Work Text:
It’s the peak of summer heat, and Ichigo and his daughter are not happy about it. Both trek to Rukia’s office uphill in the hopes that the breeze will make it a lot more comfortable: Ichigo, who curiously hand-carried his desk from his office, and Airi, their daughter, who stubbornly clung to her father’s back all the way.
The only available babysitter for the day is Renji and their daughter said no.
“I am melting,” Airi says, her left cheek flat on Rukia’s low-legged work desk, “I am one with the table.”
Airi thinks, daddy can fix anything, “daddy! Make it cold!”
Ichigo pauses to look at her, and sighs hopelessly, he’s halfway finishing his second glass of ice water. He’s all sweaty, too, and it’s not even five minutes since they sat down. His uniform is sticking to him and he looks as hapless as an already overcooked egg still frying in a pan under the sun as an experiment, “I don’t think I can do that, why don’t you ask your mom?” He tells her from the corner of the room, where his desk is, and where the screens are heavily drawn, spilling into several layers on the wood floor.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?” Rukia inquires absently, whose skin is wonderfully hydrated and smooth and plump —she is as pretty as a blooming blue rose in winter. From her liquidation report, she peers down at her daughter, then, in sudden realization, extends her hand to her from across the table. She says gently, “oh, Airi, hold my hand.”
Airi holds her hand, and immediately, like an electric bolt of shock, she sits straight and scampers to her mother, wrapping her short arms around her waist. “Uwahh,” she breathes in amazement. Her mom is cold, her clothes are cold, her skin is cool —like an unmelting ice cream statue or like the inside of those little boxes where her friends who give her lots of free strawberry shave ice put those ice blocks. Airi scoots closer and enjoys her mom’s coldness.
"I like this." She murmurs against Rukia's haori.
"I like this, too, you can hold on to me for as long as you want.” Just as easily, Rukia is already distracted from her paperwork but is happy nonetheless, "relax your arms a bit, no need to strain. You should be comfortable." Rukia looks at her daughter, who looks so much like her, and then pats her head.
“Okay.”
But Airi, always questioning, remembers her daddy said her mom is impervious to many things, to dust mites and to gluttonous monsters and to an army of living dolls and to heat, and wonders: "but why are you so cold?"
“Ahh,” Rukia starts, “Sode no Shirayuki keeps me comfortable.”
There’s suddenly an immense pressure beside Rukia, then— “she freezes stuff for a job, she’s really great at it.” Ichigo somehow manages to sneak up on Rukia and like their daughter, puts his arms around her snugly. "Damn, you're like a refrigerator-freezer, Rukia," he says in relief.
"You're sweaty, Ichigo."
"Huh, as if you're…not damp yourself." He counters with a quick nuzzle on her cheek.
"I'm moisturized, there is a difference."
“Heh.”
Airi further worms her way into her mother's arms, nesting herself on her lap and hugging her tight, while Ichigo keeps his arms around her and his head lightly resting on her neck; both of them are very comfortable.
Rukia, looking at her husband and daughter, sighs defeatedly, there is no way she would work with these two around her like this, “did you two come here just to distract me?”
“...well, yeah, partly.”
"...uh-huh."
Rukia shifts a little, allowing more room for Airi to rest and Ichigo to slide down comfortably, he is ridiculously tall after all.
“Ichigo, you should really take a bath when we get home, okay? Airi, we’ll get into a bubble bath later, and then we’ll eat frozen cucumbers and watermelons after, for hydration, let’s do away with chocolate pudding for tonight or your father here would freak out.”
Ichigo makes a wordless noise of approval, "mmm."
After a while, Rukia asks, “Ichigo, you think I should just freeze the whole division grounds?”
“Yeah…it’s a damn hell here.”