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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: Catch 'Em All

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍, 𝐃.𝐂. ─ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝟏𝟎 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

☆

Lizzie and Steve had gotten bored of their run halfway through, ending at a steady five miles for Lizzie (who was still dying, but a little less than if she had ran three more miles). The last few weeks in D.C. have been hit or miss as far as the weather, with winter slowly coming in and temperature dropping a few degrees every day. Morning runs were a no-no anymore for Lizzie, mainly because when Steve saw her teeth chattering on the walk to National Park, he'd turned right back around and told her to get back in bed. Their runs were now "after-school" runs when she'd return from school (i.e. S.H.I.E.L.D. but Steve didn't know that).

Now, they were tossing the softball she'd packed for the day. Steve didn't have a glove, but he also barely flinched the first time Lizzie pitched to him and he caught it with his bare hand. So she decided he was okay to continue using nothing. When Lizzie had to run forward slightly so the ball fell safely in her glove, she knew that Steve was definitely not pitching with the amount of effort that he could be. She narrowed her eyes at him from across the field of grass, her gloved hand going over her eyes.

"Stooooop! You're throwing like a T-Ball team! I'm never going to be warmed up for the season if you don't actually throw, Steve!"

Steve frowned from the other side of the field. "I am throwing!"

"Maybe like you would've in the forties!" she exclaimed back.

Before Steve could reply to her, she heard her phone go off and reached into her pocket to pick it up. When she realized who the text was from, she smiled. Steve, in the process of her being distracted, decided to windup the best pitch he could—and grinned happily to himself. He made sure it was a safe distance away (possibly to just be a bit of a smart-ass for the comment about him from the forties). To his surprise, just as the ball went flying out of his palm and into the air, Lizzie dropped her phone quickly to the ground and dived for the ball.

Steve stared, perplexed. She pushed herself up off the ground, trying to rid herself of the bits of mud that were on her clothes from the rain they'd gotten yesterday morning. Then, she twisted around to grin at Steve, holding her glove out so that he could see she caught his pitch.

"There you go, old man!" Just as she threw it back to him, he caught it and jogged over to her from across the field. She raised her eyebrows expectantly when he stood in front of her, wondering what he wanted. "What? What's wrong?"

He glanced down at the ball and then her. "You caught that?"

"Ouch. My ego took a bit of a hit at the surprise in your voice."

"No, I just..." he looked at her and blinked. "You caught that."

"Steve, I play softball...like, as a sport," she said, pursing her lips. "My reflexes are pretty good. What, you underestimated me? Should I be offended?"

He shook his head, looking at her with a degree of amazement that Lizzie faintly remembered seeing on her father's face when she first hit in T-ball back when she was little. "No. I didn't underestimate you. You just impress me every day, kid."

Lizzie flushed under the compliment, glancing down at her clothes and brushing more of the grass and dirt off aimlessly. A little later on in the day, on their walk back to the apartments, they molded into their usual afternoon conversations where they talked about whatever came to mind. Lizzie was usually winded and in desperate need of a shower, while Steve looked like he'd just woken up to start his day. It was really annoying, sometimes.

"Are you and Kate seeing your family for Christmas?" Steve asked. Routinely, he walked across the crosswalk on the right so that the cars were in front of him instead of her. "You don't talk about them much."

Lizzie shot him a preposterous look. "I do too. I'm an open book."

"What?"

"Nothing," she dismissed, waving him off. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie and skipped a few steps anxiously. Her cover story was different than her actual life, and that meant lying. "I don't mean to not talk about them. It's complicated, I guess. Just hard to talk about the people you miss sometimes. Makes you miss them more."

Steve understood that. Recently, his thoughts had been consumed with memories of the Howling Commandoes and the people that had built his past. Because of that, he noticed that the nightmares were starting to overtake the dreamless nights, and he'd wake up in a pool of his own sweat sometimes. He never told Lizzie, but sometimes he'd go on a run before she was awake just to blow off some of the steam building in his body.

"I don't know what we're doing, though," she continued, clearing her throat. "Things have been a bit hectic in my family the last few months. Everyone arguing and stuff. Katie and I pretty much ditched all of it and came here for her new job position...I think Ma is just afraid I'm going to leave home like Katie did the first moment she could when she turned eighteen. My dad just wants what's best for us."

Steve's lips were pulled down as he thought, subconsciously moving slightly on the sidewalk so Lizzie was in front of him when a group of people came down the sidewalk. "You said your parents were divorced?"

Lizzie was thankful she was in front of him because her jaw clenched at the lie. "Separated."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," she dismissed, and then went back to his side. "Katie and I are closer than ever because of it. I'm thankful for that. She tries her hardest to raise me here, and even though she thinks she sucks at it, she really doesn't. Neither do you—"

Steve looked offended. "I'd hardly say I'm raising you, MJ—"

"Well, no, but you teach me something new every day. I learn from you. You show me right from wrong," she trailed off, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a side eye. "I mean it when I say I couldn't survive in D.C. without you, you know? Katie's my rock, but you've been there to keep me moving. Both literally and symbolically. I know I'm not what you signed up for when you moved here. I'm probably your hardest mission yet—"

"You aren't a mission."

"No?" she hummed softly, then she turned to him. "You are to me."

Steve didn't ask her to explain what she meant. Some part of him, deep down, knew what she was trying to say. While it may not have anything to do with the mission Lizzie was signed by from S.H.I.E.L.D., it had everything to do with the reason why she was brought into Steve's life: Lizzie made him a better person, just like Peggy Carter wanted her to, and that was a mission in itself.

Lizzie pulled out her phone, attempting to distract herself from the tension that she was beginning to feel in her bones. The conversations with Steve were usually easy. It was only when she remembered Steve was a mission, and she was lying, that it became hard. If Steve noticed her behavior changing, he said nothing about it. Instead, he just kept a close eye on the path ahead of her with her distracted on her phone, eyes wandering the small town they lived in with interest.

Up ahead, he saw a bicyclist coming down the sidewalk rather quickly. When they got closer, Steve instinctively went to reach out and grab a hold of Lizzie (especially because he distinctly remembered something happening like this before). To his surprise, he barely had the chance to grab her before she was moving on her own out of the bicyclists way, never once flinching.

And maybe that was the first time Steve thought it—how much she had changed.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝟏𝟓 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

"And this is my best friend Taylor—"

"Is that you two in your softball uniform?"

"Yup," Lizzie said with a loud pop, grinning at the pictures she'd hung on a clothesline over her dresser in the apartment. Some of them were of her and her family, one with her childhood dog Lady, but a good majority of them were of the friends she'd made in her softball teams and at school back in New York. "We've been playing on the same team for about seven years."

"You look cute." Casey smiled, turning around to inspect the rest of her room. She paid attention to the color of the walls, painted. "Is blue your favorite color?"

"I don't really have one."

Lizzie shrugged in reply, flopping down on her bed a second later and watching as her friend walked around the room to see all of the little things she'd placed around her room after a few weeks of living in D.C. It made it feel more like home. She didn't mind Casey's inspection, she had nothing to hide. She'd gotten rid of the No Man's Land pile of boxes and clothes a few weeks ago when it was gross and rainy out with Sharon, so the only thing she had to hide was the huge secret living next door.

"If you had to pick one..." Casey started, turning around to her after picking up one of her picture frames. "Which color would it be?"

Lizzie pursed her lips. "Probably blue, then."

"What kind of blue?"

"Bright," she said with a smile, watching Casey with attentive eyes. "When you go to Coney Island, you can see the ocean right in front of you and it's beautiful. Those blues are my favorite."

She nodded and moved to lay down next to Lizzie on the bed, the two of them right next to each other so that their arms were touching. Lizzie hesitated when she noticed how close they were. An odd feeling stirred in her stomach that had never been there before, especially not with any other friend who she had hung out with in the past. So, she cleared her throat and fiddled nervously with the bracelets she was wearing. Casey did not show any indication of discomfort, giving her a soft smile and redirecting her eyes to the picture frame she'd grabbed. Lizzie realized it was an older picture of her and her family at Christmas.

"Do you miss home?"

Lizzie nodded, smiling softly because she remembered Sharon and her were fighting right before that picture was taken. "It's weird being away for so long. I've taken vacations for a few weeks, but never this long."

"I'm sorry," Casey's response was genuine, and she turned her dark eyes over in Lizzie's direction to show that it reflected in her expression as well. Then, Casey's pretty eyes glanced down a bit lower, and she sucked in a deep breath. "For what it's worth, I'm really glad I got the chance to meet you, Brooklyn. I know D.C. isn't home, but sometimes it's nice to have people who make it feel like it. I know we only met, like, a month ago but I hope I'll be one of those people for you."

The response to the kind words and the kind eyes was immediate and without her consent. Lizzie cleared her throat and turned to look at the wall so that Casey would not be able to see the fluster of color on her face. Then, in a fit of panic when she turned back and noticed Casey still staring, she pushed herself off the bed.

"Um, wanna see a picture of me and my old gymnastics team? They all sucked—"

Her escape hadn't gone necessarily as planned. On her flustered way over to her desk, she fumbled over the strap of her backpack on the ground and nearly broke her neck. Correcting her balance by clutching the edge of the dresser, the redness of her cheeks only burned brighter in embarrassment—what was wrong with her? Was she sick?  Why in the hell was she acting like a crazy person? Wondering why in the hell she was so nervous and klutzy, she painfully looked back at Casey.

She was just smiling at her, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Aren't athletes supposed to be coordinated, Brooklyn?"

She usually was.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝟏𝟔 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

"I'm having a serious crisis. Like end-of-the-world, I think this might be it for me kind of crisis, and I really need you to listen to me right now and not call me overdramatic because I'm convinced I'm going insane—Monroe, are you even listening to me? I am in a state of panic. SOS signs are floating over my head right now. I am going down—"

Monroe blinked at her, his chips halfway raised in front of him. She showed up to class earlier than usual (which was surprising considering she showed up late most days). So Monroe had barely finished his nutritional bag of Doritos and a large Coke for breakfast before it was rudely interrupted by Lizzie's existential crisis walking through the door.

"Can you shut up for two seconds?" he asked, raising one hand out to her in an attempt to get her to calm down. "Breathe, Agent Three. You're going to choke on your own spit if you don't take a breath and relax."

Lizzie's eyes welled up into tears instantly at the response, surprising even herself. It was like someone had broken the dam inside of her head and everything flowed out at once. Monroe's response was to open his mouth wide and gape at her like a fish out of water because he was definitely not getting paid enough to deal with a teenage girl's crisis. Still, there was a pinch in his heart for the girl, and he put his bag of chips down, dusted his Dorito fingers on his cheap jeans, and marched over to his little protege.

"Okay. You have thirty seconds to explain to me your teenage angsty problems."

Lizzie took a deep breath, her eyes still welled up with unshed tears. Monroe waited impatiently for her to find the courage to spill the beans. "How did you know you were bisexual?"

Monroe would have choked on his Doritos, so he was really glad he didn't have them in his hands anymore. Then, he paused and evaluated the situation in front of him, and for the first time in his life, he took things completely seriously. He carefully inspected Lizzie's distraught appearance, from her bloodshot eyes which showed she'd been crying already, to the way her hands were shaking. His heart burned in pain, wishing he could release her of the confusion she was feeling right now. He remembered that.

Grabbing her elbow, he gently guided her over to the conference table she usually sat at. She sniffled, using her hoodie sleeve to wipe up her snot and even Monroe didn't cringe. He just waited a few seconds before speaking. "Did something happen?"

"There's this girl I met a few weeks ago," she started, her voice gross and croaky. She didn't care, just frowned and played with her hands. She couldn't meet Monroe's eyes. "And we've been texting and talking for a while, and at first I thought it was just normal, you know? Like I have friends who are girls and I've never ever wanted to date any of them, or even remotely liked them besides as a friend—but then I started talking to this girl, and she was flirting with me I guess, and then we hung out yesterday and I felt like I was going to vomit, Monroe. I was so nervous and I couldn't stop feeling this feeling in my stomach because she's so pretty, and I just..."

Lizzie stopped blubbering, blinking a few times to get herself together. Her lashes were wet and folding down onto her red tear-stained cheeks, and she had to breathe through her mouth because her nose was so stuffy. Then, she looked up at Monroe and pleaded for help.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"Absolutely not," was the first thing that Monroe said, sternly. "And the way you are feeling is completely normal. You're growing up, Lizzie. You're going to find that your likes and dislikes change every single day—the people you find attractive change, and that is all perfectly fine, all right? Nothing is wrong with you for finding a girl attractive or even wanting to explore your feelings for her. I know it's confusing, and there might be a part of you that isn't sure what to think but..."

He paused, watching her attentively and meeting her eyes. "The first and most important thing for you to know is that you are the same person you have always been and will always be, regardless of who you like."

Lizzie rubbed her nose raw, wiping away the tears. "I just...I'm scared. What if it's just, like, this one girl? And I'm just being weird about it? I mean, I don't think I like girls...but I don't know—"

"Then talk to her about it," Monroe explained. "Especially if she is showing interest in you, too. Being honest in that situation is going to be the most helpful, Lizzie. You don't want to lead her on, but you also shouldn't ignore the feelings you have. Realizing I was bisexual didn't happen over night, and while it's a different experience for everyone, no one is asking you to figure out those questions right now. It's confusing, and I can't tell you how many times my brain tried to tell me I didn't find a man attractive because I was scared, but..." he paused, watching her closely and making sure she saw him clearly. "Regardless of what you feel or who you feel it for, there is nothing for you to be ashamed of. I wish someone had told me that when I was your age."

"Should I tell my sister?" Lizzie asked, choking up at the thought of having that conversation. She barely knew how she felt herself, much less enough to talk with anyone but Monroe about it.

Monroe hesitated. "Do you want to?"

"I don't know."

"Why wouldn't you want to?"

Lizzie glanced down at her hands. "I don't know. I just...what if I'm not and I can't take it back? What if she looks at me differently after that?"

"Do you think she will?" he asked, leaning back. She stayed quiet. "I can't answer that question for you. I'm not going to give you the false expectation that she would be perfectly fine, open arms, rainbow flags blazing because I have seen the most compassionate of people refuse to accept someone's sexuality...but I have also seen the other way, where those rainbow flags were held high and proud by loved once. Just...Lizzie, the opinions of other people about your sexuality, whatever they may be, should never be the reason you hide how you feel. I did that for too long, and it's a dark place when there's so much light on the other side...you are still you. Nothing is going to change that. Talk to your sister if you want to—if and when you're ready to—but... talk to the girl you like, too if you're comfortable. She may be able to help you figure out those feelings and what they are."

Lizzie stayed quiet for a few seconds before nodding, rubbing her nose again. "Okay."

"Okay."

There was a long pause between them. The heaviness still lingered in the air over the conversation that they just had. Deep conversations were not their thing. They bickered and bantered, and shot back sarcastic comments every other day—but neither of them were stupid enough to deny that they hadn't formed a close relationship in the last few months. They spent nearly every day together, and Monroe hated that he cared for the kid more than he expected to.

All of a sudden, Lizzie jumped forward and lunged for Monroe, wrapping him into a hug. She squeezed his shoulders tightly, trying to express all of the unspoken words she'd been unable to say. "Thank you."

He patted her shoulder, unaffectionately. "No problem, Agent Three. Just because you're having an existential crisis doesn't mean that you aren't learning math today."

"Oh, come on."

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝟐𝟏 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

Lizzie loved Christmas. While it wasn't her favorite holiday (Halloween was the best), there was still a lot for her to love about the festivities of spending time with family and eating everything known to man like it was Candyland. The season always felt otherworldly, even in Brooklyn, like everyone had somehow filled their hearts up with a bit of jolly. In D.C., she was relieved to feel that same connection to the season, if not more. Lights were strung up around the entire square she lived on, wreaths and red ribbon hung up on store doors with Christmas trees shining in display windows.

The best thing, however, the thing she missed the most, was the snow. Only yesterday did it begin snowing, only flurrying and it barely lasted a few seconds on the ground, but it brought such a necessary homesick feeling in Lizzie's heart that she couldn't help but go and sit on her fire escape all morning. Sharon even came out, bundled in a cover, to throw one over Lizzie's shoulders and sit with her for a while too. Things had been slightly off between them, all on Lizzie's part, because every day the weight hung heavier that she was keeping a secret from her sister.

"Does he know we're leaving tomorrow morning?" Sharon asked, taking a sip of her coffee and watching the traffic slowly begin move in the streets.

Lizzie hugged herself closer, pursing her lips into her knees to hide her frown. "Yeah. I told him I would come over to say goodbye until we get back."

There was a brief pause between them.

"I am coming back, right?" she asked softly, turning to look at her older sister with heavy eyes. That had been the question weighing on her mind ever since her parents (her mom) insisted that she returned home for Christmas. Her hopes were burned when Sharon stayed silent. "You can't do that to me. You can't just ship me back and not tell me if I'm going to see anyone here again. There are people here that I—"

Love, was the first word that came to mind, but Lizzie was too upset to finish her sentence. She thought of Monroe, Carson, Martha, Casey, Steve.

"Mom and I were talking about it for a few hours."

"You mean, you and Ma were fighting about it for a few hours."

Sharon shrugged, humming absentmindedly. "Call it what you will. I managed to convince her that you would need to come back for a few more weeks to say your goodbyes and collect your belongings."

"But—"

"You need to go home. My job is getting hard. I need to know you're taken care of."

The vagueness of her response set a shiver down Lizzie's spine, and when Sharon refused to meet her eye, she knew that her sister was not playing. That meant it was getting worse at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Sharon did her best to explain that without saying too much out in the open. So Lizzie complied, a tearjerking feeling rising in her chest that nearly brought tears to her eyes at the horrific goodbyes she would be forced to give when she returned for Christmas break. Lizzie wasn't quite sure how she could manage them. She'd always hated them.

Sharon knew that and only pulled Lizzie closer, wrapping her blanket about her shoulders and curling her little sister into her arms. She held onto her tighter that morning. Neither one of them acknowledged it. It was only later in the day, after a few more minutes of sitting in the freezing cold, that Lizzie took a hot shower and got ready for the day with that big news hanging over her head. The worst part was deciding whether or not she would tell Steve now, or wait until the painful goodbye.

"You finish it?" Sharon asked, glancing at the bag in Lizzie's hand which had been wrapped by hers truly ten minutes before she was set to give it to its recipient.

Lizzie nodded, holding it up. "Yeah. I'll be back in a bit."

Sharon nodded. "I'm going to head to work for a few. Need to talk to Carson."

They left it at that. Lizzie didn't pry, and Sharon didn't explain any further. The two sisters just gathered their things (making sure Lizzie had her keys because she was really bad at forgetting them) and walked out of apartment 3B together. They turned in opposite directions, Lizzie going in the direction of Steve's apartment while Sharon made her way for the door—she wished she was more excited to knock on the door, but Lizzie decided that she was not going to let the bad news ruin the last few weeks she had left to spend time with Steve.

Steve opened the door after a few seconds, and he only managed to give Lizzie a bright smile before she was hurrying forward and wrapping her arms around him tightly. She needed a hug. He didn't seem too surprised, only letting his brows raise slightly when he glanced down at the top of her head, but he still returned the hug quickly. Lizzie was relieved to feel that he squeezed her back affectionately, something she didn't get with Monroe, and all of the upset from earlier dissolved into a bittersweet feeling. She definitely loved Steve.

When she finally decided to pull away, looking up at him with a soft smile, his brow quirked. "What was that for?"

"I needed a hug," was her only reply before she turned around to close the door behind her, going into the living room like it was her second home and sitting down on the couch. She was buzzing now, excited for him to open the present she'd put together for him for Christmas. He walked over to her, and took a seat in the chair next to her. She beamed. "Merry Christmas, Steve!"

The present was thrust in his direction with a force that made him blink in surprise. He grabbed a hold of the bag, snorting when he noticed that she'd gotten an Iron-Man themed Christmas bag. Before he even thought about opening it, he stood up and grabbed a hold of something on the mantle of his fireplace. It was a small box, black and square and looking a lot like something for jewelry. Lizzie's heart leapt excitedly when he threw it in her direction, grabbing it and raising her brows at him expectantly.

"You didn't need to get me anything," she insisted, pouting. "I thought we agreed I'm broke and unable to buy you a good present, therefore you should not buy me one either."

Steve sat back down in his chair, smiling. "Didn't spend a dime on you."

"Well, ouch," she huffed, making sure to send him a look so he knew she was kidding. "I at least went to that Dollar Tree up the road to get you a nice bag. You go first!"

"I thought youngest always goes first?"

"I'm practicing patience. Go, gramps."

He eyed her for a moment, wanting to protest again, but the death stare she returned with was enough for him to chuckle under his breath and grab a hold of his Iron-Man bag. He should've sent it to Tony, the man would've gotten a kick out of it. Lizzie waited impatiently as he pulled the tissue out of the bag, and when his hands reached in to grab a hold of something, the bag dropped and revealed his Christmas present.

Steve laughed immediately. He knew what it was instantly, a grin spreading across his face that lit up Lizzie's world to see, and she stood up to rush over and watch him inspect the present. On the cover of the handmade book (she did beautifully, by the way) was a picture of Lizzie herself, holding up two thumbs with a cheerful grin on her face. Then, above her, she'd (beautifully) written out the words 'STEVE ROGERS' BIBLE OF THE 21ST CENTURY. NO ONE BUT GRANDPA CAN TOUCH' in bold, black Sharpie so that his aging eyes could see it.

"Surprise!" she squealed excitedly, moving to sit on the arm of his chair, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Steve grinned, moving to flip to the first page. "I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that thing, so you better use it every single day and study up, pal. My creative talents live in my pinky finger and I broke it when I was seven, so—"

Steve turned his head to look at her, still grinning with full teeth. "I love it, MJ."

"Good," she replied, nodding to herself proudly. Then she pointed to the first page with a cut out of Titanic. "I thought we'd start easy. You know? Oh, oh! You have something else! Look at the bottom of the bag!"

Steve's brows furrowed and he grabbed the bag again, rooting through the tissue to fish out the second present she'd gotten him. When he pulled out a flip phone, his brows furrowed. He'd just gotten out of the phase of using one of them—and he distinctively remembered her making fun of him for using one for weeks. He turned to look at her in confusion, but she just grabbed it out of his hands and leant forward to show him.

"Now bare with me, trying to figure this thing out was worse than setting up my grandma's VCR, but basically," she flipped it open and went to his contacts, showing that only one name was in the thing, 'BLINDSPOT' appearing underneath another phone number that he didn't recognize as hers.

"These are our spy phones. I was going to get you a walkie talkie but this was more reliable. But basically, we have our code names—yours is Captain Crunch because you crunch people with your shield—and mine is Blindspot, obviously, and we can talk to each other on it! Oh, also I tried to figure out how to download songs on that thing because I made you a playlist of all the years you missed out on, but it was hard so that list is in your bible."

Steve flipped the phone around, and in normal circumstances were he would have heard the words 'spy phone' an instant frustration would settle in his stomach—but Lizzie's childlike enthusiasm, her innocence, the lack of connection to S.H.I.E.L.D., all of it made him flood with even more happiness and adoration for the kid sitting next to him. He glanced down at his lap, at the handmade book she'd crafted (which he now realized was what she was doing on Thanksgiving) and his phone and couldn't have felt more lucky.

He glanced over at her, and her happiness reflected his own. "Thank you, MJ. Really. These are the best gifts you could've given me. You didn't have to do all of this."

"You do plenty for me every day," she dismissed, squeezing his shoulders in a side hug. "I'm glad you like them!"

"Want to open yours now?"

"Absolutely."

She ran over to the box on the couch she'd abandoned, plopping down onto it and reaching for the present Steve had gifted her. She wasn't expecting anything grand. Steve barely had experience with girls, much less children, so the fact that he even found something to get her was a present in itself. He listened to her every single day and took her teenage angst in stride especially well for an old man, so extravagance and specialty weren't things she cared about as much as him just being there. She'd never cared much for that even as a kid.

When she opened the box up and realized what was in the box, she instantly felt the giddiness leave her body and tears start to prickle in her eyes. Without even touching the thing inside, she shook her head and looked up at Steve. "Steve, I can't take this."

"It's yours," he insisted, watching her with a soft smile on his face. "He'd be honored."

Lizzie felt the disgusting lump form in her throat right before a sob. She knew what was staring her. She'd seen the ones of her family members, but something about the name engraved in the one in front of her felt too wrong. James B. Barnes was printed in good condition on the dog tags considering the wear and the age, which meant that whoever had it prior made sure they were kept up with.

Slowly, she reached and grabbed a hold of them, noticing that the chain looked like it was new. She hesitated, her fingers falling on the cold metal and feeling the way the letters were pressed into it. Tears must've been coming down at that point because she sniffled, and it was Steve's turn to come sit next to her. He grabbed a hold of her hand, squeezing it.

"I shouldn't have this, Steve—" she declined, turning to look at him through her tears. "I mean, I can't take this. This is all you have left of him—"

Steve shook his head, squeezing her hand. "I've got the memories...and I've got you. I meant it when I said I see so much of him in you. There's no one else I'd trust to wear and honor him more than you, MJ."

She sniffled, his words bringing on another round of tears. Three months ago, Steve would have freaked out over the smallest inkling of a tear on her face. Now, he knew her like the back of his hand. Only a short amount of time to learn the ins and outs of someone's brain, but Steve did. She did, too, and he knew that. All the times she got him out of his own head attested to how well she knew him. There was no one else Steve trusted more or loved more in the new world than the kid in front of him, and god forbid he ever lost that.

Squeezing her hand once more, he reached to grab a hold of the chain so that he could place it over her head. When it fell, he noticed that it was the same length as the red necklace she wore everywhere, but she instantly gripped onto the dog tags tightly like her life depended on it. He remembered when she did the same thing to the other necklace. Bucky's name had replaced that, and the two of them sat there in silence for a while, appreciating the other's company.

Neither one of them realized that would be their last good memory together for a while. But if there must be an ending to all good things, Steve and Lizzie were happy for it to be that one.

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Author's Note:

So much happened in this chapter, and I was a blubbering mess the whole way through. For starters, before we get into things, I am SO HAPPY to announce that we are OFFICIALLY in THE WINTER SOLDIER. Never thought I'd see this point in time, but here we are! The next chapter will begin in the Winter Soldier timeline.

To begin with the chapter, I wanted to say that Lizzie's bisexuality (or her exploration of such) will be a journey similar to the one that I experienced. That does not mean that, like Monroe said, it will reflect everyone's journey and all different perspectives and loves and hardships will be appreciated and respected here in this space. I hope that Lizzie becomes a good role model and example that love always wins, and if you ever feel like you may be experiencing the feelings Lizzie does, you are not alone. Love is love is love. Love wins.

To end with this chapter, I had the hardest time deciding what Steve's present for Lizzie would be and tossed around the ideas of Bucky's tags or Peggy's compass. I decided to go with this route because of how similar Lizzie is to Bucky and what that relationship has meant to Steve. I truly believe no one else would respect and wear his tags with honor like Lizzie, so I hope you enjoyed that present. Hopefully it wasn't too cliche, I know it has been used in other stores but it felt right.

With that said, please let me know what you thought about this chapter! Feedback lights the fire under me to continue this story, and you all are so amazing at your positivity for Lizzie and this story. I appreciate it more than you know.

What do you think will happen in Winter Soldier? And I suppose the question I constantly ask...how will Steve react to the truth about Lizzie?