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It's far, far too hot.

It's hot here in the subtropics (just, unbelievably awful), and I see that it's horribly hot in London as well. So -- for this hot day, and for [personal profile] kathyh's birthday, a quick Investigations and Acquisitions drabble, set right now in this cursed year of 2020 --


"It's too hot," Anya said, dropping gracefully into the garden seat next to Giles.

He didn't answer. (It was, in fact, too hot, and he'd fled his first-floor study for this shady spot in their Islington garden.) But he put his hand out for Anya's, and when she gave it to him, he kissed her wrist.

"Honey," she said softly, "you almost make this hideous heat bearable. I should have had you with me in the Dsia dimension, like noon in Death Valley during its cool weather."

"No, you shouldn't have, that sounds bloody horrible. But I'm here now, darling."


May there be ice, may there be cooler breezes and maybe some rain on the way, may we get through this.

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