Iron-Hawk Short Stories

you've never been to therapy?

Third Person's POV

"What do you mean you've never been to therapy?"

Clint audibly moaned and rolled his head back, "I mean I've never been to therapy. I've never had to."

He blinked and stared at the blonde for a short period of time taking in the information.

"Even after everything that's happened to you?"

They nodded and made eye contact with him, "I thought I told you psych cleared me."

"Because I thought that meant you actually sat down with a shrink and talked to them." He stammered and threw his hands into the air. "How the hell did they even clear you?"

"Have you considered I'm just mentally healthy?" Clint smiled slightly and turned his attention back towards the tablet in his hands. "Seriously Tony, I'm fine."

"But you don't even talk to me about your problems."

"And what problems would I have?"

"Your childhood, your job and everything in between!"

Clint scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I'm fine-"

"No you're not."

There was a pause and the blonde turned off the tablet before throwing it aside, "What makes you say that?"

"You're hurting, you always have, and you always will be unless you open up to somebody. You can't just cast aside your feelings no matter how easy it is for you."

His partner stared him up and down before smiling slightly, "you're really worried for me huh?"

"Why wouldn't I be !?"

Clint's smile lingered and the man bowed his head slightly, "look, if it makes you feel better, I'll go okay? I can't see it working out but I'll go."

His eyes fluttered, "really?"

"Yeah, help me find some therapists and I'll pay them a visit."

3 DAYS LATER

"Mr Barton, please take a seat."

He sat down on the couch across from the therapist. At first they had thought it would have been a logical choice for Tony to recommend the therapist he saw for years; but they eventually voted against it for the sake of objectivity.

"Can I ask what you hope you'll be achieving through therapy?"

He pursed his lips, unsure of what the answer was. "I-I don't know, my husband recommended that I went to see a therapist."

"And why do you think he wanted you to see one?"

He wanted to groan; he hated this tactic of pressing questions. "Because he thinks I'm this fragile little teacup that needs to be looked after."

They wrote something down and he raised an eyebrow, what the hell could they possibly be thinking of him?

"Has he always seen you this way?"

He paused briefly, "look, I'm sure you're great at your job but trust me you can't help me."

"And what makes you so sure that I can't?"

"You have my rep sheet right?" He forced a smile on his face, "I am not your usual kind of patient doc and to be honest, this whole therapy schtick is kinda boring. All you do is pile on questions atop of questions until eventually I run out of things to say."