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Chapter Text

Part I: Hello Goodbye

Quinn can't believe that they're still planning to get married. After what happened (to her) at their last attempt, she was really hoping that it would be a few more years before they'd revisit a wedding. Or possibly never.

She's currently nursing a wine cooler in Brittany's backyard in celebration of their Nationals win. Quinn isn't entirely certain how they'd pulled that one off since she'd been high on painkillers for at least half the trip to Chicago, but there's a shiny, new trophy in the case at McKinley to prove that they did. The entire glee club is here today, and Finn and Rachel are curled up on a lounge chair being all disgusting and coupley as they bore Tina with all of their plans to tie the knot right after graduation—less than two weeks from now. Quinn huffs in disgust, frowning down at her bottle.

"Aw, no frownies," Brittany chastises, plopping onto the bench next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "I can totally get you the exotic berry if you want."

Quinn's head snaps up, eyes widening in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Brittany points to the bottle in her hand. "The berry is much better than the super gross fuzzy navel. I mean, who wants fuzz in their navel?" she asks, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Oh," Quinn breathes, realizing that Brittany is talking about the wine coolers. "No…it's fine.

Brittany nods slowly, her eyes darting over to Rachel and Finn. "I guess looking at that is super gross too."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees. "Sometimes I wish," she begins to say, but it really doesn't matter anyway. If wishes were horses, she'd still be walking until her feet bled.

"What?" Brittany urges with a friendly bump to her shoulder.

Quinn shrugs. "Just…have you ever wished that you could go back and do things differently?"

"Oh, that," Brittany dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I'm totally doing that. I'm repeating my whole senior year."

Quinn shakes her head. "No. I meant go back in time, knowing what you know now. Like before glee club started, when I could still get anything I wanted just by snapping my fingers," she mutters with her gaze fastened on Rachel and Finn.

"I could do that too if I want," Brittany claims. "I have a time machine."

Quinn stares at her for a few seconds, not really certain how to respond. "That's…nice." Sometimes it's easier to just go along with whatever Brittany says.

"No. I totally do," Brittany insists, clearly suspecting that Quinn doesn't believe her. "Come on. I'll show you," she offers, grabbing Quinn's hand as she stands. Quinn doesn't resist—anything is better than watching Rachel coo over Finn Hudson for the umpteenth time.

Brittany drags her upstairs and into her bedroom, letting her go only to dig around in her dresser drawers as she quietly mumbles about sneaky, disappearing time machines until she squeals in triumph and turns around with a portable CD player and headphones clutched between her hands. "Here. See?"

Quinn gapes at her. "Um…Brittany? That's a Discman."

Brittany gazes at her with pity in her eyes, shaking her head. "It only looks like one on the outside. But trust me; it will totally take you back in time."

Quinn chuckles. "Yeah, it probably would," she concedes, thinking that it's a relic from the 1990s and the sheer nostalgia of it will throw her back to her toddler years. "Where did you even get one of those? I didn't think anyone made them anymore."

"It was my mom's," she admits. "But I totally tricked it out like the DeLorean," she brags, tilting it sideways so Quinn can see the weird little crystals that Brittany has glued to the top.

"Did you steal Rachel's Bedazzler?" Quinn asks with a laugh.

"Don't be mean," Brittany pouts.

Quinn stifles her laughter. "Sorry," she manages with a smile.

Brittany nods, seemingly pleased that Quinn is ready to treat this matter with the appropriate seriousness. "I'll totally let you try it if you want," she offers. "Lord Tubbington uses it all the time to go back to his kittenhood and hide cigarettes for his future self."

"Oooo-kay," Quinn drawls before biting into her lip to keep from laughing again.

Brittany grins, bouncing in excitement and presses the CD player into Quinn's hands. Quinn sits down on the edge of Brittany's bed, looking down at the Discman in amusement as Brittany begins to rummage through a messy pile of CDs on her shelf. Quinn doesn't believe for a minute that she's actually holding a time machine, but she's willing to play along if it means she doesn't have to go back downstairs right away. Besides, Santana can be an absolute bitch whenever someone hurts Brittany's feelings. Well—an even bigger bitch.

"Ah ha," Brittany crows, skipping over to Quinn with a Journey CD in her hands.

Quinn's brows furrow. "Brittany, did you take that from Mr. Schue?"

Brittany shrugs innocently. "He had lots of extra copies. He really kind of has some weird obsession with them."

Quinn sighs, suddenly less enamored with the idea of humoring Brittany. "I'm really not in the mood to listen to Journey," she grumbles, trying to hand the CD player back to Brittany. It was that damn Journey song that had started all of this three years ago, sending Finn into Rachel's clutches and Quinn careening down a path of questionable life choices.

Brittany closes her hands over Quinn's, shaking her head seriously. "The song is how you pick the destination," she explains. "Like, Lord Tubbington uses 'What's New, Pussycat?' when he goes back. You need to use 'Don't Stop Believing.' It will totally take you back to when glee club started. Just like you want."

Brittany's explanation is eerily close to what Quinn had just been thinking. She rolls her eyes, but she still finds herself taking the CD and slipping it into the Discman. "Fine. But I'm not singing along," she mutters, dropping the headphones over her ears.

Brittany puts a hand over the Discman before Quinn can press play, looking her directly in the eyes and very seriously telling her, "You're going to wake up in your younger self. When you want to come back, you need to listen to the song again. It's totes important that you do it with headphones on, 'kay?"

Quinn chuckles. "Sure, Brittany," she agrees easily, thinking that she'll force herself to suffer through one song before she breaks it to Brittany that she didn't go anywhere.

When Brittany smiles and removes her hand, Quinn presses the shuffle button because she doesn't really care what she listens to—all Journey songs sound alike to her anyway. The one that fills her ears happens to be "Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'," and she shakes her head as the music reverberates through her head. She glances down at the Discman, searching for the volume button to turn it down because her ears are already buzzing, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtakes her, and she clutches at the mattress, trying to look up at Brittany through suddenly blurry eyes. "Britt," she chokes out before she can't breathe at all and the world around her fades away.

xx

When Quinn wakes up again, it's to the sound of "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'" playing softly, and she automatically reaches for her head to drag off the headphones, only to find that they're no longer there and the song is still playing in the distance. A headache is pounding behind her eyes, and she slowly pries them open to see a hazy, white ceiling looming above her. It takes a moment for the softness of the mattress beneath her and the cozy sheets wrapped around her body to register.

Her naked body.

"What the hell?" she mutters groggily, jerking up as she clutches the sheet to her chest. Another wave of dizziness overwhelms her, and she falls back onto the bed. "Brittany," she calls out. "Jesus fuck, what did you do to me?" she wonders in a panic. She'd only had the one wine cooler—not even a whole bottle. Oh, God! Did somebody slip her a roofie? Her heart races, and she prays to whatever God is actually up there that no one let Puckerman near her this time. She's way past that crazy stage of wanting to have another baby to replace—

The rattle of the doorknob interrupts her silent panic, and she turns her head to look at the door as it swings open, but the door isn't where she thinks it should be, and before she can get her bearings, the mattress dips and bounces and something slams into her. Something small and warm and giggling.

"Morning, Mommy."

Quinn's eyes open wide and alarmed as they focus on the little girl with messy brown curls and golden-brown eyes who's grinning widely at her. "B-beth?" she whispers hoarsely, thinking that she must be dreaming. She must have passed out in Brittany's bedroom and whacked her head on the floor, and now she's in some kind of coma, dreaming or hallucinating or having an out of body experience.

The little girl's smile slips, and she frowns, putting two small hands on her hips as she kneels over Quinn. "No, Mommy. Not Beth. Ava. You know that," she scolds. There's something very familiar about the little girl that Quinn can't quite place.

"This is such a weird dream," Quinn mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to sink back into the mattress.

"Are you sick?" Ava asks worriedly, pressing a hand to Quinn's forehead. Quinn flinches at how real it feels.

"I'm going to wake up any minute," Quinn reassures herself.

Ava scrambles around on the bed until the mattress bounces again, and Quinn hears her feet thunk onto the floor and begin to run away as the girl yells, "Mama! Mama!"

Quinn chuckles to herself, pressing her own hand to her forehead. Even in her dreams, she can't keep her kid with her. She takes a few deep breaths and wonders if she has to fall asleep in her dream before she can wake up in reality. As she's lying there, she hears footsteps again, heavier this time, before Ava's voice says, "See, Mama. I told you. She's sick."

The mattress dips again, this time on the other side, and a gentle hand carefully pries Quinn's palm from her forehead. "Quinn, baby, are you okay?"

Quinn's eyes fly open again on a strangled gasp as she looks up into soft, brown eyes, glistening with worry. "R-Rachel? Why are you in my dream?"

"Okay, you're starting to worry me, baby," Rachel murmurs, stroking the back of her fingers over Quinn's cheek. "I know we had a late night celebrating, but you seem really out of it this morning. Are you feeling okay?"

Quinn shakes her head slowly as she stares up at Rachel. "I don't think so," she whispers, finally pushing herself up from the mattress and into a sitting position. Rachel frowns, reaching out to steady her, and Quinn notices a flash of something from the corner of her eye.

When she gazes down at Rachel's very solid hands on her shoulders, she sees a diamond ring and matching wedding band on Rachel's left hand. Quinn bites into her cheek as she lifts her own hand and grabs Rachel's to examine the rings more closely, because that really doesn't look like the same engagement ring that she's been sporting for the last six months. And that wedding ring right next to it? It matches the one on Quinn's finger exactly.

"Holy shit," she gasps, looking at the ring on her own hand in horror.

Rachel's frown deepens as Ava giggles. "Mommy said a bad word."

Quinn's head turns to stare at the little girl again. The little girl who's calling her Mommy. The little girl that looks just like Rachel. Beyond Ava's gorgeous, little face is a photograph on the nightstand of Quinn and Rachel, wearing white and wrapped in a loving embrace.

"Quinn, what's going on?" Rachel asks in concern.

"I…I have no idea," Quinn admits with a growing sense of terror. Everything around her feels far too real to be a dream, but that would mean she's somehow woken up somewhere in the future, and that's impossible—completely and utterly impossible. "But I really need to talk to Brittany."

Rachel gapes at her like she's grown another head, so Quinn quickly brushes a hand over both sides of her neck to make sure that she hasn't. Who knows what kind of side effects Brittany's magical Discman of doom is capable of inflicting on its unsuspecting victims? Everything feels like it's still where it's supposed to be, except, of course, for her clothes, and she tugs the sheet higher and tighter over her chest, all too aware of Rachel's close proximity to her naked body. Her eyes dart around the room as she shifts on the bed, looking for something else to cover herself with or a cell phone or that damned time-traveling Discman or all of the above. What she finds is the miniature version of Rachel perched on her mattress next to Rachel and staring at her with an expression of curious concern that's identical to her mother.

Her mother? Rachel is her mother!

"I need to call Brittany," she mutters again, feeling queasy. She presses a hand back to her forehead, still thinking this could be some fevered dream. Hoping it is.

Rachel's keen eyes follow her every movement before she turns to the little girl with a forced smile. "Ava, honey. Why don't you go get Mommy a bottle of water? You know where they are."

"Okay, Mama," Ava nods enthusiastically, slipping off the bed without hesitation before she takes off running out of the room.

"Don't run," Rachel calls after her sternly, and Quinn hears the furious footsteps slow down marginally. Rachel turns her attention back to Quinn, reaching out to gently sweep a strand of her hair back from her forehead—pausing to press her fingers against the skin in an obvious attempt to gauge whether or not she has a temperature.

"Quinn, baby. Brittany is giving a lecture at CalTech, remember?" she prompts gently, clearly confused over Quinn's strange behavior. "It's still early there. She's probably not even awake yet."

"Then I'll wake her up," Quinn snaps desperately, shaking off Rachel's gentle touch. This is all her fault. She has to know how to fix it!

Rachel frowns at her again. "Baby, talk to me."

Quinn closes her eyes. "Please stop calling me that," she begs quietly, pressing her fisted hands tighter to her chest as if that will somehow stop the impossible ache that's settled there.

"I don't understand," Rachel murmurs hesitantly.

"Stop calling me baby," Quinn explains, meeting Rachel's probing gaze.

Rachel recoils with an all-too-familiar wounded expression—like she's a kicked puppy and Quinn's the biggest bitch in the world. "I…Quinn, what's going on? Why are you acting this way? What's wrong with you?" she presses worriedly.

Quinn drags in a deep breath, running a hand through her hair—whoa, does she let it grow out this much? She holds a strand between her fingers and gazes at it curiously as she chews on her lower lip. She suddenly wonders what other changes time has made to her body, but she resists the urge to peek beneath the sheet. She'll do that when she's alone.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she tells Rachel honestly.

Rachel's eyes flash with irritation. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out, Quinn. We made a promise not to keep anymore secrets from each other. Whatever it is that you think you can't tell me, you can," she urges.

"I," am going to get myself locked in a psychiatric ward if I tell her that I'm from the past and traveled through time with a magical CD player, Quinn thinks wretchedly. "I don't remember anything," she says instead.

Rachel's brows furrow. "You mean last night? Quinn, bab…Quinn," she amends with that same wounded expression, "You seemed okay when we got home. More than okay," Rachel adds, her eyes roving Quinn's sheet-covered body in a way that makes her shiver. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Quinn runs her tongue over her lips to moisten them. "Celebrating our win at Nationals." It's the truth, at least.

Rachel's eyes flash with confusion. "You mean celebrating your win at the Tonys," she corrects warily.

Quinn's eyes widen. "I won a Tony?" she asks incredulously. "No," she shakes her head. "No, you're supposed to win the Tony. This has to be a dream," she mutters in relief, allowing her tense shoulders to relax in increments. "An extremely vivid dream."

"Quinn." Rachel growls, gripping her biceps hard—Quinn suspects that she stops just short of shaking her. "I've won three of them. You won last night. Do you really not remember that?"

Quinn puffs out a frustrated breath. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

Rachel lets her go with a gasp. "You're serious? You don't remember anything about last night?"

"I don't …"

"I got the water, Mommy," Ava calls out, rushing back into the room in a very brisk walk that isn't actually running. Quinn watches Rachel's expression immediately morph from horrified worry to a strange sort of motherly calm in the seconds before she smiles sweetly at her daughter. It's obvious that she doesn't want to upset Ava, and she bends down to help her daughter climb back onto the mattress with the bottle of water clutched tightly in her little hands. "Here," Ava offers proudly, holding it out to Quinn.

Quinn manages a small smile of gratitude as she takes the water from the girl. "Thank you."

Rachel presses a kiss to the top of Ava's head, hugging her close. "Good job, little star. If you want, you can go watch The Witch and the Swan before you practice your scales," she says in a strained voice.

Ava frowns, crossing her arms and glaring at Rachel suspiciously. "Are you trying to distract me so you and Mommy can be all gross and kissy again?"

Quinn chokes on her own spit at Ava's innocently knowing question, coughing as she twists the cap off the water bottle and takes a drink while two identical sets of brown eyes watch her in quiet distress. "I'm okay," she assures them hoarsely.

Rachel purses her lips as she eyes Quinn carefully, and then she turns to address Ava again. "Mommy really isn't feeling up to being gross and kissy right now, honey. She needs to get some more rest."

Ava nods silently, and then she flings herself forward and wraps her arms around Quinn, catching her completely off-guard with the strength of her embrace. "Feel better, Mommy," she murmurs into Quinn's throat, and Quinn closes her eyes and wraps her own arms around the small body in her arms, feeling her heart melt into a puddle as she hugs the girl.

"I will," she promises, suddenly envious of whatever Quinn it is—future or dream—that gets to have this adorable, little girl call her Mommy.

Ava turns her head and kisses Quinn's cheek before slipping out of her arms. Then she rather gracefully slides off the mattress before she plants her hands on her hips and looks up at Rachel. "You should let Mommy rest too, Mama."

Quinn bites back a smile at the girl's posture and tone—she really is a miniature Rachel. The bigger version rolls her eyes indulgently. "I'm going to tuck her into bed, and then I'll be right down."

Quinn takes another gulp of her water to distract herself from the images that Rachel's words create. Ava must be satisfied, though, because she utters an, "Okay," that's only marginally suspicious before she turns and skips out of the room. Literally skips.

"Walk," Rachel calls after her, shaking her head in mild exasperation. Then her attention is back on Quinn. "We should call Dr. Allen and schedule an appointment," she decides, quickly slipping off the bed.

Quinn frowns, tightening the cap on her water bottle. "I don't need a doctor."

Rachel turns back to her sharply. "You don't remember last night, Quinn. You need medical attention. What if your champagne was secretly drugged? What if you fell and hit your head when you went to the bathroom this morning?" Her eyes widen in sudden panic. "You could have a concussion or an…an aneurysm! I should call an ambulance," she exclaims, frantically twisting the bracelet on her wrist.

Quinn is immediately tossing her legs over the side of the mattress, dropping the closed water bottle and forgetting all about her nudity as she reaches for Rachel. "I'm not having an aneurysm," she promises, grabbing Rachel's hands.

Nine. One. One. What's your emergency? sounds from the vicinity of Rachel's wrist, and Quinn glances down with a curious frown to see four inches of Rachel's forearm lit up like a cell phone.

"What the hell?" she screeches, dropping Rachel's hands as she falls back onto the bed.

Hello. Is anyone there? Please tell me the nature of your emergency.

"There's no emergency," Quinn yells desperately. "Please, Rachel," she begs, dragging the sheet back up to cover her breasts. "I'm not sick." She might be going slightly crazy, but she definitely doesn't need an ambulance. An ambulance means a hospital, and hospitals mean doctors, and doctors mean being poked and prodded and asked questions that she can't answer without sounding like a mad woman.

Ma'am. Is someone there with you?

Rachel studies Quinn intently for another ten seconds before she sighs and lifts her arm, providing Quinn with another look at the strange projection on her skin. "I apologize. I seem to have overreacted to my wife's…hangover," she settles for with a frown. "We don't need an ambulance after all. Thank you for your time." She makes a swiping motion across her skin to disconnect the call, and then she quickly twists her wrist back and forth and the projection disappears.

Quinn grabs her hand again and eyes the silver bracelet that she's wearing with interest. "It's your phone," she realizes in awe.

Rachel presses her free hand over Quinn's and sinks down onto the mattress beside her. "Quinn," she breathes shakily. "When you told me the last thing you remember is winning Nationals, please tell me you weren't referring to high school."

Quinn stares back at Rachel, noticing for the first time the tiny wrinkles around at the corners of her eyes. There are other subtle signs that she's older—one or two strands of silver mixed into her dark hair and a few extra curves in very flattering places—but she's somehow even more attractive now, and her hands on Quinn's are warm and soft and so very real. If this really is future Quinn's life, then Quinn is really fucking things up for her right now. And really, that isn't exactly new, is it? Quinn has always been her own worst enemy.

So she does what she does best. She lies.

"I didn't mean high school," she says, making eye contact with the platinum record framed on the far wall instead of with Rachel—and holy cow! Is that Rachel's platinum record? She grins despite the situation because she's always known that Rachel was meant for bigger things than Lima, Ohio, or Finn Hudson. Apparently, she was meant for Quinn. "We're married," she notes, meeting Rachel's eyes as the full weight of the situation finally registers.

"Yes," Rachel confirms carefully.

"We have a daughter named Ava. We live in New York," she guesses, because this is Rachel, and this is their bedroom, and they were apparently at the Tony Awards just last night, and she can't imagine the ceremony has been moved to any other city. "We…we're a family," Quinn recognizes with a quiet amazement that she tries to stifle because it would just make her seem even crazier right now.

Rachel puffs out a breath, worry still shimmering in her eyes. "Quinn…"

"I had a dream," Quinn rushes out in explanation. "A very bad dream. I was still back in high school, and you were engaged to Finn, and when I woke up, everything was…really fuzzy. I…I guess that champagne really did go to my head last night," she dismisses with a forced laugh.

She has no idea what she's doing right now, but freaking out Rachel and Ava won't get her back where she belongs. She just needs to find one of those phone things and call Brittany—she can totally fake being future Quinn until then. Faking it is what she does best.

"I'm sorry I worried you, Rach," she apologizes, hoping that Rachel believes her. "It's…everything is a lot clearer now."

Rachel seems to sag in relief, smiling slightly as she strokes the backs of her fingers over Quinn's cheek. "Are you sure, baby? You seemed really confused before."

Quinn's heart flips at the endearment, and her lips tremble into a smile. "I'm sure. I have a little bit of a headache still, so I probably just need to sleep it off, like you told Ava," she reminds Rachel, feeling more than a little guilty for using Rachel's daughter against her, "but otherwise, I'm fine. You should probably go down before she comes looking for you."

Rachel studies her for a moment before she nods. "You're probably right. She's probably timing me," she speculates with an indulgent grin. "I did tell her I was going to tuck you in."

"You did," Quinn recalls nervously.

"Why don't you lie down and close your eyes?" Rachel prompts, patting Quinn's leg before she rises from the edge of the mattress. "I'll get you an aspirin before I go check on Ava."

"That would be great," Quinn says in relief, watching Rachel disappear into a doorway that must be the bathroom, only to reappear just as quickly with a small bottle in her hand. She opens it and tips a single pill into her palm, promptly holding it out to Quinn as she sits back down. "Thanks," Quinn says gratefully, popping the pill and swallowing it without even reaching for the bottle of water.

Rachel clicks her tongue reproachfully. "I still don't know how you can do that without water," she grumbles.

Quinn just shrugs, relieved to learn that something about her doesn't change in this strange future. "Practice."

With a sigh, Rachel leans forward and gently cups Quinn's face between her palms, brushing a soft kiss over Quinn's lips. Quinn freezes at the contact, caught between the very equal and opposite desires to pull away and press forward, but Rachel doesn't seem to notice her internal struggle, pulling back with a soft smile. "Get some rest, baby."

"Okay," Quinn agrees dumbly, staring at Rachel's mouth in shocked wonder.

Rachel smooths a thumb across Quinn's lower lip. "And don't scare me like that again," she pleads softly. "I don't know what I would do if anything ever happened to you."

Quinn's mouth goes dry. "It…it won't. I promise." She really, really hopes that's a promise she can keep.

"I love you, Quinn," Rachel murmurs, pressing another chaste kiss to Quinn's mouth before she stands. "I'll be back up to check on you later."

Quinn nods, sliding back down onto the mattress in a daze as she watches Rachel slip out of the room and close the door behind her with a quiet click. And then she presses trembling fingers to her lips where they're still tingling from Rachel's innocent kisses. Suddenly, she's not in so much of a hurry to get back to where she belongs.

Chapter Text

Part II: Strawberry Fields Forever

Quinn lies in bed for a full three minutes after Rachel leaves her, replaying those two innocent kisses and the chain reaction that they'd set off in her mind and body. She's spent the last four years—the last seventeen, if she's going to be honest—in fervent denial of her innermost thoughts and emotions, and in a matter of moments, everything has been dragged out into the light of day. It's impossible to keep pretending that this future, or dream, or whatever it turns out to be, isn't exactly what she wants—what she craves. She wants Rachel. She wants Rachel to love her and to choose her, and here she is, suddenly thrust into a world where all of her deepest, most secretive dreams have come true.

Quinn studies the gold band on her finger, tracing the intricate floral pattern carved into the metal and decorated with tiny diamonds, and admits the truth.

She's in love with Rachel Berry.

And now she's stumbled into the life of some version of herself that has Rachel's love in return. And a daughter! They have a daughter. Or Rachel does, because there's no denying those genes, but Ava obviously belongs to both of them. Quinn doesn't really understand how it could happen or when, but now it's become one more thing for her to want, and she's terrified that all of this really is a fevered dream and that she's going to wake up back in Brittany's bedroom and have to watch Rachel marry Finn Hudson.

Worse, Quinn is terrified that this whole experience really isn't a dream, and her being here now is going to irrevocably destroy her own future.

"I really need to call Brittany," she mumbles to herself, brushing away the tracks of tears from her cheeks that she hadn't even realized had fallen.

She throws off the sheet and scrambles out of the bed—a California King with the softest cotton bedding that Quinn has ever slept on—and pads over to the door, cracking it open just enough to poke her head through and peek outside to make sure the hallway is clear before she quietly closes it again. Her eyes catch on that platinum record that hangs on the wall, and she finds herself standing in front of it, confirming her suspicions when she sees Rachel's name on the plaque for an album titled Get It Right. She grins again, touching the glass lightly. "I guess we finally do," she whispers.

And then she's sweeping through the bedroom, curious eyes and fingers skimming over the evidence of her other self's presence in this world as she opens drawers and closet doors in search of her clothes (and a phone).

She manages to gather together a casual outfit and some underwear that may or may not belong to her, but before she slips them on, she gives in to the pull of the cheval mirror in the corner. She isn't sure what she was expecting—maybe twenty extra pounds or wrinkles or some new, dramatic hair color that would make her feel foreign in her own body—but except for her hair having grown about two inches past her shoulders and a few of the same, tiny laugh lines that Rachel is sporting now, her reflection is blessedly familiar.

Except—

"Son of a bitch," she hisses, twisting sideways in front of the mirror and lifting her left arm to get a better look at the tattoo etched over her ribs and hip—a sprawling vine of cherry blossoms that covers the faded scars from her accident. Once the surprise fades, she has to admit that the tattoo doesn't look terrible. She even kind of likes that the ink camouflages her scars. She spins around, glancing over her shoulder at her lower back, and sighs in relief. Apparently, she does end up getting rid of her tramp stamp like she's been planning, because poor Ryan didn't come through her accident or the subsequent surgery unscathed.

All in all, she supposes that future her is looking pretty damn good.

Satisfied that she doesn't turn into some overweight, frumpy housewife, Quinn abandons her reflection and quickly dresses, pausing for another brief look in the mirror to make sure she looks presentable. Being out of her time (or out of her mind) is no excuse to completely neglect her appearance. Then she resumes her search for a phone, keeping in mind that it might look like that bracelet that Rachel was wearing.

She spots an electronic tablet on the desk, and she picks it up, examining it for a moment before she presses what she thinks is the power button. The screen lights up with a portrait of Quinn with her arms wrapped around Rachel and a slightly younger Ava held between them. She sinks down into the chair as she stares at it—at them looking so blissfully happy—and the ache of absolute longing that washes over her is almost suffocating.

She swipes at the screen with shaking fingers, both hoping and dreading that it's not password protected. It isn't, of course. Why would it be? Quinn and Rachel and their daughter are a family, and apparently there are no secrets between them. No secrets but the one that Quinn is currently keeping because, no matter what Rachel claims, there's just no way that she could ever believe any of this.

Her eyes drift down to the date and time in the corner of the screen, and she loses her breath for a moment when she sees June 7, 2027. Fifteen years. She's landed fifteen years into her future, and she doesn't know whether to be terrified or elated at the discovery.

If Quinn was a better person, she would put the tablet back down where she found it and focus on finding a way to contact Brittany, but instead, she touches the folder titled Quinn with shaking fingers, because opening the one titled Rachel would feel too much like an invasion of her privacy, even for her. There are dozens of sub-files inside the folder, a few with odd titles, and upon opening the one titled Periwinkle, she finds documents and saved emails referring to scripts and shooting schedules and discovers that periwinkle is apparently the name of the film. She closes the file, guessing that most of the others are probably named for other projects that she's been involved with. She's curious, of course, but she doesn't have time to delve too deeply into any of them.

She also doesn't have time to open the file titled Home, but she does it anyway, catching her breath as a photograph appears of Rachel posing cheesily in front of the Statue of Liberty. Quinn swipes across the image, finding another of Rachel casually cooking in the kitchen in short shorts and a tank top. There are hundreds of pictures in the file, and Quinn scrolls through them, unable to stop herself until she finally comes to the photo of a pregnant Rachel, smiling softly at the camera as she cradles her belly. And it's followed by a photo of her holding a baby that Quinn can only assume is Ava. Then there are pictures of Quinn with the baby too, smiling adoringly at the daughter that she'll get to keep and raise as her own—she already knows that it won't matter in the slightest that Rachel gives birth to her. She closes the folder, clutching the tablet to her chest, because none of this is really hers. Not yet.

Wiping at her tears, Quinn takes a breath and puts the tablet down, more determined than ever to get back to her own time so that she can live every moment of this future, assuming that she hasn't already done something to change it simply by knowing about it. She tugs open the drawers on the desk and scowls when she doesn't find anything useful. She's about to give up and just ask Rachel where her phone is when she notices a small, gold cylinder on top of the desk that she'd first assumed was some kind of sleek pencil sharpener or clock, but upon closer inspection, she can see that there are actually two pieces fitted together like a washer snug against the back of a screw, and the top portion is just the right size and shape to be a bracelet.

Quinn picks up the gadget and inspects it, digging her fingernails into the crease between the bracelet and the base and lifting it up until it pops free. And yeah—it's definitely like the bracelet that Rachel had been wearing. Quinn guesses that the base is some kind of charger.

The bracelet itself is a little heavier than it looks, but not what anyone would call cumbersome. There are tiny openings no bigger than a pin head along one edge of the metal, and there's just enough give between the ends of the bracelet for Quinn to slip it over her wrist. Nothing happens when she does, and she frowns down at the thing, trying to figure out how to make it work. Sliding her fingers over her forearm and wrist do absolutely nothing, and she tries to remember what Rachel had done, but she was more than a little upset at the time.

Quinn thinks she might have been twisting it somehow, so she tries that. When it still doesn't do anything, she growls in frustration and flings her wrist out. "Work, God damn it!" she barks, snapping her wrist in anger. Suddenly, her arm lights up with a projected screen, and she almost shouts in relief. "Finally."

Surprisingly, the screen isn't much different from her iPhone, although dragging a finger along her own skin to make the thing work is kind of weird. The icons look different, and some of the functions aren't in the same place, but she manages to find her contacts without too much of a problem. Thankfully, Brittany is one of them, and she quickly presses the call button.

It feels like the phone is ringing forever, and Quinn starts to worry that Brittany isn't going to answer. Rachel did say there was a time difference because—holy hell! Did she say Brittany was lecturing at CalTech? Like, the prestigious science institute CalTech? What the fuck?

"Quinn?" Brittany's sleepily concerned voice cuts in. "What's wrong? It's seven-thirty in the morning, and you look terrible. Are San and the boys okay?" she asks anxiously.

"Santana?" Quinn echoes dumbly. "Uh...yeah, she's fine, I guess." She hasn't actually thought much about what might have become of her old friends—it's been enough to deal with her own future. "How do you know I look terrible?" she wonders with a frown.

"Um...you're on the videophone," Brittany answers in a way that sounds more like a question. "And you're wearing one of Rachel's shirts." Quinn frowns, dropping her eyes down to what she's wearing. It's a simple, white blouse with tiny blue polka dots all over it—nothing that necessarily screams Rachel Berry. Her gaze drifts back to the still photograph of a smiling Brittany projected on her arm, and she lifts her hand away from the desktop, rotating her wrist in different directions as she moves her arm around to examine the bracelet. "Quinn! Quinn," Brittany calls out from the speaker. "You're making me dizzy. Stop turning your wrist."

Quinn freezes, dropping her forearm back onto the desktop where she keeps it very still with a sheepish, "Sorry."

"Did you forget how to use your phone? 'Cause that totally happens to me all the time."

"I can't see you," Quinn admits.

"You probs have the video projector turned off. Press the little Man in the Moon thingy in the corner."

Man in the Moon? Quinn's frown deepens as she squints at the screen, but sure enough, in the upper left corner there's a small insignia that resembles a crescent moon—it's actually a number 3 and letter D mated into one symbol. When she taps it with a fingertip, the projection of Brittany's still picture on her arm transforms into a slightly raised, three-dimensional, moving image of Brittany's sleepy face. "Oh," Quinn breathes in awe, passing her hand through the image and watching it jump into pixels before it comes back together. "Oh, wow."

Brittany tips her head as she studies Quinn through the video connection. "What's going on, Quinn? You're, like, having a major blonde moment, and you're not even a real blonde."

Quinn bites into her lip nervously, she stomach suddenly somersaulting. "Brittany, do you remember your time machine?"

Brittany's brows furrow. "Which one?"

"Which…?" Quinn repeats, horrified. "There's more than one?"

One of Brittany's shoulders lifts in a bored shrug. "Well, I mean, there were, like, nine prototypes before the one I'm working on now. But you're not supposed to know about that," she realizes with a frown. "It's top secret. If they know you know, the men in black will come erase your memory."

"The bedazzled CD player," Quinn prompts urgently, ignoring the rest of what Brittany said.

"Oh," Brittany drawls with a nod, and then her eyes spark with excitement. "This is past you, isn't it? You told me I'd know where you ended up going someday. You came here, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Quinn admits, relieved that Brittany remembers and that she believes her. "The last thing I remember is pressing play and hearing 'Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'.' Then I woke up this morning married to Rachel and with a daughter bouncing on my mattress."

Brittany grins. "Isn't Ava cute? She's like a tiny, little Rachel, except not nearly as annoying."

"Hey," Quinn warns, compelled to defend her future wife even though she's technically not married to her yet.

"I knew past you was totally into her too," Brittany tells her smugly.

Quinn sweeps her free hand through her hair in frustration, fingers catching in a few stray tangles. "Fine. Yes. I'm into her," she concedes. "But I don't belong here, Brittany. What if my being here for even a day somehow changes everything?

"It won't," Brittany promises confidently.

"You don't know that," Quinn mutters, tugging at her hair.

Brittany raises an eyebrow. "Actually, I kinda do, Quinn. It's, like, my job," she points out with a roll of her eyes. Quinn's eyebrows rise at that, and Brittany smiles. "You don't believe me," she says knowingly. "I get it. I was kinda in sleep mode back in high school, but, like, high school's supposed to be fun, and math and science were totally boring. But it turns out I've got this super genius brain. And my time machine obviously worked," she points out with a grin.

"But you don't have to worry, Quinn. I'm kind of a big deal in quantum mechanics now. Like, right now you're probs thinking that getting a glimpse of your future is gonna cause you to do something stupid to change it when you go back to the past, but apparently, the timeline is pretty unchangeable. It's just really bendy, so, like, you can twist it around so one part meets another in the future or the past, but the line itself doesn't get changed because it was always supposed to bend that way. Like, past you coming here happened, so it was always gonna happen no matter what. And, like, if you'd gone back in time to past past you like you wanted to, you wouldn't have actually been able to change anything because you were always gonna go back, so you would have already done whatever it is you were gonna do to try to change things. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," Quinn mutters, feeling her headache return as she tries to follow what Brittany is saying.

"That's okay. I know you're not as smart as I am," Brittany dismisses easily. "Just trust me; you'll go back to where you belong like nothing happened, and nothing will be any different. Your life will be okay for a while, and then kind of bad, and then really, really good. And you get a wife and a cute kid and a bunch of other good stuff that I can't tell you about, but not because you'll change it…because it sucks to have all the good surprises spoiled for you and then have to wait for them to happen and act like you're surprised when you're really not. You know?"

Quinn nods mutely, because she does kind of understand that, at least. Knowing what she already knows is going to be absolute torture until she can have it for herself.

"So…um…how do I go back where I belong?" Quinn asks hesitantly.

Brittany frowns again. "You totally weren't paying attention to me when I told you how to get back, were you?"

"I'm sorry," Quinn apologizes. "I know you said I had to listen to the song again…"

"With headphones," Brittany stresses. "You can't have any distractions from the sound waves, otherwise it won't work. And you should probably do it in the next ten hours or so. Future you's consciousness is napping right now just like past you's body, but she's gonna want to wake up soon, and she can't until you're gone. You can't mess up the past since you obviously get back there to be here, but you can really mess up future you in the now if you leave her stuck in limbo too long. Like, we're talking killer headaches and possible coma."

"What?" Quinn screeches incredulously. "You never told me that!"

"Oops," Brittany mumbles guiltily.

"Oops?"

"In my defense, I was, like, seventeen, Quinn. It's not like I'd thoroughly researched the effects of time travel yet."

"Oh, my God," Quinn mutters. "I…I have to go. I have to find a Journey CD. And headphones." She doesn't want to leave herself a vegetable.

"It doesn't have to be a CD," Brittany cuts in. "They don't even make them anymore. You just need the song."

"Just the song," Quinn repeats. "And headphones."

Brittany nods. "Good luck. And say hi to past me for me." Then her image disappears and the projection on Quinn's arm flashes to disconnect the call.

Quinn flicks her wrist hard, and the projection disappears entirely. "Okay, this is doable," she reasons, calming herself down.

She just needs to find Rachel's music player, some headphones or ear buds or something, and hope that a really old Journey song collection is available somewhere. She glances doubtfully at her phone, figuring that she might be able to figure out how to find the song with an internet connection, but not seeing anything that looks like a headphone jack on the bracelet. At this point, she knows that she only has two choices. She could keep tearing apart the bedroom in hope that she'll stumble over whatever counts as a music player and headphones these days, or she could just bite the bullet and ask Rachel. So, after taking a deep breath, she leaves the relative sanctity of the bedroom to venture out into the rest of her future.

The hallway outside is lined with more photographs, and Quinn can do nothing else but look at them as she slowly makes her way towards the stairs. There are pictures of Ava, Rachel and Quinn together, Rachel's fathers, and Quinn's mother. There are even a few familiar McKinley faces, like Kurt and Blaine with a little boy that somehow looks a bit like the both of them, and Santana and Brittany and two identical pre-teen boys that definitely got the Lopez genes. Quinn smiles, understanding now why Brittany had sounded slightly panicked when she'd asked about Santana and the boys. "Good for them."

She pauses at the top of the stairs and gazes at the framed photo of Rachel alone on a stage with arms spread wide in the middle of a glory-note—the costume she's wearing unrecognizable from any current Broadway show in Quinn's memory. And right next to that is a photo of Quinn with—Jesus, is that an Oscar? She gapes at the picture of herself in a gorgeous green gown that looks like it was taken immediately after her win. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces a hand against the wall as she dips her head, praying that Brittany is right about her not being able to change any of this by knowing it's going to happen.

"Quinn?" Rachel calls out fearfully, and then the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs echoes in Quinn's ears as she lifts her head. "What's wrong?" she asks when she reaches Quinn's side, wrapping a surprisingly strong arm around her waist.

Quinn shakes her head. "I…it's just the headache," she lies. "Guess the aspirin didn't really work."

"Why are you out of bed?" Rachel demands. "You're supposed to be napping."

"I couldn't sleep," Quinn answers with a shrug, barely resisting the impulse to lean into Rachel's body and just hold her. Because she could. It would be perfectly normal. "I thought maybe I'd go for a walk. Get some fresh air."

Assessing brown eyes run over her face, and Quinn holds her breath, hoping that Rachel doesn't suggest calling a doctor again. "You should eat something first," she finally says. "I managed to save some pancakes and," Rachel wrinkles her nose in distaste, "bacon from our daughter's ravenous appetite."

Quinn's lips quirk into a tiny smile. "You made bacon?"

"You won a Tony last night, Quinn," Rachel reminds her. "Of course, I made you bacon to celebrate. It will only take me a minute to heat it up."

Quinn licks her lips, tempted to give in and let Rachel feed her, but all she can think about is her future self waking up with a massive headache and no pancakes or bacon to show for it—her life completely stolen out from under her for a few precious hours. "Actually, I'd rather wait to eat until after my walk, if that's okay."

Rachel frowns. "If you want, Ava and I could go with you."

"That's okay," Quinn says hurriedly. "I don't plan on being gone very long."

"Well, if you're sure, I suppose your breakfast will keep a while longer," Rachel reluctantly concedes, letting go of Quinn's waist.

Quinn feels the loss of her touch more than she suspects she should, but she nods and says, "Thanks, Rach," before she starts down the stairs with Rachel behind her. The rest of their home comes into view at as she nears the bottom, and wow! Apparently, they've done really well for themselves. It's the home that Quinn has always imagined—modern and bright and with enough intimate touches to make it feel warm and lived in. She'd really love to explore every nook and cranny of it, but she already has too much of this life etched into her mind and heart. Going home is going to hurt like hell.

"Um…I was thinking of listening to some music while I walk," she ventures, turning to watch Rachel descend the last three steps. "You don't happen to know where I left my headphones, do you? I couldn't find them upstairs." And she really hopes they're not up there, or Rachel will probably start worrying about her all over again.

Rachel purses her lips thoughtfully. "I think I saw them in the study."

"Oh, okay," Quinn mumbles. She has no idea where the study is, so she starts to follow Rachel until she stops and looks at her oddly.

"Aren't you going to get them? Rachel asks.

"Yeah. Yes," Quinn repeats confidently, deducing that she needs to look for the study on the other side of the staircase. "I'll go get them right now." And then, because she doesn't know when (or even if, no matter what Brittany says) she'll ever have the opportunity again, she runs a hand over Rachel's arm until she finds her hand, twining their fingers together, and leans in to kiss her—really kiss her, the way she can finally admit that she's been wanting to for a while now.

The first brush of her lips over Rachel's is soft and hesitant, hardly more that the chaste kiss that Rachel had given her earlier, but it's enough to make her want so much more, so she takes it. Rachel responds to her so beautifully, and Quinn memorizes every nuance of the moment to keep it tucked safely away inside of her until she can have it again—the silken heat of Rachel's mouth, the taste of her, and the way she feels, warm and pliant under Quinn's touch. She doesn't want it to end, but she knows it has to. She has to go back so she can move forward.

Quinn reluctantly tears her mouth away from the sweet heaven it's found and runs her tongue across her own lower lip to savor the flavor of Rachel that lingers there.

Rachel follows the motion with hungry eyes as she catches her breath. "Mmm. You must be feeling better," she ventures with a sexy smile.

Quinn swallows down the lump in her throat, willing her voice not to tremble. "I am. And I'm sure that once I get a little fresh air, I'll be completely back to myself again." Or she hopes that she will.

Rachel lifts a hand to stroke Quinn's cheek. "Don't be too long, okay," she urges lovingly. "Today is meant to be a family day."

The word family washes over Quinn like a balm, and she nods. "I'll be back before you even have time to miss me."

"Not possible," Rachel breathes, leaning in to kiss her again. Quinn greedily deepens the contact, adding one more memory to torture herself with while she waits for this life to become her own. And then Rachel is letting go of her with a grin. "You should probably go before Ava notices you're up, or she'll insist on coming with you, and it will turn into a big production of her putting on her jogging outfit and tennis shoes."

Quinn smiles fondly at the image and nods. "I'll be home soon," she promises, watching Rachel smile at her beautifully before she finally turns away and leaves Quinn on her own.

Quinn walks through the foyer in search of the study, following the short hallway on the other side of the stairs, and she opens a closet and a powder room before she finds what she's looking for. A large bay window illuminates the room, and one wall is lined with bookshelves overflowing with tomes of every shape, color, and size. A loveseat, two plush chairs, and a long coffee table sit adjacent to the window and several books are stacked on the corner of the table.

Quinn moves farther into the room, impressed with the book collection as her gaze dances over the titles that line the shelves. When she reaches the table, her eyes land on two black ear buds, but she frowns when she notices that they aren't attached to any cord. She sinks down into one of the chairs before she picks them up, examining them for some indication of how they might work. They each have a small button in the center, so she presses it on both of them, seeing a tiny green light illuminate along the edge of each. She places them into her ears but hears only silence, so she decides to check out her phone again to see if maybe there's a music function hidden in it as well.

Flicking her wrist, she manages to get the screen to light with one try, and she notices a small icon in the upper corner that looks like a headphones indicator, so she's hoping that means the ear buds are already synced. Paging through the functions in search of a music player, she discovers that apparently iTunes is still a thing in 2027. She opens it and presses play on the first song she finds just to see if the ear buds work, sighing in relief when they do. Now all she has to do is find the right song.

She isn't surprised to find it already in her music library—she's certain that she'll be keeping it on hand after this whole experience whether it's real or a really elaborate dream. Quinn contemplates going out for the walk she'd told Rachel she'd be taking but realizes that it's probably better if she just listens to the song right here. She doesn't want future Quinn waking up outside mid-step and stumbling into the street to get hit by a car. She'd probably be much happier to forgo the walk and spend the day with her family like she'd been planning before Quinn commandeered her body for the morning.

Her finger hesitates over the play button, silently saying goodbye to this life and the little girl that won't be born for another ten years at least. "I'll get back here someday," she promises herself quietly, and presses the button, hearing the familiar chords of Journey fill her ears. Nothing seems to happen at first, and her stomach twists violently at the thought that Brittany was wrong, but then her ears begin to buzz, and the room starts to spin, and she's sinking into darkness.

xx

Quinn wakes up in Brittany's bed with a Discman still clutched in her hand and silent earphones over her ears. She sits up quickly, ripping them off, and gazes frantically around the room. Brittany is sitting on her desk chair, spinning in circles when she notices Quinn. She stops mid-spin with a giant smile on her face. "Did you have a good trip?" she asks amiably. "Like, I don't remember you changing anything, but if you did, I guess I wouldn't know. Right?"

Quinn shakes her head slowly, still not entirely sure if any of what just happened was real. "I...I didn't go back in time, Brittany," she answers honestly.

Brittany's smile droops. "Oh. But you, like, totally passed out. Just like Lord Tubbington does."

Quinn moistens her lips. "How long was I out?"

Brittany shrugs. "Fifteen minutes, I think."

"I didn't go back," Quinn repeats. "But I...something happened." She shakes her head again. "It might have just been a really strange dream."

Brittany tilts her head thoughtfully. "What'd you see?"

"It doesn't matter," Quinn realizes closing her eyes against the memories. "If it was real, I'll be telling you all about it someday."

Brittany smiles again. "It totally works," she decides confidently. "Did you at least get to go somewhere good?"

Quinn nods. "Somewhere amazing," she admits quietly, wiping away a stray tear because she's already missing that future with all of her heart.

Brittany bounces off the chair, skipping over to Quinn and dropping down on the mattress beside her to give her side-hug. "I'm glad you saw good things, Quinn. You can stop being sad now."

Quinn purses her lips, thinking that it probably isn't going to be quite so easy, but, "I'll try," she promises.

"Good," Brittany coos, patting her knee. "Come on. Let's get back down to the party. Santana is probably getting grumpy without me, and I totally owe you an exotic berry."

Quinn laughs, nodding. "You absolutely do."

She drops the Discman onto the bed, not caring if she ever sees the thing again. Her future is either already set in stone, or her overactive imagination and repressed feelings just set her up for a massive disappointment fifteen years from now. Either way, she'd rather not risk any more disconcerting flash forwards or flashbacks. Following Brittany back downstairs, she gratefully accepts the berry wine cooler as her eyes automatically seek out the real thing.

Rachel is still attached to Finn's side, but Quinn is prepared for the ache of longing that she feels, finding a strange sort of peace in finally accepting her feelings. As if sensing Quinn's attention on her, Rachel's head turns and their eyes meet and hold. Rachel smiles at her, soft and warm and filled with the genuine caring that Quinn recognizes so clearly, and she smiles back.

She makes a silent vow to let whatever happens happen. She's already ruined too many things in her life by trying to bend them to fit her own desires. She won't do that with Rachel. She's going to attempt to be patient and let the future come to her. Of course, maybe it wouldn't hurt to give it a tiny nudge in the right direction. New Haven and New York City really aren't that far apart, and the trains run daily. Maybe she'll buy them a couple of tickets, just to make sure they stay on the right track. With any luck, it will lead them both to the future that Quinn is hoping for.

Chapter Text

Epilogue: All You Need Is Love

2027

Quinn jerks into consciousness to the sound of Steve Perry singing in her ears. It only takes a few seconds for her to realize that she isn't in her bed where she distinctly remembers falling asleep in Rachel's arms after a night of enthusiastically celebrating her Tony win. She opens her eyes to find herself reclining in a plush chair in the study downstairs, and she grins. Not even the tiniest doubt remains that her teenaged self's trip into the future might have been a dream that she'd somehow subconsciously fashioned into reality once she'd finally gotten the chance to be with Rachel. She stops the song from playing and twists her wrist to turn off her phone before pulling the ear buds out of her ears and tossing them back onto the table.

Glancing down at her clothes, she laughs, because it really had been one of Rachel's shirts that she'd grabbed out of the closet. "Rachel," she whispers with a smile. It's been fifteen years since her first glimpse of this life, and there are still moments when she's in awe that she'd really ended up here, with a successful career as an actress and a wife and daughter that she adores. It certainly hadn't been an easy road, and Quinn had given up believing this future could be real on more than one occasion when she'd been younger—thinking it was a crazy dream or that she'd somehow screwed everything up by being a little too patient with Rachel—but apparently, Quinn really has always been destined to end up right here in this moment.

Her head is throbbing slightly from the experience, but it's hardly worse than a mild hangover, so she's pretty confident that her past self had gotten the hell out of here before she'd caused any long-term damage. Quinn had been trying to prepare herself for this event as the date of her trip had crept closer and closer, but so many little details had been purged from her memory in the years when her physical and emotional distance from Rachel had made everything seem like a fantastic dream, and the hours between last night and right now are nothing more than a gaping black hole of nothingness. She's completely dependent on what's left of her fifteen-year-old memories to fill in the blanks from this morning, but she does remember that she'd told Rachel she was going for a walk.

A walk she currently has no interest in taking.

She hates lying to her wife. They don't keep any secrets from each other these days—except for this one, crazy thing that Quinn has never mentioned, partially because she hadn't been one hundred percent certain that it had really happened until right now and partially because she still thinks it would make her sound like a mad woman if she tried to explain it. So she tells herself that Rachel will forgive her for such a tiny omission, because it really doesn't change anything significant about their life together.

And speaking of that—

Quinn stands up from her chair on surprisingly solid legs. Apparently having her body snatched by her past self's consciousness hasn't left any ill effects other than the lingering headache. It's a good thing, because all she really wants to do right now is spend the day with her family.

She practically runs through the lower level of the house—a stone Tudor tucked snugly between a copse of trees in Riverdale that they'd bought shortly before Ava had been born—in search of her girls, finding them both in the theatre. It's not actually a theatre but more of a game room with a state of the art entertainment system, but Rachel likes to call it the theatre, and Quinn finds that it's easier to just indulge some of her wife's harmless, little quirks.

Quinn pauses at the entry, taking a moment to observe them. Ava is sprawled across the plush, red bean bag chair that Kurt had bought her last Christmas, her head propped on her folded arms as she watches her current "favorite movie ever" for what has to be the fiftieth time, quietly reciting every other line of dialogue right along with the characters. Rachel is lounging sideways on the sofa with her feet propped up on the cushions, reading over the script for the film adaptation of Orange Is the New Black: The Musical. Her agent sent it four days ago with an offer for her to play Morello, and Quinn thinks that she should take it. It's not the lead, but it seems like an outrageously fun part, and she thinks it might just be enough to get Rachel an Oscar nod—maybe they'll both end up one statue shy of the EGOT.

Rachel is turned away from her, so Ava is the first to notice the movement of Quinn's shadow across the floor, and her eyes dart away from the animation on the screen to alight on Quinn. "Mommy, you're up," she squeals happily, launching herself off the bean bag and running for Quinn's legs.

Quinn squats down with a wide smile, arms open and body braced for impact, and she wraps her daughter up in a hug the moment she makes contact. "There's my little peanut," she coos before she plants a single, smacking kiss on Ava's cheek. She adjusts her hold on the precious, little body in her arms and stands, sweeping Ava off the floor amid the sound of carefree giggles.

Rachel sits up on the sofa, dropping her feet onto the floor and tossing the script aside with a confused smile. "I thought you were going for a walk."

"Can I come, Mommy?" Ava asks eagerly.

Quinn shifts Ava against her side, getting a firm hold on her. "Later, peanut," she promises. She glances at Rachel with a sheepish smile. "I changed my mind about the walk. I thought we could all go to the park this afternoon instead. Maybe have a picnic."

"Can we, Mama?" Ava begs. "We can take Mr. Darcy and play catch?"

Quinn stifles her laughter. "Yeah, can we, Mama?" she mimics to Rachel.

Amusement dances in Rachel's dark eyes as she stands and steps closer to her wife and daughter, shaking her head. "I somehow doubt that Mr. Darcy will agree to that plan."

"Maybe we could bribe him with some catnip," Quinn suggests agreeably, trying to imagine their reclusive cat frolicking in the park like a puppy—although Ava did manage to get him to walk on the leash for at least a dozen steps that one time. If anyone could get him to play catch, it would be their very tenacious daughter.

Rachel reaches out and pinches Quinn's hip in silent warning. "Why don't we leave Mr. Darcy home to nap today? We could try out the kite that Aunt Brittany gave you instead."

The little frown that had appeared on Ava's lips at being denied instantly disappears, and she bounces in Quinn's arms. "Can we sing the kite song too?"

Rachel positively beams at her. "Absolutely. We can hardly go fly a kite without singing the kite song."

Quinn groans good-naturedly while Ava shouts out an elated, "Yay!"

"I guess I'm outnumbered on the singing," Quinn complains.

Ava giggles, and Rachel grins, fitting her body into Quinn's side as she rests a palm on Ava's hip. "You'll always be outnumbered on that, baby."

Quinn sighs dramatically. "I suppose I'll just have to live with it."

"Oh, please," Rachel challenges, "you know you love it."

Quinn runs a tongue over her lips as she gazes into Rachel's eyes. This is her life, and, "I do love it," she admits easily. "And I love you." She tilts her head and leans down, catching Rachel's waiting lips in a tender kiss.

"Ew…you're being gross and kissy again," Ava protests, effectively ending their sweet moment.

Quinn and Rachel pull apart with matching grins, and then Quinn turns her face toward her daughter. "We'll show you gross and kissy," she threatens playfully, shifting Ava in her arms as she peppers half a dozen sloppy kisses over her face. Rachel is quick to join in, turning Ava into a squealing, squirming, laughing target for her mothers' loving attack.

"Stop it, Mommy! Mama!" Ava demands through her giggles, and Quinn and Rachel finally relent.

Quinn's arms are starting to feel the strain of their daughter's weight, so she gently sets her down on her feet. "Ugh. When did you get so big?" she laments. She can still clearly remember when Ava had been just a tiny baby, so fragile and nearly weightless in her arms. Quinn could have held her forever—and had attempted to do just that on numerous occasions. She's nearly five now, and time is starting to feel like it's racing away. Maybe she should have another talk with Brittany about that time machine of hers.

"I'll be bigger than Mama soon," Ava announces proudly.

"You probably will," Quinn agrees with a nod. "In another year or two," she adds, smirking mischievously at her wife.

"Hey. Not that soon," Rachel argues petulantly.

Quinn bends over, whispering to Ava, "Maybe five years." Their daughter is almost all Rachel, but she's got enough of Kurt's genes in there too that Quinn suspects she'll end up taller than her mama.

"I heard that," Rachel grumbles, smacking Quinn's backside lightly as she straightens.

Ava giggles, and then she sobers with impressive speed, innocently folding her hands in front of her and gazing up at Rachel with her lower lip caught between her teeth. "I love you, Mama."

Rachel sighs in defeat—a smile tugging at her mouth. "I love you too, little star," she says sweetly, brushing a hand over Ava's soft hair, "even though you did pick up all of Mommy's tricks for getting your way." She gently touches the tip of Ava's nose with the pad of her finger to emphasize her point.

Quinn barks out a laugh. "Excuse me? Whose tricks did she pick up?" Because their daughter has already perfected Rachel's storm out, her pout, and her amazing ability to cry on cue. Well—maybe that last one might be Quinn's trick too.

"That is decidedly your move, Quinn Fabray," Rachel scoffs, pointing down at Ava, who's now grinning widely.

And okay, so maybe Quinn taught her a thing or two. She folds her own hands in front of her and catches her lip between her teeth, winking at Rachel. "I love you, Rach."

Shaking her head indulgently, Rachel steps into Quinn's space and curls a hand around the back of her neck. "Every single time," she murmurs before brushing her lips over Quinn's.

Ava tosses out her hands in exasperation. "You're kissing again!"

Quinn chuckles, nuzzling her nose against Rachel's for a second before she pulls back in time to see Ava flounce over to her bean bag chair and flop down into it with her arms crossed. "Someday you'll really like kissing," she warns her daughter.

Ava shakes her head dramatically. "Nuh uh."

Quinn shares a knowing look with Rachel, and Rachel giggles. They're both going to remind Ava of this when she brings her first boyfriend or girlfriend home—in thirty or forty years.

"Finish watching your movie while Mommy has her breakfast," Rachel instructs Ava. "Then we'll practice your scales before we go to the park, okay?"

"'Kay," Ava agrees, shifting around on the chair to get comfortable again as the still-playing movie reclaims her attention.

Rachel smiles affectionately at Ava before she turns back to Quinn and rubs her palm over Quinn's arm. "Come on. I'll get you those pancakes," she offers, already moving out of the room.

Quinn follows along, vaguely remembering the pancakes—she's pretty sure there was supposed to be bacon too. Or maybe it's just the lingering scent of it in the air as they get closer to the kitchen that's making her think she remembers. Rachel has never been able to completely convert her to her vegetarian ways, and Ava is following right along in Quinn's carnivorous tendencies, much to Rachel's chagrin.

Inside the kitchen, Rachel walks to the refrigerator, pulling out a bowl of batter and a plate of bacon to be reheated in the microwave. "The coffee pot is still on if you want a cup," she tells Quinn as she sets about heating the skillet that's still sitting on the burner.

Quinn nods distractedly, more interested in observing Rachel as she tries to fit together the pieces of what, for her, happened fifteen years ago. It feels like everything is perfectly normal—like that little glitch in time never even happened—but she knows differently. She knows that Rachel had been worried about her while her past self had taken over and proceeded to freak the hell out. "I'm sorry I was so weird this morning," Quinn apologizes, leaning back against the counter beside her wife.

Rachel pauses in the middle of spooning a glob of batter onto the skillet, glancing at Quinn with a relieved smile. "I'm just glad you're feeling better now."

"So much better," Quinn promises, unable to resist the urge to lean over and kiss her wife. She threads her fingers into Rachel's hair, deepening the contact as much as she can with the odd angle, which isn't much, but she really wants to give Rachel a good-morning kiss without being interrupted by their precocious daughter.

"Mmm," Rachel hums when Quinn finally tears her lips away. "You certainly are," she agrees.

Quinn trails her fingers over Rachel's cheek, so very happy to have her and Ava and this life that they're making together. "You know, I've been thinking," she begins, licking her lips nervously as she drops her hand back onto the countertop. "It's been awhile since I've really had any significant downtime, and I'll be done with the play in August. Maybe I could take a break from acting for the next couple of years, and we could think about expanding our family."

It's something that she's been thinking about for a while now, but today finally feels like the right time to voice her desire out loud. Next to her, Rachel grows incredibly still as she stares at Quinn with increasingly hopeful eyes. "You...you want to have another baby?" she whispers.

"Yeah," Quinn breathes, grinning. "I think we've got this motherhood thing down. And Ava did mention that she'd like a little brother to boss around."

Rachel drops the spoon that she's been holding back into the batter and slides her arms around Quinn's shoulders with a wide, happy smile. "Yes. Yes, I absolutely want another child with you," she exclaims, dragging Quinn down to meet her lips. And then, "Just so we're clear," she murmurs, "you'll be the one getting pregnant this time, right?"

Quinn laughs joyfully, nodding her agreement. It's only fair that she should experience the joys of pregnancy again after Rachel had so lovingly volunteered to carry Ava just a few, short years after helping Kurt and Blaine become dads. "Think you can manage to knock me up?" she jokes.

"Well, I'm certainly going to try," Rachel promises with a wicked smirk, recapturing Quinn's mouth.

Quinn forgets all about her breakfast, sated by thoughts of the woman in her arms, their beautiful daughter, and the possibility of more children to come. She doesn't need Brittany's time machine to show her what an amazing life she's going to have in some distant future—she's already living it.