A/N: So, yeah. 'Sup guys. This is my first TaserTricks fic after about months of making gifs for the paring, so I'm fully prepared for this to be terrible. I took a few ideas from my gifs, and decided to try my hand. Hopefully it's not too confusing :/. I'm also sorry if the whole thing with the doctor is unrealistic, or whatever, but it was the only way I could really start the thing was that way. Also, this is my first time writing with Darcy and Loki, so if they're out of character, I apologise. I'll try my best to keep them in character though:).

Try to ignore any mistakes their will most likely be. And I hope you enjoy:).

I own nothing.


"Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes."

. . .

'Red'; Taylor Swift


"How are you, Darcy?"

Darcy didn't reply. She wasn't even aware the doctor had asked her a question. She continued to stare at the wall, her eyes fixed on a small chip in the paint. She was lost in her mind again, as she always was when she came in. She felt like she was missing something - something important but no one would tell her what. She had her suspicions, but of course, without proof, it was all just speculation.

"Darcy," said the doctor.

Her eyes found him as he settled into the chair opposite her. He was an elderly fellow, with a kind smile and eyes that never left her when she spoke. It was unnerving. And he always had his pen poised to write on a little notepad, ready to report everything back to S.H.I.E.L.D. She didn't know what they were so interested in, or why they were interested at all. She couldn't remember the last six months of her life, so what did she have to offer?

Darcy stared at the camera in the corner of the room and wondered who was watching right now. They were all eager for information she couldn't give, couldn't remember. But it did make her think - with the way they were treating her, would she even want to tell them if she did have the information they desired?

She wanted to like the doctor - really, she did - but she was ever aware that he was a S.H.I.E.L.D doctor, trained just like their agents. He was a kind, friendly man, yes, but he was also blunt and straight to the point. He never beat around the bush. Darcy looked at him, showing him he had her full attention, and he got right to it.

"How are you, Darcy?" he asked again. Darcy gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Doing alright," she replied. He nodded.

"Have you remembered anything recently?"

Darcy shook her head. The doctor scribbled something down on the pad. She watched him do so, wishing she could see what he was writing. Then he faced her again, and Darcy could tell that this was his 'no nonsense' stance.

"Do you remember moving into Stark Tower with Jane Foster and Erik Selvig?" he asked.

The first time he had asked that question, Darcy was taking a drink from the provided glass of water. The resulting answer was water and spit all down the doctor's shirt, due to Darcy's surprise that he would even ask such a question. She'd never even dreamed that she would see Stark Tower in her life, but to hear from someone that she'd stayed there had been unbelievable.

Consequently, she wasn't allowed anymore glasses of water during her appointments.

Darcy shook her head in reply to his question. The doctor nodded again and wrote something else on his little pad. She wanted to smack her head against the wall.

"I don't know why you're writing this down," she remarked, somewhat bitterly. "I've told you all this before."

The doctor said nothing and Darcy slumped back in her seat. He was still writing things down and it infuriated her. What could he possibly have to write down? She hadn't said anything new - at least not that she was aware of - and she was sure his superiors were watching their conversations through the cameras. What did he possibly have to report?

"The last time you were here, you said you were going to see Dr Selvig," said the doctor, giving her his attention again. "How did that go?"

Darcy swallowed and shrugged. "Well, y'know, it's awkward between us for some reason. I don't know what happened, but everyone else seems to. But no one will tell me. I keep feeling like I've done something wrong."

Another nod. "Do you think you'll be able to solve these problems the two of you have?"

"If someone will tell me what happened, then yeah."

Darcy watched the pen move across the paper, biting her lip and regretting the decision to leave her taser in her apartment. She was getting sick of seeing him write things down, especially when there was nothing to write down.

"Why do you think things are 'awkward' between you?" questioned the doctor. He was giving her a gentle smile, as if that might make her remember.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I mean, we were never actually really close but we were friendly. I think."

"Do you think things were different after Dr Selvig returned to yourself and Miss Foster?"

"Well, Erik was different anyway," Darcy said. "I mean, he'd been brainwashed and everything, so I guess things were going to be different."

The doctor nodded again, writing something else down. Darcy rolled her eyes; she'd said words to the same effect the last time she was there. Why on Earth did he need to write it down again? He paused for a moment, his pen poised over the pad. Darcy looked at him, waiting. Then:

"You know about Dr Selvig being, er, 'brainwashed'," he said, "so, by default, you must know about the war criminal, Loki."

Darcy shrugged, "Doesn't everyone?"

The doctor gave her a stern look. "What do you know exactly?"

Darcy sighed. The same question they had asked her the week before. She was sick of giving them the same answers, day in, day out. Weren't they listening to her at all?

"I know," she said, "that he tried to take over the planet. And he would've succeeded if the Avengers hadn't stopped him."

The doctor nodded, then asked, "And after that?"

"Thor took him back to Asgard, right?"

The doctor scribbled something on the pad very quickly and Darcy frowned. He looked at her again, seriously - more seriously than she had ever seen him look at her. She cocked her head to the side as the doctor shot a glance at the camera in the corner.

"Why are you asking me about Loki?" she asked him, shaking her head lightly. "I've never even met him before."

"Darcy, Loki returned to Asgard a month ago," the doctor told her quietly. He was looking at her as if the information might trigger something but she couldn't think of anything that would make this information matter to her.

"So?"

The doctor sighed and his pen moved across the paper yet again. He looked disappointed. Darcy slumped in her seat, confused and curious as to why the doctor thought she should care that Loki was gone. What did everyone else know that she didn't? What weren't they telling her?

There was an uncomfortable silence until the doctor decided to speak again. He had completely changed the subject, asking about New Mexico, her feelings on the destruction of the town and what she did after Thor's return to Asgard. She answered as honestly as she could, despite having been asked all the questions before, before slouching even further in her seat and glaring at the floor.

"Are you unhappy, Darcy?"

"Yes, I'm unhappy," she snapped, the words spilling out of her mouth. The doctor nodded.

"Why are you unhappy?"

Darcy looked away, fixing on the spot in the wall again, trying to find a way to answer the question. Yes, she was unhappy - she was sure everyone could quite clearly see that. It didn't help that she had to see this doctor every week just to answer the same question just in case she remembered something valuable. But, those reasons aside, there was something else that was making her unhappy. Something she couldn't quite describe to anyone without sounding like a lunatic. She was missing something, that much she had gathered. She had amnesia, they had told her when she woke up, and her memory would return in time.

So why did it feel like something more than that?

Darcy sighed, fidgeting with a loose thread on her jeans. The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she became. No one would tell her anything about the six months she had missed so she was completely in the dark. What had happened during that time that was so terrible that no one would talk to her about it? But one thing had become abundantly clear with the doctor's little slip up.

The God of Mischief was somehow involved.

"Darcy?" asked the doctor. "Why are you unhappy?"

"Because I'm having to answer stupid-ass questions with the same damn answers every week."

The doctor frowned, wrote down something else, then said, "But there seems to be something more to it than that."

Darcy had to admit: he was good. He could read between the lines better than anyone she knew. Well, maybe not as well as -

She cut herself off with a gasp, sitting upright in her chair. She had been in the middle of thinking about something - someone - when she'd cut herself off unexpectedly. She'd just… forgotten halfway through. The doctor's brow furrowed.

"Darcy?"

Darcy shook her head, scowling at the floor. It wasn't the first time this had happened to her and she had a funny feeling that it wouldn't be the last. It was just… odd. She looked at the doctor again, fidgeting in her seat.

"It's nothing," she murmured. His expression softened and Darcy knew he was trying to get her to open up, to be like other doctors. He wanted her to tell him what was on her mind so he could help her like normal doctors would.

But Darcy couldn't look past his background. This man, no matter how friendly he seemed, had been trained as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D along with being a doctor. He would report every single thing she said back to Fury - of that, she was absolutely positive.

He leaned forward in his chair, his voice quiet and gentle as he said, "You know you can tell me, Darcy. I'm here to help you."

She laughed, mocking, "And you're doing a marvellous job with that."

The doctor leaned back, wrote something on the pad and faced her again. Darcy rubbed the back of her neck, frowning. Where had that come from? The words had been so achingly familiar to her but she was sure she had never said them before in her life. Had someone else said them to her, in the very same tone she had used?

A memory appeared in her mind's eye and she reached for it, desperate to cling to something from her missing life. But just as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, leaving Darcy frustrated and wanting nothing more than to leave that dreary, horrible room.

"Darcy?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The doctor looked curious but he said nothing more. He glanced down at his pad, hesitated for a moment, and then closed it. He started to get to his feet.

"I think that's all for today," he told her quietly. "S.H.I.E.L.D will contact you when they think we need another chat."

Darcy nodded, "Good seeing you, doctor."

Lies. It wasn't good seeing him at all.

She couldn't leave the room fast enough. She wrapped her scarf around her neck as she walked down the corridor to the elevator. They were just moving into December, which meant cold days, hot chocolate and scarves. Her favourite, which she had recently discovered at the bottom of her wardrobe, was green and gold patterned; warm and long and smelling of pine and mint. She didn't know why, but it made her feel safe.

She spoke to no one as she left the building, buttoning up her jacket as she ventured out into the cold breeze and to the car waiting to take her back to her apartment.

There was something good about the cold, something she couldn't quite place. She hesitated getting into the car, standing at the door and looking around her. People were rushing about with red noses and cheeks, scarves pulled up and glove covered hands clutching their jackets tighter to them. They all looked like they hated the season and it made Darcy smile as she at last slid into the car.

She wasn't sure where her love of Winter had suddenly come from.


Darcy's apartment always seemed dull and lifeless, no matter what she did to the place.

It was always dark, despite the time of day, and cluttered and small. Her clothes were strewn all over the place; dirty dishes were piling up in the sink; take out boxes sat half eaten on the table. She sighed as she closed the door behind her, stepping over the mess and making her way to the bedroom. She didn't feel like cleaning - she never felt like cleaning - she just wanted sleep.

She kicked off her boots near the sofa, shed her jacket and left it there. She untangled herself from the scarf while she walked to the bedroom, but didn't dare abandon it anywhere. It was familiar to her, even though she couldn't remember actually buying the thing, and she wanted it near her. It sounded crazy, even to her, but she tried not to dwell on it.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching the scarf in her hands, Darcy pondered over her appointment. It was strange, even for S.H.I.E.L.D. Asking her about Loki, of all people? She'd never even met him before so what did she care about him?

Yet even as she thought of this, she felt a painful tug on her heart. Her hands clung tighter to the scarf, hoping it might cure the pain. Something was wrong, no one could tell her otherwise. And she was sure it had something to do with her lost time. Six months couldn't just disappear from someone's mind and Darcy refused to believe that a bump on the head could do something so drastic to her.

Darcy fell back on the bed, the scarf sprawled on her stomach. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, brow furrowed as she tried to fight against whatever was hiding her memories from her. It wasn't the first time she had tried to do such a thing but she knew she would never try again. The barrier was unyielding and no matter how many things she looked at, hoping it might trigger something - a tiny, unimportant detail, anything - nothing ever came to her.

An aggravated sigh escaped her lips as she got to her feet and dressed for bed. The scarf lay on the bed where she had left it and where she knew it would probably stay for the night. She slipped into an oversized, worn t-shirt before clambering into the large double bed S.H.I.E.L.D had so generously offered her for no reason at all. The bed itself took up most of the bedroom and she almost missed the smaller bed she'd had before.

When her head hit the pillow, she was out almost immediately.


The gravel crunched under her boots as she walked. She seemed to be in a labyrinth of some kind, the hedges surrounding her reaching high into the sky. She could only see a couple of feet in front or behind, fog everywhere she looked. She was unnerved, anxious but curious.

Darcy walked until she was forced to stop, the decision of left or right waiting to be made. She looked each way in turn, but could see nothing but white. She frowned, hugging her arms to herself against the chill. Which way was she supposed to go? She bit her lip and walked to the right. They couldn't be completely different, right?

Her pace quickened as she walked along, a chill running down her spine. Something didn't seem right in this dream - it was far, far too real. She wondered if it had happened to her before, during the time she couldn't remember. She kept walking, eyes darting around her wildly, and casting glances over her shoulder more often that usual. Above her, distant but close, a bird took off. A single feather dropped at her feet; sleek and black. She held it in front of her face as she studied it, brow furrowed.

As she continued to walk forward, she held it close to her.

The path widened out into a clearing, with a fountain in the dead centre. Darcy wanted to laugh; how many times did you see that in movies, a fountain in the centre of a labyrinth? Nevertheless, she walked over to it, peering into the water. She stared at herself as her reflection rippled in the water, lifting the hand that held the feather. Somehow, she knew she should drop the feather in the fountain. If she did, something would happen.

Before she could, another face appeared in the water. Darcy gasped, whirling around to face the newcomer and holding the feather out before her protectively. If this was her dream, could she will it to transform into something useful? Like a sword? Or, even better and much more useful, her taser?

The man before her was tall, so tall she had to crane her neck up to see his face. Even then, a shadow was cast over his features and it was impossible for her to determine what he looked like. He wore some kind of leather and armour and a green cape that trailed behind him. He held himself with pride, though she thought it unnecessary with the height difference between them, and towered over her threateningly. He didn't step into the light once.

Despite this, Darcy couldn't find it in herself to be frightened of him. His presence was familiar to her, though she wasn't sure why. As far as she knew, she'd never met him before.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed and Darcy recoiled. Even still, she couldn't look away and she couldn't run from him. She was safe here.

"What is here?" she found herself replying, staring up at him. He would answer, a part of her knew this already. He would always answer her. She looked at him hopefully, waiting.

He dipped down suddenly, his lips capturing hers and large hands gripping her waist. She gripped his forearms, stunned, but she responded anyway. This was her dream and if a strange, tall, hopefully gorgeous man was laying on the moves, she could do whatever she wanted back. It's not like anyone would know.

Everything happened so suddenly after that that even Darcy wasn't sure what had happened. He stopped, his hands left her waist and his eyes bore into hers. They were a startling shade of green, and they were full of guilt.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

And he pushed her backwards.