Chapter Text
Dr. Minor, PsyD, has finally given up on me.
I've watched her prematurely pack her notepad into her satchel for the last three of our biweekly sessions. She has a rhythm. She thrums her long nails against the page of her notepad three times before giving her closing platitude. She has a list that I think she put together just for me.
This time it's, "No one blames you."
My lips tighten into a small smile, and I blink slowly.
Liar.
"I know," I respond softly. She knows I'm lying, but she doesn't insist like she used to. She closes her notepad and slips it into her bag before crossing her hands over her lap.
"Agent," she says in that tone that only therapists can truly master, the perfect blend of kind and detached.
My smile drops. She's breaking her rhythm, ruining the sanctity of our quiet time.
"I cleared you for the field on the condition that you attend these sessions," she reminds me.
I plaster that smile right back on my face and force my hands to stay relaxed at my sides.
She wouldn't.
"And I am so grateful for that, Doctor." I can play nice. I promise.
She gives me that small therapist smile, paired with a slight tilt of her head that practically calls me a liar, and I have to fight the urge to dig my nails into my thigh. She leans forward ever so slightly,
supporting her weight against the armrest of her chair and clasping her hands together.
Her posture says, This is going to be hard to hear.
"But you're not really here."
I clench and unclench my jaw in quick succession.
Keep that smile on.
I fan my hands out from my chest to my knees.
Are your eyes working, Doctor? I am resoundingly, embarrassingly here.
"You know what I mean," she says patiently. "These sessions are meant to help you heal. You've been given the tools, but they only work if you accept them."
"What exactly am I doing wrong? I've envisioned the healing ball of light, I've said the affirmations, I've done the breathing exercises. I've done everything you want."
"Yes, physically, you've been a star patient. But what about emotionally? I've yet to see any signs that you've confronted your trauma."
"I'm not traumatized."
I don't need to heal. I'm fine. I don't need to cry or share my feelings. What happened was part of my job, and I understood that going in.
"42, we both know the circumstances of that mission were different. You simply couldn't have been prepared for it."
"Maybe I'm more prepared than most."
"Look, 42." Dr. Minor glances at the clock on the wall. "Our time for today is up. I'm going to give you the week to do some introspection. But if I still don't see any progress by our next session, I will be pulling you from the field again. You'll have to file another appeal, and I won't be able to back you this time."
"I think that would be a major setback for my mental health," I say with mock sincerity.
Her expression hardens slightly.
"You can't threaten me with what you've already done, Arabella."
"Understood."
Dr. Minor is a genuinely nice person. I hate her.
She cleared me. Cleared me for missions that first-year Hunters could take on. Cleared me to work in large teams with fresh Captains who still weren't confident in giving orders.
The message was clear. They allowed me back on the field, but they didn't trust me yet.