Rose Red (An Avengers Fanfiction)

17

I hovered my hand over Nat's.

Dr. Franz watched with interest as I did so.

I had been working on my fear of human touch for a month now. It had been a month and a half since Agent Richards and Nat benched me. Until I could get my shit together, I was doomed to therapy.

Instead of dreading it, I decided that the best way to get back into the field was to swallow a bitter pill and get it over. To my surprise. It actually helped me.

My relationship with the team needs a lot of work and PTSD is lingering but I've made good progress with my phobia.

I was able to go into a busy restaurant during rush hour on a Monday.

So that was going well for me.

"Don't be afraid," Dr. Franz said. "This is a person you trust so no harm will come to you."

I took a deep breath and lowered my hand, my palm touching the skin of Nat's hand.

"There you go," she said.

I could feel her pulse underneath, it was steady and normal. My power stirred in my blood, begging to be released. I quelled it as I concentrated on bringing my heart beat down.

My powers didn't control me, they were a part of me but I wasn't ready to accept it just yet.

"Ok. Good. You can pull away now." Dr. Franz wrote down some notes on his pad. "You're doing well."

"I feel better. You know, I feel great. So how about signing my papers so that I can go back into missions?" I said with a fake smile.

"I say she's fine," Nat shrugged. "Kinda."

"As much as I want to put you back out there you still have something's you need to deal with, Agent."

I couldn't help but scowl. However, he was right. I still had issues and I didn't want to compromise myself out there on the field. I didn't want to give Stark anymore ammo than he had.

"You see, even though we were able to help you with your anxiety and phobia, your relationship with your colleagues is cold and may I say bitter. I mean besides Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton and Sargent Barnes."

Ah, yes. It seems that I prefer Assassins compared to superheroes.

"Wow, doc," I said. "Anything else you wanna say?"

"Don't take this the wrong way. You've made wonderful progress but those were just the symptoms. Unless we get to the root of your PTSD, all our hard work will come undone."

"So what do I do? You can't exactly make my PTSD go away. There's no cure for that."

"No, I'm afraid that's not how it works but that's why I'm here," he said as he cleaned his glasses. "I know that you still hesitate about what causes your PTSD and I can understand that but maybe talking about it might take some of that weight off your shoulders."

"And what if it doesn't?" I asked.

"Then we'll keep working at it."