I can happily claim Riye and Mina -- or Kam-chan, if you like Riye's nickname for her buddy better -- but everyone else in here belongs to Rando Ayamine. The cartoon series Transformers -- soon to be a big movie, yay! -- doesn't belong to me either.

I had fun with this one, so I hope you like it. I decided to try my hand at little kids this time around. As always, review if you want to, but even if you don't, good luck with your own fics, and I hope you enjoy my random drabbles.

Refrigerator Memories

A sudden blast of music woke Ban from his comfortable doze. The theme to some cartoon about giant transforming robots proudly pronounced said robots' intent to save the world from other giant transforming robots.

Riye's slight weight shifted against him as he stretched, and she burrowed down into his side.

"I'm cold, Daddy." Her voice was thick with exhaustion, and hours of hacking coughs had rendered her sweet, piping tones almost unrecognizable, as they were now raspy and harsh. She sounded even worse than she had that afternoon. He pulled her shivering little frame close as he reached for the blue afghan on his left. Riye coughed wetly into her small, long-fingered hands.

"Still not feeling good, huh, baby?" She shook her head and coughed again. Through the thin cotton of his tank, her body felt impossibly warm, and he could feel every racking cough reverberate through his own flesh. He lifted her a little in an attempt to reach her back without making it difficult for her to see the television and fought back a lump in his throat as his usually-energetic little girl hung limply in his arms.

Ban Midou had seen far more than his share of sickness, poverty, death, greed, and injustice. No one had warned him that parenthood could be even more heart-wrenching. It was only the flu, yet it seemed as though no horror he'd witnessed had twisted his soul as painfully. As she tried to focus on the robots and their intergalactic conflict, he rubbed big circles on her shoulders and worried over every ragged breath he felt being drawn and expelled beneath his fingertips, winced at every vicious cough.

"So what're we watching?" He continued to rub her back through the fuzzy, faded afghan.

"Transformers." She stretched tiredly, and attempted a yawn. It was cut off by a series of coughs that left her doubled up over the arm of the chair. Ban dropped an arm around her shoulders to prevent her from plummeting to the floor. Early morning cartoons, dammit. How long had he been asleep? He'd told her he'd sit up with her.

"What time is it, Riye?"

She shrugged, a slow, slight movement that bespoke her exhaustion. "Four thirty or five."

"Did you sleep at all?"

Her black little head turned sideways against his chest. No.

He slipped a hand to her forehead. Still burning up.

"Ready for some more medicine?" She shook her head again, a little more vigorously. No, definitely not.

"Sorry. Doctor's orders, kiddo." A little noise that might have been a groan, a whimper, or an acknowledgment sounded in her throat. He tucked the blanket around her and stood, right arm braced beneath her bottom, left hand still stroking her back.

Walking into the dark kitchen, he found the bar and the medicine he'd left out on it. Dropping Riye into a chair, afghan still wrapped around her, he found his way to the sink and fumbled with the faucet, trying to rinse out the medicine cup he'd used sometime around midnight. A sticky-sweet orange goo stuck to his finger; he sucked it off and turned the heat of the water up to melt the resistant gunk. When it had been satisfactorily melted, he filled it to the second line with the liquid that was the originator of the orange goo, as per his wife's instructions.

Riye looked up with a sad appeal in her eyes when he handed her the cup, but for once, obeyed without complaining. Wrinkling her nose with distaste, she gave it back to him. He took it and put it back on the counter. If he were as fastidious as Natsumi, he'd wash it out immediately. But he wasn't, so the cup was going to stay right there on the bar until he needed it again.

The doorbell rang.

Ban rolled his eyes. At four fifty two, only one person would have the audacity to invade the Midou residence.

Of course, Ginji and his family happened to be the only people who were welcome there any time of the day.

"I forgot that Mina-chan was sick too." Ban smiled lopsidedly at his little girl, who was shivering beneath her blanket. He picked her up and strode to the door.

Sure enough, Ginji stood just outside in the still-dark morning, holding his own little four-year-old, Kaminari, and looking as exhausted as Ban felt.

"Hi, Kam-chan. We're watching Transformers," Riye told her friend.

"So wuh we. I think they'eh in twouble, cuz Optimus isn't theyeh." She was so serious, they might have been discussing the potential pitfalls of the new government firearm policy. Ban hid a smile, charmed by Kaminari's adorably mispronounced words, and let his old friend in.

"You not feeling good either, Mina-chan?" Ban asked, ruffling Kaminari's soft blonde spikes.

"I feeuh ucky, unca Ban." Ginji tightened his grip on her. The old partners shared a look. It seemed they were to share misfortunes in fatherhood just as they were everything else. Ban shook his head with a smile.

"Want some juice?" He looked expectantly between the two girls. Riye nodded immediately; he'd known she would. She wanted the taste of the orange kiddy-medicine out of her mouth.

"What kind?" Kaminari wanted to know.

"Grape."

She narrowed her dark blue eyes thoughtfully. "Cweeah ohw pupple?

He considered a moment. "White grape. Clear."

Smiling her father's trademark thousand watt smile, she nodded once in affirmation.

The Get Backers bundled their sick kids up together on the sofa in front of the TV and retreated to the kitchen.

"Sorry, Ban-chan. Himiko's been out all night, and when we saw the TV flashing, we thought you might not mind the company." A sheepish grin crossed Ginji's face as he pulled two sippy cups from the cabinet left of the stove.

Ban chuckled. "I don't mind. I can only take those damn cartoons so long before I need some adult conversation."

Ginji stared at him. "You don't like Transformers? Mina and I wake up early every Saturday to watch them!" He narrowly avoided the spatula Ban threw at him. "I'm kidding, Ban-chan. Although it's a lot better than those puppet things Mina likes."

His face fell. "I don't think Mina slept at all. I know I didn't."

"I drowsed off around three, but Riye's been awake all night. Every time she'd lie down, the coughing got worse."

Ginji nodded miserably. "I hate seeing her feeling so bad."

"You can tell she feels rotten, she hasn't mispronounced her words that badly in a long time."

Ginji laughed suddenly. "She doesn't mispronounce them, Ban-chan. Except for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah. I asked her about it when I first noticed it. She told me that you don't smile enough, but that you always smiled when she talked 'baby-talk,' and she'd keep doing it as long as it made you smile." He smiled guiltily. "She asked me not to tell you, so don't let on that you know, okay?"

Touched, Ban poured the juice. As he watched his right hand, it suddenly occurred to him that he'd probably thrown more punches with that hand in his life than he'd poured cups of juice. Probably killed more people than he'd changed diapers. A strange surrealism descended on him.

"Ginji."

His blonde partner screwed the brightly colored lids onto their respective cups. "Hmm?"

"Did you ever think it would be like this?" Ban picked up Riye's cup – always the blue one; Mina's was green. He didn't usually wax reflective like this, but, sleep-deprived and worried, he felt his sudden, queer frame of mind justified.

Fortunately he didn't have to explain himself; as always, Ginji read him like an open book.

"Back then?"

Ban nodded.

"Back then, I didn't think 'back then' would ever end." Ginji leaned over the bar, serious for once. "And if you'd told me it would, I would have been either really sad, or I wouldn't have believed you. But even though those were some of the best times of my life, I wouldn't trade one memory of Mina to have them again, Ban-chan."

He turned away from his partner, and looked instead at the many, many photographs Ban had posted all over the refrigerator door. Natsumi usually took the credit for it, of course; it just didn't do for someone like Ban to have a soft spot for photographs. But anyone who knew Natsumi's meticulous housekeeping would have to suspect that she wouldn't display her photos so haphazardly.

But there were Mina and Riye at Riye's third birthday, seven weeks after Mina's, squabbling over the piece of cake with the most frosting. They'd both had short, adorably spiked hair at the time, and, as both happened to have their father's hair color, they looked like chibi forms of Ban and Ginji. Particularly since Riye was standing on Mina's head.

And there was Natsumi, glowing like a spring dawn, that day at the beach. Her pretty cheeks were flushed, but it wasn't from the heat or the sun. No, she'd felt self-conscious all day next to the big-breasted, empty-headed twits that stalked the water's edge – until Ban snuck into the women's shower to spy on his wife, carefully oblivious to the other beauties around her. Ban got thrown off the beach that day. But he was amply rewarded for his pains when Natsumi got home. Himiko had knowingly offered to babysit.

And his favorite picture, one of all of them together, held a prominent place not only on the refrigerator, but also in his wallet. The two Get Backers stood side-by-side, holding their new-born daughters, their wives on either side, arms wrapped around their husbands. Ginji'd said once that every single person in that picture was happy, even Ban, and Ban couldn't help but agree. His beautiful Natsumi smiled big and sweet at the camera, loving the attention, loving Ban for giving it to her, loving the little girl he held in his arms. Himiko and Ban shared the same crooked grin, one they'd both picked up from Yamato, one streetwise and just a little cynical, but happy nonetheless. And, of course, Ginji, whose smile could light up a whole football stadium. The girls were too young to be smiling yet, but at that point in their lives, consciousness sans crying signified contentment at the very least.

"Me neither." Ban flashed that crooked grin at his partner, who grinned back. Carefully juggling the two sippy cups, Ban ruffled Ginji's hair for old times sake, then gestured to the living room.

They'd made it half-way there when the phone rang. Ginji put it on speaker phone after Ban nearly lost his hold on the cups trying to answer it.

"Ban? You there?"

"Yeah, what d'ya want?"

"How's my little god-daughter? Natsumi stopped in and said she and Mina-chan were sick – is she alright?" Paul Wan sounded a little worried.

"She's fine, old man; if she weren't, Natsumi wouldn't have left her with me," Ban pointed out wryly. "Mina's here, too, actually."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Hi, Paul," Ginji called from across the room. In the half-minute since the phone's ringing, he'd managed to wander back to the refrigerator and was currently digging through it in search of breakfast.

"You two take care of them – or Fuyuki and I'll be on your asses." Ban shook a fist, grinding his teeth. He was good father; he definitely did not need the monkey-man's criticisms.

"Don't worry about it, Paul," Ginji said cheerfully. "They'll be okay. Everyone knew as soon as Riye got sick, Mina would too. That's just the way they are."

"Let me know if I can do anything."

"We will, old man," Ban answered, unclenching his fist.

"That's enough of that 'old man' business, you ingrate. Tell the girls we hope they feel better. And that there's a fudge brownie waiting with ice cream when they do."

Ginji laughed, and even Ban couldn't help smiling a little. They said their good-byes, and Ginji spun a plate with formerly frozen, now toasted waffles on it across the counter toward Ban.

"Paul was a good choice for Riye's godfather," he noted, munching into waffles of his own. "Even though he's older than we are.

"Yeah. But I still can't believe you picked that monkey trainer to take care of Mina. What were you thinking?" He hesitated for a moment before deciding he really was hungry, and set the juices down on the table to wolf down the waffles.

"Mina gets along with Katsu really well," Ginji defended himself. "Himiko likes Shido, and Madoka's crazy about Mina. It works out for the best."

"Bah."

It had taken months for the subject of godparents to be comfortable between the Get Backers. Ginji had asked Shido to be Mina's godfather without even telling Ban, who'd naturally assumed he would have that honor. When he finally allowed Ginji to explain himself, he'd seen that for once, Ginji's decision had been rather wiser than his own. Because, as Ginji had already realized, if something were to happen to one Get Backer, it was likely to happen to the other as well. So making each other the guardians of their children would have been foolish.

Of course, there was still Natsumi and Himiko, and hopefully those honorary titles bestowed upon Paul and Shido would remain formalities. Well, formalities with picture privileges. There were a number of photos on Ban's refrigerator of the godparents and their families.

Ban polished of his waffles in short order and hooked his fingers through the handles of the girls' cups. The imagined sounds of lasers and crashing car-robots filtered through the shuttered doors that divided the kitchen and dining room from the den, and Ban followed them toward the television, toward the couch.

"Oh," Ginji said softly when they reached the girls.

The pair were snuggled close together under their blanket. Riye's small black head drooped onto Mina's shoulder, while Mina's blonde spikes rested on her friend's. Ban and Ginji had taken too long; the girls had fallen asleep. Ban set the juice on the coffee table and slipped into his bedroom, where the camera sat on its pedestal next to the computer. He snapped several shots of the girls before dropping wearily to the couch beside Riye. Ginji joined him, and within minutes, fathers and daughters were snoozing quietly together.

When Himiko got home that morning, she found a note telling her that Ginji and Mina were at the Midous. So she let herself in, and, after a muffled snicker, sat down with the others on the sofa. She'd been running since midnight the night before, when Mina had started running a fever, and it wasn't long before she fell asleep as well.

Natsumi arrived at about nine o'clock. She found Himiko asleep on the sofa, lying with her feet thrown over the arm and her head in Ginji's lap. Ginji's legs were stretched out onto the coffee table and crossed at the ankles, and his head rested precariously on the back of the sofa, baring his throat. One arm encircled the little girls at his side, who sat innocently wound up in each other's arms. Ban's legs were splayed wide, as were his arms, which were draped over the back of the sofa. His head drooped so that his chin rested on his chest.

Natsumi had been in the ER since six o'clock the evening before, and she was exhausted. Even so, she fiddled with Ban's camera, which sat on the coffee table, long enough to find a good angle, then set the timer, and joined her family on the couch. She snuggled into her husband's broad shoulder, reaching across to grasp her little girl's arm.

The next morning, a new photograph joined the many memories on Ban's refrigerator.