Author's Note: Written for Faberry Week, Day 7 - The Future. A two part expansion of a plot bunny ficlet originally posted on Tumblr last year.

Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

Magical Mystery Tour

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.