The walls of the hospital were blindingly white, suspiciously bare and placid for a place that was supposed to offer at least the basest amount of comfort. To the uninformed, Bennington Sanitarium must have looked like a prison, with its lack of windows that weren't barred or sealed, keeping its prisoners -<span style="font-style: italic">patients</span>- from escaping. Even to someone like Ian who had worked there for the past several months, he couldn't help but be reminded of a penitentiary. Institutions were always such bleak places.<br/><br/>Unnecessarily expensive dress shoes padded softly on the tile floor, just barely audible over the sound of other doctors and wailing patients as he made his way through the halls of West Wing, his white coat trailing behind him as he took long strides to keep pace with Dr. August. Destery August was a respectable looking man, and if he hadn't known any better when they'd met, Ian would have guessed that he was just an extra in some elaborate hospital show where the lead medical professional was unbelievably attractive, like House or something. He hadn't been the easiest person to talk to, but Ian found that he enjoyed that just fine.<br/><br/>"You've familiarized yourself with her file?" August asked, though it sounded more like an expectation than a question. Ian hummed in response and the other doctor nodded his head in approval. Ian retrieved a manila folder from where it had been neatly tucked under his arm, flipping through pages as they turned another corner. "Mother died, she took a lot of responsibility taking care of her father. Took to pills and suffered a mental breakdown."<br/><br/>"And who brought her in?"<br/><br/>"The father. He was worried about her; didn't want her to die before he did."<br/><br/>"I see," Ian murmured to himself, flipping through one page to the next. He stopped walking and Destery followed suit, looking back over his shoulder at Ian before turning around completely. "Doctor, you're aware that I'm a more of a behavioral analyst and not a psychiatrist?" Dr. August nodded, but offered him no more. Ian rocked back on his heels and gestured to Emily Duncan's profile with his free hand. "This girl needs to detox and speak to a psychiatrist."<br/><br/>August held up a hand for him to stop. "I assure you that she'll speak to a psychiatrist, but you are one of the lead psychologists on staff.<span style="font-style: italic">She</span>needs a psychiatrist, but<span style="font-style: italic">we</span>need to make her as comfortable as possible during detox. She's going to have episodes, she's going to want to relapse, and I need you to figure out what she needs, when she needs it, and what's going to make her stay off of pills in the future." He looked at Ian,<span style="font-style: italic">really</span>looked at him. Ian only stared back. "You're a behavioral analyst, right? That's your job."<br/><br/>Nodding his head, Ian conceded and followed August the rest of the way down the hall they were in, coming to the second to last door on the left. The two doctors shared a look before Ian inhaled slowly, knocking twice on the door. "Emily? My name is Dr. Ian Baird. Can I come in?"