A/N: Warning, this fic is about suicide. I hope I did the topic justice.

Thanks to Swing Girl At Heart for the brainstorming!

It was 7:00 AM, and it had already become abundantly apparent that the universe hated Darshen Figgins.

His wife broke the coffee pot. The debit card was declined when he went to Starbucks to get his caffeine fix. The chicken curry his wife made the night before had leaked all over the car on his way to work, spilling onto his briefcase.

None of this boded well for the fresh hell that was bound to await him when he arrived at McKinley High. And, as he noted at the sight of a man and woman waiting for him in front of his office that morning, it wasn't about to get better any time soon.

It wasn't unusual to see strangers waiting for him in the morning camped out in front of his door. Parents were often waiting for him to lodge their campaigns and complaints on their children's behalf. Not a good sign. But at least they didn't look angry. That was something, at least. But they didn't look happy. In fact, they didn't seem to look as though they were feeling any kind of emotion at all.

"Principal Figgins?" The woman asked. There was something familiar about the way the woman's predatory stare made his blood run cold, but he couldn't quite place it.

He gave her his best fake-smile as he fished his keys out of his pocket. "What can we do for you today?"

"My name is Julianna Lopez. My husband and I apologize for coming by without an appointment, but…"

"No, no apologies necessary, Mrs. Lopez," he said ushering them in, but she whipped around and stood nose-to-nose with him.

"You interrupted me," she informed him in a low and threatening tone. "No one interrupts me."

Figgins just nodded. Intimidation. Oh yes, this day was just getting better and better.

"Forgive my wife," Mr. Lopez said with a sheepish smile. Mrs. Lopez glared at him right now, but her husband was apparently immune to it. "It is a difficult time."

Mrs. Lopez stiffened at that, but still, she continued. "Principal Figgins, my daughter is Santana Lopez."

Now it was all starting to make sense. The Cheerio and Glee Club member had been to his office on numerous occasions for disciplinary actions, unfortunately. Her file was one of the longest of any female currently attending his high school. She was stubborn to the core and willful and harbored an attitude that hardly won her over with any of the teachers. Will Scheuster was the only one who would stick up for the girl if he heard any of the faculty speak ill of her, and she'd certainly done more than her fair share to earn her a seat across from his desk, so he knew her well. But it had been a month since anything had happened that would warrant a protest from one of her parents, let alone both of them.

"Yes, I'm familiar with your daughter," he said. "What's this about?"

"Our daughter is dead," the woman said in a trained, even tone.

Figgins could not believe what he'd just heard.

"She's what?"

The woman's lip quivered ever so slighty, and then she inhaled. Her husband laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The hostility was gone, replaced now with what Figgins could only describe as vulnerability. All that remained in the woman's demeanor was raw grief, giving Figgins a stark contrast from the tempestuous gail-force that had been Julianna Lopez not ten minutes before.

"Martin," she pleaded with her husband. " Explain, please…I can't even..."

"Suicide," Martin supplied quietly. "I had pain pills in the medicine cabinet from when I had back surgery last year. I'd only needed three of them. She'd taken the whole bottle."

Figgins couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Santana? Lopez? Suicide?

No. They had to be mistaken. He had to have heard that incorrectly. Of all the girls in the school, Santana Lopez was the last one he would've expected to do something…like that. He had a hard time comprehending it all.

She wasn't ridiculed for wardrobe choices and an abrasive personality like Rachel Berry. She wasn't, as far as he knew, a flaming homosexual like the Hummel boy, or in a wheelchair. She wasn't nine months pregnant like Quinn Fabray. She was the one who gave other girls a hard time if she felt they deserved it.

Compared to a lot of students who came through the doors of William McKinley High, she had it easy here. She was a Cheerio for crying out loud. She had friends—friends whom she could talk to if she was having problems.

The problems he'd experienced half an hour ago were so small compared to what the Lopez family must be experiencing now. He was fairly certain they'd trade broken coffee pots and debit card failures with having to plan the funeral of their daughter in a second.

"Of course," he began, "on behalf of McKinley High, I offer you and your family deepest condolences," Figgins finally said after what felt to him like an eternity. "Are there any services planned?"

"We haven't made any arrangements yet," Martin answered. "But when funeral arrangements have been confirmed, we'll let you know."

"If there's anything I can do for you, let us know," Figgins said. And he actually meant it.

"Thank you, Mr. Figgins," Martin said, as he ushered his wife out the door. And then to his wife: "Julianna, come. We have many things to do."

So did he. Whatever Figgins thought he'd possibly be dealing with that day, the death of a student by her own hand certainly never even crossed his mind. It seemed as though a student died each year, but usually from car accidents. In all his years as administrator, he'd never dealt with a suicide before.

Santana. Lopez. Suicide. The three words turned over and over again in his mind as he tried to connect the three, but it was just…impossible. Absolutely

impossible. The whole thing just seemed completely surreal. It was like someone had turned the world on its head and any minute now, this would not be his reality.

He would call his secretary, ask for Santana Lopez's first period teacher, and find out that this had all been some kind of sick, twisted joke which would get the Cheerio in the kind of trouble that would be worthy of suspension this time.

But somewhere, on some level, he knew it was true.

He pressed the speaker for the secretary.

"Madeline, please look up the schedule of Santana Lopez and send all of her teachers to my office at once, as well as Ms. Pillsbury."