Spider-Man Oneshots

Undercover

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    "This isn't going to work. He has the names of every single person who walks through his obnoxiously expensive doors." Yuri slams the nearly empty file onto the desk. "He wouldn't give any information to one of us. It would have to be someone he wouldn't suspect,  someone who..." Trailing off, she glances in my direction.

"You have got to be kidding me."

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    Apparently, she wasn't kidding me, because now I'm taking the subway home with a bundle of manila folders tucked into the hidden compartment of my backpack. Mission objectives, photos of evidence, and random tidbits of information we'd gotten out of eyewitnesses, all tucked into the pale folders, open to anyone who dares to unwind the rubber band. I'm almost surprised they let me leave the building with it

Though, it's not like I'm going to get very far. As my phone wails across the crowded subway, I come to the mildly embarrassing realization that my phone isn't on silent. A call from Yuri.
The first rule of any public space: Don't do anything at full volume. Especially when that 'anything' is a borderline spy mission from someone who isn't even supposed to know you exist. I mentally prepare an apology as I watch the call go to voicemail. I turn the phone in my hands, pointedly ignoring a couple of glasses from exhausted travelers, a few of them stirring in their sleep.

People immediately flood the exits as the subway screeches to a halt. Trying not to be drowned by the crowd, I follow the swarm of feet, stomping across the stained tile. Voices screech in my ears, bits of conversation worming their way into my brain. I speed up, accidentally slamming my foot into a bright red tile. Lights flash, and an alarm blares through the subway stop.

"Freeze!" I groan, turning around to meet a surprisingly young cop, dark hair flopping under his hat. Reaching for a control panel resting on the wall, the lights flicker back to normal, and the alarms quiet until the only thing left is the ringing in my ears. "You're coming with me."

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"How did they get out of the precinct?" The young cop tries to go over the story. For the third time.

Tucked into the corner of the security office, I stare at the pile of files on the black desk, trying to stay focused on the very serious legal consequences and not the fact that pile rhymes with file.

The tinny, albeit familiar, voice on the other end of the phone groans. "I already told you, I gave the files to Spider-Man!" Frowning, the officer glances in my direction.

"He doesn't look like Spider-Man." Biting down a retort, I instead try to come up with yet another mildly insane excuse for how the files got here because while my identity might not even make it through that thick skull of his, I'm not taking any chances.

Was I sleepwalking? Very cliche, a classic... not at all helpful.

Did I find them on the floor?  Good for Peter Parker, but Spider-Man? Embarrassing at best, reputation destroying at worst. Not that I have a reputation to destroy.

I... work for Spider-Man? Okay, that one is almost believable... As long as no one stops to consider the plausibility of an anti-social vigilante having an underground network of employees who, realistically, would work for free.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like I'll have much time to think of more excuses, because Security Boy is eyeing me down.

"How do I know this isn't Spider-Man?" Security Boy glances at me, presumably taking another look at my very unheroic appearance. "Spider-Man doesn't have a face." I resist the urge to facepalm right in front of him.