There was nothing.

And then suddenly, he was [i]cold.[/i] Freezing cold, mind-numbingly cold. He coughed, instinctively, trying to biologically expel foreign substances that suddenly didn't mix with him. Coughing, a lung-racking cough, coughing up some kind of, again, freezing cold liquid out. He detected a slight [i]swooosh![/i], and suddenly he was even [i]colder[/i], as if it was possible. But now whatever was holding him up stopped doing so- he felt a slight tingle, an absence of something he hadn't really known was there, and suddenly he fell forward.

His knees slammed into metal, slippery from the strange liquid. Moments later, he recovered enough to wipe his eyes of the fluid, and take his first sight that he has had in over fifty years. He coughed up the last of the fluid from his system, and finally took a deep, sweet breath of the cold recycled air. Moments later, he heard something start up deeper in the ship, and suddenly warm air was pumping through vents, warming the room from its previous cold.

He sat up, taking deep breaths- then showerheads on the walls turned on, and dunked him in blessedly hot water, washing away the fluid and phlegm. 

And then he remembered- everything. And he turned his head just in time to see the glass-doored pod adjacent to his slide open, and a similar-dressed, though very much female figure, drop out of it, much in the same way he did. He let himself be soaked as he took in the coughing, retching figure in a reenactment of his earlier distress, noting that they were both wearing bland, gray underclothes, and nothing else. 

Getting to his feet, unsteadily, the black-haired, average-height man stepped forward, reaching down for the woman's shoulder, helping her sit up a bit more, military-refined muscles straining from the strain of cryogenic stasis, normally-tanned skin now pale.