The first few months of Ahsoka's apprenticeship to Anakin Skywalker have been one steep learning curve after another. Ahsoka never likes showing ignorance in anything and typically hides it behind bravado, something she sees a lot in her own master, and as such, the beginning of her time as his Padawan was a little rough. The two butted heads often, and Ahsoka felt like the clones and her own master were overprotective of her and didn't think she could handle the tasks expected of her.
Ahsoka spends so much time trying to learn everything possible, trying to not let the war affect her. She trains harder, learns more Separatist weapons and tactics, and tries to ignore the pain of multiple injuries she obtains in battle. Despite all of this, Ahsoka knows that one of the biggest changes she'd noticed and had to adjust to at the beginning was all the noise.
Coruscant is hardly what anyone would define as quiet, constantly humming with traffic and trillions of sentient beings, but in the Jedi Temple it always had seemed… muted. It was almost like the Temple was encased in this protective bubble of the Force, created by the calming presence of so many Jedi. Ahsoka could always find peace and quiet in the meditation chambers, could always find noise and excitement in the training rooms, could always find the smells and sights of delicious food in the cafeteria, or could always listen to the trickle of water and the laughter of younglings in the gardens. She could always actively seek an environment, seek a sound. But in the war, there was no such thing as silence. One time a clone had told her to enjoy the peace and quiet between battles while she could, and she couldn't fathom what he meant. Peace, sure, but quiet?
There was no quiet here. Battlefields obviously were insanely loud – Ahsoka had never taken into account just how chaotic it would be to take part in a battle, and she constantly berated herself for that. Christophsis had been stressful enough trying to impress her less than enthusiastic master, but Teth had been terrifying. Her master had tried to make it a game, and that had at least helped her not view it as a scenario where she could be blown into a thousand pieces in an instant, but it didn't detract from the sound: the blaster fire, the screams, the whining and grinding of metal, the explosions… her montrals had been ringing for at least an hour after they'd left Teth (and Stinky's wailing had not helped). But battlefields were one thing; they were chaotic, sporadic, but they were temporary. Ahsoka had known they'd be crazy, she'd just underestimated how crazy. What she hadn't expected was the noise after.
The Resolute is never quiet. The hum of the engines are always present, even with sound dampeners. In some areas it's louder, in some it's softer, but it's always there. In the beginning Ahsoka had a hard enough time sleeping due to flashbacks to battles, but it was even worse when the constant low buzzing sound of electronics pestered her incessantly. And it was the most frustrating thing to see her master just so unbothered by it. In fact, he always lingered near the engineering bay or hangars where it was louder, almost as if he liked it.
Ahsoka has been learning to adjust to the noise, but it's still difficult, and now she's in this frustrating in-between stage. Just as she's been getting used to the constant drone, her master sends her home to rest and to stay away from the war, and then suddenly it's too quiet. Ahsoka wants to beat her head into a wall. And when she finally starts to realize she really does enjoy that silence, she's back on the Resolute again, tossing and turning in bed, and then she's on the battlefield half deaf, and then she's on the Twilight, which, despite her master's tinkering, still rattles louder than Artoo had when Grievous had ordered the poor little guy torn into pieces on that listening outpost.
The life of a commander is a stressful and harrowing life, though Ahsoka loves being able to make a difference and she couldn't have chosen a better master than Anakin Skywalker. She just wishes it wasn't so loud.
Obi-Wan has dedicated his life to the Jedi Order. Upon becoming a Jedi Knight, he had pledged himself to serving others. As such, he's always led a busy life, even as a Padawan. Obi-Wan had never complained about it before, even though the missions had grown more numerous and exhausting over the years, but this new mission, this new situation is far different.
Sighing, Obi-Wan sits on the floor, cross legged, attempting to meditate. He can find solace wherever he is, but it isn't the same as it used to be. Before, when a mission was completed, Obi-Wan would return to the Jedi Temple with his young Padawan at his side. The two would rest, train, perhaps even get a new mission immediately after, but there would still be a respite. They would still go home.
As a Jedi, Obi-Wan has few possessions, and he really shouldn't have a place to claim as home, but the Jedi Temple is his home. It always has been. He shouldn't be bothered by being away from it for so long, but it has been almost a year now of nonstop warfare, and the only time he remembers being home is when he was rescued by Anakin shortly after his imprisonment by Ventress after Jabiim. He shakes off a shudder, and gets some relief in the durasteel walls around him and the humming of the destroyer's engines, and then he feels almost disgusted with himself for needing that assurance, for feeling safe in a warship. What led them to this?
Obi-Wan closes his eyes, trying to immerse himself in the Force. The presence of any other Jedi is far away, even Anakin, who is now a knight with his own command. The only ones Obi-Wan can sense are clones and a few officers who are not from the factories of Kamino. He bears no ill will towards any of his men, but he feels isolated all of a sudden, so far from his fellow Jedi. He knows he shouldn't feel this way, and he pushes the loneliness aside in favor of serenity.
The war brought so many drastic changes to everyone's lives, but Obi-Wan suddenly can only think of how long it's been since he's seen Anakin, since he's been home. Most Jedi have many solo missions upon knighting before they take a Padawan, but it's only dawned on Obi-Wan recently that he's never really been alone in his entire life. Not like this. As a youngling he'd been part of a clan, as a Padawan he'd had Qui-Gon, and then he'd immediately taken a Padawan. Anakin was knighted months into the onset of the war, and only now is the loneliness really settling in. Obi-Wan sighs, opening his eyes and letting his shoulders sag a little at the miniscule admission of weakness.
Jedi do not claim any home for themselves, but it's an unspoken rule that the temple is their home, and that their fellow knights and Padawans are their family. And now, with this war, Obi-Wan surprisingly finds himself homeless and hopelessly alone in the midst of strife and bloodshed.
Anakin has always been a restless person. He's always had energy, always been on the move, always wanted to accomplish something instead of just sitting around. This war has been almost a blessing in disguise he sometimes thinks, but many other times he realizes it's a curse. He's seen more death than he thought possible, despite how many killings and corpses he'd seen in his younger years as a slave. Watching his men die is horrific, but it motivates him all the more. He has to be faster, stronger. He has to be better.
Of all the new ups and downs in his life, though, he finds this aspect to be the worst of all.
Waiting.
Anakin has never been patient, but he had started to master the art of knowing when to at least slow down for a little while. When he'd been a Padawan he could occasionally just rest in his room before he would scamper off to find something to do. He'd begun to learn to sit still, to study, or even to meditate for at least a little while (his record was about forty minutes, but it had been something). He'd learned to enjoy some free time with Obi-Wan when they could spare some. Now, though, it was almost as if he were nine years old all over again, his mind filled with a million different projects and concerns and ideas and scenarios of what's to come.
The worst time is immediately after a battle. Anakin looks over reports and compiles them, speaks to the Council, checks on his men, and then… nothing. There's just nothing. Everyone's too exhausted to do much unless they're immediately assigned another battle (which is always a blessing in disguise when that happens); the clones are busy resting, eating, or checking on their injured brothers. Ahsoka is normally passed out in bed, all her energy drained from the ordeal. Anakin spends some time making sure she's resting well, making sure she doesn't have any nightmares about the battle (they've been lessening with time, thankfully); for the longest time he'd simply hold her so she could feel safe, so she could be at peace. He felt useful when he did that, but at the same time he'd just get so antsy. And that's all he ever is now: restless.
Anakin can't stand peace anymore.
A small part of him wonders if there's actually something wrong with him. Towards the beginning of the war he could find solace in being with Padmé, but as time progresses and they see so little of each other, he starts to realize that even she won't offer him all the comfort he needs. Because he doesn't need comfort; he needs something to do.
The quiet hours just after he's done all his duties at battle's end are the worst hours of his life. The ship is still, the bridge quiet, the men generally (rightfully) unproductive after a hard victory, and Anakin is stuck pacing some corner of the Resolute ready to lose his mind. He tinkers with his ship, with his mechanical arm, with Artoo, with anything. Whenever he stops, his chest clenches, his body stiffens, he hears the buzzing of the Force around him, the thoughts of his men, the whispers of death and pain in distant corners of the galaxy from other battlegrounds, and he just can't stand that feeling.
As the war progresses, Anakin subconsciously comes to a chilling realization, one that he eventually forgets about because it's just so ingrained into him.
He needs the war.
Obviously this wasn't meant as an earth-shattering piece, but I figure there's some merit in pointing out the little differences that you notice in life. Oftentimes they lead to bigger changes in yourself that you can't trace to their origins. Anyway, hope you liked it. ;)