It took four interviews with four separate therapists before Ilona met one she clicked with-- Dr Xióng. It wasn't that the other three hadn't been perfectly nice people, or that they hadn't had plenty of experience (she was pretty sure the second doctor had seen more combat than Royce), it was just something about Xióng that... well, that she couldn't define.
She knew that she wasn't considered to be at risk; she was still cleared for field work, and her recent screw-up had resulted in nothing worse than a written reprimand and a shitload of low-level jobs. She wasn't being watched (at least, no more so than anyone else), and she hadn't been flagged as a danger to herself and / or others, so... yeah, things were okay-ish.
Her first appointment was in two days, and she wasn't precisely looking forward to it.
It was stupid, she knew. The doctor was there, the whole Psych department was there, to help agents be agents-- and that translated to being functional (if flawed) human beings. These people were colleagues, co-workers. They knew what could go wrong, how badly things could go, they were there to help, not judge.
She leaned her head against the window of the little barracks room, looking out at Beijing, trying to see it as the vibrant, fast-moving city she knew it was instead of the trap her brain was making it.
And that, genius, is why you're in therapy. It's time to get the world back.