I realize FF dot net recognizes the spelling as 'R-o-s-a-l-i-e'. I like my spelling better and creative/artistic license is being evoked here so suck it. Once again I own nothing.

The smell of turkey bacon frying woke Quinn up the next morning. She stretched and almost smiled, until her feet and hands smacked into the couch's arm rests. Then the memory of yesterday came flooding back. Her brother would not be in the kitchen, gorging himself on whatever dad was making. Her dad would not take her training after school, and he certainly wouldn't help her convince her other dad that they should all go out for dessert after dinner.

She wanted to cry, but her stomach told her to get over herself and walk into the kitchen. She decided to listen to her stomach since last night's dinner had been those beef sticks from her bag. She ran her hand through her messy brown hair and plodded into the kitchen.
Monroe looked over when Quinn walked into the kitchen. "Figured you'd need some protein after all the running around you did yesterday, kiddo."

Quinn smiled and quietly thanked him, helping herself to the bacon and pancakes that Monroe had cooked up. After she seated herself at the breakfast nook, Monroe asked, "So, what year are you coming from? I never really talked to you much yesterday."
"2032," Quinn responded.

Monroe let out a low whistle in response. "Damn," he said. "20 years." Quinn's slice of bacon hovered near her mouth. Curiosity was now winning over her hunger. Setting it back on her plate, she asked, "What year is it? I should have thought to grab a paper at some point, but I was kind of freaked out."

"It's 2012. We can watch the news after breakfast so you have a feel for what's going on," Monroe suggested. Quinn nodded silently and continued eating her breakfast. Monroe poured himself a fresh cup of coffee before excusing himself to the living room.

Quinn joined him, after rinsing her plate off in the sink. After a few minutes, Quinn grinned. "You know," she said. "Just recording one of these programs would really help on some history homework." Monroe snorted in response which cause Quinn to frown and stick her tongue out at him. She sat quietly for a bit longer, before deciding that she needed a shower. She mentioned this to her dad who nodded.

"Ok, well bathroom is upstairs. I don't think I have any sort of clothes for you though. I wonder if we can borrow some from Juliette, or would that be weird?" Before her dad could go off on some long tangent, Quinn said quickly, "I've actually got a change of clothes in my bag, thanks. I was s'posed to have a sleepover last night, but you can see how well that plan went." Monroe chuckled at the sarcasm and waved her off.

Once in the bathroom, she realized there was no girly-smelling shampoo. Quinn sighed, disappointed. She would just have to thoroughly rinse her hair with water and suffer the headache that comes with pulling at wet tangled hair. She hopped into the shower and let the hot water wash away some of the anxiety that was still present.

It was six o clock and Nick was on his way to Monroe's house. Monroe and his new partner in crime had spent most of the day watching various news channels, except for the few time Monroe got up to get them something to eat or drink. Monroe could have cried in joy at the knock on his door, it meant he was saved from becoming bored to death.

"Hey, Nick. Come on in, I'll grab you a beer," Monroe said as he opened the door for the detective.

Nick blinked and said, "Actually I'm good, but thanks." Monroe gave him a long look and said firmly, "Trust me, you'll want the beer." As Nick closed the door he heard Monroe shout, "Kid! You want one?"

A young voice yelled back, "I'm fourteen!"
"So, a soda then?" Monroe called. He was answered with a yes. Nick walked into the living room and was slightly surprised to see a young teen girl curled up in one of Monroe's chairs. "Hey," he said, with a soft smile. "I'm Nick."
The girl smiled back at him and replied, "I know. I'm Quinn, by the way. Have a seat, you're in for a shock."
Monroe walked in and handed Nick the beer. He looked at Quinn an shook his head before handing her drink over. "I swear kid, you're going to fall into a diabetic coma with all the crap I let you have today." She just grinned back. Nick cleared his throat and the two turned to look at him. "Well?" The Grimm said, "Anyone want to tell me what's going on?"

"Well, I was in aunt Rose's shop," Quinn began. "And I grabbed my bag off of the counter. I guess there were spices up there that I didn't see. The fell on the floor. The ingredients must have mixed together when they fell to the floor and sent me here. Twenty years into the past. From what Da-Monroe was telling me, I scared some locals the other day. I'm sorry, I just-I just want to got home." Her voice cracked when she finished her explanation and apology.

"Well, then," Nick said. "Problem solved. Why don't you just call Rosalee, Monroe, and have her whip up the antidote of whatever happened here?"

Monroe scowled at Nick and said, "Don't you think I've already thought about that? She's out of town until Thursday. She needs to take care of her affairs before she can officially move to Portland. "

"Ok, what was the point of dragging me over here then? To show that you found the Grimm before I did?" Nick asked. He brushed at some strand of hair that were hanging over his eyes. Eyes that were the exact color as Quinn's. Monroe just shook his head and silently counted to three before saying, "Ok, she doesn't want to do this, but this is what the beer is for. Quinn, I know you don't want to mess up the future, but you're still here for a reason and he deserves to know."

Panicking, Quinn cried, "Then let him discover it in the future! Please don't make me tell him. It was weird enough having him tell me." Monroe gave her a look. It was one that, in the future, he claims took years to get right. Though here it was, perfect as it ever will be. The look that dads' give when their kid isn't quite in trouble but he wants them to know he's getting dangerously frustrated. Yeah, that look. You all know you have once gotten that look from your own dad.

Quinn took a deep breath before starting, keeping her eyes on her hands which were playing with the afghan. "Well, ok. Nick, obviously you've figure out that I'm a Grimm and I'm from the future." Nick nodded though Quinn didn't see it, she just kept talking. "So, I'm not, hmm. The girl that you're dating right now isn't my mom."

"How do you know about Juliette?" Monroe asked. slightly surprised, at the same time that Nick was asking, "Well, who is your mom, so I can keep an eye open?"

Quinn ignored Monroe's question, since Nick's was more important. "Well," she said, looking up from the afghan that she was slowly shredding. Her silver eyes meeting her father's. "In all technicalities, you are."