Chapter Text
Majima turned the words around in his head over and over and over, crafting the apology and pulling and twisting words until it sounded as sincere as he could make it. Not two minutes later he'd be struck with a bolt of panic, tear the apology apart, start over again, only to have something similar but with a few small changes. In his head he formatted it so it was comfortably formal and proper, but he knew as soon as he opened his mouth his tongue would thicken and it'd be nothing but Kansai, Kansai, Kansai. If he even managed to keep language about him.
In the midst of probably the sixth or seventh redo of the apology in his head he looked up from the park bench to see her. Shooting up to his feet, his eye nervously glanced around. They had agreed to meet far away from Kamurocho, where just this morning he had stepped over at least two hypodermic needles and one used condom. He didn't think much of it—this was a nice park, lots of big, twisting old trees—but all the same he stuck out like a sore thumb. It made it harder to speak as she spotted him within seconds and smiled.
Hey, hi, hello Makoto sorry for not seeing ya for two years and eight months—and half a week—and—and, I'm...
Majima froze. Makoto wasn't alone. In her hand—the one that still had the watch around her wrist—was another hand. Small, pudgy, gripping harder the moment the tyke saw him. He swallowed, hard, his eye not leaving the little girl at her mother's side. The girl in question pressed herself flat to Makoto's leg, making it momentarily difficult to walk. Makoto was undeterred and only smirked in love, ushering the child forward. Majima was sure his gulp was audible.
“It's been a while, hasn't it?” Makoto's voice was clear and clean like spring water, not nearly the horrific mess he felt himself, “Goro...,”
He nodded dumbly, still looking at the kid who similarly couldn't take her eyes off of him. She was dressed comfortably but cutely, in those grapefruit pinks and oranges he had come to associate with her mother. His gut was getting cold—Makoto having a kid meant she had a family, meaning that she had called him for this visit out of a courtesy, to let him know that—
“She's yours,”
His eye flicked to Makoto, more because she made a sound than anything, then, as soon as he registered what she had said, his eye widened and fixated on the girl, wide and stunned. The girl didn't like it one bit, and her stare became a glare as she hid half her face behind Makoto's leg. He couldn't help it now even moreso than before—now he was really studying her features even though they were still masked with fat and rounder shapes. Sure, the girl looked like Makoto—but he noticed her elbows were a little sharper along with her knees, her fingers longer than he would expect from a tot. Certainly that glare had been inherited from him, though all the same he remembered a time when Makoto could conjure up something as volatile as that, and it wasn't as long ago as it felt.
“Wh...B...,” Majima stammered, “I didn...I didn't know, or call, or—,”
A thought struck him and he looked up at Makoto. Neither had she. She frowned, hesitant and disturbed, and let go of the girl's hand to press her head to her thigh.
“I...didn't want anything to happen,” she answered quietly, which at first shot a boulder through his chest but he softened rather quickly. After all, if he was being honest with himself, he would've wanted it as secret as possible. Plus...he remembered what she said about what the doctors feared should something like this come to pass. Jump too early and maybe they would suffer—although the idea of her suffering alone, again, was something he'd rather not dwell on. Still, to have her minimize the possibility of someone else's suffering by keeping quiet until it was mostly assured everything was okay...god he missed her.
“Yeah...,” he breathed finally to assuage the look of discomfort on her face. Any questions he could've followed up with about what she had been up to while he was firmly entwined in yakuza bullshit were answered already, and Majima was too entranced to come up with any other questions on the spot. Makoto watched with a smile on her face and a faint sense of relief as Majima squatted down to their daughter's height, eye still wide.
“Name, name,” he said after a while, glancing up at Makoto, “She got a name, don't she? How old? Wh—,”
Makoto's laugh cut him off before he asked too much at once, then answered gently, “Her name is Akiko, she's about to turn two soon. Figured it was time she met her father,”
She bent down and rubbed the edge of Akiko's ear to get her attention then gestured towards Majima, “See? That's your Daddy, right there,”
The expression on the girl's face didn't change much, but the corner of his mouth lifted in an awed smile. On instinct he didn't think he had he lifted a hand to greet the kid, holding it out for her first if she wanted to shake or touch it. She did not move. Barely registering this anyways, Majima raised it to pat her head. His fingers barely brushed the top of her hair and Akiko snarled and let out a sharp bark.
“NO!”
Majima jerked his hand away, dropping his mouth slightly as he stuttered for a second, “A-Ah! Sorry!”
He looked to Makoto to see if he had crossed some unknown boundary, but she was smiling in response to all of it, warm and gentle. Patting the side of Akiko's head, she gazed down at her.
“It's her favorite word,”
“Oh? Good,” Majima said, genuine. Makoto looked at him and he gave her a knowing smirk, rocking on his heels and refusing to stand back up now that he was down to his daughter's height, “Does she know any other words?”
“Theoretically,”
Majima laughed in a way he hadn't in a very long time—not a sharp shrieking wail but something from the gut that passed through the chest in a way that felt like he was loosening, blooming in a sense. Without asking for him to stand up, Makoto knelt down, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close and tight. With it, all the words she couldn't say whether by emotion or by Akiko's presence. Majima exhaled, warming the nape of her neck as he returned the gesture, grateful that she missed him, grateful that she felt similarly, grateful that, despite all of it, she kept their daughter as safe as possible. Until Akiko had learned the word NO and carried the voice to scream it. He chuckled into Makoto's hair, watching his daughter stare at them in the most betrayed, judgmental way he had ever seen.
“She's beautiful, Makoto,” he murmured into her ear. He felt her cheeks raise against him as she answered.
“I knew you'd adore her,”
Akiko did not look pleased. She still did not look pleased when they broke apart, seating themselves on the park bench Majima had been waiting on, and she still did not look pleased when she made the executive decision to sit on one of Majima's thighs. Facing her mother, her sour expression went from her, to Majima, back to her, a bitter backdrop as the two of them caught up. Though he was listening, Makoto noted that he could not (or would not) tear his gaze off of Akiko. The more he stared the more it seemed his eye puffed up and he sniffed more often than he should've despite the clean and calm atmosphere of the park. He raised a hand to support Akiko's back but, again, she yelled NO and with a grin that came so easily to him even though he had barely known her he apologized and retreated again. Makoto's heart swelled, watching as tears gathered in his eye. Nothing bad, or sad, just pure emotion as his daughter glared at him despite choosing to sit in his lap.
She leaned forward, pressing her soft lips against his cheek, kissing the tears in a way he had done for her before Akiko had been born. Majima leaned into her touch, watching how Akiko's expression changed only slightly, betraying her hidden curiosity.
“Have you eaten?” Makoto muttered, “Akiko has, I haven't,”
“No,” Majima answered, prompting Makoto to retreat ever so slightly. A takoyaki cart stood at the entrance to the park—one of the reasons she had chosen this place to meet him. With another brush of her lips against his wet cheek she left the two to get to know each other, knowing she had made the right choice when Akiko didn't cry or scream when she left. The takoyaki stand took a bit longer than she expected, but it was for the benefit of a fresh, hot batch, and she didn't mind waiting.
When she returned, though, she found Majima with his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking. Her light expression tightened with worry. He wasn't just crying but bawling, stifling the noise as best he could. She opened her mouth to ask but, when her gaze lowered, she noticed that Akiko had, despite everything, sprawled her limbs out and had fallen firmly asleep against her father.
Makoto sat, deciding it best not to say anything at all, and drew Majima out long enough to enjoy the takoyaki with her as their daughter slept.