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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄: On Your Left
𝐒.𝐇.𝐈.𝐄.𝐋.𝐃. 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ─ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍
𝟕 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟒
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☆
Lizzie Carter winced, rolling her shoulder and stepping back from Sharon so that she could catch her breath. She bit her lip to keep back the plethora of cuss words currently steaming through her brain, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes to control her frustration. The hit her older sister had gotten in would leave a bruise, surely, but she'd long since gotten used to them. Sharon moved away instantly, her hands falling and hovering slightly over the area she'd hit with instantaneous concern. Sister Sharon always took over for a split second, but when Lizzie shook her arm free of the pain and groaned angrily, Spy Sharon returned quickly to shoot her protege a sharp look.
"You know better than that," she said, scoldingly.
Lizzie rolled the crook out of her neck, nodding. "I just missed the window."
"Do it again."
So they did, the private training room in the bitter ends of S.H.I.E.L.D. was filled with the grunts and mutters of irritation from Lizzie as her sister continued to push her. Ever since they'd gotten back from their Christmas break (which had been cut short for Sharon, but Lizzie stayed the full two weeks), Sharon had been going ten times harder in the training sessions. Even Carson, she'd noticed, took time out of her hectic schedule to take her to train with her bow (and even once a gun) when Sharon was in a meeting.
Things changed around the Triskelion when Lizzie returned in the new year. Perhaps it was simply because her visit was coming to an end, but everyone seemed to be more on guard than she remembered. Monroe was distant, Sitwell even more crotchety than usual, both Carson and Sharon hovered around one another like they were sharing a secret. She'd not even seen a glimpse of Fury in forever—she was, admittedly, concerned. Both for those that she cared about and for her body, because at this rate, Sharon was going to break a bone on accident from pushing her so hard.
Lizzie felt it later on that day. On their drive back to the apartments, she tried her hardest to conceal the wince of pain that contorted her face, but her shoulder was hurting. Sharon had dealt some nasty blows in the past, but this one reverberated throughout her whole body. Even the seat of the car hurt to lean against. So the moment she got into their apartment, Lizzie was going straight toward the freezer to grab the first pack of something frozen she could find—broccoli, it seemed. She hated broccoli.
Sharon watched painfully as Lizzie flinched again, her good arm going to shove the back of broccoli inside of her hoodie so that it would rest nicely. "I'm sorry."
"Shut up," Lizzie grunted out, leaning her head back to huff slightly under her breath. "You're just doing your job."
"I shouldn't have—"
She sent her older sister a sharp look. "Seriously, shut up. I'm fine. I'll get you back one day. Can you go find me one of those wraps so I can secure this?"
Sharon hesitated, her eyes traveling along every inch of Lizzie's face to see if she was upset (she wasn't, just in pain) before nodding complacently. She disappeared down the hallway, and Lizzie let out a breathe of air when she was gone, leaning her head against the cool linoleum of their kitchen bar. Her phone went off, vibrating in her pocket, but she didn't have the energy to move anymore. Casey would understand. They were going to hang out that weekend, anyway.
When she heard Sharon's footsteps, she shot up much quicker than she should have, flinching again. She wasn't fast enough because her sister clearly saw, another dark expression creasing her face. Lizzie said nothing, thankful when she just began to wrap the bandage around her shoulder, securing the cool bag against her t-shirt tightly so that it didn't slip. Already, the cool was soothing the pain.
"You'll need to alternate every thirty minutes."
Lizzie hummed, nodding, and then pulled her phone out with her good hand. When she noticed Steve's name appear, followed by a text, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. He hated texting. She unlocked her phone and read through his text quickly, feeling a disgusting pit rise in her stomach at the thought.
"Absolutely n—" Sharon started, lingering over her shoulder.
Lizzie jerked back, whipping her head around to glare at her sister. "Privacy much?"
"You need to rest. Going on a run right now is only going to hurt you worse." Lizzie frowned, glancing down at the phone again. Steve asked if she was ready for their run today, no doubt having heard her return home a few minutes ago. "Tell him you'll go tomorrow if you feel better. Not today, MJ."
Lizzie wasn't sure if she wanted to throw up because of the pain in her arm or because of Steve. Ever since she returned to D.C., things had felt...off. Not on his part one bit, but the weight she was carrying about her affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. felt ten times heavier knowing that he would find out soon. Her goodbye, she decided, was when she would tell him the truth. Lizzie wanted him to hear the truth from her, but she needed it to be when she said goodbye. That way, if he hated her and never wanted to speak to her again, she at least had the opportunity to explain and say goodbye.
The thought stirred up the food she'd eaten for lunch, and she swallowed hard, gripping on tighter to her phone. "Okay. I'm going to go lay down."
Sharon watched her push off the stool with one hand. "MJ—"
"I'm fine, Katie."
They didn't speak to each other the rest of the night.
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𝟖 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟒
Lizzie barely slept that night. She woke up before Sharon, before the sun had even come out, and put on her clothes for a run. It was difficult—she'd spent most of the night alternating between ice and heat, but she could barely move her arm much less put on clothes properly. She stuck with a hoodie and a pair of shorts (her legs would hate her later) but it was much easier than trying to get into leggings. Tying her shoelaces was difficult too but she managed, leaving a note on the kitchen island and leaving the apartment at five a.m.
She wasn't even sure if Steve was up yet, but she decided to send him a quick text anyway when she got to the steps of their apartment, sitting at the top. Within a few minutes, she'd gotten a reply (a quick 'Be there in a minute.') and let out a sigh in relief. Clutching her shoulder slightly, she flinched again. She'd taken some pain relievers before she left, but it would take a while for them to kick in. Sharon really did a number on her yesterday.
She shoved her phone into her hoodie pocket, fiddling with her hands as she waited for Steve. Her fingers were in pretty bad shape. She'd tried to paint her nails a pretty pink, but they were so short that there was polish all over her cuticles. Callouses and hang-nails and split, dry spots in her fingertips hurt to touch but that was the least of her pain anymore.
Footsteps were heard behind her, and her ears pricked up. They were light for the person's weight, which meant that they only belonged to Steve. She didn't bother turning her head, remaining seated until he got closer. Then, when she was about to push up, his body fell down and sat down one step lower than her.
"You're up early," was all he said.
Lizzie swallowed hard, nodding and curling her hands together in fists to hide the evidence. "Yeah. Couldn't sleep. You ready?"
She tried to hide the pain her arm, sitting up straighter and trying to feign that she was somewhat alright by pushing up with her good arm. Lizzie jogged down the rest of the steps, knowing he would follow behind her, feeling the steady burn in her calves from yesterday's sparring session. Luckily, she didn't have any bruises on her legs otherwise Steve would definitely think something was wrong.
Steve trailed behind quietly, but Lizzie could feel his eyes on her every move as she walked ahead of him. She should have known that her injury wouldn't get past him, especially with the way she was doing everything possible to not jar her body too much. He came up in a heavy stride on her left, and at that point she knew she was busted.
He reached for her wrist, trying to slow her down. "What happened to your shoulder, MJ?"
"I hurt it yesterday," she said, pursing her lips and forcing herself not to look him in the eye. She glanced ahead at the sidewalk, squinting to see in the darkness with the street lights. "I was messing around yesterday at school and got hit too hard in the shoulder by a baseball. Trust me, I'm fine, Steve."
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
He hesitated, his eyes still set on her shoulder. "MJ—"
"How was your day yesterday? I missed seeing you."
Steve spent a vast majority of his life paying attention to people, mainly because he had to. Constantly getting into fights and standing up for himself meant he had to read the room (albeit he was a little impulsive). Besides that, Steve also knew the teenage girl in front of him down to a T, so the smallest of difference in her moods usually alerted him quickly. Since she'd gotten back from Christmas break, she'd been different. More distant from him, apprehensive, less open to invite him into her mind. She was not acting like herself, and for the life of him, he could not tell why. He just knew he wanted to help her.
"I went to see Peggy for the first time."
Lizzie stopped dead in her tracks. Her shoes scuffed on the pavement, and she turned her head to look at Steve in surprise. Softly, without a voice, she asked, "What?"
"It was time," he explained, stopping with her and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his joggers. "I was holding back on going to see her because I was scared...I guess I wasn't ready to accept the life she lived without me there to spend it with her. It was selfish not to consider how she must feel in all of this...and I just needed to talk to her. It was time."
She stared at him for a few seconds, trying to wrap her head around the fact that Steve was telling her he went to go see Peggy—her Peggy. His Peggy. Her heart raced faster, and she swallowed hard to hide the spring of tears threatening, nodding her head to his words.
"How was it?" she asked, clearing her throat and beginning to walk slowly again. "I mean, how was she?"
"She cried when I walked in. I cried too...her nurses said that she was having a good day. She has Alzheimers...the whole time I sat there, I was terrified she was going to look me in the face and not remember me. I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that."
Lizzie didn't say it out loud, but her heart broke as she thought, Me too.
He tilted his head in her direction. "I couldn't have done it without you, MJ."
"You could have," she dismissed softly, shaking her head. "You never needed me for that, Steve."
Lizzie paced herself ahead, the buzzing in her head starting to take over as yet another piece of her facade started to crumble. Steve noticed that, too. He kept his eyes on her the entire walk to National Mall, fully aware that there was something wrong but unsure of how to approach the conversation to talk about it with her. She never hid things from him—she was always expressive about her moods, her days, everything. Had he done something?
They were quiet the rest of the way to their running path. Steve did not intervene. Perhaps he was starting to understand why she got up so early, why they were running so early—he did the same thing. She needed something to get out of her own mind. He released the feeling of guilt, like he'd done something, and accepted that she needed time to work out her thoughts. She always granted him that. He could do the same for her, and be there when she needed him. When she was ready.
Lizzie instantly started to run the moment they arrived. Usually she would start out jogging as a warm up, stretch beforehand, but she didn't care much for any of that at the moment. Steve's frown was evident when he saw her take off, noticing that all of her weight was carrying on her good arm and her right arm stayed stagnant. Her mind stayed in the gutter for the better part of the run, barely paying any attention to anything other than the throbbing of her shoulder. Steve passed her at one point, but she barely saw him, the two of them already having adjusted to the routine.
Twenty minutes into the run, when Lizzie finally slowed down, her heart racing in her ears, she realized that there was another person on the track with them that morning. Her brows furrowed, surprised considering it was barely daybreak. Heavy footsteps came up behind her again, Steve doing another lap, and when he passed by her, he must've noticed the new runner too.
Lizzie distinctly heard Steve alert his presence to the runner, "On your left," coming out Steve's mouth before he quickly went by the man. That continued for the better part of the morning, even Lizzie at one point catching up to the man and repeating Steve's phrase (which, she knew from experience the first time running with Steve, was annoying). The man had slowed down when he saw her, throwing his head back and laughing, and from that point on, the two of them made their own competition of seeing who could run faster—Lizzie, with a messed up arm, or the new guy.
"Don't say it. Don't say it—" he started out when he heard him.
"On your left!" Steve huffed out in passing.
The man, only a few paces behind her, groaned loudly and picked up his pace, "Oh, come on!" and managed to catch up to Lizzie's pace, nowhere near the doubled mile that Steve had just successfully done around them. The rest of the morning went like that until Lizzie finally decided after her fifth mile that her arm might fall off the rest of her body. She jogged her way over to one of the empty patches of grass, falling breathlessly on the ground and rubbing just below her shoulder with a wince.
Not long after did her new running partner forfeit the competition, heaving in his last breath as he collapsed against the tree only a few feet away from where Lizzie was recovering. He sucked in a few gasps of air while she watched him, her eyebrows raised slightly with a growing smirk on her face. She remembered when she looked like that—back when everything started. Now, she just wished she could have burned off more steam without an injury.
She glanced over to see that Steve had picked up his pace. He wouldn't leave her alone with a stranger for longer than a second.
"You got some lungs, girl," the man gasped, turning to look at her with raised eyebrows. "You run track? Cross-country? Marathons in your free time?"
Lizzie snorted, keeping her eye on Steve as he approached. "Feels like it. Coach over there has me conditioning for softball season."
"Your coach is—"
"On your left?" she offered with a grin, giving him a side-eye.
Before either one of them could have any further of a conversation, Steve approached them to their left, his eyes hovering over Lizzie to make sure that she was alright. He raised a hand out to her (making sure it was her good arm) and pulled her upright, the two of them meeting eyes and having a silent conversation. Then, he turned to the man and gave him a grin.
"Need a medic?" he offered, placing his hands on his hips.
The man choked out a laugh in return, raising his arm to his chest in pain. "Need a new set of lungs. I'll take hers—dude, you just ran, like, thirteen miles in thirty minutes."
"Really?" Lizzie asked with a snide comment already revving up in her mind, tilting her head to look at Steve with a scrunched nose. "You're losing your touch, old man."
"Guess I got a late start," he humored the two of them.
The man grinned, his eyes going between the pair. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Go take another lap—" he gestured toward the path, and when he glanced away for a second, he only returned to shoot Steve a look "—did you just take it? I assume you just took it."
"What unit are you with?"
Lizzie's brows furrowed, and she wondered what stemmed the question, up until she realized that the small emblem on his sweatshirt belonged to the Air National Guard.
"Fifty-eighth pararescue, but now I'm working down at the VA," he said, then stuck his hand up as a gesture of good faith (and assistance because he couldn't move). When Steve pulled him up, the man grinned between them. "Sam Wilson."
She smiled back at him, popping her head over Steve's shoulder. "Nice to meet you. I'm MJ."
"Steve Rogers."
Sam snorted like it was obvious. "Yeah. I kind of put that together. Must've freaked you out coming home after the whole defrosting thing."
The question was harmless, but it still triggered some level of protectiveness inside of Lizzie that made her reach out to grab a hold of Steve's arm, wrapping around it so that he knew she was there. He didn't make any physical acknowledgement of her presence, but when he tilted into her touch, Lizzie knew it helped. Sam noticed but didn't say anything, still smiling warmly at them. Lizzie liked him.
"Takes some getting used to," Steve said politely, giving him a parting smile and nod. "I've got to walk this one home but it was nice meeting you, Sam."
Lizzie gave him a slight wave with her bad arm, trying not to move it too much or let go of Steve. Usually, she would have been more open to interacting with Sam—he seemed pretty cool—but she was tired, and hungry, and she just wanted to lay down with an icepack for the next twenty years. Besides, she had a feeling she'd talk to Sam again. Hopefully. Her and Steve turned around to leave, but they only got one pace before they were stopped again.
"It's your bed, right?"
Steve and Lizzie both turned around, him speaking out. "What's that?"
"It's your bed. It's too soft," Sam repeated, his eyes knowing on Steve's as he walked up to them again. They were painfully recognizable, and Lizzie realized they were a reflection of Steve's. "When I was over there, I'd sleep on the ground and use rock for pillows like a caveman. Now, I'm home, lying in my bed and it's like..."
"Lying on a marshmallow," he finished for him, nodding his head. "Feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor...how long?"
Lizzie stayed quiet, now attentive on Sam as much as she could be. Training might have taught her a lot, but she had always been good at reading people. Whatever the man in front of her had gone through had taken something out of him, just like it had most of those who served, and that was a sacrifice and a service that Lizzie could never pretend to understand. Steve could, though, and there was a swell of hope in her chest that Sam could provide some support for Steve when he needed it most.
When she would be gone.
"Two tours," was all Sam needed to say for Steve to understand him. Then, another smile full of life twisted the painful memories into something better. "You must miss the good 'ole days, huh?"
"Well, things aren't so bad. Food's a lot better—we used to boil everything—no polio's good...internet, so helpful. Been reading that a lot," he explained, giving his hat off to the computer that had been given to him. Then, he glanced down and placed a hand on top of Lizzie's head, mussing up her hair as she whined. "Got a teenager to get me through the trials and errors, just trying to catch up. It's kind of like having my own personal Google—"
"—but scarier," Lizzie interjected, smirking at him then grinning at Sam. "I can talk back."
Sam laughed, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at Lizzie. "You teaching him all the good stuff?"
"Got him on everything there is to know about good movies, food, and music selected by yours truly. He knows all things worthy of anyone's time, by now..." then she narrowed her eyes when she saw his face. "What, you got something to add?"
"Marvin Gaye, nineteen-seventy-two—"
"Trouble Man soundtrack," she finished, then gave him a grin. "Beat you to it. Already on the list. Dad used to have it playing around our house all the time. My aunt loved it."
Sam paused and then turned to Steve, pointing at Lizzie. "Use her list for everything."
"Already on it," Steve assured confidently.
Then, she heard the sound of a phone going off and frowned, glancing over at Steve. He pulled it out and read the message, his face falling and instantly, he looked over at Lizzie. The two of them shared a brief, silent exchange and then her face dropped when she finally caught onto what was going on.
"Go," she said, giving him a reassuring nod.
He gave her a sharp look. "You're not going to walk home by yourself, MJ—"
"I'll be fine—"
Sam glanced in between them. "Everything okay?"
"Duty calls," Steve explained to him, then turned back to Lizzie. "Is your sister working? Maybe she can meet you, or I can drop you off— "
She scowled at him. "Steve, I'm thirteen, not three. Go, you can't keep them waiting—"
"I can walk you home, if that's alright with the two of you."
Both Steve and Lizzie stopped their bickering to turn to Sam. Lizzie perked up, moving slightly in the middle of the two men and gesturing with her good arm to their new friend. "Sam can walk me home."
Steve wasn't convinced, but his mold was wearing thin. He glanced over when he heard the rev of an engine, recognizing the car and sighing instantly. There was not much of a choice he had. He gave one final look at Sam, watching his every move, and when the man nodded in understanding, Steve decided to let his little girl go with him—he hated every single second of it.
"Okay," he said in defeat, turning to her. "Call me when you get home, okay?"
She saluted him. "Ay, ay, Captain."
"I'm serious, MJ."
Lizzie's face softened and she nodded, moving forward to wrap her arms (well, arm) around his waist to squeeze him. Steve immediately returned the embrace, hugging her as tightly as her shoulder could bear before finally releasing her. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he squeezed her arm one last time before stepping away. He gave Sam a parting handshake.
"Thanks for the run, if that's what you want to call it."
Sam looked taken aback, his mouth opening. "So that's how it is?"
"That's how it is," Steve jeered, slowly starting to retreat back to the car.
"Hey, any time you want to stop by the VA and make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know," Sam's knowing smirk was contagious and prompted Lizzie to snort in response, rolling her eyes in humor at the man's antics already. She could tell that their personalities were going to get along just fine on this walk home.
"I'll keep it in mind," he replied, and he shot one last look Lizzie's way. "Get her home in one piece and I'll consider it."
Sam glanced down at her and saluted, similar to Lizzie. "Ay, ay Captain."
"Stealing my thunder," Lizzie joked, giving Sam a side eye. "Man."
Then she turned to Steve one last time, her eyes barely catching on the nice car behind him, before the concern set in slightly. He saw it, she knew he did, but she didn't let it phase her too much. Instead, she left him with a final, uneasy smile.
"Be safe, Steve."
The window to the car rolled down as the three of them said their goodbyes, and all heads turned in that direction when they heard the sound of a voice call over to their small group. "Hey friends, anyone know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil."
Lizzie, in that moment, wished Monroe was standing right next to her. Unlike with Clint, Lizzie knew exactly who was sitting in the driver's seat of the car, and she concealed her surprise just barely while Steve walked to the passenger's side. Oh, she could not wait to rub it in Monroe's face that she had been present to see both Steve and Black Widow (his two crushes that she was sure he'd die for) in the same setting right before her very eyes.
The redheaded woman met her stare for a moment before it let up, Sam deciding to shoot his shot and take all of the attention away from Lizzie by crouching down to grin at her. "How you doin'?"
"Hey," was the simple response that she gave in return, prompting Lizzie to snicker.
Steve's eyes fell on her for a moment before going to Sam. "Can't run everywhere."
"No, you can't," was all Sam said, shaking his head and standing up just in time to watch the car merge quickly into the oncoming traffic, leaving him alone with a thirteen-year-old that could end his life if Captain American found out she had a hair missing on her head.
Lizzie waited until they were out of sight before turning to him. "You tried."
"Mhm, sure did," he replied, shrugging. "Come on, let's get you home so I'm not murdered in my sleep by the Avengers. Want to explain to me how you know Captain America on the way?"
"Pretty short story, actually. He's my babysitter."
"Oh. That fun?"
"Depends. Sometimes he's a bit of an old man."
Sam barked out a laugh that rumbled his entire chest, holding it and smiling down at the girl. Lizzie grinned over at him, grateful to have someone walk her home (even though she could have walked herself) because it distracted her from everything—both the fact that Steve was now off on a mission for God knows how long doing God knows what kind of dangerous mission, the growing pain in her shoulder, and the nagging feeling in her chest that just kept telling her something was wrong.
Her instincts were always quick. She should have payed more attention.
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Author's Note:
HI, my name is crying. Never thought I'd see the Winter Soldier if I'm being honest. My eyes are watering thinking about how close I am to part two of this story when Peter comes in. Yes, pls. I made some of the cutest damn gifs and I can't wait.
Baby Lizzie is going through it into the New Year. She's not acting like herself, and I wanted to make that obvious because she has been dealing with the looming end of her friendship with Steve among other personal things. In her mind, she's pushing him away so it'll lessen the hurt of them both. I want my baby happy.
SHE MET SAM. I love Sam. Sam is my man. Him and Lizzie are going to be an amazing duo, let me tell ya. This is only the start of them. I hope you enjoyed the small little interaction between the three of them. I couldn't not include Lizzie in their running scene. Too precious.
As always, LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! This was not my best chapter but I love it regardless. Hope you guys love it as well! Give me your feedback. How do you feel about how Lizzie is acting? What about her and Sam?
Thank you so much for your love! Your feedback and comments keep me motivated to write this and finish part one for you!