Marvel Imagines

Christmas Circus (Hawkeye Drabble)

* Cross-posted from my 30 Days of One-Shots book!

Prompt: Held at Gunpoint

Title: Christmas Circus

Fandom: Hawkeye (Marvel Disney+ show)

Warnings: Mentions of guns, being bound, violence

Word Count: 2,503

Synopsis: Apprehended by all too familiar men clad in matching tracksuits late one night, Y/N, a former SHIELD Agent, is forced to sit tight and wait for a rescue from a pair of Archers, too stubborn to admit they work well together.

----

Christmas Circus

You'd never had the chance to live any sort of 'normal' life.

Right from birth, it seemed.

Orphan, taken in by some organization, that practically became your life.

A life that had been the farthest thing from normal.

A life that has made you many enemies.

A life that you'd been foolish enough to think for just a moment... that you'd somehow managed to put behind you.

Until now.

"Wakey, wakey, little lady," A rather taunting accented tone calls from outside your thoughts, pulling your awareness back to you in pieces.

Pieces that are thrust back to you all too quickly as something hard and heavy makes contact with your side, earning a gasp of pain from you, your eyes flying wide.

Your hazy thoughts are quick to recover, your gaze hastily surveying the rather large room surrounding you.

Old, dusty shelves line the one side of what you're deeming an abandoned warehouse, their metal frames no longer holding any glimmer to them.

Instead, they almost appear to have been completely discarded and forgotten by the previous owners of the building, some even twisted and broken beyond repair.

And on your other side...

Sit two rather bored looking men, clad in all too familiar tracksuits.

"Damn it," You curse lowly, your raspy voice barely audible to your own ears.

You'd barely gotten a glance of the guys who'd jumped you last night as you'd been leaving that convenience store, having bought some Christmas themed snacks to offer.

See, you'd been a SHIELD Agent.

But you certainly weren't a solo operative.

No, no.

You had a Partner.

A Partner who'd somehow managed to get in touch with your new phone number after you'd both parted ways years ago, after the organization you previously served and lived under, fell to its knees.

He'd sent you an unsuspecting apartment address, one that you figured he'd rented for a few days while in New York celebrating the season with his kids - something he'd always talked about doing.

So, you'd grabbed some snacks and headed on your way, trudging through the howling winter wind and blowing snow that profusely hindered your vision.

Vision that would have been useful to have had at the time.

Before you could've even reacted, men clad from head to toe in red and white tracksuits had surrounded you and made quick work of rendering you unconscious, even against your struggles.