Hell's Angel [Bucky Barnes]

13 - Rebuilding, One Memory at a Time

13 – Rebuilding, One Memory at a Time

I stand outside of the base, inhaling the fresh air. I wasn't given access, I had to sneak my way outside. It wasn't easy, I had to knock out two agents when they got a little nosy. I'm a little sorry about doing that to them, but hey, if I was Hell's Angel, she would've killed them both.

The bird chirps relax me, somehow. It's no ocean waves and seagulls, but it'll do. I close my eyes, smirking. Someone by now has noticed I've disappeared. They probably think I ran back to HYDRA. Well, that's not happening.

Since I've been out here for (surprisingly) an hour or so, I've been able to gather some thoughts in peace. I'm able to separate Hell's Angel from myself, Victoria Melbourne. I'm not a killer, the Angel is. She listens to orders, me, I don't. I speak my mind, the Angel rarely does. She has no family, I do. I don't remember all the details of the file—I should ask Coulson if I can get a hold of it.

I walk towards some trees, we're in somewhat thick cover of a forest. Best to stay where there's a lot of tree cover. I rub my fingers on the coarse bark of the closest one. I want to remember. I don't want to be her anymore. I want to remember my life, rebuild it.

I scoff. Rebuild my life? If I can outmaneuver HYDRA, sure, I can do that. But until I find out a solid way how, Victoria Melbourne can't walk outside without having to watch her back.

Just as the thought occurs, a memory peeks through.

~*~

I watch the water turn colors as the sun sets behind it. Unlike most, I like to stay out on the beach, even when it's gotten a little too chilly for most to bear.

I'm covered in big clothing: hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on a towel that's got so much sand on it at this point I might as well sit in the stuff itself. If I feel up to it, I'll dip my feet into the water again. I've tucked my hair into the back of my hoodie, I'm too lazy to make an up do, and I don't like having to always move it out of my face only for it to smack me again.

My parents always told me that I was attracted to water. They were so sure I would've been a swimmer worthy of going into the Olympics. I had thought about it, when I was way younger. It was high aspirations back then, and it still is now. Trouble is, I'm not in the shape qualified to do so. If I had wanted that dream, I would've done much more.

Guess I missed out on that dream.

"Ow!" I howl, feeling something heavy strike the side of my head. Looking sharply to my left, looking down, there's a volleyball in the sand. Grunting, I stand, tottering a bit.

"Wow, I'm so sorry," says the guy, who's trotting through the sand. "I swear it got away from me."

I pick up the ball, brushing it off. "Is this thing made of bricks?"

"No, it's just a ridiculously hard ball." He offers me an uneasy smile. I glower at him. His black curls move with the sea breeze, and his dark eyes are full of an apology waiting to come out of his mouth. He's adorned with some dark spots, from his face to his chest. He's visibly shivering. Well, that's what he gets for staying in swim shorts, the dumbass. "You okay?"

"I just got hit with a volleyball. You tell me."

"It was an accident, I swear." I look him over. He looks to be about my age. "You go to college here or something?"