In one of the many winding halls of Keaton University sits a girl. She is pressing herself tightly against a doorjam, hiding her face in her ams and sobbing. With her hunched shoulders shaking and her legs pulled up to her chest, it's very difficult to tell just who this girl is. Blond, highlighted hair that falls past her shoulders and a hoodie with the nickname "Hurricane" are the only things that might identify her.

Alexander almost trips over her and looks down.

"Here now, miss, there are better places to do that than in the middle of a hallway."

And outside his office, too. How inconsiderate.

Her sobs are interrupted abruptly when she hears someone's voice, when she looks up and notices that it's Professor Barclay, she tries to dry her tears and cool down her face. Despite her efforts, Katrina is still overcome by a number of things that she can't control. She takes deep, shuddering breaths that do nothing to calm her down and only serve to further upset her. There is no motion to stand from her position as she is still trying to stem her flow of tears while at the same time trying to look presentable to her professor. Neither of her objectives are being obtained.

Alexander does. Not. Know. What to do. However, he offers her a hand up and gestures towards his office with his head.

"What's wrong, Miss Sullivan?"

He almost called her Katrina, there, instead of by her last name. He almost gave away that he wants to gather her into his arms and let her cry, and then make her feel better.

He is NOT going to hug her. He refuses. Absolutely refuses.

No.

... I said no!

Aah, poor Alexander. Whether or not he wants it, or tells himself he doesn't, Katrina clings to him and cries into his shoulder. A hug, warm arms around her are really what she needs and wants. She was suddenly feeling awefully alone without her family, that compiled onto everything else makes Katrina press that much closer to him and the tears double. Her fingers grasp at the fabric of his clothes and she pushes her face into his shoulder.

"...I-I'm s-sorry.." for messing with any plans he might have, for crying, for getting his shirt wet, for clinging to him. Obviously, her words are heavily muddled.

His eyes and mouth make perfect saucers, and he pulls her into his office fast, before anyone can see him holding one of his students in the hallway. (It wouldn't be good for his reputation.)

That, however, is about the only rational thing of which he is capable, as the rest of him is caught up controlling himself and... gods... He can't think.

So he pats her hair and murmurs, "Shh, shh..."

What the hell is he going to do with this?

A stream of words and mutterings comes out of her mouth, but of course they can't be understood. After a while of simply crying on his shoulder, Katrina's sobs became shorter and less frequent. Eventually she was able to step back from her professor and wipe her eyes.

"Thank-you..sorry I broke down like that."

"It's... all right."

Alexander has an extremely odd expression on his face. He looks almost disappointed that she's pulled away... And then he's crisp and professional again, and the moment passes.

"What happened?"

She won't meet his eyes, instead they flit over random, unimportant things. The papers on his desk, the grain of the wood in a chair. Katrina crosses her arms in front of her chest, becoming self concious of her red, splotchy face and short shorts and of the fact that she has just cried on his shoulder. His shoulder.

"My dad's threatening to pull me out of Keaton.."

Alexander feels relieved and as if someone has just slugged him in the stomach at the same time. It's rather an odd combination.

"Why is that?" he asks carefully, gesturing for her to take the chair at his desk and sitting down in his armchair himself. Keep this on the same footing that he would if any of his students came to him for help. Yes.

Yes. He can do that. Right? Of course right.

... right.

"Ever since he heard about that teacher being stabbed to death he's been finding reasons for me to leave and he won't listen to me." She lets out a harsh, upsetting sound that's halfway between a laugh and a cry.

"I'm failing Chemistry so I can't even use my grades as an excuse to stay," there's an internal struggle for a moment while she gets a grip on her spasming lungs, "H-He wants to send me to a community college and keep me home for the rest of my life."

... ah yes, that's much how Alexander remembers Kevin... protective to a fault.

"Well... I have to say that I would feel uncomfortable if my daughter were attending a school where a professor had been killed." Pause. He's got to say this carefully. "But Professor Alley was killed in his home, not on campus. Keaton's as safe as any university in a big city."

Which may or may not be saying much.

"Why are you failing chemistry?"

"Could you tell him that? Please? He won't listen to me and he likes you better than he did the dean. He might believe it if you tell him!"

She doesn't like breeching this next subject, it makes her feel so incompetant.

"..Dyslexia."

Alexander's smile was wry and just this side of amused.

"That was not the impression I had from our brief meeting, but if you would like me to write him a note...?"

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OW.

Alexander feels like he's offering to stab himself in the gut. It hurts. It hurts a lot to have contact with Kevin, when he can't explain who he really is. Was. Whatever.

"I see... Who's your professor?"

"Could you?" What a cute, relieved face. Let's dig the knife in deeper, shall we? "Only he and my mom aren't home right now, they're visiting my sister at school. Could you call him?"

Katrina has the misfortune of having one of the hardest teachers in a beginning Chemistry course.

"Harbison."

"... certainly."

Alexander is reminding himself firmly that both Keye and Bo would do him some serious harm if he were to go out and get drunk, and he's considering what else he might be able to do to forget after he makes that phone call.

"What's the number?"

Pause.

"I see. Have you considered transferring to another class? It's early enough in the semester that you might still be able to do it."

She gives him the number to her father's cell. "Thank you so much," she smiles at him a little weakly.

"But all the tests come from the same book," she sounds dejected because she is, "They still expect me to know all the abbreviations.." She just can't do it. There's no way, not with the ones that look the same.

"You're welcome."

He tucks the number away and reminds himself not to forget about making that phone call, as he considers her quandary.

"I really don't see that I can be of much help to you, Miss Sullivan. There is a reason I'm teaching English, and it's not because I'm good at the sciences."

Pause.

"Try Moreno, if you change classes. And see about extra tutoring. That's really all the advice I can give you."

"Wait, didn't you tell my Dad you could help with my dyslexia?"

Please say yes, please please please.

He's so caught.

"... I said I could give you tutoring in my class... I don't know how I could help with chemistry. I haven't looked at it for years."

Not since he was in school.

"There are things you can do that should help with any subject, but..."

"But dyslexia's my main problem, please, if you can help me with that I can learn the abbreviations. And then my equasions will work like they're supposed to and I'll do fine. I'll switch to Moreno, I will, but that won't help my dyslexia!"

Can you tell that she's beginning to get desperate?

"Shh, shh, shh, calm down, Miss Sullivan." Please, you're going to make him jumpy.

Not that he isn't already, but that's not my point.

"For starters--you're going to hate me for this--but there can't be any more of that last minute studying all your texts at once."

She quiets when she's being told to, but is still pretty worked up. She has to bite her lip to keep silent. Just like her dad.

She knows she shouldn't do that, really, but with rowing and other things, she doesn't have the time. Actually, her real problem is that she can't apply herself to her studies. She'll do something if she has a set date and time, but otherwise just procrastinates, hangs with friends, reads a book, anything but to be studying.

Well, probably not that much like her dad. All things considered, I mean.

"I'm serious, Miss Sullivan."

Oh gods, he's going to drive himself insane. Well. Insaner.

"If necessary, we can schedule a specific time for you to study each subject, perhaps in here? How many classes do you have?"

He can't give her an enormous block of his time, of course, but he can at least schedule one specific time for each of her problem classes. (Would that be all of them?)

Maybe not all of them. The majority of them, at the very least. Katrina's not stupid, but she wasn't exactly at the head of her class, either.

"English, Chemistry, Maths and an elective. I don't think you'd be much help in ice skating..."

Three out of four. I consider that a majority, don't you?

Alexander manages a little half-smile.

"No, probably not." Pause. "Hm... I suppose I could arrange a time for you to come in for help with English..."

As for chemistry and math, that's more up Keye's alley. Although Alexander is unlikely to mention it, as that would involve complicated explanations.

He doesn't know she's met Keye, after all.

"Really? You'd do that?"

And don't worry about the complicated explanations, she'd only get confused. It's like working on a math problem, getting it right, and then when someone explains it you have no idea how to work it out anymore. She hates it when they do that.

"Yes, of course. There may be all manner of stories about how hard I am as a teacher, but most of them are told by those who never ask for my help in the first place. What times can you come in?"

Dig, dig, dig goes that knife.

Alexander wants to get really drunk tonight. He'll settle for a long brooding session, I think.

"Umm," trying to remember her schedule, "Five PM on Mondays and Wednesdays? S'that OK?"

Things are beginning to look up. At least she'll do her English homework now. She does well with obligations to people because she hates letting them down. Although, she has no problem with screwing herself over.

Ouch. Five pm is awfully close to the time he likes to go home, but...

"Let's go with Wednesdays. You'll have questions about two lectures by then, yes?"

And he doesn't want to spend the weekend dreading Mondays more than he already does. Spread out the pain, maybe it'll dull a little.

"Yeah," she nods.

"Um, do I need to pay you, Professor?" With currency, of course.

She could pay him with... No. No. No!

"Good gods, no. Your tuition already pays part of my salary, remember?"

Sit down, you loon. Except he's already sitting.

"Well, yeah, but this isn't..nevermind," she shakes her head, then tilts it with a smile. "Thank-you so much, Professor. You know..for everything you did."

"I haven't done anything yet," he reminds her. But there's that 'yet.' He is going to call Kevin, and he is going to see if he can help her do better with the schoolwork, but...

You know, Katrina's existence is a reminder to him of what he doesn't have, and how quickly Kevin seems to have forgotten about Alex. (The original Alex, that is.)

He needs a drink, so, so badly.

"Yes you have, Professor," she reminds him in her turn.

"You held me when I cried."

She turns and leaves.