Private Broken. Bruised. Battered.

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah Lesan stood at the threshold of his home, the distant hum of Corellian night life barely reaching the isolated foothills where his compound lay. The place had remained untouched, exactly as he had left it—spartan, practical, but undeniably his. A fire crackled low in the hearth, the only warmth in a house that had long since grown cold.

He let out a slow breath and lowered himself onto a chair near the old wooden table. His battered, blackened robes hung from his frame, torn and singed from his battle with Srina Talon on Woostri. The fight had been brutal—his body bore the evidence. Bruises darkened his ribs, and fresh cuts lined his arms. The wound at his shoulder, where her blade had found its mark, ached with a deep, bone-deep throb. He peeled back the scorched fabric and reached for the medkit he always kept nearby.

His movements were methodical, precise. He'd dressed his own wounds a hundred times before, but tonight, there was a weight to it, an exhaustion that had nothing to do with the pain. His cybernetic arm whirred softly as he worked, the replacement for the one Srina had shattered in their last encounter. It was a reminder, just like everything else.

Judah exhaled sharply as he pressed a bacta patch over the gash on his side, leaning back against the chair, his gaze drifting toward the single framed holo on the shelf. Katara. Red hair, blue eyes, his wife, his heart. Gone.

The house had never felt emptier than it did now.

She would have scolded him for fighting alone again. For pushing himself too hard. For carrying burdens that no one man could bear. But she was gone, and he had never figured out how to fill the void she left behind.

His fingers curled into a fist as he pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the pain but refusing to acknowledge it. The fight on Woostri had been just another battle in a war that never seemed to end. The shadows were all he knew, and for all his grief, for all his exhaustion, he knew he wouldn't stop.

Tomorrow, he would move again. But tonight, Judah Lesan allowed himself to sit in the silence of his home, staring at the holo of the woman he had loved and lost, feeling the ache of wounds that bacta could never heal.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

The hills of Corellia stretched before her, quiet and undisturbed, save for the distant hum of city life far below. Valery pulled her jacket a little tighter around herself, shielding against the cool night air as she stood before the house. She had known Judah would be here — known, because men like him, like her, always returned to the places that hurt the most.

The house looked untouched, frozen in time. A place built for more than one, now occupied by a man who carried too much on his own.

Her knuckles struck against the wooden door. Firm, but not demanding. She could feel him inside, his presence like a low-burning ember in the Force. Diminished, but still there. The weight he carried was almost tangible — pain, exhaustion, something deeper. For a moment, she considered stepping back, giving him the space to grieve, to breathe.

But she knew better than to leave behind a friend, even if he had chosen to isolate himself. Hands slipping into her jacket pockets, Valery waited for him to open the door.

She knew he had already sensed her, too.

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

​

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah hesitated, his fingers resting lightly against the table as Valery's presence pressed at the edges of his awareness. He had felt her approach long before she knocked, familiar as the ghosts that haunted this place.

For a moment, he considered ignoring the door. Letting her stand outside in the cold, giving her the space to decide whether she really wanted to be here. But Valery wasn't one to leave easily. She never had been not in war, not in the field, and certainly not when it came to those she called friends.

And they had been friends.

More than once, they had pulled each other from the fire, covering each other's backs on missions that had gone sideways. The kind of fights that weren't won with lightsabers alone but with trust, silent and unshakable. He had trusted her then, and maybe, despite everything, he still did.

With a tired sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, the movement pulling at the fresh bandages on his side. His cybernetic hand whirred softly as he reached for the door, pausing for just a heartbeat before pulling it open.

She stood there, steady as ever, jacket pulled tight against the chill. The weight of experience sat in her eyes, a reflection of his own. Judah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest not quite barring entry, but not throwing the door open either.

"You always did have a habit of showing up when I least expect it," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion, but not unkind. A wry smirk ghosted across his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then again, I should've known better. You always did know where to find me."

It had been some time since their last mission together, since they had fought side by side in the dark places of the galaxy where no one else dared to go. Yet, as he looked at her now, it was like no time had passed at all.

Judah exhaled slowly and stepped back just enough, leaving the door open. No words were needed. Valery wasn't leaving, and maybe, just maybe, a part of him was glad she had come.

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery smirked as Judah stepped back, leaving the door open just enough for her to take it as an invitation. "Good thing you let me in," she mused as she stepped inside, her tone light, teasing. "Would've been a real shame if I had to break your door down." She glanced at him as she passed, eyes sharp despite the warmth in them. It wasn't an empty joke — she would have gotten inside one way or another. She had found him, after all. She always did.

Pausing just past the threshold, Valery took a slow breath, letting the silence settle between them as she took in the space around her. There was something heavier about it all — memories thick in the walls, lingering in the quiet corners. It was a house that had been lived in, and yet, it felt like a place left behind.

She hummed softly, hands slipping into the pockets of her jacket.

"Looks as I'd expect," she murmured, her voice dipping into something quieter, thoughtful. Her eyes flicked back to him, studying the exhaustion in the set of his shoulders, the bandages beneath his torn robes, the weight that hadn't quite left his eyes.

"But you don't," she noted. Not unkindly. Just the truth.

But she wouldn't push just yet. Instead, she moved toward the table and leaned a hip against it, crossing her arms loosely. "So," she tilted her head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips again. "What happened out there? On Woostri?" She asked, a mix of concern and curiosity in her voice.

No matter what, she'd be here for him.

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah huffed a quiet chuckle at her remark about breaking down the door, shaking his head as she stepped inside. "Would’ve been a hell of a way to say hi," he muttered, closing the door behind her. "Can’t say I’d be surprised, though."

He watched as Valery took in the space, reading the unspoken things in the silence between them. She had always been good at seeing beyond the surface, at knowing when to push and when to wait. It was why they had worked so well together, and why they had survived more missions than they should have.

Her words—but you don’t—struck deeper than he liked, but he didn’t flinch. Just let out a slow breath and crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall as she moved to the table.

Then she asked about Woostri.

For a moment, he said nothing. The battle played out in his mind in flashes of fire, water, blood. The hum of his lightsaber, the sharp sting of Srina’s blade, the sound of his cybernetic arm scraping against the glassy beach. The presence of her, a ghost from another life, bearing down on him like a force of nature.

His jaw tightened, and he finally pushed off the wall with an audible wince, moving toward the table where Valery leaned.

"It went about as well as you’d expect," he said, voice edged with dry humor, though the weight behind it was unmistakable. "Jedi holding the line, Sith pushing in. Chaos. A nightmare I won’t be forgetting anytime soon."

He exhaled sharply and gestured vaguely toward himself.

"Didn’t come out of it unscathed, as you can see." His gaze flicked to her, meeting those sharp eyes of hers. "But I survived. That’s what matters, right?"

It was half a truth, and he knew she’d see through it. Because it wasn’t just the wounds that lingered. It was her. Srina. The past he had buried, now staring him in the face with cold silver eyes.

Judah dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. "What about you? You just happen to be in the neighborhood, or did you decide to check if I still had a pulse?"

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery watched him closely, catching the way his jaw tightened, the weight in his voice despite the humor laced through it. Judah was a survivor — he always had been — but that didn't mean he left battles behind unscathed. And it wasn't just the wounds on his body she was worried about.

Her smirk softened, just a little.

"You surviving was never in question," she murmured, tilting her head. "But I know you, Judah. Getting hurt is one thing — it happens, we've both had our fair shar e— but isolating yourself?" She glanced around the quiet, untouched space, then back to him. "That's different."

She shifted slightly against the table, arms still loosely crossed, voice careful but unwavering.

"I wanted to check on you. See how you were actually doing, not just get a report on what happened." Her gaze searched his, a quiet certainty in the way she looked at him. "Because I know when you pull away like this, it's never just about the fight. About the physical side of it." She let that settle, giving him room to answer — or not. If he wanted to tell her what was really weighing on him, she'd listen. If he didn't, well… she'd still be here. That much was never in doubt.

Her lips quirked slightly again, a teasing edge starting to form, "Besides, somebody's gotta make sure you don't completely turn into a brooding hermit." She arched a brow, smirking. "You're already halfway there."

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah let out a breath, half a chuckle and half something else, shaking his head at her teasing.

"Halfway there?" he mused, tilting his head. "I think I passed that mark a long time ago."

The humor was fleeting. She saw through it, the same way she always had. That was the thing about Valery, she didn’t let him get away with deflection. She never had. Maybe that was why he didn’t brush her off now.

He turned slightly, bracing his hands against the edge of the table, fingers curling against the wood.

"It wasn’t just the fight," he admitted, his voice quieter, heavier. "It was her."

He didn’t have to say the name. Valery would know.

"Srina."

Judah’s cybernetic fingers flexed instinctively, the memory of their last battle still fresh in his mind. He could still feel her there, cold and unyielding, pressing down on him with a power that had nearly crushed him. But that wasn’t the worst part. The fight had ended. The wounds would heal. It was after, when he had been left in the dark, unconscious and vulnerable, that it happened.

His jaw clenched.

"I don’t know if it was real or some twisted trick, but… she was there. In my head." He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet Valery’s gaze. "It was like being pulled into something else, somewhere else. I woke up on Woostri, but for a while, I wasn’t there. I was… with her."

His voice dipped lower and grew a little rougher.

"She spoke to me. Showed me things. The Nether, Kat’s death, everything she suffered. I felt it, like I was there. Like I killed her myself." He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "And the worst part? I don’t think she was lying."

Judah let the words hang in the air, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He had been haunted before, by the past, by the choices he had made, by those he had lost. But this? This was different.

His gaze flicked back to Valery, searching her face for something, understanding, maybe, or just confirmation that he wasn’t losing his mind.

"So yeah," he finally muttered, his smirk from earlier nowhere to be found. "You’re right. It’s not just about the fight."

His eyes fell away.

Judah winced again, grabbing for his side. Some of the wounds were too difficult to reach.

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery didn't say anything at first.

She just stood there, watching the weight of his words settle into the space between them. Her heart ached — not just for what he had been through, but for how familiar it felt. That kind of violation. That helplessness. That guilt, even when you knew you hadn't done anything wrong, because the pain still found its way in and made a home out of your chest.

She understood.

So when he looked away, jaw clenched and hand at his side, she finally moved.

Her arms wrapped around him in one smooth motion, one hand slipping to the back of his neck, the other pressed against his back with quiet, anchoring pressure. It wasn't a fleeting hug or a comforting pat on the shoulder. It was something real. The kind of hug that said I'm here. You don't have to carry this alone anymore.

"You're not crazy," she murmured against his shoulder. "And you're not alone." She held him there for a few moments longer, not rushing him, letting him breathe. Letting him be. Then, slowly, she pulled back — just enough to meet his gaze again, her hands sliding to his arms to steady him. Her expression was soft, the lines in her face carved by experience, not judgment.

"I can't undo what happened. I wish I could," she said gently. "But I can be here for you. To talk, to listen or just to offer a friendly face to get through it all." She offered him a faint smile — warm and unwavering — then gestured toward the small seating area by the far window.

"Come on," she said, a little more lightly this time. "Let's just sit for a bit."

No titles. No battlefield.

Just two old friends, and time to breathe.

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah stiffened, just for a moment, when Valery wrapped her arms around him. He wasn't used to this. Not anymore.

The war had carved something out of him, left him with wounds that weren't just on his skin. He had spent so long on the fringes, moving through the galaxy like a shadow, never staying, never letting anything settle too close. It was easier that way. Safer.

But Valery was close.

She always had been, in her own way. The only one who still checked in, who still reached out, who refused to let him disappear completely. The last real tether he had to the Jedi, to the life he had once lived before everything turned to ghosts and war and loss.

Slowly, his tension eased. His cybernetic hand hesitated before settling lightly against her back, the other gripping the fabric of her jacket for just a second before letting go. He didn't say anything, didn't move to pull away, just let himself be in the moment, let himself feel something other than exhaustion and the ever-present weight of the past.

And then, just as easily as she had closed the space between them, she pulled back. It was just enough to meet his gaze. Judah let out a slow breath, watching the way she steadied him, how her words carried no judgment just quiet understanding.

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he was very alone. It was an argument Judah decided not to have. Valery wasn’t going to give up any ground, not until she knew he was better.

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something close.

"You always were stubborn," he muttered, shaking his head. "Never could leave well enough alone."

Judah huffed, shaking his head, but he didn't argue. He let her guide him toward the seating area by the window, lowering himself onto the couch with a sigh. His body ached, his mind heavier than it had been in a long time, but for the first time since Woostri, it didn't feel like he was drowning in it.

His gaze flicked to Valery as she settled in beside him.

"You really think just sitting is gonna fix me?" he asked. "Well, if you really wanted to help, you could've offered to patch me up. Some of these spots are hard to reach, you know."

In a way, she had already begun to help. There places and wounds Judah could not reach no matter how hard he tried. The physical would heal, but Valery wasn't here to help patch what bacta or the force could mend. She was here to heal his soul.

For all the distance he had put between himself and the Jedi, for all the ways he had cut himself off from the Order, Valery had never let go. And maybe, just maybe, that was why he was still here.

For now, at least, he wasn't alone. And maybe that was enough.

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery settled beside him, the quiet creak of the couch barely audible over the hum of the city outside the window. She didn't speak right away. Just let herself breathe in the silence — the kind that came not from absence, but from understanding.

Then, she smirked, "Damn right I'm stubborn," she said, flashing him a sideways grin, her tone light but fond. "And lucky for you, I'm not going anywhere, so you'd better get used to it." She let her gaze drift out briefly, watching the way the light filtered through the glass, painting long golden lines across the floor. The weight between them had lifted slightly, not gone — it wouldn't be, not yet — but eased enough that it no longer threatened to pull him under.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her knee, thoughtful, steady.

"No, just sitting won't fix things," she admitted softly. "But it's a start. It gives you space to feel. To breathe. And when you're ready… maybe letting others in again will help, too." She looked at him then, warm and steady. "Friends. Family. Whoever you need around you."

She knew how hard it was — reaching out, trusting again after everything. But she also knew that isolation was its own kind of wound. And if there was anyone stubborn enough to pull someone back from that edge, well… he was sitting next to her.

Then, her smile shifted, something softer curling at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm also not going to let you sit here, injured," she added, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "If you can point me to where it hurts — I've got some patches on me."

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah let out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle.

"Lucky me," he muttered, shaking his head, though the usual sarcasm lacked its usual edge.

The hum of the distant city outside filled the quiet between them, the kind of silence that didn't feel heavy or expectant. It was just there. He wasn't used to the stillness. The idea that someone would sit with him in it, instead of filling the space with empty words or walking away. Judah was always on the go, always talking, always doing something. The Shadow could not remember the last time he had just… sat.

His gaze drifted toward the window, watching as the fading light cast long golden lines across the floor. He had spent so much time running, moving from mission to mission, war to war, never letting himself stop long enough to feel the weight of it all. But Valery had found him anyway. They always seemed to know where to find the other.

His fingers flexed absently, rolling his shoulder

"Letting people in is how you end up with holes in you," Judah muttered, only half-joking. "Trust me, I've got plenty of experience with that."

His body ached, the bruises and burns from Woostri were still healing beneath the bandages he had wrapped haphazardly around himself. He had patched himself up the best he could, but some wounds were harder to reach.

Judah exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, with a smirk, he shifted slightly, lifting an arm to gesture toward his side.

"Since you're already here, might as well make yourself useful," he said. "Cracked ribs, maybe worse. And my back, I can't quite reach that one. Figured you might want to help, since you're so persistent."

There was no immediate reply, just a movement that was quiet and steady. Judah lifted the shirt he'd put on to answer the door before letting himself lean back slightly, allowing the help without argument. The war had taken a lot from him, left him more alone than he ever wanted to admit. But maybe, just for now, he didn't have to be.

Judah should have told Mal what happened. He should have called her. The Jedi was still hiding. The nightmare had been too much of a reminder that those close to Judah got hurt or died. His isolation would protect them all.

Despite the teasing, despite the sarcasm, there was something unspoken in the air between them, a quiet acceptance. It was an unspoken thank you.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for not leaving.

Thank you for making the silence feel a little less empty.

Judah should have told Mal what happened. He should have called her. The Jedi was still hiding. The nightmare had been too much of a reminder that those close to Judah got hurt or died. His isolation would protect them all.

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery shifted slightly as Judah raised his arm, lifting the shirt out of the way. Her gaze dropped — purely professional, of course — but it lingered a fraction longer than necessary. The bruises and burns across his torso were what she focused on. Definitely. Not the lean muscle beneath, or the way the light played against his skin through the blinds. Definitely not that.

Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smirk.

"You've still got the nerve to make jokes, so you'll live," she said lightly, but her tone was laced with warmth, a gentler edge. She reached for the medpac she'd brought and began working — cleaning the scrapes, applying bacta patches, careful not to press too hard against the worst of the bruising. Every so often, her fingers brushed against him, steady and sure, grounding them both in a way that didn't need words.

"You'll start feeling better soon," she said after a moment, gently pressing the final patch into place. "Not all at once. But it'll come." The silence between them settled again, not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. And as she sat back just slightly, eyes tracing the worn edges of his space — the quiet, the solitude — she tilted her head and asked,

"Why do you live all the way out here?" Her voice was soft, but curious. "I mean, I get the whole lone wolf Jedi Shadow thing, but this place… it's not just remote. It's isolated."

Her gaze met his again, searching for an answer.

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah huffed a quiet laugh, though it was cut short by the sharp pull of his ribs.

"If cracking jokes is the standard for survival, I must be immortal," he muttered, smirking despite himself.

He let her work, letting the silence settle between them. She was methodical, careful, but there was something else there. It was unspoken in the way she lingered just a little longer than necessary. He caught it, the way her gaze flicked across his injuries before shifting, like she was making sure to focus on the task and not anything else.

The warmth of the bacta patches seeped into his skin, easing the worst of the aches. Not enough to make it all disappear, but enough that he could breathe a little easier.

Her question, though, was what made him pause.

Judah's smirk faded at the question, his gaze shifting past Valery, settling somewhere distant. For a long moment, he didn't answer. Just let the silence stretch, the weight of it pressing against his ribs more than the bruises ever could.

"This place isn't just some hideaway," he said finally, his voice quieter, rougher. "I bought this land with Katara. We built our life here."

His fingers curled slightly against his knee. The memory surfaced unbidden of Katara's laughter echoing through the halls with the sound of little feet running across the wooden floors.

"JJ was raised here. His first steps, his first words… all of it happened in this house."

His throat tightened, and he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"It's not about the isolation, Val. I'm not here because I want to be alone." His gaze flicked back to her. "I'm here because I could never give this place up. No matter what it reminds me of, no matter how empty it feels now, it's still home."

Judah let the words settle between them, unfiltered, unpolished. He wasn't the type to spill his thoughts so freely, but this? This was different. This wasn't some battlefield confession or a fleeting moment between missions. This was his life. And whether it hurt or not, he'd hold onto it with everything he had.

"That's why no matter how hard I try, I can't move on. Attachments are dangerous, but not for the reason the Jedi of old taught."

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery didn't speak at first and just listened. Her gaze never left his face, even as his own shifted to somewhere far beyond the walls of his home. Somewhere distant and unreachable — the kind of place only memory could take you. And as his words spilled out, soft and heavy, she felt the ache of them. Not because she had lived his pain, but because she understood the shape of it.

Family. Love. Loss.

The kind of bonds that made you whole… and could tear you in half just the same. When he finally fell quiet, Valery let the silence settle again — not heavy this time. Then, gently, she reached out and placed her hand over his again. No pressure. Just presence.

"I get it," she said softly, her voice warm. "I really do." Her eyes flicked around the space — the quiet corners, the photos tucked into the edges of furniture, the weight of lives that had once filled these halls.

Her voice wavered just a little. "If I ever lost Kahlil… or the kids…" She shook her head, the emotion held tightly behind her eyes. "I wouldn't leave our home either." Her fingers curled slightly around his, grounding them both in that shared understanding.

"I don't believe it's a bad thing to hold onto it," she continued, "As long as you don't get lost in those memories. In the past." There was always something to still live for, after all. He still has family, and he still has friends.

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah's fingers tensed slightly beneath Valery's, but he didn't pull away. Her touch was grounding, a quiet tether to the present when everything in him wanted to drift. The nightmare which he had experienced on Woostri still made him question what was real versus what was fantasy.

This… it had to be real.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough but honest. "You get it."

And she did.

That was the part that always caught him off guard. She understood without him needing to explain. The way she didn't try to fix it, just sat with him in it. Judah had spent so long running missions, moving through the galaxy like a shadow, convincing himself that no one could really know him anymore. Valery saw through the armor. Always had. She was a shadow herself. The woman knew the routine.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, an absent movement, but one he didn't stop.

"I'm not lost in the past, Val," he said after a moment, though his gaze still flicked toward the photographs in the quiet corners of the home he'd built with Katara. "I just don't know what the future is supposed to look like without them."

There was no anger in his voice, no bitterness, just truth. He had built a life here, a family, and he had ripped it all apart. Now he was just a man sitting in the ruins, trying to figure out what came next.

His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the humor tired but real.

"Besides, someone's gotta keep the place in one piece for JJ. If I let it fall apart, I'm pretty sure he'd come back just to kick my butt."

But even as the words left his mouth, his focus wasn't on the house, JJ, or the weight of everything he'd lost. It was on her.

The way her fingers curled around his, warm and steady and the flicker of understanding in her eyes reminded him of Katara too often. The way she was here and refusing to let him disappear into the solitude he'd wrapped himself in was just like the Redhead he'd married so long ago.

And suddenly, he wanted to kiss her.

The thought hit him fast and sharp, cutting through the haze of grief and exhaustion. It wasn't something he'd planned or something he'd let himself dwell on before. But now it was lingering in the space between them, in the quiet weight of her touch, and in the way she stayed.

His fingers tightened slightly around hers, jaw clenching as he forced himself to look away and to shove the thought back down where it belonged. Valery was his friend. That was all they would ever be to each other. Nothing about the grief motivated desire was right. The nightmare still lingered, and Judah's mind was still compromised.

But damn it if it wasn't tempting. It was really more a reminder of how lonely Judah had let himself become.

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery felt his thumb move across the back of her hand — a subtle gesture, absent-minded maybe, but real. Grounding. Her fingers stayed where they were, not pushing, not pulling. Just there. She listened as he spoke, heard the truth in his voice when he said he wasn't lost in the past — and she believed him. Still, she could feel the uncertainty in him. Not like a weakness, but like a man trying to navigate without a map, charting new territory without a compass. Grief did that to people. It unraveled the future and made even the brightest lights feel far away.

And then… the shift.

It wasn't in his words. It was in the way his fingers tightened around hers. In the way his eyes flicked away, jaw clenched just enough that she noticed. The kind of moment that existed just beneath the surface — silent, but impossible not to feel.

Valery's breath caught for a heartbeat. Just a flicker of stillness.

She didn't pull away all at once. But after a quiet pause, she gently began to slide her hand back from his, fingers trailing just slightly against his before she rested them in her lap. Her expression hadn't hardened, hadn't grown distant — it was warm. Kind. Understanding. She knew what that moment was. She just wasn't going to let it become something they'd regret. Still, her voice was soft when it returned, and her smile — if anything — was even more sincere.

"Can I stay a little longer?" She glanced toward the window, the light casting long, golden shadows across the quiet room. Her eyes returned to his, steady as ever. "Maybe we grab something to eat. I'm not in a rush, and it would be fun to catch up some more." Valery wasn't here to fix what had been broken. She couldn't replace what he lost.

But she could be here.

And she wasn't going anywhere.

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah exhaled slowly, the tension in his jaw easing as he let the moment settle between them. He didn't need to say anything—Valery had already felt it, already understood. That was the damn thing about her. He didn't have to explain himself, didn't have to spell out what had flickered in the space between them just now.

And she wasn't going to call him on it, either.

His fingers curled into a loose fist where hers had been just moments ago, the warmth of her touch lingering longer than it should. But when he looked at her again, saw the sincerity in her expression, the quiet understanding in her eyes… he didn't feel embarrassed. Didn't feel the need to apologize or pretend it hadn't happened.

Judah huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from the couch.

"Alright, but if you're staying, I'm cooking." He shot her a pointed look. "I don't even know if you can cook or not."

He stretched slightly, rolling his shoulder to work out some of the stiffness from earlier, then nodded toward the kitchen.

"Come on, I've got enough to put something together. Just don't expect anything fancy."

The truth was, he liked cooking. It was simple, something he could control when everything else in his life felt like it was slipping through his fingers. And right now, having company, sitting in his home like they belonged… it felt like something solid. Something real.

As he moved toward the kitchen, he glanced back at her, smirking. "You can help, but only if you promise not to set anything on fire."

Judah made his way into the kitchen with the slow, deliberate movements of someone still nursing more than a few bruises, but he didn't complain. The cabinets creaked softly as he opened them, pulling out what he needed with the kind of familiarity that spoke of a man who'd made this same meal dozens of times before.

He grabbed a bundle of vegetables: thin Corellian peppers, sweetstone carrots, a few stalks of nerfleaf, and set them on the counter beside a pack of dried flat noodles. The knife was already where it always was, tucked near the cutting board, and with a soft breath he began chopping, the rhythmic sound of blade against wood filling the quiet.

The colors were vibrant, a little splash of life in a house that had seen too much silence.

Steam started to rise from the pot he set to boil, and before long the smell of garlic and sizzling oil drifted through the kitchen as he tossed the chopped vegetables into a pan. He didn't speak right away. He didn't need to. There was something peaceful in the process. The careful stir of ingredients, the soft hiss of the noodles dropped into water. Each step done from memory, no recipe needed.

Eventually, he glanced over his shoulder toward Valery, still smirking faintly.

"I used to make this for JJ and Katara on nights we got home late," he said, voice low but not mournful. Just… remembering. "Simple. Quick. They liked the peppers a little burnt."

He stirred the pan once more and added a splash of broth, letting the scent bloom through the air before adding, without looking at her.

"You'll like it. I promise."

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery blinked, then laughed — an easy, melodic sound that filled the quiet space between them. "No promises about the fire," she quipped, rising from the couch with a fluid stretch of her arms overhead. "But I can cook. I've got five picky eaters at home and a husband who starts judging seasoning levels like it's a sport. I've learned a thing or two."

She padded after him into the kitchen, watching as he began to prep with practiced ease. The movement, the rhythm of it — it suited him. There was something comforting about the way he handled each ingredient, like it was muscle memory. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she stepped closer and leaned lightly against the counter, arms folding.

"You know, this is kind of nice," she said softly. "Not fighting a war. Not chasing shadows. Just… garlic, noodles, and threatening to set things on fire in someone else's kitchen." She smiled, warm and wide, and without waiting, reached for one of the carrots to start peeling — expertly, thank you very much.

When he mentioned JJ and Katara, her eyes flicked up to him, gentler now. "They were lucky," she said, voice dipping quieter. "To have you. To come home to this." She gestured with the carrot to the sizzle in the pan. "Even burnt peppers and all."

She grinned again and bumped her shoulder lightly against his before tossing the peeled carrot aside with flair and mock-seriousness. "Now let's see if this mystery dish of yours actually lives up to the hype, Lesan."

A beat.

"And if it doesn't…" She leaned in just slightly, teasing. "I might have to stage a culinary intervention. Force help you."

Judah Lesan ​

 

[Judah Lesan]

Wearing: This
Tag: Valery Noble

Judah side-eyed her with a mock scowl, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought off a grin.

"You mean to tell me the legendary Valery Noble has developed gourmet instincts? What's next, culinary diplomacy?" He shook his head and pointed a finger toward the pan, voice full of dry humor. "I swear, if you start lecturing me about the ideal spice ratios for nerfleaf, I'm throwing you out."

The laugh that followed was real, even if it was low and rough around the edges. It was genuine, kind that hadn't escaped him since the war.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she peeled the carrot like she owned the kitchen, like she had always belonged in it. Maybein some quiet, impossible way… she did. The soft cadence of her voice, the easy way she moved, the warmth that slipped in with her smile, it all settled into the space around them. The house was filled with something that wasn't quite memory and wasn't quite new; something in between.

It was just one more way having Valery around reminded him of Katara.

"This was what it was like…" he murmured eventually, giving the noodles a final stir before adding the vegetables to the sizzling pan. "…on the good days. Just this. Laughter. A half-finished meal. Her teasing me because I always overcooked the peppers on purpose." He smirked faintly at the pan. "I still do. JJ used to call them crispy chaos.”

He let the silence settle for a moment, but not heavily. The smells of garlic and broth and gently charred peppers filled the air as he dished the noodles into bowls and passed one to her.

Then, with a raised brow and a wry grin, he leaned a little closer and said, "Alright then, Noble. Moment of truth. If this doesn't pass your 'mom-of-five' standards, I'll submit to your culinary intervention."

A pause. Judah leaned back and crossed his arms expectantly.

"But just know if you start adding nerfleaf foam or fancy drizzle on top of my noodles, we're going to have a problem."

 

[Valery Noble]

Valery gasped — dramatically, hands to her chest, like he'd just accused her of treason.

"Throw me out?" she echoed, eyes wide with mock offense. "Please. I've fought Sith Lords with less audacity." Her smirk returned, sharp and playful as she leaned in over her bowl. "And for the record, if you ever try to throw me out or keep me out, I will kick down your door and let myself back in."

She scooped a bit of the noodles, blew on it with the patience of a seasoned parent used to tiny mouths and hot food, and then took the first bite.

There was a pause.

A blink.

A moment of suspicious chewing.

And then — "…Damn it," she mumbled around the bite. She swallowed and pointed her fork at him. "Okay. This is actually good." Another bite. "Annoyingly good." She gave him a faux-accusing squint. "How is it that you manage to overcook the peppers on purpose and still make them taste like a childhood memory?" Her brow furrowed. "Is this some ancient Corellian witchcraft?"

But behind the teasing was that same warmth, lingering like the steam rising from their bowls. Her posture eased, her eyes softened, and as she set her fork down for a moment, her voice dropped into something a little more real.

"I can see why it meant so much. All of this." She gestured to the pan, the bowls, the dim quiet around them that was filled with more than just nostalgia. "You don't just make food. You build… places people want to come back to."

A pause.

"Even if you do char the vegetables on purpose."

Then the smirk was back, and she reached for the seasoning jar nearby with slow, mischievous precision. "Now… if I were to add just a light nerfleaf foam and maybe a drizzle of this—"

She grinned wide at him over the jar, daring him to stop her.

Judah Lesan ​