❝ i miss you like
a little kid ❞

004. connections

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓, the soft, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips betraying her attempts to seem nonchalant. Her energy felt like it was lighting up the room, even if she was doing her best to hide it.

She made her way toward the kitchen, where Bruce was hunched over a spread of papers on the counter, lost in thought. It was silent, with the only sound filling the air being the soft thud of Ingrid’s footsteps as she settled onto a stool, her chin resting on her fist. She watched him for a moment, letting the silence fill the space. It wasn’t uncomfortable— just the kind of quiet that made sense between them.

Bruce, sensing her presence, glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her closely. His gaze lingered a little longer than usual, as if he was trying to savor this rare moment of seeing Ingrid so... happy, before whatever caused it slipped away. It had been so long since he'd seen that light in her eyes.

Before she could ask about the scattered papers or make small talk, Bruce broke the silence. “You look... happy. Did something happen?” His tone was soft but curious, like he was both relieved and wary.

Ingrid shrugged, doing her best to keep things casual, though her excitement threatened to spill over. She let out a long sigh, trying to stifle her smile. “I mean… nothing crazy. Just hung out with some people.” Her voice was quiet, almost as if admitting it would break whatever magic she had experienced, but the bubbling joy was still unmistakable beneath the surface.

Bruce, now fully focused on her, set down the paper he had been reading, his eyes not leaving her face. “Some people, huh? That’s a new one,” he remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Ingrid rolled her eyes, but it was playful, not annoyed. “Yeah, yeah. I met some people.” She said it like it was no big deal, as if making friends was something she did all the time. Her fingers absentmindedly traced shapes on the cold countertop, a distraction from the fluttering in her chest. “A few friends, actually,” she added, her voice soft but filled with the weight of something she hadn’t let herself hope for in a long time.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Friends? That’s good.” His voice was steady, but there was something more behind it, as if he understood the significance of her words in a way only he could.

Ingrid avoided his gaze, her fingers still tracing invisible patterns on the counter. She was trying to act like this wasn’t a big deal, trying to protect herself in case it didn’t last, but deep down she wanted to talk about it. She wanted to share this rare piece of joy, to let someone else in on the secret that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up. She sighed, giving in. “Okay, fine. It was fun, alright?” There was a mock annoyance in her voice, but the smile she had been holding back finally broke free. It was bright and full of life, and Bruce couldn’t help but mirror it. "Evelyn, Dylan, and Lucas," she said, the names rolling off her tongue as if they were already a part of her life. "They’re... different, I guess. But in a good way."

Bruce’s smile widened, his expression softening. “Sounds like you really hit it off with them.”

“Yeah, maybe I did." Ingrid's smile faltered for a second, her eyes dropping back to the mess of papers on the counter. She wasn’t really looking at them, just using them as a focus while she tried to find the right words. "It’s just... they don’t care about all the other stuff. It was nice to just... be. To not have to explain everything.”

Bruce nodded slowly, his face soft with understanding. "I get it. It’s good to have people who see you for who you are, not for everything else. You deserve that, Ingrid."

She shrugged, her face turning away slightly, though the smile crept back. The vulnerability of the moment was a little overwhelming, but it felt good to share this part of her day with him. “Yeah... it was nice,” she admitted quietly, the words hanging in the air like a fragile truth.

Bruce watched Ingrid with a soft smile, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and tenderness. “I haven’t seen you this relaxed in a long time,” he said, his voice gentle but with a hint of pride.

Ingrid rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, though her expression was playful. “Don’t make it weird, Dad."

Bruce chuckled, leaning back against the counter, his eyes never leaving her. “I’m just saying. It’s good to see.”

They sat like that for a while, a comfortable silence settling between them. Bruce returned to his papers, and Ingrid leaned against the counter, her mind still buzzing with thoughts of her day, her new friends. It was peaceful, the kind of quiet that felt like home.

Suddenly, the buzzing of Ingrid’s phone broke the stillness. She reached for it cautiously, her heart skipping a beat, half-expecting to see that Fury was calling her. But when her eyes landed on the caller ID, a small smile instantly lit up her face.

Peter.

“Uh… I’ll be right back. It’s Peter,” she said, her voice a little rushed as she stood up, eyes never leaving the phone.

Bruce glanced up with a knowing smirk. “Of course it is,” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

Ingrid stopped mid-step, turning around to shoot him a mock glare, though the smile on her face betrayed her. “Don’t start,” she warned, trying— and failing —to sound serious.

Bruce just chuckled softly as Ingrid hurried down the hallway, her pace quickening with each step until she reached her room. She shut the door behind her and, without hesitation, answered the call.

"Hey! How’s Venice?" she asked, her voice bright and filled with an eagerness she hadn’t quite expected. She missed him. She had been trying to ignore it, to brush it off as no big deal, but hearing his voice now was like a weight lifting off her chest, a breath of fresh air she hadn’t realized she needed.

There was a slight pause on the other end, long enough for Ingrid to notice something off before Peter’s voice came through, hesitant but familiar. "Hey. It’s... nice, yeah."

Ingrid’s brow furrowed, her smile fading just a little as she picked up on the hesitation in his tone. Something didn’t feel right. "Just nice?" she pressed, lying back on her bed and letting out a soft sigh, her concern growing.

Peter gave a small, awkward laugh— the kind he always gave when he was trying to downplay something. "Well, it was nice. But then, you know, a giant water monster attacked."

Ingrid couldn’t help but laugh at that. "Oh yeah, that sounds about right for Venice," she joked, but her tone shifted as she remembered why Peter had gone on this trip in the first place. He was supposed to be taking a break, enjoying a vacation for once. "Wait— did you have to fight it?" Her voice carried a mix of concern and disbelief, knowing how hard it was for Peter to stay out of situations like that.

Peter’s voice rushed in again, filled with the familiar nervous energy he always had when he was trying to explain himself. "No, no. I didn’t even pack my suit. May did." He paused, taking a breath as if to steady himself. "I mean, I tried to help, but... this guy showed up and handled it."

"What guy?" Ingrid furrowed her eyebrows, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"They’re calling him Mysterio," Peter replied, sounding a little exasperated. "Honestly, I have no idea who he is." His voice lightened, as if trying to change the subject. "Anyway, how’s your day been?"

Ingrid hesitated, biting her lip before responding. "It’s been alright. The usual, you know." She took a deep breath, knowing she couldn’t avoid mentioning it forever. "I went to this café to try and write about... those nightmares." Her voice wavered slightly as she said the word. "Ended up meeting some people."

"Really? That’s awesome!" Peter’s tone brightened, and Ingrid could practically feel his smile through the phone. It was so contagious that she found herself smiling at the ceiling, her heart lightening just a little.

"I guess." She tried to downplay it, brushing it off casually. "Might hang out with them again tomorrow. Not sure."

"That’s great, Ingrid. You should go." Peter encouraged.

"Maybe. We’ll see." Ingrid muttered, not wanting to get her hopes up too high. There was a brief, comfortable silence, the kind that settled between them so naturally. In the background, she could hear the distant hum of voices— probably from the hotel lobby filled with students. It was peaceful, a quiet connection that neither of them needed to fill with unnecessary words.

After a moment, Ingrid broke the silence, her voice a little hesitant. "Have you talked to Fury yet?"

The question seemed to catch Peter off guard. "Oh, uh, no. Not yet. Why?"

"He called me earlier today too." Ingrid admitted, her fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but there was something unsettling about the fact that Fury had reached out to both of them.

Peter was silent for a moment, processing what she said. "Did you answer?"

"Nope." Ingrid let out a small, humorless laugh. "I figured if it’s that urgent, he’d try again. But... for him to call both of us? He must need something."

Peter sighed, and Ingrid couldn’t help but think it was a sigh of relief, maybe. "Yeah, probably. What do you think he wants?"

"I don’t know," Ingrid said, shrugging as if Peter could see the action through the phone. She gulped, her mind racing, wondering if she’d regret what she was about to say next. "I might answer next time he calls, though. Maybe that’ll get him off your back so you can actually enjoy your trip."

"You don’t have to do that, really," Peter said, his tone soft but firm, like he didn’t want her to take on more than she needed to.

Ingrid smiled softly, her voice quiet but resolute. "No, it’s fine. Better me than you, right?"

Peter’s voice was gentle, almost pleading. "Ingrid, don’t feel like you have to handle everything..." He trailed off, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

"I don’t," Ingrid said, though even she knew it was a lie. She couldn’t admit it, not even to herself. "But you deserve a break, Peter. You've earned it."

"Yeah, but... so do you," Peter replied, his voice soft but filled with sincerity.

Ingrid smirked, brushing it off with her usual sarcasm. "Maybe. But I’m not on vacation in Venice, am I?"

Peter chuckled lightly, the sound warming her in a way that words couldn’t. "I just... don’t want you to get dragged into something you don’t want to be part of."

Ingrid paused, his words sinking in deeper than she expected. Did she want to be part of it? Did she ignore Fury's call because she truly wanted to stay out of it, or because she felt like she had to avoid it? Her chest tightened with the uncertainty that came with trying to separate duty from choice. "It’s not like I’m ever not part of it, Peter," she said, her voice softening, as if admitting something painful.

"Yeah, I guess that’s the life, huh?" Peter said, his tone carrying a quiet resignation.

"Pretty much." Ingrid’s fingers played with the corner of her blanket, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to shake. "But seriously, don’t worry. If Fury needs something, I can handle it. You just focus on enjoying Venice... and, you know, avoiding giant water monsters." She tried to inject some lightness into her words, to keep him from worrying, to keep herself from thinking too much about the weight that always seemed to be pressing on her.

Peter laughed, and it was the kind of genuine, carefree laugh that Ingrid hadn’t realized she missed until she heard it. The sound filled the space between them, through the phone and across the miles, and Ingrid knew that it would echo in her mind long after the conversation ended. That laugh was going to keep her awake, bouncing around in her head, begging to be thought of.

"You’re impossible, you know that?" Peter teased, his tone playful but laced with something deeper.

"Yeah, but you’re stuck with me." Ingrid grinned.

There was a pause, a moment of silence that stretched just a little too long. When Peter spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Ingrid swallowed hard, the vulnerability of his words hanging in the air between them, unspoken but understood. Her throat felt tight, and for a second, she wasn’t sure if she could respond without giving herself away. "Hey... stay safe, okay?" Her voice came out quieter than she intended, the weight of the words heavier than they sounded.

"You too," Peter replied, his voice gentle. "We’ll talk soon."

"Soon," Ingrid echoed, her heart feeling both full and empty at the same time as she ended the call. The silence in the room seemed louder now, and she sat there for a moment, staring at her phone, the weight of their conversation lingering. She sighed, long and deep, sinking back against her pillow as if it could swallow her whole.

The day outside was slowly surrendering to dusk, the sun sinking lower and lower, casting a warm, fading orange glow over her room. The light flickered off the walls, bathing the space in a hazy, dreamlike glow that felt both comforting and far too empty.

Her gaze drifted, following the illuminated dust particles floating lazily in the air until they landed on the pictures tacked up on the wall. The familiar faces stared back at her— friends, parties, moments frozen in time. But it was the one of Natasha that held her attention, the image a constant reminder of what she'd lost.

The orange light made the red in Natasha's hair seem almost alive again. Ingrid swallowed hard, her throat tightening. If she just closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the memory, it almost felt like Natasha was still there— standing beside her, arms crossed with that wry smile on her face. Ingrid could almost hear her voice, firm but kind, offering advice she so desperately needed.

What would Natasha say right now?

The question echoed in her mind, chasing away the last threads of comfort. What would Natasha tell her about the nightmares? The sleepless nights that left her feeling raw and vulnerable? Or about the way she felt stuck, trapped between wanting to be normal and craving the rush of battle, the fight, the chaos? Ingrid rubbed at her chest absentmindedly, trying to soothe the hollow ache she couldn’t shake. Was she supposed to feel this way after making new friends? After spending time with people? Why did everything still feel so... empty?

Her chest tightened, and before she knew it, tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. The quiet felt suffocating now, like it was pressing in on her from all sides. She needed to move, to do something. With slow, deliberate steps, she pushed herself up from her bed. Her bare feet met the cold wooden floor, each step sending a chill up her spine.

The soft shuffle of her footsteps echoed faintly as she padded down the hallway. Time seemed to stand still still, the only sound the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her. Ingrid found herself back in the kitchen, lingering in the doorway. Bruce stood there, still working. She didn’t call out, not right away— just watched him for a moment. He was hunched over the counter, glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he scanned some papers, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked... tired.

Bruce glanced up at the sound of her feet shuffling and pushed his glasses up, giving her his full attention. He saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the vulnerability that she rarely let show, and immediately set his work aside.

"Hey," he greeted softly.

Ingrid shifted where she stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “My room feels... too big. And I’m scared I’ll have nightmares.” She bit her lip, hesitating before finishing her thought. “Can I sleep here?”

Her eyes flicked toward the couch, almost embarrassed to ask.

Bruce didn’t hesitate. “Of course you can,” he said, giving her a small, reassuring smile that instantly made the room feel warmer. "Come on in."

Ingrid crossed the room, slipping under the blanket on the couch. The softness enveloped her, but it didn’t chase away all of her unease. She curled up, tucking her legs beneath her, the familiar scent of the room helping to ground her.

For a moment, they sat in silence. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of blankets as Ingrid shifted, trying to get comfortable, and Bruce’s quiet, steady breathing.

She glanced over at him, watching the way his tired eyes stayed fixed on the paper in front of him. He looked exhausted, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix, and yet he still seemed determined to keep working. It made her chest ache with a different kind of sadness.

“You should go to sleep too,” Ingrid mumbled, her voice soft but laced with concern. "You’re always staying up too late.”

Bruce looked at her, raising an eyebrow but still managing a small, amused smile. “I will. Just need to finish this.”

Ingrid shook her head slightly, a knowing look in her eyes. “You’re not going to finish it,” she said with a gentle teasing edge to her voice. “You never do. You should just go to bed.”

Bruce chuckled under his breath. “You’re so wise,” he teased, his smile widening. “Have you ever thought about becoming a motivational speaker?”

Ingrid felt the tightness in her chest loosen, her lips twitching into a grin. "I have, actually," she said, putting on her best serious tone. "I think I’d be great at telling people what to do. Especially you."

He laughed again, a quiet but genuine sound that made the room feel a little brighter, a little less heavy. Shaking his head, he added, “I’d probably be your first client.”

“You’d be my only client,” Ingrid shot back, her smirk turning into a full grin as she looked at him. “You’re the only person I know who works this much.” There was a pause, her smile softening. Her next words came out quieter, more vulnerable. “But seriously... you should get some rest, Dad. Whatever you're working on— it’ll still be there tomorrow.”

Bruce’s smile faltered slightly, the concern in her voice striking him in a way that made him pause. His eyes softened as he set the papers aside on the desk, the weight of her worry sinking in. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, as if the tension of the day had finally caught up with him. “You’re right,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I’ll call it a night. But only once you’re asleep, deal?”

Ingrid gave him a look of playful satisfaction, though the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable. “See? You’re learning,” she quipped with a soft laugh, her body relaxing further under the blanket.

Bruce stood, walking over to her with a gentleness that always surprised her, especially for someone who had so much strength buried inside. He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers cool and comforting. “Thanks, wise one,” he whispered, his voice tinged with fondness and pride.

Ingrid stifled a yawn, her body already giving in to the exhaustion that had been pulling at her for hours. Her eyelids grew heavy, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. “That’s what I’m here for,” she mumbled sleepily, her words trailing off as she began to drift.

Bruce smiled, watching her for a moment longer before settling into a chair beside her, the room falling into a comfortable silence.