Author's Note: So…I was reading a murder mystery and the theme behind it probably drove this story.

Down the Rabbit Hole

"Darcy."

She could hear someone speaking her name. If she concentrated, she would probably know who, but at the moment she wanted to catch her breath. The last thing she remembered – other than Clint's protest – had been a big flash of light and the floor disappearing. Waking up to a headache or some other painful result of falling through the floor did not make her list of top ten things to do on any given day.

"Darcy."

Yeah, yeah, she knew that was stupid. If she were going to be in pain, she would already be in pain, but…who knew? Maybe there were layers to unconsciousness?

"Come on, little sister. I need you to wake up before I have to shoot Barton. His pacing is aggravating."

Natasha.

Should she let her shoot Clint?

"I'm awake," she sighed in resignation. Her eyes did not want to open, but she forced the issue, managing to blink up at Natasha. The redhead's stoic concern morphed into a stoic relief. They looked a lot alike, but Darcy had begun to master the various levels of stoicism shared by Natasha and Coulson. She had even managed to pick up on a few of Maria Hill's. "That should probably worry me," she muttered as she drew herself up to a sitting position.

"What?" Natasha asked, one eyebrow lifting in curiosity.

"My ability to translate stoicism."

A soft snort drew her eyes over to Clint. His eyes scanned the room before giving her a quick once over. Then they scanned the room yet again. She followed his gaze and felt her jaw drop a little. "Where the hell are we?"

"Good question."

The circular room held a variety of doors – large and small, all with differing shapes and colors, with some half hidden by curtains. A table stood, just off of center, on the checkboard design of the floor. The clear glass top of the table was empty except for a single bottle of clear liquid. "So…I'm guessing I hit my head and will wake up with an interesting dream to tell everyone about."

"We show up in your dreams often?" Clint lifted a brow at her. The hint of a smile flickered over Natasha's face.

"My dreams aren't usually this…bizarre though," she continued, ignoring his question. She gathered herself to stand up, accepting his hand when he held it out. Clint pulled her to her feet as Natasha began to prowl around the edges, trying doors and moving curtains. "Something about this is…familiar."

"Alice in Wonderland," Natasha mused as she came to stand beside them.

"Right! I remember now." Darcy glanced around. "Then the drink on the table will make us shrink."

"If it's anything like the story," the redhead nodded.

Clint frowned at both of them. "Why would we want to shrink?"

"So we can use the key to get through the right door," Darcy shrugged.

"What key?"

"That key." She pointed to the small key on the table.

He stared at it for a moment and then glanced back. "That wasn't there a moment ago."

"Of course not," she blinked at him. "And you should be glad we didn't have to do the whole shrink and grow routine before it showed up and we could reach it." She walked over to the table and picked up the key. Her gaze swept the room. "The kicker will be figuring out which door."

"One of the smaller ones," Natasha noted. She pointed towards a small, half hidden door. "That one."

Darcy looked at the door and nodded. "So…should we?" she asked, turning back to her companions.

"I want to go on record as not liking this one bit." Clint shifted, fingers flexing as if he wanted a weapon in his hand. He saw the direction of her gaze and his hands moved, clenching and relaxing. "The guns had vanished by the time we woke up."

"Great," she muttered. Then she shook her head. "But…the door?"

Natasha's lips tightened before settling into the hint of a frown. "There's not much choice."

"Still don't like it," Clint muttered.

"You probably shouldn't have tempted fate about the big red button," Darcy pointed out.

"Hey!" The protest came fast and sharp. "It's not like I would have actually pushed the damn thing! The whole damn Tower shook."

"Tony's off the wall invention," Darcy insisted, tapping her fingers one after the other as if clicking off points. "You hanging around in the lab bored. The Tower coming under attack. It's like the trifecta of temptation for fate! What could be easier than to give you the nudge to get your balance just exactly at the right point to hit the big red button?"

"So…see? It's fate's fault, not mine!"

"No." She drew out the word, brandishing the key at him since it was handy. "You're the one who started talking about the big red button. Going on about being curious about pushing it! You gave fate the whole idea! When the attack came, well, that was just the last little push fate needed, wasn't it?" One dark eyebrow lifted in challenge. "If you'd been going on about something else, then maybe something else would have happened instead of you pushing the big red button and we wouldn't be in the anteroom of Wonderland."

Clint shook his head. "We don't know that-."

"Looks pretty much like we do," she interrupted, glancing around. "Unless I really am dreaming."

Natasha reached out and slipped the key out of Darcy's hand. "I don't see another way out," she informed them. She picked up the bottle and took a quick sip before returning it to the table. "And while I'm enjoying the show, I did have plans tonight."

The redhead began to shrink, the key growing larger in her hand. Darcy watched with wide eyes as Natasha soon became the perfect height for their chosen door. The now tiny woman moved to the door and inserted the key. All of them watched as the door opened without a hint of noise. Then Natasha glanced up at them, tilting her head as if to ask why they were taking so long.

"At least our clothes are shrinking with us," she muttered. One sip later and she felt the strangest sort of tingling compression pushing her until she found herself staring up at the now gigantic table and the man beside it. Her hands went to her hips and she watched him shake his head before he reached out for the bottle. His lips moved in a silent mutter, but she felt certain she knew exactly what he said.

"This is not my fault."