Quinn came to with a dulled pain in her back. As the fog of sleep rescinded, she realized it was because she was... on the floor? In a public restroom? Disgusted into wakefulness, she grabbed around for the sink and hauled herself up.

It was a nice restroom, at least. Large, with thankfully clean floors, marble sink with modern faucets, dark wood doors. She gingerly patted the back of her head and rotated her arms, feeling sore from the ground but otherwise uninjured. In the mirror, she spied her own startled visage and the thin, pale pink straps of her simple night shift. Her immediate, horrified thought was that she'd been roofied. Was it possible? She tried to remember the night before, but drew a blank. She felt a little strange.

Outside, she could hear people approaching. Laughing voices, muffled through the door and walls.

"Oh," she emitted, before clamping a hand over her mouth. In a panic, she shoved herself into one of the stalls and closed the door. The latch slid shut louder than she would have liked.

The outside door opened. A women entered and stood in front of the mirrors, discussing evening plans over the phone. Her voice was unfamiliar to Quinn, but she sounded benign and American. (She'd not been kidnapped and shipped to another country, at least. Not yet, anyway. She'd heard of these things happening to young girls.) The friendly voice didn't set off any alarms in her gut, so she took a deep breath and opened the lock. She peered from behind the door, feeling too vulnerable and bizarre in her nightgown to step into full view.

"Excuse me?" her voice sounded pathetically small.

An older blonde in a casual jean and t-shirt outfit, turned around. "Hey... Dianna?"

"I," she started, but the words died in her dry throat. She looked at this stranger and, to her horror, felt tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know where I am. Please, can you help me?"

The woman looked dumbfounded.

Quinn wiped at her tears with her palms, feeling foolish but unable to collect herself. "I woke up here, on the floor. I don't remember anything. I don't know what's going on. I, I just."

"Oh," said the woman, "Oh honey. We'll figure this out. Matt, can I call you back?" then to Quinn again, "Let me just... hang on, sweetie. Let me get someone."

"Okay," she sniffed. Then, minding her manners, "Thank you."

The woman stepped outside. "Anyone out here? Hey! Naya? One sec."

The door closed and Quinn could hear low whispers outside. She felt a shock of fear pass through her again. What if she had misjudged her? What if this woman, and the other person, what if they were... cohorts? In some kind of kidnapping scheme?

Quinn stepped out to take stock her surroundings again, feeling anxious and skittish. She smoothed her hands along her nightgown and tried to think. No pockets, of course. No cell phone. No wallet. Nothing.

The door swung open, and someone else walked in.

Santana.

Relief hit Quinn all at once, like a ton of bricks. She felt it spread giddily through her body.

"Oh God," Quinn exclaimed with uncharacteristic fervency, letting her legs automatically carry her closer. Her best friend felt warm and stabilizing in her arms. She pulled back just enough to ask, "Where are we? What happened? I woke up on the floor. Did we go somewhere? It's the strangest thing. I just can't remember."

Naya's eyebrows shot upwards and then came together, lips parting in surprise. She retreated slowly from the embrace until she was only gently grasping Quinn by the elbows. Those familiar eyes took in Quinn's face with blended confusion and concern. "Dianna?"

"Who's Dianna?"