"Miss Fabray, is everything alright?" a voice cut through the darkness. He had been shaking since seeing his image reflected in the glossy surface of the iPhone and that now increased tenfold. "Miss Fabray?" the voice repeated; a woman. A sigh. "I'll get the doctor." The teenager still didn't answer.

It didn't take long for the nurse, that's who he presumed she was, to find his doctor. Within minutes the man was perched on the end of his bed, by his feet, with a clipboard of various inane questions. "Miss Fabray?" he asked and the boy in the bed quivered. His voice turned quickly from caring to irritated. "Miss Fabray, things will go a hell of a lot faster if you co-operate."

Finally, after much deliberation, he opened his eyes. His casual examination of the doctor showed that he was an older gentleman—if he had to guess, he'd say in his sixties or so. He had a perfectly sculpted beard and glasses that seemed to frame most of his face; most of all, the young man noted that he looked stern. "Excellent," Doctor Stern said, although his facial expression betrayed his words, "Now, Miss Fabray-"

"Please stop calling me that." His voice came out as a cracked whisper, at least two octaves higher than he would have liked. The nurse, seemingly instinctively, poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his table and placed it gently in his shaking hand. He liked her. The doctor, however, looked nothing but shocked. It seemed to add to his opinion that his patient was an insolent child but the boy merely stared at him blankly and waited for a response.

"Very well," the doctor grumbled with a twitch of his eyebrows. He had to flick back to the first page of patient notes to find a first name, "Quinn." The boy let out a small sigh of relief at a name he deemed to be relatively gender-neutral. Much better. "Now, Quinn, I have some questions here to ask you. Is that all right? If you'd prefer to have your parents here, that can be arranged." Quinn nodded his assent; his parents being here was the very last thing he wanted—he didn't even know them. Doctor Stern wasted no time. "What is your full name?"

"Quinn Fabray," he answered tentatively. The water had fixed the frog-like quality of his voice but did nothing for its tone.

"And your middle name?" the questioner prompted.

"I-I don't know."

The man seemed surprised, noting his answer down on a long line beside the question. "You learned your name from us?" The blonde nodded. "Interesting." The rest of the quiz continued in much the same fashion: answer; surprise; pen-scratching. Quinn was quickly growing weary of the doctor and his attitude and the incessant questions were becoming too much. He just wanted to know what the hell was going on. After what seemed like, and may have been, hours, the doctor stood up to leave.

"Wait," Quinn called after his retreating form, again cringing at the pitch his voice reverberated at. Doctor Stern turned and raised a solitary eyebrow. "Wait. Aren't you going to tell me why I'm here?"

"Do I look like a messenger, Miss Fabray?" The teenager flinched both at the tone and the moniker. "Your parents will be here shortly; ask them." With that, the old man rushed out to the sound of beeping elsewhere.

The nurse smiled apologetically, "We're a bit rushed off our feet today, I'm sorry to say. He's not usually like that." Quinn got the distinct impression that he was. "Can I get you anything else?" He shook his head and the nurse followed the doctor's lead. Soon he was left alone with even more questions than he had started with.

This left him time to digest his thoughts, and try to declutter the various facts he had learned about himself. His name was Quinn Fabray; he was female, or so everyone treated him. His doctor was an asshole. He had also worked out that he seemed to have some kind of amnesia although he had no medical degree. That was something that made him wonder: was he a boy or a girl before his accident, whatever it may have been? It appeared that he had been a girl—long hair, a ladie's watch, no sign of any attempt to look masculine—but he wasn't so sure. These things didn't just happen, did they? No one just woke up, amnesia or not, and decided they were a boy...did they? Quinn didn't know any more. He considered briefly consulting his doctor about it, but soon laughed that off. The last thing he needed was to be locked up for being crazy. As soon as he got out of here, he'd work out what to do. He just had no idea when that would be, since Doctor Stern hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the answers. He didn't feel very much pain however, so he could only hope that hinted at a short stay.

Before he could delve too much further into his thoughts, a knock on his door drew him from them. "Come in," he shouted to his visitor, his voice again rough from lack of use. An older blonde entered and Quinn quickly deduced from the resemblance that she was his mother. "Mom?" he asked as she gained ground and the woman nodded, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Quinn, sweetie, well..." she laid her hand over his and he had to fight not to flinch. This woman was not a stranger, she was his mother; that was what he had to recite to himself. "There was a car accident. You were fighting with Rachel-"

"Rachel?" Was this the girlfriend he had been hopeful for?

"I don't know, some girl from your glee club. She's been waiting outside since it happened." At Quinn's confused looked, she elaborated, "It happened yesterday. You two were fighting, as girls do," Quinn flinched, but his mother assumed it came from imagining the event, "You stepped into the road while you looked over your shoulder at her." Tears no longer threatened to spill from the woman's eyes: she was unabashedly sobbing. "You looked over your shoulder and-" His mother's body was doubled over, racked with the pain of almost losing a child; Quinn wished he knew what to say. He took the hand over his and squeezed it gently.

"It's okay," he offered, "I get the picture."

The blonde smiled gratefully through her tears, and nodded, "That's my Quinn. Always putting others before herself." The teenager shrugged awkwardly, patting his mother's hand. His eyes roved up and down her body, trying to memorise it anew and remember all at the same time. He just wanted to remember. The first thing that caught his eye was a name tag on her lapel. 'Judy'. She must have come here from work, he guessed; he decided that from now on he would refer to her as Judy in his mind. Mom wasn't something he could call a stranger and, right now, everyone was a stranger.