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.
A/N: I realize that this could have easily been a multi-chaptered story, but as Quinn realized, the longer she stayed and the more she discovered about that future, the more it was going to hurt to have to go back and wait for it all to happen.