THE REDHEAD MIXES THE DRINKS
WHAT IF SHE HAD GONE BACK TO BED THIS MORNING? Would that have spared her from the pain of having to sit on Tony Stark’s couch and speak to “the Avengers”, as they call themselves? Maybe she could’ve even had more than half a cup of coffee after lunch.
“—thinking about going back to that shawarma place sometime, if anybody wants to come,” Clint offers. Bruce nods awkwardly, glancing at his sister.
“You should come with next time, Liv,” he suggests, pulling her gaze from her glass of water to his face. “You’d like it.”
“I’ve been,” she replies idly, aware of mostly everyone watching her. “It’s pretty good.” Clint nods to himself.
“You should’ve come and ate with us after the fight,” Steve comments. “Would’ve liked to have you there.” Olivia shrugs, tilting her glass from side to side and watching the water slosh.
“I was busy,” she replies simply. It’s actually true, in all technicality. After she was done getting her brother calm and dressed, she spent the next few hours assessing the damage to her apartment, talking things over with her landlord, and reassuring her mother.
“Got the alcohol,” Tony announces as he comes into the room, Natasha with him. In their arms are as many bottles of alcohol as they could carry. The aftermath of the battle left this floor’s bar sadly unstocked— well, after they finished rebuilding it, anyways.
Olivia doesn’t think they’ll have to worry about that anymore. The shipment that they stepped out to meet is likely just the first of many, if she knows anything about Tony Stark.
“Alright, we’ve got beer, wine, whiskey, rum, and vodka,” Natasha offers as she sets the drinks on the counter, “and I can mix.” Olivia stands, heaving herself into a bar stool with ease.
“Whatever’s strongest; and just… give me a whole bottle,” she sighs, finishing off her glass of water in one gulp. The redhead’s eyebrows fly up, but she gives the woman what she wants.
“If you’re sure,” she acquiesces skeptically. Olivia gives the front of the bottle a cursory glance, deems it acceptable, and pops open the top. Everyone watches with mild surprise as she takes a swig that’s indistinguishable from the one she took out of her glass of water.
“Wow. Didn’t take you for a big drinker,” Clint admits, the echoes of surprise still on his face. Olivia shrugs, putting her elbow on the bar and leaning her forehead on the palm of her head.
“I got thirsty,” she claims, swishing the alcohol around in the bottle.
Tony snorts.
***
By now, about half of the Avengers are at least tipsy; but none quite so drunk as Olivia. As it turns out, she’s a little more talkative when she’s drunk.
“—and I thought that was,” she laughs, “so fucking funny.” Tony, Natasha, and Clint are laughing with her, but Steve and Bruce look a little less amused.
“You are really drunk,” Bruce sighs, brows furrowed in concern. Olivia waves him off.
“Nob’dy cares, Bruce,” she dismisses, slurring the first word a little. Despite herself, she yawns. “I could go for… hours.” Natasha chuckles.
“Sounds like somebody really needs to turn in for the night,” she teases. Olivia raises her eyebrows, a small grin forming on her face.
“Yeah? Who?” she jokes, earning herself another laugh— from the whole group except Bruce this time. “Ser’sly though, I’m fine. I know when to stop.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Bruce denies, tapping his fingers against a pen he’s been fiddling with.
“Come on, she said she’s fine,” Tony reminds him. “She’s a big girl, let her decide when her own bedtime is.”
“She’s been drinking way too much,” Bruce persists, “it would really be better for her if—.”
“Oh my fucking God, Bruce,” Olivia states, her brows furrowed in annoyance. Her voice is coming out just a smidge clearer now that anger has grasped hold of her senses. “Don’t treat me like I’m twelve. I can handle myself.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” he defends. “I’m your brother. It’s my job.” She scoffs out a laugh.
“That’s a funny joke,” she grits out, sounding anything but amused. “Wonder where that was before?” He blinks, looking taken aback and a little guilty.
The other Avengers are looking back and forth between them like a table tennis match, their hangout interrupted by all this family drama.
“Liv, it’s— I mean, it wasn’t like that. I’m trying to be here now,” he reasons softly. She rolls her eyes, standing. With another swig of the watered-down beer in her hand, she slams the empty glass down in front of him.
“Right,” she agrees sarcastically, “because barging into my life and trying to force me to do what you want is ‘trying’. Oh, but it’s all good, since you have the moral high ground.” She scoffs, turning towards the elevator and swiping a bottle of rum off the bar counter as she passes.
“I am trying,” he calls after her. “You don’t get to say that I’m not trying. You’re not any better than I am.” She raises her eyebrows as she presses the floor button in the elevator.
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you called Mom?” she challenges.
He falls silent, looking guilty. She nods, a look of suppressed anger on her face as the doors begin to close.
“That’s what I thought,” she confirms, taking a swig from her bottle as the doors finally shut to obscure her from view.
On either side of the metal doors, a Banner sibling is left feeling abandoned.
The difference is, Olivia has alcohol to comfort her, while Bruce has the Avengers.