"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.
