Berlin, 1929
The apartment smelled of cigarettes and sex - not surprising, Quinn thought, considering she shared it with Santana.
Her brunette friend had been unable to handle the separation from Brittany, and had fallen into a mindless pit of constant sexual turnaround.
Men.
Women.
At least it was bringing some money in.
Still, Quinn was increasingly worried for her friend.
1930
On the one year anniversary of their arrival, she felt Santana embrace her from behind. It was a hot night, and she was wearing only a thin nightie bought from Berenstein's Haberdasherie, just down the street.
Santana's right hand moved down to the hem, and then up and around, her fingers drifting up Quinn's inner thigh.
"Santana-"
"If you can be Britt, I can be Rachel."
"I didn't like-"
The other girl cupped her, the feeling of cold fingers moving against dampening skin proving her to be a liar.
"Please, Fabray, just for tonight, stop fucking lying to yourself. Please."
They kept their eyes closed, murmured the names of people they hadn't seen since August 2012, and came harder than either would later be willing to admit.
In the morning, sat at the breakfast table, each eating boiled eggs and ham, Santana gave her the coldest look she would ever receive.
"If you ever use the past tense again, I will fucking kill you."
1931
The Berensteins were a charming couple, always willing to help Quinn with fabric choices for hers and Santana's dresses. They reminded her a lot of the Misters Berry, and she briefly wondered whether they might be related - after all, people were having their names changed on immigration documents all the time, right?
But they were an old couple, and didn't seem to have any children, so she considered unlikely.
Until she entered their shop one January morning (Santana having torn her favourite dress during one of her ever-more-frequent depressive rants, and them having been out of the requisite thread to attempt repair), and walked straight into a tiny, gorgeous Rachel Berry clone.
Quinn couldn't stop herself from speaking in an awed whisper.
"Rachel?"
The girl gave her a funny look, and opened her mouth to respond, but Mr Berenstein, too far away to have overheard, beat her to it.
"Ah! Miss Fabray! How are you this morning?"
Quinn tore her gaze away from the Rachel clone, trying desperately not to look like she had been giving the girl the once over, and smiled at him.
"I'm fine, thank you Mr Berenstein. Yourself?"
"Oh, no new complaints, but if you ask Mrs Berenstein, I'm sure she'll spin you a different tale."
She smiled at his easy humour, but was unable to control her eyes properly, once again finding the girl to be the centre of her attention.
She wasn't Rachel.
But she was so close.
Quinn got lost in chocolate eyes.
So, so close.
Neither of them seemed able to start introductions, so Mr Berenstein assisted them.
"Miss Fabray, this is my niece, Rebecca. She's visiting us from Warsaw. Rebecca, this is Miss Fabray, she lives in the apartment building down the street. With Miss Lopez, that Latin girl you noticed yesterday."
Rebecca cringed, and Quinn almost cried, because there was no way this girl was not related to Rachel Berry.
"Uncle! Please!" she turned to Quinn, "I'm terribly sorry Miss Fabray-"
"Quinn."
Quinn extended a hand, accompanied by a smile. Rebecca took it, and smiled in return.
"Becca. As I was about to say, I'm terribly sorry, it's just that there aren't vary many Spaniards in this area, I promise I didn't say anything bad about her. She's just unusual."
"Tell me about it."
Becca's forehead scrunched in confusion, but Quinn came to her rescue quickly.
"It's just an expression. I was agreeing with you."
"Oh."
Mr Berenstein smiled at his niece and one of his favourite customers getting along so well.
"Rebecca is thinking of studying abroad, Miss Fabray. Perhaps you could tell her about America?"
"Of course! I'd love to. Today? The only thing I have to do is fix Santana's - my friend's - dress, and go grocery shopping, so we could meet in a cafe, if you're also out and about..."
"Actually, the only thing I was planning on doing today was catching up on my reading, so I'm really free all day. I would love to talk with you though - a real American! - so just come into the shop when you're ready and ask for me."
Quinn smiled again.
"Maybe we can hit the bookshops together."
The amusing look of confusion returned briefly to Becca's forehead, but it passed quickly, and she was soon nodding, and gave what Quinn would usually refer to as a trademark Rachel Berry beaming smile.
"That sounds nice, yes."
Mr Berenstein clapped his hands together.
"Well, now that you two have made plans for today, perhaps you can go and help your Aunt in the kitchen, so I can finally help Miss Fabray with whatever she actually came in for, yes?"
"Yes, Uncle."
Becca mirrored Quinn earlier, extending her hand, and smiling.
"I'll see you later."
Quinn mirrored Becca, taking the hand, and returning the smile.
"I'll try not to be too long."
Becca left the front of the shop, smiling all the way. Quinn stayed still, having watched her go, until Mr Berenstein cleared his throat. She jumped, but collected herself quickly and went to the counter.
"And what do you actually need today, Miss Fabray?"
"Just some standard silver thread, Mr Berenstein."
He went to a thread drawer, and picked out a small spool, addressing her as he did so.
"You know, Miss Fabray, my Brother is a very liberal man - as are we all in my family! - and Becca is sometimes very modern in her ways, but still..."
He trailed off, his tone of voice leaving Quinn slightly unsettled.
"Yes?"
He put the spool of thread in a small bag, and rang the till.
"I do not think she is one of you."
Quinn sighed, thankful that his tone was at least non-confrontational. She was about to respond when another voice was heard.
"Auntie says she needs your help, Uncle. I think I can finish Quinn's sale."
Surprised, the two of them turned to look at Becca, but her expression was unreadable. Quinn exchanged a look with the old man, neither of them sure how long she had been stood there.
"Well, I don't want to yelled at, do I? I'll see you when you call for Rebecca later, Miss Fabray. Have a good day."
"You too, Mr Berenstein."
He left the two girls together. Becca came to the till as Quinn took out her purse. She toyed with the bag containing the spool of thread, and when Quinn had fished out the money and pressed it into her other palm, she was loathe to hand it over.
"Can I ask, Quinn, who was Rachel?"
Quinn was still uncertain of Becca's reaction to what her Uncle had said. She really was so much like Rachel, holding herself together, small and secret, just when you really needed her to be open.
Quinn chose her words carefully, but smiled with it, successfully encouraging Becca to do the same.
"She's just somebody that I used to know."
Lima, 2012
Rachel knocked on Brittany's door for the nth time.
She thought that Brittany was taking even longer than normal to answer, and she was beginning to get irritated.
Finally, the door opened, and Rachel entered immediately.
"At last! Do you know how irritating it is that it takes you so long to open the door, Brittany? Here I am, last few days of summer before I finally get to attend the wondrous institution of the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, and all I'm looking for is to spend a few hours with my best female friend, Quinn, and I can't find here anywhere! Have you seen her?"
And it was at this point that Rachel finally regarded Brittany.
Whose hair was gently smoking.
"What's happened, Brittany?"
The other girl shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
"Umm, did you know that I'm one of your best female friends too, so you definitely shouldn't yell at me, right?"
The Brittany-ness of her slightly worried grin was only matched by the Rachel-ness of her look of abject horror.