Title: Fixation of the Teacher

(Extended) Summary: A white van pulls up, CNN painted in red on the side. Her picture is going to be all over National Television. Dirty, thin, pale, and tired, shaking in the back of some ambulance while it snows. The Quinn Fabray story will be on the front page of every paper and headline every newscast for the next week. Everyone will know about it, but no one will ever really know.

As for the Quinn/Santana listing thing, it's not a pairing; it's just like about both Quinn and Santana… like, separately. But, because I'm a sap, there's totally Brittana, and maybe eventual Faberry maybe.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, yadda, yadda, yadda… rightfully belongs to the Fox Network and Ryan Murphy… more babble…. just borrowing them… blah, blah, blah… this kinda junk better not actually happen on my happy go lucky show, got it?

A/N: For those of you who read my first story (Sunshine World) know that, despite any similarities in character names (really, do I have to re-name their families every time?) or past events, these two stories DO NO go together… at all. There WILL be a sequel to that, but this isn't it. That story was, like, a cotton-candy level of fluff, this isn't. They are completely different tones and everything. Seriously, if I add that much fluff to this story something is terribly wrong with me... ANYWAYS I'm super excited for this brand new story, it was incredibly hard to write and took like… three whole nights, and I have no idea why. I'm going on vacation for a week, I'll have my computer, but I'm unsure about internet, so let's consider this a "teaser" for now and I'll post more when I'm home, until then - please continue, read, review (if you want- any suggestions are helpful) and enjoy!

Chapter One:

It's snowing again. Big fluffy white puffs of snow drifted slowly from the sky, scattering across the ground in a thin blanket of white. It's almost serene. Almost. After all, it was snowing the last time she was outside too, how could she find it peaceful now?

Holding out her hand, Quinn watches closely as the gathered flakes almost immediately melt away to tiny droplets of water on her skin. She can't help but feel somewhat similar. Just a few short months ago she'd finally managed to get her life somewhat back together, and she'd readily enjoyed the peace that came along with it. But now it was all falling apart again. Gone. Faster than snowflakes could melt. Letting her hand fall limply to her lap, she shivered in the cold, idly wondering why God insisted on putting her through so much, again and again. She just wanted it to be over.

Cop cars and ambulances are parked hap-hazardously along the curb. The tiny street is crowded with flashing red and blue lights and sirens, but she barely hears them, they sound muffled and far away. She barely hears anything. The only clear sound she hears are her own unanswered screams from the last week echoing in her head. A man rushes towards where she's sitting, he says something, but she doesn't respond, she barely even looks at him. Without further question, he scoops her up into her strong arms and turns towards the street, EMT is printed on the front pocket of his shirt. She wants to scream and twist out of his grasp, but she's just too tired and lets him carry her into the bright and warm back cab of the waiting ambulance instead. She looks over his shoulder at the little gray house at the end of the street. It had once been so inviting and lively. Now it was surrounded in yellow police tape. As the EMT sets her gently down on the gurney, checking her pulse and temperature, she watches as various police officers rush in and out of the house, carrying little baggies full of bits of evidence.

Bits of her.

One second the EMT was there, poking and prodding, and the next he was leaving her without a word, sitting alone on the stretcher with the doors wide open, as he rushed off to speak with somebody in the distance. There's a white flash that leaves her momentarily blinded. She blinks away the spots and looks over. There's another flash. Reporters. Coach Sylvester always said they were the filth of the Earth. Bottom feeders sustaining themselves off the woes and triumphs of others because they were too mundane to afford any for themselves. They can make you or break you, Q, so always be on their good side. But, right then, she couldn't muster up the will to even try. She watches blankly as an officer appears out of nowhere, forcing the man with the camera back, shouting for someone to round up the rest of them behind the barricade. "This isn't a goddamn circus, people!" She recognizes some of their faces from their local news station, others are unfamiliar. A white van pulls up, CNN painted in red on the side. Her picture is going to be all over National Television. Dirty, thin, pale, and tired, shaking in the back of some ambulance while it snows. The Quinn Fabray story will be on the front page of every paper and headline every newscast for the next week. Everyone will know about it, but no one will ever really know.

From what she can tell, most of the neighbors are outside. She can see groups of them crowded behind the police barricade. They're huddle together in small groups, watching and whispering to each other. They're clad in their robes and slippers, some have cameras, others have mugs of coffee. God, what she wouldn't do for some nice, hot, coffee right then. They stand on their toes and crane their necks, trying to see what their TVs aren't showing them, only their TVs are showing everything. Nothing like this has ever happened in Lima before, they're freaken Lima, after all, the poorest excuse for a city in all of Ohio. News Casters are literally jumping over police lines, just to get some footage. It's like they think it's like some big show.

She knows it's going to be even worse at school.

She won't have any ambulance to hide in, or police officers to protect her, then. It'll just be her and a wide open hallway. They'll all be whispering behind her back for a second time, the students, the teachers, everybody, and they'll give her those looks again too, except, this time, they won't be judgmental, they'll be even worse. Pity. Just thinking about it makes her squirm, you pity those who are lower than you. She's freakin' Quinn Fabray, nobody is supposed to pity her.

Then, to her surprise, Mr. Schuester, of all people, suddenly appears by the open doors. He glances around awkwardly for a long moment before offering her a small smile. She attempts to return his gesture, but is sure it comes off more as a grimace.

"Hey, there, Quinn," he starts off slowly, his eyes drifting to his regrettably ugly brown loafers. She wonders what he's even doing there, and how he got there so fast. Then suddenly, she wonders how everybody got there so fast. When the police had found her, just twenty minutes ago, the ambulance and news reporters had already been there, crowds had already gathered, and, apparently, Mr. Schuester had already driven in from the other side of town. "I just wanted to see how," he hesitated, apparently realizing how lame he was sounding, "we wanted to know how you were holding up."

Quinn can only shrug her shoulders, no long really even listening as her mind continued to race. She knows she's missing something, she just can't figure out what it is. She's about to ask him when a loud shout from outside the ambulance draws Mr. Schuester's attention away. He leans around the door briefly before turning back to her, his jaw tight and gaze soft. Pity. She reaches over and pushes the door open a little further, to see for herself. It's her parents. They're together, but they fighting. She hadn't even known they were there. Leaning back, she nods as Mr. Schuester apologizes.

"No, Quinn, I mean it," he stops, and she lets herself really look at him, there are bags under his eyes and he's tearing up, "for everything, for before, for-"

She cuts him off with a shake of her head and a hoarse whisper, surprised at how much effort it takes to make even that, "It's okay, Mr. Schue. Really," she insists, "you didn't know." How could she blame him of all people? Nobody knew. She had trusted them too.

He nods his head slowly, looking down at the ground again. He's about to say something else when the EMT reappears, brushing by him like he's not even there, climbing into the back of the ambulance again. He busies himself with some equipment, only momentarily glancing over at Quinn, who's watching him closely. "We're about ready to transport you, Miss. They have a room already waiting for you at the hospital, they want to give you an exam-"

"They didn't touch me or anything," she insists loudly, and the EMT raises his eyebrows at the unexpected outburst. Quinn was even surprised with herself as she folded her hand neatly in her lap, biting her lower lip.

"It's just policy, Miss," he quickly insists, "just precaution," he's mumbling as he beings to tinker with the equipment again, she doesn't say anything else. "They'll need to run a few tests as well. But, barring any unexpected complications, it looks like you're going to make a full recovery. They'll probably release you in a few days, so there's a plus side, right Miss? The police will need your official statement too, so they're will be some officers waiting for you. Alright, Miss?"

"Quinn." Mr. Schuester suddenly interrupts, the EMT turns and gives him a funny look. Mr. Schuster ignores it and motions towards Quinn, "her name is Quinn."

"Alright, then, very well," the man glances at Mr. Schuester again, "Quinn, we're going to move out now then, ok?"

Mr. Schuester is about to excuse himself, when she reaches out with a small hand to stop him, "thank you, Mr. Shue." It was barely a whisper.

He gives her a sad, watery smile, patting her hand before nodding once, "anything."

"Could you-" she hesitates, hurriedly glancing around the confining space nervously, her voice small and shaky. "Could you, um," she looks down at her hands and sighs, "would you mind going and getting my mom for me?" the words rush from her mouth in a jumbled mess and her face burns red.

"Of course," he replies quickly.

Quinn watches as Mr. Schuester walks away, turning the collar of his coat up against the cold, the wind howling violently. He approaches her mother, who's now standing in front of a camera with a reporter and laughing. Actually laughing. He taps her shoulder and she waves him away without looking back, absorbed in her interview. Quinn can see him huff and square his shoulders. He glances back and catches her eye, Quinn just shakes her head and turns away. Just before the ambulance door closes, her mother arrives, her face flustered and slightly out of breath. "Here you are, Quinny," she replied cheerfully, sitting down beside her on the gurney, "I was looking all over for where they took you to."

"Ma'am-" Judy turned and smiled at the EMT, fluttering her eyelashes slightly.

"Please," she extended her hand, "call my Judy."

He dipped his head politely, but didn't move to accept her hand, "Judy, Ma'am, if you'd please take a seat over here," he gestured towards a plastic bench on the opposite wall from Quinn, "we can only have patients up there."

"Oh, but I'm her mother!" Judy insisted.

"Sorry, it's policy," he explained, "We can't leave until you're seated."

"Oh," she let out an exaggerated sigh, "very well." She patted Quinn's shoulder before standing up and making herself comfortable on the provided bench. "There, can we please go now?" The EMT nodded his head and reached out the back of the ambulance to close and secure the doors. Within seconds the ambulance lurched forward and they were on their way.

Brittany is sitting with Santana on the front porch step of old Mrs. Monroe's house, watching the flashing lights from a safe distance. They've both had enough excitement for one day. Santana is sitting on the first step, her knees bent to her chest, arms wrapped around them, Brittany sits on the step behind her, her arms around Santana's shoulders, holding the musty blanket Mrs. Monroe gave them to share in place. The slamming of the ambulance door catches Brittany's attention and she turns to look as it drives away. It backs up slowly, making a wide circle around the onlookers, and drives down the same route the one carrying her father, mother, and little sister took just an hour ago. She waves as it passes, like she had done when her family left, even though she knows Quinn probably won't be watching to see her, like Emily had been. After all, Quinn didn't even know they were there, she hadn't seen them the entire time she was parked outside of Mr. Sander's house, and they had been sitting right there. Although, she supposes, as she looks around at all of the police cars and people running up and down the street, they weren't doing very much to stand out.

As she continues to slowly wave at the disappearing ambulance, she notices someone else waving too, and he notices her. It's Mr. Schue. He looks away and she lets her arm fall, returning it to its place around Santana. Santana is shivering. She has been for the last twenty minutes. Every time Brittany asks if she wants to go inside, Santana just shakes her head, dark eyes steadily fixed on the cop cars on the far side of the street. So Brittany decides it's best to not ask again and just holds her close. She looks up from Santana to find Mr. Schue again, he's moving, but then he stops to talk to someone. Rachel. Half of the Glee club is standing behind her. She waves him goodbye and goes to join the others as he continues pushing through the crowd, heading in the direction of where he parked his little blue car at the end of the street.

But, as soon as he's free from the mass of people, he turns. Santana realizes it before Brittany does, and quickly buries herself a little further under the blanket, her cold fingers desperately searching for Brittany's.

"Hey, Brittany, Santana," he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looked them over, making sure they're still intact. After what he saw on TV, he had to make sure for himself. After he's satisfied they're both indeed alive, he allows his gaze to drift to the yellow tape surrounding the house next door. Brittany follows his gaze to her house, frowning slightly. She would much rather be sleeping in her own bed tonight, or Santana's. But Santana's house, on the other side of Brittany's, has yellow tape around it too, and a broken front window. They'll be sharing the spare bed at Mrs. Monroe's instead.

"Hey, Mr. Schue," Brittany responds quietly. Santana doesn't say anything, but Mr. Schuester either doesn't notice, or just doesn't ask. He just steps out of her way as she leans slightly to see around his legs. Brittany sighs, she wished somebody would ask. Her parents, the police, Mrs. Monroe, anybody. She was starting to get seriously worried about her best friend. Santana always talked to her, when she's happy, sad, angry, always. And now she's just stopped. Shut down.

"I just wanted to check to see if you guys needed anything. I-I know your parents were taken to the hospital," he's looking right at Brittany, and she knows he can tell Santana isn't all there either. He gestures behind him vaguely, "the whole Glee Club is here for you, we know you've been through a lot. So, if you need someplace to stay, or-or clothes, they wanted to all come over, but I didn't know if it would be too much, so just I- came," he catches himself rambling and cuts off.

Brittany just shakes her head, giving him a small smile as she searches the for the Glee clubbers, but she can't find them anywhere, "Tell them we're ok, Mr. Schue," she wishes it wasn't a lie. "We're just going to go to sleep soon. Mrs. Monroe offered us her guest room," she clarifies, "and Santana's parents are going to be back on the first flight they can tomorrow. It's just hard, with all the snow."

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh, shivering in the hollowing wind, "I heard a lot of flights had been grounded, the storm is supposed to get pretty bad." Brittany doesn't think pointing that out is very helpful and stands, dragging Santana up with her.

"I'm cold," she explains, to both Mr. Schue and Santana.

"Well, we're all here for you," he insists firmly, she nods her head again, "so, even if you just need to talk, don't hesitate to ask, alright?"

"No problem, Mr. Schue."

He smiles and nods slightly, "Ok, then, well, good night girls. We'll see you when you come back to school."

Brittany waits until Mr. Schuester is halfway back across the street before she turns to go inside, pulling Santana by the hand. Santana's fingers slip from Brittany's, and her shoulders slide from under the blanket as she remains rooted in her spot. It's cold, her toes are bare, and she's wearing nothing but a pair of Brittany's old pajama bottoms that are way too long and a tank top, but she doesn't want to go yet. She isn't ready. She has to see him. She feels Brittany step up beside her, her warm arms enveloping her and the blanket returning around her shoulder. Brittany looks out over Santana's head at the sea of people again, and they both wonder. Is he still out there?