Embered Coal ° BUCKY BARNES | VOL. 3

prologue; file corrupted

Lara stared at the mirror, cool water dripping down her forehead onto her cheeks. It was painful. The headache was splitting her skull in two, making it almost impossible to comprehend any of the thoughts that were in her head.

She could... See things. Memories that she knew didn't belong to her, and yet she felt like they did. They mostly contained a man, a Sergeant. Lara had to admit that he was beautiful, with steel blue eyes and raven hair. And he called her Lara. How would he know her name was Lara?

Her eyes met her own in the mirror, looking at her with complete sadness. She didn't know why. It wasn't like they were her memories. She grunted as another one played out in her head, clutching the edge of the sink. This one was of a grave stone, and the sound of a metallic ring falling onto the ivory. The smell of fresh flowers reaching her nose as her eyes slammed themselves shut.

These weren't her's.

But, maybe they were.

When the memory was over, and her white-knuckled grip had loosened on the sink, she took a step back. Her blue eyes met those in the mirror again, and they seemed to be glasses over. Stumbling out of the bathroom, Lara leant herself against the wall beside the door, trying to catch her breath. Now it felt like something was weighing down on her chest, keeping pressure on it so she couldn't breath.

Stumbling again, using the wall as support, she used it to get into the bedroom of the small apartment, heading to the nightstand and grabbing the inhaler. Lara didn't have asthma, but she had gotten PTSD, and thinking that the panic attacks she got were just asthma attacks. Taking a deep inhale, the air circling through her lungs again, Lara slouched.

When the air was going at a more steady pace, Lara got up, walking into the living room area of her apartment. She was surprised at who she saw in there.

"Nick," Lara said, almost breathless as she sat down on the comfortable couch. Nick Fury, the Director of SHIELD was standing in the middle of the room, looking casual. He was wearing jeans, a shirt, and a nice jacket, the eyepatch still planted firmly on his bad eye. And then, she realized something was wrong. He would never be dressed like this if it was a business meeting. He'd be wearing the black leather.

Something was wrong.

Nick looked at her, before throwing a manilla folder on the small antique coffee table that was in the middle of the room. The family that had given it too her was so sweet, the man, Wesley, saying that she reminded him of his aunt. The intricate designs had pulled her in, like they were a distant memory that was trying to break the surface. In that moment, she realized that the Sergeant had been sitting on the coffee table in one of the memories, drinking coffee from a mug, laughing and smiling. Lara almost took her breath away thinking about it.

"What is it?" She asked, reaching for the file, but Nick stopped her. He was looking at her gravely, like he had to tell her something she didn't want to hear.

"Lara, I want you to look at this after I leave," the man said, his tone very serious. Then, he pulled a piece of folded paper out of his back pocket. "I also want you to say these words."

She knew this procedure very well. Did he return again? It had been some time since the last sighting, around twenty years, but this was all too familiar with this. Get a file, say the words, and turn into something along the lines of a machine, to get back the thing they had stolen from an old friend they would say. Lara never got it, maybe because she was treated more like an object than a human being, but it was her job. They paid her very well, so she couldn't complain.

"Was there a sighting?"

Nick shook his head, before placing a hand on her shoulder. "This isn't the right kind of file." And with that, the man strode to and out the front door, leaving Lara to stare at the cream coloured file.