Before I start my normal intro, it would seem that an apology is in order:

Dear Oli,

I'm sorry about the love scene, but this is partially a romance story…However, I'll try to keep the soppiness to a minimum. Padmé's change in demeanor is very important-if you re-read chapter one, it explains that Padmé already has a strained relationship with her family, she was being submissive and 'girly' in an attempt to avoid upsetting her father. She won't be like that all the time though- I don't want you to think I'm going soft on you or anything Also, I feel obliged to warn you, there will be an A/P 'rescue' in a later chapter, but don't worry-it doesn't involve fencing and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Yours,

~Ink

P.S. If you get an account, it will be much easier for me to explain things to you…

Now, for the rest of you guys…If you're squeamish, you might want to skip the beginning of this chapter. There's nothing too graphic, just some descriptions of some emergency self-medication. Thanks a bunch for all the reviews- they were really inspiring. The story is now approaching a major turn of events, so you may want to reread some of the earlier chapters to make sure you are up to speed…This Fanfic does loosely follow Anakin's character arc from RotS but only for a brief time and only the key points. Alright then, that's enough chatter, let's get to the story. Don't forget to Review!

Padmé slammed the door to her room behind her, panting. Fingers fumbling, she locked the door with a chain and a sliding deadbolt just before her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor.

With a choked gasp of pain, she began cataloging her injuries, vowing never to be late again. Broken wrist, she thought with a muffled his as she lifted her right arm, her hand dangling limply at the end, wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

Carefully, she used her left hand to feel for other injuries, wincing when she reached the dislocated ribs on her left side.

She felt something warm and sticky running down the inside of her left arm and glanced down at it, she couldn't see too well though- her right eye was swollen shut. Grimacing, she peeled back her sleeve, swooning at the sight of the three-inch gash on her elbow. Dark crimson blood flowed from the wound continuously-a lot of it. Kriff, that's not good. Padmé thought. Thinking quickly, she tore a strip of fabric from her shirt and tied it tightly around her arm two inches above her elbow. She knew she should go to a hospital, but they'd ask questions- and that would only make her father angrier.

She dragged herself over to her bed and pulled the red-and-white first-aid kit out from underneath it. Inside the box were matches, rubbing alcohol, a small metal container with a mix of gasoline and magnesium, a needle, bandages, several rolls of gauze and medical tape, two stiff lengths each of wood and plastic, Ibuprofen, Tylenol, salt, and a small suture kit.

Steeling herself, Padmé reached into the box. She first soaked up some of the blood with a gauze pad and then retrieved the metal container, matches and the needle. She struck a match and lit the flammable mixture on fire, holding the needle in the flames until the tip glowed cherry-red. With one last dab, she poked the end of the needle into the wound to cauterize it and stop the bleeding.

She allowed herself a moment to recover from the searing pain that zipped through her arm before retrieving the stitches and sewing the torn skin back together.

Padmé clambered to her feet, wincing again- she was pretty sure her right ankle was sprained too. Using her arm for leverage, she rammed her injured side into the wall, stifling a scream as her ribs popped back into place with a dull crunch.

Next, she took two rolls of gauze and some medical tape. Using her bedpost to hold the gauze, she removed her shirt and wrapped her torso as tightly as she could, securing the dressing with medical tape to hold it in place. Hopefully, it would keep her ribs immobile so they would heal.

Lastly, Padmé had to set her broken wrist. Resting her arm on the edge of her bed and holding it still with her right hand, she gingerly moved the broken appendage into the proper position.

This time, she did scream, muffling the sound with her pillow.

Once she had recovered, she began the difficult task of splinting her wrist with only one useable hand.

Padmé took the plastic lengths out of the first-aid kit; using her chin to hold one strip, and stabilizing the other with her knees, she was able to get some tape around it. From there she wrapped it expertly, replicating a plaster cast as closely as possible without actually using plaster. Using her teeth, she held the end of the gauze strip still and tied it off.

Finally, after affixing a splint to her ankle, a bandage over the stitches in her arm, and removing the tourniquet, she curled up on her bed and tried to sleep.

Anakin had been in first period for a while when Padmé limped in.

"Sorry I'm late," She croaked, handing Professor Yoda her tardy slip.

"Don't worry about it." Yoda replied, looking at her kindly with disconcertingly bright green eyes. "We haven't started yet."

Anakin watched her closely as she hobbled back to her seat beside him.

She was wearing sunglasses; Anakin was surprised that Yoda hadn't asked her to remove them. She was also wearing a loose purple-and-black plaid jacket, skinny jeans, and stiff looking combat boots.

Her face was drained of all color, and she looked like she might collapse at any second.

"Are you alright?" Anakin asked as she dropped into the seat beside him, trying-and failing to conceal a pained grimace.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She sucked in a breath. "I was skating a down rail at a stair-set downtown and I bailed. Busted myself up pretty good-even hit myself in the face if you can believe that-I tried to catch myself and slipped. That's what the sunglasses are for, I don't feel like explaining the black-eye to all the nosy karkheads that can't mind their own business." Padmé explained.

"Oh." Anakin replied skeptically. And then: "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale…" Anakin added.

"Yeah…" Padmé replied. 'Yeah, I'll be okay, I'm just a little tired-didn't get much sleep last night." She said.

"Padmé?" Anakin asked after a moment.

"Hmm?" She responded.

"About last night…What did you mean when you said: 'it's not safe for you to be here'?"

"Oh, that. My dad is very…protective of me. He tends to go postal on anyone who he thinks is my boyfriend," She made a sound that was part chuckle, part gasp and then continued. "You should ask Paolo about that one…I was worried he was going to grill you to, until you shook his hand, Paolo was too much of a pansy to do that."

"I see…Thanks for clearing that up." Anakin said, still not entirely sure he believed her. Still, he decided to leave her alone- he didn't want Yoda to call him out for talking in class, and they would have plenty of time to discuss things at lunch.

So he would wait.

Padmé looked a thousand times worse by the time lunch rolled around, more closely resembling a cadaver than a human being. She had removed her sunglasses, revealing a wicked-looking black eye. She was considerably more pale than she had been during first period, and she didn't have anything with her to eat when she came to sit with Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Mace, apart from a bottle of water, some Ibuprofen, and some hard candy.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Anakin wondered.

Padmé shook her head very slowly, like the motion made her dizzy. "I don't feel well." She said.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan was all business. "Could you be more specific?"

"I'm fine, I'm just a little dizzy is all. I think I should've cooked my eggs for longer this morning is all, I'm a little nauseous too."

Padmé popped the Ibuprofen tablets into her mouth and downed them with a swig from her water bottle, continuing to drink for a long moment before resting her head on the table. Her shoulders rose and fell with her breathing, much faster than they should have been.

As she did so, Obi-Wan caught sight of her fingernails. Her nail beds were more white than pink.

His EMT instincts kicked in. "Padmé, let me see your hand." Obi-Wan said firmly.

Padmé extended her shaking hand. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. "Wha- what are you doing?" She demanded anxiously, starting withdraw her hand

Obi-Wan grabbed it, startled by its coolness, and pressed down gently on her fingernail, scowling as the blood crawled slowly back into the vessels, coloring her nail pink again in ten seconds.

It should've taken two.

Obi-Wan felt her wrist for a pulse. It was racing.

Padmé sat up again, downing the rest of her water in one gulp.

"How many of those things have you had today, Padmé?" Obi-Wan wondered.

"I don't remember…" Padmé trailed off putting a hand to her forehead. She moaned. "I've just…been really…thirsty…" Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" She asked. With that, her eyes fluttered shut, and she slid off the chair onto the floor.

Obi-Wan followed a second later, kneeling down beside her.

Anakin was beside him in an instant. "Padmé? Can you hear me?"

Padmé was unresponsive.

"Did you see if she hit her head on the way down?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Not that I saw…" Anakin replied, unsure.

Obi-Wan knelt just above Padmé's head, and placed his hands on either side of her face, keeping her neck in a neutral position to avoid further injury.

"Okay Anakin, listen carefully. I need you to put your hands over mine. I'm going to slide mine out when yours are in the right place. If she wakes up, do not let her move her head." He commanded.

Anakin nodded, and then complied with Obi-Wan's request.

As soon as he had done so, Obi-Wan began feeling Padmé's extremities, looking for injuries. There was a self-applied splint on her right wrist, and the left sleeve of her shirt was dark and wet around the elbow. Obi-Wan pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and sliced through the fabric.

"You didn't just see that," He said to Anakin.

Peeling back the fabric and the blood-soaked bandage, Obi-Wan's face went ashen. "Kriff!" He said, as he saw the crude stitches Padmé had used to close the wound. Crimson ichor was seeping from the wound streaming down her arms in red ribbons.

He immediately put pressure on the wound and turned to Mace.

"Call an ambulance." He ordered.

Like it? Hate it? Review!

First to Review gets an A/P one-shot of their choice!

Also:

Bomber255, yours is in the works. It will be up either today or tomorrow as an addition to Careless Preparation.

See you next chapter!

~Ink