So, I'm not much of a Gleek but I have completely and totally fallen in love with Faberry and therefore had an uncontrollable need to try and write them. Chances are, this'll be a two or three-shot. There are so many other Faberry fics out there, ones written by people who watch Glee much more religiously than I do. But I foresee this being a rather interesting story and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Future chapters depend entirely upon this fic's reception. If you like it, I'm happy to write more. If you don't, I'll go back to Callizona. Either way, here you go.

I apologize for any information/plot details that are non-canon (other than Faberry itself, of course). This fic is slightly AU just for the fact that it's easier for me to write if I have no restrictions. Other than that, just read and enjoy the Faberry goodness (:

Title inspired by the one and only Jason Aldean.

Enjoy (:

As she stood outside Miss Pillsbury's office, Rachel Berry wondered if she remembered their first encounter. It wasn't all that long ago. Ms. P caught her trying to make herself throw up in the girl's room, admittedly one of Rachel's darker days. Of course, hardly knowing the eccentric, redheaded guidance counselor deterred Rachel from telling the immediate truth about her actions. She made it all up as she went along, saying she wanted to be thinner and prettier like the revered Quinn Fabray (which was only partially true). In all honestly, Rachel wanted to appear as if she was in love with Finn Hudson. At least that was understandable. At least that was normal. And while not a whole lot had changed since that embarrassing afternoon spent on the floor of the filthy school bathroom, enough had gone on to force Rachel to look for advice.

Though she did initially come to Ms. P's door to ask for help, Rachel's pride with mixed a little bit of characteristic apprehension had her size-sevens glued to the floor outside her office. She simply stared at the neat nameplate that hung on the sturdy door before her, trying to gain the courage to raise a hand and knock. Around her, kids were scurrying to their classes, fumbling with their lockers and swapping homework answers. On any normal day, Rachel would be heading to calculus to deal with comments from Santana Lopez about how she was the only Jew to ever suck at math. But this wasn't a normal day.

The bell rang and the hallways cleared out, leaving Rachel alone in the corridor to further contemplate her decision to implore Ms. P's guidance. A few more minutes passed and Rachel got tired of her own self-doubt. She told herself something about how Barbara Streisand wouldn't be scared and knocked twice on Ms. P's door.

"Come on in," answered Miss Pillsbury. She had noticed the shadow on the other side of her door but was too caught up in one of her bouts of compulsive sanitation to really acknowledge how long the silhouette spent hovering. Rachel opened the door and peered inside before taking the full step forward and shutting it behind her. Finally, Emma looked up. "Oh, Rachel," she said, momentarily placing the cleaning supplies down on her desk. She gestured to the red chair before her. "Take a seat."

"Uh, okay." She sat, forced a polite smile, and placed her yellow messenger bag down on the floor beside her feet. Ms. P folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward, trying to concentrate on the troubled youngster sitting in front of her and not the millions upon millions of germs that were crawling all over her office supplies.

"How can I help you, Rachel?" Rachel cleared her throat and looked around the tidy office. She wanted desperately to spill her soul someone. Even Miss Pillsbury if that was what it would take to feel a little less crazy. Ms. P had made her feel better once before, even if she was completely misinformed and just spewed the standard-issue words of support.

"Well," she began, inhaling sharply, "I've…had a lot on my mind lately." Ms. P was eying the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser that was only a few inches from her right hand but tried desperately to give Rachel her full attention. "So much so that I'm having trouble eating and sleeping. I don't know what to do. And since you're the guidance counselor-" Rachel raised an eyebrow when she noticed Ms. P straining to keep eye-contact. "Is everything okay?"

"Yup," answered Emma quickly and loudly. Rachel leaned back. Noticing her mistake, Emma cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm just going to-" She picked up one of her pens and breathed on it, fogging up the clear plastic, before wiping it with her blouse. "Please, continue."

"Okay." Rachel dragged out her word as she observed Ms. P's actions. She'd heard that the guidance counselor was quirky. But now, seeing it firsthand, Rachel wondered if she should really be taking advice from someone who was individually cleaning each Ticonderoga in her pencil cup with a Lysol wipe. "I was just saying that, lately, I've been feeling…overwhelmed. I can't even focus on glee club. I've had the same thing on my mind for months. Maybe longer. But until now, I just figured that it would pass. That I was going through a phase and that I'd feel better soon enough. But so far, it hasn't passed and I feel like I'm going crazy."

Emma knew the feeling. The 'I must be crazy' mentality. Most people would assume that the feeling was the result of her OCD but in reality, it was the result of Will Schuester, the curly-haired Spanish teacher with his sights set on Broadway. When Emma had first met Rachel, the teen questioned if she'd ever loved someone so much that it made her cry. That someone was the glee club's commander-in-chief, though she'd never admit it to anyone, including herself. The insanity that was to follow was unprecedented, and this was coming from the woman who disinfected the outside of liquid soap containers in her own bathroom.

"Well, Rachel," began the germaphobic counselor, still scrubbing away at the invisible enemies that were invading her personal space, "I think we all go through something similar at one point or another. Everyone has to experience some kind of hardship. But, on the bright side, if you take a step back and try to see things with a bit of perspective, almost any problem can be easily solved."

"I don't know about that…" Rachel's voice trailed off as she thought about how she wished that were true. She wished her problem could be easily solved.

"Believe me, Rachel, every problem can be solved." Emma looked up from the pile of supplies on her desk and gave a warm smile. "Now, the last time we spoke, you were hung up on that tall boy. Finn. Is that what this is about?"

"Not exactly," said Rachel, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

"Well, whatever it is, I know that the two of us can fix it." Emma cocked her head to the side slightly, hoping to gain the teen's trust. "Together." She smiled again. "So tell me. What's on your mind? What is it that's causing you such emotional distress, Rachel?"

"Ah," Rachel sighed, releasing all the air from her chest. She smiled, nervous. "Lately, I've been having dreams about Quinn Fabray."