A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful feedback everyone! Because of the great response, I've decided to continue on with my story. Special thanks to QueenOfTheButterflies for sharing her ideas for the later chapters. If you have some suggestions yourself, feel free to drop a line. I'll give you credit if I use them, of course. I may need a beta soon too...

Now without further ado, here is Laryngitis WITH Emma.

When Emma got home that night, she went straight to bed. She was lost, confused. Her dreamland offered a temporary escape from the world. She knew that it was wrong, telling kids to face their problems head on while she herself chose to get around them instead. But she was in no mood to care about not following her own advice. She needed a refuge and sleeping on it was the only thing that could provide her that.

She woke up sometime around half-past eleven. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten dinner yet. It was already late and she had no appetite, though. Since her earlier bedtime meant that she wouldn't be able to drift back to sleep easily, she figured that she could use her time productively by preparing for the day ahead. She walked over to her closet, whose drawers and compartments she scanned for pieces that she'd wear.

Emma was a woman who based her wardrobe on her current disposition. On that particular night, she was feeling rather helpless. What she needed was something strong and bold to counter the negative vibes. In the end, she settled for a red sleeveless top matched with a pencil skirt and a pair of Mary Janes of the same color. This decision she'd regret in a few hours time when she finds out that Will is also wearing red, which she'd later convince herself as a mere coincidence.

Contented with her choice, she took them out and hung them on the handles of her dresser. Just as she was about to close the doors, something gray caught her eye. It was buried beneath one of the many neatly-stacked piles of clothes. Its dull hue stood out from her otherwise rainbow-like ensemble. Curious, she pulled it out. It was a shirt, an oversize one at that.

Emma drew the piece of clothing closer to her, placing it against her face. Her eyes closed as a distinct scent, his distinct scent, overwhelmed her. It was intoxicating, that single whiff which sent her back to happier times. It was Will who gave it to her, after Puck mistook her for a student and hurled one of those iced beverages at her.

She remembered that day all too well. Her hair was sticky, her clothes were wet and her body reeked of the sweet-smelling drink; she had never felt so humiliated in her life. She had been given a slushie facial, she'd later learn. She actually pondered on quitting as she walked down the halls. Luckily, a certain Spanish teacher was walking by at the time. The thought of seeing that dreamy man everyday alone was more than enough to change her mind. He helped her clean the gunk off and insisted that she keep the spare shirt he lent her, even though it didn't really match her outfit. That was two years ago, on her first day at the job, when she proved that love can happen at first sight.

With a nostalgic smile, she took off the dress she wore and put the shirt on, the fabric clinging loosely to her petite form. It was three sizes big but to her it fit just right. She then took a brief moment to look at herself in the mirror before crawling back to bed. For the first time in days, she was able to sleep soundly.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Emma blinked as her attention was brought back to the distraught student sitting in front of her. "Why, of course, uh, Rachel. It's my job," she tried to assure her, nodding a few times to make herself appear more convincing. As much as she hated lying, she had no choice. It wasn't that she had no interest; it was quite the opposite, actually. It was just that if she admitted that she had something else on her mind, then their conversation would most likely evolve around it instead. This was supposed to be about Rachel's problem, not hers.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the glee-clubber continued talking while Emma's thoughts drifted back to a particular dentist.

"I am nothing without my voice," Rachel concluded not long after, her gravelly voice making her feel even more miserable. She believed that the doe-eyed guidance counselor can offer her a more optimistic view of her situation. Her advice may at times be impractical, but they never fail to make her feel more at ease.

Emma cleared her throat as she clasped her hands on top of her table. "Well, um, I don't think I have a pamphlet for that. You said you have tonsillitis, am I correct?" she asked, hoping that she heard her right. She felt relieved when Rachel nodded. "I'm not a doctor, but I'm sure that this will only last for a few days, depending on how fast your body can fight those, uh, nasty germs. You'll be singing again in no time," she then continued, more than glad that she attended that PTA seminar on respiratory diseases.

"No offense Miss Pillsbury, but I know our biology lectures down to the letter. What I'm concerned about is how it might affect the quality of my singing. As you know, regionals are coming up and we don't stand a chance of winning without my vocal prowess," Rachel clarified, her growing distress evident on her features.

"As I've said, I'm no doctor, so I can't really give an answer to that. All I can say is…," Emma trailed off as she caught sight of Howell standing outside. "Doctor Howell," she mumbled his name absentmindedly, much to Rachel's confusion. She was just about to ask who exactly the man was when Emma excused herself and walked out of the room.

"Doctor Howell," she called his attention. He looked at her for a moment, his usually vibrant eyes dull and listless, before setting his gaze back down. At first she was confused. The only reason he would react that way was if Figgins rejected his application. This to her was very unlikely, given that the school wasn't really picky when it came to applicants. Brenda Castle was a fine example of that, an astronomy teacher turned badminton coach. Luckily, it didn't take long before she thought she figured it out. "Sorry, I mean, Carl. How did it go?"

"The principal told me that I wasn't qualified for the job," he answered, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

A slew of emotions overwhelmed her instantly. But she was angry, for the most part. "Seriously? Carl, you're more qualified than half of the people working here," she exclaimed, her voice raised. Startled by her rather strong reaction, Howell took a step back. "I'm going to have a little talk with Figgins later."

He shook his head. "You don't need to," he differed, his voice trembling a little.

"But how are you going to pay off your rent?" she argued in the same high-pitched tone. It was a mystery to her how the guy could just stand there so calmly when he was about to lose his career. He should've been panicking. He should've been back at the principal's office to prove just how qualified he was. He should've been at least showing the slightest sign of concern.

By this time Howell had regained his composure. "With the money I'll be getting working part-time here in McKinley, of course," he replied, as though the answer was very obvious.

"I thought you said that-"

"You didn't let me finish. I wasn't qualified- I was overqualified. He didn't even look at my resume. He even said that I could work as long as I'd like. I told him I won't, though, as I'm sure there are other people who need this job more than I do," he explained to her, his confident air back.

A brief silence settled between them. She was supposed to be angry. How dare he play with her emotions like that? Yet oddly enough, she wasn't. Her mind told her that it was her fault, falling for the same trick twice. She knew that she should've seen it coming. "You've got to stop doing that," was all she could say.

"Doing what?" Howell asked, although he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You know. Making me fluster on purpose."

"I can't help it Emma. You look so adorable when you're nervous," he admitted, his words sending her back to a particular moment when Will told her just that. The scene played in her mind. They have only started dating back then, oblivious to the reality of their situation: he was still married and she had just been left by her fiancé. It was wrong and yet it didn't seem to matter at the time. "So how about it? Seven tonight?"

His question snapped her out of her trance. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Dinner. My treat. I'll pick you up at your place," he repeated all the pertinent details.

"I don't know…"

"Come on. It's the least I can do, especially after all that I put you through just now," he insisted, far from willing to give up his cause.

"I told you, Carl, you don't owe me anything," she quickly assured him.

"Don't owe you anything? You just saved me from living the rest of my life in a cardboard box! Please, Emma," he pleaded, looking at her straight in the eye. "You can think of it as a personal favor, if you want."

He seemed so desperate. And she didn't have any plans for the night anyway. She figured that there was nothing to lose. "Okay. I'll go," she agreed a little too quickly.

A huge grin flashed on his face the moment he heard her approval. "I promise you won't regret it," he guaranteed her before heading towards the opposite direction.

He had already taken a few steps when a thought suddenly hit her. "Wait, aren't you going to write down my address?"

"I'm your dentist remember? It's on that information sheet you filled up yourself in my office," he reminded her over his shoulder.

"Right, right. See you later, then," she bade him goodbye. She watched him for a second as he disappeared into the hallways. If she had not spotted Finn walking amongst the crowd, she would've completely forgotten about her unfinished counseling session.

"I thought you've forgotten about me," Rachel said as she finally entered the room.

"I'm sorry Rachel. I just had some, uh, matters to take care of," she explained while taking her seat. She then took a deep breath before going back to what she was saying earlier. "You are a very great person Rachel. You're very talented, though I guess you're already well-aware of that fact," she paused for moment, noting her amused expression. "Even if you do lose your voice, not that I'm saying you will, it's not exactly the end of the world right? I'm sure you have other gifts just waiting to be discovered. I think that your confidence, your drive to succeed alone is enough to put you above the rest."

Rachel leaned across the table and placed a hand on top of hers. She didn't pull back, as she would've normally done. Though unconventional, she must admit that her therapy sessions with Sue have been rather effective in controlling her phobia. "Thank you Miss Pillsbury," the glee-clubber expressed her gratitude, giving her hand a light squeeze as she gave her a smile.

Emma promptly returned the gesture, which lingered long after Rachel left. That feeling of satisfaction you get when you know you've made someone's day–this was one of the reasons why she chose to become a guidance counselor in the first place.

I'm hoping that I did Rachel justice. So anyways, I chose to go down that familiar 'dentist asks Emma to dinner' route. It's not going to be a typical dinner setting, though. ;D

Now before I move on with this, I'd just like to warn you that I'm not exactly the best updater out there. I don't have that much time in my hands right now, but I'll try my best to update as soon as I can. Reviews motivate me btw. *hint hint*