Closure for Yori Najakima
A fan-made, extended scene of when Bucky goes to speak to Yori Nakajima during Episode 6 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Yori Nakajima, RJ Nakajima (referenced), The Winter Soldier (referenced)
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Genre: Angst
Spoilers: Episode 6 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Length: 2,099 Words
Bucky stood still, remembering the first time he'd looked down that long hallway, and the dread it pulled up in him.
It'd taken months of research and more than one quiet favor to try to track the man down from yet another loose collection of obituaries he knew far too much, and yet too little about. Some of them were dead ends, or people that were on one end or another of warring factions he'd been assigned a side to without his consent. But this one was anything but, and that made it that much worse.
Some days he was able to separate himself from what he'd done – he corrected himself – What the Winter Soldier had done, but it was easier for him to believe that when it came down to the targets he'd been given, the missions. Even collateral damage, human collateral damage, was somehow easier to stomach than the faces that looked back at him in utter confusion as he – the Winter Soldier – chose to remove any and all witnesses he could along the way. That had been an order too, hadn't it?
He closed his eyes for a moment as he focused on his breathing, but it didn't do nearly so much as he'd hoped it would. The weight of those memories was stifling, especially when he recalled the feeling of satisfaction the Winter Soldier had when a mission was completed and all loose ends were tied up.
That wasn't him. Not anymore. He hadn't had a choice, but that didn't make those dark thoughts go away. He could still distinctively remember the reflection of the gun and the boy's terrified expression in the chrome along his arm, and the sound as first his bag, then room key, and then the muffled thud as the rest of him fell lifelessly to the floor. That was the first and the last time he would see RJ Nakajima.
He pushed the thoughts away: This wasn't about how he felt. This was about his father, Yori Nakajima.
He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that the old man lived in New York. It was convenient to be sure, but it also meant that also became all-too-easy to avoid the topic at-hand.
He'd told himself he was ready to confront Yori for months now. He'd even gone so far as to stand at home in his bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror as he practiced what he hoped was a more personal version of that damned speech Doctor Raynor had suggested as a way to make amends. Instead, he'd befriended the understandably bitter old man, convincing himself that was not only a kindness, but perhaps if he knew Yori a little better, that he'd be able to lessen the sting.
That's what he'd told himself, anyway. Deep down, he knew it was cowardice, tempered with what he hoped was at least a drop of human dignity that he didn't want to hurt him more than he already had.
But it was still cowardice.
Bucky'd tried on more than one occasion to tell Yori the truth of what had happened to his son, but last time he'd drummed up the courage to knock on his door, he'd been struck by the old man's tired eyes and, quite unexpectedly… an alter to a smiling face, so full of life, that was burned in Bucky's memory, and had been extinguished by his own hand.
His willpower faded away in that instant, and like so many times before, he came up with any number of excuses on why it wasn't the right time.
Today needed to be different. It needed to not be about him.
He kept his feet moving as he walked down the hallway and stopped at that same door, allowing himself only a moment to collect himself before he knocked one it. Yori was sure to sense something was wrong by whatever expression had managed to crawl its way up onto his face, but he didn't feel right trying to push it aside.
The sound of locks. The door swung open, and Yori offered him a puzzled expression "Eh? What are you doing here?"
Before Bucky could say anything, the old man met his eyes, recognizing the heavy weight of his expression and quickly ushered him inside without any questions, "It's late. Come in before someone calls the cops." Yori looked both ways before closing the door behind him, and that motion alone made Bucky feel awful, like the old man trusted him, but had unknowingly invited a wolf into his home.
This isn't about you. Bucky reminded himself as he forced himself to meet the eyes on the alter across the room. This is about Yori. About giving him the closure he deserves.
"What are you doing here? It's not Wednesday."
"I, uh, I have to tell you something."
Yori nodded, attentive like a concerned friend. He was a concerned friend.
Bucky met his eyes, trying to push the words out even though he knew they would only drum up pain for the man. He'd gone through so much, but he had to know, "About your son."
Only Yori's eyebrow twitched at the sudden change of topic.
Bucky slipped off a glove, revealing his cybernetic hand and he rubbed his fingers together as Yori took a seat, listening, visibly confused.
"He was murdered," he tried to control the emotion in his voice before it risked overtaking him.
Yori'd told Bucky his best guess at what had happened to his son many times, but now he could only sit and stare, stunned that Bucky, of all people, would have any information about the event from so many years ago, "What?"
"By the Winter Soldier."
Yori's eyes welled with renewed pain and confusion, but Bucky pushed forward, even though he knew it was going to hurt, and destroy whatever friendship he had with Yori. His mind spun, locked in circles over how many times he'd run this exact moment over in his head, and still nothing, nothing had prepared himself for the rawness in his mouth as he breathed more than spoke the next words, "And that was me."
Bucky braced himself for anger, outrage. Part of him felt like he deserved it, but instead the old man across from him only managed a meek, confused, "W-Wh….Why?" His face was awash with betrayal so poignant that all that Bucky could do was take a breath of air. He knew this wasn't about him, but it hurt to his core to choose to wound Yori like this, even if it was supposedly in the noble cause of pursuing closure. It wasn't fair.
Bucky caught his breath, meeting Yori's eyes as his own filled with shared emotion, for the young man's life that was cut short by his hand, even if it wasn't his will. The best he could manage was, "I didn't have a choice." His eyes moved to the photograph on the alter, and Yori turned to follow.
They sat in silence while Bucky struggled to hold what limited composure he had. Part of him wanted to explain, to apologize, to tell Yori that if he wanted to hate him, it was okay. That he just wanted him to know so he didn't need to keep wondering what had happened. His son hadn't don't anything wrong.
"I don't understand…" Yori began, barely able to form the words as he gazed at the photo of his only child. There was far less anger than Bucky would have expected, but the man's eyes were a well of profound pain, when Yori turned back to regard him. He'd just admitted to murdering his son. Why wasn't there more anger in those eyes? "I don't understand… You?"
"Many years ago. During World War II -" Bucky caught himself about to mention Steve. No. This wasn't about him. He didn't need to bring him into this in some feeble attempt to smooth things over and leverage his childhood friend's notoriety to soften the blow. He collected his thoughts and continued, "—way back, I was fighting in the war, against the Nazis." He did his best to try to recount the abbreviated version of events. This wasn't about him or his tarnished innocence: this was about Yori.
Bucky found his voice again, "I was taken prisoner and experimented on against my will. They made me and others like me into weapons Hydra could control. Assassins. Winter Soldiers" He rubbed his fingers together, forcing himself to chance a glance back up to Yori's face. He was listening. But he wasn't saying anything: but he was listening with that same betrayed and saddened expression that cut Bucky to his core. "We were their puppets, and they pulled the strings for years and years." Bucky's eyes flickered to his hand, that hand again. It may have been made with vibranium now, but he remembered the polished chrome of the one that had dealt out so much death. His words trembled as he spoke, "Your son didn't do anything wrong. He was just… he was in Hotel Inessa, and it was the same place the Winter Soldier had a mission to complete: and part of the mission was to leave no witnesses. I-"
Bucky wasn't even altogether sure what he was going to say next, but Yori's quivering words cut him off, "Did… did he suffer?"
That, of all things, was his first question? Bucky's face twitched as he tried to keep himself from breaking down. He had to force himself to take breaths between his words, "No. No he didn't suffer."
And then Yori pulled his hands over his head and broke, weeping openly with hollow, heart wrenching sobs that racked Bucky with a flavor of guilt so poignant that all he could do was to close his eyes and hang his head and listen. Part of him wanted to reach out and comfort the old man that had become a friend over the last few months, but he knew it wasn't his place. He'd caused this. The Winter Solider had, at least. But the lines were blurred enough that it didn't matter in that moment.
He didn't know what to say, but it felt wrong to continue to say nothing, "I'm so, so sorry, Yori." I didn't have a choice.
He wasn't sure what he expected Yori to say when he next found his voice, but when he did, he simply pulled the photograph of his son into his hand and ran his fingers across the smooth surface, lost in a memory he kept to himself. Whatever words he had, whatever tales of fonder times were no longer privy to someone like Bucky, "I think I'd like to be alone," Yori managed through a raspy sob. There wasn't anger there, but a tumulus sea of emotion now stood between them, and Bucky knew the man had every right to it.
"Yeah. I can go," Bucky said, getting to his feet without delay, "I… I understand if you never want to talk to me again. I get it. I should have told you earlier. I was a coward. I'm sorry. But if you have any questions. Anything I can do—" he placed the small slip of paper he'd prepared ahead of time with his phone number on the end-table. It felt like such a hollow gesture, but he knew it was the right thing to do. What had Sam said? To be of service. There was so much else he wanted to say, but this wasn't about him.
Yori only glanced to the slip as a way of acknowledging it, but it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere, "He was so young. His whole life was ahead of him…"
"I know. And I'd give anything for it to be different," Bucky confessed with every ounce of his being.
Yori simply nodded, and Bucky took it as a signal that it was time for him to see himself out. Without another word, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallways, gently pulling it closed behind him.
Bucky stood outside the door, eyes closed as he keyed in to the poignant sounds of Yori's renewed sobs.
He remained in silent vigil until those pained cries and tempered waves of fresh grief finally faded away into the night. Only then did he step away.
He hoped it was worth it, but he found himself wishing for not the first time that closure, the closure he dealt, at least, had less bile in its bite.