"You deserve peace. Quiet. Whatever in the world you want."

She leaned in closer to him, sitting up on her knees, closing the distance between them slowly, tentatively, giving him every opportunity to turn away, to lean back, to say no. "I just thought, maybe, you wouldn't mind sharing it with me," she whispered, her mouth inches from his. He didn't move, rooted to the spot.

She leaned in and kissed him. Just like that, on the beach, next to the cabana and Quinjet, salt breeze blowing through her hair. She pulled away and lingered there for a moment. He kissed her again. The kiss was hungry, overdue. His hand found her waist and she wrapped her arm around his neck.

He pulled her in and she lost her balance, teetering before his other arm came behind her knees, pulled her over and onto his lap, pressing their bodies together, clinging to the moment. The way he held her was desperate, needy, tight. She was a lifeline—but to what? To the life he'd rarely allow himself to even imagine? To even dream was possible?

He pushed her off suddenly, his instinct overcoming him. She caught herself easily, lowering herself to sit down beside him. She hugged her knees to her chest and looked down, embarrassed. Of course, she'd jumped the gun. Jesus Christ, asking for forgiveness for the horrible way she'd treated him and then expecting that? She shuddered with humiliation. Where was her self-control?

"Nat," he whispered breathlessly. She tried to warp her face to be impassive.

"You would have let me kill you. Self-sabotage? That's. . . that's. . . that's just such a cop-out." He turned away from her. "What am I even talking about," he mumbled to himself.

"I'm sorry—"

"No! Don't apologize!" He sprang to his feet and walked a few feet away from her towards the water before stopping and turning to face her. "I'm not mad, it's just, you're ready to die as an apology, and your dream is to save the world, on your own terms, but you also said you'd run away with me, you'd go wherever I led, and here we are, and forgive me if I'm a bit confused on what you want, on why you're here, I don't think you've made it very clear, so I'm just, I'm struggling here, Nat, I'm really struggling."

"I understand."

"No. I don't think you do," he paced as he spoke, wringing his hands, looking everywhere, his feet, the water, Nat, the jet.

"I have to go, Nat. It's not an option for me, it's my duty, as much as saving people, making amends, paying off debts is yours. I'm a liability every second I'm around you guys, whether I fly off the handle or not, whatever the Hulk does the Avengers will have to answer for. You say governments already are starting to question—imagine how much worse that would be with even one more rampage under my belt. Just one! The PR, the pundits, the lives lost—I just, I can't describe that to you, that grief. You've never killed, you'll never kill, never, not on that scale, that many, that many innocents, you just won't, so don't try and say you relate or something."

He didn't see Natasha exhale slowly, stopping herself from interrupting. It wasn't the moment.

"I know you try," Bruce continued. "I know you mean well, but you can't understand, and that's ok, you don't have to, but then you show up here to what, to tempt me? To lure me in? To run with me? To try and change my mind? I just. . . I don't get it, it seems like you want something I just can't give you, not if you're so committed to that, that. . .that lifestyle!" he shook his hands trying to find the right words, and a splash of green appeared on his neck. It spread quickly up into his hairline.

Natasha stood up, ten feet up the beach from him. Bruce looked at her and she watched the Hulk's face emerge for a second. He roared and took one faltering step towards her, swatting at her with an arm that was still Bruce's. Then Bruce was back, just for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. He looked like he might have tried to say something else, but instead he shook his head before turning and sprinting up the beach, into the trees. She heard the crash seconds later as he finished becoming the Hulk, thrashing into the jungle away from her.

Nat sat back down in the sand, dumbfounded. She felt a visceral level of guilt for having pushed him over the edge like that, but she was also shocked at how quickly the transformation had happened.

She realized that she had always relied on him to stop himself when he felt his heart-rate rise, to always have such tight control that even in anger or rage he could tamp it down enough to stop a transition. She also realized that maybe the kiss had meant his heart rate was already slightly elevated. She knew hers was.

As the shock faded, a child-like frustration set in. She wanted to fix the world. She wanted him to want to fix the world. And he did, he just thought that the only way he could was by removing himself from the equation. Natasha felt a tightness in her throat at that.

He was one of the warmest, most intelligent humans she had ever met. A total pacifist, dedicated to helping others, and all he could see was the monster inside. She wanted to sit him down and scream in his face how good he was. Her thoughts started racing in Russian as she thought of the things she would say, desperately trying to convince him to see himself in the same way she did.

It had always been a touchy subject between them, even before Ultron, when they had worked together every day. Anytime Nat tried to remind him that he was good, that he was helping, Bruce would shut down. He'd remind her he was only helping until Hydra was gone and the scepter retrieved, that his focus was on the science and diagnostics Tony and him were doing, that their training together was 'just in case', that at any moment he could snap and hurt her or destroy their cushy quarters in the tower. She had given up on it. Trying to get through to him just put up a barrier between them that couldn't exist if she was going to be the one to calm the Hulk down.

She had bit her tongue and let him believe he was the monster. She had done it again today. He had no idea, absolutely no clue about her life before SHIELD. He thought he knew. He probably envisioned assassinations of heads of state, thugs in dark clothing, mob bosses and drug lords. He would never guess the truth. The wives, the children, the soft spots of the people in power. She was perfectly suited for it; feminine, beautiful. It was easy for her to enter those sacred spaces, the ones where a powerful man's weaknesses lived.

She had needed Bruce to trust her. And for that to happen, she held her tongue, didn't push his soft spots, kept her comparisons to herself.

But now? Things had changed. They were on his turf now; an anonymous spot far away from danger. A place he could try and disappear to. She wondered if he had planned on killing himself, secretly, when he got to wherever he was going. Nowhere on Earth, he had said. Here they were on Earth though, and she knew he meant it. Maybe a gun in the mouth didn't work, maybe the Hulk could walk underwater, but there were numerous other ways to die in the jungle. Poisonous plants or animals, heights, fire, the opportunities abounded. She pictured how he had looked the day after coming down, still sickly and cut up and raw. He had been harmed—so the Hulk could do worse. The thought turned Natasha's stomach.

Now things were different. The time where she was his safe space had clearly passed. Now she had to convince him. Convince him he could be safe, convince him he could trust her, convince him that the greatest good he could do to the world would be to come back, to give not only Bruce Banner's intelligence, but the Hulk's strength and ferocity. She had to convince him that he and the Hulk could work together, that he could trust her and together they could work with the Hulk, practice with him, get to know him. She had to.

She wanted to believe it was the best thing for him. She grazed her finger over her lips, remembering the kiss. Maybe he wanted her too, and just saw the insurmountable odds between them. Maybe she could break those odds down. She felt ashamed at the thought of it. She could say it was for him all day long, but in the end, she knew why she was doing it. She craved that feeling again, held by him, wrapped in his arms. He thought he was so intensely dangerous, but she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so safe.

She had to go get him. Funny how pursuing that feeling of safety meant following in the path of danger.

Natasha stood up and walked back into the jet. She pressed a button on the wall and a compartment opened, revealing her folded suit, cleaned and ready to go. She snapped her bracelets on and reloaded the taser cartridges she had fired on her first day there. She hoped she wouldn't have to use them, but she was uncertain where she stood with the Hulk. She could posture to Bruce all day long about the other guy, but she'd be lying if she said she trusted him or knew his triggers.

She hadn't heard him in the ten minutes or so since he disappeared, which meant he could be anywhere on the island. Nat pulled a pack together quickly with enough food for a few days, plus water purification for whatever she found. Finding water itself in a jungle was never an issue. She stepped out of the Quinjet and checked her surroundings before leaving its belly open and setting off. The island truly was deserted other than them, she didn't believe anybody would come and make off with the jet in her absence.

As she followed his trail, Natasha wracked her mind for what she could say to begin convincing him to rejoin the world. He was a smart guy; he had already thought of so many scenarios. What could she offer that was new, that would ease his mind and put his doubts to rest?