Buckle up! It's a long one.

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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄: : Find-My-Peter

𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 ─ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐍𝐘

𝟗 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

☆

                "You can come out now," she said, calling to whoever was maintaining their hiding spot behind the hot tub equipment. When there was no answer, Lizzie sighed and shifted her body weight to one side. "I really don't want to deal with this right now, so either you come out or I'm coming over."

That had been enough of a threat for the person to reveal themselves. Lizzie's eyes adjusted to the shadow before softening on her suspect, the tension in her shoulders releasing on sight. Standing there was Art, a grey Vans hoodie hanging loosely over his body and stained tears on his cheeks, showing that he had been crying some time before now. He continued to walk out until they were a short distance away from each other, but by that point, Lizzie had completely let her guard down for him. That was, until he looked over her shoulder to the building across the street where Spider-Man had just been.

"So, that's the big secret, huh?" he asked, frowning at her, sniffling back another wave of tears.

Lizzie ignored the burning in her throat, shaking her head. "Art. I don't..."

"I knew something was going on with Peter, and I knew something was going on with you, but it makes a lot more sense now, yeah? He's Spider-Man, and you're the redhead from the Berlin fight? That's why the two of you started acting weird around each other after this summer—he never wanted to talk about you, always got defense...you can't even hear his name now..."

"Art."

"Every time I brought up the Avengers, you would get quiet. You would leave. Jesus, I thought you were actually an alien or some Russian spy for the last few months—but I guess that makes sense since you know Black Widow, right? And Iron Man...and you're the only one who can pass the Captain America Fitness Test—"

He started to nod to himself, and she could feel her heart breaking as she watched him start to piece together the information. Nothing could be done to stop it, especially not if he had heard the entire conversation between her and Peter. Stupid of her. The specific mentioning of Captain America struck a nerve down to the center of her chest, a physical reminder of such pain. Finally, his thoughts came together, and his eyes watered as he looked back up to meet hers.

"Are you okay?"

Of all the questions Lizzie had expected to come next, that was not it, and her eyes stung in the cold air. Physically taken back, her shoes scuffed the ground. "What?"

"Are you okay?" he repeated, and that pushed the weight against her chest even more. When he stepped closer to grab a hold of her hands, she could see the new set of tears reflect in the moonlight. "Lizzie, we're all so worried about you...and this? This is a lot—does...does Taylor know? C.T.?"

Lizzie stepped back, his hands falling at his sides. "No. No. No one knows, Art. No one can know, okay? And I can't...I can't do this right now. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, but I have to—I need to find Peter. I need to go help him."

"Can I help?" he asked, his eyes widening in immediate haste. "I can help, Lizzie—"

"No, God, please, Art. Please stay here. Go to the party. Find Taylor and C.T., okay? Just...just tell them that Michelle made me some food, and I got sick. That Dad came and picked me up, and if I don't answer, I'm throwing up profusely," she nodded to herself, the plan being formed as she said it, and Art looked ready to protest. Lizzie all but pleaded with him not to. "Please. I promise you that I will explain as much as I can tomorrow, but right now, I just need everyone here and safe."

Art could see the desperation on Lizzie's face, a panic over what had just happened tonight and what she still had to do. He said he wanted to help. Helping her was doing what she asked, and so Art nodded in agreement, but just as Lizzie exhaled in relief, he wrapped his arms around her in a suffocating hug. The extension of their friendship held in the balance of that moment. In a heightened-sense, she tensed up, but her mind reminded her that she was safe with Art. She soon reciprocated the hug, and Art could feel her body trembling in his hold.

"I'm here, MJ," he promised. "I'm here."

"Are you okay?" she muttered into his shoulder, tightening her hold on him.

He moved his head back at the question. "I'll explain tomorrow. Not important right now."

"You promise?"

Art nodded, and she decided that she would let the hard conversation happen tomorrow. The hug didn't last long after that. Art left back to the party soon after, and Lizzie didn't allow herself any time to think before going to her cell-phone. In the process, she started to make her way down the back-steps of the Allen household, nearly tripping over the dark wood in the dark. They really needed landscaping lights back there. She went to the apps in the back of her phone that Tony had installed, insistent not to even look at them, but now she had to hope he was smart enough to give her Peter's location. Pausing, she noticed a 'Find My Location' app and clicked on it.

"God, I hate him," she muttered to herself when she realized the name of the device was 'Find My Plant Partner.' Even then, she couldn't deny being thankful for the man's thinking, and pressed on it to see the live feedback of Peter's location. Moving, apparently, through backyards only a mile away, in the direction of the East River. Lizzie realized she was going to have to run, and she winced, glancing down at her selected converse in misery. "I can run a mile in under five. Easy. I totally got this."

Lizzie bounced on her heels, cracking her neck and taking a few quick stretches before she put her headphones back in. Then, she was off. She had only gotten forty seconds in when she felt the back of her converse start to rub on the skin between her jeans and her socks. A minute and thirty in when the notifications started coming in from her friends, specifically from a very confused-C.T. and a very-concerned Taylor. Art must not have done a great job of explaining things.

"Damn it!" then, she had to quickly maneuver out of the way when a man taking his trash out nearly got tackled by her. The man stumbled, and Lizzie stopped only to grab a hold of his hand and make sure he was stable before she continued to run. "Sorry, so sorry! Have a good night, sir!"

On her phone, Peter's location was still moving in the direction of the river. She pressed down on the Find-My-Plant-Partner to see that there was an option to call, and she quickly pressed it. An obnoxious ringing sound took over her music, and she winced, trying her hardest to focus on the tightness in her chest and not the blisters she was making. The only mental barrier now was the finish line at the end of the mile.

"Hey? Hey! Can you hear me?" she yelled, out of breath as she continued to run through the back-streets of the neighborhood, her mental map from playing softball in the boroughs blessing her. A large shuffle and the sound of Peter screaming bloody murder were the only response she heard on the other end. Neither of them exuded confidence in the situation.

"Why can I hear you?!" was shouted, finally, and then before Lizzie could answer, Peter was screaming to her again. "He's going toward the river! He's gonna—he's gonna—"

Her eyes widened when the audio cut out, protests coming out as her legs pushed harder against the asphalt. "Hey, hey, hey, I'll be there in a minute!"

If Lizzie closed her eyes, she could picture herself running the morning route along the Washington Monuments in D.C. instead of through the neighborhood of Williamsburg at ten p.m.. If she pretended hard enough, she wasn't alone. The pain in her feet didn't exist. Lizzie controlled her breathing like her sister taught her, and she ignored all of the bad possibilities for Peter Parker because Sharon always said she catastrophized things too often. She considered herself a realist—but in that moment, reality fell on deaf ears, and she could almost hear the encouragement from those who always stood at her finish line. Maybe she saw Sharon and Steve, or maybe it was just their voices as more ghosts from her past.

You got this, MJ.

When the East River came into view, Lizzie slowed down and looked again at her phone to see that Peter's location was right above her, but steadily moving ahead where the river started. That was when she heard a loud shout just as a dark figure broke through the clouds, a parachute shielding their body as they dropped directly into the water a few yards out. Lizzie took off into a sprint, breaking shore to drop her phone and headphones on the ground before she rushed in. Fighting against the water, she only had a few seconds to locate the place he fell in.

Diving underneath the water was the hard part, and Lizzie held her breath and opened her eyes in the murky river. Unlike seawater, there was a slight tinge against her irises but she could still navigate through a blurry lens to see the red-and-blue body fighting against the white parachute's cords. Lizzie got to the top of the parachute, using it as leverage to pull his body weight up with it, bubbles starting to form out of her nose and mouth the longer she went without oxygen.

Finally, she met eyes with Peter underwater, his mask still on but eyes expressive enough to widen. He wiggled against the parachute, gesturing toward his back, and she nodded once at his meaning. By this point, he had been underneath for over forty seconds, and she was not far behind. Too long. The worst part was, with his mask on, Lizzie couldn't tell if he was even conscious. His body struggling was all she had to go off of. As she tried her hardest to unclip the cord from his suit to free him, her vision started to grow hazy and she pushed through the temptation to breathe.

Just breathe in, and it'll stop hurting.

Peter, who was starting to grow limp in her arms, pulled them down deeper to the bottom. That was when Lizzie called it—when she realized that there was no way out of this for them. They would find their bodies after locating Peter's tracker, unless his suit's GPS stopped working once they hit the bottom. And there was a moment of peace.

Whatever she saw in those moments was fragmented, her memory fuzzy of anything that wasn't holding onto Peter until the very end. He had suddenly pointed behind her, and she remembered turning her head, but her hair blocked the view. Then, stiff and iron-clad arms circled around her body, the other quickly slicing through the back of Peter's suit before grabbing him as well. Lizzie closed her eyes the second she saw the center of their rescuer, knowing she was safe.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

Lizzie was ripped into a startling consciousness when a hand roughly hit her back, forcing her to roll onto her knees to expel the water coming up from her lungs. Immediately a migraine followed, and her eyes burned when she peeled her hair out of her face, sitting up on her knees. When she looked over, she should not have been too surprised to see that Iron Man was next to her. She ignored him entirely when she realized he was still attempting to wake an unconscious Peter, his mask now pulled off his face and body free of the parachute cords.

But he wasn't breathing.

"Lizzie, there's a lot of things these suits can do, but without me here, CPR isn't one of them," Tony informed hastily and moved to the other side of Peter, and Lizzie had to register that: (one) he wasn't here, and (two) she was going to have to do CPR or Peter Parker was going to die in front of her. "You're certified, right?"

Lizzie, still trying to breathe normally on her own, dropped down beside Peter and immediately put her ear to his mouth to check for breathing. When there was nothing, Lizzie had the mental picture of the steps of resuscitation for a drowning victim in her head. No breathing? Five rescue breaths. Tilting his head back and pinching his nose, she ignored her own body shivering from the temperature loss and the September breeze. She ignored her own problems and put her lips to Peter's, pushing what oxygen she could into his lungs. Repeat the process, Lizzie. Check the breathing. Five rescue breaths?

"Happy's on his way, but he's coming from the Tower. I can call for emergency services—"

Lizzie clenched her teeth down hard, starting the chest compressions and glaring over at the shell of a suit. "Tony, shut the hell up."

Don't die on me, Parker.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Two rescue breaths, and she paused in her compressions to push firmly on Peter's chest. Suddenly, there was a convulsion from him, and he followed the same path she had. Turning onto his knees, the teenage boy disposed of a few ounces of the great East River he'd taken in from his lungs. Lizzie fell down along the grass, staring at Peter's alive, recovering body as he continued to cough until his chest felt clear. Her eyes moved to the Iron Man suit, watching as he stood up from his crouch, patting Peter a few times on the back.

Anger took hold of her and refused to let go at the mere sight of Tony, or rather what he wore. She could not decide if him being elsewhere was for the better or worse, but as she looked regretfully at Peter Parker taking in his surroundings like he hadn't been dead ten seconds ago, she weighed on worse. After all, Tony was the fire that lit Spider-Man away from being a regular enhanced, awkward teenager. Involving him in the Avengers gave him false hope and an ego that almost killed him. Killed them. Because Tony had allowed his emotions to get the best of him. Because Lizzie didn't stop him. Because Lizzie wasn't there for him.

"Oh...hey..." Peter mumbled weakly when he turned his head to see the suit. "Hey, Mister Stark...just...give me a moment—let me...let me catch my breath."

Lizzie could feel her body temperature dropping the longer she sat still, and so she pushed herself up to start moving her body again to raise it. Glancing around, her anger only tipped when she realized where Tony dropped them. A playground, albeit a sad one that consisted of one jungle gym and a slide much too small for anyone older than three. The blatant reminder of their age didn't ring amusing to Lizzie, and she put her hand on Peter's back to usher him up off his feet. A dock was only a few feet away, but she decided that the last place she wanted to be right now was near that river.

"MJ?" Peter whispered, stumbling to his feet as he held his side. He met her eyes, and the innocence in his confusion was enough to break her heart and press on her rage. "What happened?"

Lizzie ducked her head and led them over to the jungle gym, allowing him to lean on the bars. "Well...we've had better days. Give yourself a second. You'll remember."

He nodded and sighed heavily, ducking over for a second to cough again. She glanced over at the bars on the jungle gym, climbing up to the top until her feet were rested on one part and her butt was on the other. The sound of the Iron Man suit's repulsers starting blocked any oncoming thought she had (thankfully), and she curled her arms around her knees in a fetal position. Peter's body language sparked suddenly, and he jumped up once gleefully, like he hadn't just been drowning minutes before. Lizzie watched in disbelief as the teenage Spider-Thing climbed up the jungle gym with ease, sitting directly next to her.

"Either of you want to explain why you decided to take diving lessons tonight? You couldn't go to a football game like a normal kid in high school?" Tony knew he had an audience of one. Lizzie had tuned him out long ago, her lip curling under in disbelief as she shivered.

Peter looked at her before he took the lead, ready to tell his boss all of the details he'd discovered for the night. "Mister Stark, there's a lot going on. There was a robbery a few days ago at a bank, and I told Happy about it, so he should be able to tell you more...but the guys at the bank had these weapons, and tonight, Lizzie and I were talking and we saw the same thing from the night at the bank! So, I went to go investigate, and there was a sketchy deal being made, but they ended up seeing me and took me around the neighborhood. But that's not the important part!"

Lizzie reminded herself she didn't want him to die five minutes ago, watching him ring out the water from his mask. Trying to wrap her head around how he could be acting like this after what had just happened was nearly impossible. Because that had happened. They had been at the end in the bottom of that river, and he did not seem aware of that in the slightest. She didn't hear any breathing. Peter could have died.

"There was this guy that showed up! And then he just...he just, like, swooped down like a monster! And he picked me up and...uh...he took me up, like, a thousand feet, and that's when I heard MJ through my suit, and then he just dropped me. How'd you find us? How did you find me?" his question was emphasized to Lizzie, whose permanent frown had not wavered since she got out of the water. Her dark hair stuck to her face, making her look like a very angry wet dog to him. He winced and turned back to Mister Stark. "Did you put a tracker in my suit or something?"

"I put everything in your suit," Tony answered, speaking for the first time since Peter began his recounting of the events that happened to them. Well, to him. Lizzie could tell a different story. A much less cheerful one. "Including a Find-My-Peter app... and this heater."

"Whoa..." Peter's suit started to steam immediately from the contrast in temperature, and Lizzie stopped shivering as much when the contact of his suit warmed her left side up as well. She continued to remain uncharacteristically silent while Peter's teeth chattered, and he unconsciously shuffled closer to Lizzie so they were touching. "Whew, that's better. Thanks."

"What were you thinking?"

He wasn't, Lizzie answered for him.

"The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons," Peter said, like it was obvious and the information was right in front of their eyes. "I've gotta take him down."

Lizzie sucked her teeth and ducked her head the same time Tony addressed that remark. "'Take him down' now, huh? Steady, Crockett. There are people who handle this sort of thing—"

"—the Avengers?"

"No, no, no. This is a little below their pay grade."

Not Steve's, she bit back. The second that those weapons showed up with an indication to be otherworldly, Steve would have addressed the issue whether that be through firsthand assistance or other resources. But that was a characteristic that Tony Stark did not understand, and service was not his history. Lizzie rolled her eyes and started to untie her converse from her feet, wincing and muttering to herself when she noticed that the back of her white socks were stained a dark red.

As she did so, Peter continued to ogle at the suit. "Anyway, Mister Stark, you didn't need to come all the way out here. I had that. I was fine—" Lizzie scoffed, her first audible response, and Peter narrowed his eyes over at her. "I had that."

"Oh, I'm not here," Tony revealed, much to Peter's surprise, when his suit opened up to reveal no man behind it. "Thank God this place has Wi-Fi or you would be toast right now. Thank Ganesh while you're at it. Both of you."

The directness of Tony, addressing that she should be thanking her, was almost enough to blow Lizzie's fuse for the night. She tugged a little more intentionally on her left shoe, calculating how much damage a shoe could do to an iron suit. Almost enough, but she remained silent as Peter took the scold like an obedient dog. Chatter came through the communication, and Tony yelled "Cheers!" to someone. Lizzie sucked in a deep breath when she pulled her socks off, revealing the bloodied cuts and blisters on the back of her feet. Both sides equally as bad.

"Look," Tony's was back again with a little more direction. "Forget about the vulture guy, please."

Peter frowned. "Why?"

"'Why?' Because I said so!"

"Sorry. I'm talking to teenagers," was said off to the side, and her body physically twitched at the second reminder of their age. He also wasn't having a conversation with her, but Peter. "Stay close to the ground. Build up your game helping little people, like that lady that bought you the churro. Listen to Lizzie."

Peter guffawed at that piece of advice, spluttering the words back to him. "'Listen to Lizzie?' She hates me! She doesn't even talk to me!"

"I bet she already told you to drop this—"

Lizzie tilted her head back, having to give it to Tony, as she watched Peter glance between the two of them—her cocky expression and the shell of Iron Man. "How am I supposed to listen to her?"

"She just jumped into a filthy New York river to save your life. Give her some credit," Tony reprimanded much to Lizzie's surprise, and Peter backed down with an apologetic glance in Lizzie's direction. He didn't know she'd spent a minute giving him chest compressions, only that she hated him. "Look, can't you just be a friendly...neighborhood Spider-Man?"

"But I'm ready for more than that now!"

"No, you are not."

The Iron suit closed, alerting the teenagers that he was ready to end the conversation there.

"That is not what you thought when I took on Captain America."

That was enough. The final straw for her. Lizzie didn't care if she would lose body heat leaving Peter's side anymore. She expertly climbed off the jungle gym at the playground, wincing when her bare feet hit the mulch and dug into her skin. Anything was better than hearing Peter Parker and Tony Stark breathe the words 'Captain America' or, God forbid, Steve Rogers in front of her. Peter took note of her abrupt leave, scolding himself for bringing up the subject. She made a point to walk around, trying to locate where she'd thrown her phone before she jumped into the lake.

"Trust me, kid. If Cap wanted to lay you out flat, he would've. If Lizzie wanted to lay you out flat, she would've," Tony addressed without a breath, and Lizzie was still close enough to hear the compliment. Flattery didn't do much. "Listen to me. If you come across these weapons again, call Happy."

An engine started in the background. "Are you driving?"

"You know, it's never too early to start thinking about college. I've got some connections at MIT."

"No! I don't need to go to col—Mister Stark—"

"Mister Stark is no longer connected," and then the conversation was over.

"That's awesome," Peter said in awe, watching the suit fly away.

Lizzie pressed her lips and teeth tightly together, trying her hardest to keep her teeth from chattering the longer she walked around in wet jeans and a tank top. The fact that she was angry didn't help, and when she glanced back to see Peter easily hopping off the childrens' playground, him being warm while she stood there freezing only pissed her off more. He looked like he was already conspiring, his hands moving anxiously at his sides when he noticed her walking around to find her phone. She narrowed her eyes when she recognized a particular tree, picking up her stride.

"Hey! Hey, Lizzie, wait!" he called out, and she heard him start sprinting to meet her. Lizzie didn't stop walking, even when he caught up and matched her pace. "So, obviously this vulture guy is the one behind the guns, right? Like the people on the streets are just the dealers, and this evil bird dude is the man behind all of it? The evil mastermind?"

Lizzie remained decidedly silent, which Peter had learned quickly meant she was livid. Even mad, she still talked back and argued with him. He'd never seen her so upset that she blatantly ignored him, and so his excited demeanor shifted into one of conscious guilt. He watched her bend down to grab something, and after narrowing his eyes, he realized that it was her cellphone and headphones. Taking in her with those and her converse in hand, drenched, and the lake in front of them, that was the first time that night Peter actually realized what had happened.

"Did you run all the way to the lake from Liz's house?" Her jaw clenched, Peter's only micro-expression to go off of, and then she turned back in the direction of the main street. He blinked and recalculated his game plan here. How do you talk to an angry teenage girl? Scratch that. How do you talk to an angry teenage girl who was also a spy but also your former plant partner and somewhat-frienemy? He followed after her. "So...assuming you ran all the way to the lake...thanks. Um...what did—I'm sorry, you know...for not listening. It was stupid of me."

Lizzie stopped and finally turned to look at him, fully turned to look at him, and a building was no longer separating them enough that they couldn't see every inch of each other. He was forced to face her scalding, brown eyes (which looked much lighter in one eye from the way the moon shined against the side of her face). Dark hair stuck to her cheeks and neck, black tank top sticking to her figure the more he continued down, until he got to her dog-tags. They were out, and he could actually read the top one this time. Unlike the other, this one was Steven G. Rogers.

Lizzie had been ready to make a snide comment about the boy checking her out, but when she realized what he'd actually been looking at, she took a hold of the dog-tags and slid them so that they were hidden underneath her tank-top strap. Peter cleared his throat, and Lizzie took that as her sign to keep moving to her destination. That only frustrated him more, and he let out another groan as they continued through the nice neighborhood as though they hadn't just nearly died. He was still following, albeit he was shuffling his steps more. They continued in silence for another minute, but eventually, Lizzie's ability to hold in her words and his mental assault on the side of her face got the best of her.

She shook her head as she walked, keeping her eyes on the street ahead of her. "You can ask me three questions, Parker."

"Only three? But—"

"Now you have two."

Peter whined, but he realized he might never get this opportunity again, so he skipped forward until he was ahead of her, walking backwards. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay. How do you know the Avengers? Like, are you a spy or are you in training or what?"

"Definitely wasn't one question," she noted, sighing at him and rubbing her eyebrow in exhaustion. She knew what the easy answer was, but Lizzie had a feeling Parker wouldn't be satisfied until he cracked the code on the hard part. "No. I'm not a spy, but yes, I have trained with them. I'm not in training to be anything. I know the Avengers, but...not like everyone else. Not like you do. They're people to me."

"They're people to me, too."

Lizzie gripped her shoes tighter in one hand, immediately disagreeing. "Mm. See, they're not, though. Because if they were people to you—if they weren't just celebrities, heroes, the 'dream'—to you, you wouldn't be standing here right now talking about them so easily. You'd be sitting in front of a TV every morning, checking to see if there's any new reports about the ones who are missing. You'd be running as far away from that life as you can get. You wouldn't be walking around gossiping to your best friend about what happened in Berlin like it was a vacation—"

"Hey, I said I was sorry," Peter interrupted, stopping again and forcing her to stop as well. When she raised an eyebrow at his bullshit response, he anxiously tried to fix it. "Sorry. That was a bad apology—sorry, that wasn't the apology—I'm sorry, Lizzie. I really am, and I'm not just saying this to say it. I know I screwed up bad. Not just about telling Ned, but about ruining your night tonight at Liz's party, and ruining your day before that...and the days before that. I'm sorry for Berlin. I didn't realize how close you were to them—or, I guess I did, but I didn't really think."

"You don't ever think."

"I deserved that."

"You did," she nodded, apathetically, and she urged him forward with a gentle push on his arm. "You didn't ruin my night, Parker. You definitely made it significantly worse, but I'd much rather you be alive than dead in the middle of a river...I mean, there's probably five dead bodies in there right now, and I'm really trying not to think of all the diseases I probably caught by going in. I coughed up a lot of water. Don't know how I feel about that yet."

Peter cringed because he'd done the same. He didn't remember anything beyond seeing something break through the water, and suddenly waking up choking. Then, he glanced down at the mask dropped at his side. He should have it on, but Lizzie decided to give him a pass since it was the only part of his suit that didn't have the express-heater and that would be the equivalent of putting a wet sock over his head. She noticed as he walked backwards, occasionally tripping on a rock and having to peek over his shoulder despite his heightened senses, that he had very-present, naturally curly hair. It was beginning to curl in pieces on his forehead, and she felt envious with her pin-straight hair as she observed the detail about the boy.

"I still have one more question, right?"

Lizzie's lips twisted into a brief smile. "You do."

"Okay," he nodded with determination, and then at the pressure of the single question, Peter suddenly malfunctioned. The time spent buffering allowed Lizzie to pass him up, so he had to return back to walking next to her instead of in front of her. "Okay. I think I've got it."

"Shoot."

Instantly, a wave of unexplainable emotion washed over Lizzie's body at the word. Her body shivered at the intrusive memory making its way through her brain and tried her hardest to shake away the reminder of Steve Rogers once again from her present. He was a part of her past now. A place, she'd now knew, he stayed in for many others as well.

"Your dog-tags said Samuel Wilson and Steven Rogers."

No, she refused her previous thought. Steve would never be her past.

"That isn't a question," she reminded him. The words were her armor, allowing her a chance to recover from hearing Peter say their names out loud. "But yes. Nice to know you weren't looking at my boobs earlier, though."

Peter's face got red just like she expected it to when making the comment, making her duck her head and grin lowly at the ground to hide the satisfaction she got out of his reaction. What she'd failed to do earlier had been restored, and she got a moment of happiness when Peter spluttered again through an explanation that was really just a bunch of incomplete sentences and words in a vomitous manner.

"I wasn't—I would never! I don't even—I'm not—"

"Chill, partner. I'm messing with you," she eased, her grin still a shadow on her face. "I know you're madly in love with Liz. By the way, you need to be a little more confident in yourself when you're talking to her...like, be the first one to approach her, but don't shout hello at her like there's a fire. I can feel your anxiety across the room."

Peter's blush carried down to his neck, where his suit hid the rest, but before he could get carried away, he shook his head and pointed at her suspiciously. "Hey, no! I know what you're doing. You can't distract me and make me ask a stupid question, and then be like 'that's your last question, partner!'"

"I'm offended you think so lowly of me," she said, raising her hands innocently in the air, converse nearly losing one of the socks tucked into it.

"No, I just know you better than you think I do. You're not the only one who watches, you know."

Lizzie laughed. Like, an actual laugh came out of her body, and Peter had been so startled by the noise that he jumped up half an inch. He watched the joy on her face when she laughed, but the humor was soon masked by the more-present emotion of grief. Then, the robotic system that Lizzie Carter operated with kicked in, and she was back to an emotionless void—giving him nothing. He'd lost all redness in his cheeks, the cool air helping, but now he felt like he'd just hit a wall he was working on tearing down with her.

"You don't know a thing about me, Parker."

He raised a brow at her. "You're not exactly an open book."

"I used to be."

What the hell did that mean? Peter's brain hurt. Every question he thought of, he rejected because the next one seemed more important to ask. What was she doing there in Berlin? How did she escape the government when everyone else hadn't? When did she learn how to shoot a bow and arrow (which, he really hated, by the way)? How did she know the Avengers well enough to train with them? He wanted to ask why she hated Mister Stark so much, especially since the man had just saved both of their lives, but none felt like the right question.

Lizzie caught the hint that he'd finally decided on one, and she mentally prepared herself for what it could be. A part of her knew. He wouldn't have brought up her dog-tags if he wasn't curious, and one thing she knew Peter did know was that she fought for Steve that day. Well... she fought for something much larger, but at the end of the day, she was there for Steve. And for Bucky.

The names were hard enough to stomach in her thoughts, much less put into the air around her, but Peter persisted. "That day, on the tarmac...you were important to him."

Lizzie swallowed hard. "Still not a question, Parker. What are you trying to ask me?"

"What was he...to you? Captain America."

"Well," she started with a soft scoff. "He wasn't that."

"What?"

"He wasn't Captain America to me. He was just Steve," then she paused, shaking her head as she thought on her words. Don't be reckless, Lizzie, was Sharon in her head. A decision needed to be made here on whether or not to bring up D.C. and the past that haunted her. "I met him when I was thirteen. I moved to D.C. for a few months with my sister when she got a new job. He was my neighbor."

Peter struggled to contain the comment on how cool it was that CAPTAIN FREAKING AMERICA! was her neighbor. There was an underlying sadness to Lizzie's words as she said them, whispers of moments he had witnessed in his Aunt May talking about his parents or her husband, Ben. The last few weeks started to make sense, and he observed the teenage girl with more intention now. Those two answers changed how he saw Lizzie Carter. But he also collected guilt in his chest, wishing he could go back in time and shut himself up all those times he brought up Captain Amer—Steve in front of her.

"I'm sorry that you lost him."

The apology may have been the most genuine one to come from Peter that night, and Lizzie felt the difference in the air around them. She blew out more air from her lungs, trying to expel her anxieties as the emotions started to rise in her throat. What she refused to do was cry in front of Peter, regardless of if the East River water would disguise the tears or not. She had gotten through the worst of it tonight, and she would continue through until she couldn't anymore.

"I'll help you find the weapons, but only so that we can tell Happy," she decided, stopping once again. They were nearly there, having taken double the time to return as it did to leave. Peter stopped with her, his eyes lighting up at her news. She was quick to ruin it. "Everything I said before, it all stands. I can't get involved in this, and I can't have anyone looking into me right now. You know why. I'm trying, Parker. But you can't keep pulling this shit, okay? Because it won't be me giving you a reality check, and this kind of life will hit you with the worst ones at the worst time. I'd rather you hate me and think I'm the enemy than something like tonight happening again, and no one is there to help. Because tonight was bad. Tonight could have been worse."

She thought tonight was the end.

"...is that...did that happen? To you?"

Lizzie refused to register that. "You're out of questions for the night."

"One more."

"Peter—"

"I promise."

"Fine," she reluctantly agreed. "One more."

"Are you okay, MJ?"

For the second time that night, and with the same question, Lizzie had been left dumbfounded. Peter wondered if his heart could shrivel any more into his chest, and his careful watch of her—every microexpression, every twitch of her finger—showed him nothing.

"I, um...I reached out..." he continued slowly, walking into uncharted territory now. "Art told me what happened to your aunt, so I wanted to check on you, but it never delivered. I guess I was worried? You know, about you? And I still am...I guess...worried about you."

Getting that admission out of Peter was as horrifying to get out as listening to a strangled cat. Lizzie's chin tilted in his direction, paying close attention to every small stutter and every repetitive word he could get in, wondering what he was trying to do. Did he just want to get close to ask more questions about the Avengers? Then he pursed his lips and shrugged, anxiously stepping forward in a small shuffle that warmed Lizzie's freezing heart. Peter Parker might just be the opposite of everything Lizzie Carter was now, but the teenage boy reminded her of someone—an old friend, one she used to recognize in mirrors.

"I have to be okay," she finally said, her voice softer than she expected.

"Doesn't mean you are."

Lizzie considered that. "No, but it's better than accepting the alternative."

"Yeah..." he muttered, now his turn to think about what she said. He tilted his head in her direction, then glanced down at his feet. A weight carried on his shoulders, but unlike Lizzie, he didn't allow his thoughts to settle. "Yeah. I guess so...hey, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"That."

He nodded in the direction of a frontyard to the right of them, closest to her, where a faint glowing light appeared. They shared a look before their strides led them in the grass through the small obstacle course of childrens' toys. Peter crouched down to inspect the very sketchy, very-likely-a-bomb object in front of them. Lizzie peered over his shoulder as she recognized the florescence to be the same as the ones from the bank robbery footage and tonight's incident.

"Looks like it came from one of the weapons."

"Right, but is it the energy source?" he asked curiously, going to grab it when a hand reached out to smack his wrist. Wide-eyed, he gaped up at her, baffled that she had done that to him. "What was that?"

She sent him a mirrored expression at his audacity. "Don't touch it! It could be a bomb, you idiot!"

"It doesn't look like a bomb—"

"When have you ever seen a bomb?"

"I mean, in like, history class...and video games..."

Lizzie swore her eye twitched. Before they could further discuss that that did not count (or she strangled him) they were startled by the sudden yodeling ringtone that came from Peter's phone. He tried to grab it as fast as possible to stop the sound, and Lizzie only saw an unflattering picture of Ned for a brief second before the call was accepted. She hit his shoulder, giving him a sharp scowl for answering, but he waved her off with a mutual expression of annoyance. She groaned and took a step away, beginning to pace back and forth on the grass as Peter talked to his best friend.

Peter kept his eyes on a drenched, cold, and angry Lizzie. "Hey, man, what's up? I'm on my way back to the party—"

"Actually, I was calling to say maybe you shouldn't come. Flash realized Lizzie left, and well...listen to this," Ned held the phone away from his ear long enough that Flash's chants of the crude nickname for Peter could be heard. "Sorry, Peter. I guess we're still losers. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you tomorrow. In school."

Lizzie waited until he hung up to speak, her pacing stopped and a suspicious expression taking over her brown eyes. "Tomorrow's Saturday."

"I know," he said innocently, and then he grabbed a hold of the piece of weapon faster than Lizzie could yell at him again. He stood up and held it out to her with an ecstatic smile, much to her evident anger. "See? No bomb. I'm just going to take this, and—"

"No. Already no," she glared at him, her converse being waved around as she pointed at the possible-bomb. "You're not taking that. You don't even know what it does!"

Peter's brown shot up, challenging. "And you do?"

"Parker, I'm trying so hard not to whack you upside the head with my shoes right now. No, I don't know what it does, which is exactly the point. What are you going to tell Aunt May? Huh? That it's a new table-piece for the living room?" she hissed out under her breath, watching Peter roll his eyes at her sarcasm. Lizzie was firm in her next statement, all but stomping her foot. "We need to bring it to Happy."

"I'll call Happy tonight."

Lizzie didn't need to know Happy hadn't answered any of his calls recently, but clearly, she had zero confidence that Peter Parker would not do something stupid with the sketchy, glowing probably-a-bomb bomb. "If I trust you with this...you promise you won't do something stupid?"

"I promise. Nothing stupid."

"Parker," she warned. "I swear to God, if you show Ned—"

"I won't!"

"Parker."

"What if you come, too?" he asked, eyes hopeful. "We can go to the lab tomorrow, and they'll have the stuff we need to figure out what this thing is made of. There's an afternoon class for robotics club—"

"You quit robotics club—"

"—but Mister Snyder loves me."

"You don't even know what these weapons do, and a high school science lab—and a high school student—does not have the proper equipment to test that thing safely!" she continued, all but ready to throw the glowing-metal into the river where they came from. Peter opened his mouth again, but she beat him to it. "Don't make me take it from you."

"I found it! And you just said you thought it was a bomb!"

She seethed. "It still could be!"

"Yeah, okay," he muttered to himself.

The two teenagers had to immediately shut up when the porch light turned on to the house they stood in front of. Lizzie whipped her head around when she heard the front door open, and that gave Peter just enough time to peel his mask down his head and swing off into the night with the (definitely not a bomb) bomb. "Sorry, MJ!" he shouted as he left, leaving her standing there, sopping wet, as a middle-aged couple opened the door in their pajamas.

Lizzie waved at them instantly, sobering up her best self to the strangers. "Sorry! So sorry for disturbing you guys. I was a few houses down, and my friend pushed me into the pool, so I chased him through the street trying to catch him. I may have been a little angry—hey, I love your shirt!"

The man glanced down at his Red Sox T-shirt, his wife patting his back before she gave Lizzie a kind smile and wave, returning back into their home. "Thanks. You a fan of baseball?"

"Big fan. I really do apologize for waking you up. My Ma says I get my temper from her. I definitely will try to kill him quieter next time," she promised, a smile pressing against her teeth as she talked. Before either of them could escape the awkward encounter, his wife returned holding a pile of clothing. Lizzie instantly shook her head when she brought it over. "Oh, no! Please, you don't have to—"

"Take it! It's yours. They used to belong to my daughter, and she's off at college, so there's not much use for them right now since we've got toddlers. It'll make me feel better." The woman outstretched the clothing, and Lizzie realized it was a towel and a hoodie. She begrudgingly took it, not able to say no to any mother. "Hopefully that will keep you warm until you get home. Stay safe, okay? You're not too far from here, right?"

She pointed in the direction of Liz's house. "No, just up the road. Thank you so much again. Both of you. I'll be sure to bring these back—"

"Nah, she won't miss 'em," the man said. "Have a good night, kiddo. Hope you catch him again. Give him hell from us."

"Oh, I will. Have a good night!"

They waved, and when a fenced brush of shrubbery blocked Lizzie from sight, she released the breath of air that she had been holding and with that came the sudden crushing in her chest. Hey there, kiddo stuck in her head, Rumlow's voice spine-curling. Inhaling sharply, her body tried to contain its abrupt panic, but then her arms were tugging at her sopping tank-top with desperation to get out of its suffocating hold on her skin. The dark driveway two houses over served as a good spot to change, but the dark streets of New York City—even in the suburban neighborhood—were too quiet on a Friday night. She whimpered, converse falling to the concrete as she bit down on her hand to contain the sounds when they wrecked through her. Most of her vision was skewed by now, and she had to give her hand back to shakily pull the dry hoodie over her head, thankful for its over-size.

"C'mon, Lizzie," she whispered as she unbuttoned her pants and struggled to peel the wet jeans down with more whimpers and panic. "C'mom, MJ. C'mon, fuck!"

The jeans were finally off in a frustrated grunt, revealing her black Nike spandex shorts underneath. She had to be eternally thankful that she was an athlete, and the layers were normal for her. Wiping her running nose, she stared blankly at the mop of clothing collected on the sidewalk. Next to it was the dry towel, and she grabbed it, throwing her head down so that she could wrap her tangled, dark hair in it. Then, she grabbed her phone from the back pocket of her wet jeans, headphones a tangled mess she would never fix, and a dozen missed notifications on her screen.

Lizzie only focused on one contact, frowning when water droplets fell on her phone screen. Only when she reached up to cheek her hair did she realize the cause was not from the river, but the tears that had been gushing the entire time. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed another breath out of her lungs, and as she pressed 'Call' her feet shuffled up and down. When the person answered on the second ring and the chaos of a family home hit her ear, a broken inhale of relief came into her lungs.

"Dad?" she whimpered, staring up at the moon to try and keep away the tears. "Can you come pick me up? I'm in Williamsburg. I'll send you my location...just don't tell mom, okay?"

There was the sound of a brief exchange, and then keys being taken off the holder nailed directly by their front door. It was yellow, with sunflowers painted on it along with handprints of Sharon and Lizzie, still needing to add Baby Sammy. Lizzie closed her eyes and pictured her father's movements perfectly, and just as she timed it, the apartment door shutting and her father's voice for the first time. "I'm on my way. Williamsburg isn't too far. I'll be there in eight minutes."

"Dad, that's not possible," she breathed out, sniffling a laugh as she logically considered the mile she ran, and how little it got her. From Brooklyn, that was far. His voice and the mission of planning his arrival took her mind away from the present, and she bent down to collect her wet clothes and shoes with one hand. "I broke Ma's rule."

He snorted, and the car engine sounded. She timed the five seconds it would take to connect to the bluetooth in his car and waited until she heard his voice through the static. "Are you okay, MJ?"

Third time's a charm.

"Um..." her lip trembled. "No."

"I'll be there in six minutes."

Lizzie nodded to herself and continued to walk in the direction of Liz Allen's house, the white noise of her father recklessly driving and (very often) shouting profanities at any late night driver who dared cross into his lane. Then, she could hear the obnoxious sound of Flash Thompson chanting, "PENIS! PARKER!" echoing off the walls of the Liz Allen household, and she wondered if the police would be called soon on the party. Lizzie's grip tightened on her cellphone, trying her hardest to keep herself out of the building. She wasn't in the best mental state to be around an aggressor right now—and her heart hoped that her friends had left, because if they hadn't, that meant they let it continue.

She sighed and kept her phone to her shoulder, allowing her to free up her hands so that she could transfer her clothes from one side to the other. They were starting to soak through the hoodie. However, she was startled at the sound of a car engine starting. Lizzie paused, her head craning and phone nearly hitting the ground had she not pushed it back quickly with her hand. Just when she could make out what color the vehicle was in the dark, the owner flashed the brights. Hot white scalded her irises long enough that she had to turn her head and look away, wincing, but then the car shifted gears and started away down the street.

"Dad, remember this!" was all she said, dropping her clothes to the ground again and following down the opposite street, oblivious to the cuts and scratches she was adding to her feet as she did so. Just around the corner past the stop sign, she could see the car's red taillights and the license plate number. "Alpha-Charlie-One-Seven-Quebec-Romeo-Three."

AC1-7QRT repeated like a mantra in her mind, and not long after that did her father appear around the same corner just as his daughter returned back to her sad, dirty-river pile of clothes. Mike Carter got out of the car after pulling to the side, and his arms were reaching for the clothing and ushering her to the passenger seat. He didn't care for questions that second, and Lizzie wasn't ready to answer as she got into the Land Rover, quickly searching for an old receipt and pen to scribble down the number as she repeated it in her head. When her father got in and locked the car door, she held the back of the receipt up to him for confirmation.

He nodded, concern creasing every inch of his face, and he multi-tasked by taking the car out of park and quickly escaping the Williamsburg hell she'd endured that night. "What's going on, MJ?"

Lizzie almost got ahead of herself, but she stopped when another text message vibrated her phone. That made her press the side, turning off the device and grabbing her father's in the cup-holder, turning his off as well. Then she glanced down at the receipt, her eyebrows creasing in confusion as she tried to figure out what in the hell had just happened to her.

"MJ."

"Someone was watching me," she decided, much to her father's immediate worst nightmare coming to life. Lizzie's brown eyes looked into their twin, confusion and concern echoing each other. "Black SUV...I think it was government."

Mike's hands tightened on his steering wheel, and he took a breath. What her father could do best: think. When she could let the moment unravel her, he always thought before he spoke anything irrational. Then, he glanced down at their phones in the cup holder. "Do you think it's Ross?"

"I hope it's Ross. Because if it's not Ross, then who else would be following me?" she chewed her bottom lip, pulling her legs up to her knees as she turned on the heat, blasting it. "The weapons from this morning? I got involved. Without my consent."

He sighed deeply once again. She winced. Still better than her mother's reaction. "What happened? Does this explain why you're wearing a One Direction hoodie?"

"What? You don't like it?"

Even amidst the fact that Lizzie had just spent the last hour in every worst possible scenario, she couldn't help but smile out the window when her father chuckled at her joke. She glanced down at the hoodie, rolling the sleeves over her knuckles. Realistically, there was no world where she didn't tell her parents what happened. After the conversation they had earlier, the weapons being in their neighborhoods was too great of danger to keep to herself just because Peter Parker got involved in the mess. Lizzie could still try and protect everyone, though. She had to try.

"Spider-Man got involved, and he...uh..." she frowned, shaking her head and pressing her teeth together when she felt like vomiting at the reminder of what happened. "He almost drowned in the river. I couldn't help him get free and...he wasn't breathing...and of course, it was Tony that saved the day. He always comes, doesn't he?"

There was a brooding shift in the air as Lizzie's emotions ran through their phases, anger burning at the itch in her chest over Stark. A muffled echo in her brain told her she was not angry at him. Not over everything. Not the most selfish version of her rage. Because Tony was not Steve. The irrational child, desperate that the hero who would protect her, who would keep her safe, who would save her...would be wearing a different suit when they rescued them from the river. Lizzie could not hate Tony for who he was, but that did not stop the pain from taking pieces away from her chunk-by-chunk.

"Did you tell him about the weapons?"

Her eyebrows shot up as she wiped her cheeks on the hoodie sleeve, snorting. "Yeah, not exactly. Spider-Man is his biggest fan, so he explained everything. Happy is going to be notified about it from him, but I want to talk to Happy myself too."

Lizzie wanted to tell Happy to kill Peter Parker and make the body disappear, but she decided she would sleep on a decision like that first after the night she had.

"So, the person watching you could be them?" he asked, scowling as he rubbed his beard anxiously, taking note of his surroundings in the backroads. "You need to tell Happy that license plate. He can have someone run it, or your Ma can get someone from work..."

Lizzie blanched at the idea of her mother's face. "Please, no. Please. Can we not tell her until we need to tell her? She'll just put me on house arrest for the next year, and I have to pack for D.C. tonight. We leave this weekend, Dad. This is my chance to get away from this."

"By going back to D.C.?" That one hit her unreasonably hard, and she curled her body inward. The motion could be seen from the corner of Mike's peripheral vision, and he wished he could erase that last comment. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I'm just worried about you going there by yourself. I can still push Kevin at work and see if he will—"

"Dad, no. Don't use any more days on me. You need to save them on Sammy," she dismissed. Picking at the edge of the hoodie, she continued. "Besides, I won't be alone. Everyone except Eli will be there. Taylor knows—she's got me...and C.T. is, too."

"Do Taylor and C.T. still think it was a car accident?"

Lizzie glanced down at her knee, exposed of its scar from three years ago. The memory of Ian Monroe never went away. Those fifty seconds after she realized the truth. When he was no longer a friend, but an enemy, and his fingers wrapped around her ankle to hurt her and she fell on that knee. The recovery was difficult, and she could feel the bone grind at times, but its pain paled in comparison to her shoulder. As her thumb brushed against the scar, HYDRA and all of its horror mutated like a disease inside of her brain. Any question her father may have had after that fell on buzzing ears as she hyper-fixated on the lingering possibility in her mind.

But, just as piercing as a gunshot ringing in her ears, Lizzie's finger stopped on the scar and her eyes looked over at the license plate number.

Who else would be following her?

HYDRA.

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Author's Note:

Oops, sorry! I have to go walk my fish!