, Mobius was cruelly struck by a wave of dizziness that unfortunately had nothing to do with amorous inclinations, and with a near-silent groan he mirrored Loki, thunking his head back gently against the wall.

“There’s a place on Asgard,” Loki murmured after a long silence, oblivious to his suffering, “In the mountains. A magical retreat, for study and training… and it’s warded against detection from most kinds of intruders, I believe. Well, it was in my timeline, anyway.”

“I don’t remember that,” Mobius mumbled, his vertigo taking its sweet time to fade, “Mustn’t have made your highlights reel.” Then he frowned as something else occurred to him. “Anyway, won’t there be people there?” 

“Not if I can get us to a timeline where Asgard is abandoned. There’s a few of them out there, but it’s difficult to interpret my knowledge of specific branches into timedoor coordinates.”

“You need Sylvie’s thingy,” he replied, cracking his eyes a little; the orange-tinted glare from the sun of the world they were on suddenly seeming a fair bit brighter than it had only minutes ago.

Loki huffed in agreement, but didn’t speak, seemingly thinking intently.

They remained still and silent for a short time after that, Mobius growing uncertain as to whether Loki was actually puzzling out a solution, or was almost falling asleep like him.

The answer came a minute later when Loki suddenly straightened to stand upright, a small grunt of pain that accompanied the movement rousing Mobius more effectively than anything else would have in that moment. 

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” Loki announced, the weary strain in his voice evident despite his clear effort to minimise it. 

“Yeah?” Mobius rolled his head sideways to look at him again, suitably impressed, even if his lacklustre tone suggested otherwise.

Loki smiled down at him and held out his hand, Mobius dutifully handing over the tempad before bending lethargically to retrieve their bags — multiple now, and stocked with such things as long-life food, basic first aid supplies, and a couple of changes of clothing for each of them (which Loki insisted on magicking clean, despite the fact it left him severely depleted for hours afterwards). 

“Here, let me help,” came Loki’s lilting voice at his shoulder, Mobius barely aware he’d been fumbling with the strap of the overlarge backpack they’d acquired, his hands unusually clumsy and enfeebled.

He gratefully allowed Loki to hoist the heavier bag, guilty at knowing it would probably hurt him, but overcome by enervation so profound that it was pointless to object.

The sound of a timedoor activating had become evocative of conflicting impressions of both safety and danger, not to mention a steadily increasing melancholy attributed to the inherent associations with the TVA. 

His home, for better or worse, and Loki insinuated that he felt much the same. 

But now, post-invasion, their home was nothing more than each other, and he duly recognised that they were blessed enough to have that.

With a quick glance around to ensure they had everything, Loki guided Mobius through the timedoor with a supportive hand on his back, as they stepped from the sandy, sunbaked desert village through to the icy chill of the Asgardian mountains.

Gasping at the abruptness of the change in temperature, Mobius wrapped his arms around himself, the t-shirt he was wearing laughably inadequate for even a few seconds in such an environment.

“Geez, Loki, you c-couldn’t have brought us here in s-summer?” he forced out between violent shudders, keenly aware that even in their bags they had nothing warmer to wear than basic hoodies. 

“There is no summer here,” Loki explained, folding his own arms tightly in discomfort. “This particular version of Asgard was evacuated after the Casket of Ancient Winters was unleashed by the enemy, and left abandoned with the intention that the survivors — or for some, their descendants — would one day return, once the land had sufficiently recovered to again sustain life.”

He began stepping forward through the tall, skeletal remnants of trees that once had formed the lush mountainside forest, heading towards what appeared in the greyish gloom to be the ruins of a stone-based structure.

“So w-where’s this m-magical retreat of yours?” Mobius pressed, “Behind those r-ruins?”

If nothing else, the extreme cold had given him a transient boost of energy… or more the illusion of such, piercing through his lethargy and awakening his senses enough that he was able to follow along in Loki’s wake. 

“It is the ruins,” Loki replied, turning back to him, the corner of his mouth lifting in an enigmatic smile.

It didn’t last more than a moment, however, his expression clouding in dismay as he took in Mobius’ state.

“Gods, I’m sorry,” he gushed, moving back to his side. “It’s freezing, I know. Come here.” 

Dropping the backpack, he pulled Mobius into his arms, briskly rubbing his hands over his shoulders and back, managing to generate a meagre hint of warmth.

“I need to conjure us some appropriate outerwear,” he acknowledged with regret, “But it might actually take me out, at least momentarily, so we should probably get inside first. If the magical shielding is still in effect, it should be a bit warmer in there, anyway.”

“Where’s ‘in there’?” Mobius mumbled, his face buried in Loki’s shoulder as he relished even the scant relief. “It’s just a pile of rocks.”

“Take my hand, and I’ll show you.”

He drew away and slid his hand down to lace their fingers, Mobius immediately shivering in earnest as Loki hastily hauled his pack once more, leading them onwards.

When they got right up close to the haphazardly scattered stones, which looked to have formed a thick wall or structure perhaps centuries ago, Loki stopped, then slowly and cautiously reached out with his free hand… 

… and nothing happened.

Not at first, anyway. 

But, undeterred, he took a couple more tiny steps forward, edging towards the nearest of the stones, his hand remaining confidently outstretched.

Soon enough, there was a flash of magical energy, and for a split second, Mobius spotted a small but ornate temple-like structure beyond what had turned out to be an illusory barrier, causing him to jump in startlement.

“Neat,” he commented, recovering from the surprise, and he allowed himself to be led beyond with the utmost trust in his guide. 

The ruins vanished as soon as they passed through the shielding, and the lovely whitewashed facade of the magical learning facility emerged again in its place. They wasted no time in entering the suspiciously well-preserved building, both of them sighing in heady relief as the temperature shifted dramatically from ‘icy death’ to merely ‘uncomfortably cold’, the moment they stepped inside the main hall at the heart of the retreat. 

Wall sconces came alight one by one with glowing illumination, and Mobius fancied that he could detect the buzz of magical energy in the air, although that might have been his imagination.

Or, it could possibly be attributed to the fact that he was feeling worryingly unsteady again; his nerve endings fast becoming too sensitive, or perhaps not enough, as a resurgence of the spinning in his head again set him off-balance. Submitting to the glaring signals from his failing physiology, he dropped his duffel bag to the polished marble floor, his entire form following suit a scarce moment later. Collapsing onto his side with his head pillowed on his arm, he was utterly uncaring of the chilled, unforgiving surface beneath him, and released a long breath as his body dissolved into a puddle of lassitude. 

“Oh, Mobius,” Loki sighed, easing himself down and rubbing his shoulder in comfort. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise how exhausted you were. How dreadfully self-absorbed of me.”

“No… no. Definitely not,” Mobius murmured quietly in gentle reassurance, as his eyes slipped closed. “It really only hit me in the last day or two, I promise. All catching up at once or something, I guess.”

“Mm,” Loki hummed in understanding, and Mobius felt him shuffle around in order to lay down behind him, his arm snaking around his waist and pulling their bodies flush together.

The warmth pressed against his back was near intoxicating after being half-frozen outside, and it was all he could do not to moan indecently in pleasure. Barely curbing the urge, he instead sought out Loki’s hand and covered it with his own, pulling his arm more firmly around himself. 

A ghost of a chuckle tickled his ear, but then Loki tensed up for an excessively protracted moment; the stillness and silence deeply unnerving as Mobius noted that he seemed not to be breathing.

Unconsciously holding his own breath in rising alarm, Mobius braced himself to ask what was wrong, but the answer soon came as a pad of soft bedding swelled underneath them, instantly easing the irritating pressure on his shoulder and hip. A few seconds later, several thick, heavy blankets materialised over the top of them, and this time Mobius really couldn’t help vocalising his appreciation; their combined body heat already working to thaw the iciness that lingered upon his skin.

As was to be expected, however, Loki himself was far from assuaged.

The moment he ceased conjuring, he exhaled forcefully like the air had been punched from his lungs, a muted cry of pain and exertion torn from him unrestrainedly. 

“Loki!” Mobius exclaimed, trying to roll over, but finding himself too weak and uncoordinated to do much of anything. “Loki, gods. Are you okay?”

“Aghh,” came a pitiful groan, exhibitive of his gradually receding distress, and Mobius shakily drew the hand he was clasping up to his lips, kissing it lightly as he waited in vain for Loki’s fragile, ragged breathing to calm into something less frightening. 

“You shouldn’t’ve done that, sweet pea,” he whispered devastatedly. “It’s not cold enough in here for us to freeze to death, after all. You could’ve taken it slow, at least.” 

The admonishment was met with nothing more than a forcible kiss pressed to his shoulder, in between desperate, painful-sounding gasps. Then an agonised whimper, soon chased by another… and the arm that was around him went tellingly lax.

“Loki?” he prodded, and was not at all surprised when he was met with silence.

He knew that his usual response to something like this would at the very least be heightened apprehension. He also knew he should probably try once more to roll over; to get eyes on Loki and ensure he wasn’t actually about to die on him. But though Mobius’ worry was certainly intensely visceral, so was his crushing depletion, and all he could do was draw minimal comfort from the soft puffs of breath against the back of his neck, and the rapid but steady radial pulse he caught beneath his fingertips.

Blinking sluggishly, the lights dotted along the opposite wall smeared and blurred with his waning vision, and Mobius closed his eyes again, knowing that the best thing he could do for Loki was allow himself to benefit from the succour that had been provided, at far too great a cost. 

Not that he could’ve possibly stayed awake for a moment longer.

Ohh Hel. Why do I feel worse? Mobius thought fuzzily, as he effortfully dragged himself out of a fraught and troubled dreamscape. What was the point in even going to sleep?

That was sometimes the way though, he supposed, when one was so heavily affected by exhaustion… and furthermore, had the figurative weight of the entire cosmos relentlessly pressing down upon them.

As he very slowly came round from what felt to be an impossibly deep sleep, it occurred to Mobius that as well as his unalleviated fatigue, he also felt colder than he had when he’d all but passed out, and the moment this realisation struck, his body began rattling with violent chills. 

No… has the shielding failed?

Having regained some degree of awareness, however, it occurred to him that there was a notable absence of one particular Norse god — the vanished comfort of warmth and weight behind him unsettling enough to pull him away from the grasping arms of oblivion that persistently reached out for him. 

“Loki?” he called… or attempted to, his voice so weak and hoarse that even someone nearby would barely have heard it. 

And as he blinked blearily, the hall of magical learning coming into focus far too slowly around him, it was all too apparent that Loki was most certainly not anywhere nearby. 

Mobius’ breath caught in fear as he shot to sit upright, his head swimming so fiercely that his insides roiled with nausea, which he had to fight his way past before he could even consider struggling to his feet. 

Thanks to a convenient pillar a couple of metres' crawl away, he eventually managed to pull himself to stand, though leaning with his back against the freezing cold stonework caused another bout of uncontrollable shivering to take him over. 

“Loki?” 

His voice was only marginally louder this time, reedy and shaking under the weight of his suffering. 

And still there was no answering sound, no discernible sign of his beloved. 

Then, cracking his weary eyes open after belatedly realising they’d closed of their own accord, Mobius noticed that their backpack had been rifled through, some of the contents strewn upon the floor…

And from what he could tell, their two hoodies missing from the rather pathetic cache of clothing.

He must’ve gone outside, Mobius thought, and with burgeoning unease wondered what in the worlds would have possessed him to venture out there again. 

Actually, that was a fair point. Whatever it was couldn’t possibly be good, if it forced Loki to return to that barren, icy wilderness. 

His escalating disquiet inspired him to gather whatever meagre strength he had left, and he bent to extract the thickest of the blankets from his sleep-nest to pull around his shoulders, groaning quietly as he made his way to the front entrance, feet all but dragging with every step. 

Stopping at the threshold, he discovered that it was now nighttime outside, the stars overhead twinkling in eerie vigil from between the silhouettes of gnarled, dead trees. 

And the cold…

Jesus Christ, he moaned inwardly, hunching in on himself as he almost shook apart under the onslaught. Fuck, it’s so freezing…

And Loki was out there in it, and had been for who knew how long, the godsdamned idiot. 

“Loki!” he called once more, but when there was again no response, he resolutely tugged the blanket tighter around himself, and ignoring every protest of his abused body, ventured out into the imposing darkness. 

* * *

Stupid. 

Stupid. 

Stupid.

Like a mantra of self-flagellation, the word repeated itself in Mobius’ increasingly muzzy head, in time with every slow, trudging step. The only reason he was still moving was because he knew that if he stopped, he’d probably die. 

Yet still there had been no sign of Loki. No sign of anything, although that hardly came as a shock. 

And, as he’d very recently come to realise, there was one other thing that there had concerningly been no sign of, for quite some time now… 

He strained to extend his hand out to the side, weak and dazed, in order to triple-check.

Indeed, there was no longer any sign of the magical shielding of the hall of learning that he swore he’d been carefully circling, striving to keep the near-tangible barrier within arm’s reach at all times.

He’d wandered too far off-track.

Shit, Mobius thought for the dozenth time, dread sinking deep into his gut; the weight of it dragging him down to the ground as his enduring tenacity briefly failed him. 

He couldn't have been out there for more than twenty minutes, although admittedly his perception of time — not to mention everything else — was likely way off. But somehow, he’d managed to get himself unequivocally lost. 

“Loki,” he croaked out pathetically, his throat far too dry, and grown raw from the chill air he’d been sucking in with every laboured breath. 

From his crouched position, the darkened remains of the forest stood over him like pitiless sentinels, passing their deservedly harsh judgement at his supreme idiocy. 

Snorting softly in a moment of delirium, he somehow lurched back to his feet, trembling viciously with cold and fatigue as he forced himself to keep moving. The insubstantial blanket loosened around his shoulders, as what remained of his grip gradually diminished. 

Which way should I go? 

It was clear that his original plan to quickly seek out Loki and chide him for taking terrible risks was no longer feasible, and not only because it would be shockingly hypocritical. Mobius had no idea where he was, and for all he knew could already be so far from their temporary hideaway that Loki would never be able to find him. 

And he couldn’t stop, because he’d freeze. 

Although he may not actually have a choice, soon.

Wandering between the splintering trunks of the once-majestic trees, the disorientation only compounded as every square foot of this desolate place began to look like every other. Or perhaps his vision was suffering again, because as he squinted ahead, there was something moving towards him through the trees… one ‘something’, or was it three? 

Blinking hard, the shapes coalesced into one, as whatever it was darted around obstacles, loping easily across the uneven terrain with a grace that reminded him of—  

“Loki?” he breathed, frowning in confusion, then feeling like a fool as what was quite clearly a deer slowed to a trot as it approached, gazing up at him with large, liquid eyes. 

But… that couldn’t be right. This land had been cursed with a mystical ice age, and no animals such as this beautiful doe could have possibly survived. 

Then her eyes shimmered with bright viridescence, and as she quickly reshaped into the form of the other half of his heart, his knees gave out in profound relief, and Loki caught him against his chest.

“Mobius, what are you doing out here?” he forced out, choked with emotion, and likely the terrible strain of using his magic. “I came back inside, and- and you were gone… y-you were gone—”

His garbled rush of words broke off as his voice cracked, and Mobius wished he could wrap him up tight… or even at all, for that matter. But his arms were positively leaden, and he could no longer lift them, not even with a concerted effort. 

Loki’s trembling was worryingly violent; a devastating combination of cold, pain, fatigue and fear. 

“You ‘kay?” Mobius rasped into his sternum, where he’d slumped into him face-first, and all Loki could manage in response was a strangled sound of ambiguous sentiment.

Quaking arms pulled him in tight, and soft, ragged gasping revealed Loki’s surrender to tears. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered harshly, “Gods, Mobius, you had me terrified…” 

A sob was choked off into silence, gentle lips pressing against his brow— then another gasp, this of alarm, as frozen fingers grasped his cheeks in urgency.

“You’re burning hot,” Loki informed him, breathless and frightened, and Mobius shook his head in confusion, somehow managing to prise his eyes open and meet Loki’s tear-filled gaze, barely visible in the murkiness of watery moonlight. 

“But it’s cold…” he muttered, trailing off, his sluggish mind working far too slowly to comprehend. 

“You’re sick, my love,” Loki explained hushedly, stroking his brow, and the frostiness of his touch sent a powerful shudder coursing through him. “You have a high fever.”

Ohhh, he thought, in dawning realisation, strangely pleased to have an explanation as to why he felt so godsdamned terrible.

“I need to get you back inside,” Loki spoke again, almost to himself. “We’re not at all far from the retreat, if you can bear with me…”

“We’re not?” Mobius asked, gaining lucidity in surprise, and Loki made a sound like laughter, though it was too broken to carry any true humour. 

“No, no, not at all,” he replied in a rush. “And thank the gods, for I don’t know how much further I could have searched…”

As he spoke, he draped Mobius’ blanketed arm over his shoulders, slipping his other around his waist, and held him firmly to his side as they lumbered back towards their shelter at a snail's pace — the best either of them could manage by that stage, and even then only just. 

“An’ where were you?” Mobius eventually asked, the intended tone of demandingness lost in the subdued fragility of his voice. “You disappeared firs’,” he accused. 

Beginning to slur noticeably, his cognitive function was now numbed almost as much as his extremities, and he could scarcely put one foot in front of the other as Loki somehow sourced the requisite strength to pull him along. 

Nevertheless, he found himself waiting expectantly for an acceptable response. 

“I- I went out on patrol, after I awoke,” Loki confessed, not far above a whisper. “I needed to check the perimeter… that is, ensure that the wards were intact and functional, and confirm as best as I was able that we really are alone here.”

The white stone exterior of the hall of magic emerged from the shadows like a ghostly entity as they passed through the mystical energy field, and Loki’s shoulders melted beneath his arm in discernible relief. 

“Then when I’d finished and returned,” he continued, “And found that you’d… you’d…”

“Gone ‘n done something ‘nsanely stupid?” Mobius half-heartedly volunteered, struggling to keep his eyes open even as they staggered up the short ramp, and into the entryway. 

The comparable warmth that enveloped them as they made their way into the main hall had them both audibly groaning at the intensity of reprieve.  

“Yes, exactly,” Loki agreed breathily. “And now, knowing that you’re unwell…”

Leaving the rest of the thought unspoken, he eased Mobius down beside the abandoned pile of conjured blankets, then tore off one of the two hoodies he’d layered over his t-shirt, assisting Mobius in putting it on, and wrapping him in two more of the blankets. 

“We can’t let you overheat,” he murmured faintly, thinking aloud, “But the fact you've been exposed out there for so long… I- I think we need to warm you first; worry about the fever later…” 

Mobius watched him absently from the depths of boneless lethargy as he bustled about, fetching him bottled water and paracetamol from their bags, constructing a makeshift pillow from their small pile of clean clothes, and then wordlessly lowering him to lie on his side, cosying up behind him as they’d been doing when they’d first arrived. 

“Are you comfortable, darling?” Loki murmured close by his ear, an arm wrapping around him over the top of his blankets. 

He shuddered, unclear whether it was a genuine chill, or a reaction to Loki’s gentle breath ghosting over his skin. 

“I’ve definitely had worse,” he mumbled in response, and felt Loki’s smile as his lips brushed his cheek. 

Pulling another blanket up over himself, Loki finally joined him in recumbency, snuggling in close… but the tiniest grunt of discomfort garnered Mobius’ rapidly flagging attention.

“How’s your pain?” he asked, words running together with the influence of dwindling consciousness.

There was a very slight pause, so fleeting that Mobius only noticed because he was inherently attuned to these things. Then…

“Don’t worry about me,” Loki replied, conspicuously evasive. “I’ll be all right.”

And Mobius badly wanted to believe him.

The next two days passed in a blur of agitated fever dreams — frequently featuring robotic armies, or echoing safehouses full of bare, empty rooms — overlaid with the lasting impression of an anxious, panicked god hovering over him at all hours; a cooling hand to his brow, and proffering water and medicine that Mobius could barely stomach, but knew was absolutely necessary. 

By the end of the second day, it was clear that the height of his fevers had passed, but the debilitating fatigue was worse than ever, his body so enfeebled that he required Loki’s assistance even for bathroom visits… fortunately not beyond the door, although Loki insisted on verbal check-ins every few seconds whilst he was out of his sight. 

“‘M sorry. I know you didn’t sign up for this,” Mobius muttered that night, with no small degree of chagrin. 

He was attempting to eat something for the first time since falling ill; the dry crackers and accompanying juice box hardly his first choice, but undeniably sensible given how delicate he was feeling.

Loki was frowning at him bemusedly as they sat together on their makeshift bed, both of them now bundled in winter clothing that he’d managed to conjure the previous day, Mobius mercifully unaware until much later that he’d proceeded to pass out for a good hour or so following. 

“Sign up for what?” Loki queried gently, genuinely confused.

“Me. This,” he clarified, gesturing at himself with a careless flick of his hand. “Just over three weeks into a budding relationship, and you’ve found yourself lumped with having to care for a useless pile of misery,” he griped, face flushing with embarrassment for once, rather than fever. “Not exactly the height of romance we said we deserved.”

Loki shook his head, expression empathetic as he leaned in close, cupping his cheek with a tender touch. 

“Mobius,” he began, his name spoken with all the gentle reverence of prayer, “If I ‘signed up’, as you so indelicately put it, for anything at all, it was for love.” 

Insides lurching as a tiny hitch of breath caught in his chest, Mobius was momentarily stunned by the unprecedented — though wholly accurate — designation for what they had found in each other. But he rallied himself as best he could, reaching up to cover Loki’s hand with his own, and turning to press a kiss into his palm. 

Eyes brightening with affection, and a rare hint of joy, Loki ventured onwards.

“And love encompasses everything,” he proclaimed, a tiny shrug lifting his shoulder at the simple truth of his assertion. “The good and the bad, the smooth and the rough.” 

Tipping his head forward, Mobius met him halfway; their eyes slipping closed as foreheads pressed together in silent unity. 

“I’m here for it all, Mobius,” he promised, “As I suspect… I hope… you are too.”

“I am,” Mobius whispered in immediate confirmation, because this was far too important for any hesitance to allude otherwise, “Gods, Loki, of course I am.” 

He pulled away only far enough that he could kiss him soundly; their mutual exhaustion not quite permitting their latent passion to flare and take over, but the promise of it bubbling below the surface enough to leave them both fighting to draw breath by the time they broke apart.

Shattered, struggling and suffering, they’d certainly both seen better days. But as they once again caught and held each other’s gaze, their current predicament seemed diminished in scope in the face of their profound and zealous connection.

The two of them against the multiverse, just as it had always been… before they were even aware of it, themselves.

Still panting a little from the transient moment of ardour, Loki smirked lightly, glancing down at the forgotten package of crackers in Mobius’ lap.

“Now, best eat those repugnant things,” he insisted, “You’ll need your strength, after all, if you ever want to explore the, ahh… full extent of my feelings.” 

The suggestive teasing had Mobius grinning impishly, a welcome turnabout from his earlier sour mood.

But of course, as their joint misfortune seemed to often dictate, it was only a matter of a few short hours before the lighthearted moment was all but forgotten.

“Loki.”

Nothing again, not even the twitch of an eyelid. 

“Loki.”

Exactly like the previous twelve times he’d called Loki’s name.

“Loki, come on,” Mobius begged, shaking him lightly. “Please?” 

But still Loki slept on, giving no indication that he even possessed the capacity to respond to stimuli.

It was rather terrifying, if he were honest, and Mobius was beginning to fret.

“Loki, please,” he beseeched yet again, his voice weakening as his heart began hammering somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

Pressing a hand to his cheek — much as he’d earlier done in a more innocent moment of tender affection, when he’d first woken to find Loki out cold beside him — Mobius was startled to discover that even in the few short minutes since then, his temperature had skyrocketed. 

That’s new.

And based on how Mobius had spent the last few days? Very, very bad.

The velvet-soft skin was positively aflame under Mobius’ palm, sending panicked anxiety coursing through him, which was decidedly not something he needed when he was scarcely on the road to recovery himself.

“Loki. Sweet pea,” he tried again, bending over him now, stroking his brow with gentle fingers. “You gotta wake up.”

Desperation building, he tried patting his cheek briskly, more firmly than he would’ve liked. But needs must, because if Mobius couldn’t rouse him, he was going to have to consider taking action that was less than ideal, at least as far as Loki himself was concerned.

“Last chance, Loki,” he warned, getting right up close in his face, scrutinising his features and willing those eyes to peek open.

Then, struck by sudden inspiration, he recalled his recent discovery of how ticklish Loki was in a very particular spot just below his ear, and without wasting a moment, he tentatively danced his fingertips over the patch of feverish skin.

At first there was no reaction, and he had to forcibly quash his deep despondence. But after persisting several times, for a few seconds longer with each, Loki flinched infinitesimally; a tiny sound in his throat voicing his complaint. 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to have Mobius launching forward, bending over him again as he felt lightheaded in relief.

“Loki?” he breathed, going all in and planting a soft kiss on his lips, like some strange mockery of a fairytale. 

Loki didn’t exactly kiss him back, but the intention was there, and as Mobius pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, those gorgeous blue eyes had indeed cracked a few millimetres, and appeared to be trying to focus on him. 

“Hey… hey, honey,” Mobius murmured, cupping his blazing hot cheek, as Loki blinked a couple of times, frowning in confusion. “You with me?”

“M’bius?” he slurred, voice quiet and raspy.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” he reassured him. “You had me worried, there.”

“Wh’re ‘m I?” Loki asked, his breath coming rapid and shallow as his eyes darted around frenetically. “Wh’re my br’nchs?”

His speech was so inarticulate that even the Loki expert had to pause for half a moment to decipher it. But once he had, answering proved to be comparatively harder.

“Your… the– the branches aren’t under your contr- your... your guardianship anymore, remember?” he said unsteadily, with all the gentleness he could muster. But Loki simply shook his head, his lack of comprehension abundantly obvious.

“Why’re you’n my tree?”

But before Mobius could even begin to formulate a response, Loki’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he began convulsing, his entire body rocked by twitches and spasms that had Mobius feeling almost woozy with horror.

“Loki! Shit!” he cried, trying his hardest to roll him onto his side, but his pervading weakness was acute, and his efforts were for nought.

Besides, his hands were shaking far too much to even have a hope of getting a strong enough grip on him.

Fortunately the episode was over reasonably quickly, and although again unconscious, Loki was mercifully breathing normally in the aftermath, and not seeming to be in any further distress. 

Mobius, however, had reached his limits. 

The amalgamation of everything that had happened — the evacuation of the TVA, and of course the ghastly tension leading up to it, Loki’s clandestine return, then being on the run for weeks, and now Loki falling desperately ill and he himself still in the grips of it — forced him to acknowledge with no small degree of resignation that it was finally time.

Time to stop. To concede defeat.

Though… perhaps it needn’t be with the sort of finality that Loki would find objectionable?

Giddy from the adrenaline crash following Loki’s seizure, he bent over his beloved once more, his lips scalded by superheated skin as he peppered several kisses over his face. Then, with a grumble of effort, Mobius scooted over to his duffel bag and fumbled around inside, eventually retrieving his tempad.

It felt like a legitimate lifeline in his hands as he moved back to Loki’s side as quickly as he could manage, finding that he hated being so much as beyond arm's reach. 

“I’m sorry, Loki,” he muttered contritely, “I know you don’t want me to do this, but we might actually die if I don’t.” 

Even if it sounded a bit excessive, Mobius wasn’t actually being dramatic. They were running dangerously low on basic supplies, including fresh water, and obviously neither of them would be capable of venturing out onto the timelines anytime soon. And even if Mobius did recover in time, they had a strict agreement that they were never, ever to split up, especially given Loki’s ongoing mystical affliction, and there being only one tempad between them.

So he had no choice, really.

He flipped the device open, and with no small amount of trepidation, began tapping out a text message; the procedure maddeningly protracted by the impairments of fatigue.

B, SOS. Attached coordinates. A friend and I need help. Just yourself, and a medic you trust enough to keep their mouth shut. Please. And dress for cold weather.

He paused for a moment, glancing down at Loki’s eerily lax face, the bright spots of colour high on his cheekbones inciting yet another peak of anxiety.

Mobius knew without doubt what Loki would want him to add, and could only hope that B-15 would be able to comply.

Not a word to anyone, make any excuse you can.

Mobius 

Hitting ‘send’ filled him with equal parts relief and dread. That they may actually get the help they required, potentially without anyone else discovering their whereabouts… or of Loki’s return from the End of Time, for that matter, and the terrifying circumstances surrounding it?

It was nothing short of tantalising.

But it was just as likely that they may not, or that Loki may react with severe vexation when he discovered that Mobius had taken this course of action–

Well. They’d cross that Bifrost together, if or when they came to it.

Tucking the tempad inside the thick coat he wore, Mobius shuffled in to huddle at Loki’s side, his fevered flush and shadowed eyes the last things he saw as the merciless pull of sleep took claim of him once more.

“You still haven’t told me how you found the stowaway.”

Mobius’ eyes shot open from a light doze to find B-15 wandering into the room that he and Loki were sharing during their recovery; one of only three quarantined cells in a tiny facility on some sparsely populated planet… a facility that the TVA rarely had use for, but kept stocked and prepared at all times, just the same. 

And he and Loki were so godsdamned fortunate that that was the case.

“Stowaway?” he asked her stupidly, only to realise a moment later that she was of course referring to Loki, who was fast asleep beside him. 

B-15 was gazing down at the god in question with something akin to awe as she approached, and it occurred to Mobius that they hadn’t had much of a chance for detailed explanations yet… or any sort, in fact. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to launch into anything that could be considered dangerous or delicate territory without Loki’s guidance, but their resident royalty hadn’t been able to stay awake for longer than a minute or two at any time since B and the rather mystified medic she’d dragged along with her had rescued them — leaving behind that desolate, haunted incarnation of Asgard a little over a day prior.

“Is it really him?” B asked hushedly, although it was highly unlikely that she’d wake him, even speaking normally. “Our Loki, I mean,” she clarified, and Mobius nodded.

“Yeah. It’s him,” Mobius replied quietly, gazing down fondly at the slightly smooshed face half-buried in his upper arm. “Absolutely it is.”

Reaching up, he tenderly brushed some errant tendrils of hair off his face, fingers lingering on skin that was blessedly several degrees cooler than it had been mere hours ago.

“Where’s he been?” she asked, with quiet curiosity, and he looked back up at her in time to catch the tail end of her dawning comprehension as she glanced between the two of them, her eyes shining with subdued glee. 

“I’d rather he tell you that, or at least as much as he’s willing,” Mobius said, before shrugging sheepishly, “If he ever wakes up, that is.”

“This virus really did a number on you two, that’s for sure.” B shook her head sympathetically, but her expression hardened some before she continued sternly, “And by the way, don’t think for a second that it’s slipped my mind, the fact that you ignored protocol and went completely AWOL without telling anyone.”

“Loki appeared in my room out of nowhere back at the safehouse, B,” he told her defensively. “He was broken, and- and hurt, and scared… and again, I can’t tell you that much more without his consent. Needless to say, he begged me to keep everything a secret. Including, or most particularly, his whereabouts.”

Shifting against him, Loki sighed in his sleep; a contented little hum that melted Mobius’ heart. 

“Which is why you’re not coming back,” B-15 accurately guessed, sounding somewhat resigned.

“Not unless he says so,” Mobius confirmed, glancing down at him again. “Do you want me to try waking him, so you can maybe talk? I know you can’t stick around for too much longer…”

“By all means, go ahead. But he looks pretty damn comfortable, if you get what I’m saying.”

Her knowing smile had his face warming rapidly, but he studiously ignored her as he turned his full attention to Loki, seeing no point in hiding his affection as he ran a hand firmly up and down his arm. 

“Loki?” he called quietly, jostling him a little, “It’s time to wake up, honey. B needs to talk to you.”

So accustomed to him being nonresponsive, Mobius was almost startled by Loki actually stirring, nuzzling his face into Mobius’ arm adorably as he took a long, stuttery breath. 

“Heyyy,” he cooed in response, stroking his cheek, “There you are, hello.”

A tiny, grumbling groan, and Loki’s eyes fluttered open… for all of two seconds, before he made a sound of feeble complaint, and burrowed back into Mobius’ side.

B-15 huffed with gentle laughter, and Mobius looked up at her with a grin.

“Come on, Loki,” he coaxed sweetly, smile softening with affection. “Talk first, sleep later.”

There was a beat of silence, then–

“Ngh,” came the eloquent response.

Carding fingers through his silken curls a couple of times — a sensation that he’d fantasised about for so long that he was still in disbelief he was not only permitted to indulge in it, but encouraged to do so — Mobius then let his hand subtly drift downwards to that spot on Loki’s neck.

The effect was immediate. 

Flinching back with a startling sharpness, Loki glared up at him with eyes that, rather than narrowed, were more than likely simply refusing to open properly. The intended effect was much the same, however.

His grumpy indignation was too much for Mobius, and heedless of B’s presence, he leaned over to kiss his forehead, befallen to overwhelming fondness.

“We got a visitor,” he told him as he drew back, tilting his head to indicate B nearby.

Loki turned his head almost gingerly to peer up at her, Mobius unable to help noticing the way he leaned deeper into his side, minute though it was, as if he were instinctively seeking protection.

If B-15 perceived it, she didn’t let on, beaming down at the pair of them with her most genuine smile.

“Hey Loki,” she said sweetly, employing the kind of bedside manner that Mobius imagined her timeline self would’ve reserved for her young patients. “You ready to tell me some stuff?”

* * *

If there was one thing Mobius learned from the rather abbreviated conversation that had followed, it was that Loki was far more trusting of B-15 than he’d ever imagined he’d be. 

Clamming up a little at first, he relaxed in steady increments throughout their brief interaction, to the point where Mobius couldn’t help but wonder whether Loki had somehow acquired a more in-depth knowledge of the hunter-turned-councillor that he himself had ever been privy to.

A question for another day, perhaps, for after divulging everything that he was willing to share before B-15 left them to return to her allocated safehouse, Loki was already drained beyond all belief, despite only having been awake for no longer than about fifteen minutes.

The medic charged with caring for them had ducked in briefly after B’s departure, insisting on running some checks of the basics like body temperature and heart rate. But after satisfying herself that they were assuredly on the mend, and plying them with simple sustenance and water, she returned to the reception area where she was staying, leaving them in peaceful seclusion.

“I’m sorry, Loki,” was the first thing Mobius said, once they were alone. “I know you would’ve preferred to not have contact with anyone, even B.” 

There was no immediate response from Loki, where he lay in his usual position; curled into Mobius’ side with an arm slung loose and heavy over his waist. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed that he was already asleep. 

“But we were both so unwell,” he reiterated, although he knew Loki knew this. “Your fever was so high you had a seizure.” There was a small sound of surprise at that, however, and Mobius began stroking a comforting hand over Loki’s back. “I really didn’t have a choice, sweetness. I was so… I- I mean, I had to–”

“Mobius.”

Cut off by his lilting, though slightly raspy voice, Mobius’ mouth snapped shut, and he lowered his gaze to meet Loki’s, who was now looking up at him with soulful eyes that were far too easy to get lost in.

“It’s all right,” Loki assured him quietly. “I understand. And honestly, I’d like to think I would’ve done the same, had our situations been reversed.”

There was a lengthy silence before Mobius spoke up, voicing what was conspicuously left unsaid.

“But you don’t know for certain.”

It wasn’t a question, and as such, Loki didn’t answer; eyes dropping tellingly before he rested his head back against Mobius’ chest. 

“Well, good thing you have me, huh?” Mobius eventually supplied, and the arm around his waist tightened in silent agreement. 

He rested his cheek on the top of Loki’s head, letting his eyes close as he enjoyed the closeness and tranquility, without the added fearfulness of either one of them nearing death’s door.

“So what now?” he murmured into Loki’s hair, beginning to feel quite lethargic himself. “What do we do once we’re all better, and can get the Hel out of here?” 

Though he asked this lightly, he vehemently hoped that Loki understood without any doubt that whatever he needed, whatever he wanted, Mobius was nothing but devoted to the cause.

But–

“I don’t know,” Loki confessed in a near-whisper, sounding so unsure of himself that it tugged at Mobius’ heartstrings. “We’ve had a- a taste of assuagement now, for all that it is, and it’s… it’s going to be hard to keep- to keep–”

“To keep on running?” Mobius finished, and Loki nodded against him. “Do we need to?” he carried on without thought, then realising how it might’ve sounded, backtracked to elaborate, “I mean, especially after the update B just gave us, that they’re already mobilising teams of stealth operatives with the prospect of taking back the TVA. Could we consider helping them, instead of- of more of this?”

It said an awful lot that Loki actually took time to consider this thoroughly before replying. Though, if he too had been anywhere near as weary and frightened as Mobius was at times, whilst on the run, it stood to reason that the idea of stopping, and perhaps even providing meaningful assistance to a cause that meant a great deal to both of them, would be terribly enticing.

But, as anticipated, honesty won out in the end.

“I think I need to keep moving,” Loki finally stated, the admission nonetheless full of regret. He raised his beautiful face to Mobius once more, chin resting on his chest endearingly as he gazed up at him with puppy-dog vulnerability.

The sight was almost enough to liquefy his insides to warm goop… but for one tiny niggle, sparked by Loki’s wording just now.

“You need to?” he pressed carefully, brow lifting in suspicion, “Not ‘we’?”

Loki’s eyes sought to evade his scrutiny ashamedly, but Mobius halted the action by cupping his cheek, the gentle stroke of his thumb subtly insisting that he not hide away.

With a sigh, Loki leaned into the touch for a fleeting moment, but to Mobius’ relief he acquiesced, biting his lip tensely as he weighed his response.

“Mobius…” he began, hesitant and careful, “After- after all this — the uncertainty and hardship we’ve endured thus far, then us getting sick, and- and all of it, really — and then on top of that, me not knowing what the Hel I’m doing yet, not past buying time to recover and think, because I cannot reiterate enough that I have no clever plans at all, or- or even any terrible ones…”

Still stroking his cheek soothingly, Mobius’ rueful smile encouraged him to continue, and Loki composed himself with a long breath.

“In the face of all of this,” he persisted, "I would never… I- I wouldn’t ever dare to… to presume–”

At the realisation of what he was trying to say, Mobius cut him off promptly, surging towards him with an urgency that took them both by surprise.

“Presume, Loki,” he insisted fervidly, his other hand reaching out to catch in his hair. “Gods damn it, always presume.” Loki’s wide, searching eyes spoke of bewilderment, and Mobius shook his head exasperatedly as he determined that he’d need to spell this one out. “‘Cause y’know, in case it wasn’t already painfully obvious, I’m with you one hundred percent. All the way, and in every way you could possibly conceive of. We’re in this together — you and me, for all time and always, and even beyond that, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused for effect, but with a jolt of self-consciousness, thought it might be prudent to add, “I mean, uh… u-unless you don’t actually want me here anymore, of course, in which case–”

With a burst of vigour that neither of them thought possible, Loki launched himself up to silence him with his lips, Mobius gasping a sharp breath in reaction before irresistibly melting into the contact. They both ignored Loki’s arms shaking weakly beneath him, far too absorbed in each other to pay it heed; the accumulated worry and stress of recent days cathartically released in a blissful torrent of sweetness and passion. 

But after only a scant few moments, Loki was forced to admit defeat, reluctantly drawing back to once more flop bonelessly upon his chest, though still staring up at him in something akin to wonder.

There was more that Mobius felt compelled to impart, and he tenderly cradled Loki’s face in his hands, a sudden tightness constricting his throat in anticipation.

“Loki… I love you.” His voice was rough, yet ripe with sincerity, and Loki’s startled breath at the explicit affirmation saw him overcome with the urge to say it again. “I love you.” 

Eyes brimming with raw emotion, Loki was rendered awestruck, his breath growing ragged as he swallowed thickly. 

“And love encompasses everything, remember?” Mobius added, tossing Loki’s own words of several days ago right back at him.

With a little huff of recognition, tears spilled over as Loki blinked, and he nodded, his chin digging into Mobius’ sternum with the movement.

“Smooth and rough,” he whispered solemnly.

“That’s right, yeah.” 

Brushing away Loki’s tears, whilst carelessly dismissing his own, Mobius began gently combing his raven curls back with his fingers, the action mollifying the both of them as their fervour gradually abated.

“This is torture, you know,” Loki murmured after a couple of minutes, his eyelids beginning to droop lethargically. 

“Mm? What is?” Mobius asked, smothering his instinctual concern. “Your pain? I thought it wasn’t as bad now.”

“It’s not,” he assured, turning to lay his cheek against Mobius’ chest and settling in more comfortably. “Although it certainly remains a contributing factor in terms of our ongoing incapacity to… you know. Take things further.”

“Ohhh,” Mobius replied, lips quirking in amusement despite his emphatic agreement. “Right, that. Well. It’s not like we could exactly go to town here, anyway, even if we were up to it. Not with Taiis out there in the other room.”

Loki snorted softly at the reminder of the medic’s presence, and as if in small rebellion, glided one hand to the hem of Mobius’ t-shirt, slowly snaking it up underneath. Biting back an audible reaction to the thrill of his cool, dextrous fingers running sensuously over his skin, Mobius’ eyes closed as Loki planted a series of kisses over his chest, the heat of his breath warming his skin through the thin stretch fabric.

“R'member that torture you just mentioned?” Mobius muttered, shifting a little as shocks of desire pulsed deep within him, his breath growing short as Loki’s hand slipped just inside the waistband of his sleep pants.

“Mm. Not helping?” the teasing reply was murmured against him, then a wistful sigh followed as Loki reluctantly withdrew… though not without dipping his hand indecently lower for an instant as he did so.

Gods, Mobius thought furiously, congratulating himself on again managing to suppress a reaction, knowing that’s precisely what Loki was chasing.

“Perhaps I can find us another retreat, when we leave this place,” Loki suggested, snuggling into him much more innocently now. Mobius wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in close, and could feel in the way he immediately went lax how exhausted he was from being awake for this long. “Somewhere we can find true sanctuary, and rest properly this time. Where I can focus on recovering my seiðr... because I can assure you that, come whatever lies ahead, I won’t be of any use to anyone at all without it.”

“Present company excluded,” Mobius chipped in, with a kiss to his brow, and the arm draped around him squeezed fractionally for a second. “Is there another timeline where that same magical training thingy was empty for a time, but not… well, frosty?”

“Warm enough that clothing may be optional, you mean?” Loki supplied mildly, and Mobius flicked his arm. “It’s possible. Finding one may require extensive tempad usage however, which could make us easier to trace, if the network security has been compromised.”

Rubbing his back languidly as he picked up on Loki’s encroaching sleepiness, Mobius exhaled in a heavy rush.

“We have a couple more days before Taiis will let us go, anyway,” he pointed out. “And B-15 will want to see us at least once more, if she can. Maybe in that time you’ll be able to think of something.”

“Maybe,” Loki echoed faintly, drawing a long breath that was halfway to a yawn. “There has to be something, anyway… out there… somewhere…”

Mobius smiled softly, flooded with affection at Loki fast fading into slumber. 

“For now, beautiful, this is sanctuary enough,” he asserted gently, and Loki hummed in agreement, both knowing that it wasn’t the meagre protection of the medical facility to which he was referring.