Author's Note:

Alright my pretties, here's chapter 3 as requested. A huge thank you to Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967, , Azura Soul Reaver (Thanks for commenting again!), Mac n' Meez (Who writes wonderfully long review and has a rather excellent BrucexOC fanfic up as well by the by XD), aireagle92, Vodka Citron, LoverandaFighter, KrazyForYourLuv, caros24084u, HogwartsWonderland, Flarire, Spawn of Madness, Shippolove844, A, 9, MissingDreams, and of course my dear Poplar-Kat! It made me so happy to read all of your reviews! And Mac, I totally agree Bruce does not get enough love. Poor baby . Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy and if you'd like to see a picture sort of similar to what Sophie looks all prettified I posted one on my profile. It's not perfect but what really is in life anyway? I'll shut up now….

-Goldiva

Touchdown was surprisingly smooth, though the straps of the harness securing me to my seat did bite into my skin as the plane decelerated and came to a stop. I wasted no time in pressing the button that released me from my restraints. Meathead, excuse me Agent Monroe, looked a little concerned I would bite him again and I chuckled, gnashing my teeth. "Very mature," he muttered, and I laughed, making as if to run a hand through my hair only to find it had been put up and arranged in some intricate braid. Yet another place someone had touched while I was unconscious. Awesome.

Rather than a door on the side opening, the entire back of the plane folded outwards, making a sort of gangway onto the asphalt. I didn't wait for Coulson to usher me forward, striding at my own pace out into the sun. The light blinded me for a moment and I lifted a hand, now manicured and glossed, to shield my face. The deck, for I realized we were on some sort of air craft carrier, was abuzz with activity. Men and women in skin tight navy jumpsuits scrambled about, checking on planes, filling up gasoline tanks, and other mostly maintenance duties.

A blast of air from one of the jets sent my skirt dancing around my legs and I had to fight to keep it down. When it finally laid flat I noticed a few men in jumpsuits staring at me, though they blushed and returned to their tasks when I caught them. I sighed, it wasn't as if I could blame them. It had probably been a while since they had seen a woman clothed in anything but a jumpsuit. "If you're done being Marilyn Monroe," grumped Meathead from behind me, "We do have places to be."

I spun to snap at him when something in the distance distracted me. About a hundred yards away I could see three figures dressed in plainclothes shaking hands and greeting each other. One was tall, blonde, and fit; you stereotypical American boy. The female had red hair and radiated no-nonsense, an aura of danger wrapped around her like a scarf. But neither could hold my attention quite like the third. He was an unimposing man in both demeanor and stature, his dark hair ruffled by plane exhaust as he rubbed the back of his neck. His suit was worn and faded, hanging a bit loosely from his frame as if he had recently lost weight, and his skin held warmth and color as if he had spent a decent amount of time in the sun. He looked tense and uncomfortable, but it was unmistakably him.

I couldn't believe it. My whole body clammed up as a single word dropped like a stone from my lips, "Bruce." All this time I had convinced myself I was being lied to, but now that I could actually see him I had to touch him; I had to hear his voice. Monroe made as if to shove me in the direction of what looked like a hangar door but I was already on the move before I even made the conscious decision to start running. My legs pumped like pistons as I sprinted towards him, the stupid, strappy feminine sandals the Agents had put on my feet coming apart at their flimsy soles and falling off my feet as they pounded against the asphalt. My delicately arranged hair flew free of its braids, the wild straw colored curls streaming out in a mane behind me as I ran.

I was only twenty yards away from wrapping my arms tightly about his neck when the ground beneath me moved. I heard the sound of powerful turbines kicking in and had just enough time to register that the ship would soon be airborne, but not enough time to steady myself. I threw my hands out to brace my body as I fell, but my momentum rolled me ten feet before I finally came to a stop. "Gol durn it!" I cursed, my heavy accent that I fought so hard to control flowing easily back into my speech along with the pain, "Ow!"

The turbines covered up my expletives and I sighed heavily, not bothering to move from where I lay sprawled out on the ground, covering my face with a forearm as if trying to shield my embarrassment from the world. "Well that went well," I muttered, unable to keep the angry blush from lighting my skin on fire.

"I'll say," answered a smoothly feminine voice. I lifted my arm from my eyes in shock, staring up at the controlled red curls that surrounded the woman's face.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" asked the tall man, his classically handsome face creased with concern. I scowled and sat up, gently prodding the deep scrapes on my palms and knees.

"I'd be a lot better if you didn't call me ma'am," I teased, pleased my injuries weren't as bad as I had initially believed, "It makes me feel so old. I'm twenty-five." He seemed a bit confused but moved aside at a subdued but insistent "Excuse me," from behind him. And finally, after three long years of waiting, I found myself staring up into the most welcome and familiar face in the world.

"Sophie?" he asked getting down on his knees, brow crinkling with puzzlement. I sat as still as a stone for a moment, not quite sure if I should let myself believe he was real, before I hurled myself at him, knocking him over onto the deck and landing on top of him. The two people still standing exchanged a nervous glance but I ignored them, burying my head into his chest with a vengeance. I breathed in deeply, trying to absorb as much of him in that instant as I could. He smelled of sun, spices, and soap and the combination nearly left me dizzy.

I was so overwhelmed it wasn't until Bruce started rubbing the small of my back that I realized I was crying. "Shhh," he murmured, using his other arm to hold me more tightly against him, "It's okay. You're okay." I gave a shuddery sigh, trying to stem my tears before I soaked his jack through.

"Sorry," I blubbered. Bruce laughed in response and I could feel the sound rumbling in his belly through my own. Carefully I peeled myself off of him and he sat up, using his thumb to wipe away my tears; I liked that he couldn't stop touching me. "Sophie, what are you doing here?" he asked quietly, his voice low and intimate.

"We brought her here," answered Coulson, appearing abruptly with an angry looking Monroe by his side, "We thought it'd be better for you to have a familiar face." Bruce smiled tightly, his eyes bitter.

"To keep me in line, is it?" he asked, his tone sharper than I'd heard it in a long time. Of course, it had been a long time since I had last heard it.

"To make you more comfortable, Dr. Banner," said the woman authoritatively, command dripping from her posture. I frowned; historically Bruce had never gotten along very well with military types. The thought of him being in a giant flying tin can crawling with the pests made me nervous to say the least. "Now if you'll follow me I think it's best we head inside." Banner's lips pursed and I could feel the tension build within him but he nodded, standing and brushing off his pants before reaching down to help me to my feet; He didn't let go of my hand even as we walked inside the hangar door and into the belly of the plane.