Title: But The Fire is So Delightful Genre: Man from UNCEL- slash Rating: PG Word Count: 1164 Prompt: Explain winter and what you love about it. Yeah, a really loose interpretation of this prompt. Illya explains to Napoleon why he likes the cold. vysila, I hope you enjoy this bit of holiday cheer! My thanks to my Beta, Sparky955 Napoleon held onto the railing and attempted to cough his lungs out. The plane trip from Istanbul had been long and tedious. He hadn’t really started feeling miserable though until halfway across the Atlantic. By the time he’d landed, his sniffles had turned into a full scale cold. Three days ago, he’d singlehandedly saved a village from THRUSH, now he could barely carry his suitcase. “I heard you were coming back early. Not any better, are you?” He looked around and saw Illya in a lightweight jacket and bare head, standing there, outside Napoleon’s apartment building. Many uncharitable thoughts popped into Napoleon Solo’s head regarding his partner and lover. Any comeback though, was cut off at the pass by another coughing attack. He felt Illya’s arms around him, supporting and encouraging him. “Come on, let’s get you inside and out of the weather.” “Thanks,” he rasped. If it had been someone else, he would have shrugged off the hands and proclaimed his health. However, not with Illya. The man had seen him at his best and his worst. “In sickness and in health, and all that stuff.” Illya got him bundled into the elevator and leaned him up against the wall. “At least your elevator works in the winter. Mine doesn’t… of course, it doesn’t work in the summer, either.” Illya grinned at that and Napoleon managed a half-hearted smile. “I just want to go to bed and sleep. I couldn’t on the plane.” “We can make that happen. I have everything ready for you.” Suddenly they were in his apartment and it took Napoleon a moment to realize that, yes, they had indeed walked to it from the elevator. Everything had a sort of odd, dreamlike sense to it. He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the floor along with his muffler and hat. “You have enough on to clothe a small village, Napoleon. Illya went behind him collecting things. No wonder you are coughing. You are overheated.” “I’m coughing because I’ve got a cold.” Napoleon dug a damp handkerchief out of his pants pocket and blew his nose again. Both his nose and his head protested the action. “Ouch.” “Let’s get you to bed.” “I waited years for you to say that and now I can’t do anything about it.” Napoleon started to pull off his sweater vest, but it put up a fight.” He felt so tired he wanted to cry. He got it off and he got to his bed. “You’ll be well soon enough and we’ll just have to be patient.” Illya knelt to get off Napoleon’s boots and shoes. “Get undressed and get under the blankets.” “’Kay.” He didn’t even have to will to fight Illya. The Russian vanished and Napoleon somehow managed to get out of his suit and into his pajamas. His bed felt so good, but the minute he lay back, he started coughing. He held his right side and winced. “Sounds like you are trying to cough up a lung.” Illya reappeared carrying a tray with a glass on it. “What’s that?” “It’s an old Kuryakin cold remedy. My grandmother swore by it.” “What is it?” “Vodka with honey.” Illya smiled at the memory. “I never got as many colds as I’d have liked as a child.” “Vodka for children?” Napoleon sipped, hissing at the feel of the warm alcohol on his sore throat, but then the honey soothed it. “Safer than water in some cases. Two of these and I guarantee you will sleep through the night.” Illya indicated the humidifier on the bedside table. “That will help, too.” “It always makes me feel clammy.” Napoleon took another swallow as a cough was coming on and the cough subsided without a fight. “Right now, your nasal passages are crying for a little moisture, even if you don’t think they are.” Illya busied himself setting the machine up and getting it on. “How are you feeling?” “Awful, but better, thank you.” Napoleon settled back against the pillows. “I hate colds, but especially in the winter. It’s so cold and miserable that you don’t need any extra help.” Illya vanished and returned with a bowl of chicken soup. Napoleon looked at it and held out his empty glass instead. “I’d rather have another one of these.” “Eat that first, then.” “I’m not hungry.” “Those are my conditions. At least try it.” He watched Napoleon take a small spoonful of soup. The soup worked its magic on his throat as well. “This is really good.” “Zabar does a number of things well. Chicken soup is one of them. I took the opportunity of ordering ahead when I heard you were sick and coming home.” Illya picked up his own bowl and settled down on the other side of the bed. “My grandmother also swore by it. I looked forward to winter for her chicken soup.” “But that’s all right. You like the cold.” “I’m Russian, I have no choice. Summer doesn’t last long in Kiev and it’s even shorter in Siberia.” “How long were you there?” He had another spoonful and smiled at the sensations. “About a year. Long enough to know that I could live through just about anything after a winter there.” “And still you like it.” “A sailor can ride out a storm without losing his love of the sea.” “But why do you love it so?” Napoleon handed his empty bowl over and Illya nodded. “All right, I’ll be right back.” He was good to his word and handed Napoleon another drink. He again settled down beside Napoleon and sighed. “Why do I love winter so much. I feel more comfortable in the cold. Too much heat and I struggle.” “Survival School must have been hell.” Napoleon blinked drowsily. “I’m still not sure how I managed it. I swam a lot. You can always put more clothes on to be warm, but you can only take off so much before you are breaking this or that law. Snow makes it easy to track things and it does a good job of covering over all the ugliness. Plus, it was the one time in the year when there was enough food. Mama and Grandmother would start cooking mid-December and never stop until after the first of the year. The house always smelled so wonderful.” Illya paused, waiting for Napoleon to make a snide remark. When one didn’t come, he glanced over and saw that the man was asleep, his half empty glass dangled precariously from his fingers. With a grin, he removed the glass and carried it and the tray back to the kitchen. Making sure that everything was secure, he went back to the bedroom and stripped off. Without hesitation, he climbed in beside Napoleon and shut off the lights. “And the best part of the winter is that you can cuddle without having heat stroke,” he murmured and kissed Napoleon’s temple. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”