I'd like to coo to my baby tonight,
And pitch the woo with my baby tonight.
But, pillow, you'll be my baby tonight,
'Cause it's too darn hot.

Too Darn Hot – Cole Porter

Napoleon Solo barely lifted his head from his damp pillow as his partner and lover staggered in. He'd taken up residence in the guest bedroom for it was just that much cooler downstairs.

"Shoot me now." Illya Kuryakin looked like every inch the damp rag that Napoleon felt. "It's so hot outside."

"There was a time when I would have been happy to oblige, but not tonight. I lack the energy."

"How much longer before they fix the a/c?" Illya peeled off his chef's jacket and dropped it to the floor. His tee shirt followed. Napoleon didn't even have the energy to complain.

"Remember when we were kids?" he asked. "We didn't have air conditioning back then."

"I remember my mom getting really creative with ice. I remember acting up, just so that I'd get sent to the ice house to cool off." Illya laughed. "And they thought it was punishment."

"Didn't they catch on when you were well behaved in the winter?"

"Not that they mentioned." Illya's checkered pants followed the other garments and then his shorts. He stood in front of the box fan and sighed. It was merely moving hot air around. "Have they said when this heat wave is going to break?"

"Not really. They hinted that we are over the worst of it, but with the weather, who knows?

Illya flopped down on the bed. "At least the cats are leaving us alone."

"They are too hot to move." Napoleon didn't move from his spot. "Maybe if you took a shower you'd feel better."

"More like an ice bath? I was tempted to move my desk into the walk-in today." Illya splayed out. "I can't believe I used to exist without air conditioning. When we started, Taste didn't have it. It was the first thing we got." Illya smiled at the memory. "When it was really bad, we'd move the tables, throw down sleeping bags and sleep there, all of us. When the power bill came, we'd take up a collection to pay it."

"Was work busy? Vinea wasn't. No one wants wine when it's this hot."

"Yeah, nobody in town apparently wanted to cook and we have air conditioning. A lot of the houses and businesses up here still don't."

"Illya, get dressed. I have an idea."

"If it's going over to Taste and sleep on the floor, my back begs you reconsider. I'd rather stay here and sweat."

"How the mighty have fallen."

"I just know which battles to pick when." Illya propped himself up on his elbows and reached for a glass of water. He drained it and held it out with a hopeful expression. After a moment, Napoleon took it and got up. "I both love and adore you."

"Remember this when you want to head to Tahoe to go snowshoeing."

Napoleon walked to the kitchen and opened their walk-in freezer. He'd scoffed when he'd first seen it, but it had paid for itself a dozen times over when they were catering or needed extra freezer space. Now, he stood in the cool until he started to shiver. Grabbing a bag of ice, he took it to the counter. There was a pitcher there awaiting his attention.

Napoleon dropped the bag on the floor and then retrieved it, opening one end to take out the ice that had broken free. When the pitcher was filled with ice shards, he returned the ice to the walk up, then took a jug of water and dumped it into the pitcher. The ice cracked and popped in a satisfying way as the water came into contact with it.

In a way, it reminded Napoleon of his first meeting with Illya. There was certainly some cracking and popping on both their parts. Fire and Ice was the nickname they got in the beginning. They were as unalike as two people could be and yet, both knew there was something there.

It took them a while to settle into their partnership and cultivate that confident dependence upon the other. Now it was hard to think of a time when he didn't have Illya at his side and Napoleon preferred it that way. Otherwise, he'd be an abandoned ship on the ocean, drifting and lost. He remembered that feeling all too well and never wanted it again.

As he carried the pitcher to the bedroom, he noticed that leaves had started dancing and his heart leapt. Perhaps there would soon be a nice breeze, a cooling breeze blowing. Heaven knows, it was time.

Illya hadn't really moved since Napoleon left. He'd rolled over onto his stomach, but that was the extent of it.

Napoleon set the pitcher down on a small plate designed to catch the condensing water and fished out a piece of ice. He ran it across Illya's shoulders and Illya jerked awake. He tried to glare, but Napoleon knew better.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, just a bit more warning next time around."

Napoleon drew lazy patterns on Illya's back, ignoring the water that dripped down onto the sheets.

"I take it I'll be sleeping on the wet spot tonight."

"It's the only wet spot we'll be likely to make until this heat breaks." Halfway under his breath, Napoleon sang,

According to the Kinsey Report, ev'ry average man you know
Much prefers his lovey-dovey to court
When the temperature is low
But when the thermometer goes 'way up
And the weather is sizzling hot
Mister, pants for romance is not

"Napoleon, stop!" Illya ordered, half rolling over.

"No more ice?"

"No more singing."

Napoleon laughed at that. "If you insist."

"My ears will bleed if you don't." Illya sighed and looked pointedly over in Napoleon direction at his groin. "You, too?"

"Cole Porter wasn't an idiot. It is too darn hot." He handed Illya a glass of water and then plopped back against the pillows. He waited for Illya to finish and then he turned off the light. "The breeze is coming up."

"Mmph…" Illya's voice was muffled by his pillow.

"Tomorrow I will get on the phone with Dennis. If he can't come out, I'll call someone in Sacramento."

"My vocally impaired hero."

Napoleon smiled in the dark. "I can live with that." He found Illya's hand and squeezed. Illya squeezed back. And even though he was hot, sticky and felt a bit like death warmed over, Napoleon had his anchor and he was happy for that.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he woke to the sound of thunder. Fighting his way clear of a tangled sheet, he made his way to the window and opened it. For a split second, he wasn't sure if it was real or a dream, but then he heard the hiss of rain hitting the ground and smelled sweet scented air. A cool breeze pushed past his face and into the room. Sheer bliss. The heatwave had broken.

Tomorrow morning, he would love his partner awake, but for now it was enough to be able to drift back to sleep with the sound of the rain and dream of hopes and plans realized.