Rachel should be afraid.

She should certainly not be standing in a calmly in a quiet elevator with some version of Quinn that does not remember her.

Reality slipped from her fingers sometime after the girl that she longed to befriend was crushed by a reckless truck, however, so she follows Quinn without question once the elevator doors slide open.

They walk wordlessly toward what Rachel assumes is Quinn's apartment, though she opens the door without a key – evidently breaking in to people's apartments isn't common here.

Rachel wonders briefly how they keep track of who lives where; there are no numbers on the apartments.

"It still counts." Quinn's voice suddenly cuts through the silence, followed by a series of noises from the kitchen. Rachel hadn't noticed that she was the only one still in the living area.

She waits for further explanation, and follows her voice before speaking again.

"What still counts?" She hasn't forgotten the words she blurted out in the elevator, but presses for clarification nonetheless.

"Your death still counts, even if was an accident." She answers matter-of-factly and shrugs, pulling a plastic container from the refrigerator.

"Well, clearly, if you're here…" Rachel mumbles under her breath, the past few days flashing in her mind.

Quinn tenses for a moment, her eyes flashing with something before it passes altogether. This inquisitive girl in her apartment clearly thinks that she knows something about Quinn's death, but she isn't sure yet if she wants to ask.

"Are you hungry? It's not lunch time yet, but I have some fruit salad." She hands the container and a fork to the new girl before waltzing back into the living room, leaving Rachel to trail behind her.

She merely stands dazedly on the tacky linoleum floor of the kitchen for a few beats. Quinn takes a seat on the dilapidated couch in the living room, flipping through several snowy channels on her beat-up television before settling on a familiar movie she can't recall the name of.

Apparently, they have cable in the afterlife – or limbo, or whatever this place is - and it's common to invite strangers that somehow know your name into your apartment and offer them your fruit salad.

Rachel has the urge to scold Quinn for being so trusting. She could easily have been some strange serial killer – though she's not sure that people can die here. Would it matter?

"Are you going to sit down?"

Limbo Quinn is also about as blunt as normal Quinn.

Rachel moves hesitantly across the room and sits at the far end of the couch, glancing at Quinn and then around the room.

There are quite a few books lining the book shelf in the corner, and several empty picture frames on the walls .The furniture all looks somewhat old, and Rachel's brow creases as she thinks back to what got her here.

Just this morning, she had attended Quinn's funeral…though it looks as though the blonde has been in this apartment for quite some time. She appears to be comfortable here, and it gives Rachel an odd feeling akin to de ja vu.

"How long have you been here?" She mumbles, glancing warily at the empty picture frames again.

"I don't remember. Max explained how things work here and said that this place was empty." She shrugs, not bothering to ask if Rachel was referring to the apartment or the realm itself. That should be answer enough for both, for now.

Rachel fights the urge to gape at her, opting to chew on a chunk of pineapple from the plastic container instead.

Limbo has bland pineapple, she notes absentmindedly, and that is enough to make her pout before tossing the fork onto the coffee table.

"How can you be so nonchalant about this? You're – you're dead, and you don't remember me, and that pineapple tastes like cardboard, and…." Her eyes sting suddenly, and the gravity of the situation seems to settle over her, making her chest and throat tight. She can't feel any tears, though, and that only further frustrates her.

"How can you just sit there? We need to fix this, there has to be something we can do."

Quinn's mouth twitches, the closest she's been to a smile in quite some time. She has a feeling that, if she really did know this girl sometime in some other place, she's experienced this end of an outburst from her before.

"Calm down. Maybe there is something…." She starts, a contemplative look passing over her face, "I've been waiting." She clicks off the television then, looking at Rachel expectantly.

"You've been waiting. For what?"

She watches as Quinn stands and half-heartedly shrugs one shoulder.

"I wasn't sure at first, but I think I'm done waiting." Quinn disappears through a hallway, into her bedroom.

Baffled by her behavior, she follows Quinn, ignoring the surreal feeling of being in the other girl's bedroom – though it is a far cry from the one she has in the real world. She can only vaguely remember the room, this one is decidedly darker, and eerily unkempt.

Rachel's observation of the room is cut short when she is handed a duffel bag. A few items are packed there already, and Quinn adds things to the bag wordlessly, humming to herself as she does so.

"What are you doing?"

Quinn continues tossing things into the bag before rifling through a drawer and filling a tan knapsack.

"I'm packing, obviously. We're going on a road trip." She continues shuffling about, ignoring the sudden thud as Rachel drops the duffel. The smaller girl plops herself onto the bed, dropping her head into her hands and rambling through her fingers.

"We're dead…we're both dead, she can't remember how she got here, and she wants to go on a road trip?" Rachel speaks to herself, before laughing dryly and addressing the other girl. "Head trauma must carry on into the afterlife, because you're –"

"Stop." Rachel's outburst is cut off by a pale hand over her mouth, and she glares as soon as the shock passes. Quinn's hand drops quickly back to her side.

"I don't know anything about head trauma, okay? You start to forget things when you get here." Quinn explains, shouldering the knapsack and duffel and gesturing for the brunette to follow her.

"They say that once you forget it all, you're stuck here for good. You remember stuff, though…" She trails off, plucking a few books from her shelves before moving to collect things from the kitchen.

"This is not happening." Rachel's sudden change in tone draws Quinn's head out to peek over the refrigerator door.

"It's just a dream…another nightmare." The determined girl is talking to herself now, rubbing her temples as though it will snap her out of something. "You've had a lot of nightmares since the accident….this isn't quite a nightmare though…she's fine. She's alive." Rachel passes her conversation with herself to glance at Quinn.

"What?" The crazy girl on her couch is a bit unnerving, but Quinn can't bring herself to ask her to leave. She has been waiting for something for what seems like ages, and for some reason, the sudden appearance of this Rachel girl makes her think that she's done waiting.

"I'm not sure that I want to wake up." The matter-of-fact tone Rachel has slipped into might have been more irritating if her voice hadn't just trembled slightly.

The front door swings open, and Quinn stands in the doorway with a hint of a smirk on her lips.

"If it is a dream, why not just come along? Road trips can be nice."

The comment is meant to be light, but her smile dims slightly. Quinn often finds herself driving aimlessly for hours before realizing that she has no particular destination – it isn't difficult to just leave here. Obligations rarely exist. Quinn finally feels that she has a reason to leave, though.

"Right…why not. A road trip with the dream version of Quinn Fabray should be interesting." She throws her hands in the air dramatically, defeated.

Quinn somehow recognizes that gesture, but she pushes that thought away and returns to the elevator, saying nothing when Rachel finally stands beside her.

As the doors slide open once again and they make their way to the car, Quinn replays the other girl's words in her mind.

When they're seated, duffel and knapsack in the backseat, Quinn smirks as she starts the car.

"Quinn Fabray…" She tests the name, ignoring the bittersweet feeling that edges along her consciousness. Like a memory, but not quite.

"So, if I'm Quinn Fabray, who are you? Rachel…?" The question hangs in the air as the beat up red buggy pulls from the parking lot and rolls into the street.

"Berry. Rachel Berry."

That name feels familiar on Quinn's tongue, too, and she murmurs it to herself. She wonders if she really knew this Berry girl in another time, or if she's slowly slipping into hallucinations.

It happens here, sometimes.

As the city disappears behind them, Quinn decides that she wants to remember. If there's any chance of getting away, getting back to a place where she had a name and maybe even a friend, she wants to chase it.