The next day Tony worked through things with his doctor. He was tired. Just tired.

He avoided eye contact with the others. He just couldn't. He was alright with his doctor because Michaels always remained professional. But even he seemed 'concerned'.

He was pretty quiet in general. What could he say? 'I'm sorry you all got caught up in this'? 'Thank you for having my back', or 'could you please leave so I never have to look you in the eyes again'?

He could barely stand it. But he just went through the motions, not putting up much of a fuss, complying with most of the doctors' demands, going home in his car with the others in mostly silence, as Clint flew the quinjet back to base. For once in his life, he actually craved his sizably soft bed, to sleep, rest, or just look out to the city. Or maybe he'd do something to keep his mind occupied. But he was told no work for a little while, to give his body time to recover. He didn't really know how to do that. He was always working towards something; moving forward. Now he felt like…he was stuck.

Others were told the bare minimal. Rhodey he was grateful to see, but he realised he couldn't tell him much. Because he could not deal with that again; the 'shock' and the questions. He just wanted to get back to normal. Not that that would ever happen for him. He felt himself getting lower again, like this feeling of weariness, and pressing anxiety that he couldn't place.

His doctor, Michaels recommended his therapist even more this time. He'd recommended him before but he had refused several times. Michaels had suggested starting with a video call. Absolutely not.

He was confined to the tower. More specifically, his bedroom, the medical room and…not much else.

—

"What level of difficulty are we on again?" Tony asked.

"The new level you created, sir, because the previous levels of difficulty were not sufficiently challenging for you," Jarvis answered in his cool, slightly sarcastic voice.

"Yep," Tony smiled, looking down at the game with his hands on his hips. They were playing an interactive chess game in his spacious room.

"That's why it's taking longer than usual."

"That's why it's taking you longer than usual. Sir."
"Jarvis!" Tony said in shock. The sass in his AI was unbelievable. Only a reflection of himself, but still, Jarvis was impressive. "Though to be fair, you are programmed to play the best possible combination of calculated moves, so I think I'm entitled."

Tony looked at the game, from his side to Jarvis's and walked through the blue interface to his knight, which he moved hoping it would pay off. He set it down on the tile, and e s stepped back, sighing at the small ache it caused in his ribs, while Jarvis moved his bishop, taking one of his pawns.

Tony sighed heavily.

"I'd recommend some rest, sir," Jarvis advised.

Tony paced some more in his suite. He couldn't rest; he could barely get to sleep and when he did it wasn't restful, and he didn't really feel like doing anything.

"I think it's best you just go," Tony said bluntly, looking back to the blueprints Jarvis had laid out to him of his latest security system.

"Tony, you shouldn't be doing work-"

"Oh come on, this is hardly work, Rogers!" He bit back.

Steve looked at him, pressing his lips together. It was still weird seeing him in his trackies.

"You took your meds?"
Tony sighed, and clenched his teeth.
"Rogers…"
"Did you?"
"Yes, I'm not a child."

"Anything else you need help with? Tony, you know it's no trouble, for any of us. I'd do anything to he-"

"Just get out."
Tony didn't have to look at him to see his poor puppy eyes look. But he did look at him, and he pointed towards the door.

"If you want someone else-"

"Steve, I am really not good company right now. So, return to your jogging, training for the Olympics or whatever, and kindly – leave."
Steve breathed, eventually nodding. What Tony's view of training for the Olympics, was Steve's way of dealing. Partially, anyway. He had to do those things everyday.

"Ok," he said quietly, his hands on his hips, "I just thought you could do with the company, that's all."

"Well, I don't. Besides, I have Jarvis."
They both knew that wasn't really a good substitute. But Tony was sick of them being on his back all the time, especially about his work, which was a good distraction for him, and it didn't require much physical effort at the moment anyway.

"You know where I'll be if you need me."

Tony didn't look at him but waited until he was out of his peripheral vision and the door closed quietly behind him. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and put his head in his hands to steady himself. At some points, he just thought I can't do this. I can't fucking do this anymore.

Bad company was one word for it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I making you angry, Bruce?" Tony snapped at him from across his lab. Bruce stared at him, nostrils flared, looking down at his failed plate of trying to make Tony eat some food.

"I – I just-"

"Hey, what's going on?"

Tony took a very deep breath, that voice never failing to rattle him.

Clint was eating an apple, sauntering around casually.

"This isn't a children's area, Birdbrain. Haven't you got anywhere else to be?"
Clint lifted an eyebrow at him and Bruce.

"Well, no, actually, I don't," he said simply. Tony scowled and returned to his work on the bench, sitting down for the sake of his back, trying his best to ignore the others, as he hoped he was sending off waves that interpreted as don't come fucking near me.

"Hey, aren't you meant to be resting, anyway? That's what Natasha says," Clint said, "But she's on a mission."
"You know, why don't you go and join her then?" Tony said cuttingly.

"I wasn't invited," Clint said sulkily.

Bruce came over to Tony's table.

"You want some coffee? I'm just getting some," he said tensely.

"I can get it myself. Or, rather, Dummy can get it."

Bruce looked disappointed. Tony stood up.

"Where are you going?" Clint asked. Nosy bugger.

"To get some peace?" Tony replied, glaring at him while he grabbed his tablet phone.

"Hold up a sec," Clint said, putting his hand on Tony's arm.

Tony shrugged him off roughly, his face looking dark. He didn't say anything to Clint's confused face, but glanced at Bruce before taking off down the stairs.

"The hell was that about?"

"Don't worry about it," Bruce said. But he did.

Tony sees his therapist. Well, more like psychiatrist. Who he hasn't met before, but Dr Michaels said she's good, and was going on about it, so Tony just agreed, for the sake of it. Or maybe he realised that he really does need some help to get over this.

"I think you have unresolved mental health issues-"
Tony scoffed.

"Gee, well done, Sherlock. I'm definitely paying you enough," Tony said sarcastically, shaking his head.

The woman looked at him, smiling slightly.

"I was going to say…aside from your PTSD-induced anxiety. You know, from saving the world from aliens, and what not. Tony, what do you hope to gain out of these sessions with me?"

"Well, it would shut my friends up for starters," he huffed, "Especially Rhodey, he's really been getting in my face. Anything to stop him from feeling guilty – and even then, I didn't even tell him that it was on the night he left me to go somewhere else and-"

Her mouth was a little agape.

"Sorry, rambling."
She shook her head. "It's fine. It helps to get it out, sometimes. Though, talking slower might help, and we definitely have whatever time you need. But what I wanna know, is what you expect to gain from this, for yourself." She waited patiently, not looking him in the eye while he thought. Tony appreciated it.

"Uh, ok. I guess, to – to help me return to some…normalcy. So I can…uh," Tony searched for the right words. He didn't know.

"So I can…get over it?"

"I'll let you in on something, Tony."

Again with the first name basis, Tony was suspicious it was a 'connection-building' technique or something.

"The words 'get over it' are often not helpful, well, to anyone with mental health issues. And it isn't a helpful goal," she started, slightly frowning, "That's because it's not about getting over the problem, like you'd go over a bridge…But like tackling it head on, so you can plough through it… First, you need to address the issue. Then, we can work together to try and cope with the problems that come with that issue. That way, you can move forward with the issue, build coping mechanisms around it and able to live your everyday life easier. It will take time," she added, lines etched into her forehead.

"Too much time," Tony muttered.

"But it is worth it. Is it not?" She asked sceptically.

Tony looked at her, and past her head out the window overlooking New York.

"I don't know," he said honestly, staring out.

His psychiatrist sighed and turned over a piece of paper.

"We have some work to start. Have you noticed any change in mood lately?" She said, poised with her pen, "Perhaps irritability?"

"Huh. You could say that…"