Abs Lesan
Wearing: xxx
Weapon: xxx
Tag:
Sonti Delst
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Malcoma Hesse
Judah Lesan Jr. had learned a long time ago that there were messages worth answering immediately.
The one concerning Malcoma had qualified.
Word that she had been found had reached him with few useful details attached. There had been enough to know she was alive, enough to know she had been taken somewhere capable of treating her, and nowhere near enough to satisfy any of the questions that naturally followed. JJ had spent the better part of the trip trying not to fill the gaps himself. Cambria had trained that habit into him years ago. Work with what you knew. Do not let assumptions become facts simply because you disliked uncertainty.
That particular lesson was easier to remember when somebody else's family was involved.
The hospital rose ahead of them in clean lines of transparisteel and duracrete, all carefully controlled lighting and polished surfaces that seemed designed to convince visitors nothing truly terrible could happen inside. JJ had never liked hospitals much. There was something about the quiet efficiency of them that reminded him of military casualty stations, places where everyone spoke softly because somewhere nearby somebody was receiving news they would remember for the rest of their life.
Still, Malcoma was alive.
That mattered more than anything else.
JJ slowed as they approached the entrance, adjusting the strap of the worn flight jacket he had thrown on before leaving. He had considered arriving in something that looked more recognizably Jedi and decided against it almost immediately. Malcoma did not need a Jedi walking into her room looking like he had arrived to conduct an official inquiry, and Sonti certainly did not need one standing beside her.
Besides, JJ had never been particularly good at looking official unless somebody handed him armor.
His saber remained beneath the jacket at his hip, unobtrusive but close enough that years of Guardian training would have objected if he had left it elsewhere. The weapon went where he went. Cambria had drilled that into him just as thoroughly as posture, discipline, and the unfortunate expectation that a Jedi Master should occasionally behave like one.
His father had apparently missed several of those lessons.
The thought pulled the faintest trace of amusement across JJ's face before disappearing again.
"I know this probably isn't how you wanted to find out she was back," he said, keeping his attention on the entrance ahead rather than looking toward Sonti. "But she's here. She's alive."
That was as much reassurance as he was willing to manufacture.
JJ had no intention of telling Sonti that everything was going to be fine. He did not know that. Nobody did. Empty assurances were cheap, and he had spent too much of his life around soldiers to mistake them for comfort. What he could do was get Sonti through the doors and to Malcoma's room.
Hopefully that would do more for Mal than anything he could say.
The doors parted before them.
Inside, JJ handled the necessary questions with the practiced patience of someone who had dealt with enough military checkpoints, customs officials, port authorities, and Jedi administrators to know when charm worked better than rank. There was still something unmistakably Corellian in the easy confidence with which he carried himself, despite Cambria's best efforts to train the worst of it away. A crooked half-smile here, a polite word there, just enough personality to keep bureaucracy moving without turning the entire thing into an argument.
He resisted the temptation to mention that he could probably have flown them through the hospital's emergency landing corridor and saved everyone the trouble.
Cambria would have sensed the thought from several systems away and been disappointed.
Eventually, they were directed toward the proper ward.
JJ's demeanor shifted almost imperceptibly as they moved deeper into the hospital. The casual confidence remained, but the soldier beneath it surfaced. His eyes tracked doors, intersections, staff stations, and room numbers without conscious effort. It was not suspicion so much as habit. Guardians were trained to know their surroundings. Pilots did much the same thing with approach vectors and escape routes. JJ had simply developed the unfortunate tendency to do both everywhere he went.
When they finally reached Malcoma's room, he stopped outside.
For the first time since they had arrived, JJ looked directly toward Sonti.
He had brought her because he hoped seeing her would help Malcoma. Maybe that was naive. Malcoma was not exactly the sort of woman JJ imagined being restored by flowers, warm blankets, and cheerful company.
Sonti was different.
Sonti was hers.
That seemed worth something.
JJ reached for the door control, then paused before activating it.
"No pressure," he said quietly. "We go in. We see her. That's it."
There was no lecture behind the words and no attempt to tell Sonti what she should feel when the door opened. JJ knew better than that. He could get her here. Whatever came next belonged to her and Malcoma.
His thumb touched the control.
The door slid open, and Judah Lesan Jr. stepped through with the kind of measured confidence Cambria had spent years teaching him, leaving just enough of the Corellian underneath to make it his own.
"Malcoma?"
JJ's eyes found the bed.
A small, crooked smile finally returned.
"Hope you don't mind visitors."
