Author's Notes: This chapter made me realise that I've been getting away without doing research for my fics. Sadly, the setting of this fic makes it nigh impossible to not do any research. Mike Ownby comes in very handy in clearing up the 'Murican things (incidentally I would like to add that you Americans have a strangest idea re: fair food).

I've also been very lazy with posting my ramblings on this fic on Tumblr. Those will be going up shortly to my Tumblr, yumi-michiyo.

This story has a cover image now! Made by Mike Ownby, keeping up a hallowed tradition started with The Shortest Distance.

Quinn wakes up to snoring.

Marley's snoring hasn't bothered her before, but now her face is right next to Quinn's. That means she gets an earful of it, which she finds that she doesn't care for. "Marley, wake up," mumbles Quinn. She pushes half-heartedly at Marley's shoulder.

"Nnnno."

"Yes." Quinn tries to wriggle out – with little success, since Marley is practically lying on top of her. It would be endearing and sweet and adorable if she wasn't snoring like a freight train. "C'mon, you're heavy," grouses Quinn. Unlike the last time they shared a bed, she isn't trying to not disturb Marley.

"Mmmnot." She mumbles incomprehensibly to herself.

"Yes, you are. I was being nice the other time and didn't say so." She can't help but smile, though, very glad that Marley can't see her face. "We've got a packed day today."

"Mmmkay, Mom."

Quinn bashes her over the head with a pillow. Marley squeals.

"What did you call me?!" Quinn barks, punctuating each word with a whack from the pillow, and finally pressing the pillow on Marley's face.

"Quinn! Quinn, I'm sorry, don't kill me!" comes Marley's muffled gasps. She sounds like she's dying, so Quinn relents and removes the pillow.

Marley does look like she's dying – albeit from laughter. "What did I ever do to you that you try and smother me first thing in the morning?" she gasps in between laughs.

"You called me Mom!" Quinn exclaims indignantly.

"You were trying to get me out of bed!"

"You didn't have a problem with that before!"

"The bed wasn't so comfortable before." Marley sits up. Her hand finds the tail of Quinn's shirt, and tugs Quinn down to her level. Marley kisses her briefly, and says: "Isn't this a much better way to wake me up?"

"With morning breath? Whatever floats your boat, I guess," says Quinn. Truthfully, she doesn't mind at all, but she's determined to get back at Marley for calling her Mom. And for giving her that look after, that says: You'll never admit it, but I know you agree with me.

Marley pouts. "I think I liked you better when you were asleep," she says, and climbs out of bed, giving Quinn and her pillow a wide berth.

"I still think we should have gone to the Children's Museum," says Quinn.

Marley squints at her. "Why? To entertain your inner child?"

"No, my outer child," replies Quinn, nodding at Marley, who responds with an outraged growl.

Quinn chuckles. She loves how relaxed things have gotten between them, just like when they were just friends. "But the Navy Pier will do just fine, I hope."

Marley's eyes light up. "More than fine," she says eagerly, pressing her hands to her mouth. "You have no idea how excited I am."

Quinn sees Marley add a spring to her step, and raises an eyebrow. "Just as excited as you were for Cedar Point, huh?"

"Cedar Point is a close second," replies Marley loftily, and they both laugh. "Seriously, though; while Cedar Point was great, I'm looking forward to today more."

"Oh?" Quinn asks, genuinely curious; she can't think what could be more exciting than rollercoasters.

Marley beams at her; in spite of herself, Quinn feels her heart flutter. "We're going as an us. You know."

"Oh." As always, Marley's enthusiasm is contagious. "Yeah, you're right."

Marley puts her hands behind her back as she walks. "So, I've been meaning to ask… are you okay with PDA?"

Quinn does her best not to freak out. "You want us to go public?"

"No! I didn't mean that, I meant the small things. Like, can I hold your hand? Or is that too much?" Marley babbles; suddenly, her smile disappears. "'Cause we're not even a proper item, and I dunno how comfortable you are with – you know, the whole world."

There's a pang in her chest when Marley reminds her that they aren't really together, and Quinn hates that it's there. She focuses on the rest of Marley's words. "Holding hands is fine," she says. "Girlfriends do it all the time." She really doesn't have any qualms about something as simple as holding hands. "Making out in the park, however…" That's not something Quinn would do, not even with a society-acceptable guy, and she tells Marley so.

"I would never!" Marley says indignantly. "I'm perfectly capable of keeping it in my pants. The other night didn't count, because it was a first kiss, and first kisses are special."

Sometimes, Quinn thinks Marley may have escaped from a story book, because there's no way she can be real. She quickly says: "Yes, Marley, we can hold hands," before the other girl can launch into what Quinn thinks will be a monologue on the etiquette of romance.

Marley squeaks, before ducking her head. Today, she's wearing a large cabbie's cap which Quinn has seen her wear around school a few times. The wide brim hides her expression from Quinn. "Great. I'm really… I'm glad you want to. You know I'd understand if you said no, right?"

"I know."

And because Marley said it, it's just awkward now for her to take Quinn's hand. She looks expectantly at Quinn instead, who bursts out laughing.

"What?" Marley looks genuinely alarmed, eyes widening. Her blue eyes gleam from under the brim of her cap. "Did I say something?"

"Nothing." Quinn glances at Marley's hand. She presses her teeth into her lower lip briefly, but loses her nerve at the last minute. "C'mon. We don't have all day," she calls over her shoulder.

Marley makes a huffing sound. She catches up with Quinn, then slows her pace to match. Their hands bump together as they walk side by side.

Quinn can feel the anticipation emanating from Marley. She knows the other girl is holding back, waiting for her to make the first move, but the problem is her. Quinn doesn't make the first move if she's uncertain. She doesn't know if Marley knows that.

But she's tired of pretending to be someone she's not. The weeks leading up to her kissing Rachel had been emotionally wearying; there'd been plenty of stressful events piling up, so at the point in time when she'd cornered Rachel in the bathroom, she hadn't been thinking straight – literally.

Marley has made it clear multiple times that Quinn has the final say in what they do. And if Quinn can spontaneously decide that she will kiss a girl, she can definitely hold another girl's hand in public.

She takes a deep breath, reaches out, and finds Marley's hand. Quinn really hopes her palm isn't sweaty from the summer heat and the crowds. But Marley's hand is warm and solid in hers (as she knew it would be, this isn't the first time she's held Marley's hand). She's nervous; it's the first time she's initiated physical contact with Marley.

Marley, of course, is beaming at her; so much so that she doesn't watch where she's going and nearly bumps into a family walking past. But throughout she holds on tightly, giving Quinn's hand a reassuring squeeze.

It's nice to hold a hand that doesn't totally engulf hers. It's not rough with calluses, or damp with sweat. It's not meaty and hard and solid. Marley's hand is soft and smooth and just the right size to fit in hers, like puzzle pieces that belong together. Quinn, feeling more confident, adjusts her grip so their fingers interlock, running her thumb down Marley's like she's been doing this forever.

Marley's smile is brighter than the summer's day.

The carnival part of Navy Pier is packed with games, but Quinn's attention is on Marley. At this stage, she's holding Marley's hand not because she wants to, but because she's afraid she'll lose Marley in the crowd (either to the throng of people, or because Marley will see something interesting and run off).

"Look!" Marley points out a particular stall.

"Spill the Milk?" Quinn reads the name of the game slowly. It's as cliche as it gets; people throwing baseballs at a stack of bottles to knock them down. She doesn't particularly care for carnival games.

"I'll win you something," Marley declares.

Quinn giggles. "What, really?"

"I never joke about this kinda thing," she says, and goes over to the stall operator. Marley hands him some money and gets three baseballs.

"You're serious." Quinn drifts over, amused.

Marley weighs the ball in her hand. "Like a heart attack. Now hush up and let me concentrate." Marley sizes up her target, closing one eye and screwing up her face as she aims. Quinn is torn between laughter and actual investment in this endeavor.

Marley winds her arm back, and lets fly. The ball sails to the left, about a foot away from the cans. Marley groans. "That was just a test throw." She glares at the bottles as though they've personally offended her, and adjusts her cap. Marley doesn't break eye contact the entire time.

Quinn is certain she'll bite through her lip with how hard she's trying not to laugh. "Do you wanna take that off? I can hold it for you," she offers.

"No, it's my lucky cap." Marley takes longer to aim, and her next ball grazes the cans on the right. She hops on the spot excitedly. "I'm getting closer!"

"You still missed."

"By a hair this time. It'll average out on the third throw."

"You're ridiculous," says Quinn fondly, by now too thoroughly charmed to pretend she isn't invested in this.

"Shh. Still concentrating."

The last ball hits the top of the bottle pyramid, knocking one off. Marley whoops excitedly when the others wobble – and stay put.

"Shoot," she says as the operator hands her a consolation prize of a neon green plastic wristband. "I almost had it."

"It's okay, it's my turn now to win you something."

Marley's head snaps to Quinn, her mouth a small 'o' of surprise. Quinn takes the wristband from Marley's slack hand and puts it on her right wrist. "For luck," she adds with a shrug.

"You're serious," says Marley, sounding awed.

"Quit stealing my lines." Quinn pays the man and takes the baseballs from him. Quinn frowns; on closer inspection, they're not heavy baseballs but much softer and lighter softballs. She's seen the boys blow weeks of allowance money on carnival games enough times to know how the game is rigged; the bottles are too heavy to use brute force to knock them off, especially with these spongy softballs, but if she can get them off balance… Not to mention the bottles are probably heavier than they look, judging from the sounds they made when Marley hit them.

But she can win this.

Her first ball misses the stack, but only just. Her second dings the lower left bottle, making the pyramid tremble – and the final ball knocks that bottle clear off the platform, making the rest tumble noisily to the ground.

"You did it!" Marley squeals, throwing her arms up, hopping up and down like a madwoman. She accepts the giant stuffed bear reverently like it's a Nationals trophy. "You're amazing. How'd you manage that in just three throws?"

"Athlete, remember?" She blushes hot when Marley kisses her cheek.

"Thank you," says Marley, eyes shining. "I'm calling him Squishy, and he will be my Squishy." She presses her cheek against the bear's soft fur, and Quinn suddenly wants to be a plush toy.

"You're quoting Finding Nemo at me?"

"Says the one who recognizes a Finding Nemo quote. Pot, kettle." Marley tucks Squishy under one arm; the other reaches for Quinn's hand and tangles their fingers together.

"It's Sam's little sister's favorite movie," Quinn defends herself. "We watched it practically every time I babysat."

"I love Disney movies too," says Marley placidly.

"Of course you do."

Marley shrugs, not at all bothered by Quinn's teasing. "I brought my laptop, we can watch something later tonight if you want."

"Sure," says Quinn, who's watched more kid movies in three years of sleepovers with Brittany (and Rachel, to a lesser degree) than in the entirety of her childhood.

"Hey, we should get a photo!"

Quinn has been very well-trained at this point in the trip. She makes herself useful suggesting good angles and interesting places they can go. They stand in front of the cheesiest thing (a large clown mural) Marley can find, and take the photo. This time, Quinn doesn't mind when Marley melts into her side like she's been doing it all her life.

"Quinn? Are you any good with guns?"

Quinn squints at the rifle range. "I know which end to point at the target," she offers, and Marley giggles like a loon.

"I guess that's a no, then. That's a pity; I thought you'd like to continue your winning streak there. You're being a very good girlfriend so far."

"You're the one from Texas. Shouldn't you have some cowboy skills?" Quinn says, trying and failing to process how casually Marley called her her girlfriend.

"No, I drew the short straw when they were giving out the cowboy skills. I've only got the accent and the hat."

"Oh yeah? Doesn't explain this." Quinn pokes Marley's cap, knocking it askew; she growls and ducks out of reach. "That's not a cowboy hat."

"I like this hat!" Marley exclaims indignantly, patting it back on her head securely. "It's lucky."

"Does it work?"

"Sure it does!" Marley's smile softens. "You're here with me now, aren't you?"

Quinn blushes. Before she can respond, Marley adds: "And now you've got a lucky bracelet of your own."

"Thanks to you."

Marley grins at her. "Sounds like we're off to a good start. We should go on the ferris wheel next," she says.

Quinn expression stills. "Maybe," she replies, falling back into her habit of deflecting, even though she promised herself that she wouldn't do it to Marley.

Marley seems to notice. "Hey. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine." She doesn't like ferris wheels. Or swings, or see-saws. Things that make her weight noticeable.

Quinn's mind starts to race. She can't use her usual excuse of heights, not after Cedar Point.

She's not a Lucy anymore. When Quinn woke up after her nose job, she'd promised herself a new body and face to go with that beautiful new nose. And when she was all new and beautiful, she'd have earned the new name to go with it: Quinn. Not Lucy, not Lucy Caboosey, not Lose-y. Quinn Fabray would be thin and beautiful and popular, she would be Head Cheerio and Prom Queen of McKinley High just like Frannie.

What she told Marley about being nervous about heights isn't a complete lie. She can't remember the last time she went on the swings because she'd been so afraid she'd break them with her weight. In elementary school, no one wanted to play on the see-saw with her, because they'd be stuck up in the air. And Quinn knows, she just knows, that if she goes up in one of those rickety ferris wheel cars, the entire thing would swing crazily whenever she moves. Her weight would make the rusty old chains snap, and they'd plummet to their doom.

Finn and Puck had been keen on the ferris wheel so they could make out in private. She'd been successful in deflecting them each time, but Quinn knows she can't do that to Marley; not just because Marley is Marley and actually listens to her when she talks, but it's also not fair to her.

Quinn has challenged so many of her personal rules, ventured out of her comfort zone so many times in a week, and it's all because of Marley Rose. Even if she's still not entirely happy with that, Quinn knows that Marley happening to her is a good thing, and she'd be a fool if she ran away screaming from all this.

On the other hand, Rachel would be mildly pissed. The girl has been trying to needle Quinn out of her comfort zone for almost all of high school with little success, and Marley managed it in slightly over a week.

So, she's made a decision. It's too bad that it was made alone in her head, because Quinn lacks the courage to share that decision with Marley. Forget Cedar Point and whatever high-velocity contraption Sue cooks up in her backyard; Quinn's emotions are much faster, and more nausea-inducing.

Luckily for her, Marley quickly gets distracted by the various sights and sounds, grabbing Quinn's arm excitedly as she points out a clown twisting balloon animals. Quinn pushes down her discomfort with practiced ease. "You want a donut?"

"Um, yes, but that's besides the point; there are so many other things here, and I can get donuts any ol' time, you know…" She waves her hand. "Fair food is a class of its own."

"All I got from that was that you always want donuts."

Marley laughs at her. "Yes, okay, that too. What say we grab some fair food tonight?"

Quinn's mouth twists. Up to this point in the trip, Quinn has successfully avoided drawing attention to her food habits. The ghosts of her past linger, haunting every calorie she consumes (or doesn't consume). They prompt hikes when the guilt gets too much, they pick out the healthiest options on the greasy menus. When she bought Marley the bag of apology donuts, the other girl hadn't noticed Quinn didn't eat one. Marley had ended up eating most of their Chinese food dinner. Even yesterday, after their pizza, Quinn had eaten very slowly to disguise the fact she'd only had one piece, and her mental calculations meant that the walking afterwards was sufficient to burn it off.

Quinn plasters on a smile. She can do this. The fair is too crowded, too noisy, for Marley to notice that Quinn will barely eat anything tonight. "I'm not rolling you back to the motel, though; fair warning."

"You always say that, but I bet in the unlikely event I actually do eat myself into a coma, you'll not only make sure I get back to the motel, you'll also put me to bed and tuck me in."

Quinn fights a smile. God help her, it's true.

Marley smiles. It's not a kind smile. She leans in, whispers, "Even if you insist on hiding it, you're still the most caring person I know. I really like that about you," in Quinn's ear. When she pulls back and nonchalantly starts talking about the carnival, it's all Quinn can do to focus on Marley and think clean thoughts.

Marley's eyes almost pop out of her head when they round the corner and spot a cluster of food trucks. There are tents and other stalls mixed in among these, creating the effect of a haphazard circus.

"No way," says Quinn, smelling the food before she can see it.

"Yes way," Marley says, already speeding up her walk. Quinn follows at a more reserved pace.

Marley stops in front of the first tent she finds. "Do you wanna split a triple grilled cheese with me? It comes with smoked bacon-stuffed jalapeno poppers." she asks excitedly. "No, wait, those burritos smell amazing. Hold that thought."

Quinn smiles nervously. It all smelled wonderful, and it was difficult to resist. Bacon, for one, was still a weakness; she'd craved it nonstop when pregnant with Beth, and she was fond of it even now. Of course, Quinn makes up for it with a good long workout afterwards whenever she eats it.

"You know what we should do?" says Quinn.

"I'm afraid to ask what, when Quinn Fabray starts suggesting activities," replies Marley. She deliberately adopts the deadpan delivery Quinn does when she's being annoying, and – judging from the glance she shoots at Quinn – she knows that Quinn knows it.

Quinn makes a face at her; Marley responds with fake innocence.

"We should buy a drink," says Quinn, and starts grinning when she catches the look on Marley's face, "... a non-alcoholic one of course, and go down to Ohio Street Beach to watch the fireworks."

Slowly, a smile spreads over Marley's face. "That is a seriously good idea, and thank goodness, it's so much better than what I thought you'd say. I saw you looking at the beer park when we walked by, Quinn Fabray."

"I ask you, what is the point of having these convincing fake IDs if we don't get to use them?"

"I hope that was a rhetorical question."

"It wasn't?"

"Now it is, because I'm not answering that."

Quinn laughs. "Okay, no beer. What about ice cream?"

"Yes! Maybe I'll finally get to try raspberry ripple." Much to Quinn's relief, Marley turns away from the greasy stall, searching for one that sells ice cream. "Ooh, they have fries. We should get fries to dip in the ice cream."

"Gross."

"It is not gross, do not knock it until you've tried it." Marley squints at something, before her eyes go wide. "Holy Hannah, Quinn, look at that: it's an ice cream fried chicken sandwich, topped with rice Krispies, and – is that powdered sugar? And hot sauce?"

"I'm gonna stop you there," says Quinn uncomfortably. Just picturing the cursed combination of foods that don't belong together effectively kills Quinn's appetite.

"Yeah, even I'm getting second thoughts about food in general. Oooh, funnel cake."

"Pass."

"Deep-fried butter?"

"You're joking, right?"

"Okay, triple cheeseburger donut. With bacon and maple syrup."

Quinn shoots Marley a disgusted look. "You're walking back to Lima."

"Oh please, this place hasn't got a patch on what they used to serve up at the fairs in Wichita Falls. We had cotton candy tacos, for crying out loud." Marley spots a sign. "Ooh, deep-fried pizza on a stick."

"That would explain your… cavalier attitude towards food." Quinn casts about for something to distract Marley from her apparent determination to put Quinn off food forever. "Why don't you go buy your food, I'll go buy mine, and we'll meet back here?"

Marley glances at her. "Don't. I'm sorry, I'll stop teasing you."

"It's not that," Quinn insists, trying not to melt when faced with Marley's puppy-dog expression. "It's really crowded, and we'll be out of here faster if we split up. I think we'll have a better chance of getting a good spot for the fireworks if we get there early."

"Yeah, you have a point," Marley reluctantly concedes. "I'll meet you back here then?"

"Okay."

Quinn deliberately walks as far from Marley as possible, ducking behind a tent selling the most calorie-dense milkshakes she has ever seen. She has little chance of finding anything to eat that's not deep-fried or laden with a phone number's worth of calories, so Quinn isn't going to try. At least all the other places they went had acceptable options.

They make the mistake of being too late to get a good spot on the beach, so they end up sitting in a grassy patch in the nearby park. For all her enthusiasm, Marley only has three paper bags.

"I thought you'd have bought out the whole place," says Quinn dryly. "I can picture you walking over with a trailer in tow."

"Ha ha. Funnily enough, I exercised some restraint at the last minute." She arranges her bags around her. "You know, us not being able to find a spot on the beach turned out to be a good thing," quips Marley. "Imagine the sand getting everywhere."

"Ugh." Quinn vaguely remembers a family holiday to Reno Beach, and the amount of sand she'd managed to collect in her swimsuit.

"But grass has bugs."

"Between sand and bugs, I think I'll take my chances with the bugs."

Marley makes a face. "Seconded." She stretches out her legs. "Here," she says, holding out one of her paper bags to Quinn.

"What? That's not mine, I already ate mine while I was waiting for you," Quinn lies.

"It's a quinoa and avocado salad, I got this for you."

"Seriously? A salad? And it's not deep-fried?" She unfolds the top of the paper bag with trembling fingers, peeking inside just to make sure Marley isn't pulling her leg. There's a plastic container, with a smaller tub on top holding what looks like sauce; iit really is an honest-to-goodness salad. It looks like one Quinn might've made for herself at home.

"Nope." Marley grimaces. "I know, I'm just as stunned as you. Turns out there is at least one stall which actually sells healthy food. It's pretty well-hidden, though. Guess people don't come to fairs for salads… which, come to think of it, would explain why the poor man behind the counter looked so happy when I ordered it."

Quinn's mouth twists up, as does her stomach. "I… how long did it take you to find this?"

"Not long at all," replies Marley brightly. Which Quinn doesn't trust. That pretty face, she's come to find, hides a devious mind Santana would've been proud of.

"You didn't have to," mumbles Quinn, "I already ate."

"I know, but I wanted to do something for you," says Marley patiently. "It's just salad, but there's plenty of grains in it so you won't feel hungry," she points out, "because I'm pretty sure you didn't eat anything back there."

"... How?"

Marley's smile is a little sad. "Brittany told me a lot more about Cheerios than just what you guys do in training. And it's impossible not to notice that you don't really eat when we literally spend days together."

"You noticed?"

"I notice everything about you," says Marley simply.

Quinn chews on her lower lip. Again, she finds herself at a loss for words around Marley because all her walls are down. It's not a good feeling. "Marley…"

"You don't have to explain. I'm not doing this to embarrass you, or call you out. Quinn, I… I just want to be here for you." She nods at the paper bag. "And I want you to be okay with that. I don't want you to feel like you have to hide stuff from me."

Tears prick at her eyes. Quinn doesn't notice until the lines of the bag and her hands start to blur together, and a spot appears on the paper, coloring it darker.

Then she feels a warm hand on her cheek, and fingers on her chin, guiding her to look up.

Marley's smiling. Marley's always smiling, and now Quinn can tell them apart. There's Marley's happy smile when she's excited, her amused smile when she sees something funny. There's a smile she reserves for food, one for cute animals and babies. There's a pinched smile for when Quinn is being exasperating, another for when she is not.

This one is sad. Her expressive blue eyes catch the fading light, as does the glassy sheen of unshed tears. She is being understanding, so understanding and accepting of everything Quinn Fabray that it physically hurts.

Marley's thumb strokes Quinn's cheek; Quinn opens her mouth, then closes it. Words fail her, and so, Quinn doesn't use them. Slowly, slowly, she exhales a shaky breath, and she rests her forehead against Marley's.

Marley wraps her up in a hug. A kiss is pressed to the side of Quinn's head; Quinn's eyes flutter shut. She feels safe. She feels clean, like everything that is wrong about her has been washed away.

A distant boom interrupts her thoughts. "Look," says a quiet voice in her ear.

Quinn turns her head. She takes the opportunity to dab her eyes with the back of her hand, and looks at the sky; the fireworks display has begun.

Several more booms follow in quick succession, and colors paint the sky. Red streaks, blue streaks. Yellow bursts of light linger briefly after the other two have faded away, until all that's left are smoky ghosts.

Quinn watches all this with rapt attention. She doesn't stiffen when a hand unexpectedly comes to rest on the small of her back; instead, she welcomes the contact, even shifts so she can rest her head on Marley's shoulder. Quinn smiles when the hand curls protectively around her waist.

They don't leave immediately after the fireworks display ends. For one, Marley insists Quinn eat her salad "before it wilts". But Quinn is certain the main reason for the delay is the kiss Marley initiates afterwards (and Quinn reciprocates).

Vaguely, she remembers something about PDA and making out in parks from this morning but right now, she couldn't care less. And judging from the smug smile Marley wears (not to mention her mussed hair and smeared lipgloss), she doesn't care either.

The pier is winding down when they arrive back, hand-in-hand. The ferris wheel is still spinning, its glittering lights the main source of illumination now the fireworks are done.

Quinn sees, and she remembers.

"Marley?"

"Hmm?"

"About earlier, when I didn't want to go on the ferris wheel."

Marley turns to her, fully alert. "Yeah?"

"I'm not comfortable with ferris wheels for the same reason I don't like swings. I… used to be fat."

Marley frowns, clearly not understanding, but she doesn't say anything, simply waits for Quinn to continue. "I, uhm, I'm still really self-conscious about my weight. It's really irrational, but if I'm up in the ferris wheel all I can think of is what if my weight makes the car fall." She blushes deeply.

"...oh. Oh, Quinn."

She's used to suffering in silence. There's something freeing about confessing, and even more so that she's not getting the extreme reaction she feared. But the longer the words stay out of her mouth, the bolder Quinn feels.

Marley's hands find hers and grip tightly, her thumbs rubbing the backs of Quinn's hands. The intimate gesture in such a crowded place gives Quinn pause.

"Thank you for telling me that," Marley says, very seriously. It's not something comes naturally to her, but Quinn wouldn't dream of laughing. "That can't be… fuck, I don't ever think I'd be able to say that out loud if it was me. I think I'd just keep it all inside until something bad happened."

"You said fuck."

"I'm allowed to use big girl words when the occasion calls for it," Marley replies, mouth quirking upwards.

Quinn nods. "Duly noted."

Then Marley is asking if she's "gotten help" and Quinn bristles. "What do you mean?"

"Spoken to a professional about it."

"No, and I don't intend to." This is still a sore spot between her and Rachel; Quinn doesn't have a good impression of therapy in general; after she'd given up Beth, Judy had signed her up for therapy. Quinn, unimpressed by the therapist and her insistence on talking about feelings, had attended two sessions and skipped the rest.

Rachel, on the other hand, has a private therapist with whom she started sessions with at five, because she was having stage fright, and she wasn't supposed to let that interfere with her Broadway dreams. She still met with the woman every fortnight to exhaustively psychoanalyze her life in excruciating detail, an alien concept to Quinn. "I don't need therapy."

Marley studies her intently. "If you say so," she says after a good long pause. "But I'd like it if you kept that in mind. I think it would help a lot."

Quinn presses her lips together. She won't let someone who barely knows her judge her, but she won't lie to Marley. Thankfully, Marley accepts that answer with a shrug and a resigned smile.

"Come on," says Marley, releasing one of Quinn's hands so she can tow Quinn along, "we should get back, we've got a long drive tomorrow."

Quinn resists. "We can, if you want."

"Want what?" She follows Quinn's gaze to the ferris wheel. "... You're sure?"

"You make me feel like I can do anything, especially the things that scare me," Quinn admits. "I want to feel like this for as long as I can."

Marley pays for their tickets. It seems like the right thing to do. Quinn clambers into the cramped cabin, sitting in the middle of the wooden bench, Marley squeezing right next to her. Squishy goes on the bench opposite them and is promptly forgotten.

The man shuts the door behind them; Quinn flinches at the sound. Marley's hand grips her knee.

When the cabin starts to move, Quinn's breathing starts to speed up. She focuses on the hand on her knee.

"You're okay," says Marley. Some hair has fallen out of Quinn's braid and into her eyes; fingers tease it up and away. "Do you wanna look outside?"

Quinn wants to, and so she does. She sees Chicago, the same view as it has been over the past three days, but different. The skyline has not changed, only her perspective has. It is alive. She is alive.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah," says Marley, who isn't looking outside, "it is."

Quinn shifts in her seat nervously. The cabin rocks, but Marley's hand continues to ground her. She calms.

Marley stays quiet as they slowly descend. But as the cabin passes the low point of the wheel, Marley sits up straighter. "We're going up," she says.

Quinn watches the lights of Navy Pier glow, and then fall away as the cabin continues to rise. The city glitters again. She feels invincible, and so she moves to kiss Marley softly.

Marley kisses back eagerly. Quinn can't help but smile when the hand on her knee loosens its grip as Marley's attention drifts elsewhere.

Her hands are unoccupied, so Quinn puts them to good use; they meet at the back of Marley's neck. She visibly shivers when Quinn's bracelet grazes her skin, tickling the fine hairs of her neck.

When Quinn moves closer, she bumps the brim of the hat Marley is still wearing. "You and that ridiculous hat," Quinn murmurs. She slips it off Marley's head and kisses her again.

"It's a lucky hat, and you like it too."

"I like it better when you're not wearing it." Quinn twists Marley's hair around her fingers and tugs. Marley whimpers. She shifts in her seat, trying to get closer to Quinn short of actually climbing into her lap. Her free hand holds onto Quinn's waist, finger hooking the belt loop of her jeans, a compromise.

The cabin bumps; Quinn breaks the kiss, startled. "We've stopped," she says, looking out the window.

Marley laughs self-consciously. "We have, in more ways than one. Though I'm glad you stopped when you did; I think I'd die of embarrassment if the attendant had to interrupt us."

A nervous giggle bursts out of Quinn. She picks up Marley's cap and thrusts it at her; Marley jams it back on her head, scooping up Squishy as she goes.

"C'mon, let's get back." Adrenaline runs hot in her blood. Quinn is still running off the high of accomplishment. "Long drive tomorrow."

Marley's sprawled on the bed, talking eagerly to someone who can only be her mom.

Quinn grimaces involuntarily. She hasn't spoken to her mom since embarking on this trip; as a matter of fact, the last time she saw her was two days before she left Lima. Judy was going out to Minnesota to visit Frannie, and she never looked back.

But she doesn't care. In a couple of months, it'll be her turn to go, and she won't be coming back. Quinn puts her earbuds in to give Marley some privacy. No more Damien Rice and his pining for her; she puts on The Supremes.

Marley puts a hand over her phone. "Mom says hi," she says.

"Hi, Mrs Rose," replies Quinn politely, raising her eyebrows. It appears that Marley has never heard of the mute button, and Quinn finds the entire thing too endearing to tell her.

Marley beams at her, then goes back to talking on the phone.

Quinn's attention returns to her own phone, and the messages Santana has sent; there are a few that are halfway civil, and Quinn is impressed by how much Santana genuinely misses her.

Marley, who has finished her nightly calls by this time, comes over to curl into Quinn's side. "What do you think of this?"

Quinn squints at the phone Marley's holding out to her; it's the photo she took earlier, of the pier at night. "It's nice," she says, genuinely impressed. She'd waited while Marley fussed with the phone camera's settings and set up the shot, but she hadn't seen the results until now. "You're pretty good at taking photos."

Marley, delighted, drops an impulsive kiss on Quinn's temple. It's close enough to Quinn's ear to send goosebumps prickling over her skin. "You're sweet," replies Marley, and starts toying with Instagram's filters, squinting at each one.

"Aaaand posted." Marley ducks under Quinn's arm; she smiles and tugs on the neon green bracelet around her wrist. "Hey, you're still wearing it."

"Yeah." Quinn intends to wear it for the entire summer, though she doesn't tell Marley that.

Marley lifts Quinn's hand to her lips, and kisses the skin of her wrist, just above her pulse. "It looks good on you. I'm glad you like it," she says.

Quinn can only nod. It's impossible to take her eyes off Marley.

It seems that Marley knows what's on Quinn's mind, because her smile turns wicked, and she surges up to kiss Quinn – stopping short just before making contact.

Quinn whines.

"You're still wearing your glasses," points out Marley very matter-of-factly.

She whips them off and drops them on the side table. "They're gone," says Quinn, and kisses Marley. She doesn't stop there this time, still feeling the rush of the day. Quinn breaks the kiss earlier than normal; Marley makes a sound in protest, and tries to reconnect their lips. She stops moving when Quinn starts pressing little butterfly kisses on the side of her mouth, straying gradually downwards.

Quinn's hand comes to rest on Marley's shoulder. Her thumb rubs over the shirt she's wearing, following the press of her collarbone.

Marley parts her lips. "Oh," she sighs, the sound breathy, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

Quinn likes that response. She wants more. She bends her head to kiss the underside of Marley's jaw, running her tongue over the smooth skin teasingly; Marley's hands tangle themselves in Quinn's loose ponytail.

Her other hand winds itself through Marley's hair. She loves it when people play with her hair, and Quinn has a feeling Marley will too. Quinn's fingernails scratch lightly over Marley's scalp – but in a flash she twists Marley's hair around her fingers and pulls. Marley cries out, her back arching; yet she still leans into Quinn's touch, tilting her head to expose more skin.

Quinn's smile turns predatory. She takes the hint, licking down Marley's neck, pausing briefly to inhale the scent of her skin, before sucking hard on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

"Quinn." Her name sounds like it's composed of air, bound together with desire. "Don't stop."

Quinn has no intention of doing so. She briefly digs her teeth into Marley's skin, soothing the spot with her tongue moments later. Slowly, she works her way back up Marley's neck, alternating kisses with her tongue.

She's still not yet at Marley's mouth when the other girl loses her patience. Marley connects their lips with enough force that their teeth clack together, but then she tilts her head so they're kissing properly. Her tongue slips into Quinn's mouth; Quinn moans at her fervor.

It's Marley's turn to seduce now. She sucks on Quinn's tongue, then nips at Quinn's lower lip. Marley learns fast; her kisses are now mixed with small jolts of pain, delivered with her teeth, which Quinn enjoys immensely.

Marley descends on Quinn's neck, dragging her teeth down. Quinn exhales sharply. She tugs on Marley's hair, guiding her to where she wants her, while her other hand splays itself on Marley's lower back.

Marley is taking her own sweet time amusing herself with Quinn's neck; it drives her crazy. Quinn's body thrums in a way she never thought it could; she feels like a mess of hormones given focus by how much she wants this girl in her arms. And Quinn doesn't stop at just more, greedy as it is, she wants everything she can get.

The hand on Marley's back shifts and finds warm, smooth skin. Quinn lightly scratches at it, and Marley immediately stumbles over the patch of skin on Quinn's neck she is currently kissing. Quinn likes that the balance of power has shifted back into her favor, and continues rubbing her hand back and forth over Marley's back.

Marley's left hand, which was supporting Quinn's head up to this point, tightens. "You're so…" she starts, and doesn't finish.

"Frustrating?" Quinn pants, thoroughly undone by the way Marley's tongue laves over the dip between her collarbones.

"Beautiful," replies Marley. Her fingers hook in the collar of Quinn's T-shirt, pulling it out of her way so she can trace Quinn's collarbone directly.

Quinn's breathing hitches. She pulls on Marley, who comes willingly into Quinn's lap. The hand she has in Marley's hair grips the back of Marley's neck, simultaneously controlling her attentions and holding on for dear life. "Yes," she gasps, "more."

Then Quinn's phone rings. Marley yelps in surprise; Quinn curses and starts searching for it. Both their phones were forgotten in the heat of the moment, so it takes a while of hunting through the sheets before Quinn finds it.

"What?" she barks into the phone.

"Suzy Q," a familiar voice greets her. "Berry was right; you are testy when being interrupted on your dream vacation."

"Santana, why are you calling me?" Marley takes advantage of the break to flop down and bury her face in the front of Quinn's shirt; it's occupying most of Quinn's attention at the moment.

Santana's voice turns syrupy-sweet. "Well, I was surprised and overjoyed to hear back from my best friend ever, after all the texts I've been sending her. It's nice to know you really missed me too, Q-bert."

Quinn sighs. She's missed Santana too, but she also misses Marley's mouth on hers, and she knows which one she wants more. "Sorry. I've been busy. I'm glad you called, though."

"Yeah? Then why do you sound like you – oh. Oh hell nah," says Santana, and cackles loudly. "I interrupted you gettin' your mack on! Wow, Q, get some!"

"Lopez, I fucking swear to God…"

"Shit, I would never have pegged Lunchlady Jr for being as sapphic as you. She's hot, though; bet she's wild as all get out in the sack."

"It's nothing like that, shut up, you bitch," Quinn insists, face flushed. She knows Marley's looking at her with concern, but she's focused on Santana and her horribly correct assumptions. "I'm hanging up now. Fuck off."

"Yeah, yeah. I'mma do you a solid, be a good lesbro, all that jazz, and let you get on with it. I expect deets when you get back." With a last cackle, the line goes dead.

Quinn lets out a growl of frustration; she grabs a pillow and buries her face in it, screaming into the cool material.

When she finally lets the pillow drop so she can breathe, the first thing she sees is Marley, propped up on her elbows, watching her. The expression she's wearing is a curious mix of amusement and concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I take it that you weren't expecting Santana to call," Marley observes. She smooths hair away from Quinn's face, where it clings to her flushed skin. "And somehow she knows about us."

Quinn groans. "She's a pervert. She'd have come to the same conclusion even if we hadn't been… you know."

"Yeah, I figured." Marley clearly deems it safe to resume cuddling; she tucks her head under Quinn's chin, one arm wrapping around Quinn's waist and pulling her close. "Are you okay?"

"You already asked me that," Quinn grouches, but rolls to lie on her side, facing Marley; she loops her arm around Marley's shoulders loosely. "I'm fine."

"Okay," replies Marley, sounding unbothered.

"I'm just, maybe a little annoyed that she interrupted and ruined everything. And she guessed what we were doing." Quinn huffs. "As though I'm this open book. Most of the time she isn't right, but she still acts like she's always right; because every once in a long while she is right and she'll never let you forget it. She's like a bulldog sometimes, it's so fucking annoying."

"Okay," Marley repeats. Her eyebrows disappear into her fringe when Quinn swears, but goes on rubbing Quinn's upper arm.

Whatever Marley is doing with her hand, it's working. Quinn gets progressively less irritated, and more relaxed. "I don't wanna talk about Santana anymore," she says, scooting lower so she can bury her face in Marley's neck.

Marley hums. Her hand finds the nape of Quinn's neck and continues rubbing.

Quinn actually does purr, then, when Marley's fingernails scratch lightly over her scalp. "If you keep doing that, I'll fall asleep," she warns.

"Isn't that the whole point?" replies Marley.

"Don't sass me," Quinn scolds, but the words are sleepy and thick on her tongue.

Marley laughs at her. "We have a long drive tomorrow."

And yet Quinn would protest, but a feather-light kiss dropped on her forehead stills her. "Good night," says Quinn instead, admitting defeat.

"Good night, Quinn."