"You're telling me that you got Captain America-the War Hero, Steve Rogers-to become best friends with a thirteen-year-old kid? What, is this supposed to slowly introduce him to how irritating Generation Z is? Project Training Wheels or something?"
...
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☆
"Why are you so nervous?"
"I'm not nervous."
"Very believable. I can tell you work for the CIA."
Sharon Carter gave her little sister a scowl as they watched the numbers continue to rise on the elevator. Elizabeth Carter only smiled innocently, glancing down at her hands in feigned curiosity, which she had painted a bright red to match the streaks of hair she'd dyed. Call it her act of rebellion. Now that Lizzie Carter was fourteen, and now officially no longer the baby of her family, all of the direction went to their freshly-birthed baby brother, Samuel Carter. He was cute. Sharon and Lizzie had to pretend like their parents didn't procreate while they were alone in NYC while their daughters' vacationed in D.C. for a few months—it was an odd conversation to find that Sophia Carter was pregnant. Again. With an even bigger gap in age than there was between Sharon and Lizzie.
They were doing okay. Sammy was teething and screaming a lot, though, and with a new baby in the apartment, Lizzie had miraculously convinced her mother to let her live with Sharon at her apartment. Partially to sleep throughout the night, and partially because the two sisters had learned that there was an immaculate amount of separation anxiety involved when they were apart for too long. D.C. changed things.
D.C. changed a lot. It had been more than a year since the Triskelion and S.H.I.E.L.D. fell apart. That didn't mean it was nearly enough time for Lizzie to fix the damage done to her. She still had nightmares. That was another reason why she moved in with Sharon—she didn't feel so bad waking her up screaming, not like when it happened just after Sammy was born and she woke him up three times a week. She flinched a lot now. Loud noises, sudden influxes of people—all of it carried on. Therapy did its best to help her with the PTSD, so did Steve and Sam, but it still left residual damage behind.
The scars, for one. Lizzie's scarred shoulder was on full display in the spaghetti-strapped black dress she was wearing, a jagged strip that wasn't pretty by any means but she had no problems showing it off. That was another thing that changed. She did end up making a full recovery by all health standards, but she still didn't play softball the same. She knew her body better than that, and what the doctors said did not match what her muscles were telling her. Her shoulder couldn't take pitching anymore, so she only played centerfield now. The physical therapy could only help so much. Archery was another topic—set for another time—with a certain man named Clint Barton.
"Stop fidgeting," she jabbed, watching as Sharon's knees shook slightly. "Seriously. Your anxiety is palpable. You're shaking the elevator, and I swear I'll kill you if this thing drops. The two of you have been on, like, ten dates—"
"Shut up, Lizzie."
"—he literally takes up our guest room every time he comes to Brooklyn—"
"Lizzie."
"—and he's even made you breakfast before. I wasn't even there. He made you French toast. You want to tell me that there's nothing there? Mhm. You're as bad as Carson," Lizzie hummed knowingly, blinking her mascara-tinted lashes with a smirk. The elevator doors dinged, and she grinned, walking out like she owned the place. "I can give you a tour if you want. Tony wouldn't mind. He's gotten used to my lingering. He calls me a pest, but I know he likes all the questions—if he didn't, JARVIS woulda kicked me out of everywhere already."
Sharon sighed, and where her usual retort would have come in, it didn't. That's how Lizzie knew her sister was actually nervous. The younger of the two Carter sisters stopped, her little black wedges halting with her (her balance had gotten significantly better), to turn around and face her. Sharon was in a red dress, red lipstick matching Lizzie's (because Lizzie stole it) pursed together as she tried not to chew her lip from nerves. She was gorgeous. Drop-dead, and Lizzie would kill anyone who said otherwise. Literally.
"Share," she said softer, pausing to get her attention. "Why are you so nervous? It's just Steve."
"We kissed," she blurted out, and Lizzie's eyes widened the size of saucers, but Sharon was already in a small-state of panic just outside the door where a party was happening. Lizzie couldn't panic, too. That would just look bad. "And it was really great, but then I did your thing—the thing you usually do where you freak out and run away—"
"—I do not—"
"—and we haven't talked to each other since. What if he regrets it?"
Lizzie gaped at her. "You're joking, right? He's liked you for over a year now. I've had to put up with the weird sexual eyes and awkward tension between the two of you for waaay too long. I'm scarred for life after hearing Steve try to flirt with you and fail horribly. He definitely doesn't regret it. Knowing him, he's probably in here freaking out even more than you...actually, no, he's definitely in there freaking out more than you—"
"Can you go talk to him?" Sharon asked, biting her lips nervously as she glanced in through the door. "And see what he's thinking?"
"So I'm your wingman now?" she huffed out as she narrowed her eyes on her sister. Then she turned around, sighing deeply. "Fine. I'll go be your Sam. You owe me. But you're going in. Just linger in corners. You're good at that."
Sharon did manage to send her a sharp look that time, and Lizzie shrugged before following her sister into the room. A spark of panic immediately peaked in the fourteen-year-old's chest, just for a second, at all of the noise. She still didn't do well in large crowds of people. But therapy was helping her get past that—so did pretending like it was fine in front of everyone, which was what she did so Sharon wouldn't notice anything was wrong. Lizzie set a smile on her face and squeezed her sister's arm, the two of them parting ways temporarily.
Lizzie never really expected to find herself in the Avengers Tower...like, ever. Sure, she knew Tony Stark, but that didn't mean he was taking open invitations to start a Kiddy-Daycare just for her. They weren't that close. Her dad and him barely talked to each other after he returned from being held captive. No one blamed him for that. Then D.C. happened, and Steve moved into the Tower, and she spent half of her life there when she wasn't at school. Not playing softball in the spring had that kind of effect, and she had to occupy herself somehow.
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