Peter Parker Anyone?

Chapter 1

He leaned against the pole of the turn-styles by the Rail 5 Metro Station. The smell of urine from the various foot traffic, rat and human alike, offended his already sensible nose. When he could, Clint Barton preferred to avoid subways. He never had a good track record with underground areas in his past, and willingly entering a tunnel with decidedly few escape routes always made him uncomfortable. A little over a year ago, Loki and he squared off in just such a setting; the memory brought a mix of adrenaline and chills to Clint's body.

It took little over an hour to make the journey from his Harlem apartment, to the other side of Queen's East Chester-Dyre Ave. Not that he had time to spare, exactly, but Clint wasn't totally certain where to find the man he came to track down. So he worked carefully. Covering his tracks also ate away at his self-imposed schedule.

Weeks passed since the infamous face-off between Tony Stark and Hawkeye, but that didn't mean all of his pursuers were willing to give up tailing him. He had to switch trains twice at Kew Gardens, ending up heading West instead of East, then walked back to the next station to take the East bound train toward Coney Island. He changed clothes once, and installed a Yankees ball cap low over his eyes, before waiting at the turn style for his quarry. The wait gave him time to think, and time to think meant one conversation only circled his brain.

Clint drew an arrow from his quiver, aiming for Stark's heart. "Shut up! That's all you do! You know what, Stark, maybe for once, I'd like to have a life and not just be some stooge for SHIELD, or Cap, or you! . . . I had everything, and you just took it away from me!"

The hurt in Tony's eyes cut through even Clint's prepared heart.

The Iron Man tried to plead with him. "That world wasn't real! I'm real, Clint, and I found you and brought you home! Bruce and I both fought hard to get you back, and how do you decide to thank us? Like this?"

"You know what would have stopped this? You, actually showing up, and saving someone who mattered. We're friends, Tony! Where are you when I need you? The one time I need someone else to bail me out, and where were you? You didn't even know I was gone! SHIELD would have left me there to die! If Captain America wasn't there, would you have even come to find me?"

"Well, maybe next time you should get yourself out of danger, and leave the damsel in distress routine to people who aren't trying to be drug addicts."

"I'm done." Clint said quietly.

"What do you mean you're done?" Tony demanded.

"I mean, I'm out."

"So what? You quit SHIELD, and now you're quitting us? Just like that . . . You can't quit! Hawkeye, don't – "

"I'm not Hawkeye. Not anymore."

A buzzer went off overhead, and the mass of people moved forward as one. The West End Metro pulled into the station. After dumping a load of off-going passengers, those waiting for the journey back to Manhattan began boarding. The crowd thinned considerably as Clint continued to wait. The East bound would arrive in a few minutes behind the West. He bet that Peter Parker would jump the turn style just in time to catch it.

He pushed off of the wall, dusting the sleeve of his long black overcoat against whatever New York grime clung to him. He noticed three pickpockets working over the oblivious Prada purse owner three or four pillars down from him. If they came his way, he planned to pick them back, but considering his need to keep a low profile, the likelihood of him helping was low. On his right, an old man added to the stench dribbling down the walls. He had his pants around his ankles, and an officer already had one hand in cuffs.

Ahhh...New York.

The buzzer went off for the East bound, and Clint strode forward with the group of people waiting in the line. He considered the few different ways this introduction could go. The first, might be too obvious. Throwing himself in front of the Metro, in hopes that an undercover Spider-Man would save him, seemed too desperate a plea for help. And if anyone caught the act on camera, they may link Clint's face, and the webbed crusader together. That would not do. His other option, was to be an aggressor; cornering the young Parker in a crowded car, clearing the area with a smoke arrow, and then attempt to have a gentlemanly conversation. That, too, he eliminated for much of the same reasons.

As Clint stepped up to the faded yellow and black caution line, he took another sweep of the room. The Prada woman discovered a hand in her purse and had whipped out a can of mace. The drunk on the right, now had both hands in cuffs, and no still pants. A gangly young man flew down the Metro stairs, frantically jabbing his ticket into the turn style in order to make the train on time.

The gangly man had a mess of brown hair crowning over his head in haphazard tufts. A massive set of headphones, perhaps meant more to keep out the world than to provide considerable sound quality, hung around his neck and connected to the cell phone he thumbed through. Clint recognized his face from the old SHIELD files he once helped compile, and easily put a name to him, Peter Parker.

Clint took note of the subway car Peter crossed into. When the chime sounded for last boarding call, the undercover agent eased into the same car. The first stop would come soon, within the next ten minutes. If Parker planned to get off there, Barton had little time in which to make contact.

The rail car remained relatively empty, save for an older woman five rows away, and three men sitting in a trio, busting a few oral hip hop beats in the train acoustics. Clint stayed on his feet for the first few minutes of the ride, assessed the area, and finally he stepped forward.

"Parker, right?" He asked offhandedly.

The teen had been absorbed in the text messages on his cell phone, one headphone cocked over his right ear. At Clint's words, his eyes shot up a little. He wasn't an unattractive youth. His thin face matched the disarming spindly quality of his physique. A set of square glasses perched on the arch of his nose, not unlike how Banner wore his. Their presence gave him an austere look that further dispelled anyone's attempts to call him out as a caped crusader. Just like Bruce Banner, Clint knew these lenses were just for show. Spider-Man had better-than perfect vision.

"Depends." The teen asked, pulling his glasses off. "Who's asking?"

"An old acquaintance." Clint smiled a little. He liked a kid who didn't trust easily.

Peter flicked a key on his cell phone and slowly returned it to his pocket while his other hand took off the headphone so it may swing around his neck again. His eyes didn't remove from their search of Clint's person. No doubt he recognized the Avenger, but had trouble understanding where from. Clint could see the sudden realization hit like a bolt of Thor's lightning. The incognito Spider-Man leaned forward, and spied around at their fellow travelers. As of yet, no one paid them any mind. Staying cautious, he closed in even more and lowered his voice.

"Um, actually, I think the intro you were looking for had a lot more flying arrows, Mr. Hawkeye."

The archer nodded, not disagreeing. He indicated the open seat beside Parker, and gathered his long coat up to sit. He readjusted the ball cap over his longer grown hair and kept his eyes on the man, the floor, or his hands. Cars this far back typically had at least one security camera with no voice over included. This car, in particular, hadn't been serviced for the past year, according to the service tag he noted on the door arch. The quality was likely to be grainy at best.

"Not Hawkeye. Not anymore." He said quietly.

To that, Peter didn't respond. He had no doubt seen the epic fall out, as had everyone else in the modern world. Hawkeye and Iron Man exchanged shots, words, and parted ways as near enemies, all in one fell swoop. All of New York went looking for the elusive Hawkeye who quit SHIELD and the Avengers. A few people found him sleeping under park benches, or brown bagging liquor. He even allowed a group of punks to rob him of the three dollar bus fare he accrued from panhandling at a gas station. For all the world knew, Hawkeye was a loner, a loser, and had given up on ever being a hero again.

"So I heard you were good with a camera. Any truth in that?" Clint asked.

"I don't get why that matters to you." Peter continued to stare at him, no doubt in an attempt to use his, not inconsiderable, skills to ferret out some ulterior motive Barton had for asking.

"Humor me."

The Metro's breaks squealed as the cars rounded a turn. The overhead lights flickered briefly. Soon, the first stop would interrupt their little talk.

"Ok, then yeah. But, I don't get it."

Clint turned toward him slightly, raising an eyebrow.

"You quit SHIELD, the Avengers, and now, all of a sudden, you track me down off work hours and ask me that? Why? What gives? Everyone said you left New York."

"Everyone?"

"That's what the tabloids say."

"Oh, well, they know everything."

"They got a nice shot of you, with a bottle of Jack Daniels, under a carriage in Central Park."

"It was single malt, and I was sleeping on the ground before the carriage got there."

The lights flickered again. The brakes screamed as the tunnel walls peeled away to reveal the closest station track. Soon, the doors would open. Clint had to get out. Surely his two agency tails weren't far behind him, and if they caught up to his car number, they may chance at finding Peter. He got to his feet.

"Look, Parker, don't trust everything you read in the papers. I need someone to do camera work for me. If you want the job," Clint extracted a thin piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. "Find this address tonight. If you don't, I get it. But, do me a favor and flush the note."

The car pulled to a full stop, and the doors buzzed as they pulled open. Clint paused a moment more before heading out. He asked if there was anything Peter wanted to know before he made up his mind.

Parker shrugged, pocketing the paper. "I still don't get what you would need me for."

Men and women began to enter before the last call buzzer rang. Clint moved for the door, keeping his face tucked low. Peter just barely managed to catch his reply as the fallen Avenger headed out onto the platform and vanished.

"This time, I'm the one that needs an eye in the sky."

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