Chill Out
by Charlie Kirby

"God, I'm cold," Napoleon's voice was a bare whisper in the near dark of the cave as he huddled near the fire.

"I know." Illya concentrated on feeding twigs into the flames and tried to ignore the chill that was working its way through his body. If he was this cold, Napoleon must be freezing. He shut his eyes at the pain lancing up his side and purposefully kept his breathing even. He didn't want to alert Napoleon that he might be hurt.

"Can't we put any more wood on it?" Napoleon's attention was solely on the crackling fire.

"Not unless we want to smoke ourselves out. And as cold as it is inside, at least we're out of the wind in here." Even as he protested, he added two of the larger branches to the flames and held his breath until they caught. They only had two more matches between them and he didn't want to run the risk of smothering the fire.

Napoleon scooted as close as he could without singeing his hair and held his gloved hands to the blaze.

"Your hands will warm up more quickly if you take those off, Napoleon." Illya peeled the gloves off awkwardly. His own fingers were red and sore, but Napoleon's were white and Illya frowned. They hadn't been out in the elements that long, it had seemed to him, but he had a much higher tolerance for the cold than his partner did.

Instead, he chaffed his hands over Napoleon's, coaxing heat back into them. Their escape from the THRUSH stronghold had been by the skin of their teeth and Illya had initially wondered why they weren't being pursued more vigorously, then the storm hit. Of course, THRUSH would have had the weather reports and would have had information denied them in their cell. THRUSH would have known about the intensity of the storm and had let Mother Nature do what THRUSH couldn't - or at least hadn't - kill UNCLE's top agents.

Still, they were out of the snow and wind, the fire was small, but burning steadily, they had a rucksack with field rations and a single bedroll. He'd survived worse in Siberia with less; as long as they didn't both fall asleep and let the fire go out, they would be fine.

He loosened the collar of his jacket and opened it. He seemed to be having the opposite problem of his partner. He was finding his garments to be stifling and hot. Of course, he had a much greater tolerance than Napoleon, who looked like he'd been eaten by a yeti, he had so much on.

"Napoleon, loosen your jacket."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No, I don't think so, but you've got the cold air trapped inside now. Open you jacket and let the heat in. Didn't you stay awake for any of the cold weather training?"

"I grew up in Vermont. I don't need any cold weather training." But he did as he was bid while Illya poked through the rucksack.

"It's not the Four Seasons, but we have a choice of chocolate, chocolate with nuts and nuts with chocolate. Take your pick." He looked around their immediate area, dropping his hand to rub at his back. "If we could find something to boil water in, I could heat some of these pouches up as well."

"I'll just take the chocolate." Napoleon was still rubbing his hands briskly before the flames, but his color was better. Illya passed him the chocolate and their fingers touched. "You're nice and warm."

"A little too warm, to be honest." Illya had opened his jacket and taken off both his hat and scarf. The wind was still blowing, but had changed direction and no longer blew into the cave. He added more wood to the fire, wishing they scavenged twice as much. Still, as long as they were conservative...

He bit into his own bar, wincing as the brittle chocolate broke and cut the inside of his mouth. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he wiped it away absentmindedly.

"You doing okay there, partner?" Napoleon asked and Illya nodded.

"Fine, thanks. Yourself?"

"Couldn't be better - well, this could be Rio or some other charming tropical beach, but as God forsaken wastelands go, it's okay."

Illya chuckled, then nearly choked at the surge of pain, white hot and mind numbing, shooting up his side. He must have pulled something or perhaps THRUSH and their less-than-delicate methods of interrogating had seriously injured him. He tried to think, but he just couldn't remember. The last couple of days had been an in/out blur of unconsciousness for both of them.

He hazarded a look over at his partner. Napoleon was still shivering and sitting as close to the fire as possible.

"Still cold?"

"Uh huh, I can't seem to get warm. "

A thought occurred to Illya and he smiled. Barely repressing a groan, he got to his feet and made his way over to the bed roll. With his back to Napoleon, he let his face express his discomfort, careful to have his mask back in place as he turned and spread it out. Hastily he pulled off his coat and his boots and settled down on his good side.

"Napoleon?" He held the flap up. He saw a momentary confusion in his partner's face, then a wariness and finally bemused understanding.

"Well, I can usually only spoon on my other side, but okay." Napoleon added three more branches to the fire and then quickly divested himself of his outer garment and boots and slipped in beside his partner. "Illya, you're like a space heater."

"And you're like an ice cube. How did you get so cold? We weren't out that long."

"Anything worth doing..."

"... Is worth overdoing." Illya finished his sentence. "Yes, I know the saying, Napoleon." The man's weight was comfortable and cool against him and with Napoleon's back to him, he wasn't able to see the pain Illya couldn't keep from his eyes. He felt like his back was on fire now, but he pushed the pain aside, using it as a point of focus. "One of us will have to stay awake and make sure the fire doesn't go out."

"Okay." Napoleon's voice was already getting sleepy sounding. "Maybe you should take the first watch."

"Excellent plan." Illya couldn't help but chuckle.

Within minutes, Napoleon's breathing had evened out and Illya lay there, holding his partner and trying not to panic. The pain he felt was beginning to scare him now. If it didn't subside, he'd be forced to stay here while Napoleon attempted an escape. Normally that wouldn't bother him, but in this cold weather, he was understandably concerned. Just one wrong turn could spell death for his partner. But if he couldn't get a handle on this pain, there wouldn't be a choice.

He brought a hand back to touch his side, wincing at his own touch, gentle though it was. His skin felt like it was going to crack and split from the pressure. He lifted one of Napoleon's hands and settled it, ice cold on the spot, hissing at the relief. Napoleon was slowly draining all the heat from him and Illya gladly gave it. He'd much rather be cold than hot.

He slowly began to realize the error in his judgment; he was getting too cold, unable to fight both the fatigue and the constant ache. It was sapping his strength. Napoleon had pressed up against him, trapping him in a cloth cocoon. He was blazing hot and bitterly cold at the same time and all the while his side and back sang in bone-shattering pain to him. He gasped from the sheer intensity of it

"Napoleon, you need to wake up now," he murmured, squeezing the hand he held with all the strength he could spare. "Please, I need you to wake up."

Napoleon shifted slightly, but was still too deeply asleep to be roused.

A blast of white hot pain shot through him and Illya groaned unable and unwilling to hide it any more. "Napoleon... please... I can't... " He watched the fire as it slowly began to ebb. He couldn't move to stoke it, even if by some miracle he could shake free of his partner's dead weight, Illya instinctively knew he lacked the strength to move. "Help me," he tried again, but it was too little and too late. "I'm sorry, he whispered, the pain was all consuming now and his reserves gone. Still Napoleon slept and sucked the heat from him, wrapping him in an icy grip. "Napoleon," he tried one last time, made one more effort to rouse him and then he slid down, spent and weak, into a brilliant white blanket of cold and agony. With any luck, the heat from his corpse would be enough to keep Napoleon alive until he woke and could save himself.

He woke a white world and immediately wondered if the wind had shifted again and blew snow into the cave. Then he heard a faint beeping. A communicator? That settled it; no UNCLE heaven for him, he'd landed in THRUSH hell to forever be chained to a communicator like a modern day Scrooge.

"Welcome back." A familiar voice drew his attention and he flicked tired eyes over to see a beaming Napoleon Solo. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep the rest of the year away."

It took him three tries before he could swallow enough to get the words to form. "How did we get out of that cave?"

"What cave, Illya?" Napoleon offered him a spoonful of ice chips and Illya sucked at them gratefully.

"THRUSH, we escaped and holed up in that cave. The blizzard? " He hated it when his voice sounded so weak.

"Illya, we were on a flight from Amsterdam when you said you didn't feel well. Do you remember? We had to make an emergency landing in Paris and got you into surgery just before your appendix burst." Napoleon laid a cloth over his forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Cold... hot..." A breath. "Tired."

"You picked up a nasty infection and they put you in an ice bath to bring your temperature down. For the record, you put up a helluva a fight, partner. You need to get some sleep now. I'll be right here when you wake up." Illya felt Napoleon's strength through the hand that still held his and he smiled. Of that he had no doubt.