Glee 1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I was completely obsessed with the movie _Twister _as a child and the weather has always been an interest of mine. I've long wondered what would happen if I took the world of _Glee _and turned the characters into storm chasers. This is my attempt to do so. This first chapter is very short, however it sets up the action for the rest of the story. I've already written a large chunk of the story so updates should be fairly frequent for a while. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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Dusk. A red, dent-covered F-150 races over the bumps and turns of a gravel road, spraying white dust and small stones out from the rapidly rotating back tires. The truck crests a small rise on the otherwise flat Kansas landscape and passes a semi on the narrow road. The driver flashes his blinding lights, obviously trying to alert the driver of the red vehicle to some danger ahead. However, no attention is paid to the warning and the small truck continues on its course towards the wall cloud lit by frequent lighting and the quickly fading daylight.

The tall brown grasses on either side of the road wave gracefully in the ever increasing wind. A funnel colored peach by the prairie sunset dangles beneath the ominous looking cloud like an elephant's trunk. The driver of the Ford smiles and throws the truck into park just as the cloud formation reaches the ground, gathers itself and begins its onslaught against the crops beneath.

A young woman dressed in a sweatshirt as red as the truck leaps from an open door bearing a camera, corn silk hair flying in the storm's winds. She sprints around the truck, nearly losing her footing on the loose gravel in her frenzy. She is breathing hard by the time she reaches the barbed wire fence surrounding the corn field and the tornado, but immediately begins snapping pictures of the weak vortex. Eyeing the setting sun behind the storm, she knows that these shots won't be her best work, but she couldn't deny herself one last chase of the year, even if it is the middle of November.

She sighs when the spinning column retreats back into the storm that gave it life and lowers her camera. She leans on a fence post to watch the lightning lit cell move away from her for another ten minutes and lets the low rumblings of thunder lull her into a relaxed state. This is the first time in a long time that the twenty-three year old feels peaceful. In this moment there is no heartache, no feelings of helplessness, nothing exists but her and this storm. She realized long ago that she would never understand people: to her they are more unpredictable than weather. She often wishes that she would have heeded her own reservations against falling in love. She sighs again and chuckles to herself ruefully. 'Too late now,' she thinks before a raindrop falls from the heavens and onto the bridge of her nose, sliding down the elegant slope and coming to rest on the tip. She cradles her expensive camera sans rain shield in her arms, knowing that she would be kicking herself for months if it ever got wet, and retreats back to her truck.

After carefully packing her camera equipment, she sits back in the driver's seat and stretches lazily before brushing her blonde bangs from her amber eyes. Slender fingers skim over the laptop resting in the passenger seat, attentive eyes analyzing the radar. Satisfied that she is in a safe position, she turns off the lights in the cab and lounges in her beige, coffee stained front seat, continuing to observe the now tired storm. The interior of her truck is lit every few seconds by flashes of lightning and the sound of rain drops falling against the body of the Ford as the rain moves in serves as a suitable soundtrack.

After several moments, she sits up and fingers a particularly large spider's web of cracks in the upper left hand side of the windshield put there by the wrath of a late April hailstorm near Oklahoma City. She makes a note to get it and the collection of crater like dents in the hood and roof fixed before next storm season. She lets a small smile grace her soft features. "The Red Beast," as her truck was fondly referred to as, did not bear this haggard appearance before April. The long passed storm season had truly taken a toll on her beloved vehicle and her emotions.

She closes her eyes, breathes in the thick scent of rain and electricity, and sees visions of silky brown hair and eyes dark enough to get lost in. She feels the wind whipping her hair in all directions and feather soft lips on her cheek. She hears tornado sirens wailing and homes being torn to shreds, much like her heart. And now she can't stop it; she begins to relive everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'm hoping getting a longer chapter on this thing will draw more attention to it. Thanks to all who read and to **agoodwinpd** who reviewed! Though I love _Twister _as a film and I think Michael Crichton was a genius, there are several scientific errors in that movie. I want to create an accurate-ish picture of what stormchasers go through during the chase season with some romance and personal drama thrown in. I hope everyone that reads enjoys this chapter. Please throw me a bone and review!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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Hazel eyes flitted between checking the display on an iPhone and scanning the lightening horizon. A light breeze blew the tendrils of blonde hair not held back by the messy ponytail away from a pale face. The corners of delicate lips turned upwards as the sky grew ever brighter and the smell of spring began to move in with the breeze.

"Yo, Q, tell me somethin' good."

The small grin turned into a wide smile as the blonde turned to face a slim Latina woman emerging from a motel room.

"NSSL says that this is shaping up to be the most active season on record."

"No shit? And it hasn't even really started."

"I know," the blonde nodded excitedly. "We should have a big day today, too. We've got a cold front coming in from the north."

"And it's humid as hell out here."

"Let's get packed up and hit the road."

The Latina suddenly frowned. "Not so fast, Q, you forget that we have to meet our new friends for breakfast and pick up our baggage for the season."

The blonde groaned. "Dammit! I forgot about that!" She looked down at her skintight black tank top and almost indecent khaki shorts meant more for function than form. "Shit, and now I have to find something else to wear to meet the producers in!"

"I told you you'd regret it, Q."

Pale fingers came up to massage throbbing temples. "I know! I know. But they offered money and you know how much we need it…"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, blondie. We'll get through this spring, even if I do have to break a couple of cameras."

"Are we fighting with Quinn, S?"

Brittany emerged from their motel room, her yellow suitcase rolling noisily behind her.

"No, B, we're not fighting."

"Good, because I want pancakes for breakfast."

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Two months prior, she had received a phone call on her way to her part-time job at the weather station on the University of Oklahoma campus. She sighed when she saw that it was a number that was not saved on her phone. She answered, fully intending to tell off the telemarketer on the other end but instead received the shock of her life.

"Quinn? Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn blinked, not expecting the caller to know her name.

"Uh, yeah. Who-who is this?"

Her frown deepened further when she heard a strangely familiar chuckle over the line.

"Artie Abrams. From high school?"

Perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed as the blonde struggled to comprehend the phone conversation and keep her truck on the road at the same time.

"Artie? How are you doing? It's been so long!"

"Indeed it has. Actually I called you to offer a proposition that could prove to be quite lucrative for the both of us."

"What? You're not trying to sell me drugs or anything, are you? Cause I kind of want to finish graduate school without getting into too much trouble."

Artie chuckled again and Quinn felt herself grin as she imagined the man shaking his head on the other end.

"No, nothing like that. I heard you have your own team now."

"You heard right."

Quinn was proud to be the leader of the youngest storm chasing team from the station. They didn't get paid much and they had the shittiest equipment, but she was happy to do what she loved most three months out of the year.

"I also heard that you were in need of funds."

"I'm listening."

"I'm working on my first film, a documentary of sorts."

"That's great, Artie, though I don't see-"

"I thought you said you were listening."

"Sorry."

"As I was saying, I am making a documentary. About stormchasing. I want to follow your team."

Quinn grimaced, imaging frantically wheeling her handicapped former classmate from the path of an oncoming twister.

"That's great, Artie, but it's really dangerous and there are mobility issues-"

"Oh, I am not leaving my office. I want my crew to ride with you and film what you see. Then I'll put all the footage together, edit and narrate it and BAM! You'll have a documentary based entirely on your chase team. I already have a network lined up to air it as a short series."

The blonde nodded. It sounded like a perfect way to gain publicity and respect in the chasing community and to make some real money. It was perfect, almost too perfect.

"What's the catch?"

"Well…"

"Artie, what is it?"

"I, myself, am running a little short on money and in order to get funding for this project I had to agree to plant a celebrity in your team for the shooting season."

"What!? Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"I don't need some prissy movie star getting in our way of collecting data and running scared anytime the sirens go off."

"And that's why we'll find someone compatible with your team and goals. Look, I would rather just do a traditional documentary, but I don't have the resources for that. And I know for a fact that you've had your eyes on new vehicles. This could get us both out of the hole and you would only have to do what you do every spring anyway. You'll just have a few extra people with you."

Quinn sighed and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

"I'll think about it."

"Thank you, Quinn."

"I haven't said yes yet, Abrams."

* * *

Now clad in jeans and a button down blouse, Quinn drove slowly down the city streets. Aviator covered eyes glanced occasionally into the rearview mirror to assure her team was following and blonde hair blew about in the air from the open driver's side window. She turned down the classic rock station as she heard her CB radio crackle to life.

"Ready to meet our new high-maintenance tag-alongs?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"I swear, if any of them cry like a pussy the first time we see a storm, I'll beat their asses. We don't have time for this shit."

Quinn grinned as she heard what sounded like, "Be nice, San," in the background before the transmission clicked off.

"Think of the money, S. Also, listen to Britt."

"Fuck off, Fabray."

"I love you too, Santana."

The blonde sighed nervously as she pulled into the parking lot of the local IHOP. Her knuckles were white from grasping the steering wheel. She didn't know why she was so apprehensive about meeting the film crew and 'celebrity' that would be riding with her team for the season. She would be calling the shots, after all. It was the fear of the unknown. Who were these people anyway? They could be maniacal axe murderers for all she knew.

She hopped down from her truck and leaned against the side waiting for the rest of her team to join her. Santana and the Brittany exited the powder blue Explorer and Sam, a tall blonde boy from her graduating class at OU, and Matt, with whom Quinn had reunited in college, exited the flatbed with the pie like Doppler dish stored on the back.

She looked at group of young adults, pulled her aviators away from her face and raised her eyebrows with a calming sigh.

"Here goes…"

They were barely through the door when Brittany flew past them in a blur of blonde and attached herself to an occupant of a table in the back of the restaurant. Quinn and Santana shot one another hesitant looks before following, dread filling their senses. Their worst fears were confirmed when they heard the blonde's cheerful squeal.


End file.
