Work Text:
The word had originally come through a few weeks back from Minami (a secret not so much spilled as rattled out of him by an undercaffeinated and overstimulated pirate captain). Nishida had a lady. Majima had been chipper about the revelation at first. Breezy, even! After all, he’d insisted over a fourth or fifth round of shots: hadn’t he imparted all’a his pearls of wisdom on the fellas over the years? Hadn’t he coached them in the certified Goro ways of love, romance, and women? Hell, they should be out living their best lives, by now! “Might even perk some of you sad-sacks up a little bit!” Everyone had been far too polite to relay their own guarded memories of the boss meddling in their personal relationships. Visible or otherwise, most of the men still bore the scars as tender reminders.
Scarcely able to maintain the facade, his mood had visibly soured as time passed and Nishida had the gall to remain in high spirits without offering any explanation for his clearly distractible temperament. The final straw had fallen one beautiful spring day as candy-pink petals drifted gleefully down on to the bonnet of the war waiting to collect Majima for some business bullshit or other (he’d not read the small print, of course. However, he had awoken to find The Meeting Suit pressed and hung in the entrance. When the sobering gift of hindsight later presented itself, this in and of itself would become a portentous omen of the day ahead). As he’d straightened his tie and swaggered out and over to where Nishida held the door open for him, he’d been troubled by some… buzzing sound in his ear. Incessant; pitched. Shrill, even. Shaking it off, he’d slid himself in and pulled out his phone, swiping across to Genshin Impact and making himself comfortable for the short journey. Gary Buster Holmes had found a build for Chevreuse that he was excited to try out, and the trip out to Yokohama was the perfect opportunity to make a start.
He’d tired of this occupation before they’d left the outskirts of the city. Tossing the phone over to the side of the chair, Majima had hooked up his feet onto the front passenger seat and stared out of the windows at the passing landscape. The tuneless trill had still not abated. It was only as he turned to Nishida to ask if there was something wrong with the car radio that the true horror finally set in: smiling away to himself and drumming his fingers vacantly on the steering wheel, Nishida was whistling. Whistling! His Nishida! If Majima could have pieced together the melody, he might well have recognised the classic standards of George Gershwin. To his great fortune, they passed over his head. Without speaking, he sat back into his chair and watched, eye narrowed in alarmed suspicion as Nishida cheerfully twittered away for the rest of the journey.
The whistling, however, had been the tip of the goddamned iceberg that day. It was only as they had pulled into an inconspicuous parking space and Nishida had brightly led them over to a small row of shops and bars that had evidently seen better days that it dawned on Majima that his professional dogsbody looked… different. The hat remained, of course, but his casual Construction Company branded set had been replaced by an unexpectedly smart suit and tie.
“Nishida, what the fuck. Where are we? This where the business doodah whatsit is gonna be?”
Nishida had paused, the intrepid smile on his face wavering for the first time.
“B-boss?”
Majima rapped (lightly! He wasn’t a monster!) on Nishida’s helmet.
“The meeting! Whatever it is I’m here all suited n’ booted for. Daigo-chan not sent me out to Bumfuck-This-Place to sign somethin’, or make someone else somethin’, or unsign somethin’ maybe, or-”
“Boss! Sir!” Nishida had quickly interrupted. His hands were upraised and his eyes wide, the overall expression one of horror that was a shade more palpable to Majima than the peppy whistling. “That’s not… that’s not why we’re here! You thought we were here for… for a meeting? For w-work?”
No, no, no. He hadn’t been there for a meeting. Not for work, at least. It wasn’t just the note pinned to his suit that he’d overlooked (ignored): Nishida had given multiple reminders to Majima over the last few days that they’d be visiting his girlfriend. Several completely missed messages on his phone, too. Apparently, he’d agreed to it a couple of weeks back - suggested it, even. This was all fine. This, he could handle. Meetin’ the ol’ lady? Piece of cake. What he hadn’t - couldn’t have been prepared for, what had led him to spend the entire evening and then the trip home stunned into uncharacteristic silence, was whom, exactly, the mystery woman was.
For what it was worth (and his opinion usually counted for something), Saejima had been doubtful about the situation from the start. In fact, falling just short of actually blocking Majima’s path as he marched out of their shared offices, Saejima had downright pleaded with his kyodai to consider showing a little bit of maturity: some ounce of discretion, grace, or tact that would save the situation devolving into an all out mess.
“You’re behavin’ like an ass, bro.”
“Haw? Yer tellin’ me that this ain’t my job as former patriarch of the Majimagumi? Current captain of the Goromaru? His fuckin’ sworn boss? Ya think I ain’t just doin’ what’s best fer my boys?”
Saejima closed his well-thumbed old detective paperback and set the curling novel down on the desk beside his reading glasses. Interlacing his fingers and resting his grizzled chin over them, he sighed. Not quite defeated but certainly unwilling to find himself in a circular argument that would be better had with the nearest brick wall.
“Think yer oversteppin’ a bit, yeah. He might still call ya oyaji but we ain’t in that life any more. You gotta let him be his own man, make his own decisions. Have some faith in the guy, maybe. And uh, whilst yer at it, maybe don’t rush out n’ start threatenin’ women who ain’t done nothin’ to ya. Or to him, fer that matter…”
But the attempts had, nevertheless, fallen upon wilfully deaf ears. Majima Goro had a bee up his ass and he wouldn’t quit his mission till he’d shaken the damn thing down and outta his trouser leg. This particular bee had parked him in the front seat of the first company car he could wrangle, tearing up the expressway at a speed that would have made Kiryu-chan and his little pocket circuit toys blush. It was simple, really. These women were all after one thing from his Nishida, and he wasn’t going to stand aside and let it happen. Saejima was overreactin’, like usual. Of course he wasn’t gonna go and threaten the woman! Merely… swing by her place of work and politely let her know that if she ever did a single thing to cause Nishida even an ounce of pain or torment, he’d…
Well, he didn’t know that part. But he paid this no mind. After all, this love interest - as he’d reassured Saejima, quite reasonably - well, as far as ladies were concerned, she didn’t exactly count, right? Right?
Arriving at his destination and parking the car with all the haphazard joie de vivre that the situation merited (and ultimately earning himself a parking notice or six), and leather jacket sticking uncomfortably to Ms Hannya, he’d managed to march himself up the steps to the secluded entrance before finally catching his breath to get a handle on the situation. His fist was balled, leather cracking at the knuckles as they perched, uncertain, against the brightly painted wooden entrance. Did he actually know what he was going to even say, this time? Was this… was there even a slight possibility that maybe… maybe he’d overshot the mark on this one? That Saejima was… he cocked his head to the side and wavered at the very thought… that Saejima was right. Majima’s gusto faltered. Stood on this narrow walkway in the cold (well, warmish) light of day, suddenly he wasn’t so sure that this was, in fact, the right plan of attack. The words rolled around on his tongue, cocksure bravado crawling back down his gullet as his fist fell down to his side. Clearing his throat, he tested the waters to the silence.
“You… you do anythin’ to hurt Nishida, n’ I’ll… grind ya up an’... uh… No, Saejima ain’t gonna be feelin’ me grindin’ anyone up. How’s about… you do anythin’ to hurt my Nishida, and I’ll come down on ya with the fearsome wrath of a mother bird protectin’ her lil baby chicks, I… No, what the fuck was that, Goro? Get it together!”
He was still grousing feebly to himself when the door swung itself open inwards. Bravado, bluster, and prepared speeches were all scuppered and swept away as he came face-to-face, once again, with the lady that had been occupying Nishida’s every waking thought for however many weeks.
“Majima-chan! I can’t believe you’re here to see me and you didn’t even call first!” cried Yuki as she leaped forward and dragged him, stumbling, into the empty sushi bar. “You barely even spoke when you came with Nishi-chan, so it’s lovely to see you again! Grab a seat, grab a seat!”
She emphasised this by pushing down onto a stool at the counter, before slipping behind it and deftly pouring out a finger of whiskey. Dumbly, he noted that it was his old favourite from back in the Sunshine days, and he nodded in surprised appreciation as Yuki continued on without missing a beat.
“You know Majima-chan, you looked so handsome when you came to visit the other day in that lovely, smart suit. The hair is still… well, we can always work on the… hairstyle. But now you’re back in this car crash situation you call an outfit? Well it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you’ve come to see me! Nishi-chan was so worried when we started dating that you wouldn’t approve. ‘Oyaji won’t like this,’”, she parroted in a voice far too deep to even approach Nishida’s, “‘he’ll n-never approve of our being an-an item, no no no.’ But you’re here now to give us your blessing, hmmm?”
He didn’t respond. Unswayed, she poured out another slug and leaned in a little closer.
“Hmmmmm?”
“Well, Yuki-chan, the thing about that is, uh. Ya see. Well.” Majima cleared his throat uncertainly. He pictured Nishida on the first day he’d met, or at least somebody that was a close enough approximation to him. Round headed, nervous, potentially lost. He straightened up on the seat, boosted by the vague memory. “I’m actually here to… to lay down the law!”
There was a lengthy silence. A protracted one, even. And when that silence ended, another one began in its place. This was bad, Majima realised. Perhaps even triple-silence bad. Dry-mouthed, he fumbled with the re-emptied glass. He was not the one to break the tense silence, however. That pleasure went to Yuki. Voice dangerously low, she repeated his words back to him.
“You’re here… to lay down the law, Majima-chan?”
“I… yes. As Nishida’s fr- as his boss. You might not’ve figured it yet Yuki-chan, but Nishida is easily led. Actually. Easily led. And, I’m here… I’ve come to tell ya…”
The stool clattered to the floor as he hopped to his feet and dramatically pointed an accusatory finger directly at his old friend.
“If your intentions fer Nishida are anythin’ less than as wholesome as what he deserves, I’ll see to it that ya never get to spend time with him again!”
Jojo-esque, his sudden outburst surprised even him. Worse yet, Yuki turned her back and her shoulders began to shake. Saejima was right. He’d been right all along! Bursting in here and making Yuki cry - what was he thinking? Had his need to protect Nishida blinded him completely? Had his tenure as Shimano Futoshi’s right-hand man made him so cold, so impervious to the feelings of others, that - wait.
Her tears sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter.
“Yuki-chan?” He stretched a hand out to touch her shoulder, and she whipped around with a delirious smile plastered across her face.
“Really? Really, Majima-chan? You came all this way over here to give me the shovel talk? ‘Mess with Nishida and I’m gonna flipplin’ bury ya so heckin’ deep the worms ain’t even gonna be able to find ya, ya big… goose!’ That’s what you’ve come here to tell me, is it?”
Majima was perturbed. Not only was she not upset, but she was turning the tide on him - and doing what he could only guess was supposed to be an insulting impression of him at the same time. Suddenly, staying home didn’t seem like a bad idea. Hell, maybe he could have joined Saejima on one of his increasingly frequent wildlife excursions. They could have tracked bears together. That would have been nice, he thought. Instead, five feet of Yuki wrath bore down on him as her voice grew harsher, louder, more impassioned.
“How’s about this, Mr Big Scary Boss Man! How about if you ever hurt my Nishi-chan again, I’ll cut out your other eye with whatever I’ve got handy? Huh?”
“Woah, easy now, Yuki-chan! I ain’t never once hurt Nishida. I take-”
“Take good care of your boys, sure, sure. Like you ‘took good care’ of me and the girls when you left one night and then vanished for almost twenty years, that kind of good care? Have you ever even considered just once in your life that the people around you have feelings? That they care about you and would hope that the bare minimum you could do was show some appreciation in return?”
“I appreciate Nish-”
“Oh?” Yuki cut him short and folded her arms across her chest defiantly as she scoffed. “You appreciate Nishida? When was the last time you gave him a holiday? A little bit of time off?”
Majima was affronted by the accusation. A holiday? Nishida got a holiday when he got a holiday! And he’d taken plenty of time for himself. How about when he, Daigo, and Saejima all holed up in that shack for god knows how long? What was that, if not a holiday from work? For him and for… wait. He reached up and scratched the fuzz on his chin in deep thought. Where… where exactly did Nishida go when they were in that shack? Is that when he met Yuki? How far back did this thing go? He shook his head and rallied himself.
“Nishida likes his job! Ya reckon he’d have signed up fer the Yakuza if was lookin’ for an easy ride, least of all swearin’ his oath under the Tojo’s very own Mad Dog? He didn’t exactly walk into the situation blindfolded, darlin’!” Another deep drain from the glass he’d taken to refilling himself. Yuki howled with derisive laughter and pulled the bottle away, swigging straight from it herself with a wince.
“Nishida only joined up because you grabbed him off the street thinkin’ that he was somebody else called Greg! And you literally blindfolded him as you did it! Told him you’d booked a surprise party for him and when he could see again, he was halfway out to sea on a fishing skiff full of black market knives!”
Slack-jawed, Majima was hurt. In fact, he was wounded. He’d come here to stick up for his guy, and instead he was getting both barrels from an all-time master. Fine. Fine! If Yuki wanted to play dirty, he could play dirty too.
“Listen here, Yuki-chan. See yer gettin’ all high n’ mighty on a pedestal here, but how do I know ya ain’t just some old lady cradle-snatcher takin’ advantage?”
“Old lad- cradle snatche- Majima-chan! How dare you! Sure, I’ve got a few years on him, but he’s a grown man capable of making his own decisions. Do you even know how old Nishida is?”
This was a line crossed. Pole-vaulted over. Did Majima know how old Nishida was? What a ridiculous question. Beyond parody. He was deeply acquainted with all of his closest guys. How about Saejima? He was seven months and eight days younger than him! Okay, so he didn’t know Nishida’s exact birthday in the same way. He knew the things that were important, didn’t he? He was blood type A, wasn’t he, which was really handy to have around a type AB like Majima. What else? Good at bomb defusal. Sharp in a hat. Really good at impressions, that was important. So what if he didn’t know some poxy little thing like his exact age. Hell, he barely even knew his own exact age - he always forgot to carry the years in the hole and Sotenbori. And the ‘90s. And that unpleasant business with Saejima going back to prison, twice. Three times? Shit. Yuki was waiting.
“I… don’t know exactly, but I remember we took him out zorbing fer his 24th birthday. Had a blast, too!”
“Majima-chan! That was almost twenty years ago! And he still won’t tell me what happened that day!”
They fought like this for several more hours and several more deep glasses of the top-shelf stuff, each of which Majima made a mental note to pay back twice over when he realised that not a single customer had walked in and distracted them from their quarrel all evening. The sun had long since dipped behind the rooftops, briefly illuminating the bar in radiant yellows and oranges as they sat slumped against one another side by side in the corner. Their bickering had gradually lessened in aggression; pointed barbs and accusations petering out into contestations of who, from the pair of them, loved and appreciated their Nishida more deeply. As they finally fell asleep under a blanket Yuki had pulled out from the back, they made one last solemn vow.
“Just promise me that you’ll take care of him?”
“With my life. You?”
“Same, Majima-chan. With your life, though.”
“Heh. Sounds like a plan.”