Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story.

Someone asked why it would matter if Quinn is going die either way after fourteen days—it's really just to see how much Quinn is willing to give up for Rachel. I know it seems like an awful deal. For the people worried that this is going to be an angsty and death-filled story—it has its moments, but it won't be totally tragic all the way through. Thanks again!

Chapter Two

Day One

Is it possible to die from a hangover?

Quinn groaned and rolled over. She didn't remember drinking last night; even so, she was ninety-ninety percent positive that dying from hangover is not a pleasant way to go.

"Quinn, you've got to wake up. You're skirting awfully close to being late."

The unfamiliar voice caused Quinn to bolt off the edge of the bed and land with a painful thunk. The blankets wrapped around her like chains and she was unable to back away.

"Who the fuck are you?" Quinn yelled. Her feet kicked against the icy floor as she attempted to back against the wall.

This was it—Quinn was sure that the end was near. She was going to die in her underwear and a high school t-shirt, which is tragically embarrassing.

The man standing in the corner didn't seem phased by Quinn's outburst. He puffed his cheeks and blew out a gust of air, causing his brown, curly hair to fall over his forehead.

"You dropped this," he smirked, holding a pocket watch between his fingers. He tossed the gold-plated object at Quinn. She didn't move to catch it.

"I suppose you don't remember. Traveling to Hell and back'll do that to a person. To a mortal," he said off-handedly and stepped away from the wall he had been leaning against. He moved to pick up the watch.

Quinn's heart thudded against her chest with the force of an impending heart attack.

"Here," he offered the watch to her and walked backwards to the bed. "You're not going to talk, are you? Well, I have been a bit rude. My name is Jesse St. James. No, I'm not here to kill you—not yet, anyway. Do you know what year it is?"

Quinn hesitated. "2015. Telling me your name doesn't tell me why you're here. And what kind of sick shit is that? Not yet?"

Jesse pursed his lips. "No, Quinn. It's 2008. I'm here to guide you through the next two weeks—you've already wasted half a day."

"No, Jesse. It's 2015, and I still don't—" the sneer on Quinn's face fell.

She had a habit of running her hands through her hair whenever she felt frustrated. Quinn didn't remember there being two lumps on either side of her head.

"That's where you shot yourself. The headache you have will go away," Jesse explained without looking at Quinn. His eyes were fixed on the watch Quinn had yet to pick up. "Do you remember yet? I need you think hard if you don't."

It was like trying to remember what caused deja vu. Quinn rubbed at her head—I shot myself? If she had shot herself, she wasn't sure why she'd want to remember; regardless, she walked back through her memories.

What was I doing before I woke up?

She was in her car parked by the intersection where Rachel died. What did I do after that? Where did I go? Quinn had left Manhattan to find someplace quiet. She could remember the handgun that she bought the day before. Quinn inhaled a breath quickly.

"That wasn't a dream?" Quinn asked. Her fingers grazed the pocket watch. It didn't look like a watch at all. A narrow strip of green light traveled around the circular edge and fourteen indentations notched the outer ring.

"No, Quinn, it wasn't a dream."

Quinn had a rotten feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Rachel's alive?"

"It's 2008, so yes, Rachel is alive."

Jesse's eyes met Quinn's briefly.

"Rachel has the rest of her life. You don't. As soon as that," Jesse said while nodding at the watch, "runs out, meaning the green is replaced with black, you will be dead."

"I'll be dead," Quinn repeated quietly. For some reason, this didn't bother her. Rachel is alive.

"I'm going back to sleep. I don't really see any point in making her fall in love with me if I'm only going to die in two weeks. Goodnight, whoever you are," Quinn said after several long seconds.

"That's not part of the agreement. You have—" Quinn cut him off. She stood up slowly from the floor and wrapped the blanket tightly around her shoulders.

"I don't have to do anything. What is it that the Devil, or Satan, or Steve—whatever the fuck his name is—didn't he say that everything is a choice? This is my choice. I'm not going to hurt Rachel. If she's happy and alive, then let it be. Now move."

Jesse didn't move. Instead, he shifted his weight back onto his hands and lounged upright on her bed.

"You seem to be forgetting who you're dealing with."

Quinn scowled. "I killed myself and then sold my soul to the Devil so that Rachel could have the life she was supposed to have. Does it look like I care what happens to me?"

"Maybe not, but you do care what happens to Rachel, yes? Fifteen minutes, Quinn. You have fifteen minutes to get to the Museum of Modern Arts. I have a bad feeling that a taxi is about to crush Ms. Berry. I'll see you there," Jesse said while walking toward the door.

"Oh, and Quinn?" Jesse peaked his head into the bedroom. "I happened to like this body. Jesse's a good guy—got a wife and kids at home waiting for him. But he'll soon be dead because you couldn't fulfill your end of the deal."

"Fuck you," Quinn spat.

Jesse was gone before Quinn could try to stop him.

It was cold.

Quinn could barely breathe. Chilled air burned her lungs as her feet hammered against the icy sidewalk. If there was time she would have taken a taxi.

She rounded the corner on the opposite side of MoMA. Rachel.

There she was again—smiling with her eyes closed. The very first time Quinn saw her she was on Rachel's left standing near a bent parking meter. She could only see Rachel's profile.

Now Quinn was across the street seeing from an entirely different angle. She wished she could just watch Rachel be Rachel like the first time.

Fourteen minutes.

"Rachel! Rachel!" Quinn waved her arms frantically. The noise from a car passing competed with Quinn's efforts—it's not like a jay-walking ticket will matter after two weeks.

"Rachel, move!"

Quinn dodged several cars. Two taxi drivers blared their horns. She nearly toppled over a cyclist.

She wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline or if time was lagging, but she felt like she was in a nightmare. The kind of nightmare where it's impossible to go faster. Rachel was only ten steps away but Quinn felt like she was running through deep mud.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a taxi weaving in and out unlike the rest—driving even worse than the average New York City cabbie. Jessie was zeroed in on Rachel.

Rachel was looking at Quinn now, her brown eyes wide with confusion.

"Rach, move! Get off the bench!"

Rachel was seemingly frozen in her spot, oblivious to the hunk of metal on wheels flying at her.

Fuck it.

Quinn hunched over with her arms out. The cement didn't feel like quicksand anymore and her feet left the ground easily. Rachel's mouth opened to protest Quinn's approaching tackle. She even got up to move.

Now she's moving? Quinn thought. Rachel's snail-like pace wasn't fast enough to avoid the taxi or Quinn.

Quinn's right arm tucked underneath Rachel's knees and her left arm wrapped around her torso. Rachel let out a whimper as if she was being kidnapped instead of rescued.

Several people stared but it wasn't at Quinn holding the smaller girl bridal-style.

Hardly a second later Jessie's stolen taxi hopped the curb and sailed into the bolted-down metal bench. Quinn's legs nearly gave out from exhaustion and she stumbled the last few steps.

The sound of metal bending and cracking caused Rachel's arm to wrap tightly around Quinn's neck. She tucked her head into the taller girl's chest.

Rachel never did take well to be startled. On their second Halloween together Quinn had decided she wanted to scare Rachel. Her prank ended with Rachel furious and near tears. That was the year she was banned from "tomfoolery."

Even if Quinn was taking advantage of Rachel's paralyzed state of mind, she didn't care. She tugged the brunette closer. Rachel shifted slightly in Quinn's arms.

Quinn's senses were overwhelmed. Rachel smelled like home. Rachel felt like home.

"Someone call 911! Is anyone a doctor?"

The taxi creaked heavily and the sound of a body falling to the ground quieted the crowd's shocked whispers. The yellow crown vic's back end was propped up on what was left of the bench.

Quinn couldn't see Jessie's body but she could see his shadow writhing. He was seizing.

Rachel shifted again as Quinn guiltily looked away from the dying man. "Um… I can…" Rachel began slowly.

Please don't ask me to put you down, Quinn begged silently.

"I can stand," Rachel finished.

Quinn reluctantly lowered her until both feet were steadily planted on the ground. Quinn kept her hand on Rachel's shoulder, desperate for contact.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked.

Rachel's head bobbed between Quinn and the taxi. It was rare to see Rachel lost for words and Quinn had to stop herself from smiling.

"I—yes, I'm fine. Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I thought you were crazy. I didn't even see," Rachel shook her head back and forth and waved a hand at the wreckage. "I just sat there. I almost died. You almost died. You saved my life."

Quinn swayed her weight onto her right foot and stuffed both hands into her jacket's pockets. She didn't feel like a savior. She focused on the sound of sirens close by instead of on Rachel's reverent expression.

"Oh…no—I, um, I'm fine," Quinn said. She couldn't think of anything else to say.

"You know my name. Have we met?" Rachel's eyebrows furrowed. She looked like she wanted to say more. Rachel gaped at the taxi's crushed front end.

You knew me for five years.

"Yes—well, no, we haven't," Quinn answered quickly. Her attention was pulled to the multitude of vehicles flocking to the steaming taxi. Curious onlookers were shooed away.

Since when have the paramedics and cops ever arrived so quickly to a wreck? Quinn wondered if Jessie had told the police beforehand.

Several EMTs were at Jessie's side. Quinn couldn't look once the chest compressions began.

"Rachel, would you like hot chocolate? There's a place down the road," Quinn said. She walked away and hoped Rachel would follow.

Quinn glanced over her shoulder and gave Rachel a lop-sided smile. The girl she knew would use her first born as a bargaining chip for quality hot chocolate. The brunette's eyes turned into saucers.

"Of course! Hot chocolate is possibly—no, hot chocolate is my favorite beverage. I mean, hot chocolate could end wars. Think about it: if instead of fighting, everyone was just like, 'hey, let's drink hot chocolate and call it a day?' Who would object to that?" Rachel rambled.

Quinn never minded the way she always said more than she needed to.

Rachel beamed at Quinn with her fingers curled around the steaming cup.

The coffee place the two were in seemed out of place in New York City. It was just quaint enough to look like it didn't belong among the buildings filled with businessmen and women.

"Are you going to tell me your name now? It's only fair if you already know mine," Rachel teased. The pair were settled into a booth near the only window. Quinn squinted into the fog settling onto the road.

Quinn wanted to be angry. She wanted to yell at the girl across from her—she wanted to remind Rachel of their love, of their life. But she couldn't. Because it hasn't happened yet. Quinn didn't think it would ever happen.

"Quinn Fabray," Quinn said after deciding against terrorizing the shorter girl.

"Thank you for saving my life, Quinn Fabray. I have to ask again—how do you know my name? I know you wanted to get away from the wreck so you didn't get a chance to answer before," Rachel rushed out. Her eyes bulged before Quinn could respond.

"Wait, should we have stayed? Did we just commit a crime by fleeing the scene? I don't think I can handle jail time…" Rachel trailed off. Quinn wasn't sure if she remembered the first question. Rachel sipped at her hot chocolate while fidgeting with a sugar packet.

"I, um, I saw you perform in Toshi's Living Room," Quinn replied. She had no idea if they should have stayed. Jail wasn't an option given her limited time.

"Really?" Rachel's face lit up. Quinn nodded with a smile.

"Yeah, you were great. I'm no fortune teller but I'm sure Broadway's in your future," Quinn said with a wink. She already knew Rachel would end up on Broadway. Quinn wondered if she should invest in stocks.

"Are you sure we haven't met? How'd you know I wanted to be on Broadway?" Rachel's eyes narrowed slightly. Quinn shrugged.

"I just…assumed? You have the voice for Broadway, so…" Quinn offered, hoping Rachel would buy it.

"Thank you. You assumed correctly. One day, Quinn. One day I'll be a Broadway star and to thank you for saving me I'll give you tickets to every show."

Quinn thrummed her fingers despondently against her cup. She wasn't sure how to respond. She wasn't sure how to talk to this Rachel—to the Rachel who didn't know her. She wanted to keep her distance, but it was proving to be difficult.

"So… are you from New York, or did you move here?" Rachel finally asked. She never did like awkward pauses.

"Yes, I grew up here."

"What do you do?"

"I work in advertising. I write for commercials," Quinn replied after gulping her coffee.

"That sounds like an incredible job. But you seem very young to have already worked your way into the business?" Rachel wondered aloud.

"Not really, I'm twenty-six so I've had time to work my way up," Quinn said without thinking. Her eyes widened when she realized her mistake. Rachel's eyebrows quirked up.

"You don't look twenty-six," Rachel said after a beat.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking of the number twenty-six and that came out. I'm eighteen. My parents knew some people in the business. I guess I'm a little off after—um, after the taxi…thing." Quinn floundered.

"Did you know that the laugh track you hear in some TV shows were recorded in the 1950s? Assuming those people were adults, most are probably dead now. So I guess it's like hearing dead people laugh?" Quinn said quickly.

Did I just say that? Oh God, so not worth trying to keep her from over-analyzing that I gave her the wrong age…

Rachel had a curious look on her face. Then she laughed. Blood rushed into Quinn's face from embarrassment.

She leaned toward Quinn with a wide grin. "No, I didn't know that. Tell me, Quinn Fabray who jumps in front of taxis, do you know anymore interesting facts?"

Quinn fell in love all over again. Even this Rachel loved her irrelevant facts. Quinn propped her head onto her hands. They both inched toward each other across the table.

"Did you know…"

Rachel and Quinn spent the next hour giggling and debating over the random information that Quinn knew for whatever reason.

Quinn looked at the girl across from her after they were both red in the face. She had forgotten about the two years she spent without Rachel at her side. She had forgotten about the deal she made.

All she knew was that Rachel was breathtaking. The way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled and the way she threw her head back when she laughed—Quinn wanted to lean over and kiss her senseless.

"Do you want to play a game?" Quinn asked with bright eyes.

"Are you sure we've never met? I love games." Rachel bobbed her head excitedly.

"I'm going to ask you five questions about yourself. If I get all five right, then you have to go on a date with me." Quinn rushed. She knew she'd get them right. She knew Rachel.

Rachel frowned and looked at her empty cup. "I—I… I'm actually getting married in two weeks… I'd love to go out with you as friends. I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

Quinn felt like she was falling apart. The two years without Rachel rushed back, and the deal she made was now in the forefront of her mind. She clenched her fists under the table and sighed.

She couldn't let Rachel see how much it hurt—it wouldn't make sense. So she smiled.

"Who's, um… who's the lucky person?" Quinn faltered. Her grin looked more like a grimace.

"Finn. I met him in high school. He proposed right before I moved out here," Rachel said without meeting Quinn's watery eyes. She was looking out the frosted window.

Rachel wasn't wearing a ring. Quinn didn't want to ask why. She just wanted to leave.

"That's—I'm happy for you, Rach. Congratulations. I, uh, I have to get going," Quinn said while standing up. She looked down at the brunette twisting her straw wrapper.

"It was really nice to meet you, Rachel." Quinn extended her hand for Rachel to shake. She knew Rachel didn't understand why Quinn seemed so upset. She wished she could tell her.

Rachel stood and met her hand with conflicted eyes. "I'd still like to see you, Quinn. Let me give you my number." She turned toward the booth and dug through her purse to look for a piece of paper to give to Quinn.

"I should stop putting so much stuff in here. I'd really like to buy you dinner to thank you for saving me. Ah! Here we go," Rachel said happily. She snatched an old receipt from her purse and scrawled her number down against the table.

Quinn rushed out of the small cafe and into the cold air before Rachel could turn around. It killed her to leave like that, but she was sure it was for the best.

She jogged down the sidewalk away from the quaint cafe and raised her arm for a taxi. Several zoomed past and after several minutes one finally stopped.

Before she could give her address the driver turned around. The cabbie was a small woman with tan skin and a bright smile.

"I know where you live, Quinn Fabray. Thought you could get rid of me so easily? Please try not to break the rules next time," the cabbie said with a wink. "I guess I don't mind this body. Her thoughts are almost as filthy as mine—feisty, this one. I like it. Oh, where are my manners? My name is Santana. Let's get you home, Quinn."

Quinn dropped her head against the passenger seat. Fuck.