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The Russian Translations in this chapter are in the parentheses within the chapter. I do apologize for how long it took to get this new chapter up. However, I don't get any reviews here on this site. I do, however, get reviews on the other site I have this posted on, so I have been focusing my efforts onto that site.

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Chapter 7: Stop Running, Start Fighting

When Marina floated from the depths of unconsciousness, she knew at once that she had not truly woken. It should have been illogical to automatically assume that she was dreaming, even more so as she had not yet opened her eyes. But she knew; she knew that were she to open her eyes, she would see a long destroyed home, still beloved and unchanged from her fondest memories. It was the scent in the air that alerted her to the dream, her father's prized Siberian Irises. Their distinctive perfume had been absent from her life since her papa was killed when she was 4 years old. The Academy had come for her and they had taken her . . . silencing her father's protests permanently.

Kind, familiar fingers brushed tenderly over her cheek. She moaned through a sob, eyes firmly closed as she turned into the half-forgotten caress. The sound of her father's laughter broke her heart as he teased her fondly. "Eto vremya, chtoby prosnut'sya, dorogaya devochka. (It's time to wake up, darling girl.)"

"Net Papy. Pozvol'te mne spat' vtoraye bol'she, (No Daddy. Let me sleep a second more,)" she begged unwilling to give up these few moments she had with him, dream or not.

"No eto prekrasnyy den', milaya devushka. A vashi mal'chiki budut volnovat'sya. (But it is a beautiful day, dear girl. And your boys will be worried.)"

Startled that he knew about "her boys," Marina's eyes flew open, her hands pushing her body upwards into a sitting position. Ivan Antonovich Petrov smiled down at her, eyes as dark as she remembered and as wise. "Krasnaya Komnata izmenila menya, Papy. Ya ne vasha dorogaya devochka. (The Red Room changed me, Daddy. I am not your darling girl anymore.)"

Ivan's hands were steady as he cupped her cheeks and solemnly looked her in the eyes. "Vy vsegda budete moya dorogaya devochka, Marishka. (You will always be my darling girl, little Marina.)"

Ducking herself into his arms, she shook her head firmly to negate his words. "Ya sdelal slishkom mnogo, Papa. U menya krov mnogikh synovey na moikh rukakh. Kak ya mogu byt' proshcheny za to, chto ya sdelal v imya Rossii? (I have done too much, Papa. I have the blood of many sons on my hands. How can I ever be forgiven for what I have done in Russia's name?"

"Vy dolzhny prostit' sebya. A vashi mal'chiki lyubyat vas. Doveryat'im. Oni budut zashchishchat' vas, kak vy vsegda zashchishchal ikh. (You must forgive yourself. Your boys love you. Trust them. They will protect you, as you have always protected them.)"

Marina felt a warm hand take her own then and knew she could stay no longer. She knew that hand; every callus, every ridge . . . its touch written indelibly onto her very soul. The sensation was vague and far away, but it drew her inexorably, pulling her lovingly from her dream. "Samaya malen'kaya," whispered the beloved voice, familiar and welcoming . . . one she would always follow, no matter where it led her.

"Misha . . . " she murmured, torn between returning to the man she loved and staying with her father. She yearned for Will with every fiber of her soul, but could not make herself surrender her dream easily.

Other voices joined the first; each one soft, broken and frightened. "Marishka, come back to us. Where you are, please . . . come back."

"Clint . . . Kenny . . . Jason," she whispered, naming each voice as each of the brothers pleaded with her to return to them.

Her father's fingers were fading in their caress as he released her at last. "K ikh docheri. Ya lyublyu vas, no vashe mesto teper' mini. Pust' proshloye lozh'. Ona ne derzhit no tebya. (Go to them, daughter. I love you, but your place is with them now. Let the past lie. It has no hold on you anymore.)"

"Ya lyublyu tebya, Papy. (I love you, Daddy.)"

"I ya lyublyu tebya, moy dorogaya lyubimaya devushka. Bud'te schastlivy I lyubite khorosho. (And I love you, my dearest darling girl. Be happy and love well.)"

Marina came to slowly and with a soft sigh, knowing now that she was truly awake. There was a machine at the head of her bed, beeping quietly in time with her heartbeat. Her eyes blinked open lazily, awake of only the comforting weight of a familiar hand holding her own. Will sat her bedside, her hand held firmly between both of him. He lifted their hands and pressed a firm kiss to her knuckles, his tri-colored eyes locked firmly on her own. He smiled at her gently, murmuring, "Hi."

Squeezing his hand in tender reply, she whispered fondly, "Hi."

He stood and bent to kiss her forehead lovingly, fingers of one hand brushing a strand of her hair off her face. "Bozhe moy, samaya malen'kaya. Nikogda ne delat', chto mne snova. (Oh my God, little one. Don't ever do that to me again.)"

Narrowing her eyes at him, she took a moment to really look at him. His fatigues were rumpled and unkempt as though he had spent a considerable amount of time sleeping in them. There was a distinct five o'clock shadow covering his jaw line and dark bags were etched deeply under his eyes. His hair was longer than she'd seen it since he'd enlisted and he had obviously been running his hands through it constantly, whether out of worry or frustration, she wasn't sure.

In short, Lt. Colonel William Michael Grimm looked terrible . . . and he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Her lips curved into a fond smile, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. Tracing her fingers over his features, she whispered, "Ya lyublyu tebya. (I love you.)"

Will nearly choked on a sob as he reached up to trap her hand to his face. "Boge, ya lyublyu tebya. (God, I love you.)"

Marina hummed, parting her lips for his kiss the both of them simply taking comfort in each other for a moment. "I make no promises, Misha."

"Can you at least promise to do as you're told next time I tell you to wait for Medical?"

The brunette only grinned tiredly, before glancing around. "Where're the boys?"

"Sleeping off the last few days. You've been unconscious for almost three days, Marishka."

"What happened?"

"When you got hit by the debris from the building, it caused a pretty massive contusion across the entire back of your leg. The bruise put pressure on the blood vessels in your leg, slowing the flow of blood to your muscles. The doctors called it 'compartment syndrome' or something. It was all a lot of jargon that went over my head. Clint said you got dizzy; you had to sit down. Finally, you passed out and Medical brought you back here. The doctors were a little worried they wouldn't be able to save your leg," Will explained, with a wry smile and an arched eyebrow. Recognizing the silent admonishment for what it was, Marina at least had the good grace to look abashed. "Try not to hurt yourself for awhile. The doctors put you on Coumadin® to try and combat the bruising."

"Anything else, Colonel?" she breathed tiredly, feeling her whole body begin to shut down even as she snarked at him.

Will smiled, watching her yawn. "Nothing that can't wait, Major. Get some more sleep. The boys will be here by the time you wake up again, and you're going to need all the energy you can get for them."

Marina chuckled, unable to deny that claim. The Brothers Grimm were unfailingly energetic on a good day, and down right spastic – at least in Clint's case – on any other. "Okay. Love you, Misha."

"Love you too, samaya malen'kaya."

Tugging on his hand briefly, Marina tried to coax him into bed with her. Will resisted for all of a moment, before he toed off his combat boots and shucked his over shirt, leaving him in only his khaki t-shirt and fatigue pants as he slid into bed beside her. It was as they laid there – her head on his chest and his fingers in her hair – that she spoke again. "I dreamt about my father."

Will's fingers froze for a second as he processed that, before resuming their caress as though they'd never stopped. "Oh?"

She hummed a wordless affirmative, burrowing closer to him. "He said he loved me."

Her boyfriend stiffened below her at the words, struggling to understand why that had been important to her. After a breathless moment, he got it. His hands pulled her closer to him, his lips fond against her skin as he murmured, "Oh Marishka . . . of course he does."

Marina shook her head to negate the forgiveness lying in wait within his voice. "I'm not a good person, Misha. I've killed, and lied, and stolen, and cheated."

"That's true, but you also gave five kids a chance at a real life. One they never would have gotten from any of the rest of their caretakers. I'm sure that that, at the very least, makes up for whatever sins you're still carrying around with you. Sleep, Marishka. I'll be right here when you wake up."

"You won't leave?" she asked, voice quiet and plaintive and nothing like the Marina he'd spent so many years falling hard for.

"Not now . . . not ever," came the quiet vow, the firm promise all the release Marina needed to fall asleep once more.

It was a promise he intended to keep. Come hell or high water.

When Marina woke again, it was a slower and more obscure experience, allowing her to take in her surroundings one sensation at a time. Will's body was still strong and solid in the bed beside her, but another hand, this one callused and firm, held one hand in their own. Clint. She knew this hand too, a small smile twitching across her lips as she tuned into the conversation happening around her. "How is she, Will?" came another well-beloved voice. Kenny.

Will's answer was delayed for a moment, letting her know that he knew she was awake. He was allowing her the opportunity to take stock of her own body and make her own report. Shifting, she answered Kenny's question, "I'm all right, Kenny."

It took a moment, before the two youngest brothers realized that the answer had come from Marina and not Will. "Marishka!" they cheered, both moving to crowd the bed.

Kenny reached out to take the hand opposite of the one that Clint still held, giving Marina the opportunity to squeeze both of their hands firmly. A small grin curved her lips as Will slipped from the bed and reached for the bed controls. Glaring at him fondly, she nevertheless permitted Will to elevate the head of the bed. "Hello dorogoy . . . solnyshko."

The blue eyes of her second youngest charge were wide and frightened as he watched her for any sign of a lie. "You're sure you're okay, Marishka?"

"I'm sure, Kenny. My leg hurts, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

The brunette jumped in surprise when Jason's voice sounded from the doorway, "It's good to see you awake, Marishka." The second oldest remaining Brother Grimm stood just inside the doorjamb, a stack of file folders in his arms.

"It's good to be awake, sladkiy. You look like you have news for us."

Jason nodded solemnly and held up the file folders. "I have dossiers on each of our dead Red Room operatives. I was kinda hoping that you wouldn't be awake yet."

The former spy smiled sadly, knowing why he'd said that. "It's all right, Jay. I think it's about time that I told you all what I remember of the Red Room, and everyone I grew up with within the Academy. If they're sending operatives after me, they're going to continue sending more until I am dead. You all have trusted me all these years to protect you. I think it's time that I start to trust you all to protect me too."

Will's smile was small as he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "It's about time, samaya malen'kaya."

Marina took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. "I'm done running, Misha. It's about time that I start facing what I've tried so hard to escape."