RPlog:Harsh Realities

The Academy Library: The library is immense, with stacks and stacks of holodisks as well as stacks and stacks of physical books. There are tables every few stacks with comfortable chairs and their own light sources for personal study, as well as larger tables with multiple chairs for large groups, or simply large amounts of materials. Scattered about the room and connected to each desk and table are computer terminals and holovids for viewing the information in question and being able to access data that is not physically available in the library. Because of the fantastic view available on the grounds, there are only a few large windows in the building in order to keep down on the levels of distraction.

At a lone large table sits a haggard looking Corellian, all alone. The library is completely empty except for the sound of his voice and the computer before him, both speaking in Mandalorian, running through language interactions. His clothes are rumpled and there is a two-days worth of beard on his face. He looks suspiciously like he has not slept in those two days either.

Paul rubbed his eyes, hard, and stared at the text before him. Leaning back he closed his eyes and began to run through verb conjugations in Mandolorian. He recited them flawlessly, but seemed to take no pleasure from it. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder and Paul opened his eyes in surprise and turned to face the aged visage of a Mon Calammari ... his mentor from childhood, Molari Canto. The lined and worn face of Dr. Canto was sympathetic, his gaze firm and unyielding. Paul stared back for as long as he could before looking away. "Whaa-aat?" he asked in a voice that held the hint of a whining child.

The Mon Calamari chuckled lowly. "Ah Paul, haven't you learned yet that you can't win a staring contest with a Calamari?" There is a moment of silence between the two of them before the hand is laid once again on Paul's shoulder.

After the uncomfortable moment, Paul felt the hand on his shoulder grip him tighter, and the voice, in a more serious tone asked, "Paul, what is it?"

Paul shook his head and pointing to the holo cube in front of him replied, "Language lessons, what do you think?"

Dr. Canto tilted his head slowly from side to side. "Paul, do you realize what time it is? How long do you think you've been here?"

Paul leaned back in his chair, his gaze idly straying about the room for a chrono or a window, and finding none thought for a moment before replying, "I dunno, I came in this morning at about 8 or so ... and I would guess I've been here for about 6 or 7 hours ... so it must be about 3 pm or so?"

His father's old friend regarded Paul almost sadly for a moment before replying, "It's 2 in the morning."

Paul's eyes widened for a moment, and only a moment, before they became shuttered again and he replied casually, "Well you know how I can get when I'm studying."

Pulling up a chair, Dr. Canto sat next to Paul, regarding him soberly. Paul stared at the table in front of him. He was unwilling to return the gaze, knowing that those probing eyes would see more than he was comfortable with.

"What I know is how you usually arrive at studying." A brief touch on Paul's arm had him looking up into those huge eyes despite himself. "Paul, ever since you were 7 years old, you have always used your studies to avoid whatever emotional issues were plaguing you at the time. Over the years it has made you a good student, an excellent archeaologist, and a very lonely man."

At that comment, Paul jerked his arm from the grasp, his gaze narrowing and turning back to the table. "What would you know about it?" he mumbled.

The aged Calamari looked at the arm that he had tried to connect with, the man who had grown from a scared desperate boy into a scarred resigned man. He shook his head sadly, helpless not to resent the man he called friend and feel for Paul, the son that was neglected. He withdrew his hand sadly, recalling that even as a child, Paul had never quite trusted his offers of friendship. He stood slowly and then turned away, saying softly, "Well, don't stay up too late Paul ... you need your sleep even if you don't need anything or anyone else."

Paul looked up, watching his childhood mentor leave and felt the grip of guilt wrap around his heart. He knew that Molari meant well ... he had always been there for him, well at least when he had physically been there. The problem was, being a collegue of his father's, Paul always associated Molari Canto with yet another reason why his father didn't invest any time in him. Of course it had been difficult to resent the brilliant Mon Calamari. He had been one of the first individuals who acknowledge Paul's intelligence and natural language abilities, the first to encourage and inspire him. Paul had responded to the Calamari's attention like a flower to the sun, turning mutely in response to the glowing rays. Sighing softly, Paul now watched Molari leave the room and realized that he was right of course.

Pushing away the holo cube, Paul stretched out his arms and stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting back with a bang. "Alright then," he muttered to himself, "let's break a bad habit right now." Standing up, his chair screeching against the floor behind him, Paul headed for the door to get some fresh air, some starlight, and some insight.

He walked for a long time before he found himself strolling along the shoreline, the waves at this sheltered inlet lapping gently by his feet. Removing his boots, Paul strolled through the breaking water, his thoughts churning along with the surf.

Shenner. There were just so many different questions that needed to be asked ... needed to be answered. First off, was her spontaneous declaration due to an adolescent crush, in response to their passionate embrace, or was it something more than that ... did she ... could she ... really mean it? That was an uncomfortable question.

Paul's first inclination was that it was something of a combination of the first two. A crush was the most logical explanation. After all, Shen had only been around him for perhaps a week's worth of time, two weeks at the most. She had gone from hating him to liking him in that period ... and that in itself was pretty remarkable. That she could have flipped the coin completely and have fallen in love with him so quickly, well, it just seemed unlikely. It didn't help that all of their interactions had been colored by the events going around them. Tensions had been high, misunderstandings plentiful, and the need for comfort and an sympathetic ear had been more than evident. On top of that, Paul had a serious suspicion that Shenner had gotten closer to him than any other male in her life. He had become by turns a father-figure, a big brother, a mentor .... and, well, a distraction. Of course he hadn't been much help - his Corellian ego getting the better of him. Place on top of that the admission of being female and all that that entails, and well, hell, who could predict what effect that might have on a young girl becoming a young woman.

However, what if somehow, she really was in love with him. Paul stopped briefly, feeling a surge of panic pass over him. That was something a lot scarier. If Shenner actually was in love with him, then that would require a great deal of care on his part. If he was going to turn her away, he would have to find some way to do it that would be quick and as painless as possible. If he wasn't careful, he could hurt her badly. And if he didn't end it quickly, he could hurt her even more.

He stared up at the stars as he considered that this brought him to perhaps the hardest question ....would he turn her away? How did he feel about Shenner? Taking a deep breath, Paul slipped his hands in his pockets and frowned. This wasn't simple. If what he had with Serent was love, then he was not in love with Shenner. Since that was his only experience of being "in love", he didn't have much else to go on. He understood about lust, attraction, curiosity .... but love was another story. "Okay," he thought to himself, "if you can't figure out what you don't know, why don't you figure out what you do know?"

This was something his researcher mind had a better grasp of. The first thing he knew right off the cuff was that he definitely cared for Shenner. He wasn't exactly sure why - he knew that he felt comfortable around her. She seemed somehow more direct, easier to understand and relate to than most people he met. He didn't feel compelled to play a part when he was in her company ... well, at least not most of the time. That was part of it. She also had a keen interest in learning, and he a keen interest in teaching. It wasn't a trait that he had been previously aware of in himself. The fact that he could teach her something that would enhance her life ... that she absorbed with such enthusiasm ... well, he found that irresistable.

A more uncomfortable admission was that like it or not, he was attracted to her. In general he still saw her as something of a kid ... but there were moments where for whatever reason, he found her compelling. He replayed the kiss of the other night in his mind and found that even the memory of that kiss disturbed him. He hadn't been that drunk ... he knew exactly what he was doing. The only thing he didn't realize was how totally helpless Shenner had been. When he had pulled back and seen her practically prone in his arms he had been both outrageously aroused and completely horrified. He had no business seducing an inexperienced kid. What chance did she have against her own budding attraction and his years of experience? Turning her away had been hard but necessary. When she was practically pleading with him, insisting that she wanted him, he knew that he couldn't take advantage of her, that she didn't know what she was talking about. He had thought to scare her by telling her that he wouldn't have stopped. She was so innocent, yet her claim of being a whore's daughter and knowing "where all the parts go" alarmed him even further, backfiring his scare tactic attempt. He had hoped to escape with a modicum of composure, but her broken voice calling after him, "But I love you," rang too close to the core.

He stopped and growled, finding that he had walked himself into a rut. There were no answers here. Yes, he was attracted to her and liked her, but there was no way he was just going to have some kind of brief affair with her. She was too young and too fragile. She needed someone who would take it slowly, someone who could return her affections equally, someone who wasn't eleven years older than her and about to run out of town on an assignment. First love was hard enough without all of those complications. So, he rationalized, if that is the case, doesn't that make everything else moot? If you are not the right man for her, then that is the answer, no? Kicking at a wave in frustration, Paul found that despite it being the right answer, it wasn't the answer he wanted.

"Tough shit Dr. Nighman," he growled at himself. "You asked for an answer and you got it. Now you have to deal with it." Paul stared at the stars again and found himself once again wishing for his ship, his work, his old life back. Perhaps it was empty, but he had found that in some respects it was a lot easier and less frustrating. Turning back to the Academy, his pace more determined, Paul realized that no amount of hiding was going to solve this problem, and if he was going to end this, he wasn't going to be able to do it long distance. He'd have to go back and face the music.