Bruce himself is none the wiser as he walks down that main street, coming closer and closer to the café where Trish sits. He's actually thinking about how long he's been here, and how he really should start thinking about moving on soon. It's been nearly a month and he never feels safe or comfortable staying in the same place that long, not anymore anyway.

He's about to get a very definite proof that he shouldn't be here anymore, as well as a bitter reminder of all that he's left behind in New York. But he couldn't come back, he couldn't-- it was all too much. After Wakanda, he just needed to go away for a while, to be by himself. He certainly couldn't stay with the team, not anymore.

The blond hair doesn't ping him right away, even though in this particular place, blondes aren't exactly a common sight. It's not until he's close enough to pick on the little gestures and mannerisms that he starts to panic, and even then he thinks he must be imagining things. He has to be, it has to be his his mind playing tricks on him, a ghost haunting him in his waking hours now as much as it does in dreams.

He still debates on turning around and going back, or hiding somewhere until he can see the woman's face and make sure it's not Trish, but before he can decide, she's turning on her seat, glancing over her shoulder and looking straight at him, and he's just standing there, rooted in his spot, unable to even so much as pretend like he didn't see her.

It's obvious that he did, even more so now that he knows for sure that it is her.