Thought I'd give this whole writing business another go, seeing as I was so thrilled to your response to my first fic 'Fall Away'. I'm hoping you enjoy and support this once just as much, you have no idea how much it means to me.

Also, I came up with the idea for this fic while I myself was in hospital, strange as it seems, but I don't think many have written fics like this so I thought I would write it. Obviously it is completely AU.

Sadly I do now own skins, although I do own an over active imagination and an addiction to this laptop.

Anyways on with the story, less of my ranting…

Redheads and Hospital Beds

AU." Whoever said you needed candle lit dinners and bottles of expensive wine to find romance? I found it among the incessant 'beeping' of my heart monitor and the slow, intravenous 'drop' of my IV drip…"

Chapter 1

Late.

Why am I always late?

The buzzing of the alarm echoes through my foggy head as I throw the covers of my bed back and hop out. My shower lasts all but 5 minutes as I rinse shampoo through my blonde hair and cover my body in a shower gel scent that's supposed to resemble raspberries and something else, I don't have time to check the bottle for it.

I jump out, wet feet sliding on the tiled bathroom floor and crash head first out of the bathroom and onto the wooden floor of the hall. Totally starkers for Christ's sake! Fuck it, I sigh, there's only two people in the hall at the moment: a guy who wears nothing but a walkman and headphones and a guy who is supposedly the living embodiment of Christ on earth but who had unashamedly shagged my mother countless times and tried it on with me. I found him in my bed one morning, he's seen it all anyway.

I shoot him a champion scowl as I pass him, ignoring his gaze on my dripping, naked body.

Slamming my bedroom door shut, I pick a towel that's probably been on my floor for days and begin drying myself with it. I'm terribly untidy and it was a fresh towel last time I checked, I'm in a hurry and it doesn't smell too bad. Don't even think about judging me.

I throw on the first set of clothes I come across, hurriedly apply a little make up, mainly eyeliner and mascara, run a brush through my still wet hair before cursing repeatedly and rummaging around my littered bedroom floor for our shitty hairdryer.

So, I could go for sopping wet look, just dried look, stuffed into a bun look, messy ponytail look…because let's face it my hair is going to be an absolute shambles today so there isn't much point in even trying to make it look nice. I quickly tie it into a messy ponytail look which, even if I say so myself, I actually suit, although a lot of people will give me grief that that is just because it suits my slightly mismatched clothing and general scraggy-ness. Fuck them, tossers.

Ok, so I've been up for a grand total of twenty minutes, that's a new personal best for myself and if I wasn't so late I'd take a moment to feel proud, but time for that later. I pull a large baggy jacket, that I'm not even sure is mine but I like it because it's retro and warm, from its resting place on my chair and hastily put it on as I sprint down the stairs.

My dear mother is sitting in the kitchen, talking to one of our house's inhabitants that she probably doesn't even know the name of. They seem to be discussing a banana which is placed on the table between them. I catch glimpses of their conversation as I approach the door.

"I can see why you'd find it offensive," my mother was saying, in her 'I'm-trying-to-be-wise' tone of voice. God, she is such a hippy.

"It's not just the shape, it's the skins…" the 'Strange-banana-lady' replies.

"It is a very aggressive texture," Mum cuts in. Fucking hell it's a banana you idiot! "Positively patriarchal."

'Naked-headphones' man takes this opportunity to push past me lingering in the doorway, and take a seat at the end of the table, averting both woman's gaze to…well I think you understand. We are talking about banana's here.

"Definitely patriarchal…"

"Mum," I shout barging in and ruining whatever lovely moment may be unfolding between my mother and her hippy, stranger housemates. "Has anyone ever told you what a complete fucking cow you are?"

"Plenty of people dear," she replies airily with a smile. I don't return it.

"Did you even think of waking me up? It's my first day and I'm late for fucks sakes!"

"That's nice," God she's infuriating, "Take a look at this darling, we're thinking of banning it from the group shopping list."

I have no time for her right now, "I'm fucking late mum!" I repeat. "God, you're so irritating."

And with that, I snatch up the banana, peel the skin half way down and take a large bite, because let's face it that's all the breakfast I'm getting this morning. I throw the rest of the banana on the table in front of them, seeing horror flash across 'Banana-lady's' face. Sending a cross between a sarcastic smile and a scowl in my mum's direction, I leave the kitchen. God, I'm such a bitch sometimes. And I love it.

To be totally honest, even if my mum wasn't such a hippy and actually owned a car I still wouldn't be getting to school on time. Traffic at rush-hour was unbelievable in Bristol, bumper to bumper the whole way up the road. Not that I want her to, cars contribute to around 21% of global warming, a figure which could drastically be reduced with use of public transport or non-emitting methods of travel.

Like the skateboard that has just whizzed past me, or the bicycle I'm currently pedalling with all my strength uphill. Fucking Bristol and its fucking hills. I'm becoming short of breath, but glad that I've been cycling all my life and at least have some form of muscle allowing me to push these fucking wheels onwards.

I'm glad when I reach the top of the hill, because I can basically freewheel the whole way down it again. And I'm gone. Butterflies are fluttering away in my stomach at the sensation of moving downwards too quickly. The wind hitting my face takes my breath away, leaving me panting slightly and again laughing at the sensation. The breeze also makes my eye's water and I blink back the tears threatening to spill, squinting through half-shut lids instead. Probably not the best idea on a busy road at rush hour.

I skirt across a normally quiet junction which on this occasion isn't so quiet. Now correct me if I'm wrong, and I'm speeding down this road on a bike, but that car should not be coming at me that fast. There's a fucking limit you know. Shit, that car is coming right at me. I begin to pedal hard on my bike, ignoring my screaming muscles, in an attempt to make it past the car before we collide. I hear the screech of brakes, screaming of pedestrians and honking of several horns before I feel my body collide with the cool metal body of the car and in an instant I'm thrown from my bicycle and landing on the solid black concrete of the road. Pain shoots up my right arm where it collided with the car and my left leg in unbelievably agonising where it broke my hard fall on the ground. Come to think of it, I'm in pain all over; unable to move. Instead I lie there, feeling blood oozing from my head as everything appears to slow down, sounds becoming a distant echo, screams and engines and horns fading as I begin to lose consciousness.

I awaken feeling muddled and confused. I had this incredible dream about getting hit by a car on my bike, was it a bike? I'm sure it was. It was so realistic; I could even feel the pain running up my right arm. I give it a twitch to make sure it's still there. Ouch, there's that pain again. Funny, I must still be dreaming. I give my leg a twist to, remembering it hurt in the dream too. But I can't, can't move my left leg, can move my right leg which hurts a bit, won't be doing that again.

I realise my eyes are still closed, surrounding me in a darkness that is oddly comforting. I figure my ears must be closed too because I can't hear anything. I decide to open them, blinding light. No wait, that was my eyes I opened. I close them again, welcoming the darkness and ignoring the brightness pressing on my closed eyelids. I couldn't feel it before but now I guess it knows I'm here. I'm beginning to head distant sounds, beeps and frantic voices.

I also begin to feel the sensation that I'm moving, but I think that's the aftermath of my dream; I was riding a bicycle after all.

There's that infernal beeping again. I wonder what crazy contraption my mother's found that does that, probably some less-pollutant vacuum cleaner made from recycles carrier bags. Hmm, I wonder if that is possible. I make a mental not to look into it when I'm on my laptop next. Or maybe in the library.

But I hear someone calling out to be, shouting. I'm guessing they're calling out to me because they are saying "Ms," which is certainly not my mother because, even though my dad fucked off and they were never married, she still gets 'Mrs', you know 'Missus' and opposed to 'Miss' which I'm sure will only ever belong to the crazy 'Banana-lady' because…well, she's crazy isn't she? And unless crazy 'Banana-man' comes along and they get married and amble lovingly into the sunset, 'Mrs' will never be attached to her name.

"Ms."

I hear it again, and I'm pretty sure it's me they're calling to. Pronounced at 'Mizz', like 'Fizz', which I get a lot because I look almost identical to my mother and we're often confused as sisters, to my horror because the woman is like 30 years older than me…

I try opening my eyes again; nope that blinding light is a little too…blinding. I flick them closed.

"Can you hear me?"

I want to scream "YES, NOW FUCK OFF SO I CAN GO BACK TO SLEEP," but I get an absolutely agonising pain up my left get again, the one I couldn't move before, and my eyes shoot open and I groan aloud.

Blinking several times to adjust to the light, I notice I'm lying flat on a rather uncomfortable bed, looking at the ceiling. The ceiling which is moving. What the fuck?

I try to get up, because ceilings don't move like that, or at least they shouldn't and I want to tell whoever is who's making it move to stop because it's making my head sore but I find that I'm strapped to the uncomfortable bed beneath the moving ceiling. Bollacks.

"Ms?"

I try to move my head, but find I'm unable to. I'm slightly thankful, it feels like a bowling ball right now. Only now do I become aware of the large, itching neck brace attached to me. What the actual fuck is going on? I guess I'm now relying on being able to roll my eyes now, my signature move. I flick them left, right, up and spot a young looking guy above me but behind me slightly. I can just about see him without rolling my eyes into my skull.

"Can you hear me?" he asks, his voice sounding slightly echo-y and distant. And I want to shout that of course I can hear him, that I have ears and that he shouldn't be to fucking stupid but I find my voice lost in my throat, and I'm unable to nod my head.

I guess he sees the panic float through my eyes as everything comes crashing down on me. I don't know where I am, how I got here and what the hell happened.

"Listen to me ok?" he soothed. Judging by his voice he was pretty young, I could only catch glimpses of his forehead and his spiked fair hair from my position. "You're in hospital, you've been in an accident but we're going to take care of you now."

Well that explained a lot. The dream and the shooting pains for instance.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

"N-Naomi," I feel myself stammer, voice coming out scratchy and low, like it does in the morning after I've spent the night before crying. I don't remember crying.

"Well Naomi, I want you to relax. Everything is going to be ok."

What a bunch of fucking help that is going to be. But I can feel everything becoming numb again, voices echoing in my mind once again. My eyes close and I'm lost to blackness.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

What the fuck?

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Evenly spaced, ever repeating 'beeps' enter my sleeping mind. Rousing me from whatever slumber I was in. I'm instantly in a bad mood. I hate being woken by anything other than my body clock.

I get the strangest flashbacks, cars slamming into me, bikes flying away from me, pedalling faster, moving ceilings, hospitals…I sum it up to whatever drug I took at that party was fucking mental. Something hallucinogenic perhaps? Fuck knows, I'm guessing it was a killer party though because my head is throbbing.

Now if only I could figure out what that beeping noise was, I could shut it up and go back to sleep.

I open my eyes to bright lights, I've slept well into the afternoon obviously, and my head pain in my head escalates. No surprise there, hangovers can be a bitch in the light. Something feels off though, my bedroom isn't painted white. Nor are my sheets white, nor are my pyjamas this horrible printed blue and yellow robe thingy. Come to mention it, my head is very heavy and I can't move my right arm. Or my left leg.

I reach up to feel my head with my left hand instead, only to see a bandage around it and a needle disappearing under it, under my skin no doubt. I feel slightly queasy as I try to sit up, feeling a bandage wrapped around my head.

"Oww," I moan as I rest back into the pillows, trying to ease the unsettled feeling in my stomach. A sudden flash back hits me as I become vaguely aware of a presence to my right.

"You're in hospital, you've been in an accident…"

I feel suddenly sick and I sit up and begin to retch into a cardboard container that had been shoved under my face. A nurse, I'm assuming, is standing beside me, running her hand up and down my back and offering soothing words and I vomit.

"You might want to take it easy there," a male voice sounds and I turn to see the same man I think I registered on my way here. "You have a bad concussion and fast movements may not serve you well."

He begins to explain something to me, possibly what happened, or who he is, but my hazy mind zones him out as one other person enters the room.

Red hair dances in the sunlight beaming through my window, illuminating her pale face with an almost unearthly fiery glow. She doesn't catch my eye but I'm sure she knows I'm staring because her cheeks blush an adorable pale pink colour.

"Here's her chart, nurse," she says in a husky voice as she hands the nurse to my right a clipboard. She leaves almost immediately, turning and giving me one final glance before she goes and I find myself lost in the depths of dark, chocolate brown eyes.

Ok so a few questions for this one, I have a general idea for where this is going, but a few details will need to be sorted that I can't decide on.

Will the gang be:

College age (characters appearing as friends/visitors/volunteers etc.)

University age (characters appearing as med students/visitors/friends etc.)

Career age (characters appearing as hospital staff etc.)

?

Also should I change POV or should it always be Naomi's?

Thoughts always appreciated! :D