Here's chapter four. Thanks again to my reviewers, sausuge and Bouzouki Joe. I've been wondering, do you guys in general like this kind of story? I mean ones about a/the child(ren) or otherwise related people of the main characters. Please give me some feedback!

To Bouzouki Joe- I'm curious, what's your theory about Frey? I won't tell you if you're wrong or right, but I'm just interested in what people are thinking up to this point.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun ;(

LIVING MEMORIES

-A Trigun Story-

Chapter 4: December

"Hey Frey, wake up."

Frey moaned, throwing a pillow at Michael, who stood across the room.

"Leave me alone, I'm tired."

"I wouldn't be complaining if I was you. At least you got a bed last night."

Frey opened one eye and looked at him from where she lay. He was right. Milly had insisted that she have a bed, so Michael had been kicked out of his room and forced to sleep on the couch. And this morning he looked awful.

"Didn't sleep well, huh?"

He muttered an inaudible reply.

She sat up, stretching and yawning widely. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Where are we going?"

"You want a job, right?"

Frey nodded. She needed money, and fast. It was her only way to get home.

"My aunt offered you a job at her restaurant."

"You have an aunt?"

"Several, actually. Carly is the only one that lives here, though."

Frey nodded absentmindedly, not really paying attention.

"Frey?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm coming."

In five minutes both were dressed and headed down the street. The restaurant was only about a block away. A small bell tinkled as Michael pushed the door open. Frey pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.

The restaurant was by no means worthy of a five-star reward. Frey instantly noticed as she walked in that it was simply decorated and not overbearingly large, though it had a homey atmosphere that immediately made her feel welcome.

At the sound of the opening door two women looked up. The taller and older of the two looked just like Milly, with the exception of her warm brown eyes and hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. The other, obviously much younger and probably about Frey's age, had the same eyes as the woman, but fiery red hair pulled into a long braid and a freckled face. The younger woman smiled at Frey, but the elder raised an eyebrow in scrutiny of their guest. Michael quickly got introductions out of the way. The older of the two women was Carly, Milly's sister, which explained why the two of them looked so much alike. The redhead was her daughter, Aidan. Both wore crisp white aprons, and other than them, the restaurant was empty.

Michael led Frey to the back of the edifice and handed her a clean apron, putting an identical one on himself.

"Um, what do you want me to do?"

"For now you can take orders," Michael answered, turning on the oven, "that shouldn't be too hard."

Frey soon realized that the task she had been assigned to was indeed incredibly easy. After nearly three-quarters of an hour, only five customers had arrived. She soon found herself with a lot of free time.

An hour later, Frey sat alone at one of the booths, trying to pass time by watching the people passing on the street outside. She silently hoped that each one would turn and enter the restaurant, giving her something to do, but her hopes were dashed repeatedly as no one even cast a glance her way.

Michael had been of no assistance in entertaining her. He had immediately set to work washing the few dirty dishes in the sink, and now sat at the bar style counter, supposedly cleaning it, though Frey had noticed the glaze that had come over his eyes a few minutes ago as he gazed at a small picture on the wall.

"He's thinking about him again."

Frey jumped at the unexpected voice and turned to find Aidan standing behind her. She smiled nervously, as if she was embarrassed to have interrupted Frey's thoughts. "May I sit down?" she asked carefully.

Frey nodded indifferently, then glanced back at Michael, at whom she with some embarrassment realized she had been openly staring.

"Thinking about who?"

Aidan glanced sadly at her cousin. "His father. He died before Michael was even born."

"How?"

Aidan sighed. "We're not really sure. Milly won't talk about it a whole lot. I think Michael knows, but I don't want to ask him. It would probably hurt too much to talk about it."

Frey frowned, a new thought entering her mind. Where was Aidan's father?

Aidan sensed her unasked question. "My dad's in the calvary," she said, "he's not around a whole lot. I haven't even seen him in almost six months."

"That must be hard."

"Oh no, my mom and I support him, and don't complain." Aidan answered, smiling. "So, what about your parents? Where are they?"

Frey looked quickly back at Aidan, squirming uncomfortably in her seat. "Um . . . I haven't exactly, uh, seen them in a while."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's too bad."

"Uh, yeah."

An awkward silence ensued, in which Aidan began doodling on a napkin.

"So," Frey began again, "are Wednesdays usually slow days?"

"Oh, most days are like this. My mom and I are having a little trouble keeping this place going, with my dad gone and all." Frey raised an eyebrow curiously as Aidan grinned optimistically. "But it doesn't matter. We'll find some way to get through. Our problems could be a lot worse."

"Are you always this positive?" Frey asked in an annoyed voice.

"Huh?"

"I mean, here you are, telling me that your only source of income is about to go up in smoke, and yet you're smiling like nothing in the world is wrong."

"So?"

Frey sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh forget it."

Her complaints against Aidan were interrupted as a short woman with black hair much like her own and deep blue eyes entered the restaurant, grinning.

"Hello Aidan. How are you?"

"Fine Meryl, thank you."

The woman's gaze shifted to Frey and rested on her for a moment, her eyes silently evaluating what she saw. "Ah, and you must be Frey."

"Um, yeah. How do you-"

"Vash told me all about you."

"You know Vash?"

Meryl chuckled softly. "You could say that. My name's Meryl. It's good to finally meet you." With that she turned and crossed the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Who was that?"

"Vash's, er, girlfriend, I guess."

"Those two are seeing each other!" Frey turned to look at the woman, finding it hard to picture the blonde beanstalk with the short, businesslike, not to mention older woman that had just passed her.

"Yeah, I guess" Aidan responded, not seeing anything unique about it. "I wish they would just get married already."

"Hm, maybe it's the age difference?" Frey asked sarcastically.

"What do you mean? They met when they were both in their early twenties."

Frey raised an eyebrow. "And how long ago was that?"

"Almost twenty-five years."

Frey blanched. "You mean to tell me that Vash is forty something!"

"Yeah."

Frey shook her head. "Wow. The years sure have been good to him."

Aidan didn't respond to that. "Meryl is an insurance agent. She and my aunt Milly are partners, and they met Vash a long time ago on an, um, assignment. I'm not sure of all the details, but I guess it was just love at first sight."

Meryl, who had heard the last part their conversation as she stood at the kitchen door, smiled at the irony of Aidan's statement as memories of her and Vash's first meeting came back to her. It wasn't exactly what she would classify as "love at first sight."

"Oh," Frey said in a bored voice. Aidan decided to change the subject.

"So, where are you from?"

"September City."

"Were you born there?"

"No."

"Where were you born?"

"It doesn't matter," she answered unemotionally.

Aidan glanced at her apprehensively. "Well, I was born and raised here. I've never really been anywhere else. What's it like in September?"

Frey smiled, memories of her home being brought back. "Oh, it's like here, I guess. This planet really is pretty much the same, no matter where you go. One big desert."

Aidan frowned, her dreams of a more beautiful place somewhere on Gunsmoke suddenly dashed. "Oh."

"Yeah, it's not that bad, though. You get used to it."

"I guess." Aidan sighed as her eyes fell to stare at her hands.

"What?" The redhead looked up.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that I don't think I'll ever get the chance."

"To get used to it?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Well, my parents would never let me leave December on my own. You're really lucky, you know."

"Not really. There are worse things in life than being trapped."

"Like what?"

Deciding it would be best to not disillusion the girl of the naive fantasies she had built in her head, Frey merely answered, "oh, just things."

Not sensing Frey's wish to stop talking, Aidan continued.

"So, how did you and Michael meet?"

Frey grinned, remembering. Finally Aidan had brought up something she was actually willing to talk about. "You really want to know?"

Detecting a good story, Aidan nodded.

"Okay. So, I was in this bar-"

"You were in a bar?"

"Yes, a bar." Seeing the look on Aidan's face, she quickly explained. "I wasn't drinking, okay?" Wow, this girl is sheltered.

"Then what were you doing?"

"Just meeting someone, alright? So-"

"Was Michael in the bar?"

Frey sighed impatiently. "No, I landed on Michael when one of the men in the bar threw me out the window."

"They threw you out the window!"

"Yes. This guy was mad because I beat him arm wrestling."

"You-"

"Yes, I beat him arm wrestling. Now, he got all his little drunk friends together, and the next thing I knew a mob of angry men was chasing me down the street."

"That must have been scary."

"Not really. So anyway . . ."

An hour later, Frey finally finished her tale with, "and then we went to Michael's." Aidan had watched her, transfixed, the entire time, continuing to add questions and comments at the most inopportune times. She was in awe, amazed that a girl just a year older than her saw a near death experience as just another day. She had heard some of Michael's stories, but dismissed them, telling herself it was just because he associated closely with Vash the Stampede on a regular basis, and didn't have parents that suffocated him.

"Wow," she murmured, "I don't know how you do it."

Frey leaned back, putting her arms up behind her head, which currently was growing dangerously large.

"Yeah, it's not that bad after awhile," she said, not trying to hide the pompousness in her voice.

"Aidan, you're working, aren't you?"

Aidan moaned at the sound of her mother's voice reverberating from the kitchen.

"Aidan?"

"Yes, Mom." She turned to Frey, knowing she was guilty for exactly what her mother had accused her of. "Uh, bye."

Frey smiled, deciding that maybe Aidan wasn't so bad after all, despite her innocence and obliviousness.

"'Bye."

"Hey Michael."

Michael looked up from the plate he was currently scrubbing to see Meryl, who was grinning in an uncharacteristically mischievous way.

"Yeah?"

"I met Frey."

"That's nice."

Meryl had been waiting for nearly an hour now for a chance to talk to Michael alone. Aidan and Frey had finally left just a few minutes ago, Aidan taking Frey on a tour of the city. And with Carly busy up front with some new customers, she had finally gotten her chance.

"So that's the girl you took the bullet for."

Michael nearly dropped the plate in his hand. "No, it's not like that," he muttered, "I just got careless, that's all."

"Michael, you know you don't get careless."

"Yeah? Well I did this time, okay?"

"Michael. The only times you allow yourself to get shot are when it's the only way to save someone else." Michael began scrubbing his plate harder.

"Uh, I think it's clean."

He placed the plate in the other sink to be rinsed and roughly grabbed another one.

"Admit it, you did that to save her, didn't you?"

"I didn't even know her, okay! I was just helping someone out!"

"But why did you bring her home with you?" Michael clearly heard the banter in her voice, openly daring him to fight back.

"I wasn't exactly conscious, Meryl. She dragged me to a sandsteamer and we happened to get kicked off here because we were out of money."

"So it was all just a big accident."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Michael paused in his scrubbing, closing his eyes and sighing in disgust. "Yes, Meryl."

"Well, she seems nice enough."

"Sure."

Frey turned in surprise as the front door to Milly's house swung open. Michael stood behind her, holding two bowls. He held one out and smiled. "Hungry?"

Frey smiled slightly and took one from him. It was ice cream. He sat down next to her and looked to the horizon, where she had been watching the first of the two suns set.

"So, how was your first day in December?"

She shrugged. "Oh, it was fine. Your family is really nice."

"You can't wait to get out, can you?"

"Nope."

"I thought so."

Frey took a bite from her bowl, taking pleasure in the feeling of the cold substance melting in her mouth.

"No offense or anything, Michael, I just kind of miss home."

"I understand."

They fell into silence. Frey finished off her ice cream, slowly savoring the last bite, then set the bowl aside, sighing. Michael followed suit, laying back on the porch and putting his hands up behind his head. The evening was dead silent. Not even a slight breeze was there to give them something to listen to. It was almost eerie.

"Hey Vash, wait for me!"

Frey glanced down the street, in the direction the noise had come from. Vash was coming, a kid that looked to be about five on his shoulders and three more trailing at his heels. A few paces behind him was Meryl, carrying a little girl and holding another one's hand. Frey raised an eyebrow.

"Orphans," Michael said, without even looking up. My father ran an orphanage here when he was alive, and after his death Meryl, Vash, and my mom moved here to keep it going." He sighed. "That's part of why Carly's restaurant is going under. She and Aidan spend so much time volunteering at the orphanage, too much time if you ask me."

"Then how do Meryl and Milly and Vash get by?"

"Meryl and my mom work for the Bernardelli Insurance Company. They're kind of what you could call 'field' agents." In reality the two were still assigned to Vash's case, which meant they hardly had to do anything and the paychecks kept coming. That left them plenty of time to help out at the orphanage.

Frey shook her head as she watched Vash get tackled and practically strangled by the children. "And those men back there thought he was Vash the Stampede."

Michael shrugged.

"Does that happen often?"

"You mean people going after Vash claiming he's the Stampede?"

"Yeah."

"Vash says it used to, when he traveled around a lot, but now that he's settled down it doesn't so much."

"Oh."

A little boy glanced up and saw the two of them sitting on the porch. He ran right up to Frey.

"Hey lady, wanna come play ball with us?"

Frey's eyes widened, and he pointed to herself as if to ask, me?

"Yes, you," Michael said, nudging her in the side, "go on."

"You come too, Michael!"

"Okay, Jacob. I'm coming." He feigned a sigh, as if the little boy had beaten him in some great battle of wits. Then he stood up.

Frey ended up just watching most of the time, throwing the ball occasionally when it happened to get thrown in her direction. The kids were adorable. How good Michael and Vash were with them amazed her. In a few moments Meryl walked up to stand beside her, just as Vash got hit directly in the face with a hard throw.

"Idiots, both of them," she said smiling, "but the kids love them."

Frey chuckled. "You guys must put in a lot of hard work to keep that place going."

Meryl shrugged. "It's worth it. And the kids are wonderful. They're always willing to help with anything and everything." She sighed peacefully. "You learn to love them."

"Excuse me, sir."

"Yeah?" a man answered gruffly.

"I heard you were making deals on rooms to be rented for extended periods of time."

"Yeah."

"I need one."

"How much ya' got?"

Frey emptied the contents of her bag onto the counter, looking up to watch him. The man counted it quickly with his eyes, then with one wide sweep of his arm had brushed it off of the counter into some unknown place.

"You've got yourself a deal, missy."