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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗: Juvenile Delinquent

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 ─ 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍, 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘

𝟐𝟔 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

☆

               Peter Parker couldn't bring himself to document the day he'd had. The fun, little video montage that he started two hours into his adventure in Berlin didn't appeal him as much as it did yesterday. Maybe, maybe, if he hadn't stuck around long enough, he would have ranted to no audience about the fact that his freaking classmate was an Avenger. (Scratch that, the mother of his plant child was an Avenger). He would have found that information more surprising had it been anyone but Lizzie Carter—but honestly? If Peter had to place his bets, she would rank higher than even him on that yearbook superlative.

He didn't get to bask in any of those emotions because, rather than freaking out about the obvious elephant in the room, Peter had front row to a nauseating sight before Happy whisked him away. The government officials arrived before the ambulance came for Rhodey, rolling in by the dozens in black SUV's that seemed too stereotypical to be official. They were official. Peter figured that out when men in uniforms hustled onto the tarmac, large guns pointed in the direction of every Avenger that hadn't been fighting on his side.

That meant Peter Parker had to watch his classmate get arrested right in front of his eyes. Lizzie hadn't looked at him again after they first made eye contact, and he'd realized much too late that she had known who he was before she saw him without his mask on. Hawkeye hovered over Lizzie, and the natural instinct she had to look at him when he dropped to his knees and placed his hands behind his neck had her replicating the action. Peter thought he was going to vomit then, but when they aggressively lurched her and Hawkeye from the ground after shackling their hands with cuffs, he decided it may not be the best time to blow chunks.

"She's not armed. She's fifteen," he heard Hawkeye bark out to one of the men who pushed Lizzie up off the ground and in the direction of the SUV. "This what you guys do, huh? Gonna arrest a kid? Real cool of you, man."

A tall man Peter recognized from the news, but could not put a name to the face, stepped in front of them before they could be put in the back of a holding unit. "This kid is a wanted fugitive on American and European soil, Barton. I thought you were retired."

"Didn't suit my lifestyle."

"I hope you find the criminal lifestyle more appealing."

Barton kept his head high and shrugged only once, never breaking eye contact with the man. Peter wanted Lizzie to look at him, he was practically begging for her to turn her head, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. "Better than being a dirty cop."

"That's enough. Put these two in with Lang. Get Wilson and Maximoff."

"Peter."

Peter nearly jumped out of his own skin when he heard his name. A hand went to his chest, whirling around to see Happy Hogan glaring at him with a usual level of parental exhaustion that he oftentimes saw in his Aunt May. The man took a moment to look over Peter's shoulder, and to the teenager's surprise, Happy's facade broke. That was when Peter realized it was more than just a few Avengers that Lizzie Carter knew, but those closest to them as well. How? How in the HELL did she know the Avengers? Happy's expression didn't change when he saw the ambulances begin to drive up the tarmac, heading in the direction of where Rhodey fell.

Peter's shoulders fell as he watched Lizzie disappear from his sight, Hawkeye being pushed into the back of the vehicle soon after. "What's going to happen to her?"

"She...uh—she'll be taken in for questioning," Happy answered after clearing his throat. He shook free the thoughts and turned to Peter again. "Come on. I told Tony I would get you back to the hotel before anyone started asking you questions too."

"But—"

He looked back at the vehicle.

"Now, Parker. Don't make me say it twice."

Now in his hotel room, Peter tried not to think about how Lizzie Carter had taken up every space of his mind. Even the parts he hadn't known existed lingered with questions, and every single one of them had started piling up on his Notes app the longer he sat wondering what kind of questions the government was asking her, too. Huffing out a sigh, he tossed his phone to get it out of his sight, only to yelp when he accidentally threw it too hard and made a quick lunge to save it.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍, 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘

𝟐𝟕 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

"Elizabeth Jay Carter. Fifteen-years-old. Born on October first two-thousand. Currently enrolled in Midtown School of Science and Technology with a GPA of four-point-one-two freshman year despite playing centerfield for the school's varsity softball team...does all of this sound correct?"

"It was actually a four-point-one-two-five."

General Thaddeus Ross looked much different in person than he did on the news. Lizzie noticed that his tie was not straight, and his shoes were scuffed despite having a high-paying job that could afford a polished version. Both of these told her that he had been busy the last few hours. The man was tall and refused to slouch in her presence, which just screamed a toxic masculinity intimidation tactic she'd seen in too many men over the years. His hands remained clasped around his back, but every so often, he would unclasp them when he got frustrated by her. That was his tell, one he didn't seen to know about either.

Like then, when he bristled momentarily and his hands fell at his sides. "Might I repeat, Miss Carter, that you are currently under questioning by the United States government and facing a number of charges to your name."

"I'm well aware, sir," she said, calmly, clasping her hands together. The metal clanged together. "That's why I want to be sure I'm providing you with the accurate information...I pitch sometimes, too—well, not as much as I play center, but..."

Lizzie trailed off, unable to hide her satisfaction as she watched the man grow even more agitated by her answers. While she observed General Ross, he did nothing to observe her. If he had, he would have noticed the way her heels were pressing deeply into the cement of the interrogation room to keep herself grounded. Natasha taught her that one. Or perhaps he would have seen the slug of her shoulders as she carried enough tension for an overpopulated city.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked, leaning forward as she made eye-contact.

"That's not how this works, Miss Carter."

"What's your justice?"

Lizzie knew she'd caught him off-guard. He stopped, and although he clearly knew better than to let her question get to him, he did raise his eyebrows at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'll rephrase it: is this your justice?" she raised her hands at him, the handcuffs now heavier with the attention on them. Her brown eyes remained on him as they fell lifelessly back onto the metal table. "You have me and five other people in interrogation rooms, trying to get a location out of us, right? You want to know where he is? But not once have you asked why we're here."

"I know why you are here, Miss Carter. I know the details of your redacted file that Nick Fury tried to erase from existence—of the mission that you and your sister were asked to do in S.H.I.E.L.D. and what training you have received from HYDRA affiliates. I know what your sister and Carson Mayfield are running from. I know every therapy session you've avoided and how many pins are sitting in your shoulder right now...the little initiative the others have taken upon you, just as I know if anyone of the five people in these interrogation rooms knows the whereabouts of Captain Rogers, it is you."

When Natasha first began the training sessions of interrogation, she did not give her any warning. Instead, she left the teenage girl defenseless with only the knowledge Sitwell gave. What good that did for her. Natasha learned that Lizzie did not favor well in silence—it could break her—and so that gave purpose to her big-mouth coming to use. Lizzie learned to turn the narrative and speak without answering anything. For the most part, she passed. Except in one area.

Lizzie knew she was pissing off General Ross, but what he clearly did not care to see was that he was pissing her off, and the mentioning of those most important to her was his worst mistake. She did her best not to flex her hands, but her heels were digging so hard into the ground now that she wondered if she'd leave a crack in the cement. For a while, she didn't breathe.

Then she nodded her head once and looked up at him again. "I think...that you don't want to ask me why I'm here because you know you're wrong."

"Miss Carter, if you refuse to comply—"

"I've been nothing but compliant, sir."

His jaw clenched. "You're wasting my time."

"I haven't asked for a lawyer, General. I haven't called my parents, even though I'm only fifteen-years-old, and after witnessing today's events, clearly under psychological distress that may prevent me from answering such questions. You have infringed upon a lot of rights that my mother could work a case with, and you really don't want to meet my mom...oh, and these are fun," she gestured for the handcuffs again. "I wonder what will be said on Twitter...two-hundred and eighty characters, detailing the conditions placed upon a juvenile held under the US government without even being asked if she needed a glass of wa—"

Lizzie stopped when the door slammed with Thaddeus Ross leaving behind it. Her face fell immediately but she paused when she made eye-contact with her reflection in the glass. She looked horrible, albeit she couldn't care about herself right now when she had a number of thoughts running through her mind—Rhodey? Was he alright? Had they gotten to him soon enough? She didn't get to see that before she, Sam, Clint, Lang, and Wanda were all hailed away by the United States Army. Not without a fight, specifically from Wanda, and another from Sam when he noticed the handcuffs on Lizzie.

She pursed her chapped lips together, going for her ponytail so that she could throw the matted pieces out of her face. As she did so with difficulty from the cuffs, she could not help the off-chance that Ross was on the other end as she casually fixed her hair. "So I guess that's a no on the glass of water."

"Put her with the others," came out of General Ross' mouth as he watched her through the glass.

"Actually, she'll be released into the custody of me," interrupted that action. Tony Stark stood in the back of the room, having been watching the interview and making calls at the same time. Ross' anger had been cut short by Tony continuing. "Per the big man's orders...well, your big man. Mine is God. Anyway, kid is coming with me. She's fifteen, and she hasn't committed a crime—"

That was enough for Ross to interject. "She participated in the events at the airport and knowingly helped a fugitive escape custody. She knows the whereabouts of that wanted fugitive and is actively withholding information—"

"She isn't withholding information, and if she did, you're not getting it out of her. Trust me, I tried. Do you have kids? I bet you don't...she'll go in for a psych evaluation as soon as she returns to New York City, where she will receive limited access to all of her social medias and a stern curfew—"

"You're going to ground her, Stark?"

"I'll even throw in some community service," Tony offered, and although his tone was lighthearted, he was not backing down from the fight. His eyes softened only when he caught a glimpse of her past the man's shoulder. "Ross, she's just a kid. A sophomore in high school. She's harmless."

"A sophomore in high school does not possess the espionage skills of that kid."

"You saw her last name. Are you surprised?"

"Given her last name, and the fact that you and the others trained that girl, I find it well beyond reason to keep her in holding."

"Can't hold her for being a smart ass. Lawyers won't like that one very much. You know her mom owns one, right? Big defense attorney in New York."

General Ross knew he'd lost the fight, but that didn't stop him from lending one last cold stare at Tony. "She knows where he is."

"So what? You going to start pulling out her nails to get the answers?" Tony raised his eyebrows, his words clipped on his tongue. He knew it wasn't smart, especially with the bluff he'd already made, but he wasn't leaving until she was with him. "She's not an Avenger. A juvenile delinquent sure, but not an Avenger, and not a criminal."

"I'm not going to pretend she doesn't exist like Fury did, Stark," Ross threatened, taking a step forward. Tony remained calm, blinking once at him. "You keep trying to erase her existence in this world but she's left quite a ledger to follow."

"A ledger? Come on, now. I think you're being a little over dramatic. Look at her—" That prompted both men to turn and look through the glass to see Lizzie picking at the fuzz on the blue uniform they'd forced them into. Tony had to thank God she wasn't flicking them off like he'd feared. "—she won't be a problem anymore. Her days will be studying and practicing, like a normal teenager. I promise."

Ross wanted to see her in a cell with the others, but he knew what the process would look like if he did so. He also knew the wrath that would follow given her last name, so he ignored the pinched nerve in his chest that seethed with rage and nodded only once. Tony would have exhaled a deep sigh of relief if he wasn't under Ross' close eye, but the weight lifted off his shoulders.

"I want updates. I want logs. I want to see her community service, and I want every call she makes tracked. If I see any indication that she is in contact with Rogers—"

Stark could already imagine the hell he'd experience relaying those conditions to the fifteen-year-old. "—you'll be the first to know."

"Then she's your responsibility now, Stark. I hope she's worth it."

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ─ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐍𝐘

𝟑𝟎 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

Lizzie's therapist, Gracie, would likely disagree with the ways in which she decided to cope with the last week—which, for Lizzie, usually started with not coping—because coping with what happened in Berlin would mean she would have to, first, cope with what happened three years ago in D.C. and she hadn't gotten there yet either. Although, she had cried more then. She cried for days. For weeks. Now, she was lucky if she even flinched when the shower water was too hot. If Lizzie didn't ignore Therapist Gracie's emails and the persistent urges from her worried parents to talk to them about what had happened, Lizzie likely would not have been coping in the ways that she did.

But she did ignore all ten emails, and she did slam her door in her parents' faces, and she did make that phone call she shouldn't have made. She should have called Tony Stark, but Lizzie worried for his sake she would only scream at the man—because her gut stirred and her blood boiled when she thought too long about him, no matter what strings he had to pull to get her out of that interrogation room. Part of her wished he hadn't. Part of her wished she was there with the others, because at least she was with them. She should have called Peter Parker, but Lizzie couldn't help him. Whatever he was going through, she couldn't fix it. She couldn't even fix herself. She should have called Taylor, but Lizzie knew what her best friend would say the moment she saw her. So Lizzie didn't call any of them.

"How'd you hurt your knee?"

Lizzie glanced up from her clasped hands, having been rubbing them anxiously, to the teenage girl standing in front of her. Her dark hair was contrast to the bright yellow walls of the bedroom, something that Lizzie used to complain hurt her eyes when she visited. C.T. Clemins always looked frustratingly pretty, even when Lizzie tried to convince herself during their "break-up" that she wasn't. That couldn't be ignored, especially not when C.T. stood there in a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt staring at her like she was. Lizzie looked away from her only to glance at her taped-up knee, exposed by her own shorts, and frowned.

"Tripped over a dog," she lied easily, meeting with C.T.'s brown eyes again. "Golden retriever."

"You are a golden retriever," C.T. said with a roll of her eyes.

Her brow raised. "Oh? I always pictured myself as more of a great dane."

"You're not even five-five—"

"Still four inches taller than you, aren't I?"

The height difference between them had always amused Lizzie, as it was something that she usually never had an advantage on, but C.T. made her look like a giant. The other girl didn't find it as amusing. She rolled her eyes and moved to walk away so she could sit on her bed, but Lizzie's hand snuck out quickly to grab her wrist. The ease of the movement stopped C.T. in her place, but she didn't take any steps closer. Not until Lizzie pulled her wrist gently, staring up through dark lashes until the older girl was stood in between her knees.

C.T.'s light brown eyes looked into her dark ones, and Lizzie ignored the war raging in her mind—she could see C.T. trying to find something in them, an answer that wasn't being given out loud. Lizzie was clearly flirting with her, pushing an energy into the air that neither of them were sure how to navigate after their exhausting history. But Lizzie relaxed upon her inspection, leaning back against the desk behind her, and kept her thumb rubbing against the other girl's wrist.

"You're not a mindreader, Clem."

C.T.'s lips twitched at the nickname she'd missed hearing, but that was not enough to distract her from whatever she was trying to find. Lizzie watched as C.T.'s hands slowly moved up, with her soft hold still on her wrist, and fell on either side of her face. That made her inhale sharply, flexing her fingers against C.T. as the girl's thumbs moved along her cheekbones. Then, they moved to the circles under Lizzie's eyes. Anyone with sight could see that there was something dark haunting the girl's mind, but no one—not even C.T.—could be invited into that darkness. Lizzie refused.

"And you're not being honest with me," she muttered, a frown marking her lips. "What's going on, MJ? I've never seen you like this. I'm worried. You've had your phone off for days, and you turn up here...you're worrying me...is this about your au—"

Before C.T. could even finish the word, Lizzie sat up straighter and grabbed the girl's chin, pulling her in for a kiss. She hated herself for the action instantly, and she went to pull away and apologize, but C.T. stopped her from going anywhere. At her reciprocation, Lizzie's hand went from her wrist to her T-shirt, tugging her closer until their chests bumped against each other. A hum escaped from the shorter girl when Lizzie tilted her chin, their lips moving together like magnets. Only when C.T. pulled away did Lizzie back up reluctantly, staring up at the girl she'd spent an entire year trying her hardest to get over.

Therapist Gracie was going to kill her. If Taylor didn't first. God, she was never going to be able to face her best friend again.

"I don't know what I want," Lizzie whispered, honestly, as she adjusted her grip to go around the back of C.T.'s neck. "I'm not...I'm not sure what I'm feeling about anything. I don't know what I need right now, Clem, and I don't want to hurt you just because I'm hurting. I don't want to use you...that's not...that isn't what this is. That isn't what I want this to be."

C.T. could feel the way Lizzie's body shivered under her as she spoke, but she ducked her head anyway, pressing their foreheads together so that Lizzie would look into her eyes and not away from her. "You're not hurting me, MJ. You never have. I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, and I don't know what you're going through, but I'll be whatever you need me to be right now. A friend, an enemy, a teammate...whatever you need."

Lizzie considered her words. There was a moment when her brain screamed at her, flashing warning signs like police lights, that C.T. had hurt her in a way she never experienced before in a relationship. Sure, she'd taken a hit to her heart with Casey, but nothing compared to finding out her trust in C.T. had been broken even after they ended things. That fought against every nerve in her body desperate for someone to hold her—for someone to tell her that she was wanted—for someone to stay. Because Lizzie did not have many people to turn to right now. The ones she did have, she couldn't bare to face. Not when she couldn't even face herself.

"I just need you to stay."

Speaking that out loud felt like she'd made a mistake, but with C.T. staring at her like she'd never let go, Lizzie accepted whatever happened to her tomorrow when she realized she'd been so desperate to be wanted by someone she ran right back to her ex.

"I can do that."

But for how long? Because everyone else had already left her. That thought felt intrusive and against her own will. The kind she had been experiencing for three days, after spending the first twenty-four in custody. The moment Ross uncuffed her would have felt like a victory had it not been for the sight of Tony waiting with him. There was a pause after that, with Lizzie reeling in her reply, and C.T. trying to figure out her next move.

Softly, she ducked her head again and brushed her thumb along Lizzie's cheek. "When did you get back?"

"Last night," she answered the lie quietly, but there was a straight line on her lips as she flickered her eyes back to C.T.'s again. She weighed her next words, knowing that they had the potential to start a heated argument between them. She wasn't sure she wanted to disturb the current peace. "I'm thinking of quitting the team."

As expected, C.T. reeled at the statement and leaned back to look fully at Lizzie's face, trying to find any hint of a joke. "What? Why? You love playing."

"I did," she frowned, letting go of C.T.'s wrist. "I just...I don't know if it'll feel the same. I don't know if I can do it anymore. I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I can't keep up with—"

"Hey, look at me," and with that came a nudge from her hands to lift up Lizzie's chin. The brunette stared back passively. "I've seen what the sport means to you. It gives you something back that a lot of people don't experience. You're a different, happier person when you're on the field...I know you mentioned how you played for your aunt. That doesn't have to change, you know that, right? She's still with you. She wouldn't want you to give up something that brings you joy, and I don't want that for you either. You've literally gone through an injury that would take most athletes out of the game forever...but you're playing on a varsity team at one of the top schools in New York. You realize how incredible you are? I'm blessed that I get to play alongside you every game, and whatever I can do to help you, I want to."

Lizzie frowned and shook her head, causing C.T. to let go of her face. That allowed her to break the eye contact between them and stare at her hands, calloused and split from the week she'd had. Part of her wanted to just spill everything. The worst part was that she knew, in her heart, that her ex would listen and accept whatever she said. What she didn't know was what came after. Would she tell people? Would she look at her differently? Would she leave?

"There's a lot you don't know about me, C.T.."

"I don't have to know everything about you to know who you are," replied C.T., frowning herself. "But what I do know about you is enough. You're enough...I know I broke your trust before. I know I had something great and ruined that for us, but I'm always going to be here for you."

Lizzie pursed her lips, moving them around as she figured out her next words. "Sharon's gone."

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

"She got a job...and I don't think I'll hear from her for a while," she decided, omitting the fine details for her own sake now. "She didn't tell me anything else, so I'm in the dark. You met him like once or twice in passing, but her boyfriend...you know he meant a lot to me, and he left too. After the funeral. He, uh...he helped me practice and he was there for me...and I'm—"

Lizzie stopped when she felt her throat close up and the familiar burn in her nostrils start to flare. She ground her teeth together tightly to prevent herself from getting choked up, but a few tears were enough to blur her vision. She clasped her hands together, still not making eye contact with C.T., and tried her hardest to explain the part of her life no one knew about without truly explaining. There were things she could never tell her friends, her significant others, because that was a world they could never possibly understand.

She pressed down on the intrusive thought to walk the few blocks to Peter Parker's apartment and unveil every secret she'd held inside for three years, like as she had when he was just a friend and she confided in him about Aunt Peggy. But she wouldn't do that because there was a conversation weighing in the air between them that she would have to face eventually, and Lizzie wasn't ready to talk about Berlin yet. She wasn't sure she would ever be ready.

C.T. crouched down to her level, using Lizzie's knees to support her but also to squeeze them comfortingly. "Do you think wanting to quit softball is coming from those feelings?"

Lizzie scoffed out a sarcastic laugh and went to wipe away the tears that fell, and she found C.T.'s face again. She shouldn't have, not with her big doe eyes staring at her with a concern that made something sink into the pit of her gut. She didn't want people worrying about her. Not when she had to be okay. That was the last promise she made to Steve. The last thing she told him, and she couldn't allow herself to fall apart just because he was not here anymore.

"I'm so tired," she admitted, her lip quivering under the admission.

"I know...I know, MJ. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

The dreaded promise.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ─ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐍𝐘

Arriving back at her parent's apartment complex, Lizzie knew she would have to mentally prepare herself for what would be waiting when she opened the door. Of her three family members, the one showing the best (or most normal, she supposed, as no reaction would ever be the best) reaction was her father. Mike gave her a hug when she exited the private jet taking her from the government facility in Berlin to New York City. He didn't cry, not like her mom had the second she caught sight of Lizzie.

Sammy, in his Terrible Two's, had noticed something different about his older sister when he tugged on her pants leg to hold him, and she muttered a soft "not now." Her younger brother spent the most time with their parents, but Lizzie had always been his favorite person—since the moment he was born, she was just his person. He had been noticeably distant from her, finding solace in his second favorite thing, their dog.

Her mom was an entirely different story, as to be expected. "Hey, Ma."

"Hey, sweetie," came quietly from the kitchen, and Lizzie inhaled sharply at the sound of her mother's tone. "There's some alfredo for dinner. There's garlic bread too...how was your walk?"

Lizzie shuffled from one foot to the other.

"Lizzie..."

Lizzie shrugged her mother off when she tried to touch her shoulder, wincing at the pain it left in her heart. Thankfully, Sophia Carter focused her sights on something else and didn't take the action to heart. The new cell-phone sat on the kitchen table, a bright blue bow wrapped around it to make up for the fact that it wasn't a gift at all, but a contract. Her bottom lip got caught on her teeth and she chewed on it anxiously, stepping back and shoving her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie.

"I think I'm going to take a break from phones...and technology...and the world. Just burned out from school, you know?" she said, the words sounding rehearsed even when she tried to play them off. Her brown eyes connected with her father's across the marble island. "I went to C.T.'s. She said that she would come over and let me know if there's any word from Coach about practice this summer...her mom has your numbers too...so..."

Her words trailed off, allowing Sophia to nod slowly and grab the present from the counter. The woman who raised Lizzie blindly threw the expensive merchandise over her shoulder, likely bugged with everything possible from Tony himself. A small crash above the fridge told her that it found a home there for the next few months until it grew legs and hit one of them in the middle of the night.

"Sammy will be happy to see C.T. around," Sophia nodded, bringing back the casual conversation and grinning over at the two-year-old sitting on the ground. He'd been obsessed with Coco Melon recently. At least, that was the sound playing in her nightmares when she just barely managed to fall asleep. Better than the alternatives. "Are you two..."

Lizzie hitched her shoulders, shaking her head. "It's not... like that."

"Then what's it like?" The facade broke. Sophia's eyes split into her soul, and Lizzie knew she'd favor better if she took it now. "It's been three days, MJ. I've seen you take two bites of food since you got back home, and one of them was a dry Saltine cracker. Baby, you aren't sleeping...you haven't answered any of Gracie's calls—you know they faxed the results of your psych eval to her? She's concerned. I'm concerned. Your father is concerned."

Lizzie's throat struggled against the growing lump, and it only grew when her mother held her her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying. That broke her. Seeing her mother cry caused her face to twist up and she tilted her head away to glare into the living room's TV. Only when her mom reached out to rub underneath her tearful eyes did Lizzie look back at the woman.

"You know what it's like to be a mother? I worry, every day, about you three...and my heart has taken a lot the last few years...but it stops—for a moment, I can't breathe. I can't do anything when one of you is hurt. The day I got the call about D.C. was the worst day of my life, MJ. I can't...I can't reach Sharon. Don't let me lose you from this too."

The mentioning of Sharon was like an atomic bomb waiting to go off in their family. No one dared speak about her, not after the brief conversation on the drive home when her parents explained what they knew—which was nothing, leaving them in the dark just as deeply as Lizzie was. Her sister's name burned the air and Sophia stepped back, the tears overcoming her as she choked back another painful weep.

Her words were gargled by a sob in the midst of speaking. "I'm done with that. I'm not...I'm done, Ma. You don't have to worry about me anymore."

"Oh, baby..." her mother looked tearfully at her. "I always worry. I worry every time you walk out that door without me...I just, I need you to tell us how we can help you. You're shutting us out."

How could they help her? Neither one of them possessed the ability to take away memories. Neither could stop the nightmares or the thoughts. No matter how desperately she wished there was something that could help, she knew it wouldn't. The only thing that she had learned over the years was how to shut out the rest of the world.

She considered that. Knowing what it meant to say those words, or to be truthful, and the consequence of worry that her parents would have for her. Lizzie knew she would be fine eventually—she had to be. There was not an alternative for her, and the only solution was to try and keep herself as distant from those memories as possible. The only way to do that was to be the normal, fifteen-year-old child her mother prayed she would be.

"Can you help me change my room? I want to paint it."

There was a brief intermission as her parents met eyes, taking in the request, before her mother nodded. "Yeah...we can do that. Why don't I order some take-out from that Chinese food place, and you and Dad can go buy the color you want before the store closes."

"What about the alfredo?" she asked, frowning at the forgotten bowl on the stove. There was a cough from her father across the counter.

"Your Dad made it."

"I'll get the orange chicken."

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END OF CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR

UPCOMING...SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING

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