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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Not So Little Lizzie

𝐔𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐘 ─ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝟎𝟒 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

☆

       Natasha Romanoff kept a close eye on the Not-So-Little Baby Carter a short distance away, now on her fifth lap around the large driveway Tony insisted on because it made the New Avengers Facility look more 'fancy.' Her lips were set into a frown, arms crossed over her chest, every small movement of Lizzie Carter under scrutiny of the former S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin. Seeing the fifteen-year-old at the Avengers Facility was nothing new. She'd been coming by pretty much every weekend for her training, save when she was away playing games. But while Natasha and Steve had to train the new Avengers recruits—Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson, and Vision—they also trained Lizzie. Kept her strong. Kept her agile. Kept her, in Natasha's opinion, ready.

Steve refused to believe that Lizzie Carter would become apart of their world. Natasha didn't know how he didn't see that she already was. The girl wasn't out in the field and working on active missions, but she was as much a part of the team—if not more—than their newest. She had been trained by Natasha. Trained by Steve Rogers. By Clint, and by Tony, and by some of the world's most dangerous and lethal humans. And she was only fifteen.

"She still going?"

"On her sixth now."

Steve hovered. Natasha learned that quickly. For the last three years, she'd watched him fall even deeper into the life of Lizzie as she grew up around them. While her being the great niece of his first love wouldn't have changed much, it did made the obligation to protect her all the greater for him. So he fulfilled the role of a teacher, a mentor, a friend, and a second father to her—welcoming the new paternal instinct like he was born to meet Lizzie Carter—and no one, not even Tony, could joke about that. Because somewhere along the way, all of them learned to love her too, whether they were expecting it or not.

"She hasn't said anything since I told her," Steve muttered, his worried eyes watching her every move as she slowly took the corner of the driveway. Her strides were fast—getting faster every time—and he couldn't imagine her in a few years time. "Just immediately wanted to start training."

Natasha's lips thinned. "She found out the monster in her nightmares is finally dead. It's an adjustment. Give her time. She works through her feelings like the rest of us."

"Coach benched her all this week."

"I heard. Clint was there. He had her," she said. Finding out that Clint had to ease the panic attack Lizzie had in the parking lot before her game had been difficult to swallow. Then she turned away from the teenage girl momentarily to look at Steve, noticing the worried crease beginning to form in between his brows. "She'll be sixteen in a few months. You need to stop babying her. All of you do. You're only going to push her away if you continue to do that."

Steve's jaw clenched, this not being the first time the conversation was brought up. "I'm just trying to keep her safe. After what happened at the Triskelion...I never want her to go through something like that again. You see how much it's affected her, even now."

"We all have our demons. Don't try to bury hers by shoving a perfect, cookie-cutter life down her throat. She'll only grow to resent it, and you. When I was her age, I had already killed someone. I dealt with it by training more, working harder. She's balancing two worlds right now, Steve—she's not normal, no matter how much you want her to be, and you can't take the blame for that. She would've gone down the same path as Sharon if you were never introduced into her life."

"But I promised Peggy—"

"—you promised to watch over her. She didn't ask you to keep her away from this."

"Kind of the same thing."

Natasha sighed heavily and let her arms fall to her sides in defeat, going to turn around to leave him be. He would never listen to the advice she gave him about Lizzie anyway, despite her knowing exactly what the young girl was going through. She had to meet with Tony. A slight drizzle started to come down outside, but that did nothing to deter Lizzie. She only pushed herself harder. Steve frowned, knowing she would be sick later if she stayed out too long. The redhead next to him laid a gentle, consoling hand on his arm and squeezed.

"Just because she doesn't have the official title, and just because you refuse to let her be it, doesn't mean it won't happen. If you keep her away, she's only going to want it more...and don't think she won't go behind your back to do it. She'll never ask for your permission, but she will need your support."

Natasha disappeared after that, leaving Steve to stare out the window as the rain came down harder, and Lizzie only pushed her strides deeper into the asphalt to run faster than she had the day before. He sighed and turned around, going to grab a towel that she would need, walking past Vision on the way who was already prepping a steaming cup of tea.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

"You're not focusing."

"I am focusing."

"You would've had Grandpa over there on his ass in a few seconds but he's still standing, isn't he?"

"Hey!"

The split second of Sam Wilson's protest was long enough for her to slink around his back, quickly rolling both of them out and putting her knee against his throat, her other one holding down his legs while she pulled on his arm as far as it could go. Instantly, he tapped heavily against the cushioned mat, groaning and rolling on his stomach when she released him. Lizzie separated from Sam to shoot Carson a look from across the room, falling down on her butt across from a huffing-and-puffing Sam.

Carson was unimpressed, her face staying blank before she glanced back down at the laptop in front of her. Lizzie scowled. Ever since SHIELD was disbanded (or corrupted by the evil Nazi's, whatever) she had been working with the Avengers, courtesy of Steve for getting her a job once he found out that she was Dum-Dum's granddaughter. Plus, having her at the Avengers Facility made it easier for Tony and Doctor Cho to help her get back to full-mobility.

Carson was paralyzed that day on the tarmac. The doctors in Washington couldn't help with that, not after the ballet shattered a vertebrae and tens of thousands of nerves. Tony was determined to, and the two of them had been working for nearly two years on ways to take the mechanics of the Iron Man suit and build prosthetic and robotic legs that would allow Carson to walk again. She never let that stop her, though. If anything, it gave her the reason to run over people's feet with her wheelchair when they pissed her off. Sam usually felt most of that pain since his face was a constant trigger for Carson.

"I'm fine," Lizzie said adamantly, rolling her neck to get rid of the kink in it. She'd not stretched as well as usual, apparently. "It's just been a bad week. I had a lot of tests, and Coach is pushing us harder with practice and conditioning now that playoffs is coming up in a few weeks. No big deal."

Sam and Carson shared a look, Carson pursing her lips and stopping her typing to turn fully to Lizzie. "And this has absolutely nothing to do with what happened in Lagos? What happened with..."

"What? Rumlow?" she asked when Carson trailed off, unwilling to say his name. "You can say his name, you know. He's not Voldemort. I'm fine, guys. Seriously. He's dead. He got what he deserved. The other people in Lagos didn't."

Sam furrowed his brows, his lips thinning into a straight line as he watched Lizzie. He would occasionally catch Carson's gaze, both of them thinking the same thing. Over the last few years, with the older she got and the more she trained, the better Lizzie became at hiding her emotions. She'd been trained too well in that field, apparently. That wasn't to say that the Battle of the Triskelion didn't have anything to do with that. What they hoped would only last a few months carried for years on Lizzie's back—the betrayal of Monroe, the trauma, the flashbacks, Rumlow—all of it changed her in some way. They could chalk it up to her 'growing up' but that was a loaded excuse. Everyone knew the truth. She had changed. Lost some innocence. Lost some warmth.

"You're shutting people out again."

"No I'm not."

Carson's blue eyes stayed on her when Lizzie pushed herself up swiftly, going to stretch her arm over her shoulder. "When was the last time you went to therapy? Barton said you..."

"I'm fine, Carson," and she caught her stare, Lizzie was expressionless. "You guys know you don't have to pass around notes about how I'm doing like I'm a little kid, right? I don't need babysitters."

"MJ," Sam cut in, his eyes peering up at her, amusement gone and concern the only emotion seeping through. "No one's trying to baby you. We're just worried. Ever since we came back—"

"Nothing to worry about. I'm going to go shoot."

Before they could say anything more, Lizzie was walking away to grab a hold of her Hydroflask and gym bag, wrenching out her headphones so that she could shove them in her ears on the way to the shooting range they had set up for her near the garage. Well, it was for Clint, but since he'd retired, the place had been passed onto Lizzie since she was the only one to find use for the archery target practice. Thankfully, when she'd gotten down there, it was empty—as it usually was—but considering the fact that she'd felt eyes hovering over her shoulder since she'd showed up at the Facility earlier that day, her peace would inevitably be interrupted by someone eventually.

Her music was blasting loudly in her ears, the only comfort she'd received to block out the noise in her mind, 'Seven Nation Army' by The White Stripes coming on as she quickly pulled the glove on her calloused hand. As she got together the arrows she'd wanted to use, taking the time to inspect the end to see what new inventions Tony had stashed in her arsenal of arrowheads, she felt someone's eyes on her. Lizzie didn't pay any attention to them, continuing to set up her supply before grabbing ahold of her Recurve bow.

She'd started out her archery adventures with a Compound bow. Now, after practicing archery for three years and being trained more by Clint, she'd decided not to have a preference for either. What she didn't understand before when he was explaining them she did now. They had different purposes, different strengths. When she had everything assembled, she rolled her shoulders out of their tension from her conversation with Carson, and positioned herself for a bullseye.

Just as she let go of the bowstring and released the arrow, someone appeared in front of her trajectory, and she paused, watching as the arrow flew through Vision's body. He glanced down at his chest where it had passed through, then he stepped to the side slightly and glanced at the target. The arrow was lodged directly in the center, hitting the millimeter red dot.

"I thought Steve stopped letting you be target practice for me?" she asked, pulling one of the wires of her headphones so it fell down, turning back around to the table where all of her arrows were. "I vividly remember him telling me I wasn't allowed to shoot at you anymore 'just because it goes right through him, MJ.'"

Vision followed her, going to stand next to her. "My apologies for intruding...but I am concerned for you, Elizabeth. You have yet to speak of the effect—"

"Vision," she interrupted, turning to look at him with pleading eyes. "Please don't ask me what's wrong, okay? I'm sure you're the most qualified one here to be my on-call therapist, but I don't need to talk to anyone about my problems right now. I promise when I'm ready to, I will, but I just...I just want to shoot."

There was a brief pause between the two of them. The relationship between Vision and Lizzie was short, and had not had much time to fully develop like she'd been given the chance with the others, but there was a love shared between the two of them. He was always there for her, a hovering shadow making sure she was alright even when she didn't know he was watching her. Vision was gentle, patient, and he wasn't entirely human—but the capacity of emotion Lizzie had taught him, from pure joy to complete upset, strengthened their friendship every day.

"Would you be all right with me staying here with you?"

She sighed. "I don't think—"

"I will be silent. I promise you. I respect your choices, Elizabeth, and I will not pry into how you are doing until you are ready to speak about your thoughts on your own time. Until then, I would just like to sit with you and keep you company."

"...alright."

Vision backed away, watching as she pulled her other headphone back into her ear, choosing another arrow and turning back to the target. Vision kept true to his word, and he never once said anything, and Lizzie supposed she was alright with his company—even if she knew that he was purposefully sent to watch over her by Steve, Sam no doubt having gone to tell him what happened already.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝟎𝟕 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 & 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘

"Parker—partner up with Carter."

Peter Parker shit himself right then and there. He fumbled around with his laptop, which he'd been religiously watching the video of Spider-Man all week (he was a good third of the views it had now, maxing in the thousands). His actions were distracted by their biology teacher, Mister Covens, continuing down the randomized assigned partners. They were not, however, unnoticed. Peter glanced up with wide-eyes, failing to mask his horror at his selected partner, only to meet with his partner's pair of curious, amused brown ones.

Freaking Lizzie Carter?! OF ALL PEOPLE—

"All right...last five minutes—move around, these will be your assigned seats until the end of the year," Covens reported out, waving his hands for them to get moving. There was the sound of friends chattering and groaning about their partners, stools scratching, and people trying to throw all of their stuff into their backpack so they didn't have to hold any of it. "I'm passing out the end-of-the-year assignments. This will account for twenty-percent of your grade, and should you receive an A on this—which is highly unlikely—then I will audit your final for this class and use your grade on this project as your final grade. We'll work on it occasionally in class, but whatever you don't finish is on your and your partner's time." 

Lizzie Carter pushed herself up from her lab seat along with Art, who had been paired up with Betty, which only meant that they'd probably be dating by the end of the assignment and break up before summer started. That's usually how things went with her—no offense to her, Lizzie didn't care what she did, but Art would be swooning for the next two months and that'll be annoying to hear about every single day at lunch.

She threw her light blue backpack down on the ground and plopped down gracefully on the cushioned-metal stool. Peter was next to her, his knee shaking like he was wearing one of those step-trackers and trying to cheat the system. His head was ducked, purposely shoving his neck into his hoodie while he awkwardly fiddled with the drawstrings. Lizzie barely paid mind to his anxious tendencies—they'd never really spoke, even though they were in most of the same classes, but she wasn't going to call him out on his anxiety. Besides, she had no room to judge. Especially since the boy saw her vomit in shrubbery a few days ago after her panic attack.

The papers were handed back without looking, and Lizzie grabbed two copies before she leant her arm behind her head and they were gone again. After a quick glance at the options for the project they'd have to conduct, she decided on her choice. Then she turned her body sideways, leaning her elbow up against the table and staring directly at the side of Peter's face. His cheeks were red.

"So, partner, are we thinking plant parents? Because while I'm mildly confident in my evolution-and-diversity knowledge, being a mother to a plant sounds slightly more manageable than figuring out how to grow anything more than mold into a being of life...am I the only one who thinks that sounds very sexual? Like I'm sure he means at the molecular building level but...like...yikes—"  

Peter was staring at her like you'd stare at someone who was slightly weird, and they talked a lot about those weird things, but you were still trying to be nice to them so you nodded along to what they were saying. Or he just didn't like her. But Lizzie wasn't a mind reader, and she wasn't easily bothered by opinionated people, so she barely paid attention to Peter gaping at her like she'd magically grown a unicorn horn on her forehead (although she had a pretty rough pimple...maybe that was it?)

"Anyways..." she huffed under her breath, bending down slightly to grab a hold of her notebook. Peter noticed it was white, doodles all along the front in black Sharpie when she was bored in class. "We have like, what, three weeks left of school? It just says we have to choose a plant from this list—ooooo! Let's do petunias!—they're usually pretty easy to grow, and then we have to record the process of its growth and bring it to class whenever we present our stuff. Unless you wanna do a tomato, totally fine by me...we've gotta investigate something about plants? How about photosynthesis? Or is that too easy—"

Then Lizzie stopped all of a sudden. She lifted her head up, the double french braids in her hair falling behind her shoulder and showing more of her face to him. Peter was still staring, his eyes slightly widening at her, and she cringed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be that partner. I promise we can do whatever you want. I just like biology...and talking a lot, apparently," she cleared her throat, pushing the paper in his direction and sending him a smile. "So...what're your thoughts?"

Peter thought Lizzie Carter was nothing like he assumed she was. She talked a lot, for one, and had absolutely no filter, both surprising to him since she seemed to reserved and...scary. But she was just a normal teenager. She was wearing a basic pair of light-wash skinny jeans and a loose white V-neck, her lace, blue bralette straps barely exposed to show the awkward tan lines she'd received from playing softball in her jersey. A pair of dog tags hung around her neck, but he didn't get the chance to look at the names because he didn't want to be rude and stare at her chest.

"I—uh..."

Peter was speechless as he blinked at her, his own face starting to turn red from embarrassment as he accidentally scraped his stool against the floor. He winced at the sound, the piercing maximizing ten times worse in his ears than everyone around him. When he finally looked back at Lizzie, her large brown eyes were on him curiously, head tilted.

"Sounds, uh...sounds good to me?" Peter offered as more of a question than an answer. He had to look away from her eyes. God, why was he so intimidated by her? He glanced down at the paper, scratching his mop of curls awkwardly. "I mean. Yeah. We can do plants...I mean—we can grow plants, not do plants—we can choose the plant assignment."

Lizzie's lip tilted at the slip-up, leaning back as she gained self-confidence in seeing him stumble on his words. She had to admit, she was an abrasive personality—Sam told her to embrace it, but apparently it 'scared people' or whatever—but she was so used to people in her life knowing that about her. Peter wasn't her friend. Peter didn't know anything about her. So seeing him avoiding eye contact, stuttering, and keeping his body as far away from her as possible were all tell-tale signs to her that he was intimidated by her. Aw.

"So...petunias?" she asked, glancing down at the instructions.

He nodded his head. "Yeah! Petunias are...great."

Peter didn't even know what a petunia looked like. Were those the ugly ones that stuck straight up and looked like lightbulbs? No, those were tulips.

"Okay! I'll go let Covens know what we chose."

"Okay..."

Peter watched as Lizzie slid out of the seat and went to talk to their teacher. Covens hated everyone. Literally everyone. But for some reason, he looked elated to be talking to Lizzie, like she'd just gifted him with a decades worth of #1 Teacher mugs. That was the first time that Lizzie Carter ever stuck in Peter Parker's mind for longer than a second. He had no idea what was in store for the two of them.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

"While I completely support this newfound obsession you have with herbology, is there a reason in particular why you're growing a plant in an AP class? This project sounds like something you would do in elementary school...actually, no. I'm pretty sure I did that exact project in middle school and grew a little plant from a bean—it died but I cried and Miss Botts gave me an A so I'd stop."

Taylor and Lizzie were stretching on the track field they had at Midtown High, the sweltering NYC heat making them choke on their own sweat as they tried to remove as much clothing as possible to keep themselves from stroking out. Their Coach, Higgins, was quite possibly one of the most ruthless women Lizzie had ever been coached by, and she would sooner have you drop to the ground during conditioning before give them a break. But there was a reason they were 17-1.

Lizzie winced when she pulled her arm over her chest, feeling the tightness of her shoulder. "Yeah, I thought the same thing until Eli told me they had the same set of projects last year in his class too and nearly everyone failed the plant one."

"I mean, me, but...how in the hell are you going to fail it? It seems like cake-work for you," Taylor scrunched her nose at the thought of Lizzie failing anything. She bent her leg, going out into a lunge. "Also, if I die today, it's because Higs is making us scrimmage out on the field directly after conditioning. Because apparently your evil ex-girlfriend complained about having to wake up at five am for conditioning before the sun came out, so now we're going to die on the track field and I hope she's incarcerated for murder."

Lizzie rolled her eyes at the mention of C.T., falling down on her back and throwing her arms over her face to hide the sun's bright rays. The grass was rubbing up against her back between the end of her blue sports-bra and the beginning of her Nike running shorts, but she'd take that over having to get up and start whatever Higgins had in store for them any day. She'd spent the whole weekend training at the Facility and she was sore.

"Don't worry. She'll probably be incarcerated for murder without us being the victims."

"Talking about little old me again?" came the Devil herself. Lizzie could feel a person standing over her body, their figure covering the sun and casting a shade down on her that she didn't want.

She didn't even bother uncovering her eyes. "Yes."

"Do I really come up in your mind that often, MJ?"

Lizzie threw her arm off her face and leant up on her hands, squinting with one eye up at C.T. standing over her. She had her hair in French braids, which only made Lizzie even more annoyed because that meant that someone else did it for her since she didn't know how to herself—she used to do it for C.T. until...well. But even though she was the Devil-incarnate and Lizzie would like to see her run over by the linebacker of their football team, she couldn't stop herself from glowering at her own actions when C.T.'s grin made her heart skip.

"Only in my nightmares, C.T.," she said sweetly back, smiling up at her as fakely as her mouth could twist. "Don't worry. I only have bad things to say about you."

C.T. shrugged and started to step away. "You're still talking about me, aren't ya?"

Before Lizzie could get the last word, C.T. already turned around and moved to where the juniors were standing with Coach and going over the sets for the day. The scowl never left her face as she glared after the brunette girl, her braids swinging behind her back and sweaty, tan skin glistening underneath the sun. Lizzie hated her.

"My eyeballs are offended by what I just saw," Taylor said to her right, her lip curling slightly as she glanced over at C.T. and then back to Lizzie, who finally turned her head to look at her best friend. "Seriously, MJ? You're flirting with her. The She-Devil. The Anti-Christ. The Wicked Witch. The Regina George of Midtown—"

"I was not flirting with her, and you're exaggerating."

"Oh yeah, you and Darth Vader totally don't reek sexual tension."

Lizzie pushed up on her knees and stood up, placing her hands on her hips and glancing down at Taylor. "Are you done? I wasn't finished talking about biology."

"Elizabeth Jay Carter, you can't just go from talking about the unresolved sexual tension between you and your Cruella De Vil of an ex-girlfriend, who you definitely still look at like she's a four-course meal, to planting petunias with Peter Parker!"

She ignored Taylor's protests and went to pull her long hair into a tight bun on top of her head, knowing they would start out with running. "I'm pretty sure he's scared of me."

"Has he met you? You cried for a week when you accidentally flicked that Lady Bug off your finger because it wouldn't fly away," Taylor scoffed when Lizzie pulled her up on her feet, and then sent her a sharp glare. "We're not done with the conversation about Norman Bates' little protege over there." 

"You're going to run out of nicknames for her if we keep talking about her."

"Oh, don't worry. I've got a list in my notes."

"We'll have to compare later."

"The last thing I want to see is what you have written in your notes about Voldemort over there."

Before Lizzie could even attempt to send a sharp remark back to Taylor, she was interrupted when their coach walked forward and blew her whistle (God knows who gave her one) to get their attention. "Alright, girls! Warm-up around the track! Suicides when you're done!"

Taylor let out a low groan that only Lizzie could hear from in front of her. "You're gonna be three miles in by the time I finish half of mine."

"Suck it up, buttercup."

"Oh, go flirt with Lucifer."

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝟏𝟎 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐘𝐍, 𝐍𝐘 ─ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄 & 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

When Sharon Carter returned from an overseas mission for the CIA, the only thing she was excited about was getting to take a long, hot shower and run straight to her queen-sized bed so that she could sleep for the next week—or for the next day, since she had to be back at work. However, all of that had been undermined by the small details in life that she was reminded of. For starters, Sharon didn't live alone. Secondly, her roommate was her fifteen-year-old little sister, who just so happened to find out a few days ago that the man she'd resented for causing her so much pain for three years was finally dead. The second one was the kicker, and the reason why when she unlocked the million locks on their apartment door courtesy of Steve, her 'older-sister-mode' was set on.

She wasn't necessarily surprised with what she saw. Lizzie was sprawled out on the couch in their living room, the large HD TV playing a TV show on Netflix that Sharon had seen more than once to know Lizzie had seen it before as well. A box of pizza from Hal's Pizzeria was in front of her, and she was chomping on an entire bag of breadsticks hung over the bag to keep the crumbs at bay.

Sharon blinked a few times, closing the door behind her. "Honey, I'm home."

"Steve's not here. I don't know where he is," Lizzie called out, her eyes never leaving the TV as she went to reach for another breadstick. Then, she paused when she felt the gaze of her sister and glowered, turning to look over at her finally. "If you ask me how I am, I will throw this breadstick at your head."

"Nice to know you've been doing great while I was gone," she replied blandly.

She ended up throwing her duffle bag of clothes down on the ground and kicking off her heels. Then, she shrugged out of the CIA vest she'd be wearing, walking over to where Lizzie was. A mild protest was muffled out through a mouthful of breadsticks when Sharon plopped down on the couch, tugging the blankets underneath her and grabbing the box of pizza all at once. But she didn't wrench the pizza away even though she wanted to, just aggressively bit off another piece of the breadstick and grumbled at the TV.

"Haven't you watched this a hundred times?" Sharon asked, lifting her legs up so that she could cross them, shooting Lizzie a look when the blanket was tugged harshly from underneath her so that it was free. "Because if I've seen it at least five times, you've definitely seen it more."

Lizzie glanced over at her. "There's twelve season."

"What season are you on?"

"Ten," she sighed in disappointment. "I finished a season while you were gone."

Sharon was mildly impressed. "How? You're always running around."

"Miss Stebbins always falls asleep in AP Lit whenever we have our 'mandatory reading time' and I already finished the book, so I watch episodes. In hindsight, it was a bad decision because there was this really bad plane crash and I had to go to the bathroom to cry...how was your job? Where'd you go?"

"London."

Lizzie sat up immediately, dropping her breadstick. "What? Did you go see Aunt Peggy? How is she? I called up there the other day but they said she wasn't doing great—" she stopped when see saw Sharon's blank face, her sister glancing down at the blanket "...Sharon. What is it? What's wrong? Did she have a bad day? ...a bad week?"

"We can talk about it later."

"Sharon," her words cut through the tension growing, suddenly very serious. "What's wrong?"

"She hasn't been eating. The nurses have been trying to get her to, but she's stubborn...she's not remembering much of anything anymore. There aren't any good days. She thought that I was Mom, and asked why I wasn't pregnant. They said she tried getting out of bed on her own the other day because she thought someone was coming to...finish a job," Sharon cleared her throat, shaking her head to stop the onset of tears. Lizzie's weren't managed as easily. "She ended up falling and breaking her hip. I've been talking with Dad about it the last few days. I ended up staying out there a bit longer. My supervisor cleared me for a week off, but tomorrow's my last day and then I go back...I'm not sure how much more of a fight she has in her, Liz."

Lizzie was already protesting the idea, her mouth dry and incapable of swallowing as she felt like sand had just been dumped in it. But really, it was just her trying her best not to break down and start sobbing. Her head was shaking without her control, lip trembling as she tried to process what Sharon was telling her while at the same time not wanting to.

"What? No. It's...it's Aunt Peggy—" she felt like she was going to vomit, her eyes burning. Sharon grabbed a hold of her knee, squeezing it, while trying to stop herself from crying at the sight of Lizzie's tears. "She's not...she'll be fine. She's Peggy Carter. She's not going to let anything stop her—"

Sharon saw the lump in Lizzie's throat cut her off, her sobs starting to take over, and she quickly pulled her little sister into her side. Lizzie instantly curled up against her, her body rattling as the information started to sink in about what she was told. Because how can you prepare anyone for a death they weren't ready to accept? Sharon had days to come to terms with it. Sharon saw the state of her aunt, the pain and misery she was holding onto just to breathe another day. But Lizzie didn't know that, and she was still so young, too young to have to lose her role model.

Sharon pressed a kiss to the side of Lizzie's head, rubbing her back and trying to keep her own tears at bay. Before she could even attempt to say comforting words to her sister, Lizzie was wriggling out of her hold, her face now beet-red with snot and tears mixing down her face. With wide eyes, Lizzie reached out to grab ahold of Sharon's hand, her eyes welling up again. "Steve. We have to tell Steve—"

"He knows," she muttered softly, nodding her head to ease Lizzie's worries, reaching out to wipe her tears with her hands. "I told him today. He knows."

"I need to...we've got to—he can't be alone..."

Sharon shook her head and pulled Lizzie back to her, not worried about Steve at the moment when her baby sister was always putting other people before her own pain. Lizzie didn't protest. The two of them stayed like that, on the couch, with quiet tears running down their flushed and swollen faces until the Netflix sign popped up saying 'Are you still watching' and the sun began to set outside. Steve returned home to the apartment later that night, his own eyes swollen and uncomfortably sore, to see his two Carter girls asleep on the couch. Lizzie was laying on Sharon's lap, both of them left with tear-streaks on their faces that Steve could compare with his own.

He quietly walked over, turning off the TV and grabbing a hold of another blanket off the side of the couch, throwing it around the two of them. Then he took his turns pressing kisses to both of their foreheads. Steve turned and headed right out the door after that so that they wouldn't wake up to the sound of him crying just outside. He was not ready to lose the first love of his life. He wasn't sure he ever would be—but at least they had each other.

At least they had each other.

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Author's Note:

HIYA! I'm baaaaack. Sorry for the delay in an update. I was working through the last part and then I needed a bit of a break so that I would write this next part to the best of my ability...I really loved this chapter and navigating Lizzie as she grows up. I wanted to make sure her that the effects of the last part weren't erased—some stories act like it never happened after a few chapters and that's just not how PTSD works. It lives on for years, and Lizzie's not an exception to that. Rumlow's death has obviously triggered those to reawaken more than before.

What did you think about the conversation between Nat and Steve? Do you agree that Steve needs to let her grow up and accept that she's going to inevitably become one of them?

What about Lizzie, Carson, and Sam? She's back! I missed my baby. How do we feel about that conversation between them? Her and Vision have my heart btw.

HER AND PETER ARE PLANT PARENTS.  Just me casually building this slow ass friendship like any normal friendship in today's time. I don't want to make it seem rushed or too unrealistic. I try to make this story be as real to teenagers' lives as possible.

C.T. AND LIZZIE...MYGAWHD. Y'all just wait for their backstory.

Writing Peggy's death is going to break my ever-so-fragile heart, and I don't know how to help Lizzie because my baby is going to be going through so much in the next month that you are definitely going to see a BIG change in her. Her fight is coming out.

AS ALWAYS, let me know what you thought! Leave a comment and give this story some love. Your comments have inspired so many updates and they mean SO much to me to hear how much you guys are enjoying this story and Lizzie. Love to you!