Beyla - Loki

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Both Loki and Beyla hit the sand hard. Loki groaned, brushing grit off his cape, while Beyla staggered to her feet, tugging off the scorched black helmet that had disguised her. She blinked into the sun, then at him.

"Loki."

He tore off the gag still wrapped around his jaw. "My love. You're here."

That was enough. She threw herself against him before her knees could buckle, arms wound tight, clinging like she'd never let go. He kissed her temple, cheek, forehead-hungry and hurried-while his voice shook between pride and relief. "Oh, darling..."

She cupped his face, drinking in the angles she knew too well. Younger again. Harder. So sure of his purpose. Still, him. Always him. "My Loki. I've missed you."

His eyes flickered over her face. "How is your hair sho-"

"Shut up." She yanked his collar down and kissed him full on the mouth. For one breath, the world stilled.

Then someone cleared their throat.

They both turned. A trio of Mongolian herders stared at them.

Unbothered, Loki straightened, leapt onto a rock, and flung out his arms. "I am Loki of Asgard. And I am burdened with glorious purpose."

One woman spoke, confused, in Mongolian: "Who are you? Why have you come to our home?"

Beyla opened her mouth, but before she could translate, a gold-edged portal tore open in the air. Armored soldiers marched through, orange glow humming off their batons.

They inspected the Tesseract half-buried in sand.

"Don't touch that!" Loki snapped, hopping down to strut toward it.

Another portal flared, and through it stepped a tall hunter, dark eyes flat, armor gleaming. The nameplate across her chest read B-15.

She glanced at her TemPad. "Appears to be a standard sequence violation. The branch is growing at a stable rate and slope. Variants identified."

Loki instinctively moved in front of Beyla, his arm stretched like a shield. "I beg your pardon?"

Her tone was ice. "On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, you are under arrest for crimes against the Sacred Timeline. Hands up."

Beyla started to comply, but Loki caught her wrist. "Darling, you are a goddess. Don't-"

The Minutemen surged. Two grabbed Beyla's arms, wrenching them behind her back. She snarled and slammed her elbow into one's jaw, drawing blood.

"Release her! NOW!" Loki lunged, fury cracking through his regal mask.

"You're coming with us," B-15 said coolly.

Beyla bucked against her captors until a collar clamped around her throat, buzzing against her skin. Her magic fizzled out before it could spark, bees dissolving into nothing. "What is this?!"

"Last chance, Variant," B-15 warned.

Loki straightened, voice thunder. "It has been a very long day, and I've had my fill of armored idiots telling me what to do. If you don't mind, this is your last chance. Release my wife and get out of my way."

B-15 didn't blink. She struck him with her baton. His body shuddered, slowed to a syrup crawl-every microsecond of pain stretched into an eternity-before crashing to the sand.

"You're moving at one-sixteenth speed," she said as she locked a collar around his throat. "But feeling all that pain in real time."

He hit the ground with a thud.

"Reset the timeline."

A glowing charge was planted in the sand. The Mongolian herders vanished in a wash of light as Loki and Beyla were dragged struggling through the golden door.

⸻

The golden light swallowed them whole.

Beyla stumbled as the portal snapped shut behind, blinking against the harsh, buzzing glow of a place that looked... wrong. Too clean. Too humming with machinery. She reached instinctively for Loki, who was still swaying from the time-slow strike, and gripped his arm like an anchor.

"Where are we?" she hissed.

"In Hel," Loki muttered, glaring around, "or something worse."

The Minutemen shoved them forward through a maze of retro-futuristic halls - like a 1970s government office collided with a spaceship. A clerk wheeled past with an armful of files, ignoring the two Asgardians in chains.

Beyla slowed, watching orange light panels buzz overhead. Her magic sputtered against the collar - bees dying in her chest before they could form. She felt caged, and she hated it.

"Don't," Loki whispered, catching her look. "They're stronger than they appear. Save your fire."

"I don't like collars," she bit out.

"Nor do I," he muttered.

They were shoved into processing.

A bored man behind a desk pointed at Loki. "Take a ticket."

Loki blinked. "A... what?"

"Ticket," the clerk repeated, jerking his chin toward a red dispenser.

Beyla snorted. "Oh, this is absurd." She grabbed one, shoved it into Loki's hand, and hissed, "Play along, or you'll get zapped again."

The next few minutes blurred into ridiculousness: a robotic arm stripping Loki down and redressing him in TVA jumpsuit orange. Beyla endured the same, fuming, clutching the fabric as if it insulted her very existence.

"I am a goddess of bees, married to the Prince of Asgard," she seethed, stepping off the platform. "And they've dressed me like... like..."

"Like an escaped prisoner from Muspelheim?" Loki suggested dryly.

"Exactly."

They shuffled into a waiting room where a pastel cartoon clock chirped about the Sacred Timeline. Beyla frowned up at the screen. "What in the nine realms is that?"

"Propaganda," Loki said. "Although... admittedly well-animated."

She smacked his arm. "Loki, this isn't the time for-"

"Quiet," hissed a Minuteman, pointing at her.

Loki leaned closer, voice velvet. "Darling, I'll get us out. Trust me."

"I always do."

A disintegration blast suddenly vaporized the man beside them - a panicked Variant trying to bolt. Beyla flinched, grabbing Loki's hand. "Always," she repeated under her breath, and for once, she didn't sound sure.

⸻

Judge Ravonna sat above them, robes crisp, eyes cold.

"Loki Laufeyson. And... Beyla of Asgard. You stand accused of violating the Sacred Timeline."

Beyla blinked at Loki. "Sacred what?"

"Shh," he whispered, raising his chin grandly. "Guilty of being magnificent, perhaps-"

"Silence," Ravonna snapped.

Beyla rolled her eyes. "See, this is why people don't invite us to dinner parties."

A man slid into the shadows of the courtroom: gray suit, kind smile, moustache twitching with amusement. He watched the two Variants like they were theater.

"Who is that?" Beyla whispered.

Loki followed her gaze. "No one of consequence."

The man finally stepped forward. "I'm Agent Mobius. And actually-" He gave Beyla a warm nod. "-you might be of great consequence."

Beyla straightened, clutching Loki's arm tighter.

Mobius smiled, almost kindly, but his eyes flickered sharp. "Let's have a chat."