"....You are late. I grew tired of waiting ..."
It was hardly audible whisper.
Solo's throat tightened as hot tears were formed behind his eyelids.
He gently embraced the battered body.
"I'm oh, so, sorry...."

When he loosened his embrace, Kuryakin was already unconscious.
Solo felt cold chill run through his spine as he recognized how wrenched his partner looked.
It was rather amazing that he'd regained consciousness even a brief moment.
The Russian's face was much more than just pale ... almost the nuance of ash grey.
There was the apparent seal of death on his face.
Solo quickly pulled out his communicator.
"Open Channel D."
"Channel D open."
"Solo's here. I've found Illya. Send a medical team, with the highest priority."
He shot an anguished look to the lifeless white face.
"Resuscitation maneuver may be required ....hurry, please!"
"Acknowledged. I'll arrange it immediately."
It was clear that his anxiety had been well understood.

Putting back the communicator, Solo bound Kuryakin's still breeding thigh with his handkerchief, and with great care closed his arms around the battered body of his partner in embrace.

"Stay with me, Illya, help's on the way."
Stroking the damped blond hair, Solo kept talking more for himself than for the injured man in his arms.
"It's O.K. now. Nobody can hurt you anymore ..."