Author's Notes: This chapter was a struggle to write. Major thanks to Mike Ownby; the act of sending him half-baked drafts generates an actual product fit to post.

Quinn wakes tentatively at first, and then all at once upon remembering where she is and who she's with.

It's morning. That much she can tell from the light filtering through heavy curtains. Her brain is still a little foggy, though, and that's all it's capable of at the moment.

"Mmph," says Quinn. She sounds croaky to her own ears.

Quinn's next thought is her phone, so she attempts to look for it. Funny though, how her body is heavy and sluggish and refuses to respond to her commands.

It takes a bit more squirming before she realizes that's not her body she's looking at. Marley has an arm slung over Quinn's middle (thus preventing her from rolling over to retrieve her phone) and her face close to Quinn's pillow. She's also snoring quietly, though that's the least of Quinn's problems.

Quinn doesn't panic; she's used to this now. Rachel is – for lack of a better word – a clingy sleeper, and they've had enough sleepovers together for Quinn to not freak out whenever there are invading limbs in her personal space. And since Marley is nowhere near Rachel's Kraken-taking-a-ship-down level of clinginess, all this physical contact is barely a blip on Quinn's radar – even taking into account that she isn't as familiar with Marley as she is with Rachel.

Quinn stares up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. "Marley," she says quietly, "are you awake?"

A gentle snore answers her. Quinn sighs. "Goddamnit."

She shifts. Marley's arm is heavy – not such a surprise, after everything she watched the other girl consume yesterday – and she has to inch out since the other option is flinging Marley's arm back at her. She won't do that. They're friends now.

Though, Quinn thinks she'll have to reconsider her definition of friendship if she's going to let every irrepressible, cheerful girl she meets get past her defenses.

The process of climbing out is slow so she doesn't disturb Marley. At least, she hopes she hasn't disturbed Marley's sleep. Quinn finally extricates herself and takes her phone in hand. It's nearly seven, about time for them to be getting up anyway. Quinn should really wake Marley.

But she doesn't.

"G'mornin'."

Quinn has a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, so she just nods in reply. Marley has a splendid case of bed hair that she doesn't look remotely self-conscious about. Quinn spits into the sink and says: "I'm almost done, could you give me a minute?"

"Yeah," says Marley in a Texan accent.

Quinn frowns, perplexed.

"S'fine, I need t'get my things anyway…" Marley trails off as she shuffles back outside, newfound Texan drawl and all. Quinn decides not to comment on it.

They opted for the motel's buffet breakfast because Marley asked for it, and Quinn decided to oblige her. Breakfast seems to be a very important meal to Quinn's road trip buddy, judging from yesterday's brown bag.

"Is that all you're getting?"

Quinn glances at the heaping plate Marley sets down on the table. "It's a buffet," she says, amused, "you're allowed to go back for seconds or thirds." She also notes the accent from this morning has vanished, but decides to save the questioning for after breakfast.

Marley doesn't look the slightest bit self-conscious. "I know," she answers, tucking into her scrambled eggs. "I was just asking."

Her breakfast looks boring compared to Marley's generously-loaded plate. Quinn focuses on buttering her toast.

"So… Cleveland." Without waiting for an answer, Marley plows on: "I've heard that Cuyahoga County is beautiful, so I'm really looking forward to that. Not to mention the architecture and all… Euclid Avenue, Terminal Tower."

"Yeah, I'm excited too." Quinn can rest easy as she knows for a fact that there are no Blue Streak-type surprises out there for Marley to spring on her. "Though I didn't know you were an architecture fan."

"I wouldn't call myself that. More like… I think some buildings are more awesome than others." Somehow, as she talks, Marley manages to consume half her toast. "But you know what I'm excited for? The Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame."

Quinn's smile slips a bit. She hopes Marley didn't notice. "Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame?"

"Yeah! I mean – yes." Marley squints at her. "What, didn't you know it's in Cleveland?"

"I think I read it somewhere," replies Quinn. Truthfully, it's one of the reasons she wanted to put Cleveland on the itinerary, but Santana gave her so much shit over it that she removed it from the current version of the plan. "Maybe if we have some time, we could go check it out."

Marley nods eagerly.

"Anyway," says Quinn, changing the subject, "I'm sure you'll have some other places you're more interested in? Or we could take our time on Euclid Avenue, y'know. The weather forecast said that today's gonna be sunny."

"I suppose." Marley scrapes her plate clean. "Excuse me." She goes back to the buffet trays.

Just after they've loaded their bags into Quinn's car, Marley holds out her hand for the keys. "Let me drive."

"It's fine."

"Nah, I, uh… I kinda owe you for this morning."

Quinn suddenly becomes very interested in the cement pillar next to the car. "What do you mean?"

"Um, I know that you like your personal space but I…" Marley trails off, and then clears her throat to try again: "I'm sorry for crawling all over you this morning. Oh, that sounds terrible. Ending up on you? Molesting you in our sleep?" She winces.

"How did you know?"

"You're not as stealthy as you thought you were, but that's okay! I mean – I was on top of you." Marley claps her hand to her face. "Shoot. That sounds even worse."

"I think I get the general idea," says Quinn dryly. She hopes she isn't blushing as much as Marley is, but it's not like Marley can see her, with her hand covering her face.

Marley cringes. "Okay. Good. Then I'll shut up now. And wait for the ground to swallow me up. Any moment now."

"Please don't. We still have another two weeks of vacation." Quinn's eyes twinkle. "As for the – sleeping arrangements, I'll let it go if you explain where that Texan accent in the morning came from."

"… No, you know what? This is worse." Marley throws up her hands. "Fine. I'll drive today, and uh, I'll explain."

Smirking, Quinn hands over the keys to her Mini, and the girls switch sides. Marley climbs into the driver's seat, tweaking the levers ("I thought we'd established that you're really not that much taller than me," says Quinn sardonically) and getting comfortable.

It's not until they're barrelling down the highway, the morning sun blazing, that Marley says: "The Texan accent is a lot harder to shake than you think."

"I wouldn't know for sure," replies Quinn, tone deliberately innocent.

"It used to be a lot worse. Like – yeehaw, pardners, let's saddle up ol' Betsey kind of worse," says Marley, the twang suddenly apparent. "I got bullied a lot for it."

The mention of bullying always makes the back of Quinn's neck get hot and prickly. She still has trouble acknowledging what she used to be, and an uncomfortable Quinn tends to run away from her problems. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"S'okay. Mom paid for a speech coach." Marley smiles. "She was the one who got me interested in singing."

It occurs to Quinn then that she's never heard Marley sing solo. "You can sing?"

"Duh," says Marley. "We are in Glee club and all." They exchange a look, then burst into giggles.

"Yes, of course, but you know what Rachel's like; most of us are just background vocals for her one-woman show." It's an exaggeration; Rachel's gotten a lot better – some days, she even offers other people solos and enjoys their performances – but it makes Marley laugh. Quinn leans back in her seat. "Maybe you'll get the chance to sing solo one day," she says, almost to herself.

"Maybe," replies Marley. Her eyes are on the road, flicking to the GPS on her phone occasionally, but she turns her head to smile shyly at Quinn when they've stopped at a traffic light.

Quinn is strangely enthralled. Marley has a different attitude about singing than everyone else; Rachel has never been modest about her talent. Santana's confidence – as great as her voice – borders on cockiness. "Don't you want a solo?"

"Well – sometimes, yes. But the thought of standing alone onstage with all those people watching…" Marley trails off and laughs nervously. "I love singing, but not so much performing. Even singing in Glee freaks me out a bit." She clears her throat. "What about you?"

"I've had my share of solos. Honestly? I like duets better."

Marley glances sideways, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"It's…" Quinn searches for her words. "When you're singing solo, everyone's attention is on you. You're singing for the audience, and they're listening to you sing. But with two people, things get… complex. Those two people are singing for the audience, but they're also singing to each other, and that's another performance that the audience sees. There's a whole other dynamic there. I guess. I don't know," she finishes, flustered.

"Wow. I've never thought about duets that way, but you've got an interesting point," says Marley.

Quinn feels self-conscious. That was the first time she'd ever shared her thoughts on that topic. "Can I put something on?" she asks.

Marley nods.

Since they need to be on the road to Cuyahoga early the next morning, Quinn had opted for a motel outside of Cleveland (it helps that it's a lot cheaper than anything else within the city center). However, Quinn is a little concerned that driving in and out is tiring for Marley.

"You should let me drive."

"I'm good," says Marley. "You can take over after we stop for gas."

"Fine."

"... Which should be in about fifteen minutes."

"What?"

"We have been driving a fair bit." Marley sheepishly signals left, and turns into the gas station.

Quinn stares in dismay at the dashboard and the fuel indicator pointing at E. "Oh, crap. I knew there was something I forgot to do before we left Lima."

"It's all good. Oooh, I have a points card for this company." Marley pulls out her purse. "I'll cover it, and you can put it on our gas tab. Cool?"

"Yes, alright."

"Do you want anything from inside?" She nods at the convenience store.

Quinn is tempted. It's getting hot, and the thought of an icy-cold lemonade is very appealing. "No, thanks," she says eventually. "I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Quinn is glad that she insisted on driving back into Cleveland from the motel; Marley is completely distracted, her face practically plastered to the passenger window as she takes in the sights.

"So I was thinking," begins Quinn, "that we could park somewhere central and walk around – "

"Millionaires' Row!" bursts out Marley.

Quinn blinks in surprise.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that." The other girl looks sheepish. "I meant – that sounds great. I was – I'm really – excited to see Cleveland."

"I couldn't tell," replies Quinn. She keeps her tone light, not wanting her travel companion to think that Quinn's being cruel or sarcastic. "So… Millionaires' Row it is." She spots a turn-off for a local mall up ahead and pulls into the lot.

She knows the stereotypes people have of high schoolers. People expect Quinn, the beautiful and blonde head cheerleader, to be shallow and self-centered. Not many people know that Quinn's been a member of the National Honor Society since her freshman year. She's also a bit of a history nerd – the main reason why Euclid Avenue is on their itinerary.

And yet Marley's enthusiasm comes to the fore. Quinn is surprised to find Marley knows quite a bit about the mansions they walk past, the illustrious men who lived in them, and even tidbits of trivia.

"I didn't know you were so knowledgeable about Cleveland's history."

Marley shrugs and smiles. "It's a little embarrassing. Honestly, I was so thrilled you already put it on the itinerary 'cause I wasn't sure how I was gonna ask if we could put it in."

Quinn is unsure how to respond. She could admit how much of a history nerd she is and ruin her image. Or she could play it cool and pretend Santana picked it like what she did with Cedar Point. Instead, she turns the conversation back to Marley.

"Are you a fan of Charles Schweinfurth?"

Marley gives a snort of laughter. "No. I – oh, this is so embarrassing." She pauses in front of Trinity Cathedral, looking up at the austere spires. "My dad died when I was three. We didn't have any other family, so it was just Mom and me when I was growing up. She worked two jobs just to make ends meet. When I was eight, I got it in my head that I was gonna grow up to be a millionaire and take care of her, so I asked her where millionaires live." Marley smiles at the memory. "She said they lived in a big mansion on a street full of other millionaires."

Quinn listens attentively.

"I did some research and found out Millionaires' Row existed." Marley shrugs. " I thought that one day, I'd go see it for myself."

"... That's a nice story," says Quinn sincerely.

"It's embarrassing," insists Marley. "But it's okay. You're stuck with me for now, so you'll just have to deal with it."

Quinn wants to say that there's nothing to deal with, and that Marley is easily the most uncomplicated person she's friends with (not like that's a difficult achievement given Rachel and Santana and Brittany and the rest of Glee). But she just smiles back at Marley.

She keeps smiling even when Marley whips her camera out, and demands they take a selfie in front of each of the mansions.

"What on earth are you gonna do with all these photos, anyway?" asks Quinn.

"They're good memories!" She looks up from where she's browsing through the photos they've just taken. "I'm not gonna lie; it's an accomplishment when I can take a good selfie without using a front camera."

Quinn lets it go.

Presumably because she's dominated most of the morning, Marley lets Quinn pick where they're having lunch.

"Anything?"

"Anything," says Marley.

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

"Okay," Quinn says with a smirk. "Takeout burgers back at the motel."

Marley stares, speechless. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't say it if I wasn't." Truthfully, Quinn wants an early night. They've got a long day in Cuyahoga National Park tomorrow, and they did do a lot of walking in Cleveland today. Not to mention Quinn wants some quiet time to herself and her book.

She can picture it now; enough takeout to last them for lunch and dinner. Perhaps she'll finish Do Not Say We Have Nothing today and make significant progress with her summer-before-college reading list. A long hot shower, and then bed.

Quinn realizes Marley is saying something, and tunes back in.

"Sorry, I was just a little surprised. No offence, but you don't look like the burger and junk food type."

"Marley, we ate junk food all of yesterday and it was fine," replies Quinn. "It's summer vacation. Based on what Frannie tells me, we'll be eating worse when we're in college. I think we can afford not to have salads and sandwiches for two weeks."

"Frannie?" Marley asks, clearly brushing aside whatever Quinn was saying. "Your older sister?"

"Yeah. She went to Ohio State."

"Cool."

"Yes," says Quinn. She's a little on edge. Frannie has always outshone her, outperformed her. She was born perfect, unlike Quinn and the hard-earned veneer of perfection she wears. Her father had always been harder on her for that reason.

An uncharacteristic silence falls in the car. Quinn darts a curious glance sideways at Marley, waiting for the next question about her life; Marley pays her no heed, busy scrolling through her phone.

She is relieved. Talking about Frannie makes Quinn feel simultaneously proud and jealous. Talking about Frannie with Marley is something that Quinn is still surprised that she was able to do.

"Hey, there's a pretty good burger joint just around the block."

"How do you know?" Quinn is grateful for the break in her thoughts – and that Marley didn't question her further.

She holds up her phone. "It's got loads of five-star Google reviews."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Good enough for me," she says, and follows it with a smile. "Shall we?"

"It's not takeout, though…"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "We don't need to eat takeout."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Uhm, Quinn?"

"What?"

Marley clams up as the host greets them. She doesn't say another word until they've both been seated with their menus, their waitress has introduced herself, and gone to fetch them some water. "This place serves beer," she hisses behind her menu.

Quinn is unfazed. "Really? I wasn't aware. No wonder they're called Nano Brew. Also, I'm unclear how you managed to miss that, given that we're here because someone said this place has tons of five-star Google reviews."

"You're not funny," grouches Marley. "I was distracted by the food photos. Anyway, are they even allowed to serve us? We're underage."

"Are you telling me that you've never drank?"

Marley slowly turns red; Quinn watches, fascinated, as the color creeps up Marley's neck.

Quinn decides to spare her. "It's not a big deal if you've got a fake ID."

"That's illegal, isn't it?"

"Only if you're caught having one."

Their waitress chooses that moment to return with their water, and ask for their orders. "I'll have a Prosperity, please," says Quinn. She ignores the incredulous looks Marley keeps shooting her from across the table.

"Certainly, miss. I'm gonna need to see your ID, please…?"

Quinn, ever conscious of Marley's eyes on her, takes out her purse. She slips the plastic card out and hands it to the waitress, who inspects it. "Thank you, Miss Stark," she says, and returns it to Quinn. "And for you, miss?"

"I'll have a grape soda, thanks." Marley's attention stays on her companion. The instant the waitress is gone, she rounds on Quinn. "What just happened?"

Quinn shrugs. "I ordered a beer."

"You know that's not what I meant…!" Marley is quite clearly having a major meltdown. Quinn sighs.

"Marley, relax. It's not a big deal. There's no reason to be freaking out. You'll be driving later." She pauses to shoot a hard look at Marley. "And if you continue freaking out, you'll blow my cover."

Marley stares at her, and then exhales. "God. My mom's gonna be so mad."

"Your mom? What are you, five? Are you gonna report everything that happened on this trip to her?"

"Of course not," snaps Marley with surprising viciousness.

Quinn blinks at her, completely taken aback. She doesn't know how to react; a small part of her is saying that she should be the first to apologize, but her mouth stays shut and her hands are folded in her lap.

Their orders come and sit steaming on the table. Quinn sips her beer, the original point of contention. It's delicious, of course, but it sits heavy in her stomach. She doesn't like the guilt eating at her. Quinn's learned enough for her to recognize it for what it is, but that doesn't mean that she has to be mature about it. Besides, this is the first time she's had this problem. Rachel would've made amends by now, Santana would probably cuss her out, and Brittany was simply too innocent to stay mad at.

"I'm sorry," says Quinn, surprising everyone; most of all, herself. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that." Her fingers fidget in her lap. "You just… I know I'm not supposed to have that, but I didn't like being called out like that. It made me feel like I was a kid."

"No, you're right." Marley shakes her head. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. Marley giggles.

"Okay, apart from the underage drinking… it's not like you're gonna get drunk and then drive us. I know you're mature and responsible enough for that, ironic as it sounds. You kinda surprised me, that's all."

"By having a fake ID," deadpans Quinn.

"By having a fake ID," echoes Marley. "And whipping it out, cool as you please, on the second day of our road trip."

"Let me guess – you don't have one, and you've never drank alcohol."

Her companion nods.

Quinn nods. "Not too late to start your teenage rebellion," she says; with a surreptitious glance around, Quinn slides the mug over to Marley.

"Quinn!"

"One sip won't kill you, I swear. The cops won't bust us, I know they have better things to do than arrest underage drinkers."

Marley stares at the mug. "This isn't on the itinerary."

The innocuous statement causes them both to crack up. They dissolve into laughing fits so hard Marley starts to choke; she reaches for the nearest drink to calm herself down with – which happens to be Quinn's beer. Her eyes widen as she realizes what she's drinking; Marley swallows quickly and makes a face.

"Well," says Quinn eventually, "I don't know if that was the most pathetic or the most awesome act of teenage rebellion I've ever witnessed."

Marley's complexion goes red and patchy. "Oh my god," she says, and buries her face in her hands. "Oh my god."

"And now," says Marley, "the Hall of Fame!"

Quinn squints at her. "The Hall of Fame?"

"Can we?" It's ridiculous how much Marley resembles a puppy when she wants something.

The other girl just shakes her head. "No wonder you powered through downtown and insisted on an early lunch."

"Oh, come on. Don't you just wanna go?" Marley's voice drops. "Elvis. Prince. Queen. All the greats in one place."

Of course, this is precisely why Quinn wants to go; she just has a different set of artists in mind. "Is this gonna be like you and Cedar Point all over again?" asks Quinn, partly joking.

"I promise I'll behave," replies Marley in that same, playful tone. "I mean – you should be safe. No rollercoasters there for me to drag you on."

Quinn shakes her head.

She enjoys herself immensely, of course; Quinn finds it hard not to, when Marley's around.

Apart from the small squabble they have about whether Leonard Cohen deserves to be in the Hall of Fame or not (Quinn is aghast that Marley has only ever heard cover versions of Hallelujah; she knows exactly what will be playing in the car for the next week or so).

Marley, bewildered by Quinn's undying love for Motown, proposes a music trade where she will start listening to The Supremes and James Brown if Quinn agrees to try listening to folk rock.

Quinn is less than enthused about it.

"Damien Rice? You're kidding me, right?"

"Hey, I'm listening to your picks so it's only fair."

"But… Damien Rice." Quinn isn't whining. She doesn't whine. She merely expresses her dismay politely but in no uncertain terms.

"You gave me two picks of yours. I only have one. Therefore Damien Rice it is."

Quinn rubs the bridge of her nose. Even (after hours of training courtesy of Quinn) Rachel can be deterred when she gets particularly militant with her obscure musicals. The puppy metaphor comes to mind again; a stubborn puppy with a favorite chew toy. It makes her smile.

"There's a Damien Rice cover of Hallelujah, if that makes you feel better," says Marley. "He sang it when he was inducting Leonard into the Hall of Fame."

"... It really doesn't make me feel any better." Quinn suddenly narrows her eyes at Marley. "This is revenge for the beer, isn't it."

"I have no clue what you're talking about, Quinn."

They need to stock up on food for their hiking trip in Cuyahoga tomorrow. Marley wrinkles her nose at the amount they're buying – and Quinn is still emptying out the shelves into their cart.

"We're only going for half a day, right? Why do we need so much?"

"Trust me, this is what we'll need for half a day."

Marley sighs. "Cheerios?"

"Cheerios." Quinn thinks of the long route marches that they've embarked on, with Sue in the back riding in her Wrangler, barking orders in her bullhorn.

"Frankly, I'm shocked that Sue's not in jail."

"Won't happen. She's got dirt on every politician and cop in the state, at least." In their junior year, Quinn and Santana, as the two ranking Cheerios, had been put to work building a new cabinet to house all Sue Sylvester's files. Suzy Jones' Locker, as Santana had dubbed it.

Marley sighs. "It figures. That would explain how Cheerio routines regularly include military-grade ordnance."

Quinn snorts. "I was half-joking. About the food. Most of these are snacks for the road."

"Yeah, I know that," replies Marley casually. "It's just rare for Quinn Fabray to be joking, that's all."

"I don't think I like what you're implying." She feels more comfortable around Marley now, for some reason. Enough to show off the dorky side of her that she fears has gotten worse because of Rachel.

In the end, Quinn's dream sort of comes true. Dinner is sandwiches in their room, Marley engrossed in a show that's playing on the crackly-sounding TV, Quinn with her book.

"Are you following that show?" asks Quinn, squinting at the screen.

"No," says Marley cheerfully.

Quinn decides not to ask. She finishes her chapter and slips her bookmark inside, setting the book on the nightstand. "We should turn in soon," she says. "We have an early start tomorrow."

Marley pretends to pout – but the effect is ruined when she yawns widely. "Fine," she mumbles. "I'm beat from all the walking anyway."

Quinn is glad that they have twin beds this time, and that the receptionist didn't mistake them for a couple. She can't imagine having to explain herself.

"I'll put Damien on while you sleep," says Marley mischievously. "You can get a head start on your homework. I would totally count subliminal listening as part of the deal."

"Don't you dare!"

Quinn awakens to the inky blue-black sky of the late night. Or early morning. She stretches, marveling at how awake she is at this ungodly time of day; she has never been a morning person, but she was also a Cheerio for the bulk of her high school years.

She slips from bed and starts her morning ritual. Her phone's weather app predicts a fine, sunny day today, so Quinn picks khaki capris and an old Camp Sommers T-shirt to wear. A checkered flannel shirt – to keep the morning chill out – goes over it as an afterthought.

The flannel shirt is a last-minute gift from Santana. Quinn hates the flannel lesbian stereotype, which is precisely why Santana gave her one.

Sometimes, Quinn wonders why she doesn't just throttle Santana and be rid of her for good. No one but Brittany would miss her.

Her beat-up sneakers go into her bag, and are replaced by equally well-worn hiking boots. She packs up the last of her personal things.

All that's left to pack is Marley.

The other girl's phone goes off. Marley mumbles something incoherent, turns off the alarm, and rolls over.

Quinn hesitates. She's unsure if she needs to wake Marley up; this is the first time they've needed to get up this early, and she's not sure if Marley is a morning person or not.

Suddenly, Marley sits bolt-upright, causing Quinn a minor heart attack. "Oh god," she says, voice still heavy with sleep, "it's time to get up."

"...Yeah…?"

Marley vanishes into the bathroom. Quinn busies herself with her phone as she waits. She sends a few texts to Santana because her alert tone is obnoxious, and Quinn rather likes the idea of waking Santana up so early on a summer vacation morning for no reason. She can't do this to Rachel because the only concession the shorter girl makes towards the holiday is to wake up at six AM (a whole hour later than her usual time).

She tried to prank Rachel once; Quinn set Rachel's phone back a whole hour. When Rachel found out, she thanked Quinn for "helping her make the most of her waking hours and thus being supportive of her Broadway ambitions".

Quinn knows better than to prank Rachel now.

Marley reappears in shorts and a button-up cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "Ready," she says brightly. The transformation from risen corpse to up-and-at-'em is startling, to say the least.

"Cool," replies Quinn. She slides off the bed as her phone chimes – presumably with obscenity-filled texts from Santana. She smirks. "Let's go."

"Who's texting you so early in the morning?" Marley's expression goes from curious to mischievous. "Someone special?"

"Ugh, no!" says Quinn quickly, "definitely not." Then she realizes it's a little too vehement, too early, and backtracks. "I meant – I'm single at the moment. It seemed like the logical thing to do before we all split up for college." Internally, she facepalms at how stilted she sounds.

Marley, however, seems to take her seriously. "Yeah, I agree. Long-distance relationships are kinda hard, and if you're in different cities and dealing with college..." She shrugs. "Sounds like a heckuva lot of emotional baggage."

Quinn tries not to sigh in relief. "It is. Especially dating in McKinley."

"Tell me about it."

Quinn feels more alive in the woods than she's been in months. She takes a deep breath the moment she exits the car and smiles.

"Ready to go?"

"Yes!" Marley pauses. "You're leading, right?"

Quinn nods. Sue's survival training and half-remembered camping trips from childhood make her the de facto leader on this hike. She fishes a map out of her bag. "I planned for us to hike the Plateau trail because it's pretty short and not that challenging."

"Sure."

"So…" She jerks her head at the dirt path. "Shall we?"

The climb is invigorating. Quinn relishes the familiar burn in her calves, and resolves to maintain her fitness regime in college. She pauses on a small ledge to admire the view and check the time.

After a few minutes, she realizes that Marley isn't wheezing behind her, but is wheezing much further back on the trail.

"Are you okay?" Quinn calls.

"No!" Marley yells back.

Quinn tries not to laugh. "We could take a break here if you want." She checks the map as she waits for Marley to catch up.

Marley grunts, a very unladylike sound. She shifts her backpack onto the ground and bends over, hands on her knees.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks again.

Marley turns bleary eyes on her. "No," she says, deadpan. Her long hair, tied in a utilitarian ponytail, hangs limp in the heat. Her shirt looks damp with sweat. "I'm dying. You said this was not that challenging," she says, tone a trifle accusatory.

"It's a plateau, not a mountain."

"Potayto, potahto."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I'm guessing that means you're hungry. The picnic area is a little way further down the trail, though."

Marley groans.

"Finally!"

Marley flops down at the nearest table, rummaging for her water bottle.

The only concession Quinn's made to the physical exertion of hiking is removing her flannel shirt and tying it around her waist. Although she's not exhausted, she does welcome the rest.

"The breeze feels wonderful," groans Marley. Without warning, she peels off her shirt. She's wearing a thin white tank top underneath, and it clings to her skin in ways that grab Quinn's undivided attention. She has to force herself to look away for fear she will be caught staring, a hot blush decorating her cheeks.

She's hopeless. At least Quinn already knows that, and has accepted it. She spent sophomore year watching Rachel's legs whenever her ridiculously short skirts rode up. Junior year was a phase in which she tried to deny what she already knew (and snuck glances at Brittany while she danced). And she knows for a fact that all the boys (not just herself) couldn't keep their eyes off Santana.

(Cheerios was different, because everyone was already watching everyone else. Sue had her spies throughout the squad to make sure no one was cheating on their strict diets.)

Marley props her hands behind her and leans backward. "This is so much better," she says happily.

Quinn tries not to agree too enthusiastically.

"Aren't you hot?"

"... No?" The word has very different connotations in Quinn's overactive imagination.

Marley seems to sense Quinn's confusion, because she hastily adds: "I mean – you're wearing long pants. I'm in shorts and a tank, and I'm still roasting."

"I'm fine."

"Oh, good. I'd have thought that you were okay with showing a bit of skin, because of the Cheerios uniform. I mean, you guys wore them all the time."

"Not all the time," says Quinn dryly. "We had special Cheerio-branded pajamas for bed."

Marley snorts in a very unladylike fashion. "You're kidding."

"Okay, yes. But just because I wore the uniform all the time, doesn't mean I'm comfortable with showing off skin." Quinn doesn't know how to put it into words; that what the Cheerios uniform lacked in fabric, it made up for in social status. It gave her more confidence than armor. When Quinn walked down the hallways of McKinley, she knew all eyes were on her and her uniform.

Outside of McKinley and Cheerios, she's just Quinn Fabray; hot gay mess and soon-to-be Yale freshman.

But Marley nods. "I get that. Being part of something big is empowering."

Quinn smiles. She's glad that somehow, even when she's a hot gay mess, Marley does understand what she's trying to say.

They've slowed their pace, out of consideration for Marley's lack of physical fitness. Quinn finds the stroll enjoyable; there is a lot to appreciate that she might have missed had she been focused on pounding through the route.

For a while, the only sound is of their footsteps in the dirt path. They walk through the woods and suddenly, Marley lets out a squeal.

"A pond!"

"Yep."

Marley speeds up her pace. Her pack is shucked to the grass as she whips out her phone and starts taking photos.

Quinn shrugs. She thought she'd be used to this by now (even though it's only day three) but Marley's child-like enthusiasm makes her smile.

Then her mind flashes back to the memory of Marley in her white tank top. Definitely not a child. Her face flames; Quinn hopes it can be blamed on the afternoon sun.

"Quinn!"

"Hmm?"

Marley flops on the grass. "Can we stay here for a while? The weather's so nice."

"I thought you wanted to, quote unquote, get this freakin' hike over and done with so you can go back to appreciating nature from behind a window," Quinn says teasingly.

"Okay, fine. But in all fairness, I did not know there was a pond on the agenda when I said that," groans Marley.

"It wasn't on the itinerary," replies Quinn.

Marley props herself up on her elbows to stare at Quinn, before she bursts into laughter. "Oh my god. That was hilarious. You're hilarious. You're never gonna let me live that down."

Quinn allows herself a smile. "I never said that."

"Ugh." She lies back down, pillowing her head with her hands.

Heat makes Quinn drowsy; it always has. She lets herself doze in the sunshine.

"Quinn?"

"Mmm?"

"I have a confession to make."

Quinn's heart leaps into her throat. "Go ahead," she manages to say casually.

"I do like outdoor activities; I just don't get much opportunity for them." Marley has a blade of grass between her fingers which she plays with. "Mom was always too busy, and we couldn't really afford summer camp. I'd be helping her out anyway, either in the school cafeteria or her catering gigs." She flicks the grass away. "That was the main reason Mom insisted I go on this trip."

Quinn isn't sure how to respond. Mostly because she had been bracing herself for something quite different. "So, I'm guessing you really are enjoying this hike?" asks Quinn.

A smile splits Marley's face. "Yeah, definitely. The sun is nice, this pond is awesome, and the company's not half bad, either. Which reminds me – you're pretty good at this outdoors thing."

"My dad used to take me on daddy-daughter camping trips," says Quinn. "He really wanted sons, but he got Frannie and me." She doesn't mention that he only started bringing her when Frannie got older and refused to go, complaining about having to sleep in the woods with bugs.

"That's nice."

"I suppose." She had loved those trips; she got her father's undivided attention, and it was a rare chance to earn an approving smile when she landed that rainbow trout like he'd taught her, or managed to start their campfire on her own. Quinn had always needed to work a lot harder than Frannie to be perfect in his eyes. "Whatever my dad didn't teach me, Sue did."

"Like bear hunting?" Luckily for Quinn, Marley seems to understand when to pick up on Quinn's unsubtle changes of topic fast.

"Like how to disassemble and reassemble a shotgun in under a minute."

Marley sits up straight. "I know I shouldn't be surprised by Coach Sylvester's ideas of cheerleader drills by now, but I am."

"Sue loves her firearms. Come to think of it, Santana may be right and Sue was trying to create her own personal army." It was the conclusion she and Santana had arrived at after they sorted out Suzy Jones' Locker. Granted, they were both very drunk at the time, but it wasn't as far-fetched if you knew Sue Sylvester.

"Really?"

"Like, who could be as physically fit and well-trained as Navy SEALs but more ruthless? High school cheerleaders."

The other girl snorts. "Okay, you have a point. I've seen your performances."

That got Quinn's attention. "You have?"

"Yeah. Mom and I drove over to Columbus to deliver an order last year. Turned out it was next to the stadium you guys were having Regionals in." Marley grins bashfully. "We hung around to watch a bit of your routine. You're really good."

"Oh. Thanks." Quinn remembers that competition well. It was her last as Cheerio captain (but she hadn't known that at the time). It was also the only routine they had performed that season that hadn't been choreographed by Sue. Quinn says as much, and Marley blinks at her.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah." Quinn's gaze flicks to the grass and stays there. "I'd been captain for three years straight then, and I was tired of just doing what Sue said to do like a robot. I knew the squad's strengths and weaknesses, what motivated them, their fears… they wanted to do something that was entirely ours. And as captain, it was my responsibility to make that happen."

"What happened? I mean, obviously you guys won because you were National champions last year. For three years running."

Quinn shakes her head. "Sue took all the credit, of course. She told everyone it was her idea, and that she believed in independence and all that."

"Figures."

They lapse into silence after that. Quinn lies on the grass and watches clouds streak across the sky.

She hadn't gone back to Cheerios for her senior year. She'd simply had too much to deal with; coming to terms with what she was, cornering Rachel in the bathroom, everything that had unfolded after that… It was a major miracle that Sue had allowed her to turn in her uniform and captaincy without consequences.

Perhaps it was too much to hope that Sue had a human heart, but Quinn thinks that incident was the best proof that it existed sometimes.

Quinn checks her phone. "We should get going soon, if we wanna make it to Ann Arbor before nightfall."

"Oh, sure." Marley sits up, as does Quinn. "But before we go…"

"What?" Quinn's hand hovers in mid-air, reaching for her backpack.

"We have to take a photo."

"Marley, you took tons of photos when we got here."

"I know, but I meant one of us and the pond!"

"Fine. Where do you want me to stand?"

"Here! Right next to me and the pond." Marley laughs at her. "Thanks for being simultaneously obliging and grouchy at the same time. It's cute."

Quinn finds herself speechless. Again. Marley is busy with her camera settings and doesn't notice.

God, if she's going to be this huge of a mess whenever Marley says something innocuous, she's not going to last the entire two weeks.

"Okay! Smile!"

Quinn was planning on just standing still beside Marley like they had done when they'd taken photos together. But she feels an arm around her shoulder, and the camera clicks.

"You blinked," says Marley. "Another one?"

This time, she is prepared. Her hand goes tentatively to the back of Marley's shoulder, and she's actually ready for the camera.

Marley hums, pleased. "This one turned out much better."

Quinn peeks at Marley's phone. Her smile is a little plastic – and luckily no one but her will know how awkward her hand's position is since it's hidden from view – but… it's a nice photo. The first photo where they're touching each other, not just standing side by side. Marley's arm is around her, and Quinn's actually leaning into Marley.

They look like they're friends. They look like they're a couple.

"Yeah, it's nice," Quinn says distractedly, busying herself with her backpack. "We should get going."