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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: Lizzie's Little Secret

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍, 𝐃.𝐂.─ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝟏𝟏 𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

☆

"What was it like back then?"

Steve's back straightened at the question which rolled off Lizzie's tongue so casually, it felt wrong to react in such a serious way. Her eyes were up toward the sky, laying flat on her back in the grass after they finished their run that afternoon—Steve asked if they could switch their times around for the day and go after she got out of school—and it was safe to say that Sharon's painful version of Taekwondo and Steve's competitive eight mile wore her out to the point of seeing stars. Pardon her if her sensitivity level and aptitude for noticing Steve's reactions were a bit off.

He was leaning against the tree she was currently finding her shade underneath. Although the weather was getting progressively cooler and she'd had to trade out shorts for leggings, the sun still beamed down. Lizzie couldn't help but miss the snow. She hated it, don't get her wrong, but it was home. Her face twisted when she noticed how unusually silent Steve was and craned her neck slightly to look at him over her shoulder. His arms were crossed, a reminiscent look shadowing his features that only let up when he glanced over at her with a soft smile.

"You would've hated it," he said matter-of-factly.

She was offended, narrowing her eyes at him. "Nu-uh. I liked learning about it in history class. It wasn't the twenties but..."

Steve sighed and paused, contemplating whether or not he wanted to dig up the past. The offer was there: he knew that she wouldn't be upset if he ignored the question. He'd done it plenty in the past, but something inside of him clawed at the opportunity given. No one was asking him because they wanted to use it against him. He wasn't being prodded at by fans. It was just her usual curiosity, at the painstaking price of Steve constantly feeling like he should not be putting all of his baggage on the shoulders of a kid.

But Emily never once faltered when he did. Even now, she stared up at him so casually with a smile on her face and childlike, wide eyes eager to know his side of the story. He nodded slowly and walked over so that he could sit down next to her. She minimized her excitement to make him comfortable and pulled herself up, turning half of her body to him. Then, she waited.

"I was born in nineteen-eighteen so I missed out on the good parts of the twenties. From what I heard, though, it was a great time. Prohibition got shot down by the time I started drinking, but I'd guess you know that from class," he started, and although he kept his eyes on the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool up ahead, he could see her nod. "Great Depression's fun and all until you've got to fill your shoes with newspapers 'cause they're too big for you. People starved. Kids were dying, getting polio and tuberculosis. You turn around and there's another plague happening, another sickness taking lives. Everyone around you is talking about war—'bout how we're gonna win, how we're gonna fight. There was a buzzing in the air, right before. You'd walk in for enlistment and see all of these men ready to lay down their lives. It was enough to make you want to do the same."

Lizzie was quiet as he talked, leaning her chin on her knees as he spoke. There was a look of admiration in her eyes, and she couldn't quite tell yet if it was because of his life story or the happiness that he trusted her enough to talk about it—that he was comfortable enough to finally reveal something to her. She could see the competition his mind was having, trying to decide if he should feel anguish or nostalgia. Perhaps both.

"Why did you want to join?" she asked softly, her lips pursing. The question seemed pretty obvious, and she knew what all of the history books about him said, but she wanted to hear it firsthand.

Steve's lips pulled down and he glanced down at his hands. "I always felt like I was a little less than everyone else. Kind've hard not to when you're just shy of a foot smaller than all the guys around you. I wanted to help—wanted to prove that I could fight just as much as anyone else. But they kept rejecting me. I knew why, I had enough health problems it was a shock I even lived past a year—" he did not see Lizzie flinch at the idea of Steve not existing in her life "—but I wanted it. I wanted to do something. I wanted to do what I could for others. It was never...it was never some mission to prove myself. I'd accepted who I was. What I couldn't accept was sitting back and pretending like I was lucky I didn't have to go fight like everyone else. That wasn't luck to me. I had the fight in me and I couldn't use it."

Lizzie frowned. The uncomfortable feeling when someone's words hit far too close to home for her settled in her stomach, and she tried not to resonate with what Steve was saying--but she did. Whether it was her age, or her stature, she was always looked at like she was weak and that was simply not the case.

"You inspired a lot of people, you know?" she saw the way his mouth fell down into a frown and hers dipped too, so she reached out one of her hands to grab his wrist. He turned to look at her in confusion. "Hey. I know you hear it all the time. I've seen the looks people give when they recognize you in public, I'm not stupid. I know if someone said I inspired them, I'd probably not believe it either. Everyone sees you for what you've done as Captain America, but there's a lot they can learn from and look up to in who you were before all of that."

"Picking fights and illegally forging documents to enlist in the military?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "Not a lot to look up to there, kid."

Lizzie's brows furrowed, determined to prove him wrong. "You stood up for yourself, Steve, even when you were battling a dozen different sicknesses that could've knocked you on your ass at any second. Do you know how many people would just give up after one? I get the flu and can't even find the motivation to walk to the fridge. You had all of these life-threatening illnesses and still fought—both literally and figuratively—against bullies and for your country. At my weight and height...

"I know that taking compliments for you is like being whacked upside the head with a piece of wood, so..." she stopped, tilting her head look at him when his brow raised, and shrugged. "Just know that I look up to you—not just because you are some war hero. Not just because of all that you did as Captain America...all of that is amazing and you deserve the respect you get but...you had to fight way before that just to become him...and I think that's something to be admired just as much as all the good you did after you took the serum."

Steve let out a breathless laugh in disbelief under his breath, his head bowing low. She watched quietly, seeing the varying expressions dawn his face as he experienced the weight of her words. Words he had never heard in his life. At least, not since he returned out of the ice. Lizzie could go all day telling him how much she respected and admired him, for a load of things—hell, she'd written enough reports about it in school. She'd ranted enough to her Aunt Peggy, to her parents, to her friends...she just never imagined getting the opportunity to let him know in person how highly she truly thought of him.

When she saw a glimmer of tears glean in his bright blue eyes, she stayed quiet, letting her head rest on her knees again and bringing them close to her chest. The National Mall was buzzing with a variety of different feats. Joggers were passing by them every so often, a kickball team looked like it was rounding up on one of the green fields, and there were a few tourists stopping at the monuments to take pictures and pay respects to the memorials.

"I think I would have liked it," she said honestly after a few minutes of peace. Steve still had not said anything to her words before, and she was not asking him to. Him opening up in the first place meant enough. He did glance over at her at her statement. "I think you and I would have been great friends."

A twitch of a smile flickered on his lip, and he ducked his head again. "You'd have been a pain in my ass."

"I could've beat your ass," she corrected with a growing grin on her face.

Steve let out an unexpected, loud laugh from the pit of his stomach and made her smile brighten even more. "I'm sure you could've."

"Or at least helped you beat everyone else's."

He turned to look at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes at the joke she'd made. He noticed that she was completely serious though, and he didn't doubt that there was a fire inside the teenage girl, willing to do anything for the ones she cared about. Nostalgia flooded his chest again, and he understood why, but he tried not to make the comparison—that the playful banter was reminiscent of his friendship with a certain James Buchanan Barnes. He could feel the name playing on the edge of his tongue, desperate to talk about him, eager to tell her all of the fun stories he had laying dormant in the back of his mind, but none of them came. Not yet.

"I would have appreciated it."

"They wouldn't have. I've got a mean right hook."

"Yeah?" he asked, turning to her with a smile. "Where'd you learn that?"

Her eyes shined. "Guess it runs in the family."

Steve could see that the words ran deeper than she was saying, and he couldn't help but imagine his other neighbor—Kate—with the same right hook as her younger sister. Although he had not spent as much time getting to know her as he did Emily, with how frequently she talked about Kate it was easy to paint a mental picture. He wouldn't be surprised if she taught her. Steve could see how much Emily admired her older sister, how much she looked up to her—and from the small bits he'd heard about the rest of her family, it seemed like strength and grit was a dominant trait for them.

He was just unaware of how much he'd truly seen of it, in more than just the girl next to him.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐒.𝐇.𝐈.𝐄.𝐋.𝐃. 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ─ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝟏𝟑 𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

"Baby C! Baby Carter—Baby Carter! Lizzie, c'mere, now!"

Lizzie had been on her way back from the cafeteria at the Triskelion, a cinnamon bagel lodged safely in the hinges of her jaw as she replied back to her Dad's ugly joke of the day with laughing emojis (if you see a robbery at an Apple Store, does that make you an iWitness?) However, when she heard the hissed whispering of her last name—a name that no one but three people in the entire building knew—her head shot up and she glanced around instantly to find the culprit. Already knowing it was Carson from the nickname, she watched dazed and confused as the woman lunged like an animal for her arm and started dragging her down the hallway as quickly as possible.

Lizzie ripped the bagel out of her mouth, looking at Carson like she was crazy. "What's going o—"

"Rogers just came in the building. Sharon's in a meeting so she can't be seen either, and I have to get you out of here—" Carson explained hastily, in a rush as her eyes darted around quickly. "Of course, I'm the one left with the task of aiding and abetting in hiding you like you're a criminal, not like Monroe's busy not teaching you physics or something. Put the Inference Specialist in charge of things, sure—here, here. Get in here. Drop the bagel, Elizabeth."

Lizzie's eyes widened as large as they could go and she hustled on her feet, rushing into the room Carson was pushing her into. The lights flickered when the door shut, and she stopped in her place at the doorway when she realized where she was. It must be a weapons room, or one of the many that Lizzie suspected were in the facility, and she instantly heard Carson whine loudly as she realized the exact same thing—this was probably the worst place to hide a thirteen-year-old associate of S.H.I.E.L.D. no one was supposed to know about. Most of the rooms around her were a part of the original-Triskelion before they added onto the building, so just like the gym and Monroe's classroom, they were out of the way from the public.

"Okay, this is great," Carson said bluntly, trying to conceal her growing frustration with sarcasm. She grabbed a hold of Lizzie's shoulders and turned her around to face her with a stern look unlike herself. "I'm going to go back outside and make sure the hallway is clear. Then we're going to go somewhere that isn't the room where they stash an assortment of dangerous weaponry—Barton?"

Lizzie looked at her like she was crazy. "Who?"

Then she realized Carson was looking over her head and turned around quickly, stepping back into the blonde woman's care when she saw the stranger come out from behind one of the target boards Lizzie knew knife-throwing people used. The man was older, probably mid-thirties, with a rigid stiff posture and blank expression on his face. Whoever he was, he was good at making himself unknown, especially since Lizzie was absolutely certain that she never would have noticed him if Carson hadn't.

"Mayfield," the man greeted gruffly, and Lizzie found herself taking another cautious step back. He noticed instantly, and she watched his eyes flicker briefly to her. To her utmost surprise, they softened of their hawklike stare. "Who's this?"

Carson cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing down at Lizzie and grabbing her upper arm softly to squeeze it in reassurance. "Agent Three, meet Clint Barton. You probably know him better as Hawkeye..."

There really wasn't an exact word to explain Lizzie's reaction. Shock was an understatement, and her wide eyes only grew larger as her mouth opened. Recognition hit her only a few seconds later—because duh! it was Hawkeye. She all but watched him save the city of New York with the other Avengers a year ago. Having not immediately known who he was, she felt disappointed in herself. He didn't seem to mind, but his lip did twitch when he saw how a frown was taking place of her physical shock.

"Guess it's a good thing you don't recognize me. Means I'm doing my job," he said, not minding that she took so long to place who he was. He took a few more steps closer to them and she glanced down at his attire, her attention resting on his gloved hands and the bow rested casually like second-nature in one of them. "I'll take not being as famous as Stark or Cap any day."

Lizzie's opened her mouth to say something, but she found herself unable to. "I—oh..."

"Fury's hiring teenagers now?" Barton asked without conviction, darting his attention back to give Carson a sharp look.

Carson sighed like the question had aged her another twenty years, rubbing her eyes. "It's complicated. What are you doing in D.C.? Did Fury send you in here?"

"Temporarily. Cap and Romanoff are being sent off on another mission tonight. Fury called me in—"

"Let me guess," she interrupted, her hand tightening around Lizzie's arm before she took a step closer in the room. "He wanted you to run over some cases here at the Triskelion? Told you that he needed someone he could trust to be in the city while Romanoff and Rogers were out?" When Clint's brows furrowed, wondering how she knew that, Carson scoffed under her breath and shook her head. "That son of a bitch. Barton, something's going on—Fury's rounding us up. Keeping all of us in his back pocket. None of us have been on any overseas missions in months—"

Barton's face fell at the second bit because she was right, and Lizzie noticed his eyes glance over at her momentarily before he returned back to Carson. "Why?"

"That's something I'd like to know, too," then she stopped all of a sudden, her back tensing. She turned around to face Lizzie again, blanched of all color. "Agent Three, I need you to stay here with Barton for a few minutes. I have to go check something—"

Before Lizzie could even begin to protest—knowing that there was no way in any degree of hell that Sharon would be alright with his—Carson rushed around her and left her alone with an Avenger. She was a bit stunted at how common that sentence was becoming in her day-to-day life. Slowly, mechanically, she turned around with flushed cheeks to face the man again and awkwardly bit the inside of her mouth. Well, she thought, if Carson was willing to leave her alone with him, that must mean he's okay. If Steve trusted him enough to work with him, then she would too.

Clint Barton was very different than she imagined him in her head. She expected callous, militaristic. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Seeing the images and videos of him protecting New York, having a personality more similar to Steve or Sharon—soldiers—made more sense to her. But he was smirking at her, enthusiasm and humor lighting up his expression when he saw the wary glances she kept sending his way. And she understood why Carson was so comfortable leaving her alone with him. He emitted a sense of familiarity and security, so much so that she finally relaxed.

"So, kiddo...you ever used a bow before?"

Lizzie watched as he held up the bow in his hand questioningly. She paused, blinking in confusion, because surely he wasn't serious—then he held it out to her with raised eyebrows, and she could feel a bit of a spark light up inside of her. Excitement, she realized. Her feet were carrying her in his direction, her childlike curiosity getting the better of her. Sharon was going to murder her right around the same time she murdered Carson for leaving her alone with an expert marksman and archer.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was getting so much cooler.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

"Right, straighten your arm."

Lizzie instantly did as instructed, and when her elbow straightened out, she nearly winced at the pull on her muscles from the bow. Clint—they'd been together for nearly an hour, and after ten minutes, she'd spilled the beans on her first name (SUE HER! HE WAS AN AVENGER!)—was watching her closely. She was surprised to find how much she was enjoying herself, even if she had to be mindful of the fact that Steve was currently roaming the Triskelion and could potentially walk in on her learning how to shoot an arrow with his fellow-Avenger at any point in time. That was a bit of a downer.

Oh, and that she'd made a promise to her Helicopter Mom and Spy Sharon that she would not touch any weapons while working with S.H.I.E.L.D. (although, technically, she promised against the use of dangerous machinery, i.e. guns, and since archery was offered to her in elementary school, she figured she was okay...right?)

"Is this supposed to hurt so much?" she asked with a frown, feeling the growing pain in her shoulder. She'd been through some pretty nasty injuries as a pitcher, but she was using the muscles differently now. Even the little finger tab that he'd given for the string was hard to get used to, weirder than her glove.

Clint let out a chuckle from behind her shoulder, knocking her arm again when it wiggled under the pressure of the bow. "Gotta get used to the feeling, kiddo. You're more stable than most beginners. You play any sports?"

"Softball," she muttered in concentration, narrowing her eyes when she finally released the arrow and watched as it soared with a sad victory all the way over the board. "Am actually good at it though."

The arrow completely surpassed even the little white section of the circle. Total fail. She scowled and turned around to face Clint, noticing that he was still scrutinizing her form. She suspected he already knew what she had done wrong, but he was milking in the failure. Probably thought it was character-building. Little did he know, Lizzie was nothing if not stubborn and determined. Those characteristics in her could be dangerous because she would stand there all night until she hit the target.

"You feeling it in your shoulder yet?"

"I feel like my rotator cuff is about to tear in half. It happened to a girl on my team once. I'd like it to not happen to me. What am I doing wrong?" she asked honestly, frowning over at him. He was quiet for a while and she could feel her dimples come out in disappointment. "What? Am I horrible? You're looking at me like I'm a lost cause. I know that look. My gymnastics coach wears it in my nightmares—"

He shook his head with a snort. "No. Just trying to figure out if you'd do better with a compound bow."

"What kind is this?"

"Recurve."

"...and the difference is...?"

Another flicker of amusement shined in his eyes as he watched her glance down at the bow, taking it out of her hands before she could protest and moving over to the hangers of different bows. "Compound bows have more parts than a recurve—more strings, stops, cams. They ease the draw and hold the weight, so that it's easier to pull. With a recurve bow, the further you pull back, the more weight you're taking with you. You can travel an arrow further with a compound because you can pull it without holding the weight like you would a recurve. Recurves aren't as bulky, though—helps when you have a moving target and need to adjust your angle."

Lizzie was attentive as he spoke, paying close attention as he moved to grab another bow out that looked much larger than the one she was using before. She watched him walk back, holding both up so that she could seethe difference in them—the compound was definitely bulkier. She was used to seeing more recurve bows in her lifetime (thank you TV and movies).

"Which one do you use?" she asked in interest, her hand reaching out to grab the compound bow with giddy intrigue.

He handed it off to her with another smirk at her excitement. "All depends on what they have me doing, kiddo. When they had me running surveillance and I ran into Thor a few years ago, I used a compound. Recurve is my go-to, which is why I had you try it first. It's light—makes it easier to lift it above my head and change my shot angles when I need to...come on, let's try this one."

Lizzie skidded back over to where she had been eagerly, getting into the position from earlier and waiting for Clint to push and prod her stature until he thought it was acceptable. She felt him tap her right elbow up and push her left arm in, making sure that her dominant eye was trained on the target in front of her. Then, she pulled back the string and instantly felt the difference in the weight distribution. A look of surprise crossed her features, but she didn't let up from her position even when Clint snickered at her reaction. The sensation in her shoulder was still there, but she found that she could get the string to the corner of her mouth before the weight became too much.

"Figured you'd like that one a little more," he said, nodding once to himself. "Alright. Have at it. Make sure you don't lock your elbow. Pull back as far as you can, but don't strain yourself to the point of pain—"

Clint was interrupted by the whizzing of an arrow, and they both held their breath. Lizzie anxiously dropped the bow, glancing straight down to see where her arrow had landed. A grin started to stretch across the length of her face, and she all but squealed excitedly when she noticed that—not only had the arrow touched the target (because hallelujah!) but it had landed in the blue ring. Still not near the bullseye, but it was on the board, and that was a win for her considering the failed attempts before.

Clint whistled under his breath, smiling when she turned around to beam at him. He held up a hand to her, which she returned with a gracious high-five. "Damn, kid."

"It's heavier," she noted, feeling the weight of the bow itself. "But it's easier to pull back, like you said—"

"Draw, not pull," he corrected, then he nodded at her. "Keep it up and maybe you'll be the next Hawkeye, Agent Three."

Before Lizzie could scoff at the idea, they were interrupted of their conversation when the doors flew open and in came a very-clearly-frustrated Sharon Carter with Carson Mayfield trailing just as hot-faced behind her. Lizzie knew the look on her older sister's face very well—it was the look she usually had right before Lizzie was about to be verbally-incinerated. However, based on the expression that Carson had, Lizzie had to wonder if the Sharon's fiery words were sent in her direction instead. Lizzie thought she'd be off the hook, but then Sharon's eyes connected with hers, and then they found the bow in her hand...and then Lizzie pretty much burst into flames right then.

"Oh, here we go..." she muttered with a heavy sigh, handing the bow dejectedly over to Clint.

Sharon bristled, her eyes narrowing as she all but stomped her way over to them. "What in the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Hiding?" she offered generously, then nearly cringed when she saw that Sharon was not amused. She gestured over to Clint, offering him up like a sacrifice. "Clint was teaching me some tricks with a bow. He's a good babysitter, Share. He kept me entertained and made sure I didn't stab myself. I'm perfectly fine—"

"—he did what?" Sharon asked, her eyes wide, then she turned to stare unafraid at Clint. "You taught her how to shoot?"

From behind her, Carson couldn't help but frown. "With a bow, Sharon. Relax. It's not like he taught her how to load an M-fourteen."

"She'd probably be good at it," Clint admitted blankly, and when Sharon's glare only grew more scalding on him, he raised his eyebrows challengingly. Lizzie shrunk back at the contact, deciding it was best to let the adults converse. "Agent Thirteen. Nice to see you again. I didn't know that you were placed here."

"Seems all of us were, doesn't it?"

Sharon ignored Carson's snide comment. "Barton. Why are you letting my baby sister handle a weapon?"

Lizzie was only mildly surprised that Sharon had exposed their relationship with one another to Clint—if it weren't obvious in her dramatics, their genetics and how similar they looked to one another would have. However, that didn't stop her from feeling the rise of irritation at the way her sister was overreacting to the situation.

"I'm not a baby," she interrupted before Clint could say anything, frowning at her sister from behind his shoulder. "And archery is literally offered as a sport in elementary schools, Sharon."

"By gym teachers. Not SHIELD members—"

"—what's the difference in him teaching me archery and everything else I'm learning, Sharon?" she asked defiantly. "I can be apart of the super-secret-spy-organization and have to sneak around hiding because of it, but I can't do something eight-year-olds can? That isn't fair, and you know it. Mom told me to stay away from weapons. It's not a weapon unless you turn it into one. Just like a knife. Or a freaking lamp—"

Carson, who had been standing tightlipped, felt like it was an appropriate time to intervene. "She's not wrong, Sharon. Can't let her on the ship and not give her a life vest...because, you know, we're currently heading right toward an iceberg—"

"Carson, please be quiet," Sharon interrupted, clenching her jaw and turning back to Lizzie.

The fire in her eyes had died, and all that was left was a vulnerable need to protect her little sister. Lizzie felt bad, deflating instantly and falling back into her place. She always forgot that she was just a kid. Even if she might be a very advanced kid, she was still a kid. Sharon glanced hesitantly over to Clint, who had decided it was best to go over to the table where a variety of arrows sat. Carson must have felt the tension and went over to join him, leading them to spark up a conversation while Sharon sighed deeply at her sister.

"I know you aren't a baby," she finally began quietly, taking a few steps closer to her so that the moment felt somewhat private. Lizzie frowned. "I do, Lizzie, but you're still my baby sister. Mom trusted me to watch over you here, and if something happened to you...that's on me. So, I'm sorry if I'm being a slightly overprotective bitch of a sister—"

"—slightly?"

Sharon shot her a look. "—but it's because I love you and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt. I...understand that you are learning things here that push my comfort zone...just give me time to get used to it. I'm all for you being a bad-ass archer, and wanting to learn how to kick someone's ass, but...just give me time to not see you as my annoying little, fragile sister."

"I'm not fragile, though, Share," she protested, frowning at her sister. "We've been through this. You told me you weren't going to hold back. Don't hold me back either."

Those words struck something in Sharon. She watched her sister's face fall, and then Sharon finally took in the desperate pleas coming from Lizzie's mouth. Just like she had noticed the pure joy on her face when she burst in—it had come far and few between recently, seeing her that happy, as she struggled with the weight of their mission and her morals. Sharon didn't want to be like their mother. She remembered when she was Lizzie's age—when their mom protested her involvement in S.H.I.E.L.D. and Sharon cried for ages about it. Now, without even realizing it, Sharon had been doing the exact same.

So, she let go of that part of herself and decided to be better. Turning away from the heartbroken expression on Lizzie's face, she glanced over in the direction to see Carson and Clint still talking in hushed voice to one another. It was stopped by Sharon called out his name. "Barton?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning his head over to her.

"How long are you here?" she asked, a blank slate covering her features.

Clint's brows furrowed. "At least a week. Depends on how bad Cap's mission falls through."

Lizzie's heart rate spiked at those words, and she was too busy realizing that she had never personally known Steve when he went off on one of his S.H.I.E.L.D. missions. Now, the concern washed over her like a gross case of the flu, and she couldn't help but pray that everything would go alright and nothing would fall through. Even if she enjoyed Clint's company and hoped he would stay longer, Steve's safety was more important to her.

"Good," Sharon said indifferently. Then she nodded her head in Lizzie's direction. "Can you teach her while you're here?"

Lizzie's head whirled around to stare at her sister with wide eyes, flabbergasted. "What?"

"Can do, Agent Thirteen," he commented casually, and she turned to look at him this time after gaping in shock at her sister. He winked her way and reached for the compound bow he had laid down for the time being. "C'mon, Katniss."

Lizzie could have jumped up and down in excitement, reeling in getting to shoot some more, and turned around to face her sister with a bright grin. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you—" she reached and pulled Sharon into an affectionate hug, squeezing, before skidding away with a skip in her step to where Clint was readying the bow again for her.

Sharon watched, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, with a straight face and a pounding heart. Although she did not glance over, she could feel Carson coming up to stand beside her and watch as Lizzie grew enamored with the instructions Clint was giving her again. Carson's eyes were full of adoration, softening on Baby Carter, before she turned and nudged her best friend's elbow affectionately.

"Proud of you."

Sharon gnawed on the inside of her mouth. "I need to do right by her, Carson."

"Yeah?" she asked softly, knowingly. They watched as Lizzie readied her stance. "Maybe this is right."

"I feel like I'm suiting her up for battle. That isn't why she's here."

"The world is a bad place, Share. She deserves the right to fight it just like the rest of us."

Sharon, whose composure never faltered, flinched when she heard an arrow hit hard against the target. "I know that...but I also know her. Nothing is ever going to be enough. She was supposed to be an associate for a few weeks. Learn geography on her off days and teach Rogers' how to live in this century. I wasn't supposed to be teaching her how to escape a chokehold or being held at gunpoint. Monroe wasn't supposed to teach her about the science behind the super-soldier serum. Sitwell never should have strayed from teaching her about surveillance—and you weren't supposed to even know about her—and now...what? She's not a spy, Carson. Not an agent. Not even an adult."

"No, but she is a Carter," Carson said earnestly, making Sharon's shoulders fall a bit more. "And you can't honestly tell me you don't see every bit of your determination and your aunt's strength in that girl over there. She isn't going to back out of a fight, Sharon. You never have. Neither has Peggy. You know that...so why not give her the resources she needs to win?"

Sharon grit her teeth together, watching closely as Lizzie prepared another arrow. "She shouldn't have to. Someone else is there to fight those battles for her."

"Sharon," she scolded instantly, turning wholly to her best friend with a sharp look. "Ignore her last name for a second. Captain America is her babysitter. He's the living, breathing embodiment of standing up for yourself and fighting for what's right. You really think she's not going to go into this world, guns-blazing, after meeting him and looking up to him so much? Don't make her fight against you. It will only end up breaking her heart, and then neither of you win."

"I just..." Sharon's eyes welled with unforgiving tears. "I can't lose her, Carson."

"And you won't if you let her go," she finished, smiling sadly at her. "Let her grow."

Sharon did not say anything to that, but the expression on her face spoke enough in itself as she watched Lizzie send another arrow flying. This one, in particular, went whizzing through the air much faster than the others, but Sharon did not flinch this time at the impact. The arrow stuck to the target, much closer than the others before it. She observed her reaction with pitifully fond eyes as her baby sister cheered again, getting another high-five from Clint in congratulations.

And even though she would always see the little girl who chased her around like an annoying little pest half of her life, there was no denying that Lizzie Carter was growing up much faster than Sharon wanted her to.

Lizzie turned her head to look back in their direction, a smile bright and joyful enough to eradicate the world of all its imperfections, and she sent Sharon an enthusiastic thumbs up. Turns out, Lizzie's little secret had nothing to do with Steve Rogers at all, nor the bow that she was holding in her hands.

Perhaps it was that S.H.I.E.L.D. was her Disneyland, after all.

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Author's Note:

I WAS INSPIRED. This chapter is one of my favorites so far. I love ALL of the Lizzie-SHIELD training scenes, but I have been eager to get to this one for a while and it's finally here! Clint was always going to make an appearance in this story, but I found it hard to balance it and make his appearance natural and not tacky or random. Hopefully it was achieved because I love, love, LOVE his character's interactions with Lizzie. Tried to keep in mind that he's a dad and his natural instincts come out in this.

So...secret's out. Lizzie's officially got a bow in her hand now. I struggled on what I wanted for her and how I wanted her to be involved in the 'hero' world of things, and this is the current plan. I really wanted to emphasize the point that she IS thirteen, and she is still young, and that by no means is her being involved in SHIELD taken lightly by anyone.

How did you like the scene between Steve and Lizzie? He's finally opening up! Slowly but surely. I never really anticipated that he would be an open book, and there is definitely still a barrier built up between him and talking about his past. She's slowly breaking it down though. I just love them, they have all my heart-eyes.

Also...Carson is so smart. Just sayin'. Someone give her a medal.

As always, let me know what you thought about the chapter! The amazing comments you left on the last inspired me and that's why this one came out so quickly...keep it up, please! I love feedback on this story and hearing all the ideas you have or want to see.