Nat walked in between crowded street stalls selling fruits, potatoes, grains, colorful powders and clothes. She had stopped over in a small beachfront village in southern Papua to pick up some last minute things; dried foods, extra medical supplies, and an old Walkman with a haphazard collection of classical CD's and early 2000's R&B—a lucky secondhand find.
The photo had been taken out at sea a few kilometers from Papua New Guinea. She had landed the Quinjet on the closest beach she could find. A good starting point to search from, and a chance to catch some much-needed sleep before a potential confrontation.
Nat shuddered at the thought. She didn't know who she would be facing. She didn't know which would be worse; the man or the beast. She was supposed to be calming for the big guy. Instead she had pushed him to near death and then lured him into lowering his defenses right when Ultron started shooting at them in Sokovia. . . She had a feeling he wouldn't be pleased to see her. As for Bruce. . . She didn't know how she felt about seeing him again either.
She had asked around the village about a large green thing in the water. Her passable mix of Tok Pisin, Tagalog, and English helped her give a basic description, but none of the sellers in the market knew what she was talking about. She was ready to give up when an ancient looking man in a bar claimed he had seen the green sea monster twice, always heading west, into the setting sun. He had burped and nearly fallen off his stool while saying it, but Nat chose to listen anyways. It was better than nothing.
Natasha belted herself in and pulled the jet into the air once more, facing the western sky. She toggled some switches until the heat sensor came on, a small monitor depicting heat signatures in the water below. Lots of fish, a few sharks, but no Hulks. Her fingers passed over the disabled cloaking switch and she felt her mouth twitch. She had turned off the comm unit too; she didn't want a lecture from Steve or a motivational speech from Fury. No politics. She just wanted to make sure the big guy was ok.
There was nothing for several kilometers. She was about to turn back and veer further north when she saw the island—she wouldn't have without the sun setting behind it, lighting up its silhouette. She consulted the maps and travel logs—there was a small island cluster ahead, unnamed, yet under the ownership of some Australian billionaire, according to F.R.I.D.A.Y's assessment. The main island was narrow, about ten kilometers north to south and four or five east to west. A spattering of smaller islands surrounded it on it's west and south sides. She decided to use it as a turn-around point, setting a reference for the territory she planned to search. As she approached, however, her heat sensor blinked and beeped once. There was something very large and very warm in the jungle just past the tree line on the western side of the island.
Nat felt the air leave her lungs and bit her lip apprehensively as her sensor systems locked onto it, scanning the size, temperature, and vital signs. F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice piped up: "Dr. Banner, identity confirmed."
"That's not Dr. Banner," Natasha disagreed. "Not yet."
She steered the jet towards the northern end of the island and touched down softly on a wide swath of sand, a few kilometers away from where he was. No reason to risk the jet if he was still green.
She locked her bracelets on and checked her sidearms—all fully loaded, sliding easily. She had oiled them freshly the day before leaving, an example for Wanda in case she ever needed one—ironic as that was.
As the belly of the Quinjet opened up, a blast of warm air flowed in, lush, vibrant green scents riding on it. Natasha pulled her hair back at the nape of her neck—the humidity was already making it cling to her skin, and she had a good amount of hiking to do to get to the western shore. The sun set the world ablaze around her as she walked, sending fiery red and orange streaks into the dusky blue above. She headed south, into the tropical forest.
The jungle wasn't too dense for the first hundred yards, then it thickened up and forced Nat to backtrack to the beach and walk the long way, circling around the perimeter of the island, never getting far from the water. She was partially grateful; navigating back to the jet would be easy now.
She heard him before she saw him. The breaking of trees, panicked cawing of birds and hooting of monkeys tipped her off. He was deeper in the jungle than she had gone yet, further than she could see from where she stood on the beach. The density of the trees wasn't as much an obstacle to him, she guessed.
She stood and listened, squinting to try and see into the darkness. Perhaps this had been a mistake. She could walk back to the jet, turn on the comm unit, tip Steve off. Maybe he would keep it quiet, let her calm him down, talk with him before bringing in SHIELD. . . She shook it off. She knew Steve. It would never happen.
She heard another crashing, splintering sound, a little bit closer. He must be breaking trees. No time like the present. She waited until the sound calmed—maybe he was eating? Then she called out.
"Hey, big guy."
Complete stillness. It seemed as though even the birds had abandoned their sunset melodies, pausing and holding their breath with her.
He let out a deafening roar. Every bird within a kilometer took off in a panic to the sky. A final moment of silence, and then the jungle exploded with noise as he took off towards her. Natasha stood her ground, waiting for him to emerge from the trees. She wanted him to see her, wanted to give him a chance to recognize her.
She saw his eyes first, glinting yellow, then his face as he swung out of the trees. He was mad. Seething, hideously mad. Had he been that pissed before, or was it her voice that had triggered that ugly rage? They locked eyes, and all Natasha could see in his was hatred. He recognized her alright. He roared once more, then charged.
"Oh goody," Nat whispered to herself. She waited one more second, letting him get closer before rolling off to her left and dodging a swipe from his massive green hand. He roared in frustration, skidding away until he was ankle-deep in the ocean. Natasha pulled out her pistol and fired off three shots at his face. He spat out one of the bullets and roared again, heading towards her. She holstered her gun, cursing herself for even drawing it in the first place—why did she think that would help?
She twisted her bracelet and pointed her fist at him. Right as he was about to bring his fist down on her, she fired one of her wrist units—a new taser, courtesy of Tony. He had warned her that it would kill a man—she had never intended to use it on one. The original intent was for aliens, any potential Chitauri re-appearances or something of the like. This was just an unfortunate perk.
The taser hit the Hulk in the chest and downed him. Natasha barely had time to roll out of the way before he hit the sand with a thud. He convulsed twice, roaring loudly before dragging himself to his feet, even more enraged. Natasha was already halfway to the trees by then—her only hope was cover, high ground, and to get a brief moment of respite to try and talk to him.
The palms were no good, long and skinny and impossible to climb. They wouldn't stand up to him anyways, he could bend them like twigs. She could hear his footsteps thudding in the sand behind her as she ran. She fired another taser off over her shoulder before twisting a setting on the bracelet, hearing him crash into the foliage. As the jungle thickened the trees did too. There, ahead in the rainforest, she could see a large, dark-wooded tree.
Right as the Hulk was about to swipe at her heels, she fired her bracelet at a large overhanging branch and leapt—a climbing line burst forth and spun around the branch, swinging her out of his reach. She landed agilely on another branch, crouching while the climbing line retracted into her bracelet again. She wasted no time leaping up a few more branches before bothering to glance down. She reeled slightly at how high she was; easily forty feet in the air. It almost didn't feel high enough.
He glowered at her from the base of the tree. He punched the trunk in rage and frustration. He jumped once, trying to claw his way up her, then slid back down to the ground. He grabbed at a low hanging branch on his next jump, but it bent and lowered him back to the ground. He tried to gouge his fingers into the trunk, but the wood was too hard, refusing to yield to his clawing. He gave up on trying to climb and instead tried to rip the tree from the ground, hugging the trunk and heaving with all his might. Natasha watched from above, heart pounding. Every vein stood out on his shoulders and his neck with the sustained effort. The tree didn't give. He tried again. Still no dice. He looked up at her and roared again, howling his rage.
"Yeah, I don't think this went how either of us wanted it to, huh?" Nat chuckled. She sat on the branch, peering down at him. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She tried to mask her terror, her fear. She was trapped up there without food or water. He could keep her up there as long as he wanted to. He showed no signs that he might want to let her down any time soon. He also showed no signs of Banner. Just rage. She couldn't fight that, not for long.
Instead, she put on a smile. The winsome type, the one that let the guys in and made them feel like they shared some special secret with her. She stretched it over her face, quashing down the anxiety and fear. Time for that later. Hulk still scowled below, grunting and catching his breath. This was her moment.
"Hey big guy," she began slowly. The words felt fake in her mouth. "Sun's gettin' real low,"
He looked at her—was that confusion she saw?
Before she knew what she was doing, she slipped down one branch lower, then another. She tried not to look down too much as she went, the height dizzying without a line attached. She was nearly in his reach now. He kept panting, watching her uncertainly.
"It's been a long day," she near-whispered, her voice husky. He watched her as she lifted one hand. She hated that it was trembling, but she couldn't stop it. She extended it nonetheless, palm facing him. He lifted his, not quite able to reach her. She slipped one branch closer, in reach now. His mammoth hand wasn't shaking at all as it moved towards her. She turned her hand, offering it palm up. He stepped back, surprised by the sudden movement, but then turned his own, resting it on hers. She smiled—the battle was won. She touched his wrist with her other hand, dragging her finger down his palm.
He lurched backwards, shuddering, beginning to shrink. An unearthly noise came out of his mouth—a keening, howling ululation. Natasha's brow creased and she leaned back against a branch. He had never done that before, never made that sound when he came down.
The beast lurched into the tree trunk, then to the ground. He shrank one moment and then blew up again the next, bigger even than he had been when they fought. Nat pulled herself back up on the branch slowly, once more out of his reach as he fell to the ground and began crawling away from her.
He had never stayed green this long before—maybe the transition was more painful after so much time? Nat clung to the branch and watched, powerless to help as he howled. In one moment, she saw Banner's face appear fully—he looked at her and took her breath away with the anguish in his eyes. Then the Hulk was back, and it was just rage. Or was that still Banner?
He stood and ripped up bushes and threw them at the tree trunk, spraying Natasha with dirt. He fell to the ground and rolled into the wet earth he had just exposed, continuing to howl, to contort himself, his arms and legs jerking. Natasha had never seen the two sides fight so brutally before. He ripped at his own chest, clawing at himself, punching and hitting the air around him.
After what felt like hours but was perhaps only a minute or so, the Hulk seemed to win whatever internal battle they had been waging. Or had he? He was still huge and green, but he seemed subdued somehow, unhappy. He lay on the ground, a heaving green mass in a patch of freshly-churned, damp earth. He punched the ground once, a plaintive expression of frustration or anger. He stood slowly, shoulders heaving, and looked back at Natasha with loathing before disappearing into the trees, crashing and splintering away from her.
Natasha sat on the branch, listening to the sound of her heart pounding, the roaring of blood in her ears, the buzzing of the mosquitos, the night-time sounds of the jungle chirping and cricketing and humming around her. It was a deafening silence. What the fuck?