Turning Green
TODAY IS, DECIDEDLY, A BAD DAY. Bruce has been camping out in the living room all morning with his new laptop. Olivia eventually gave up on waiting for him to leave, and walked straight past him to grab her morning coffee from the kitchen.
Now, refusing to alter her routine so she can avoid her brother, she’s settling into her usual spot on the floor with her laptop. Her usual spot, which is about a foot to the right of the place Bruce has settled into, doesn’t feel quite as comfortable as it usually does. Maybe it’s all the not-talking-about-it hanging in the air between them.
Yeah, that’d probably do it.
Bruce cringes at the YouTube video playing on his laptop; Olivia recognizes it from sound alone. It’s a video of the Hulk from the Battle of New York.
“You shouldn’t torture yourself,” she sighs; even if she is in a bad mood, that doesn’t mean she’ll just let it go. He’s her brother, after all, and this is incredibly self-destructive.
“I’m not,” he denies, “it’s a montage video.” Olivia glances over, and she’s greeted by the familiar sight of herself, which instantly captures her attention.
She hasn’t watched any footage of the battle, actually— when it comes on TV, she just either looks away or turns it off. As such, the sight of herself blasting aliens down with their own guns next to Captain America is unfamiliar.
“Mm,” she hums in acknowledgement, her nose crinkling up slightly in distaste. Part of her wants to look away, but another part is stuck trying to reconcile the footage on the screen with her own self-image.
“You… okay?” Bruce wonders, hesitantly. Internally, he cringes; this is going horribly.
Olivia tears her eyes away from his screen, focusing on her own instead.
“Always weird to see yourself on camera,” she replies idly, effectively shutting down the topic without having to directly answer. Bruce stalls for a minute, his eyes now focused on his sister rather than the video.
“I don’t get it,” he decides. Olivia’s face twists into a small frown. Good Lord, please tell her this isn’t going where she thinks. “One minute you’re mad, the next you’re telling me not to beat myself up, and then before I know it you’re back to being mad at me.”
Ah, the familiar burden of being right.
How many days in a row is she going to have to endure conflict with the most oblivious man in New York?
“Jesus Christ, Bruce,” she half-groans, half-huffs, as she tosses her head back to look at the ceiling. Her expression is a mixture between Lord, help me and I might deck him.
“I mean, I-I don’t know what you want from me,” he admits, “or what I’m doing wrong.” Olivia’s eyes shut, and her expression calms.
“I don’t want anything from you, Bruce,” she states. “Not anymore. I wanted you to give a damn. Every Christmas, for 17 years, I watched Mom and Dad lose hope that you were ever going to talk to us again. I wanted you to be there, then. I wanted you to be there when Dad got sick. I wanted you to be there when I got shot. You weren’t. You can’t take that back.”
“I’m— I’m trying my best to do better,” he stammers, almost desperately, “but I can’t do that with you going back and forth, telling me one minute to call Mom and the next that there’s nothing I can do!” Olivia gives him a look.
“Bruce, I’ve been giving you the leeway to try here because you’re my brother and even if you’ve been a shitty one, I still love you, okay?” she hums, pressing her lips together as her patience wears thin. “I appreciate you trying to be better, but if you think that you can stick a band-aid on it and all those years of being ignored will just… go away, then I’m gonna have to disappoint you.”
Her gaze drifts slightly to the right, and on Bruce’s screen is an incredibly blurry, paused frame from the Battle. It’s vague, but she recognizes the silhouette of Loki at the tower. Her blood turns to ice.
“I’m gonna go work somewhere else,” she decides coldly, slamming her laptop shut and gathering it to leave. She doesn’t even bother to go back for the charger, heading straight for the elevator.
“Would you stop leaving?” Bruce exclaims, standing. “Every time I try to talk to you about this, you just shut me out and walk away! You can’t ignore me forever.”
“I leave because you turn it into a fight,” she states, continuing to walk. “Because you can’t take it that I won’t just pretend it never happened like you want me to. You can’t handle not being in control.”
“That’s not fair,” he protests, coming around the table to approach. “I just want to make things right.” Olivia scoffs.
“Right,” she agrees sarcastically, pressing the button for the elevator, “because taking control of my life for me is your definition of right.”
“I really don’t wanna hear about what’s right from you, of all people,” he scoffs, as the elevator dings open. “And you know that what you were doing was wrong.” Olivia rolls her eyes, turning to stand in the elevator facing the doors.
“Your ears are turning green,” she informs him matter-of-factly, pressing the buttons to close the doors and go down to the ground floor at the same time. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair with one last glare her way as the doors click shut.
Right, yeah. Of course this would happen right now.
Why does she always have to fight?