A Fistful Of Sky
He wishes that there were a little more to choose from in terms of a color spectrum than endless overlapping shades of white, sometimes gray. Luke feels a bit a like the sand lizards that dwell in the sand caves of his home planet suspended in a nutrient bath of the healing chamber. He is only perphirally aware of the medical technicians discussing in excited if hushed tones his sevre case of hypothermia. Well, good for them. A little diversion is good for one's circulation, soon the Empire will arrive having tracked the Rebellion to the frozen ball of ice that is the world of Hoth.
Hoth isn't all bad, after all Luke had been the one to insist that he take the night patrols and he had only one person to blame for allowing himself to get blindsided by that ice creature who decided to drag him and make a meal of him.
Luke floats on top of the liquid in the tank, an icy white color and marvels that even with his eyes tightly shut he can still recall all the sounds, yes, even smells of that ice chamber. He doesn't believe having that sharp and brilliant a recollection of his little misadventure can be attritubted to the razor sharp memory tricks and training of the Jedi.
The impression that experience made will be with him for a good while, Luke has only to look down at his naked body to realize he will have the scars to prove it.
On the heels of that thought, he realizes he owes at least good deal of his survival to his best friend, the adventurer Han Solo.
Meanwhile, in the repair of the cavernous chamber the Rebellion has desginated the repair bay, the object of Luke's rambling thoughts strides atop the hull of his ship, The Milleninmum Falcon; grumbling and swearing at the haste he has to employ a number of delicate repairs and the slowness of his droid assistant, R2D2 in its assigned task of handing up the tools as requested.
Han, would rather not dwell on recent events, and it's not just the fact that lately he feels like he has been caught in something much bigger than he ever imagined when he agreed to transport passengers, especially that kid. Han, doesn't want to believe that kid is one of the mystical, legendary, and crazy Jedi, but Luke, being Luke has somehow wormed his way under his skin. It's those blue eyes," Han thinks as he jumps down to the ground of the repair bay, the cold air causing his breath to steam in a white cloud around his face. Han rubs his hands together to restore warmth and circulation, than picks and puts on the gloves he left by the tool crate.
Yelling over to where his friend and co-pilot labors over piecing together some of the heavier equpiment, "Chewie, take five. I'm gonna ge see the kid!"
Reciving a noncimmital grunt and a wave of a hairy paw, Han leaves the repair bay.
Standing in front of the healing chamber Han takes a good look at Luke, the blue eyes are closed, the breathing is even and peaceful. "Get all the shut eye you can, kid You're gonna need it."
As Han turns around to leave those blue eyes open and Han realizes that Luke is awake and at least groggily aware of what is going around him, "Hey."
"Hey," Han replies.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine." Luke shrugs, "I can't wait to get out of here."