There's a particular song I think really catches the feeling of the relationship/scenes between Bruce and Amy. It's What Would You Do by Bastille. The lyrics/narrative don't necessarily have anything to do with the story I have, but I feel the music and chorus capture the atmosphere very well. It's kind of sad and full of regret, and second guessing of oneself, but it's also filled with compassion and the desire to do good, and be a better person. The two characters in the song kind of match Amy and Bruce, at least their voices/morals. It just seems to fit, to me.

It'd be the song that played in the background during an emotional, no dialogue scene or montage, if it was on TV or in a movie.

Idk, that's just my opinion. If you haven't heard it, check it out. I personally enjoy the song, it's kind of heart-breaking, at least to me.

I'd find songs for every chapter, or every episode, but I have a hard enough time trying to find a fitting chapter title in Latin. Ugh.

Anyways, sorry for the long A/N, I just had a lot to share. On to the story!

Chapter Twenty-Two

De Profundis

There came a knock at the door.

Two small knocks, a third added a second later, like an afterthought. It echoed through the dark, empty house. The freezing rain pouring outside almost drowned out the sound.

Bruce sat in his office, reading an old book on his desk. He had been staring at the same page for the past twenty minutes. Cold coffee sat nearby, half-full and forgotten. Dull gray light filtered through the windows, and his lamp flickered under the threat of the storm.

The knock jolted him out of his reverie. The glasses slipped off his head and bounced onto his nose, turning the already meaningless words blurry in front of him. He couldn't even remember what the book had been about.

He looked around, expecting to hear more knocks, or a doorbell, but none came. Bruce got up with a groan (he had been hunched over in a mindless stupor for far too long) before shuffling out the office. All the lights were off in the house, rendering the house in almost complete darkness. It might have been haunting, but Bruce knew the scariest thing in this house was only himself.

Heading towards the door, Bruce saw a shadow shifting behind the window curtains, before disappearing from sight. He sped up a little, wondering who it was. Normally he shouldn't have been too curious, but he hadn't spoken to a live person in over three days. The other four he spent in a hectic Emergency Room, and that wasn't really a place to hold a conversation.

He opened the inner door just as the knocker left his steps. All huddled up and with only a thin hoodie for cover, she was soaking wet under the heavy sheets of slushy rain. It was obviously a girl, from the size and shape of her body, but he had yet to see her face under the hood. Really, not a person who belonged on his doorstep and someone Bruce would have to turn away, if only to avoid the last disaster that occurred after letting strange people sleep on his couch.

"Wait!" Bruce said, despite himself, and the girl came to a stop. "Who are you?"

"Sorry, wrong address." She mumbled, not turning around.

But he recognized the voice. It'd be impossible not to. It would seem even more impossible that she was here, standing in front of him again, of her own free will.

He should have let her go. Bruce knew better than to perpetuate this bad behavior, of getting too attached to people (especially the kind that was angry at him). What good could come from any of this?

Yet he asked, "Why are you here?"

The girl didn't reply right away. But she didn't leave, either. She just stood there, enduring the weather. Her shoulders were trembling from the effort.

"My old place isn't safe anymore." Her reply almost startled him, soft and nearly drowned out by the rain. "I didn't know where else to go."

"So this was the first place you thought of?" Bruce asked, skeptical. After what happened, he figured this to be the last place she'd ever return to. The situation must be pretty bad if she was desperate enough to come here. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

She ducked her head, and let out a harsh laugh. It was short lived. "Right, I forgot. You prefer to live alone. Just forget it."

The girl started heading for the curb.

"S-Stop." Bruce had to keep himself from throwing the door open and go after her. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Keep it together, Banner. His desire to make things right was making him think rashly.

But when he opened his eyes, the girl was looking back. Her face was hidden under the hood, blond tendrils dripping over her nose. He wanted to say she seemed better since initial recovery; but to be honest the girl looked like a drowned rat. She was not doing herself any favors by staying out in this weather.

It was the expression in her face, though. Guarded, but hopeful. And not an iota of hate. Ugh, Smoke was right. He was getting soft.

He opened the door, beleaguered with himself. "Come inside."

OoOoO

"So, tell me what happened."

He sat opposite her, on the coffee chair, leaning on his knees and clasping his hands together. The girl had been quiet so far, only giving monosyllabic answers to his questions.

The girl sat huddled on the couch, blanket draped over her head and shoulders like a hermit, with a mug of hot chocolate (not coffee —the last thing she needed right now was an energy spike). She took a sip, swallowed, and waited several long seconds before she answered.

"I was heading home," she said, closing her eyes inhaling through her nose. She released it in a sigh. "A guy was following me. I thought I could lose him, but then a bunch more showed up. They were...they were waiting for me. I could've fought them, but I didn't want to risk - I didn't want to risk showing who I really was. So I ran. Only I ended up in a dead-end alley."

In the dim lighting, Bruce could see lesions across her hands, like she might've fallen. One of the knees in her jeans was ripped, showing bloody skin underneath.

"What did you do?" he asked, voice soft, watching her carefully. The girl didn't seem to be hiding anything, but he was very curious how she got out of that situation without more injuries.

The girl wiped some hair from her face, a weak smile passing her lips before fading again. "Nothing. I couldn't do anything. They all had weapons - a crowbar, a bat, a wrench - and they were just about to attack me when...when someone saved me."

"Spider-Man?"

"No, no." the girl laughed a little. "I would've known if it was Spider-Man. But this guy - he just dropped out of nowhere. Completely silent, totally fearless. It was the Devil."

He blinked. "Like...Satan?"

"No. I mean, I don't think so. It was a guy in a red suit, with horns on his head, so I'm pretty sure that was on purpose. He had these sticks and he moved so fast," the girl seemed focused on something else, her gaze distance as she held out her hands. "It was amazing. He followed us, he knew I was in trouble, and he jumped in at the last moment. Then he was gone. And he had no eyes."

"He had - he was blind?" Bruce shook his head, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt, before stuffing them back on his face and making sure the girl in front of him was very, very real. "Then how did he-?"

"Hell if I know," the girl just shrugged. "He really doesn't like criminals though. Called them a 'scourge' on society. Pretty wild stuff. And then he disappeared, like Batman or something."

"And you didn't ask for a name?"

She gave him a look of annoyance. Bruce almost smirked back, but smothered it when she said, "Well, of course! But he didn't give me one. He just said that he was the Man Without Fear. Which is fitting, I guess. What blind guy goes into a fight like that? And wins?"

"He must be abnormal, like u-you," He said, nearly saying 'us' but backtracking at the last second. He cleared his throat and switched his gaze to the table, hoping the girl didn't pick up on it.

But she seemed far too preoccupied to pick up on any of his stutterings. "Yeah, I think so, too. There's no way he's just some regular Joe Schmoe. Maybe he has, like, echolocation or something. Or maybe even a radar sense, like I do."

"Radar sense?" he threw her a curious frown. This was entirely new information to Bruce. What the hell was a radar sense?

"Well, you know how Spider-Man has a Spidey Sense?" the girl asked, gesticulating with her hand as though it were obvious. But the look on Bruce's face must've been clear he had no idea what that was, either, so she just rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, never mind. My radar sense, essentially, works like a 3-D scan of a room, in my head. I can sense where everything is mentally, without needing my eyes or my ears. It's psychic, I guess, which is why I compared it to Spider-Man's."

"Spider-Man has psychic powers?" Bruce felt so out of the loop. He didn't think he'd ever asked this many questions before, especially not to someone half his age.

"Well, pre-cognitive," the girl specified with one raised finger, surprising Bruce that she actually knew what that meant. "He can sense danger before it happens and avoid it in time, if he acts fast enough. Which he can, thanks to his super-fast spider reflexes."

"So, what, so he's not Spider-Man just because he just likes spiders?" Bruce had to admit, he wasn't sure what would compel anyone to take on that kind of mantle. It was just a little too creepy for him. "I thought he did it because people are afraid of spiders?"

"No, he was -" The girl stopped herself, apparently realizing this was information she was privy to that Bruce was not allowed to know, then shook her head and rectified, "Let's just say it was a random lab accident and suddenly some random geek in New York City suddenly has all the abilities and powers of a genetically-mutated spider, okay?"

He scratched his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of crazy blind guys fighting crime. How does she even meet all these people? Even him. "Uh, all right. So, what, do all superheroes end up in lab accidents before they get their powers, or is that just a...Spider-Man thing?"

Bruce was about to say the Hulk, but decided against it. He felt it was too specific to mention, and after the big green guy ripped Harlem apart last spring, he doubted the girl would consider him a hero in any sense of the word (even if he was trying to stop the Abomination, but that was confidential).

"I don't know. Wasn't exactly my case, although I'm sure a science lab was involved somewhere down the line," she said. "I don't know about the Devil - maybe he was, too, but I feel as though I would've heard something in the news if there was some weird accident. But I don't know. I guess I'll just have to find him again."

"What?" Bruce jolted in surprise. Was she kidding? "I don't think so."

"Excuse me?"

He stood up, as if to show authority (yeah, like she'd react well to that), but really it was concern, and a level of sternness along with it. Bruce pointed out the window, as though the danger was right outside. "You've just told me that there are men out there who are looking for you - specifically you - and you want to go-go back out there? You already know you can't fight them. What-what's going on in your head that somehow j-just overlooks all of that?"

The stuttering kind of negated his message, but Bruce couldn't help his nervous tics.

But the girl didn't laugh or make fun of him. She just stared up at him, her shoulders hunching underneath the blanket. "I don't know. I mean, there's already two other heroes on the streets -"

"They're not always going to be there for you! You got lucky once. Considering how your luck usually goes," he motioned to her shoulder, and she shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think you'll be walking away the next time."

Bruce winced in preparation for a wave of anger from the girl, who no doubt would react badly to his criticism, to the way he was trying to force her mind. This was a girl with no parents, no home, and no responsibilities to anyone but herself - up to this point, he knew and expected her to be irrational, single-minded, and perhaps a little bit selfish.

"Yeah, and why do you care?" she scowled, falling back in the seat and crossing her arms defensively, just like the teenage delinquent she was. "You made it pretty damn clear last time you wanted nothing to do with my business."

"Because —" he cut himself off, huffing when he couldn't come up with as quick an answer as he wanted. Or he couldn't admit the truth.

Bruce had tried his best to forget about the girl — but the harder he tried, the more worried he got. He wasn't sure what about all this just begged his concern and energy, but he couldn't take it back now.

Maybe it was because Bruce saw a little of himself in the girl. Her underestimated intelligence, the unassuming appearance, the feeling of always being miscalculated and unappreciated and pushed aside and forgotten. Of pretending not to care while caring too much. The desire to prove yourself, to prove everyone wrong, and going too far.

Bruce could see the path she was walking on, so similar to his own, how it was so terribly close to tragedy. He sometimes wished he had been someone who was there for him when he was younger, that would've kept him safe and down-to-earth, but he didn't and now look where he was.

The girl may not appreciate it, but Bruce was not about to let history repeat itself.

But he wasn't about to reveal the fact that he was just another bleeding-heart in a city full of the heartless.

Eventually Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, entirely frustrated with himself. "Apparently I just can't help myself, and not for lack of trying either. I just don't like trouble."

The girl just raised an eyebrow, looking about as baffled as he felt. "Well, for someone who doesn't like getting involved in trouble, you sure have a funny way of going about it."

He dropped his arms, almost disappointed by her reaction. Bruce almost wished she was still angry at him, as much as he didn't like it. Perhaps it was the only way she'd leave again, and the last shred of his logical side was begging for it to happen. "Well, I would, except that no matter what I do, you seem to have the ever-so-endearing tendency of clawing your way back into my life. And I suppose these are just the consequences. So kudos. You have no one to blame but yourself."

He sank back into his seat, rubbing his hands over his face, glad to finally have that off his chest. Granted, it wasn't all that Bruce had wanted to say, but he had been keeping this in for over a month. The pressure had been maddening, and he glad to finally vent with the object of all his consternation. This girl was going to be the death of him.

Amazingly, the girl's demeanor softened, to the point of being rueful. "Sorry. I don't usually barge into people's lives like this. And I don't exactly have the greatest communication skills, either."

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed."

She made a face at his sarcasm. "You know, for an old guy, you're pretty sassy."

"Old?" he squinted at her through his glasses. "That's sure something, coming from a girl who looks like a twelve-year-old."

"I don't look twelve!" she snapped, failing to maintain the same level as cool as he did.

"Relax, I'm just teasing," Bruce had to keep himself from laughing, in case it angered her further. She did not have very thick skin — luckily her toughness could back her up when her confidence couldn't.

The girl deflated, but she didn't look quite mollified. "Yeah, well, you suck at it."

There was a pause of silence, where the girl's eyes wandered, her expression falling flat once more. Bruce was starting to think this was the look she had whenever she was in deep thought. Then, after a moment, she asked, "So, is this official or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really want to help me?" she asked, looking at him again. This time, there was no humor, no anger or annoying impertinence. Just her solid gray eyes meeting his brown, unafraid and entirely serious. "Because, just FYI, there's stuff I have to do alone. Good intentions are nice, but there are too many things I can't risk. You said you don't want trouble? Because my life is full of it, and you're probably gonna end up in some of it, too."

"I know. I understand. But there's going to be things I have to know. If I ask you a question, any question, will you promise to answer me honestly?"

The girl hesitated. "No."

Bruce nodded to himself. He expected that from her, although he was disappointed nonetheless. "Not even about where you go, or what you do?"

"I..." the girl bit her lip, considering her answer. "I mean, I don't - I don't know."

"Your family? Or even just your school."

Her mouth closed. The girl shook her head ever so slightly, a move that seemed to be an unconscious reaction than anything else.

"Not even your name?" he tried, peering at her hopefully. "Just something, please."

The girl frowned, then looked away. She remained silent.

Bruce sighed, hanging his head. Was this what it was like for parents working with a difficult child? How could he convince her to speak about things that she didn't want to, but were clearly much more important than her personal feelings? This was a girl whose life was in constant danger — danger that she seemed to put herself in.

This was not the kind of stress Bruce was going to take on willingly without help from her. He was not going to be left treading water while she always disappeared without a word. This was especially important; if patching up her injuries was going to be a common activity, then Bruce wouldd certainly like to know all the details, and not whatever half-truths she came up with just to appease him.

"I can't demand you to tell me what's going on," the doctor finally said, lacing his fingers together on his lap, attention divided between them and the girl. Her gaze was almost intimidating and he didn't want to come off too forceful, and scare her away. "But I'm asking you to. I can't just sit here, pretending everything's all right, and waiting for a girl who might never get...home."

He winced inwardly. That was too much. He said too much. Maybe he was misinterpreted it, or had taken her presence her for granted. He had gotten comfortable with caring for a displaced, forsaken child. Well, she didn't act like a child, but still. He had never directly discussed her stay here before; the meanings, the rules, etc - so he had no idea how she really felt about it, or wanted him to think of it.

The girl's eyes widened, as surprised as he felt, before looking down, hands rising to hide her face. She didn't say anything.

His heart sank. He knew it— it was too much. He had scared her off. It wouldn't bother him so much if he hadn't made himself so vulnerable. Of course, the only person he had to blame was himself. He should've known better. Had he actually thought rationally, like he promised himself, commanded himself, this wouldn't have happened —

"My name is Amelia."

"What?" Bruce looked up, blinking rapidly, not quite sure if he heard right, or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

But the girl was looking back at him. She seemed mildly annoyed. "I am not 'girl'. So stop calling me that."

"Amelia? That's your name?"

She rolled her eyes. The girl — Amelia, he supposed — seemed somewhat uncomfortable when he said the name, but he chalked it up to the fact it was merely another secret revealed. "I'm not going to lie about that. It's just a first name. But that's all you're going to get."

"That's fine," He actually smiled at that. Bruce didn't need her last name. This was enough.

"On that note, am I allowed to call you Doctor Banner or is that weird?"

Bruce did a double-take, surprised she even knew his last name. Weird did not even begin to describe this. So startled was he that Bruce actually stood up, as if he were getting ready to run. He had done it so many times before; it was practically second-nature by now. "H-how did you find out?"

He was immediately terrified that Amelia had discovered the truth. That, somehow, she not only knew who he was, but what he was.

"Uh, it's the name on your degrees?" Amelia raised her eyebrows, apparently finding him overreacting. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, "In your office? Among other things, I can read, too."

"Since when were you in my office?" Bruce demanded, wondering how the hell she had the time when he had been in the same room with her this entire time.

"Uh, the last time I was here. I couldn't sleep at night sometimes. I walked around a bit."

He frowned. "You snooped around my house?"

"Snoop is such an ugly word." Amelia said, wrinkling her nose, although there was a joking edge to her voice. If she had discovered his true identity, he doubted that she would be so lighthearted.

"Right," he fixed her with a disapproving look, mostly to hide the feeling of embarrassment over the fact that he panicked over a complete non-issue. He had completely forgotten he had left those up there. Bruce didn't usually have houseguests, so it wasn't really something he worried about. "I can see why trouble has such an easy time finding you."

Amelia actually smiled at that, as though he had just given her a compliment. "Aw, is that a compliment? I knew I liked you for some reason, despite everything. And now I know what it is."

"And what's that?" Bruce wasn't sure he was going to like it.

"Well, if I have to tell you," the girl's smile just grew wider. "Then how will you ever learn?"

Bruce stared at her, with hands on his hips, for one long, silent moment. Then he hooked his thumb out and said, "All right, time for bed."

And when Amelia started to lean back on the couch, he shook his head. "No, there's a guest bedroom upstairs. You might as well use it, if you're planning an extended stay. I want my couch back."

"Sweet!" Amelia practically launched herself off the couch, scampering up the stairs with far too much energy and familiarity of the house than Bruce thought was appropriate. How was she still not tired?

Not about to let her win this argument (because it certainly felt that way, no matter what his rational mind told him), Bruce called up after all, "And just for the record, it's 'Then you'll never learn' not 'how will you ever learn'!"

But of course he didn't get the satisfaction he wanted of being right, because he heard the door slam a second later.

Bruce sighed, catching the railing with his hand and running the other through his hair. Great, not only was the girl back, but so was his headache. Good Lord, he had no self-restraint.

And yet, there was a strange lightness in his chest, a twitch in his jaw that begged to be a smile.

Ugh, this chapter was actually a lot longer - this is twelve pages long in Word - but I decided the next scene (featuring our favorite blind lawyer) wasn't really related to this scene. Which is too bad, because I'm really trying to make this story feel more succinct.

Anyways, tell me what you think! I love writing bonding moments :)