Two new stories in two days? Is it a miracle?
Don't get TOO used to this...my Spring Break ends tomorrow and it will be back to work. But summer is coming, and I hope that I can at least give a few updates to both this and "In the Shadow of the Panther" before the end of May.
So this little plot bunny has...really always been in my head. I could never shake the scene in Avengers where Natasha sends a little Indian girl to lead Bruce to her. I've lived and volunteered in Nepal, Myanmar, and now Thailand, and all of that experience begs to be included in a story somehow.
This is set after "We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet". Bruce and Natasha are living under the radar in India, volunteering for a non-profit that works with people rescued from sex trafficking. (A very real issue that is very much close to my heart. Also...can't you imagine them both totally wanting to do something like that?) Where this will go or how long it will be, I'm not really sure. So here goes nothing!
Once more unto the breach, dear friends...
Chapter One: We Are Not Getting Attached
It was a hot and humid night in Kolkata, India—but that was nothing new. Natasha lit a small oil lamp and poured herself a cup of chai from the pot on the stove.
"Bruce?" she called. "Come drink tea before it gets cold."
"Be there in a second!" came Bruce's distracted voice. It was obvious that he hadn't heard a single word. Natasha gave a long-suffering sigh and poured a second cup.
"Always pickin' up after you boys…" she murmured, walking into Bruce's "study".
The tiny room off to the side of their bedroom was full of medicines, bandages, extra equipment, and science texts. Bruce was currently re-packing his traveling med kit, which held his most-used items.
"They all had headaches today…" he said under his breath. "I'll have to buy more Tylenol soon."
"Hey, Uncle Doctor Bruce." Natasha said loudly, using the address that all the girls at Hope Center, the non-profit that employed them, had for him. "Tea time."
Bruce looked up with startled brown eyes. Natasha couldn't help but grin at his adorably bewildered face.
I wish the world could see this, instead of just Hulk…
"Hey, uh, sorry…" Bruce stuttered, taking the tea. "Guess I got distracted. Did you call for me twice?"
"Nah, just once." Natasha took a sip from her own cup. "Don't worry about it."
Bruce rubbed a hand over his face and hair, which messed up his already tangled mop. "Did I tell you lately that I don't deserve you?"
"I could say the same."
"But Tasha, really, you could do so much…"
Bruce's self-deprecation was (mercifully, in Natasha's opinion) cut off by a wail from the street below.
By now, cries from the street had ceased to be something that drew their attention. There was simply too much constant noise to focus on any one specific sound. Vendors, playing children, arguing couples, drunks, and innumerable animals all had their own special cacophonies.
But for some reason, Natasha picked up on the frantic sound.
"Is that a kid screaming?" she muttered, stepping over towards the window and drawing back the cloth curtain.
Bruce frowned as well. "Sounded like it. Nothing we can do, Tasha…"
"Like hell we can't." Natasha scoffed, peering through the metal lattice that covered the window.
"Tasha, we can't just barge down in the street and tell people not to hit their kids. We'll make a scene…"
"Bruce, Bruce; have faith in me! I know ways to threaten people that don't make a scene at all."
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Tasha…"
But Natasha was already out the door and starting down the cement stairs that led to the street. So, with a sigh, he followed her. What else could he do?
The street was busy, even at ten p.m. People clustered around street vendors and little restaurants, eating, drinking, and smoking. Conversations drifted around them like a thick blanket, only matched by the thickness of the air pollution.
Bruce breathed in a dusty gulp. Ah, India…
Natasha was in stealth mode, listening intently for the sound of the cry. At last, she spotted something that matched the sound.
A tiny, waiflike girl was being firmly gripped by a beefy, overweight man with far too much hair oil. He was attempting to tug her down the street. A boy a few years older was screaming bloody murder and punching at the man with all his might.
Natasha glanced at Bruce. "You see what I see?"
Bruce had a soft spot for children a mile wide. But he had lived here long enough to know you couldn't just force yourself into situations.
"Natasha, what do you want from me?"
Natasha's face was hard, and her eyes were feral. She was in mission mode, for certain.
"Watch. And back me up."
Bruce nodded slowly. "Alright…"
Natasha sidled over to the man in full Black Widow mode. "Excuse me, are these your kids?" she asked in English.
Bruce picked his way over as well. Going for the 'innocent foreigner' angle first, huh, Tasha?
The man grunted in her general direction and mumbled something uncomplimentary in Bengali about Americans.
"Russian, actually." Natasha replied, slipping effortlessly into that language. "But still white enough to get the attention of police if I start shouting."
The little boy was staring at her with a mix of shock and wariness. The girl looked like she was staring at an angel. Bruce guessed that the boy was older by a good three years; about ten. The girl was maybe six or seven. It was hard to tell with street kids.
"Why don't you just let go of the girl and we'll leave you alone?" Natasha continued. Her voice was low and smooth but there was steel underneath, the barest hint of a threat.
Bruce could feel the Hulk shift inside him angrily.
Shhhh, buddy, I know…but this would be a really BAD time to come out…
The man continued to try and move the girl, ignoring Natasha. That was his first mistake.
His second mistake was not seeing the tiny dart that hit him in the buttocks. It took about thirty seconds for him to loosen his grip and crumple to the pavement.
The little girl immediately ran to her brother, who hugged her tight. He looked ready to run, but the girl tugged on his arm and whispered something in quiet Bengali that Bruce couldn't hear.
"Tōmāra bābā mā ka'i?" Natasha asked. "Where are your parents?"
The boy looked even more wary. "Kāchākāchi." he said, trying to pull his little sister away.
Bruce snorted. "Around," he says. Sure, they are…
"Hey." he said, switching to Bengali as well. "Would you like chai?"
Both kids looked at each other. The girl's stomach growled suddenly.
Natasha squatted down in front of them elegantly (even her squatting was elegant). "Maybe some biscuits, too, huh?"
The boy took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
"Aapake naan kye hai?" Bruce asked, switching to Hindi. His Bengali was serviceable, but he remembered more Hindi from his earlier travels.
"Shanta!" the girl chirped in an adorable little voice. "Ēbam, āmāra dada…"
The boy shook his head, clutching her more tightly. "Shanta, chup thako!"
Shanta fell silent, whimpering a bit.
"Aur aap?" Bruce asked him directly.
There was a long pause. Then, the boy finally answered, in a low voice. "Anish." Almost defiantly, he added. "I speak English!"
Bruce tried not to smile at the boy's obvious bravado.
You're what, ten, kid? Wanna act like you got the whole world in your hand, because nothing is staying still…
He couldn't help but think of another seemingly-cocky individual who used bravado to hide insecurity.
Thankfully, Tony had Pepper. And hopefully soon, these kids would have—
No, he thought sternly to himself. We are not getting attached. I'll go by Hope Center in the morning. It's girls only but there must be other safe houses that will take boys…or maybe a school that will take both…
Out loud, he simply said. "You can call me Uncle Bruce. That's Auntie Tasha, okay? You want some chai?"
Shanta nodded, wiggling a bit. "Please, Mr. Uncle Bruce, sir!" she said. Seemingly having run out of words for the moment, she looked imploringly at her brother.
Trying not to laugh, Bruce led them back. Quietly, he muttered to Natasha, "Please tell me you didn't just murder that guy. We don't need the police on our tail."
Natasha snorted. "Please. Have some faith in me. It was just a fast-acting sleeping drug. I carry 'em for emergencies. He'll wake up in a couple hours, drink a beer, and forget all about the weird foreign lady."
In the apartment, Natasha made the kids sit down at the table while Bruce poured out four cups of chai and opened a package of tea cookies.
"Can you dish up some of the curry, too, Bruce?" Natasha said, rummaging around for blankets.
"On it." he responded, taking out the remains of their dinner from earlier. These kids were bound to be hungry.
Both children scarfed down their cookies in short order. When he set the curry on the table, Anish looked at it suspiciously. Shanta looked at it as though she hadn't seen such good food in a while that was for her.
"Āmi ki ēṭā khētē pāri?" she whispered, eyes big. "I eat?" she added in English.
Bruce could feel his heart slowly melting and cursed it. "Han." he said, resisting the urge to stroke her hair like he would do to Christy. "Yes, absolutely."
Shanta looked over at her brother, who was still watching Bruce.
"You…what you want?" he asked finally.
"I want you to eat that." Bruce said, playing dumb.
Anish shook his head, looking more frustrated. "No! You give food, we take…we do something. Always like that. Everyone like that."
Bruce gave a sad smile. Now the kid reminded him more of Pietro Maximoff, right after Sokovia. Wary, guarded, expecting an ulterior motive from everyone.
Natasha sat down next to Anish, who flinched and moved over a bit.
"Anish." she said firmly, in Bengali. "Look at me."
Anish slowly looked over at her, hands balled into fists.
"You don't trust us. That's fine. You have every reason not to. But don't be so suspicious that you mess up the chance for your sister to have a good thing."
That was the right tactic. Anish looked over at his sister; tiny, barefoot, barely covered in a ragged dress, and nodded slowly.
They both started eating.
After eating, Natasha insisted both kids have a shower. Bruce was tasked with finding something for them both to wear.
After determining that none of the little stores on the street selling kids clothes were open, he ended up knocking on a neighbor's door and borrowing some clothes that looked like they would fit. After promising to return them the next day, and slipping the mother twenty rupees for her trouble, Bruce went back to their apartment.
Meanwhile, Natasha was finding that helping these two kids with their shower was a bit like helping Lila or Nathaniel…with a few differences.
Anish was shy and awkward at first, trying to cover himself. Shanta looked up at her with giant coffee-brown eyes as the warm water drizzled over them.
"M-miss…Miss, please…pāni ki bhula?"
Natasha frowned. "What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with the water. Does it hurt?"
"Nā, nā kinta…"
"It's warm." Anish finished quietly. "Only rich people have warm water like this. See the heater, Shanta?" He pointed to the small water heater attached to the wall by the faucet.
Shanta looked awestruck. "Anish, are they very rich?"
Anish glanced at Natasha and muttered, "Of course they are, they're foreigners."
Natasha decided to ignore that. There would be plenty of time for correcting stereotypes later.
"I can make breakfast, miss! And clean up the house t-tomorrow! A-and Anish can do more things because he's bigger…"
Natasha didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Stop, sweetie." She said, feeling something catch in her throat. "We don't need payback for a shower. And we already hire someone to come clean."
"Make food?"
Natasha chuckled. "I like to cook. And so does my…my fiancé."
Both kids looked startled.
"He cooks? Man cooks?" Anish switched back to English briefly.
"Yeah, he cooks." Natasha replied, also in English. "He cooks better than me. He'll probably make breakfast."
"But girls cook."
"Some girls are bad at cooking. And some boys like it." Natasha smiled a bit, thinking of Bruce's face as he cooked. Always with the same amount of careful concentration he gave to anything serious.
Anish shrugged and took a little bit of soap. He made sure Shanta was clean first, before washing himself. "…yes, miss."
Natasha could tell he still thought the idea crazy. But he would find out how true it was at about six tomorrow morning.
By midnight, both kids were scrubbed clean and situated on a heap of blankets on the floor. Shanta was already half-asleep, leaning against her brother. Anish held her tightly. He was also curled up, but refused to shut his eyes, still keeping a watch.
Natasha glanced at Bruce and gave a small smile. Sitting on a low stool, she tucked up her legs and started to hum softly. Bruce recognized the song instantly.
Laura sang it to Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel. Steve sang it to Christy. Hell, Scott probably sang it to Cassie…
Gol-den slumbers, kiss your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise
Hush little baby, do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby…
Anish looked startled, and then fixed his eyes very firmly on Natasha, with a serious, almost grieving look.
Poor kid…I wonder where their parents really are. Maybe dead. Who knows?
Natasha kept her gaze carefully averted as she sang the next verse, and then the chorus again. At last, Anish finally closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep.
"We can't keep them…" Bruce murmered.
Natasha gave a tiny sigh. "No, we can't. You gonna call Hope Center in the morning?"
"Yeah, I will. Problem is, it's a girls-only facility. And I dunno how keen these two are on bein' separated."
"Probably not very…" Natasha said dryly, gesturing to the two children—who were practically cuddled on top of each other. "He barely let go of her, even in the shower. And she freaked out when he went to the toilet by himself."
Bruce shook his head. "Poor kids…god, what a world. Just when I think I've seen the end of everything terrible people can dish out…it gets worse."
Natasha touched his shoulder gently. "I know. But y'know what helps me remember that everything isn't completely terrible?"
"What?"
"You." She leaned down and kissed him. "All my friends are fighters." She whispered, quoting from a night that felt so long ago and far away. "And here comes this guy who spends his life avoiding the fight because he knows he'll win." She tapped his nose. "He really is all fluff."
Bruce could feel his cheeks rapidly going red. "Tasha, c'mon…"
"Mr. Banner, was that a whine?"
"W-why, no, Miss Romanoff…dammit, Tasha, when ya gonna let me pop the question already?"
A flicker of fear showed in Natasha's eyes. "I told you…I'm not ready yet."
Bruce curled his arm around her waist. "Alright…alright. But could you try not to be such a tease until you're…a little more ready?"
Natasha smirked. "I make no promises. C'mon, Uncle Doctor Bruce. You've got an early morning and so do I. I need my beauty sleep."
"You don't need sleep to make you pretty!" Bruce protested. But he let her lead him into the other room, glancing backwards at the children deep in dreamland.
A mom, a dad, a couple of kids…it would be nice. Almost like a normal life…
He shook his head.
Don't get attached, Banner.
Spoiler alert: he gets attached. Who wouldn't? See the thumbnail for the story if you want visuals for Shanta and Anish.
Non-English dialogue is all in Bengali (the main language spoken in the region Kolkata is in) or Hindi (one of the two "national" Indian languages; the other being English). A lot of Indians do know English, like in other places in Asia, but the "knowing" can be either a lot or very limited depending on the person...
Also, I have no idea how this story will go along with Thor: Ragnarok. I love that movie but I loved this story idea too much to kill it, and I already had Bruce come back early anyway. So...I'll cross that bridge when I get to it in this 'Verse.
Hope you enjoyed this, and as always...reviews are wonderful things!