Hi !
I've loved watching "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier". I wrote this after watching the last episode [Spoilers Warning!]. The story focuses on Yori and Bucky.
I'm French, so I apologize in advance for misspelling, grammar mistakes and awkward sentences in general. I do hope this fic will be pleasant enough for you to read, though.

Disclaimer : The Falcon and the Winter Soldier TV show doesn't belong to me.

Red beans mochis

A garnet-colored box had been left onto his dusty doorstep. Bucky froze in the hallway, seized between genuine fear and open curiosity as he glared at his unexpected find sitting in front of his closed flat door. The box appeared completely common, bow-tied with a white, curly ribbon from which hung an ivory card. It looked neat and clean.

It must have been some kind of trap. Bucky couldn't think about a single person sending him a gift. Sam and his family were the only members on his – very – short list of friends, and Bucky had left them just two days ago at Delacroix. There were his Wakandians acquaintances, of course, but after the whole mess with Zemo, Bucky sincerely doubted they would send him a friendly call so soon, even less a present. So, this box must have been a trap right? A trap or a very bad joke. He half-expected to hear a soft, menacing ticking.

Clenching his keys in his flesh hand, Bucky slowly crept closer and squatted down in front of the box. Metal fingers gently ran across its smooth surface before grabbing the ivory card hanging from the ribbon. "Izzy". Bucky suddenly felt an anxious twinge in his heart. It'd been weeks since he ate in there, since he'd even stepped inside the restaurant, which was only a few streets away from his own.

Bucky felt achingly alone and scared in the empty hallway. He desperately wished he could forget about the box and just go home, turn on the TV and think about nothing. He wanted to throw the box away and forget it even existed and -

He picked up the box. It felt light in his hand. Not a bomb or a weapon then. He almost would have preferred that option. His hands shook so badly that he had to try twice before achieving to unlock his door. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears, blurring his sight, and he swallowed back the lump climbing up his constricted throat.

His silent, empty flat was strangely comforting as he closed the door behind him. A single poster of some cartoon pinned on the far wall of his living room brought some kind of personality to the otherwise blank space. AJ and Cass had given it to him few weeks prior so he could decorate his home. He looked at it a long time, feeling empty and numb, like there was a black hole inside his chest trying to aspire him into nothingness.

He moved on silent feet across the living room, walking right next to the TV without pausing to turn it on and sat the box on the kitchen's island before perching himself onto one of his two stools. He blinked once, twice, and tears shielded beneath his eyelids spiked his eyelashes before jumping in the air. They landed onto the box's closed lid. Bucky sniffled quietly, waiting for the deep-rooted fear inside his chest to subside but it never did. Feeling utterly helpless, he looked out of the window and focused his teary eyes upon the milky-white, clouded sky.

He'd always loved to watch the sky, even as the Winter Soldier. The Soldier would spend all his free time gazing up at stars at night and fluffy-looking clouds at day. He would always look up from his scope to watch the sunrise or the sunset. He enjoyed observing the pristine moon shining in the blackened night or at birds flying away toward freedom that he had never dared to hope for. His handlers had hated this strange habit of his, constantly catching him looking up at the sky instead of down toward his targets. But none of their corrective measures had achieved to cancel this "malfunction" as they called it.

So Bucky looked at the sky for a long, long time and dreamed about running away. Because he could, and because nobody had any authority to prevent him to do so anymore, and because –

He shuddered uncontrollably. Overwhelming pressure had been building up and up since the moment his eyes had had rested on that damn box. The same pressure was now constricting his chest, forcibly closing his throat and burning furiously his eyes. Bucky exhaled sharply and a soundless sob escaped him. Air felt like sandpaper in his burning throat and down his lungs. New tears traced wet tracks on his cheeks as he frantically tried to control his jerky sobs.

He bent down slowly to rest his forehead against the cold, hard surface of the kitchen island. He focused intently on this point of contact as it anchored him here and now. Breathing deeply, he listened carefully to his quiet, strong heartbeat. His metal arm was emitting a soft, familiar, and surprisingly comforting purring from tiny motors miming nerves and muscles.

When his sobs subsided and his breath was back under control, Bucky felt like hours had passed by, but he knew it could only have been a few seconds, maybe a minute. Fear, and pain, and guilt were still raging inside his head and his chest and his stomach, but he felt calmer. He fiddled with the white ribbon for a few more seconds, before he decided he couldn't keep stalling. He untied and removed it with precise, clinical hands and opened the box. Inside were five white, plump red bean mochis. A blank envelope rested next to them.

Brushing away his last tears with his left hand, Bucky reached inside to take the envelope and fished out a piece of paper neatly folded. Seeing Yori's writing was both comforting and painful.

At first, Bucky didn't dare to read and settled for simply looking at Yori's elegant writing. He'd been building a friendship with the lonely old man, growing close and sharing a surprisingly deep complicity with him. But now, Yori was just another victim of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky attempted to believe, just for some precious seconds, that he could fix things with Yori. That if he tried correcting his errors, he would have his friendship back. But he couldn't. The Soldier had killed because he was an assassin, because killing had been his job. Bucky didn't have a choice, but he still had spilled blood. It was on him.

Yori had lost his only son. Bucky could never bring his child back. He couldn't fill the emptiness, and the pain Yori was suffering every day. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, Bucky began to read before his courage left him again. The message was brief, four lines of Yori's neat writing.

"This isn't about forgiveness. This is about closure.

Now that I know how my son died, I can move on.

I will never forget him. I love him with all my heart.

I wish you good luck, James."

A quiet sigh escaped Bucky. His breath was jerky again, heavy sobs threatening to break the peaceful quietness of his flat. He closed his eyes and let his tears spill.

He didn't know if he was crying for Yori and his murdered son.

Or maybe his tears were for the Soldier, because the Soldier never wavered when he eliminated his targets.

He was in pain, drowned in shame and guilt and self-pity. He scooped up a mochi in his flesh hand to distract himself. The plump little pastry was soft against his skin, and it melted into his mouth when he took a bite. The sweet, rich taste of the red bean pasta coated his tongue and filled his nose. It lacked something. Mochis had to be degusted with a cup of hot, bitter-tasted green tea, as Yori had taught Bucky. But Bucky didn't have any tea, just bottled mineral water stocked in his fridge. He didn't have Yori either, not anymore.

He remembered Yori's son so well. His terrified face haunted his memory like a sorrowful ghost. The young man had known that he was about to die even before the Winter Soldier had turned to him. Yet, he has had to vainly try and beg for his life, to hope against all hopes that he would be spared. His quiet pleading had fallen on deaf ears.

The Soldier never had showed mercy, because he always had complied with his orders. The Soldier had known what to expect if he dared to fail one of his missions. But the responsibility of the Soldier's actions rested on Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky would never forget Yori's son. He would never forget that his blood was on his hands.

"I wish you good luck, James."

But he did want to move on. He needed to move on, and Yori told him to take the first step.

And Bucky heard him, loud and clear.

The end