Anakin woke up a lot. His body always needed sleep, but his brain forbade him from ever really resting. Took often he’d lie in his little bed and stare up at the ceiling or out the window, wondering what all of this was about. It bothered him that his master never said much. It felt like life was empty some days, that nothing he could do would ever truly elevate him to the status he believed Obi-Wan wanted from his apprentice.
He breathed deeply and sat up in bed, staring out the window at the brilliant moon and wondering if everything would be all right. Sometimes it felt like the only thing that really drove him onwards was the chance to see Ahsoka grow up and become who she was destined to be. He knew he would spend his last breath for her, for he adored her fiercely, and shivered at the thought of ever losing his beloved padawan. Beneath his breath he whispered prayers for safety and security--to and for whom, he wasn’t sure.
Ahsoka wondered if she was doing the right thing when she followed orders. There are so many people in charge, she thought sadly one afternoon as she stared out over one of the training courtyards. How do I know I’m doing the right thing? There were so many truths, so many variations. She had seen bitter darkness and some days when the sun beat down and the clouds hung puffy and white in the sky above Coruscant, it felt like the very elements of nature were pasting on a false smile. Life was good right now, she had friends and something like a family, and purpose; but what of the future?
She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what she would do when the next mission was over; just the one after, she supposed. Some days she would find herself almost despondent, waking in the morning curled up like an unborn child, tear tracks on her face that she didn’t recall shedding. Usually Ahsoka liked her life. But something about it lacked permanence, and some days that scared her.
Obi-Wan had dark days, weeks, seasons. He was careful about letting it show; the last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble for those he loved by letting on that he wasn’t okay. For the most part, he was okay, perfecting the little things, laughing with his padawan and fellow Jedi. He found a deeper respect for Anakin's budding genius every day; though he would never let on about that.
It wasn’t like he was hiding some dark deep depression that lurked forever beneath the happy, smirking surface; usually Obi-Wan felt fine. But there were nights, burning edges of the dark that sent him deep into an unfathomable abyss of confusion and sometimes he felt too much.
And he wanted that to stop. He wanted the numbness of sleep instead, but he couldn’t find it. Sometimes he would play with a knife, twirling it across his fingers and staring at the fine edge, wondering what it would feel like traced along his skin or thrust into his heart. He never touched the blade, but he wondered, and he stared, and he thought that if he didn’t have Anakin and the Order, the day would have already come when he’d not have to wonder anymore.