Unshod, Illya stepped out of the chalet, onto the snow of the Swiss Alps. The cold instantly felt like icy needles shooting though his flesh, but he stayed where he was; wiggling his toes. It was a sensation which transported him to a time a quarter of a century earlier.
"You'll catch your death," commented Napoleon, as he came out to see why the door had been left standing open.
"You sound just like my babushka," Illya replied, with a wistful smile. "I was always being scolded by her for going out in the snow without shoes."
"What would she say if she could see that you were still doing it?"
"Well, my backside would end up a lot warmer than my feet."
Napoleon laughed, imaging the indignant scowl on the adult Kuryakin's face after being spanked by his grandmother.
"I'm going back inside," he told his partner. "Given how susceptible you are to colds, maybe you should too. You don't want to be ill for the assignment tomorrow."
"You worry too much, Napoleon," Illya replied. "I'll be back in shortly."
As Solo stepped back into the chalet, he heard the unmistakeable sound of Illya trying to muffle a sneeze.