Work Text:
Loki’s never performed this particular ritual before, but he understands enough of the theory to get by. He’s sure if there’s anything he’s forgotten, he can make up for it with sheer force of will.
“Mobius.” Loki shoves his way into Mobius’s quarters without knocking. “I need some of your hair.”
Mobius looks up from the book held open in his hands. “What?”
“Your hair. I need some. Only a little, an inch or so should do it.” Loki wields his scissors like a dagger and maybe it’s more alarming than the situation calls for but he doesn’t have the patience for subtlety.
“Why?” Mobius slowly closes the book. “Are you planning on committing a crime and planting it as evidence to frame me?”
Loki is wounded that he could ever think that. “Shouldn’t you know me better than that by now?”
Mobius gives him a long, silent, all-too-knowing look. It’s—okay, that’s fair.
“It’s for a ritual,” Loki admits. “I swear I do not currently have plans to commit a crime and I would never frame you for it if I did.”
Mobius leans forward, inexplicable trust in his eyes. Loki will never get over how much it seems his word means something to this man. Someone who has seen his entire past, present, and future, and somehow manages to trust him anyway. “What kind of ritual?”
It would be preferable if Mobius didn’t ask any questions, but it isn’t a surprise he won’t let Loki perform unknown magic involving his hair. Loki just…it’s awkward to explain.
“It is…a bonding ritual.” Loki steps closer to take in the title of Mobius’s book rather than see his expression. War and Peace. How pedestrian. “If something were to…if you disappeared…”
Loki doesn’t like the way Mobius’s eyes are softening with every word. It means he’s already said more than he intended. “Loki,” Mobius says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Loki should’ve stolen a lock of hair while Mobius slept. Anything would be better than having this conversation. “You can’t make that promise, not in our line of work. The ritual is for emergencies. If you disappear, I’ll be able to find you again.”
“And what about you?” Loki doesn’t realize how close he’s come to Mobius until they’re holding hands. “I don’t want you to disappear on me either.”
Loki isn’t sure he’ll ever let go of Mobius’s hand now. At the very least, it would be one way to make sure he can’t be stolen away. The ritual isn’t intended to work both ways, but he doesn’t see any reason why it shouldn’t, perhaps with a tweak or two. “I can do that.”
“All right.” Mobius turns, presenting the back of his head for Loki’s inspection.
The air is still in Loki’s lungs as he stares at Mobius’s sleek gray hair. It’s softer than he expects as he runs his fingers through it, selecting a section just above the nape of Mobius’s neck. It’ll be hidden until the hair has time to grow out again.
With a snip of the scissors, Loki is left with a small tuft of that hair between two fingers.
“Your turn, I suppose?” Mobius asks as he looks back.
Wordlessly, Loki offers over the scissors and holds still as Mobius takes his time cutting off his own lock. It shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, not when Loki can manipulate his hair to be whatever he wants. He’s almost tempted to lean into Mobius’s touch like a cat.
“Okay,” Mobius says when he’s finally gotten on with it. “What do we do now?”
“I do my thing.” Loki holds out a hand and Mobius drops the hair onto his palm, both locks mixing together. From there, the ritual is a simple one.
“A path to you,” Loki says, his voice thrumming with power, “and a path to me.”
The individual strands wind around each other like plying yarn before braiding together into what is possibly the world’s tiniest rope for all that it’s only a couple inches of hair all told.
Once it’s complete, the braid glows gold and vanishes into the air.
“So,” Mobius says, one hand over his head like he might be able to feel the magic settling in his chest, “how do we know it worked?”
Loki grins and launches himself at Mobius’s TemPad—so foolish of him to leave it out in the open on the desk. He types in coordinates without thinking about it and Mobius’s face is bright with the thrill of the chase before the TVA vanishes around him.
Loki lands on a desolate wasteland of a planet with no idea of whether this is a world whose civilization has been destroyed or hasn’t even begun. He runs the moment his feet hit solid rock, every step kicking up finer particles of sand.
Magic tugs at him like an instinct whispering this is not where you belong. He doesn’t need to be there to know Mobius is still back at the TVA, no doubt searching for a spare TemPad.
Loki kicks around the barren landscape for several minutes before he feels another magical tug.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t play fair,” Mobius calls. “I also really hope you’re here somewhere because it’ll be very awkward if I’m talking to myself.”
Loki smiles, crouched in a precarious position behind a broken spire of rock. It isn’t a comfortable hiding place but options are limited. Mobius’s boots crunch against loose shale as he walks into sight.
“Gotcha,” Mobius says, offering out a hand.
“It works.” Loki had known it would, but he can’t help the little sigh of relief that comes with the proof. He accepts Mobius’s hand and doesn’t let go once he’s upright. His free hand slides around the nape of Mobius’s neck.
Mobius sways in a little closer. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”
“I’m certain we decided you’re the one stuck with me,” Loki says before giving in to the impulse to drag Mobius into a kiss.