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“Napoleon? Please do not leave me. Come back to me my friend,” Illya Kuryakin called again and again.
Solo saw his partner’s pale face under the ice, his blue eyes dulled and lifeless. He was filled with horror at the sight.
“Illya no!” The American gasped. Sitting up in an unfamiliar bed, he blinked his eyes, trying to focus. “Where was he?”
“Hello there darling, another bad dream huh?” April Dancer leaned over, carefully stroking his head and brushing back a stray lock of hair. She made sure to avoid a large lump that had blossomed on his forehead.
The lights in the room were dimmed and a large curtain blocked part of his view.
“Where am I?”
“Hospital. You had a nasty encounter with a light pole while you were on your way over to my place.”
“Oh yeah, right. I remember now. There was a blond man...Illya?”
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