"An Uncomfortable Discovery"

Log Date:
	12/2/97

Log Cast:
	Thomas Drake, Rellawy Woodlake

Log Intro:
	
----------
Drake arrives in silence, his footfalls stopping some distance down the 
  corridor. He says nothing, does nothing, simply stands there for a moment 
  inside the doorway.

The response to the arrival is as understated as the arrival itself. Rell is 
  there, and up out of her bunk; she sits at her desk, and is caught in the 
  act of looking up at the whishing open of her door. At some point, surely, 
  the quartermaster must have seen that she got sleeping clothes alotted her, 
  but if that has happened, Rell has either ignored them or has changed back 
  into her garb from Nar Shaddaa. The girl looks rumpled... tired... and 
  startled, at the sight of her visitor.

"Good morning," Drake breaks the silence, leaning against hte wall as the door 
  whishes shut again. "I see you naturally ignored my request that you 
  actually sleep during the night."

Rell stiffens slightly. "'Tis not long I've been awake," she answers, her 
  voice low and cautious. Her eyes, too, are wary, though as of yet she gives 
  no sign of why.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Drake cracks a slight smile for so early in the 
  morning, "I'm not here to reprimand you. How are you feeling?"

Rell starts a little -- clearly unused to her newly acquired rank. She doesn't 
  quite smile, and although her expression eases a trifle, her gaze remains 
  reserved as she replies, "A bit fuzzy, still. A bit... lost." And she 
  frowns, glancing away.

"Mmm." Drake regards the woman thoughtfully. "It all comes back to the 
  control, as we went over last week. Did you try clearing your mind, like I 
  had you do before?"

Her nose crinkles, as she looks back up. "Now, I suppose you're meanin'?"

Drake clears his throat. "I meant before," he answers wryly, "You know it 
  works without me standing right there, too."

Drake says "But better now than not at all."

"I didnae exactly have the chance, in the Infirmary," Rell mutters, once more 
  glancing away, her brows drawing together over the bridge of her nose. "I 
  ha' been... tryin', to steady myself, since I woke."

"Good enough." Drake drags his hand through his hair. "Try to do it on your 
  own, this time. Close your eyes, clear your head. Concentrate on yourself, 
  on the life immediately around you--on you and on me--and ignore the force 
  outside your quarters."

Rellawy's brow crinkles further, but she draws in a breath, and allows herself 
  a nod. Blue-green eyes drop shut; then, the girl's expression shifts more 
  towards concentration, away from weariness. But she seems to remain simply 
  what sits before the Jedi: a honey-haired young woman with drawn features 
  and old clothing.

Drake waits patiently for a moment, and then frowns. "Feel my presence," he 
  offers helpfully, "Feel the Force flow through you, Rellawy. Feel it around 
  you, on this ship, in me. Recognize the -life- without seeing it."

Propping an elbow up on the desk, Rell leans her head over into her hand, and 
  swallows once. Then she murmurs hoarsely, "'Tis Aaren I'm feelin'... he's... 
  still in me, my chest is hartin', tryin' to breathe for him. You, I can 
  feel, a wee bit... I dinnae know if this is what ye mean, when ye speak of 
  the Force."

That apparentely confuses Drake. "You ... don't know?" Kenobi always said 
  you'd know; so did Yoda. But they said lots of things. If Drake could only 
  /remember/. Without warning, he strides up to Rellawy and lays his hand on 
  her head. "Show me this feeling," he says dully.

Rellawy blinks, lifting her gaze to the man before her; for a moment, her eyes 
  flicker with another surge of wariness, before she bobs her head, once. And 
  as her eyes close, what almost dominates the girl's consciousness can be 
  located, begun to be sensed: lingering echo-memories of what it feels to 
  have lungs ruined, barely able to pull in and push out breath; a brain 
  barely able to regulate the functions of a broken body, interspersed only 
  occasionally by half-formed fragments of consciousness. Throughout it all is 
  an overriding cognizance of pain, and a wordless desire to sink forever down 
  into the dark. The feelings have brought a lump to the girl's throat, and 
  although she is striving to hide it, her eyes are pricking with unshed tears.

"That is his pain," Drake commands sharply, "You do not help him by suffering 
  for him--you merely create suffering where there was none and do nothing to 
  alleviate his. To aide him his acceptable; to become him is not."

Rell can be felt to stiffen again, and when she speaks, her voice has taken on 
  a husky edge. "There's naught else I can be doin' for him," she murmurs 
  roughly. Her eyes have yet to open. She swallows again, hard, then adds, 
  "If... if ye can be showin' me how to get him out from within me, I'll 
  learn, and gladly..."

"It is simply a matter of rejecting the feeling." Drake explains. "He is not 
  forcing the thought, the emotion on you. You are forcing it on yourself. You 
  must be able to accept his pain and his condition without taking the burden 
  of it on yourself. It is not your fault, your responibility. You cannot heal 
  the galaxy, Rellawy."

She seems calm enough, at least through those last few words; then, there is a 
  glimmer of dampness around Rell's closed eyelashes. Drawing in an unsteady 
  breath, she asks, "Can ye... be showin' me how to put your words to action, 
  then?"

"Steel yourself against it." Drake advises. "It is not so much a lesson of the 
  Force as it is a lesson of feeling. This is war--people get hurt. You must 
  have a great deal of self-control not to personally involve yourself with 
  every patient you come across. It may be that you have an instinctive 
  reaction, and that will take time to control, but it is more likely that you 
  *feel* the need to heal them, and that causes your ... 'gift' to activate."

Rellawy pulls in another long breath, briefly swiping the back of her hand 
  across her eyes, before sitting up in her chair. She lifts her head, but not 
  enough to meet Drake's eyes, and with a frown she observes, "I... dinnae 
  know if I even have time to _feel_ much, when it happens. I... go away..."

"It isn't The Force," Drake says abruptly. "I'm--I'm not sure, I mean it 
  doesn't...it doesn't work like it used to, not like Kenobi did it, it isn't 
  behaving, you don't do it the same way I do, I can't tell--" Drake quickly 
  withdraws his hand and takes a step back, frowning.

_That_ makes Rellawy look up, dampness in her eyes forgotten as she peers 
  unsurely at the Jedi. "Wha... what do ye mean, it's not the Force?"

"I mean," Drake answers, agitated, "That it doesn't work like Kenobi taught 
  me, it isn't like the Jedi healers, like he said they were. You don't--you 
  don't *use* the Force when you do it, you just do it. It involves the Force 
  because you're healing them, because it alters the life force, the -essence- 
  but ... you don't actually manipulate it any more than painkillers or a 
  band-aid does."

Rell takes this in, saying nothing. But her expression slowly changes, turning 
  more and more still... strangely controlled, given her apparent inability to 
  chase the ghost-sensations of Aaren Val'raen's broken form out of her 
  awareness. At last, her voice very quiet, she says simply, "Ye're tellin' me 
  I'm not a Jedi like you, then."

"I don't know," Drake grates--was it all for nothing? Did he really drag her 
  all the way here from Nar Shaddaa for this? "I don't know, I don't know, it 
  doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. I can't, can't explain it."

Rell, still seeming strangely distant, lowers her gaze and turns her head 
  slightly away. "Do ye see any way to be teachin' me, if you cannot explain 
  what I do?" There's no sharpness in the question; she sounds almost as if 
  she'd merely asked for an opinion on the color of her newly issued uniform.

Drake takes a breath, pauses for a moment, and releases it. "There is a way," 
  he says at last, "I'm sure of it. Nothing is untamable, Rellawy, not even 
  you. Least of all you. Especially you. Stars, I've had worse challenges, 
  you'd think I could teach one woman to keep her hands to herself."

Rellawy's cheeks abruptly flare pink. A wraith of a grin curls her mouth, 
  though she doesn't look up. "Ye sound like Major Morgan," she murmurs.

Drake laughs, a bitter sort of sound unusual for Drake. "No, Lieutenant. Major 
  Morgan is good at his job. I don't even know mine, and yet it is expected 
  that I will do it anyway."

Rellawy does look up again, then, once more taken aback. But this time, the 
  reserve in her expression softens a little, a glimmer of understanding 
  lightening blue-green eyes. "That is summat we're havin' in common, then," 
  she observes.

Drake arches a brow. "How ironic," he mutters, "I don't know, Rellawy, I just 
  thought--thought I could do something right, teach you like I was taught, 
  only you wouldn't screw up like I did. At first, anyway, that's what it was, 
  but maybe it's just an excuse."

The girl watches her visitor as he speaks, bemused by the turn his words are 
  taking -- confession of past errors, to her? Her own brows lift momentarily 
  over widened eyes; then, on unthinking impulse, she leans slightly forward 
  and says earnestly, "Look ye, now... dinnae go kickin' yourself for this, 
  when we've barely started. I... willnae expect ye to try to teach me blind, 
  but glad I'll be to take your help. I'd be lyin' to say I'm not frightened, 
  Tho... Captain." Only at the last does she falter a little, but she keeps 
  her gaze up.

"Maybe you're right." Drake allows tenatively. "I hope that you are, that I 
  haven't wasted time with this. I don't know, I was so sure--so sure there 
  was something different."

Rellawy gives a wan little smile, gaze still resting on Drake's features. 
  Relieved to have the sudden refuge of humor available, she suggests lightly, 
  "Well, if it's findin' somethin' different you were worried about, I think I 
  still qualify."

"Yeah," Drake mutters quietly with a weak smile, "That you do. I'm just not 
  sure it was the 'different' I was looking for."

A beat or two pass as Rell simply regards the young man before her, trying to 
  fathom the altered situation before them both. Her brow crinkles slightly 
  again, in thought, and then she offers, "Perhaps... if we must both be 
  findin' out... what I am" -- her voice roughens faintly, but she continues 
  on nevertheless -- "then perhaps I should be askin' to go ahead and have 
  that physical Major Matthias said they'd be puttin' me through." Her smile 
  lessens, perhaps in barely suppressed nervousness.

"Yeah." Drake repeats. "See what they can do for you. If they can't come up 
  with anything, I'll try to take another look some...some other time." He 
  turns swiftly to depart, "Goodbye."
Drake goes home.
Drake has left.

"Goodbye, Captain..." Rell murmurs at his retreating back, making no move to 
  halt his leaving. With the Jedi gone, the girl allows herself to sink back 
  shakily in her chair, to let some of her sternly suppressed tears make it 
  out to her eyes. And she allows herself to append as long as she'll go 
  unheard, _Thomas..._

[End log.]