Work Text:
Case A-0125
Bruce Banner sits on the couch, hunched in on himself. "I'm not sure how to reconcile the fact that my alter ego vehemently despises me." He spreads his hands out on his thighs, wipes his palms and curls them into fists again. "The Hulk is all rage and anger, it's difficult to tell if he understands anything else."
The SHIELD therapist hums and Bruce hunches forward further. "Have you tried talking to him?" The man suggests and Bruce decides to hate him just a little.
His ragged fingernails curl further into the skin of his palm. "I'm sure there are notes upon notes in that file folder you hold," Bruce snaps out. "I wrote most of them myself, actually. As such, you should already know that when I am not myself," he gestures to his wiry body. "that it is more like being asleep than anything else. I am a passenger without control, I am not myself." He leans forward then, as his voice tightens.
Bruce Banner's eyes are very green, the SHIELD therapist notices. That’s funny because he could have sworn Dr. Banner’s file stated they were brown.
Case A-0348
"This place is strange. You have so many restrictions and in the end, it does not matter. Your lives are meaningless, fleeting bugs upon a rock. My visit to the roots of Yggdrasil has taught me that even a life such as mine is unimportant in the way of all things." Thor's voice is loud and the therapist feels a headache building between her eyes. She also is sure she didn't slave away on her doctorate degree to play philosopher, but she'll take what she can get.
"But we can only know what we have experience before," she replies. Thor looks dubious and crosses his arms. "You have the experience of a longer lifespan, of not even being from this planet-" A thought occurs to her. “Who is Yggdrasil?”
“The tree of life and knowledge,” Thor answers pleasantly. “It holds up the nine realms and connects us all.” The therapist slowly digests this information.
She has to ask, for curiosity’s sake if nothing else. “There are nine realms?”
“Aye, there is you on Midgard, my home on Asgard, my brother’s place of origin called Jötunheimr and his daughter’s kingdom that is named for her. There is also the place for gods, Vanaheimr, and two for the elves, Álfheimr and the dark elves known as Svartálfaheimr. Niflheimr is a place of ice, Muspellheimr for fire.”
She'd been warned by her coworkers that it would be tempting to treat Thor like a fictional character. Now she was beginning to think the risk would lie in taking his words seriously.
Thor looked at her with bright blue eyes that were ancient. The therapist swallowed hard.
Case A-0674
"Is it warm in here? Is it just me?" Tony jumps up from his sprawl on the couch and starts pacing. "How long do I have to be here, Doc?"
The older man sighs at the frantic questions. He had figured that the eccentric billionaire would be a handful but he wasn't expecting an adult with likely undiagnosed ADD and certainly a host of other disorders.
"You're here for 45 minutes, Mr. Stark. Just the same as the others." He settles on replying with the facts.
Tony glances at his watch. “Oh great, only forty minutes to go then! Are you thirsty? We could step out, hold this little soiree at a great place I know, it overlooks Central Park, the service is fabulous, I promise-”
“No, please take a seat.” The therapist has been told that a firm voice will be necessary when dealing with Tony Stark and the advice wasn’t unwarranted. Tony drops down into the chair next to the bookshelf, steepling his fingers. “How often do you drink?” The therapist glances at the tabloids every now and again, the alcoholism is well-documented though never labelled.
“When I feel like it. My old man had the same problem.” Tony says defensively. The therapist notes this.
“Alcoholism is more common between generations. Have you found it affects your work with the Initiative?”
“It doesn’t,” Tony sullenly says. “I’m smart enough not to be hungover anywhere near Fury. Once was more than enough, thanks.” He rubs the side of his neck and the therapist notes that too. Clearly lingering trauma from something.
“You enjoy your job? Why would a psychologist with a PhD from Columbia settle for working for the government, you know private practice pays much more lucratively.” Tony questions. “Actually, you know what?” The billionaire peers closely at the therapist. “I will pay you double whatever Fury is for you to quit. Go take a vacation somewhere, lie on a beach, please get fantastically drunk, all you headshrinkers are horribly uptight, it’s awful, I hate it; How does that sound?”
“We have a half hour left in today’s session, Mr. Stark.” Tony’s manic grin dims a little and the therapist makes a note to consult the DSM-IV for all the signs he’s noticing.
Case A-1789
“How do you feel about being the only woman on the team?” The woman with short red hair stares coolly at him. She doesn’t answer. The SHIELD therapist tries another tactic. “Your file lists you as one of two deadman switches for the Initiative. How do you feel about that responsibility?”
This garners a reaction and it’s far from the one expected. Natasha smiles and starts to speak in a low voice. “It is not a responsibility, it is an honor. To be trusted with that power suits me, don’t you think?” She flicks her green-eyed gaze to the widening eyes. Her smile is a dangerous, glittering thing. The man nods in response because it’s all he can do with sweat prickling on his brow. He suddenly remembers that the woman seated in front of him has a reputation for killing with only her bare hands. “I asked for the assignment. I would much rather be in charge of death than have it hanging over my head.”
“But, Agent Coulson is in the file as both your handler and the one who will put you down if you go too far.” The therapist says, confused. He assumes Natasha knows her own file, she’s the type of control freak to probably have it memorized.
Natasha scoffs quietly and crosses her right ankle over her left. “He is good but it will not be enough.”
There’s no need to take that line of questioning further and the therapist ends the session there. At least there were no knives during their talk, unlike Natasha’s previous interview with her SHIELD-assigned therapist.
Case A-1946
“What have you found most difficult about the 21st century, Captain?” The therapists always start out with the same line of questioning. Steve is more than a little tired of it.
“I could give you the same answer as I told the other three doctors,” Steve sighs and rests his arms across his chest, “but I’m getting pretty tired of only telling you that I’m still confused by how microwaves work and why America needs so many godawful television shows. You all seem to forget, even though you use my title despite my telling you to call me Steve, that I lived through the Depression and fought in a war. I’m not exactly sure how a piece of paper,” his arm jerks when he points to the framed diplomas over the desk, “how that makes you qualified to tell me I have some problems with commitment or that I have a long standing fear of rejection or that my self-esteem is low even though my body now looks like this.”
Steve’s voice rises. “You have no idea what I would give to not be here. That’s not a suicidal thought, don’t you dare write it down.” His voice is like a whip crack.
“You cannot begin to comprehend what it is like to be so, so anachronistic where the ideals you lived for are no longer applicable. You can talk at me about the ‘American Dream’ - you do realize it’s even more unattainable now than when it was just me ‘n Bucky before the war? The cost of living is so wrapped up in materialism it’s beyond absurd. You call those soldiers nowadays ‘heroes’ and they don’t dare disagree but we both know they aren’t.* They haven’t killed, they haven’t fought like the Commandos and I had to. This modern day is all about blowing your own horn.
“How dare you even begin to tell me that I’ve got some mental problems when all you’ve done is sit behind a desk and look up symptoms in a list and diagnose by the best fit.” Steve’s fists clench convulsively and his face is red but it’s clear the rant is finished.
“I think we’re done here, thank you for your time Captain Rogers.” The therapist says calmly. Steve deflates a little and stands, throwing his jacket over one arm and picking up his motorcycle helmet.
“Until next time, Doc.” Steve gives a bright, easy smile that’s familiar from the reels of wartime propaganda.
Case A-2013
The therapist is picking up his pen when Clint speaks. He’s pleased it won’t be a session of straight silence like the rumors had alluded the marksman liked to pull but then the words register in his brain.
“You drive a white Chevy Malibu and park it directly behind your wife’s Lexus ES. You really should take it to the car wash place when you get off work tonight, you have no idea how tempting it was to write ‘wash me’ on the grimy back window. How does that feel, knowing that you work for an off-shoot of the government and yet your pretty doctor wife makes more than you? Well, I suppose SHIELD is the government and everyone knows the pay is crap. Lord knows the paycheck for wetwork ops isn’t near enough,” he smirks. “or rather, it wouldn’t be if I actually cared. But I don’t and that’s why I get assigned to the wetworks division on my down time.”
The therapist opens his mouth and closes it again. Clint’s smirk grows wider.
“Does your wife know you still take a smoke break every so often?” His blue eyes flick to the therapist’s coat, hung near the door. “All right, enough about the wife though she is a cute blonde. How you landed that, I’ll never know. You take exactly seven steps from your car to the garage door,” the therapist lets out a soft noise at the calculation and Clint pauses. “Hey, you know, I could tell you all about your evening routine if we had the time. But enough about you, you already know all about you.”
Clint shrugs. “So what do you want to talk about today?” The therapist points at the door instead of trying to find words with his heart stuck in his throat. Clint stands and strolls out, whistling a cheery tune.
- - - -
Agent Coulson gathers them all in the conference room.
“You all need to stop this. There is no competition, formal or informal, to see who can run off the SHIELD therapists.” He looks at all of them. Clint and Tony’s grins widen, Bruce frowns and Steve shrugs.
“I was being honest, I thought it was why they listened.” Thor speaks up. Natasha puts a hand over her mouth. Coulson is sure she’s hiding a smile and sharpens his glare. She smiles sweetly at him but he isn’t fooled. She’s reassigned more therapists to other SHIELD divisions, if not the private sector outright, than Tony and Thor combined. Clint is a close second to her in numbers but Coulson won’t be telling the marksman that statistic anytime soon. He also won’t be sharing that none of them have even come close to the number of therapists that Director Fury has sent fleeing.