Bruce groaned as he opened his eyes, the pounding of a post transformation headache making itself known. The last thing he remembered was Natasha's blazing, burning kiss… then falling and nothing but a blur of bullets and explosions.

He was in a quinjet, and seemingly alone.

"Guys?" he groaned, but there was no answer. He pushed himself to his feet, holding the overlarge pants tight around his waist, and staggered to the cockpit. He stared at the GPS in shock. He was somewhere over India, and rapidly heading south east.

He'd learned enough, messing about with Tony and Clint while designing the quinjets, that he could disengage stealth mode and… "turn that bird around, okay?" Natasha said. Bruce blinked, and shook off the memory before pulling the touchpad toward him and entering the necessary instructions.

Moments later the speaker squawked to life.

"Bruce!" Tony cried. Bruce winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry buddy," Tony said, lowering his voice, but he didn't bother hiding his delight. Bruce tilted the pad so that he had a better view of Tony's face. He was smeared with grime and sweat but seemed uninjured. Bruce asked the most pertinent question he could think of.

"Why am I on a quinjet headed toward Australia?"

Tony's eyes bulged wide. "What! Where are you?"

"Indian airspace." Bruce snorted. "What the hell happened, Tony? Why am I here? Tell me we destroyed Ultron?"

"He's gone," Tony confirmed. "And you just disappeared. The Other Guy seemed to have a mind of his own. Natasha says he purposefully chose to leave."

Bruce frowned in confusion. "Okay… did something happen?"

Tony's eyes turned shifty. "You don't remember?"

Bruce crossed his arms and glared at the screen.

"Well she kind of pushed you off a cliff," Tony said, all in one breath.

Bruce put the pieces together – Natasha pushing him, Bruce falling, the Other Guy coming back out, angry and confused, lacking the mental acuity needed to understand why Natasha might have betrayed them like that.

"Is she alright?" he demanded. "She's okay, right? She's got to be." Bruce would remember hurting her, surely.

"Just a few cuts and bruises, no worse than the rest of us," Tony said cheerfully, then his face fell.

"Tony."

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. "Pietro didn't make it. Saved Clint, and a kid, though."

"Damn," Bruce said. They sat in silence for a moment or two.

"Okay. I better go tell the others you're alright. Natasha's been a right little mopey assassin, thinks it's her fault that you left," Tony said.

Bruce scoffed. "Ha. As if. I'll see you soon, okay, and tell them not to worry." He deactivated the call and sagged back into his seat.

Natasha… that was an avenue of thought he'd tried not to allow himself down. Now he did, thinking about the taste of Natasha's lips against his, her quiet whisper: 'I adore you'. He dwelled on that memory, and allowed it to sate him for the quiet and lonely journey home.