He's sitting in a bar at some failing resort that never fully recovered from the hurricanes in the 90s. There's no work for him here, he's just staying long enough to find a way off this island and onto the next.

The bartender pushes a drink in front of him and he looks up. He can't afford another.

"The lady over there says she's buying," says the bartender, pointing over Bruce's right shoulder.

He freezes. He might have spent the last six months rehearsing what he'll say to Natasha, changing his mind and rehearsing a new set of words over and over, but in that moment he couldn't recall even one of them.

Bruce turns and catches the eye of the young woman sitting at a bar table at the far edge of the deck.

Oh no, he thinks. This is much worse.

Bruce wraps his hands around the glass, condensation leaving his hands wet. It's humid here.

He considers downing it and running.

Don't go, she says, without moving. I just want to talk.

He twitches and the glass falls from the bar to shatter on the decking below. Beer splashes up his legs, a shock of cold in the heat.

He apologises, pushes some cash at the bartender and leaves.

The girl runs after him, catching up at the water's edge. The sea is the same blue-green as the rest of the tropics. The sky is pale and dotted with fluffy white clouds. He flexes his hands at his sides and carefully controls his breathing.

"Don't do that again," he says, teeth clenched.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He wonders how long SHIELD have known where he is. Tries to remember why he even tries to hide.

"SHIELD didn't send me," she says.

"Stop reading my mind," he replies tightly.

"Sorry," she says again. "They didn't teach me how to turn it off."

He shrugs, not really surprised. "Why are you here?"

"I want to apologise," she says.

"What for?" he asks dully.

"I looked into your head. I saw all your pain and anger and I thought nothing of using it as a weapon, because you were the enemy."

"That's how war works."

"People died. Because of what I did."

"Yeah, I know that story," he says. "You should be talking to Natasha about this. She knows all about being raised a killer."

She winces, and he wonders what she saw in Natasha's head before she used it to break her.

"Did you tell Natasha you were coming here?" he asks, because he has to know.

"No. She thinks we should leave you alone. She and Steve argue about it."

"Does Steve want to bring me back?"

She shakes her head. "He's worried you'll think we don't want you back."

What must it be like, he ponders, to have all the guesswork taken out of human interaction? She doesn't realise how lucky she is.

After a moment, she says, "I've been working with Dr. Cho, trying to understand what they did to me. She says she would like to get your opinion on what she's found."

"Helen has my email address," says Bruce.

She huffs, frustrated. He wonders how much experience she has dealing with people she can't manipulate.

He wonders if that thought is unfair.

"I'm not coming back," he continues. "I've heard this story before. You want the scientist, not the monster. But the monster is too useful."

"We don't need—"

He laughs. "You think the good guys are the only ones who find a mindless rage monster useful? You know that's not true."

She pales. "I know. I'm not here to ask you to join the Avengers." She kicks at the sand with bare feet. Her sandals are clutched in one hand and at first glance she could be any other young woman on the beach. "Vision would like to see you again," she says.

Everything snaps into sharp focus. "How is he? Is he... angry?"

She looks at him, offended on Vision's behalf. "He is not like Ultron, if that is what you're asking. He's not a monster."

"Well, that'd be a first," he mutters. Relief curls around his heart, seductive and sweet. He pushes it back.

They watch the ocean for a while. The waves roll in and out, gently licking at the shore. The sun goes behind a cloud and plunges them into shadow.

"It is not your fault," she says suddenly. "The things I saw in your head... You didn't deserve them."

He wants to laugh again at receiving that little piece of Psychology 101 from this source. "I know," he says instead. "Nobody does. Even if they think they volunteered for it."

A gull lands on the beach near them and hops closer, cocking its head hopefully. He has nothing to give it, even if he were so inclined. His pockets are empty.

"Listen, Wanda." She starts at the use of her name. "We all make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes are made with good intentions or through ignorance, and sometimes we just don't think about the consequences and people die." He doesn't sugarcoat it. People died. "But you were only able to use me because of my own mistake. If it weren't me, it would have been someone else."

"No, I—"

"I'm saying it's not me you need to apologise to."

She nods slowly as comprehension dawns. "But it's useless to apologise to the dead."

"So you keep doing what you've been doing. Be an Avenger." He shrugs. "Don't blame yourself for me leaving. If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else. My actions are my choices."

"I don't," she says carefully. "I understand why you left. But still I wished to apologise, because I did you a terrible wrong. I have already apologised to all the others."

"Then I accept your apology," he says. He shoves his hand deep into his pockets and walks along the shoreline.

She follows, padding along in his wake until he stops again. "I do not understand how you can be so angry all the time."

"It's the only thing that helps," he says. "It's easier," he adds, more truthfully. Anger has always come easily to him.

She shivers. Her sandals drop to the ground and she follows them, curling her arms around her knees and resting her head on top.

"I'm not angry at you," he clarifies quickly. He lowers himself to the ground, not sitting but crouching on the sand next to her. "It's safer if I'm only angry with people I actually want to... smash."

She laughs then, a raw sound full of bitterness and grief. "I tried anger. I tried revenge. It just brought more pain."

He hopes she's talking to Wilson about this. Bruce is a poor substitute for a counsellor, despite what certain friends of his think.

"You've never been alone," he realises suddenly.

She's silent for a long moment. "No," she whispers to her knees.

"I can't help you," he continues. "I was never anything but alone."

"You don't have to be," she says. "You have friends. People who are worried about you."

"Giant green rage monster," he reminds her.

She shakes her head. "You could do so much good. But you can only see the evil."

Bruce has nothing to say to that. That argument is a well-worn path in his head. "You should go." He sighs, guilt settling in his gut. "You can tell Natasha you saw me. If you think she'll care."

"Thank you," she says. "I will." She gets back to her feet, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. She walks away without another word, navigating the soft sand with deceptive grace.

He watches her until she's gone.