Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Star Wars, but boy do I wish I did. This story takes place right after The Empire Strikes Back. Darth Vader took Obi-Wan's lightsaber with him from the Death Star, and kept it in his fortress on Mustafar. But given that he was mostly a machine, touching it had no effect upon him. After he fight's Luke on Cloud City and watches his son lose his old lightsaber, he is confident that Luke will turn to the Dark Side and Obi-Wan would have failed once and for all.

Chapter One: Rain

Darth Vader landed on the volcanic, cataclysmic world of Mustafar and felt hatred burn in his veins. Every time he returned here – to the home his Master had graciously bestowed upon him – the anger and despair he associated with this place threatened to consume him. And then the hatred rose up and made him strong again – just as his Master had promised him.

He strode down the ship's ramp out onto the landing pad and looked up at the imposing black edifice which constituted his own private palace. His…wife…had had a palace once, built atop musical waterfalls in a warm and peaceful city. But it was here that Vader's former master had taken everything from him, and so it was here, in this spot where Vader had…lost…to Kenobi, that he had had the palace built. Over a waterfall of fire and death. Or rather the Emperor had had it built here, to teach him the follies of overconfidence. Vader has learned the lesson well…and now he had the high ground.

Soon he would be strong enough to overthrow the Emperor as well. As soon as Luke…his son…joined him. That was another thing he had to hate his old master for as well; Kenobi had hidden his own child from him, had let him believe that the child had died with…her. Just as the Emperor had. But Luke had seen the parallels between them know – knew that Vader was his father – and had lost a hand, as well as Anakin Skywalker's old lightsaber. He would come to follow the same path as Vader had. In time.

The air was heavy with smoke and ash, burning along with the planet, and Vader knew he would have been coughing without his respirator. He ignored the few cringing servants that were about the place. "I wish to be alone," he informed them. "Prepare my bath."

That was how he always referred to the bacta tank he had to be immersed in every few days to keep his failing body functioning. It had been Kenobi who had done this to him, turned him into some creature less than a man. By the time he reached his chambers, the tank was ready. Two of the Emperor's personal guards stood along the walls of the private room. Vader ignored their presence, sweeping into the antechamber where he kept trophies of the Jedi he had killed.

It was still there, sitting in a place of honor in the very center of the room; Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber.

Vader halted before the obsidian plinth and stared at the weapon for a moment. The room was entirely silent save for the heavy breathing of his respirator. Distantly, Vader could hear his former Master's voice whisper, "This weapon is your life, Anakin."

He felt a vicious thrill of triumph. The old man had been right about that much. Anakin Skywalker had died on Mustafar when Kenobi had stood above him and watched him burn, and then took his lightsaber as he left the man he called "brother" to die a slow, agonizing death. And the Kenobi who had faced him on the Death Star…well, he had vanished and left his lightsaber behind. Dead and gone. His lightsaber was all that was left of him.

Vader picked it up, admiring its balance. Once he had known this weapon as well as he had known his own. He had watched Obi-Wan work on it, maintain it. There were several new pieces to it now, derelict bits of metal obviously scrounged from somewhere and added during his Exile. But it was still the same elegant and deadly extension of Kenobi himself. Vader could feel the man's presence still faintly thrumming through the crystal. He projected a bolt of hatred and darkness into it, relishing the kyber crystal's silent scream of agony.

Its song was sad, he realized, as though calling for someone who would never answer. Slightly startled, he put the weapon down and went back to immerse himself in his bacta tank.

But later, after the guards had left and Vader had retired, he found himself drawn back to Kenobi's lightsaber. He picked it up and took it with him into his bedchamber.

Even Darth Vader required sleep. Although his sleep was in a sterilized, air-tight chamber, with drugs from the Emperor which never allowed him to dream. Vader did not miss his dreams, just like he did not miss the taste of food, or the touch of sunlight on his skin. Within the suit there was only the Dark Side and the power promised to him by his Master.

But still he took the lightsaber in with him.

Darth Vader took off his mask and looked at Kenobi's weapon with his naked eyes. Yet his natural were weak and the glint of silver from the lightsaber was dim and unfocused. The hum from the crystal seemed louder here. Vader cursed his failing eyes, closed them, and pressed the cold metal of Kenobi's lightsaber to his scarred cheek.

The sickening lurch in his stomach, the spark that travelled through him from head to foot, reminded him of what a fool he was. In one blinding instant he remembered Jedi Master Quinlan Vos, Kenobi's friend, and an expert in psychometry. He had had the ability to touch an object and see a vision of the last person who had touched it. He had intimated that there was a way to reverse the process – to leave images for someone else strong in the Force to find.

Kenobi had never shown any talent in that Force skill, but he had had twenty years to learn. And Vader's old master had never been anything if not determined and gifted. A worthy adversary.

Vader didn't have time for anything other than a rueful acknowledgement that even after his death, Obi-Wan Kenobi was still one step ahead of his old apprentice.

After his stomach stopped spinning and the world seemed to have settled, he opened his eyes to look at a sight he had not beheld in a long time – the ceiling of his old room in the Jedi Temple. It was night out and rain was pounding on the windows behind him.

Vader was 9-years-old again. He could feel again. He had skin and arms and hair. There was rain pounding on the Jedi Temple and little Anakin Skywalker was whimpering quietly, desperately afraid and trying his hardest to hide that fact.

A flash of lightning, followed by a rolling boom of thunder, and Vader felt his younger self flinch, stifle a moan of fear, and try to bury himself within his nest of blankets.

Vader had no control over this body. He could feel everything the boy felt, but he could not influence him. The sensations he was feeling were almost overwhelming – there was the smooth feel of the sheets, the silky sensation of his nightclothes, the warm scratch of the blankets, the cool air of the Temple around him, and the harsh rasp of his own breathing. Did he always have to take in so much air to keep his body functioning? How had his younger self remembered to do this automatically? The rain was impossibly loud in his healed ears, the lightning almost blinding his over-sensitized eyes. Another harsh whimper was ripped from the boy's throat and Vader wanted to scoff at his younger self's weakness.

Anakin Skywalker had always been weak.

Although Vader remembered this night, one of the first since his arrival on Coruscant from Naboo in the wake of Qui-Gon Jinn's death. He had been given rooms along with his new master, but Anakin had been scared and overwhelmed by everything and everyone. And then there had been the rain. Anakin Skywalker, at the age of nine, had never seen rain before, let a long a thunderstorm. It had seemed to his younger self as though the very air would rent apart, the heavens screaming in fury at each other, the wind howling, the thunder and lightning evidence of some battle between gods. And he could feel the power of the storm within the Force; it was bright and flaming and he had no way to shut it off, or hide from it.

Vader's younger self was crying now, tears trickling silently down his cheeks. Vader knew that his presence in the Force, powerful and as-yet uncontrolled, would be jagged with agony and fear, and felt by the Jedi within the Temple.

There was a quiet knock at the door. "Anakin," came the quiet, refined voice of a young Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Vader flinched and felt his younger self flinch as well. He felt Anakin's shame that his Master had caught this weakness in him, but Vader could hear the uncertainty in the young Kenobi's voice. The man was little more than a boy himself, thrust suddenly into the world of Knighthood and given responsibility for a child on top of it.

Anakin held his breath and didn't say anything. After a moment there was a quiet sigh from the other side of the door and then it opened, and Anakin's Master slipped through.

Vader stared. He had forgotten how young Obi-Wan had looked without his beard. There was a weariness to him, his hair was mussed, but his eyes were kind as he surveyed the boy hiding in the bed.

"Anakin," he said again, gentle and coaxing. Vader would never forget the crisp, regal Coruscanti accent of his Master, but it had been so long since he had heard that tone from him. He peaked his head up further from the blankets and felt himself say, "I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean to wake you." His voice was miserable and hiccupping.

Obi-Wan moved over to sit on the edge of Anakin's bed. Hesitantly he reached out and placed a hand on his young charge's shoulder. "/That's quite alright, Anakin. I expect you've never witnessed a thunderstorm before. I can't imagine a planet like Tatooine ever having one."

Vader/Anakin starred, his fear and his tears forgotten. How had his Master known without words?

Obi-Wan had always been able to see right through him.

In the next instant, Obi-Wan found himself with an armful of small boy, Anakin hurling himself into the older man's arms and wrapping himself so tightly to his Master that Obi-Wan let out a small 'oomph.'

Hesitantly, arms came up around Anakin and he felt himself relaxing into the touch. Obi-Wan was warm, his arms strong and tight. Nothing could hurt Anakin here, nothing at all. He felt Obi-Wan's lips press against his forehead. With a sigh, he burrowed his face into the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat, fingers playing in the rough, plain cloth of his Master's sleep clothes and skating hesitantly over the place where skin met cloth.

Without words, Obi-Wan slipped under Anakin's blankets, still holding the boy to his chest and running soothing hands up and down his back. He murmured placating nonsense about atmospheric pressure and prevailing winds, as Anakin felt his lips brush his forehead as he spoke and as he listened to his Master's steady heartbeat.

Anakin Skywalker fell asleep to the sound of Obi-Wan's gentle voice.

When he woke the next morning, Darth Vader found his metal hand clenched tight around the accursed lightsaber as though it was something precious. He remembered the warmth of Obi-Wan's arms, remembered how Anakin Skywalker had never feared the rain again after that night, and he hurled the lightsaber with all his might towards the nearest wall.

At the last second, he halted its flight with the Force, nameless fear clutching at his throat and stopping his breath even in the sterilized air of his bedchamber. He called the lightsaber back and let it drop to the table next to his stasis chamber.

And then he put his mask on and left without looking back.

&…&…&….&….&…..&

End Notes: What do you think? Was Vader too OOC. What do you think Obi-Wan is up to? Will be Obikin in later chapters.