A/N: Welcome to a mild Monday Mush Mania chapter involving touch. (Parts of this story that has and will become Detour to Hoth and Detour to Bespin (and Tatooine, and Endor, while we're at it) were originally seen as 100 word drabbles during Prismatic Edges.)

The nagging feeling turned out to be a missing man, and they'd had to close the shield doors before Han reported in, and now she was still sitting next to the landing strut, putting sealant on the crack. Did the stuff work in temperatures this cold, did it need to be heated and then cooled to work? The wookiee hadn't said one way or the other, and maybe it didn't matter.

"Roganda?"

"It's cracked," she said without looking up, knowing full well that she probably made a miserable picture, sitting in the snow and ice of the maintainance bay. "Had to get a sealant to fix it. Must have been the cold."

She felt, rather than saw, him sit down beside her, and didn't have to look at him to know he was frowning. "Is it the landing strut or something else?"

"Not now, Janson." And then she yelped in surprise when he took the sealant tool out of her hands. "Hey!"

"Yes. Now," Wes told her firmly. "Can't have you beating up the walls or the Falcon's landing struts. Plus, Chewie is worried about you, but is keeping his distance."

She blinked and turned to find the Wookiee over by one of the x-wings, watching her. Roganda waved him off and made a motion that he should go eat. Chewie nodded and left them to it. She sighed and glanced defeatedly toward the closed shield doors. "I don't want to talk about it."

Wes touched her arm carefully, causing her to look at him, where she found only understanding in his dark eyes. "I'm not asking you to, but you can't keep it inside either."

She glanced down at her own hands, at the reminders written across her knuckles in scar tissue. It had been weeks, but even now she remembered the pain. Then she took a deep breath and peered again over at the shield door, shut firmly against the cold night of the ice planet. "I'm worried." Also, and she wasn't sure how to put it into words he would understand, but the nagging from without had returned. Quieter now, as if it was unsure, but there.

He nodded. "Only natural. I'm worried, too."

She wanted to get up, to leave him sitting here, but his hand on her arm kept her seated on the cold ground. "Janson?"

"Hmmmm?"

"You cold?"

He laughed at that and finally let go of her arm. "It's always cold here."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?"

His question, as open-ended as it was, brought her up short, a reminder that in this place, among these people who had found a cause and formed an odd sort of family, that she still did not trust anyone. Not even the pilot sitting patiently beside her in the ice. The only person she marginally trusted was out there somewhere, wandering around in a blizzard, looking for an earnest farmkid. "I meant... I don't know."

"Come on then," Wes said as he stood up and offered her a hand. "Let's get you something to eat."

She stared at his hand, dubious that he was trying to make nice, still. "I'm not hungry."

"Pretend you are." Right then, her stomach growled, betraying her, and Wes smirked. "It has to be better than trying to fix the landing strut when it's not really broken."

Roganda looked again at the still-visible but sealed crack. He had a point there. "It's the principle of the thing, and it was nice to find something that wasn't a wiring problem on this rat trap he calls a ship."

"I'll tell Captain Solo you said that. Also, you're stalling."

The tone in his voice made her want to laugh as she fingered the crack, testing the seal. "If you do, it'll be you locked in a closet with Chewie, even though he's married and doesn't need a good kiss. Still not hungry."

"And you can't keep hiding out here in the maintenance bay, either."

"Not hiding. Waiting."

"All night?"

"If need be." Roganda glanced up at him, at how his hand was still stretched out to her, waiting. "I'm fine here."

Wes sighed and lowered his hand. "Then I'm waiting with you. Right here." He dragged a crate over and sat down again. "If you don't mind, Lady Ismaren."

"Don't call me that," she said, her own tone surprising herself at how venomous she sounded. She blinked, startled to realize she meant it. After all, no one had called her Lady since the groundquake... did she have any right to claim such a title?

He sat with her for an hour, waiting her out while she let herself be distracted, ignoring her increasing hunger pangs while still inspecting the landing strut. Finally she turned her attention to him again. "You know, I think I will take you up on that offer." She slowly stood up, blinking at the stiffness in her knees. Had she been sitting that long?

Wes stood up as well, nodding. "Late dinner, then?"

"Anything, so long as it isn't ice chips." She frowned at him when an expression of repressed laughter all but shined from his eyes. "What's so funny?"

He simply shook his head, took her hand gently, and led her the cafeteria.