The terror of the galaxy set a tall glass of something green and frothy in front of his captive; Luke stared at it dubiously and made no move to reach for it.

"Drink," Vader ordered. "You will need your strength for what lies ahead, my son."

"Is it drugged?" Luke asked.

A moment's silence, broken only by pneumatic wheezing."You watched me pour it," Vader pointed out.

"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be that color."

Another wheeze, one that Luke could easily interpret as a sigh of exasperation. Was this a moment of normalcy? Would this be a familiar exasperation if he'd grown up with this man, as a small child reluctant to eat his vegetables?

As Luke struggled not to laugh at the thought, Vader turned back to the prefab unit, adjusted a few settings and filled another glass with a much more familiar blue frothy substance. This he set in front of his son without a word, and turned away from Luke's amazed look - before amazement could turn to amusement, fortunately for them both.

Darth Vader, the permissive father. Who knew. Luke wrapped both hands around the new glass - awkwardly, he was still cuffed - and drank it down.