How Kenobi Got His Groove Back:Alchemy Dream

A/N: Another birthday-oriented fic, heh. I hope you enjoy! Remember, reviews are love!

Summary: All it took was a light-hearted quip from Mace Windu to send Obi-Wan Kenobi off the edge and into insecurity. Anakin is fed up with his ex-master's age-related blubbering and is determined to show him exactly how beautiful he is.

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Obi-Wan Kenobi is thirty five years, three-hundred and sixty days, and twelve hours old when Mace Windu shatters his every ounce of confidence.

"Obi-Wan, is that a bald spot?" Windu asks as he sits across from his friend on the round, white cushions in the meditation chamber. Obi-Wan's greenish-grey eyes open suddenly, wondering why Mace Windu is meditating on the back of his head. I mean, can he even see his head from that point of the room? A warm sunset crawls into the white chamber through dirty glass and still curtains. The pinkish light touches the imperfect, bare orb of Mace's scalp, and a second question emerges. He reaches worriedly to rub his hand through his coiffed coppery hair, searching indignantly for any thinning spots.

"Right there, on the crown." Mace gets up, amused, and rubs a spot near the top of his skull with a jabbing finger. Obi-Wan moves his hand up to trace the area where Mace's finger lingers. He furrows his brows and adjusts his hair to cover what may or may not be a thinning spot. Mace chuckles a bit and resumes his spot in the center of the cushion, folding his legs together and closing his eyes.

"You're insane, Mace. It's fine. If you'd spend more time meditating on more pressing agendas, perhaps the council would be more apt to send you on an actual mission, rather than warm the bench in the council room," Obi-Wan says, sounding more petulant than he intended. Mace simply chuckles again, sending Obi-Wan further into mental disarray.

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"Mas...Obi-Wan?"

Anakin props himself up against the door frame nearest the wash room, watching the older man. Obi-Wan is standing, his back to the mirror, a hand mirror held in front of him allowing him to see the back of his head. He looks despairingly at the barely semi-transparent speck on the top of his scalp, running his tanned fingers through the locks. He sighs again, as he has been doing ever since he noticed his friend watching him.

"I thought you told me that it wasn't very becoming of a Jedi to take too much pride in his appearance," Anakin says, amused at Obi-Wan's sudden interest in his hair. Obi-Wan harrumphs and clinks the metal rimmed hand mirror down on the marble counter. Giving Anakin a look, he slides past him into the common room, and tends to the boiling water that he left. He takes the steel kettle off the stove and puts a pink tinged tea bag leaving it to steep. Immediately, the cold quarters spring to life, as the smell of exotic strains of flowers and spices flood the air. Obi-Wan has an expensive taste in fine teas, most of them imported from Naboo, where one could find such fine flowers such as medeis and aievir blossoms. He enjoys the sweet, almost chocolatey taste, combined with andris spice and sandalwood essence, giving it a decidedly masculine smell that is truly intoxicating. Obi-Wan fidgets in the cupboard for a moment, before pulling down two orange porcelain cups, and, after bending forward over the stove to inhale the steam, pours a steaming fragrant cup of tea for Anakin and himself. He hands the cup to Anakin wordlessly, and moves to recline slightly against the somewhat stiff couch. Anakin sits on a removed cushion across from the small table that separates them and sips his tea, holding the cup with both hands, absorbing the heat.

"I wish they had left us that other couch. It had endured ten years worth of abuse, and was just getting rather comfy."

"Well, you know, all of the Jedi quarters have to match. And while we're complaining, it's freezing in this place. You would think that with the massive amounts of technology we have here that we could adjust the climate, to at least tolerable," Anakin says, fighting a shiver.

"I would imagine that by now, you would be used to Coruscanti climate. It's always cold," Obi-Wan says, staring out the balcony. Anakin follows his gaze out to the skyline, the trillions of kilos of steel and glass that define Coruscant. A deep burgundy haze nestles in between the towers and the blackness of night. He looks back to the one he still calls Master.

Obi-Wan has been distant as of late. More than usual. As in, not speaking at all. Anakin wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Obi-Wan will be turning another year older soon, but quickly dismisses it. He had never seemed tense or upset when he turned thirty-three, or thirty-four, or thirty-five. Certainly thirty-six would be no different. He would go out for a tame drink with Anakin and Master Windu at a tame bar, come home in time for his bed time at eleven o'clock, and wake up the next day as if nothing were different. But still, he searches the quiet man's features for any hints to his mood, hoping to find some kind of askew clue between the wrinkles on his brow, the softness of his lips, or a glimmer in his normally readable eyes.

"What are you staring at, Anakin?" Obi-Wan half-snaps. Anakin shakes his head lightly, and smiles slightly.

"I think it's obvious, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan looks thoughtful for a moment, and then speaks again.

"You see it too, don't you."

"See what?"

Obi-Wan sighs, exasperated, and scratches his messy beard.

"The bald spot, Anakin! The bald spot on the back of my..." Obi-Wan turns and jerkily tries to show Anakin the spot with the thinning hair. Anakin squints, pursing his lips and shaking his head. Obi-Wan's hair looks just as thick and full as always. It just needs a good washing.

"No, it looks fine."

Obi-Wan feels angry and frustrated.

"You're lying," he says indignantly, searching Anakin's face for signs of deceit. Anakin looks surprised. The older man is obviously unsettled by the idea of male-pattern baldness all of a sudden, so much so that he has become notably paranoid.

"No, I'm not! It looks fine. Why are you worried?"

Obi-Wan sips his tea, his brow wrinkled again.

"Mace saw a bald spot. I don't know why you can't see it."

Anakin laughs loudly. He considers briefly entertaining this situation, but decides against encouraging Obi-Wan's paranoia.

"Mast...Obi-Wan! Have you noticed Master Windu lately? Or ever? Who is he to tell someone they are bald? He probably thinks that I'm going bald." Obi-Wan doesn't crack a smile. He smacks his lips a little, savouring the taste of the tea.

"I look old."

Anakin snorts, gulping his now cool enough tea. He swallows audibly, and stares at the man in front of him. Granted the beard doesn't help very much, Obi-Wan doesn't look old, just a little tired. He can still detect a blush of youth in his cheeks through the stray whiskers, the smooth skin looking like the kind of skin one would want to taste. It looks warm and soft, the medium tan giving it some masculinity. Obi-Wan has been blessed with full, red lips that entertain Anakin in his fantasies at night. Obi-Wan still has an amazing body, as far as Anakin can tell in the few glimpses he gets of his bare skin. He has big, strong hands that Anakin knows will keep him safe in every way except the ways that he wants them to. Anakin waits for those moments when some obscure statement of his will tickle Obi-Wan's heart and cause his face to contort into a wide smile, and the thin wrinkles around his eyes to fold, and the discreet dimples on his cheeks to come into sight.

Anakin doesn't know quite what to say to him though, as he was told that these thoughts werent proper, especially about the man he would always call Master. He simply stands, offering Obi-Wan a genuine, if not sad smile. Obi-Wan returns the sad smile, lingering on the younger man's eyes, before returning his gaze to the contents of the cup.

"Goodnight, Obi-Wan," Anakin says gazing across the room, waiting for Obi-Wan to regard him. He simply waves a tired hand and revels in silence in solitude. Anakin gently shuts his door and begins undressing.

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Obi-Wan Kenobi is thirty-five years, three-hundred and sixty-one days, and one hour old when he begins to question the path he has chosen being a Jedi.

He lays sprawled out on the not-so-worn sofa with a thin blanket over a well defined bare torso, going over Anakin's grocery list. Adjusting a pair of metal rimmed glasses, Obi-Wan skims the messy handwriting for anything of nutritional value, wondering at the same time why Anakin refuses to use the technology present in this day and age, the data pad, to create such things. But he knows that Anakin prefers the human touch. Perhaps Anakin could have been something other than a Jedi, as well. Anakin would have made a fine artist, with his insatiable desire to sample textures and colour, his passion for whatever he chooses to pursue.

Immediately Obi-Wan shakes his head in disapproval. Obi-Wan Kenobi has devoted his life to the Jedi Order since the age of three. It doesn't matter that sometimes he wishes he had a child, that he would have loved to study science. It doesn't matter that Anakin looks every bit the brooding artist, though inside he is enamoured with the everyday miracles of sunrises and the shadows cast in the marble floors that lead to the southern hangar.

It doesn't matter that Obi-Wan wants something more, and that he can never tell anyone this, much less have whatever it is that he apparently lacks in his life. It doesn't matter that the thing that he apparently lacks is Anakin and his warmth in this cold apartment. It doesn't matter how fucking wrong that is.

Obi-Wan slams the list on the table, suddenly frustrated and full of questions. He removes the reading glasses and wraps the blanket closer around his half-exposed body, walking to the wash room. After securing the door, he glances in the full length mirror for a moment, before tugging his knit sleep pants to the floor. His eyes rise slowly, examining his body. The skin is somewhat light, definitely lighter than Anakin's, he being an overly dressed Jedi all of his known life, Anakin having been a desert slave. But under the skin, years of kinesis is apparent and beautiful, as muscle and sinew define and disappear. Obi-Wan remembers being younger and disapprovingly in love, wondering what parts of his body were beautiful. After weeks of examining his strong padawan body, he decided his favourite parts were his belly, which, though flat and muscled, is also soft and fuzzy, a shallow navel that never shows, but would be irresistible to touch. He also decided that he had nice shoulders, strong and dependable from holding up the world. Following the trail of hair on his stomach, he is reminded of another part he never gets to use, but loves all the same.

Obi-Wan, you're a grown man. You're too old for this kind of thing, he thinks as he considers taking a long shower. Grimacing at himself, he simply, routinely, turns on the shower and waits as the water warms up.

Since when had kinesis become routine?

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Anakin is twenty years, two-hundred and fifteen days and twelve hours old when he first hears Obi-Wan moaning languorously in the shower. As he shifts in the bed, he smiles sleepily, imagining that there is no better way to wake up. It is a light sound, just barely audible though the wall, almost covered entirely by the sound of the spray of water. Anakin feels let-down when he doesn't hear it again, deciding that it was probably a rather disappointing orgasm. He slides out of bed, scratching his stomach a little, and making his way out into the common room.

A blanket is thrown across the couch, and Anakin welcomes the fragrant Obi-Warmth of it, relaxing against the cushions. It is early yet, and he and Obi-Wan have plans to go to the market today. Lifting his paper grocery list, with several new items in tense, vertical handwriting, he notices the datapad underneath it blinking. Anakin's eyes scan the blue screen, reading the typed note.

Anakin: I've added specific items to your list. Please pick them up. I'm not up to going out today. Thank you.

Anakin pouts, slamming the piece of plastic onto the table. He rather enjoys their grocery excursions.

"Obi-Wan, stop acting like an old fart," Anakin says to no one in particular. "I suppose I'll have to come to the rescue again," he adds with a smile.

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Edited 12.26.05