Title: Big Brother
Rating: M (for triggers of being tied down, trapped in a room, claustrophobia, and impending/possible sexual fulfillment against one's own will)
Genre: Horror/Drama
Word Count: ~1475
Original Prompt: Darcy wakes up trapped in a room. She doesn't know how she got there, but that's not what matters. What matters is the camera on the corner watching her.
Prompter: karlaakamsloki on Tumblr
Summary: "Please, please tell me I wasn't drugged," she moans, rubbing her temples. It was then that she hears something faintly electronic. Her eyes spin around the room, searching for the device. There, on the edge of the table, sits a camera. It is on a tripod, and it seems to focus and re-focus every few seconds. "Shit."
Author's Notes: Yeah, this is way out of my comfort zone. I've never written horror before. My idea of horror is there is no more Nutella and I need a fix. But, considering it's Halloween, and the Tasertricks is calling me. It's a interesting break from my regular story I'm writing. Also, the song 'Counting Bodies Like Sheep' by A Perfect Circle and the movie Halloween were inspirations for this fic.

Darcy comes to, shaking her head back and forth. A dull throb behind her eyes tells her she must had been hit. She had been hit with something, didn't she? And where was Jane? She remembered just leaving the parking lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. when there was a scream and then-

Nothing.

She didn't remember anything after that.

She tries to move her hands, but can't. She thinks she can wiggle out of whatever she is tied with, and does so within a few minutes. It was just a bit of rope, she concluded, as she brought her hands from behind her, rubbing her wrists.

It's now that Darcy really looks around the half-lit room. Nothing but chipped paint, dingy floorboards, and a table near the door. Darcy moves to get up, but immediately sat back down, her head swimming.

"Please, please tell me I wasn't drugged," she moans, rubbing her temples. It was then that she hears something faintly electronic. Her eyes spin around the room, searching for the device.

There, on the edge of the table, sits a camera. It is on a tripod, and it seems to focus and re-focus every few seconds.

"Shit."

Darcy jumps up, not caring about her head, her vision almost blackening as she rushes to the door. She tries the lock, but it won't open. She bangs on the door. "PLEASE! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP!" She bangs again, but no answer. "HELP ME SOMEONE PLEASE!" She screams, tears beginning to form. This was her nightmare as a kid. Horror movie buff that she was, she never watched anything that related to being locked in a room. She begins to feel claustrophobic, and sucks in deep breathes attempting to calm down.

It's not working.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" She yells, her voice breaking, almost wanting to cry.

"You must play the game, Ms. Lewis."

The voice is tinny and coming from seemingly nowhere, but she hears it. It's deep, probably male. But she's not entirely sure. She takes deep breathes, knowing at least someone heard her, no matter who it was.

"Get me outta here!"

"Play the game."

Darcy is shaking her head. Hell no she's not playing some fucking game with a maniac. It's always a maniac that does these kinds of things. Maybe it was another baddie that is exacting revenge.

But nobody would be this cruel... would they?

"I am waiting."

Darcy tries to find her voice. "Play what game?" She takes a step back into the middle of the room, where the light is strongest.

The voice goes silent from wherever it is in the room for a moment, then beeps.

"You know what game."

Darcy goes cold. If this sick fucker thinks she's going to strip tease for a camera, he's got another thing coming. I mean, she wouldn't even do that for her ex-boyfriend, the 'director'. At least not after she caught him showing the tape to his friends.

"I'm not going to strip, if that's what you're thinking."

The room is so silent, she could hear a pin drop. Her breathing is still erratic, but she's under control now. At least for the moment.

"If you won't play, I have ways of making you play."

Darcy's skin crawls at the mention of making her play. What would they do. She begins to hyperventilate again.

At that moment, the door unlocks and a figure comes in. By the build, she guesses male, but she has no idea. He is coming toward her, dressed in black from head to toe. She screams and attempts to run behind the chair in the room, pushing it toward the figure. The figure doesn't stop. It comes closer and closer to her, and Darcy runs, knowing there really isn't any escape. The figure pounces on her, knocking her to the floor, and she is pinned. She can feel the figure's hot breath in her face, feel the strong hands grab both hers, as much as she fights it, and pins them above her head.

"GET OFF!" she screams, as she tries to knee the figure, but the figure moves to the side and Darcy twists her wrists in its grasp. She cries out in pain, and the figure chuckles. It's dark and deep and sinister.

And possibly not human.

Darcy can't help it. She knows basic self-defense, but her mind is freezing. She doesn't know what to do and she wants to die before something worse happening. She won't be a statistic for whatever bastard is doing this.

Darcy kicks one more time, swinging her leg over, and this time she makes purchase with the figure's side. It grunts and she rolls over, running for the door. She tries the lock, and this time, it works. She moves to open the door, but her leg goes out from underneath her.

"FIRE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" she screams as loud as she can, her lungs burning in effort. "HELP ME PLEASE! FIRE! FIRE!" she faintly remembered to call out for a fire than more than help. She had read somewhere that people would be more willing to come to a fire rather than help someone in danger.

But the figure is dragging her back, pulling her toward the middle of the room. The chair is setting upright, and Darcy is still screaming, the door standing wide open. She can see faintly in the dark that there is a hallway, but nothing more.

"That was not very nice of you, Ms. Lewis. Just cooperate and this will be all over very soon."

Darcy is pulled by her hair, dragged into the chair. Tears are streaming down her face and she is praying to whoever – or whatever is out there – to die. To just die and get out of this hell.

She is being forced to sit upright, her arms jerked back behind her back. She hears the tell-tale sound of a zip-tie closing and she cries harder. This is it. She will die in this room. It's all over.

She will never say goodbye to her foster parents.

She will never even get to go to that concert she had tickets for in December.

And she will never get to tell Loki how much she actually loved him.

No, she will die here in this dirty, grimy, room. At the hands of maniac.

Then the lights go out, and an earth-shattering boom fills the room. From the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of green. The figure is flung against the wall, and Darcy whips her head to see her tormentor on the floor, not moving.

"Darcy."

She begins sobbing in relief. And there he is, pressing his hands to her face, tracing the tear tracks from her eyes down her cheeks. "Sweetheart, I got here as soon as I could. Are you hurt?"

Darcy shakes her head as quickly as she can, still crying, but not caring. He's here, he saved her.

Loki moves around her, and she feels the zip-tie being broken. She quickly brings her arms around her, shaking now.

"She is going into shock, brother. Get her out of here, I will deal with this."

That was the last thing Darcy remembers as Loki lifts her into his arms, pressing her tightly against him and out of the room.

The next time Darcy wakes up, she is in a hospital room, all bright lights and antiseptic smells. Her eyes are bleary, but she makes out a dark-haired man in street clothes sitting by her bed. His face is paler than normal, and his head is cradled in his arms, sleeping by her bedside.

He moves, and looks up at her, green eyes meeting hers. "Darcy."

He is moving toward her now, and she can only feel relief. She almost starts crying again. Damn, I am never the crying damsel, either.

Loki sits by her bedside and touches her cheek with his hand. They had been dancing around this, whatever it was, for months now. He leans in, eyes closing, lips pressing against hers in the most perfect way. She moves her lips with his, both fighting for more. His hand moves from her cheek, to her hand, before releasing her lips with a pop.

"I thought I had lost you," he said, forehead pressed to hers.

"I thought I would be lost, too. God, Loki, I was so scared."

He breathes deeply through his nose, and she just wants to kiss him more. Nevermind she is in the hospital and stuck in a bed. She just wants him.

"I know you were, and I am so sorry you ever had to be a part in this."

Darcy sighs. Somehow, she knows she is safe now. Loki and Thor both took care of the bad guy. Loki isn't the villain anymore and nothing will ever harm her again. She's safe now.

Loki leans back in, lips against her ear, his breath heavy against her neck. His next words send chills down her spine.

"Besides, we can play the game later."