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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Agent Three
𝐒.𝐇.𝐈.𝐄.𝐋.𝐃. 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ─ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍
𝟏𝟐 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟒
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☆
Lizzie was becoming convinced that S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to separate her and Sharon. The break when she was supposed to meet up with her older sister never happened. Instead, Monroe received a message that she and Carson were both busy at the moment and unable to take over their shifts—which left Lizzie with Monroe the entire night, not having seen Sharon in nearly an entire day. The uneasiness only grew with every passing minute, and her panic had already maximized to its full potential after Monroe's brows furrowed at his laptop for a second and she thought he'd figured out what she did. She wanted Sharon. She needed to know she was okay.
Lizzie trusted Monroe—or, at least, she thought she did. Now, she wasn't sure if there was anyone in the Triskelion that she trusted anymore besides her sister, who coincidentally was the only person she couldn't see. Sharon still didn't know about HYDRA as far as she knew. That meant that wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she was right in the line of fire and she had no way of warning her. Lizzie, at least, was holed up with her S.H.I.E.L.D. school teacher—who she hated having to even consider being the enemy. It was Monroe. He couldn't hurt a fly. Literally. He had the upper body strength of a noodle. She didn't want to think about him being the bad guy when she cared about him so much.
"When was the last time you slept?" he asked suddenly, his droopy eyelids lifting to look at her. "You look like a drug addict on their first day of withdrawal."
She glanced at the digital clock on one of the computers, noticing that it was eight a.m. and frowned. "I took a nap around ten until three. You were asleep when I woke up. Snoring like a trucker at a pit stop."
Monroe's lips dropped down into a scowl at the reminder that he'd dozed off for a few minutes in the middle of doing his job. Lizzie raised her eyebrows, taunting him. Finally, she got up, stretching out her limbs with a wince when certain body parts cracked and others seared in pain. Then, her brows furrowed when she noticed a bag seated next to the door. That hadn't been there before. Turning to look over at Monroe, she pointed in the direction of where the bag was placed.
"What's that?" she asked.
He glanced over at it. "Your sister dropped some stuff off for you while you were sleeping. She didn't want to wake you."
Lizzie's ears perked up, and she turned in the direction of the bag instantly with a pep in her step. When she got close enough, she noticed that it was a black duffle bag with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on it. She tried disguise her discomfort at the symbol now, knowing what was hidden underneath the system. Opening up the bag, she could have cried when she noticed that it was a new pair of clothes, some deodorant—it wasn't good—and other stuff she'd been severely missing that kept her from looking like an absolute mess, like a toothbrush.
Her cell phone, which she'd been without for two days, was laid directly on the top of it all. Lizzie didn't even attempt to touch it. S.H.I.E.L.D. would have probably hijacked it by now, and she couldn't trust a single thing being sent to or from it. That was the whole reason why she got the spy phones for Steve. As she rooted through the stuff, she felt something nearly cut her fingertip and frowned. When she glanced inside, she noticed that there was a thin piece of paper folded up between the layers of the clothes she'd been given.
Oh.
"Monroe, can I go to the locker room?" she asked, standing up again with the bag over her good shoulder. The man instantly looked up, a scowl on his face at her request, ready to protest. "Please? I'll even go to the one no one uses. I smell like the back of an alley in Brooklyn. You're the one forced to smell me."
Monroe's jaw clenched, and she could see how hard of a time he was having letting her go off again, especially after she'd spent so long in the bathroom before. With a glance at the time, he let out a defeated sigh and waved her off. Lizzie jumped up, and she turned quickly to the door to unlock it so that she could run out as fast as possible. That time, she made sure she watched where she was going so that she didn't accidentally run into another Rumlow. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't power-walking to the locker room a few halls away, the one she'd used with Sharon, with a racing heartbeat and hyper awareness burning in her chest.
The second she got inside, she did a quick-take of the room to make sure that it was empty, then she locked the door behind her so that no one could even think of coming in. Not necessarily for privacy reasons, but for peace of mind that a HYDRA agent wouldn't kill her while she showered (literally one of her worst nightmares). Before she even got in the shower, she haphazardly threw around the clothes inside until she found the piece of paper that Sharon left her.
Then, she stopped dead in her tracks.
They're keeping us from each other. Stay where you are. Not safe.
Lizzie stared at the piece of paper for a few seconds, noticing that her hands were beginning to shake slightly, before she crumbled up the paper and moved quickly toward the toilets, flushing the piece of paper down. Her shower was quick after that, and she'd returned back to Carson's office with a different anxiousness approaching and a new pair of clothes. When the door opened, Monroe glanced up instantly, and he took in her new appearance with a bit of surprise. Instead of wearing a random t-shirt, she was wearing a black Dri Fit S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket with a pair of athletic leggings, the spy phone tucked in the pocket. She blended in more. Whatever Sharon's intentions had been, they made Lizzie look more like a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent than a teenage girl.
"Miss Congeniality got you playing dress up for the big leagues now?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Lizzie shot him a look, throwing the bag back down. "What do you call what you're wearing?"
"Conforming to modern day society's take on a prison uniform under the alias of 'work attire'."
Before she could retort back with something that would surely never end their bickering, both of them stopped everything when they heard the harsh sound of the overhead intercoms turning on and static ringing through. Then, someone spoke: "Attention, all SHIELD agents." Monroe shot up from the desk in an instant, confused. Lizzie's body froze the moment that she heard the familiar voice call out through the coms, a rush of panic instantly going through her. This was it. He got in. He made it. He was coming for her.
"This is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down," she heard a sharp inhale from Monroe, but she didn't move a muscle. Her heart was racing too fast. "But I think it's time you know the truth. SHIELD is not what we thought it was... it's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you."
Dread filled up her lungs. Slowly, painfully, she turned her body in the direction of Monroe. He was staring back at her with the same expression crossed along his face.
"They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Nick Fury and it won't end there. If you launch those Helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high, it always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay...and if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."
Steve's voice disappeared, but what he said did not leave the room. Lizzie and Monroe continued to stare at each other, neither one of them moving, neither wanting to be the first to make the step. Then, finally, Monroe took a step forward and raised his hands high in the air. The reaction came before she could even wrap her head around what she was doing, Steve's reminder not to trust anyone only hit her harder and she stumbled back a few steps. Don't let him back you in a corner, Lizzie.
"Agent Three—" he said slowly, his teeth gritted together.
"Are you HYDRA?" she cut him off, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Monroe paused, and she continued on her slow track back to where the door was. She was close. "Don't lie to me, Monroe. I saw what you were doing on the computers. Project Insight—"
His eyes darkened and he shot over to the laptop, then returned back to her. "It's complicated, Lizzie. There's a lot going on here that you don't understand. Project Insight is going to help people—"
"You didn't answer my question."
"Stop trying to escape, Lizzie," his jaw clenched when he noticed her hovering closer and closer in the direction of the door. "You're going to get yourself hurt out going out there. There's a lot of bad people in this building right now and you'll be their number one target once they find out who's trying to protect you."
She gaped in horror, wide, blurry eyes construding her vision. The weight fell on her and crushed her lungs, inducing an immediate panic. "Oh my god. You are, aren't you? Oh my god. You—oh my god—"
His lack of response was enough of an answer for Lizzie. Whirling around, she ran as quickly as she could to the door, tapping in the code with shaking hands and wrenching it open just as Monroe caught up to her. He grabbed onto the back of her shirt, throwing her down on the ground and she fell hard with a thud, letting out a painful cry and rolling over when she hit her bad shoulder.
"This isn't a game, Lizzie!" he shouted, standing over her. "Stop being a little b—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Lizzie swept her leg out, managing to knock him off his feet and onto the ground. All that echoed in her mind was Sharon's training. With a heavy grunt, she went to pull herself back up off the floor only for Monroe to catch her ankle in the process, tugging on it and sending her back to her knees. That was a bad decision on his part because she sent her foot out, landing a kick to his face that she was sure broke his nose, then crawled up until she was standing upright and rushed to the door she'd opened.
Monroe was right behind her with a bloody nose, but before his hand could pull the door back open, she slammed it shut, sniffling away at the snot escaping her nose and the tears falling out freely from the spike of adrenaline she'd just had in the fight. Then, holding the door shut in a fit of panic, she glanced over at the black access pad to the room.
When Lizzie realized what she had to do, she let out a muffled moan of pain, her teary eyes shooting from where Monroe was banging on the door and trying to pull it open. She released one hand off the handle of the door, and closing her eyes, she brought her right hand back and dealt a heavy blow to the pad with her fist. Instantly, the screen cracked like a broken mirror, and she let out a painful gasp, stepping away from the door completely to grasp her bloody hand with a pitiful cry she could only muffle by shoving her forearm in her mouth.
"AGENT THREE! Lizzie! Lizzie!—"
She flinched at the sound of her name, backing away before he could say anything more from the locked room. She needed to find her sister. She needed Sharon. Holding her injured hand to her chest to keep her from tracking blood on the ground, hoping it didn't give away her location, she flinched instantly when she heard footsteps coming around the corner. Stopping, she flattened herself against the wall and took a deep breath.
A STRIKE team went past her, wearing all black, in the direction of the elevators. Lizzie's good hand went up to her mouth quickly to muffle her scream when she realized that they were dragging someone behind them, an agent, with a bullet hole in his side. Her eyes welled up with tears, holding on tight to her mouth to keep her breathing quiet until they disappeared into the elevator, using the dying man's clearance to get to where they needed.
Lizzie whimpered, wanting to do nothing more than stay where she was and hide, but nowhere was safe. She needed to find Sharon. Just when she thought the situation couldn't possibly get worse, the lights overhead shut off, leaving the hallway dark and lit-up solely by the red flashing alarms. Grinding down on her teeth, she turned down the hallway and tried not to grimace when she noticed the stains left on the ground from where they were dragging the man's body.
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"Do you see her?"
Steve's question echoed through everyone's intercoms as he and Sam Wilson quickly made their way through the hallways in order to get to the Helicarriers on the runway. The moment they got into the Triskelion with ease, the doors unlocked already, Steve might have had a slightly rush of emotion when he realized that MJ had done it. But when they finally got into the operation room and he was able to deliver the message across the facility, they were not able to find her in the cameras. That only triggered an underlying frustration in Steve as he raced through the building, knowing that she was close and not being able to find her. He had a mission.
Maria Hill's response was too delayed for him. "She's in an empty hallway a few floors above you right now. She's headed in the opposite direction of the conference room where the STRIKE team and her sister are. She's by herself. She looks like she might've taken some heat—"
"What do you mean?" he insisted, his jaw clenching.
Maria watched through the screen as the young girl limped slightly, one of her knees clearly having taken the brunt of a fall. She held her shoulder up higher on one side than the other, and that was all the injuries not obvious to the blind eye. The one Maria noticed first was her hand, even through the dark hallways, she could see that she was bleeding. However, one thing that Agent Hill was trained to do was prioritize situations. The thirteen-year-old girl's current appearance would only distract Rogers.
"Her shoulder's hanging heavy. She might've sprained an ankle. She'll be fine," she breezed through, and before Steve could interject, she stopped his next words. "Get the Helicarriers. I'll keep an eye on her."
"Agent Hill—"
Maria watched as Lizzie walked down a flight of stairs. "I'll watch her, Rogers."
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Unbeknownst to Lizzie that her every move was being observed by one Maria Hill, she was dodging and weaving through hallways trying to be as quiet as possible, wanting nothing more than to figure out where in the hell Sharon was and why she couldn't find her. After going down what felt like an endless flight of stairs, fighting the urge to break down in a corner and sob uncontrollably, she finally ended up on the first level of the Triskelion and frowned when she realized that she was near the runway, the tarmac glistening as chaos riddled every corner.
Just when she was about to turn in the opposite direction of where the agents were running, she stopped. A flash of blonde hair was briefly seen on the ground, the suit resembling something too similar to her, and her heart fell in her chest. Before she even thought about what she was doing, Lizzie rushed to the door that was shattered, no longer needing access as she could just slide through, and ran out on the side of the runway without another thought.
"Carson!" she called out when she was close enough, and the blonde woman tilted her head only slightly before wincing, her chest heaving up and Lizzie realized what had happened. Skidding to a stop in front of the woman, she dropped down onto her knees. Then she realized why her sister's best friend was laying on the ground, and that she'd just dropped into a growing puddle of Carson's blood.
Lizzie's eyes widened and she hovered her hands over Carson's body, trying to figure out where the wound was coming from. "Car—Carson, where—where are you hi—" she had to move her head away momentarily when she felt herself start to gag, her eyes welling up with tears before she turned back to see that Carson's blue eyes were staring at her, blood starting to choke up in her mouth. Lizzie whimpered. Behind her, she heard a loud sound of something exploding and whirled around in panic, half of her body set over Carson to protect her while the other trembled.
The woman grabbed a hold of her wrist, shaking her head. "Go—"
"No," she instantly dismissed through her sniffles, glaring at Carson and gritting her teeth. She moved to Carson's stomach where she'd assumed the bullet wound was, then glanced around to see what her options were. "I'm not leaving you here."
"Lizzie, go—"
"Shut up, Carson," she hissed, not even looking at her anymore. When she saw that there were supply crates only a few feet away from where she was laying, Lizzie realized what she had to do and she glanced back down at Carson. "I'm going to move you, okay? I'm going to...I'm gonna move you out of the way, and then I'll go get you help—"
Carson didn't even get the chance to protest. Lizzie just scrambled to her feet, ignoring the blood that was starting to cake up on her clothes and her hands, and moved in front of Carson's head so that she could grab underneath the woman's arms. And then she tried to pull. Instantly, pain shot down her arm, her shoulder feeling like it was going through a grinder, and she let out a pitiful moan but didn't stop pulling. As she dug her heels into the tarmac, letting out a few frustrated whimpers and cries of "Come on, come on," in the process, she finally managed to get Carson's body to move until she was close to the supply crate.
Lizzie gasped out in another surge of pain when she felt something pop in her shoulder, but she couldn't think about that right now. She got Carson up against the crate, now sitting up instead of laying down flat, and fell back down in front of her. Tugging the hair and sweat out of her face, she looked at Carson's tired face and nearly burst out into tears again.
"I'm going to go get you help, okay, Car? I'm gonna get you help, I promise," she promised, nodding her head along insistently to her. "I'm gonna help."
Then she got up before Carson could say anything. Lizzie crouched down when she saw a group of three men rush past her in aircraft gear, muttering about how they were the only support Steve had, and then she made a run for it. She couldn't move her shoulder anymore—she'd accepted that she either just tore something horrendously or she'd fractured it—but she wasn't even entirely sure if the pain had set in yet through the shock. Lizzie just kept going.
But she only got as far as she could before she was stopped. Lizzie's eyes widened in horror when she saw what was standing right in front of her, the man walking closer with every passing second, holding a rocket launcher in one hand while the other stayed at his side, clad in metal. She froze, all thoughts delaying when they made eye contact, and then she realized—
"Bucky?" she asked in disbelief, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
The man did not stop when he saw her. Instead, he just kept coming like the name meant nothing to him, and Lizzie's eyes widened when she realized that no, this was not Bucky. She started to back up hastily, her feet pulling into a run, but before she could get anywhere, he was right in front of her and grabbed a firm hold of her throat with his left, metal arm. Lizzie gasped the moment he lifted her in the air, clawing at anything she could to try and find some relief.
His eyes were blank, unable to see anything as he continued to tighten his hold on the girl all while she struggled against him, clawing at anything she could. It happened in a matter of seconds, but it felt like minutes had passed—but then she was no longer clawing at his arm, and instead had ripped at something around her neck, pulling it out of her shirt so that he could see it. Reflecting in the sun, he paused. His eyes caught on the name engraved into the dog tags, his hold slowly loosening on her until she fell to the ground harshly.
Then, he stared at her on the ground for a few seconds, blinking erratically, before he bent down and ripped the dog tags roughly off of her neck. He walked away after that, leaving her there to raise his weapon and launch it in the direction of the aircrafts beginning to lift off the ground.
Lizzie didn't move, too stunned in shock and pain. She clutched at her neck, her jaw slack as she tried to release any amount of sobs wanting to come out but couldn't. The pressure on her larynx felt like it had turned everything to mush inside of her neck. But the moment she let her hand fall from her neck slightly, she caught sight of something—the blood. Not just her own, but Carson's, who was still back there in need of help. Lizzie clenched her teeth together and went to push herself up off the ground, a sob of agony escaping through her lips as she felt her body protest any such movement. But she couldn't stop—she couldn't. She had to help Carson.
She stumbled in through the door to get into the Triskelion again, just wanting all of this to be over, and glanced around. Then, she stopped, realizing that her best option of getting help would be to go the operations room where one of the good guys would be. Steve had taken it over, which meant that Steve had people on the inside with him. The best part, she knew where it was. Lizzie took off up the first flight of stairs.
Unbeknownst to her, that on the other end of the line, Maria had shot up in her seat. "Falcon?"
"Yeah?" Sam Wilson asked on the other end of the coms, attempting to take off his suit after it took damage.
"Rumlow is headed for the council. He's about to engage with Agent Three."
"I'm on it."
Maria was not wrong, either. Lizzie had just managed to pull herself up to what felt like a never-ending floor, carefully pulling open the door to check and see if there was anyone in the hallway. When she heard nothing, she cautiously walked inside. She only stopped when she saw two agents standing with their guns pointed at her, and she instantly tried to raise her hands above her head as much as she possibly could with a bad shoulder. They were not wearing STRIKE gear, and they must have realized that she was just a kid—bloodied and bruised, but a kid—so they lowered their weapons.
"What the hell—" one of them said, glancing at the man next to him.
"I need help," she instantly rushed out, her hands still raised in the air and shaking. "My friend—Agent Carson Mayfield, she was shot—"
Before she could even finish her sentence, the sound of two gunshots ringing only a few feet away shook Lizzie to the core, and she flinched back hard in an instant. The two agents in front of her rushed forward immediately, one of them pushing her back so that she was behind them. But it was too late, because Lizzie watched in horror as both of the men were shot the second they rounded around the corner, the blood of the man who tried to help her now splattered on her face. She stopped, frozen in place, her hands still raised high in the air as she looked ahead.
Rumlow stood there, his gun raised in her face. A smug smirk started to tug on his lips as he grinned her way. "Hey there, kiddo."
Lizzie would have vomited all over the place if she could've. He walked forward, his gun still half-raised in her direction, and she waited a moment. Then, when he was close enough, she did the first thing she could think of—what Sharon taught her. Her leg went out, kicking at his wrist so that his gun scattered on the ground, ending up a few feet away from both of them. When he realized what she had done, his eyes lit like fire and he turned to her, lunging for her instantly.
Lizzie knew she had no chance, not just because of the weight distribution but because she had too many injuries to put up a fair fight, but she wasn't going to die without trying. She managed to get a punch or two in, even trying to go for his gun, but he'd decided he had enough of her games and went to dig hard into her shoulder, which just so happened to be the one she hurt earlier—and she yelped, immediately going down on the floor, gasping in pain. She watched as he walked back to grab his gun, and she blanched.
She was going to die.
He retrieved it and walked back over to where she had started to crawl away, stopping in his place when he heard something over his coms, his face morphing into alarm. "Repeat, dispatch..." and he waited a few more seconds before scowling. "Headed up!"
Rumlow glanced down at her, and just when she thought he was going to pull the trigger, he reached down and grabbed a hold of her arm, lurching her back up to her feet without care. Lizzie gasped instantly, another surge of fire burning down her shoulder, and tried to break free of his grip when he burst into the stairwell she'd just come through. She realized what he was doing. She was his shield, a dead weight meant to protect him if he needed it before he got to where he needed to be. She was just a body.
She clenched her jaw when he roughly pulled her up another step when she slowed down. "You think this makes you strong? Think being on the bad side gives you the chance to prove you're worth something?"
"Watch your tongue, little girl," he hissed, his grip tightening. She opened her mouth and whimpered, flinching when he got some of her hair caught in his hold and pulled. "Didn't want to kill a kid today but I have no problems doing it. I heard all about you, Rogers' little friend and all, on our last mission when him and Romanoff talked—"
She resisted the urge to vomit again, glaring at his side. "Then you know if anything happens to me, he's going to kill you."
"Hard for him to do when he's dead." Lizzie ran into a heavy halt, all of her weight stopping in the middle of the stairwell as she felt like someone just punched her in the gut. Rumlow, instead of jerking her forward, just grinned and turned to look at her. "Apparently he heard you were hurt and got a bit distracted. It's okay, kiddo. You'll see him again soon. Your sister too."
Lizzie couldn't breathe anymore. The response was involuntary, her lip trembling and sobs threatening to wrack out of her body—Sharon was dead. Sharon was dead. Sharon was dead. Sharon's dead. A dreadful, gut wrenching pit erupted inside of her, but she was not even spared a moment of grief before Rumlow chuckled and pulled her forward again, enjoying watching her wither in suffering. But Lizzie didn't care anymore—she didn't care if she was alive, anymore, because her sister was dead.
Her sister was dead, and Steve was dead, and it was all her fault.
He drug her into a hallway after they left the stairs, positioning her in front of him with his arm wrapped around her neck, his gun just barely grazing her cheek. She didn't care anymore. As they pushed in the doors to a room, he called out on his coms. "I'm on forty-one, headed toward the southwest stairwell—"
And then suddenly, a body was coming hot toward the both of them. A fist was flying in their direction, landing perfectly on the side of Rumlow's head and knocking him forward. Lizzie went flying to the ground, skidding back and gasping at the impact. Then she looked up, a choked sob of relief falling from her lips when she realized Sam Wilson was in front of her. They fought as she tried to pull herself up off the ground again, using one of the chairs next to where she fell for support. She looked up just in time to see Sam getting head-butted, falling onto his back near where Lizzie was struggling to get up.
"This is going to hurt," Rumlow hissed out at Sam, moving to undo his bulletproof vest so he was not weighed down as much. He watched Sam pulled himself back up to his feet. "There are no prisoners with HYDRA. Just order...and order only comes with pain...you ready for yours?"
Sam looked at him, wiping the blood of his lip. "Man, shut the hell up."
He ran toward Rumlow again, the two of them returning back to their fight, all while Lizzie glanced around the room to try and find something. She winced, holding onto her shoulder and trying her best not to move it too much, constantly keeping her eyes on where Sam was. When he backed Rumlow into one of the glass stations and it shattered, Lizzie took her opportunity to to go to the other side of the room. Then, when she found it, hidden underneath a chair, she bent down with a grunt to try and retrieve it.
The gun in Rumlow's hand had skidded when Sam hit him. Now, Lizzie held it in her hands, a sickening feeling tugging on her gut. Holding one was different when the purpose wasn't practice. She looked over when she heard the sound of glass shattering again. Sam was being choked, a position similar to what she'd been in only a few minutes ago, and so Lizzie did the first thing she thought of. She did not hesitate. She did not stutter. She just raised the gun from where she was standing a few feet away, barely noticing the way Sam's eyes widened when he saw her from the corner of his eye, and she fired.
The sound rang through the air like an explosion, silence filling the room immediately after. Lizzie didn't breathe. She just watched as Rumlow released Sam, falling back a few steps and glancing down at his stomach, then turning around to see her—holding a gun, now with loose and shaking hands—and nothing more than absolute shock crossed over his face.
Sam slid away from Rumlow, his hands up halfway so that he could urge Lizzie toward him. "Lizzie. Lizzie, come here....MJ—"
She blinked, tears starting to build in her eyes as she watched Rumlow fall against the side of the desk holding his stomach, and then she walked animatedly toward Sam like she was a robot. In a daze, he grabbed a hold of the gun, and then she watched him stick it into the side of his pants. He grabbed a hold of her arm, trying to get her attention, but she was too focused on Rumlow and the blood gaping from his abdomen.
Then she remembered Carson, and she whirled her head around to Sam. "Sam, my friend, she's shot—"
"Lizzie—" and before Sam could finish his sentence, he was looking directly over her head when he saw something coming toward them quickly. His eyes widened, his hold tightening on her arm, and he pulled on it before she even knew what was happening. They were running, running faster than she had ever ran before—running faster than she thought she could even run—and Lizzie didn't even get the chance to look back because she could see in the corner of her eye what they were running from. An aircraft crashing into the side of the building, only feet away from taking them with it.
"Sam!" she called out in a panic when it started to get closer, feeling him only hold onto her tighter as they neared the end of the floor.
He only yelled into his coms. "Please tell me you've got that chopper in the air—forty-first floor, north-west corner!" And as they continued to run, realizing that they were at the edge of the floor, Lizzie almost stopped where she was going when she realized that Sam was going to get her to jump. At whatever response he received, Sam only shouted louder. "NOT AN OPTION!"
And then they were seconds away from the window, and Lizzie tensed up. "Sam!"
"Hold on!" he called out.
And then Lizzie's fear of heights was being drastically put to the test. Sam went first, using his body to break the glass, and the moment their feet were no longer on solid ground, he cradled her body with every limb he owned, holding her to his chest. Lizzie's eyes widened when she realized the chopper that was meant to grab them was below them, and Sam must have noticed the same thing because he was turning their bodies, and suddenly they were going in the direction of the chopper—and then, they were nearly going straight through it, the door flying off.
Lizzie felt someone grab onto her tightly, and she did the only thing she could think of, which was to hold onto Sam with every bit of strength she had. When the helicopter turned back upright, she and Sam fell in the center of the helicopter, still clinging onto one another. Sam shot a glare at the driver.
"Forty-first floor! Forty-first!" he hissed out.
"It's not like they put the floor numbers on the outside of the building," said the man up front, and Lizzie's body froze again, unsure of whether or not it was from shock or trauma over what just happened. She looked up, and she caught Director Fury's eye in the rearview mirror. He looked back at her, a flicker of concern. "You also didn't tell us you had another body. Good to see you still kicking, Agent Three."
Lizzie was still wrapped up in Sam's hold, the two of them refusing to release one another, him paying mind to her shivering frame and her not willing to let go of the shackled grip she had onto his body. Only when she turned her head briefly did she notice the woman who had saved her and Sam's life by grabbing a hold of her. Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, met her eyes for a moment before calling into the headset.
"Hill, where's Steve? You got a location on Rogers?"
Lizzie stopped breathing at that point, her head shooting up to look at Sam. "He's not dead."
"Not yet," Sam said, and when he saw the tears build up in her eyes, he only held her closer. "He's putting up a fight."
Lizzie was not able to tell him that she thought he was already dead, because just when she thought she could keep her eyes open a second longer, the feeling of safety being in Sam Wilson's arms was enough for her to lose consciousness until another day. Only when she woke up would she have to relive that day for the rest of her life.
───○☆ ✸ ☆○───
Author's Note:
I—
I have many words. Many words I could say about this chapter since everything happened so quickly. But, I've decided that I'm going to leave that up to you. The Winter Soldier process and Lizzie's contribution has been difficult as all hell to write, but I did it! I can't believe it.
PLEASE let me know what you thought.
Monroe?
What about Carson?
BUCKY?
Rumlow?
So much happened in this chapter...and I think above anything else, Lizzie. What did you think of our baby girl in this? It HURTS me to write her in so much pain, and this episode she went through so much that is going to change the course of her life forever. I wish I could erase what happened in this chapter for her forever, but I can't. Please let me know what you thought about her in this chapter and how you feel this is going to affect her moving forward.
As always, LEAVE A COMMENT! Your feedback has helped immensely and gotten this story to where it's at now. Without your support, I definitely would not have continued this story but I love sharing my love of Lizzie with all of you and I'm so happy to be able to. Your comments make me laugh, smile, and cry with you.
All my love.
Happy unofficial Father's day Steve! (a little late)