Original posted date: 1/2/2017
"The gain is not the having of children; it is the discovery of love and how to be loving. " – Polly Berrien Berends
(Small Hands Ch.6 cutscenes)
There are some nights when neither of them wants to sleep.
Whether it's from nightmares (or memories or just because) Bruce and Mitra stay awake well into those nights and they find memories to share in the dark. The two talk lazily on whatever comes to mind, as they lay side by side staring at the ceiling – like stargazers spinning stories of the worlds beyond. In these safe moments, Bruce tells Mitra about the places he's been, about all the different cultures he's learned of and the people he'd met on his over a half-decade-long journey. He tells her about growing up in the United States and the differences between his homeland and hers, and Mitra is always fascinated and excited by the prospect of any place beyond her small Kolkata neighborhood.
"Does Americah have… umm–argh." The girl moves her arms up and down in front of her and wiggles her fingers. "What the word? …Sm–oow!"
Bruce snorts.
"The word is 'snow,' and it does. But, uh, only in the winter and mostly in the Northern parts." He says good-naturedly.
"But I thinking… snow happens in Americah! All Americah!" Mitra protests.
"Well… that's not really how weather works."
That leads to an impromptu lesson on weather patterns that later, for some reason, around cloud formations and atmospheric layers, segues into a whole other impromptu lesson on the different (but not entirely unrelated) field of physics. Mitra would listen earnestly as Bruce tried his best to explain the study of matter and space to her in the simplest terms he can. He can tell most of it flies well over her head, what with the language barrier between them and her lack of formal education, but Mitra seems enthralled all the same, and that's more than enough to keep him trying.
"So, newts-man makes things move?" She asks, making a face.
"Uhm, no, no…tha–that's uh – okay first, his name was actually Newton, Isaac Newton, and—"
There are some nights when Mitra becomes unusually nostalgic. Those nights the little girl recounts many things about life before him, but mostly, she tells Bruce about her mother. She remembers wistfully how her mama could make a feast for the two of them with just kitchen scraps and some luck. She tells him that her mama was kind and smart and beautiful. That she worked hard, day or night, rain or shine, but never complained or got upset about it.
It's heartwarming to see, not just because of the happiness that shines on Mitra's face as she remembers better days, but because she'd only just begun to speak about Shanta since she passed. Bruce never got the chance to really know the young mother in her dying days – she'd been far too ill for that. Getting to know her through Mitra's warmest smiles and loving storytelling lets Bruce know what an amazing young woman Shanta was, and he's happy to hear as much about her as possible if it meant Mitra kept smiling.
"I wish you could have met mama when she wasn't sick, Dr. Bruce. You're weird, but I think she'd like you still."
"…Thanks, Mitra… I'm sure I would have liked her, too. "
She laughs.
In the passing months, Bruce hears about her father, too. The memories she recounts are sparse, and she never talks much about it for long before turning to more comfortable topics. In fact, she really only has one memory of the man; him and her mother arguing at the front of their home, while a much younger Mitra watches warily from inside. She had no idea then who the man was, only that he was a stranger and someone her mama seemed to dislike, and that alone was enough to keep the little girl inside. When that stranger sees her peering through the door, it's the first time she'd ever seen a look like his (Bruce doesn't have to ask to know it isn't the last). It's with painful clarity that Mitra remembers his eyes, cold and unforgiving and hateful in a way that frightens her even as she retells it.
He had known her, she was sure, but as far as Mitra knew that had been the first bit of contact she'd ever had with this man. And yet, his face burned with rage as he caught her stare, his voice growled deeply as he spoke to her mother, his hands clenched into shaking, angry fists; he hated her with everything in him and made sure Mitra knew it. Her mama never tells her who the man is or what he wanted, but Mitra's never been good at keeping her curiosity in check even way back then, and her neighbors liked to talk when they thought no one was listening.
Later, Mitra tells Bruce that she thinks that, maybe, her father had known what she was, what she could do. Maybe he'd seen what made her different and hated her for it, and that was why she only ever met him once. The way he'd looked at her, she tells the doctor quietly, it was like he'd seen something awful, something wrong with her.
"I felt …wrong…" She whispers slowly as if she'd only just placed the word for what she'd felt when her supposed father first laid eyes on her.
(Bruce takes deep breathes when she confesses this. In the back of his mind, he can feel the deep growl of a beast trying to wake.)
Bruce thought of his own father, and of the torment he'd known because of that man. It had followed him throughout his life, despite him always pretending it didn't. His every decision had been guided somehow by that part of his early life, and even now as a grown man, it only fueled the things he hated most about himself. It made him wonder if Mitra ever felt similarly, or if one day she ever would. Her impression of the man had been brief, but the damage it had already caused was all too clear. It made him ache to think that Mitra might end up anything like him.
"My father," he says softly, in an odd daze as he remembers. "My father… he…he wasn't a good man."
A rough, bitter laugh escapes his lips, and Mitra's head tilts to one side in confusion. Bruce lifts his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes and taking breaths.
"It would have been better, I think if he'd just left – if we'd never met in the first place. My mother, too. She would have been––happier, I think—might have…well…she–"
Bruce cuts himself off with a long, exhausted sigh, bowing his head as a hand runs through his messy hair. It wasn't the time for talk like that.
(It would never be the time for talk like that.)
"My father wasn't a father, Mitra," Bruce says with baited breath. "He didn't deserve to be a father, and that – that man that only bothered to see you once in your whole life, he didn't deserve you, either."
He knows, even as the words leave his lips, he's a damn hypocrite. After all, there hadn't been a day gone by that Banner didn't hate himself in some form or another even before the Hulk. Now, he was sitting here telling someone else she deserved better when he could hardly bring himself to look in the mirror anymore. But, Mitra is different from him – Mitra is determined and strong and brave and smart and still so very young. She deserved more than what this world had given her, and certainly more than anything he could give her.
"You… you are amazing, Mitra." He takes hold of her hand, looking into her eyes and speaking only the truth. "Please, don't ever forget that."
Her eyes are glassy and wide, and Mitra seems at a loss. She catches herself quickly enough, though, blinking eyes rapidly before letting out a snort.
"Ok, Dr. Bruce, I no forget. Promise."
The way she says it – like he's telling her to remember that the sky is blue or kittens are cute– makes him laugh little, too. It was a good sign for her future, at least.
The night he's awoken by soft sobbing in her corner, he has no idea what's happening. His thoughts are drowning in lingering dreams, and his bleary eyes struggle to focus as Bruce tries to find the source of the noise.
"Mitra?" He yawns out in the dark. "Is that you? What's happened?"
Things start to focus a bit more, and now he sees that she's not just sobbing. Mitra is clutching her Raggedy Ann doll and curled with her back to the corner, and the sight immediately wakes him. Bruce gets up in rush of unsteady movements, stumbling like a drunk out of tangled sheets and unbalanced limbs, and comes over to the girl's side.
"Hey, Hey… What's wrong? Did you hurt something? Mitra?"
(He tries not to sound too anxious, but he can't tell what's wrong, and this has never happened before. So, he probably sounds very anxious.)
She shakes her head, still crying with her face buried in her doll's red hair of yarn.
"Don't go, too." the plea is muffled by the doll, but he's able to make it out.
"What are you talking about? I'm right here. Hey, you're ok." Bruce strokes her head, trying to soothe her.
"Everybody goes away. I couldn't get them to stay…"
"It's alright, it's alright. Don't worry, everything's–"
"I don't want you to go, too!" She shouts suddenly, her face still concealed by her only toy.
"I'm not! I'm not, see? I'm right here."
"Dr. Bruce. Dr. Bruce has to stay!" Mitra looks up then, her eyes wet and red, with tears soaking her cheeks and falling from her chin. "Please stay! I don't want you to go! I don't to be…"
"Shh. It's ok, it just a nightmare, Mitra. I'm right here. I… I'm not going anywhere." He pulls her to him and the girl his chest.
(He's never hugged her before, but if the contact helped her, then that was all that mattered.)
Bruce whispers comforting words while he softly pats Mitra's back. Her sobbing pleas bring him back to everything she'd shared with him. Of all the memories she's shared, it's the things she doesn't share that he's suddenly noticing. In her stories, Mitra never talks about her about friends or relatives or even a pet – all she'd ever had was her mother, Shanta. Bruce had known she was alone, but he'd never realized, never given nearly enough thought, to the extent of how alone Mitra was until now. And now, all she had was him.
(And wasn't that just tragic?)
After a few minutes, her cries die down and she looks up at him with big brown eyes and a soft, weepy voice he's never heard from her before.
"…Promise?"
…
"Yeah…Yes, I promise I'll be right here."
Later on, the doctor will ask himself why he made such a stupid, irresponsible promise. He'll hate himself a little more for giving her such false hope, for letting her believe in him like that, and he'll hope that the little girl won't remember any of this later on. In the darkness of their hut, though – as Bruce holds the crying girl to his chest and rocks slowly back and forth until she falls back to sleep – right then, he means every word of it.
Notes: Chapter's title is based on the song, "Some Nights" By Fun, the indie pop band, from their 2012 album Some Nights.