I
Padmé is a restless sleeper. There is simply always so much, too much, to do, to see, for her ever to be able to sleep soundly and without a worry. On some days, she envies the people who can do it, but looking at her life, her past and present, her achievements and accomplishments … she wouldn't have it any other way.
When she's alone, she tends to lay on her side, legs curled under her, head resting on her elbow. Every morning that she wakes up to one side of her bed cold, without fail, she feels something in her sink.
But when she's not alone, she can barely cram a few hours a sleep into her night. When Anakin is with her, they both talk so incessantly about everything that dawn often comes without either of them noticing. More than once she has drifted off in the middle of a sentence, then woken up to the first sun rays of the morning.
They curl up together, his head pillowed in the crook of her neck, her hands enveloping him, their legs twined together. The too rare mornings they get to wake up like that are some of her most treasured memories.
II
Anakin's childhood in slavery has left him with quite a few habits he's carried on into adulthood. Since the war started, he has never slept for a stretch longer than four hours, even if it's between days or even weeks up.
He likes to curl up into a tight little ball, to take up as little space as possible. His sleep is light, interrupted by the slightest change his surroundings. He's not a morning person, not really, but his life has never given him much choice in that regard.
He is not a peaceful sleeper either, never has been. There is always something haunting him, whether past or present or future, some fear, something to worry about, something to lose.
His propensity for prophetic dreams certainly doesn't help.
He likes to think he sleeps better when he's with Padmé, but nightmares respect no hour. Still, it's much nicer, in his opinion, to wake up kicking and screaming to the comforting arms and soothing voice of his Angel than the cold walls of a spaceship, or even worse, Obi-Wan's judging gaze.
III
On first glance, Obi-Wan appears in much better condition than his apprentice, but like in all other things, he's equally messed up, just more practiced at hiding it.
Obi-Wan's sleep schedule is only marginally better than Anakin's—he tends to get up to six hours in, when he's lucky. He's an early riser, though, even if he's absolutely useless before his first cup of tea.
He can't sleep just anywhere, but he's not particularly picky either. Cody once found him asleep on the floor of a hangar on-board the Negotiator, and urban legend has it that he once fell asleep on his feet.
But there's one thing that's always present—no matter how tired, no matter where he's settling down for the night (or day, or hour, or any time of the day), Obi-Wan has an almost preternatural ability to always, always, fall asleep facing the door.
Anakin jokes that it's the long buried survival instincts kicking in, but Obi-Wan worries. What is this war doing to him?
IV
Ahsoka can fall asleep anywhere, anywhen, in any position. It kind of freaked everyone out at first—it's not every day that you see a teenage Togruta snoozing sprawled on her starfighter's cockpit.
As the war goes on, though, Ahsoka finds it harder and harder to get any rest. The things she has seen, the things she has done … they follow her around. She is very fortunate that she has a Master who is not averse to murmuring comforting words to her until she calms down.
When she wakes up from a nightmare the first time after leaving the Jedi, in a dingy tavern in the lower levels of Coruscant, being alone is almost, but not quite enough to make her regret leaving.
V
All clones were engineered to sleep on their backs, ramrod straight, arms glued to their sides, and wake up at 0600 standard, unless ordered otherwise, and Rex is no exception.
All clones were also engineered not to have nightmares, but it seems not even the Kaminoan programming is infallible. At first, he always manages to conceal it, knowing he has to put on a brave face for his men. But after some time, Echo happens upon him while he's shaking in cold sweat, desperate to hide his terror from his brothers.
Echo doesn't say anything, just holds Rex throughout it all. In the morning, Rex comes up to him and thanks him sincerely, and then leaves before Echo can respond. They never speak of it again, but Rex knows his brother appreciates the sentiment.
After the Citadel, Echo's death is added to Rex's many reoccurring nightmares.
VI
Ventress has been told, many times by many different people, that she looks like a tooka when asleep. She sprawls out on the mattress, limbs and sleep clothes and coverings all tangled.
She hates it. It's undignified! Unbecoming of someone of her station, her position, her abilities.
Most importantly, her affiliation.
She also doesn't dream—ever. When she was younger, before the world forcibly opened her eyes to its realities, she was upset about it, but now … sometimes she thinks of the horrors she witnesses and commits every day, and thanks the Force she doesn't have to revisit them again at night.
VII
Dooku would love to be able to tell you that he sleeps peacefully, on his back, finely made pyjamas as crisp as the suit he wears by day, covers perfectly smooth, but that would be a big, fat lie.
It's not that he doesn't try. Every night, he lays on his bed and closes his eyes, and every morning he wakes up in some new, increasingly ridiculous position, tangled in his sheets, those fine pyjamas having somehow ridden their way up his torso.
He swears that, so long as he is alive, no-one will ever know.
VIII
Sheev Palpatine, to a chosen few known as Darth Sidious, hates sleep. He feels it should be beneath him, such a weak and mortal thing. Oftentimes he wonders how much more he could do if he didn't have to succumb to it.
There's always a certain level of paranoia it causes within him as well—he has killed Plagueis in his sleep, after all. Sometimes, he thinks of the irony—when he'd poisoned his Master's wine, he had never imagined the act would haunt him like this.
When he does sleep, he resembles a corpse, laying rigidly on his back, arms crossed over his chest, wrinkled face waxy in the darkness. If anyone ever saw him asleep, they wouldn't have that hard of a time believing this sweet and kindly man to be a Dark Lord of the Sith.