This isn't exactly Tosche Station, huh?

Luke tossed his bag onto his bed as Artoo made concerned little noises and circled around him.

"I'm fine," Luke told him for the hundredth time. "The med droid wouldn't have let me go otherwise." He smiled. "And neither would Jo or Leia. It's just a little scrape."

Artoo let out a low whistle that showed Luke how unconvinced he was about that.

Luke peeked into the mirror. "You can hardly tell," he said, running his finger down the new scars on his face.

Stupid wampa.

He flopped down onto the bed and started catching up on the holodramas Leia had loaned him. The door was open.

Blood Brothers - Color Green

After an interesting conversation with his father early in the morning, Luke had gone for a long run.

And then an even longer session alone with the punching bag.

And then he'd tried some meditation.

Now? He'd spread parts to a small droid out all over the floor, back carefully turned away from the half of the room that was supposed to have a Z in it, and fiddled around with electronics.

Loud Corellian rock was blaring from his stereo and out through the open door.

If you asked him? He was fine.