A great big hug to all of my wonderful reviewers! It's great to have feedback.

Sorry about the mahoosive delay. Exams are chewing on my fingers and I haven't had much time to type or think...

-- -- -- --

NOTTINGHAM CAMPUS, STUDENT CAR PARK

"Guys?"

"Yeah," the passengers answered simultaneously.

Robin gritted his teeth. "Are you ready for this?" he warned, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel – which was presently being clutched between his both hands.

Saffiyah rolled her eyes and adjusted the rear-view mirror for the excited driver with a quiet string of mumbles under her breath. Will had scrambled into the back seat of Robin's 80's mini and he, and an exhausted Al A'Dale, had clunked their belts and were waiting patiently for Robin to turn on the ignition.

"I think you forgot somethin'," Allan yawned. He scratched at red stain on Led Zepplin's forehead where he had accidently sprayed ketchup on his shirt, the moment Robin had entered the basement in the middle of the 'emergency'.

Robin's eyes flickered from side to side wildly, hands still poised on the wheel, "What, what did I forget?"

"The key," Saffiyah suggested, dangling the keyring before his face.

After ten minutes of groaning and fussing, the car slowly backed out of the student car park with a steady rattle from the engine. "The ambulance left two hours ago," the female passenger sighed, "And I have no idea what's happened. Much's phone is switched off, probably because of the hospital rules -"

"Penelope's fine," Will's voice floated from behind her seat. "The parademics gave her an oxygen mask, didn't they?"

"Yes," Robin snapped, still continuing to reverse at snail pace, "Now, are you all strapped in?"

"For the love of all things prompt and un-delayed," Allan groaned, rubbing his eyes ferociously, "I didn't get dragged out of basement to 'ave a mother's meeting with you lot in the back of a faulty car from the retro times."

Robin blinked at his friend's reflection the rear-view mirror.

"So put your foot on it, will you?"

-- -- --

"Blood 'Ell!"

The deafening horn of a passing truck shot past the window like bullet and the streetlights seemed to pass so quickly that the glow had smeared into a blur of garish milk along the car window. Saffiyah held her breath as the car roared and swerved around the roundabout towards the motorway.

"You told me to hurry up," Robin grinned, his eyes manic and staring quite frighteningly into the windscreen.

"D-Did you have coffee?" Saffiyah gasped, peering incredulously into her friend's eyes.

"A cup or two."

"How many people have you put on life support, Robin?" Will laughed shakily, exchanging a worried glance with Allan, who had presently been shocked awake.

"Honestly, you're a bunch of girls," Robin smirked as he swung into the next lane, almost colliding with a very hostile-looking driver. "I have at least one airbag."

- -- --

NOTTINGHAM HOSPITAL, NEURO DEPARTMENT

It mildly irritated him that the walls of hospitals were white, instead of any other kind of uplifting tone of yellow or even pink. There was something so cliché and clinical about the surroundings that Much couldn't help feeling restless, blinded by the snowy scenery.

Her face glowed with serenity when she asleep, sans the bruise across her left-cheek and the purple stained circle around her eyes. The make up had been removed from her cheeks, exposing a very vulnerable skin and delicate freckles which danced along her nose as if she were still a playful schoolgirl...She looked less flawless and royal but touchable and real.

The beep from the monitor brought the student around from his daze.

It was real. The whole situation was real and the possible outcomes – were all real.

The red marks from the oxygen mask had returned to Penelope's face, circling her lips and barricading her inebriated mumbles. The plastic tubing had been rewound around her arm with tape plastered unceremoniously to her skin. "It's all going to be alright," he swallowed, not sure whether he was reassuring himself or the young woman lying solemnly beneath the white sheets before him.

As if a butterfly fluttering from it's perch on the surface of a flower, Penelope's eyes opened. Her lips crinkled slightly into a weak smile as her words scraped the tip of her tongue, "you stayed with me," she croaked.

"Yeah," Much managed an anxious smile, "And you're alright."

"I am -" she started, then paused as her hand searched under the starched hospital sheets. "These aren't my knickers," she gasped, shocked.

Much laughed. Apart from the fact he had made this girl's acquaintance only but three hours ago, she managed to wash his whole system with relief within seconds. It seemed surreal, almost, as if he had met her somewhere in a dream – but she hadn't been some sort of goddess or majestic infiltrator of his fantasies but a kind of bully, in truth. She was one of those girls, he reminded himself. There was a painful gap of social class between himself and Penelope, even if he had just about saved her life. "I think the nurse gave you them," he offered shyly, rubbing his slightly steamed lenses with his thumbs.

"Oh," Penelope chuckled weakly, "I suppose when your brain is dehydrated, the first thing you have to do is strip somebody of their underwear."

Much's smile faded slightly. "You weren't well."

"Yes, Michael, I know I nearly died," Penelope sang softly towards the blinding white of ceiling, "but I – I still can't stop them, you know?"

He flinched from the use of his false name. She didn't even know him – and he knew nothing about her. And to add to that blunt truth, he had no idea what she was babbling about. "You're still..."

"High?" Penelope suggested, her grin small but nonetheless cunning. "I am being inspired, silly. This is the way I want to be, this is all the rage amongst the models in Paris."

"That's not why you take the drugs, though, is it?" Much found his voice rushing at full tidal force as he shuffled forward on his chair. "Not because of fashion."

Penelope quietened for a minute, as if she was considering his words. She was slightly taken back by his forward tone, as this quiet Michael guy was practically screaming at him while she was lying partly naked under chlorine-scented hospital sheets...Her head was still spinning, although only mildly, and her breathing felt strained and painful. "No, I don't really care what people think."

"Here's your purse," Much replied dryly, placing the silver item beside her arm on the hospital bed. The glittering royalty of the possession appeared plastic and worthless under the scrutinizing glow of white light. It was just meaningless, and Penelope dismissed it with the wave of her hand.

"I do love that purse," she cooed under breath, "but it's like my hair and dress, isn't it? It just looks amazing and so fantastique...But that's because people don't want to know me."

"I want to know you," Much whispered, ignoring how dramatic the situation had become, "who are you?"

"They just won't change," the patient laughed airily, "I don't want to change, I want them to change, you know?"

"Who are they?" Much asked, baffled.

"The world, everybody! You all want to dress me in vogue and then unzip me...Like, I'm some kind of slut from the upper class..."

Much felt himself nod defeatedly. An 'upper class slut'. That's the name most of Nottingham University knew her by. Then, realising that she had directly but indirectly labelled the culprit 'you', he shook his head vigorously before a blush assaulted his cheeks.

"So I take some dizzies and they – they, like, change everything outside. I can be whoever, you know?"

"What do you want?" Much breathed, still partly clueless. "What do you want to change?"

"I want to throw out the sun and, like, keep the moon out all the day," Penelope giggled, leaning back into the white pillows, "I want to sing opera in the middle of Sherwood Forest and paint the world pink. I want to ask my parents why they aren't here, in hospital, with me..." she stopped in the middle of her sentence, feeling too exhausted to elaborate.

"You're crazy," Much sighed.

Penelope turned her head and smiled tiredly at the uncomfortable young man, "Michael, you're always listening to me talk. Don't you want to change anything?"

What would he change? Where could he start? He'd take life by the hand and spin it in the wrong direction, just to unravel the fabric of time and piece everything back together – in the right way. He'd scramble through the Millers' graves and put the soul into his parent's bodies, maybe even tweak the corners of his mother's smile; he missed her smile. He'd make sure the rainbows were permanently printed in the sky and that suffering never existed. He'd make sure that all of Nottingham could gain an education – for free - And he'd find the man behind Saffiyah's scars and kick him out of the solar system – he'd change everything for his friends, for the people he loved. He'd make sure his sister, Elaine, never had a miscarriage and wipe the tears out of Robin's eyes when...

But he couldn't undo anything. That was crazy.

"Michael?"

Much shifted uncomfortably, knowing that the subject was becoming close to home and being addressed by a stranger's name felt...wrong. He didn't want to catch her deepest feelings and cheat her with a false identity – he would always uphold his respect for a lady. "That's not my name," he smiled awkwardly, "It's Much," he felt his tongue grow heavy. Much. He suddenly decided that his name even sounded lower-class. There was no chance he would he reveal himself as 'Dooh Nibor' member, at this rate.

"Smile, Much," Penelope slurred lightly, her eyelids falling with every word. "Smile, Much." In a second, her breathing became steady and level as her body became consumed by forgiving sleep.

Was it a command? Much wondered, still wary of her inebriated brain. Did she say it in a beckoning way? - Like 'go on, gizza smile, Much,' the way Allan would chirp. Or did she not take in his name? Perhaps it was a question – 'do you smile much?' or 'do you smile often?'

Either way, it was adequate. Much smiled, slowly but surely, and tucked the white hospital sheets up to Penelope's chin. He planned on waiting there until she awoke, even if he had to wait for a fortnight.

-- --

CASUALTY RECEPTION

Marian felt tears of relief prickle in her eyes from the doctor's words. Her friend was fine, her body still recovering, but she had survived the fatal effects of dehydration – and that was all the reassurance Marian needed. Also, Robin's secure arms certainly helped.

"You didn't take any ecstasy, too, did you? -" he mumbled quietly into her hair.

"No!"

"Just asking," Robin grinned, tightening his arms around her waist as a small boy seated in a wheelchair rolled into the children's ward. He was merely a toddler, with most of his head bald from the chemotherapy treatment, and he was staring blankly at Marian.

"Hi," Marian brushed off Robin's embrace embarrassedly and wiggled her fingers at the child. Robin watched the boy's face break into an amused grin and, in turn, Marian chuckled happily at the young patient.

Once the child was wheeled away by his nurse towards the reception, Marian's face still sympathetically watching her new friend, Robin planted a small kiss on her cheek.

"What happened to your car, by the way?" She broke the satisfied silence, curious about the battered carnage in the hospital car park.

"Long story."

- -- --

NOTTINGHAM HOSPITAL CAR PARK

The night was certainly freezing, as Allan could have predicted any day. It was Autumn, after all. And, to add to the seasonal technicalities, he was stood shivering in the car park without a jacket at three o'clock in the morning. Saffiyah had kindly offered him her cardigan, which he tried pulling on but decided not to rip the whole garment in half, refusing it to avoid a very hostile young woman. Will, on the other hand, was discussing matters with a very irritated police so had probably ignored the below zero temperature.

"Mr A'Dale?" a female voice wafted from behind him. "I haven't seen you in my lectures for quite some time."

"A girl's just been rushed into hospital and -" Allan blurted, spinning around. "Oh, you know how it is."

The redheaded woman, who had strutted out of the hospital in a grey pencil skirt and jacket, stopped smiling at the student and quickly scanned the group of shivering students with a critical glance, "Is there something the matter, officer?"

The policeman grumbled, tapping meaningfully at his notebook and muttering something about 'careless youth'. Will shrugged apologetically at the man, earning him a frustrated groan from Saffiyah.

Allan waved a hand dismissively at the conflict at his side and politely greeted his Philosophy lecturer. "Mrs Evans," he sighed, "'Ere, I'm sorry, it's just all that funds business at uni got in the way."

"It's just Miss Evans, and I understand," the older woman smiled, "But I just started some classes in cognito, under Mr Little's guidance. Would you still be interested?"

"Yeah," Allan dug his hands into his pockets with a nod.

"Excellent. And, remember," she continued, turning towards her car with a cocked eyebrow, "It's just Wendy."

"Okay, Wendy," Allan smirked, "I'll be there."

- -- --

DERELICT BASEMENT

Hugh Grant danced across the screen of the broken, portable DVD player, both students staring at the film. Why they were watching a chick flick was beyond Will, but he was sharp enough to understand that Much was truly enjoying it. After all, he welcomed a lighter change from visiting a frail Penelope on a daily basis.

"This bit's great," the young man shifted his specs eagerly, but then, catching Will's blank expression, turned down the volume of the film. "Are you alright?"

Will made a face, rolling off his front and running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he responded.

"What's bothering you?" Much asked knowingly, snapping the DVD player shut. He poised himself for the heart-to-heart that he knew Will would be reluctant to give. "Is it Saffiyah?"

"Nah," Will shook his head, "She's great."

The emotions were all too blatant in Will's creased forehead. He was worried and had obviously been losing sleep over the subject of the mysterious scars patterning Saffiyah's arms – well, that's as far as Much had seen. The student had also noticed that his friend had been spending a lot of time releasing his steam through his beloved camera – taking snapshots of the basement and staring emptily at each meaningless photograph. "She's...alright."

"D'you reckon it was just an accident," Much caught the train of the photographer's thought, leaning back into his sleeping bag.

"An accident?" Will's voice broke, "No, you haven't seen them, those cuts are all over her. That's no accident, Much, and she won't talk to me about it -" he paused. There were too many new thoughts occurring for him to process his words.

"No," Much shook his head confidently, "she wouldn't do that to herself."

"Do what to herself?" Will laughed nervously, "Self-harm or somethin'? Or d'you reckon she was -"

The silence was no longer silent but pulsing with painful possibilities. None of them clear or understandable, but mixed with confusion that ached Will more and more by the second. The rage was building, masking all of the torturous mystery and filling the void with uncontrollable heat. Who gave her those damn scars? "I'll kill who it was," Will's low voice mumbled into his hands.

Much nodded, gazing at his own fingers. "We'd help, if we could."

"No, mate," Will shook his head feverishly, unable to express his anger, "I'd – I dunno what I'd do."

- --

Rightio. Here it is: in all it's angst-filled glory. PHEW.

We discover that quirky Penelope has survived – and that Robin isn't the safest driver. Hah.

Next up: We may find out exactly what Saffiyah went through in her past (sorry, guys, it's taking a while!) and who this Miss Evans is to our Allan A'Dale...

Review, please? x