Part Two: spare you the rising storms and let the rivers flow

To celebrate the end of Marley's first year of college (and her impending graduation), Quinn's offered to take her out for dinner. All good and fine with Marley, until Quinn calls with an unexpected addendum.

"How long will you be in New York for?"

"Another week or so." She has a few loose ends to tie up, and then she's applying for long-term leave at her job; they aren't keen on letting her hand in a resignation for such a trivial reason as the summer holidays.

"Oh, good. I'll be in town next Friday to meet Rachel; it'll be great if you could join us." There's a pause before Quinn adds, almost shyly: "I'd like you to meet her."

"In Lima?" asks Marley.

Quinn laughs at her. "No, silly; in New York."

"But you're in New Haven."

"There are such things as trains, y'know. Give me a moment…" And there's rustling sounds over the phone. "My train gets into Grand Central next Friday afternoon. How about coffee that day, and dinner after?"

And so she finds herself, in the last week of her freshman year of college, walking through the Bronx in the company of Quinn.

"Rachel only stops by Lima briefly; she's always working and attending workshops during the summer," explains Quinn with a roll of her eyes as she expertly leads Marley through the streets. "She moves too fast for me to introduce you guys."

"I sort of know Rachel," offers Marley. The seniors had mentioned the 'new Rachel' title to her in her first year of Glee, as did the creepy guy Jacob ben-Israel. Based off that, and the few times she's seen Rachel, Marley knows what she looks like and that she can sing – and little else. "Really short, and the main reason Glee club's ever won anything."

(Of course, there's Quinn's stories. She won't let that influence her idea of Rachel.)

Quinn laughs. "That's essentially Rachel."

They stop outside a nondescript coffeeshop on a street corner. "We're a minute late," says Quinn, checking the time on her phone, "she's probably already waiting inside."

Sure enough, there's a young woman who looks vaguely familiar seated inside. On spotting them, she squeals Quinn's name, stands up, and throws her arms around Quinn's neck. "It's been too long!" she gushes after she finally pulls away.

"And who's fault is that?"

"Funny, Fabray." Rachel turns to Marley. "You must be Marley! It's good to see you, I've heard so much about you from Quinn!"

"Hi, Rachel." She hovers, uncertain, until Rachel pulls her into a tight hug. Marley squeezes back.

"I feel kinda old now that I have Glee juniors joining me in New York," quips Rachel when they're all seated.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "We're graduating from college in a couple of weeks, Rach; that's kind of inevitable."

Rachel narrows her eyes at Quinn. "Nevertheless," she says, addressing Marley, "I'm proud to be able to impart knowledge and experience I've gained over the last few years to you, in order to enrich your college experience."

Marley blinks. She's never actually known anyone who talks like they swallowed a book; belatedly, she corrects herself. She's simply forgotten Rachel Berry is one such person.

"You're scaring her," chides Quinn. She draws her purse from her bag. "I'm getting a drink. Coming, Marley?"

"Yeah. Hang on a bit." She fishes her money out and follows Quinn to the counter.

The older girl bumps her with an elbow lightly. "Are you okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Quinn smiles. "It's okay to be honest. Rachel tends to intimidate people, especially if you aren't prepared for what she's like. She's... intense."

"That was pretty evident," jokes Marley.

By the time they return to the table, drinks in hand, Rachel has a sheaf of paper and a highlighter out. Her mouth moves as she reads. Occasionally, she marks a line with the highlighter.

"Another project?"

"Drama bootcamp," says Rachel, not looking up, "seven plays in fourteen days. It's hell."

"Glad you can make time for us little people," remarks Quinn.

She makes a mark at the bottom of the page and then tucks the script away. "Always, Quinn," she says without a hint of sarcasm. Turning to Marley, Rachel smiles widely. "How are you finding New York so far?"

"I love it." It's an easy question. As a small-town girl, Marley has held the requisite dreams of bright lights and big cities growing up. Even as she grew, her interests shifting to accommodate reality and changing tastes, there's something about the fond nostalgia of childhood fantasies that appeal to her. Getting into Steinhardt was the first step of reconciling her childhood dreams and adult abilities.

Although her rose-colored vision's faded around the edges after an actual year of college, Marley's proud to say New York is still everything she's ever dreamed of.

Rachel beams wider – Marley didn't think it possible. "Wonderful! If you've got nothing planned this weekend, I'd love to show you around. Have you done the practically-compulsory tourist attractions? Iconic as they are, I wonder if you'd like to see some of my favorite places."

"Let her breathe, Rach," says Quinn teasingly. "She's been here for a year already; what makes you think she hasn't already done the touristy things?"

"Actually…" ventures Marley, "I've been so busy with school and work, I haven't done much." Marley can't help but be caught up in Rachel's love for the city. "I'd appreciate a tour of your city; I mean, you've lived here for four years now, right?"

Rachel, who'd pouted a little at Quinn's words, perks back up. "At least you appreciate me," she directs at Marley.

"I appreciate you," shoots Quinn, "but I also appreciate not being dragged out on the tour of the Great White Way for the eighteenth time."

"You exaggerate, Quinn Fabray! I do not drag people on tours against their will!"

Marley's eyes slide back and forth, like she's watching a tennis match. In a way, it is; the calculated shots fired at the other person. In another light, it also sounds a lot like she's intruding on a private moment, banter between two people in a relationship.

She blushes. She's only known Quinn for a few months now, and Rachel even less; she's in no place to be making this kind of assumption about them.

"I know you, Rachel Berry," Quinn's saying now, "next you'll offer to give Marley a tour of New York's best vegan burritos."

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn. Marley's not vegetarian, as far as I know; secondly, I'm not that intolerant of other people's dietary preferences that I'll go out of my way to champion the cause." Rachel eyes Marley hopefully. "Speaking of that, are you aware of how cruel the meat industry is to animals?"

Marley was raised in a single-parent household without much money; most of their meals consisted on whatever leftovers Millie brought home from work, and their options consisted of eat or starve. To her, dietary choices had always been take it or leave it. "Vaguely," she answers diplomatically.

"Maybe we'll talk another time," says Rachel, and turns to Quinn. "I'll have you know that vegan cuisine here is highly diverse with plenty of delicious, affordable, cruelty-free substitutes."

"Well, I haven't forgotten about that wrap bar you took us to in sophomore year, that you insisted was good."

"For the last time, I tried it at three in the morning when I was drunk. I'm hardly the best judge of culinary delights in that condition."

Quinn ignores her, addressing her next words to Marley. "A tip: ignore her when she goes all militant vegan. She knows good non-vegan and vegetarian places too; Kurt and Santana have taught her well."

"I wouldn't be much of an actress if I didn't make the effort to accommodate other people's life choices and viewpoints," says Rachel with a sniff. "It all makes fantastic material for any future roles that might earn me that Tony nomination." Finishing her drink, she checks the time on her phone. "Oh hell. I've got to go; I need to be onstage at five." Rachel slings her bag over a shoulder. "I've got your number from Quinn; I'll text you time and place later," she instructs Marley even as she's hugging Quinn, "bye!"

Marley feels a little dazed by the whirlwind of words. "That was… intense."

Quinn laughs at her. "You survived Rachel Berry. Intense is a pretty mild word."

"Are you coming with us tomorrow?"

"Of course I am. Like I'd leave you alone with an unsupervised Rachel Berry for an entire weekend."

"She's not that bad." She's intense, as Quinn warned her, and bordering on frantic, but Rachel is genuinely warm. Marley's dealt with worse.

"She isn't," agrees Quinn. "But Rachel's an acquired taste. She's actually mellowed a lot since high school, if you can believe that."

"That's a bit…" She frowns as she searches for the right word. "Overwhelming."

Quinn smirks. "I thought so too, before. She grows on you, really. Like a weed. Or a fungus."

"I thought you guys were friends."

"We are," says Quinn, smiling, "can't you tell?"

She can't wait for her first summer vacation, as a college student, to begin.

Her mom offered to come get her from the airport, but Marley declined; she knows she's not comfortable being in the public eye, but mostly Marley wants to be home as soon as humanly possible.

The siren call of home has been strong all through the last weeks of the semester; her things packed up or put in storage, her bus ticket reserved, her plans for next year's housing set and pushed to one side.

For now, she's flying out of the taxi into Millie's arms and that's all that matters.

Marley elects to spend her afternoon sitting on the couch at home, enjoying the feeling of being idle. There's a knock at her door which she takes her time in answering – on a weekday afternoon in Lima, it can only be a salesperson or a door-to-door preacher.

It's neither.

"Hi," says Quinn, smiling broadly. Marley gasps.

"Hey! I wasn't expecting you!"

Quinn rolls her eyes, holds her arms out for a hug, which a suddenly-sheepish Marley gives. "I decided to surprise you," she says. "Surprise."

"I'm definitely surprised."

She follows Marley into the house, greeting an ecstatic Millie on the way, and makes herself comfortable on the couch. It's almost exactly the way it was one year ago.

Marley hands her a grape soda. "Did you have a good trip back?"

"Yeah. I'm glad we decided to splurge on plane tickets this round." She stretches and yawns. "I can't believe I'm done with school. Again."

"Not exactly." Marley smirks. "Some of us went and applied for grad school."

Quinn groans. "I must have been drunk or insane. No way would I have willingly subjected myself to another two years of hell."

"So much for being smart," says Marley in an undertone. Quinn throws a pillow at her.

There are no long afternoons whiled away over a book this time; Quinn's only in Lima for two weeks before she's heading back to New York to move into her new apartment. She was offered a place in grad school for English at both Harvard and Columbia, eventually picking the latter because the professor she admired was there.

What Marley finds interesting is that she's sharing that apartment with Rachel and Santana; based on what she knows of Santana from Brittany, Marley isn't sure this roommate arrangement will last.

Quinn just rolls her eyes and laughs. "We're poor college graduates," she says, "we'll manage somehow because this is marginally better than homelessness."

Marley gets to spend most of Quinn's vacation with her because Quinn's time is split between all the important people in their small town, of which there are only a few; Beth, of course. Puck. Most of the people they know have already left Lima without looking back, and few of them visit.

"Puck's having a pool party tomorrow," says Quinn. "Do you want to come?"

Marley freezes. "Uh – pool?"

"Yeah. That perv just wants to see girls in swimsuits." Her friend takes a sip of her iced coffee. "Normally I wouldn't go, but the weather's been so hot lately and that pool sounds really tempting."

She forces a smile. Her heart pounds, her skin prickles. "... I'll pass, thanks."

"That's too bad. Is it because of the last party? He's an asshole, but I was having an off-day, it's not completely his fault – " Quinn cuts herself off, eyes narrowing in sudden understanding. "It's not about Puck, is it?"

"No," is all Marley can manage. She breathes like her therapist taught her. She's not being threatened, she's with someone whom she trusts, she reminds herself. "I just don't want to be in a swimsuit."

Quinn studies her. "Okay," she says simply after a pause that drags on too long. "I won't force you. Do you…" and here she looks like she's contemplating jumping off a cliff, "want to talk about it?"

Marley is taken aback. "I thought you didn't do feelings or talking," she blurts out, and slaps a hand over her mouth.

Quinn smiles wryly. Marley wants to sink into the ground and disappear. "Well, yes; according to Rachel. But we have a complicated friendship, so… different circumstances altogether. I'm not Rachel," she says gently, "I'm not gonna pressure you into talking about personal stuff if you don't want to."

She stares. "Oh."

"Yeah. So – do you wanna talk?"

Her tone softens. "Not really, but ... I have to tell you something." Marley meets Quinn's eye; she appreciates how Quinn holds it steadily. "I remember our conversation, years ago in the bathroom. I – you might not remember, but it was a major turning point for me."

Quinn just smiles sadly. "I know."

"You – what?"

"I remembered everything."

Marley releases a shuddering breath. "Then why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"At first, you looked like you might die of embarrassment if I had." Marley snorts despite herself, and the corners of Quinn's eyes crinkle into a smile. "Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but – even then, I could tell that you were so much more than your lowest points, Marley. I wanted to get to know the real you. Later on, there was never a good time. I'm sorry for that."

She feels conflicted; terrified of revisiting her past, angry that Quinn kept her knowledge from her – and oddly relieved that Quinn knows. "So you know why, then," says Marley, "why I can't."

"I do. I just wanted you to know it's okay, and that… you've got someone to talk about it with – if you ever wanted to, that is."

Marley just nods. It's a lot to take in, all at once, and she needs time and space to process. "I don't know what to say now."

"That's normal," replies Quinn. "At least you didn't want to hurt someone, or to run." The wry tone tells Marley all she needs to know about Quinn's coping mechanisms. "If you want me to go now, that's fine too." She makes to stand.

She catches Quinn's sleeve. "Stay." Marley offers a weak smile when Quinn obliges. "Maybe we could talk about something else?"

Quinn's expression softens. "I'm currently seeing this guy, Blake," she says nonchalantly, "from my comparative literature class. You just missed him the last time we all went out."

"When was that? Rachel's senior showcase?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Marley blinks. Then it sinks in. "Seeing…? Blake's your boyfriend? That was… an abrupt change of topic."

"You said something else," teases Quinn. "I was going to tell you anyway. And, not really; we've only gone out on a few dates so far."

"True. How long have you been seeing each other?"

"A few weeks?" She holds out her phone so Marley can peer at the screen, at the photo of the handsome dark-haired man with his arm around Quinn's shoulders.

"He looks nice."

"He is," replies Quinn. "And your social life? Hotter than today?"

"Subtle, Fabray."

"Mmhmm. You know it."

"But yes," says Marley, "me and my GarageBand have an ongoing, passionate affair."

"Wow. A love story for the ages." Quinn shoots her a look that clearly says she's not convinced. But Marley honestly hasn't the time to date (and not for lack of suitors) between juggling college and work, and her friends.

Not that Marley's in a hurry to find someone; her dating history is short yet fraught with drama, and she wants none of that hot mess.

The conversation reaches a natural end, and they lapse back into their comfortable silence. Marley feels light, precisely one secret lighter; on this summer's day, it's more refreshing than iced tea or air conditioning.

When she gets a text from Quinn asking to meet at the Lima Bean, Marley's first reaction is a flutter of nervousness. It's irrational, but it doesn't stop her from typing and deleting a reply multiple times before she finally hits upon the ideal combination of casual and friendly. Like she's used to being asked out by popular kids.

She gets there early, and is pleased to find their usual table (in the sense that Marley's often joined by Quinn there) vacant. Marley decides to wait for Quinn before buying her drink. Her current book is out of her bag and on the table immediately.

"Hey."

Marley looks up. "Hi." Quinn, as usual, doesn't look like she's meeting a friend for coffee on a lazy summer morning, in her flower print dress. Marley feels positively under-dressed in her chambray button-up and cut-offs. "It's too early and too hot to be wearing that."

Quinn giggles. "Trust me, I'd love nothing more than shorts." She drops her tote bag to the floor and sits down. "My parents didn't let me buy them because they were too revealing. The downsides of growing up in a strict Christian showhouse."

If Quinn's parents could kick her out of the house for getting pregnant, they certainly would have banned shorts. Marley winces in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Her friend waves her off. "You haven't gotten a drink yet?" she asks lightly. "What do you want?"

"I'll go with you." They take just their purses over to the counter, peering up at the menu overhead. Marley gets her usual iced tea and they mill about the counter waiting for their drinks.

When they're seated again with their drinks, Quinn doesn't immediately take out her book like she normally does. "So my mom finally remembered that I told her about your mom's catering service," she begins with a roll of her eyes, and immediately Marley know what today's meetup is for, "and she was thrilled."

"That's great."

"She's hosting a garden party for the Rotary Club ladies next Saturday and she'd like your mom to cater for it." It strikes Marley that Quinn isn't falling over herself in excitement at the news, but she keeps that observation to herself. She pulls her battered notebook out of her bag, opening it to a new page.

"Mom'll be happy to do it. What exactly did you have in mind?"

Millie Rose is overjoyed by the order. The Fabrays are a well-known name in their small town, and she lightly teases Marley about her connections.

Marley herself has mixed feelings. Quinn is as cheerful and polite as ever when making arrangements and planning menus. But something feels… off. She can't quite put her finger on it – and won't, in any case, since she doesn't know Quinn enough to comment – and so decides to say nothing.

It's not as though she's idle, too. There are a few errands that require her attention, now that she'll be a college sophomore in the fall, and of course, Millie needs all the help she can get to prepare all the food in time for the party.

On the day of the party itself, Millie has to practically bully her daughter into bringing along a change of clothes as they pack the food into the car.

"It's not my party, Mom," protests Marley. She's been up half the night glazing fruit tarts, and it shows. Dressed in jean shorts and a light cotton check shirt, her hair up in a messy bun since the crack of dawn, she's really not in any state to appear at a nice garden party.

"Nonsense," tuts Millie. She badgers Marley into packing a few things, and tosses them into the trunk of the car. "Just in case, sweetie."

Marley drives. She tries not be awed by how large the houses – mansions, really – on either side of the road are, compared to their own neighborhood. Millie has no such compulsions, and openly "ooh"s and "ahh"s.

They pull up outside a modest (compared to the others) house that's surrounded by parked cars. Almost as though on cue, the front door opens and Quinn comes out.

Quinn herself is dressed to the nines in what looks like a vintage tea dress, her hair done up in an elegant chignon. An older lady in similar clothing and appearance who can only be Quinn's mother follows after her, and she introduces herself as Judy Fabray. The Fabrays, mother and daughter, are the epitome of graciousness and charm as they take the food from the Roses, and assist the setup.

"Marley, is it? I've heard so much about you from my Quinnie," gushes Judy as she hands the check to Millie. "You must stay and enjoy the party, dear. You and your mother."

"That's so kind of you to offer, Mrs Fabray, but I'm afraid I have to turn it down. I've got another order to fulfill." Millie nudges her daughter. "I'm sure Marley would love to stay; she's brought a few things to change into."

"Mom," hisses Marley, thoroughly mortified – even as Judy beams and says, "How wonderful – Quinnie, show Marley the bathroom after we've done setting up the food."

"Sure, Mom," says Quinn easily. Marley notices now that Quinn hasn't stopped smiling. What was that Quinn said? Something about being raised in a showhouse? Looking at mother and daughter, a stark opposite of herself and her mother, Marley starts to understand where all that bitterness had stemmed from.

On hindsight, packing a dress hasn't been her smartest idea. Her usual jeans and top is a tad too casual for the Fabray garden party, but Marley doesn't know what to do with herself; Quinn is the only person her age, and she's left with nothing to do after she's been politely introduced to the other ladies. Marley's not about to eat anything – not after she's helped prepare each and every item, and had to sample them along the way.

Quinn materializes in front of her as she miserably tries to hide behind the buffet table. "How are you holding up?" asks the older girl, her perfect society smile in place.

"Pretty good." Marley smiles back, reaching for a finger sandwich.

"Okay. Want to sneak out and grab an ice cream?"

Marley blinks rapidly. Startled, she drops the sandwich back on the tray. She's certain she's misheard. "Huh?"

"I'm not joking, I'm bored out of my mind." Quinn takes her wrist and leads her towards the driveway. "C'mon. They won't miss us until later, now Mom's already had her fill of showing off her perfect Ivy League daughter. I've done the rounds and been introduced to everyone. I'll treat you, let's go."

And she can't actually protest without creating a scene and attracting unwanted attention, so Marley lets herself be led further, down the path and into Quinn's car. Quinn doesn't say anything more until the ice cream parlor, when she asks Marley what flavor she wants.

Marley hovers outside the shop, uncertain. Quinn nods towards the car. "Up for another outing?" she asks, a smile lingering on her lips. "I know a nice place we can eat this in peace." She nods at the still-staring boy behind the counter. Clearly, it's not every day two girls dressed to the nines come in for ice cream.

"Sure – you're my ride, after all," replies Marley. It gets a hearty laugh out of Quinn, and lifts the mood somewhat.

Quinn's place turns out to be a clearing on the edge of a wood. "My old jogging route," is all Quinn offers in explanation. They're still in their nice dresses, so they lean against the car.

Marley takes an instant liking to the place; she can see how it appeals to Quinn – or at least, what she knows of her personality. The tall grass, the relative isolation despite being a short drive from the main town area, how the woods just encourage her to slow down and breathe.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Marley blushes and tells Quinn what's on her mind. Quinn nods approvingly.

"I knew you'd get it."

The embarrassed blush turns into one of pleasure, and then there are no more words left to describe the atmosphere.

"You know," starts Quinn, "it's kinda ironic that I'm always the one talking."

Marley shrugs. "I don't really have much to say, and I like listening to you talk."

"I like listening to me talk, too," says Quinn dryly, and both girls laugh.

Quinn finishes her ice cream. She goes to sit in the backseat. Brushing her hands off, she rests an elbow on the knee of her vintage dress, and her chin in that palm. "Honestly, talking is something new to me. My father was of the opinion that children should be seen and not heard. I spent most of my time at home in my room, doing my own things."

"I didn't really know my dad. He left when I was three." Her mother rarely talks about him, but there are plenty of old photos around their house. She has his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I barely remember him, and my mom doesn't like talking about him."

"My mom doesn't talk about my father much, either," says Quinn, and laughs; a short, bitter burst. "He's a complete asshole and hypocrite."

Marley doesn't pry. She waits, content to receive whatever information Quinn is willing to divulge. She knows that Quinn was kicked out of her house and only taken back in when her mother threw him out, having heard the information from those Glee clubbers who have known Quinn longer (as well as from Quinn herself).

Quinn catches the look on her face and says, wryly: "Who have you been talking to? Sam? Tina?"

She ducks her head. "Brittany. Before you get mad, she didn't mean to say anything."

"It's okay. Brittany has the right idea. She's good at saying stuff that no one wants to say, but it needs to be heard." It's the closest Quinn's ever come to talking about their conversation at Thanksgiving, the first time they met. Marley shoots her a look, but she shows no signs of wanting to elaborate on that.

"You seem pretty okay with your mom, now."

"That's because I went away to college," replies Quinn simply. "I got out of this town and gained a little more perspective on things. I think my mom and I work best when we don't spend so much time in close proximity."

Marley can't relate. She missed her mother so badly while she was at college, hundreds of miles away.

"Did you actually try to compare your mom to mine?" asks Quinn, sounding amused. "Because it's not the same at all. My mom is... my entire family, but we don't do affection. I'm not saying she doesn't care about me, because she does, but in her own way."

"It's pretty clear." Marley remembers the way Judy treats Quinn – like fine china, paraded on special occasions to be admired. In return, Quinn is cool and reserved; unfailingly polite and obliging, but distant. "She's trying, though."

"She is." Quinn stares into the middle distance. "I can't fault her for that."

By this time, Marley's finished her own ice cream but it's evident that Quinn is in no hurry to leave; she folds her hands in her lap, and observes.

This is the most relaxed she's seen Quinn ever since the entire venture started. While there's no apparent difference to the casual outsider, Marley's starting to understand Quinn – and thus, the masks she wears.

She lets herself enjoy the moment.

They pull up outside Quinn's house and slip in – unnoticed, as Quinn predicted. The older girl helps herself to some punch and pours some for Marley. Then, she pulls a small flask from under the table and spikes her own punch with a healthy dose of its contents.

"Quinn!"

Her friend smiles sheepishly. "It's watered-down now," she points out, "I'll need it if I want to survive the rest of the day, after the sugar rush of the ice cream."

Marley stares. "I didn't know you owned a hip flask."

Quinn grins. "Graduation present from Puck."

"That explains so much."

As the party winds down, Millie appears to help clear up. Judy whisks her away to introduce her to the guests. but not before dragging Marley with them.

The food was well-received by everyone, and so were the dessert pastries. Marley has always been proud of her mother, but she feels as though her heart will burst on seeing Millie beam from ear to ear as Lima's social elite heaps praises on her food.

Her mother reaches out a hand, tugs Marley's elbow. "Oh, I couldn't have done it without my girl," she gushes. "Marley's everything I could have asked for."

"You have a wonderful daughter, Mrs. Rose," says Judy effusively. Marley catches the wistful look sent Quinn's way only because she's looking for it. "You must be so proud of her."

"I am."

As they prepare to leave, Millie takes the first batch of trays to the car (she insisted on their good trays instead of the standard aluminum foil, because the Fabrays were Marley's friends) while Marley packs up the rest.

There's a serving platter unaccounted for; she goes to the kitchen in search of it. There are two well-dressed ladies already there, hors d'oeuvres in their hands. Marley is about to walk in when their words stop her in her tracks.

"Judy must be running a charity now," says the closer of the two, wearing peach-colored silk. "Did you see the caterer? She looks like she samples her food regularly, if you know what I mean."

"The daughter seems like she doesn't get out much, poor thing; I saw her trying to hide behind the refreshments table earlier."

Marley's blood runs red-hot in her veins. Trembling in every inch, she steps into the kitchen and says hotly: "I don't think you have the right to judge me and my mom like that."

The women have the grace to look ashamed, but only briefly. "It's not ladylike to eavesdrop, dear," says Peach Silk.

"Ladylike! You – "

"Mrs Cartwright!" interjects a voice. Quinn glides into the kitchen, smiling with all the warmth of an iceberg. "I'm sorry, or should it be Ms Woodley? I heard you and your husband got divorced last year, after that little… misunderstanding, with the gardener," she addresses Peach Silk, then rounds on the other woman. "And Mrs Smethson. I was so sorry to hear your son was expelled from college. It's a pity your husband couldn't arrange for them to overlook his… indiscretions." She follows this up with a wide beam. "Yet, I'm so glad you two could grace us with your presence today."

The women force icily polite smiles, and then exit. Quinn doesn't even wait for them to be gone before she turns to Marley. "Are you okay?"

She forces her own icy smile. "Yeah. You didn't have to stick up for me, I'm used to that."

She notices a flicker of hurt on Quinn's face, but her expression quickly smooths over into blankness. "I'm sorry that happened."

"Me too." She blinks and feels hot wetness on her cheeks; angrily, she swipes at them. "I have to go. My mom will be wondering where I am." And she brushes past Quinn, snatching the platter as she goes.

Quinn doesn't stop her.

"Sweetheart, is somethin' wrong?" asks Millie.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm just tired. All that prep work, and the party."

"Your eyes're red."

"There was a lot of pollen in the back garden." Marley buckles her seat belt. "Can we go? I really need a shower."

When she turns on her phone the next morning, there's a text from Quinn: I'm sorry. Call me when you get this pls

She takes a deep, steadying breath, and then presses the call button.

Quinn picks up on the third ring. "Marley? Hi. Thanks for calling, I wasn't sure you would."

"Hi, Quinn," she says. She feels a lot better, albeit a little hollow.

"Have you got any plans today? Can you meet me at the Lima Bean?"

She takes a deep breath. "Okay."

Quinn's already there. She stands up when Marley reaches the table. "I'm sorry about yesterday," says Quinn, "for what those women said."

"Why are you apologizing so much? You've nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do. It shouldn't have happened at all."

Marley smiles faintly. "But you defended me spectacularly. You went all Head-Bitch-in-Charge on them."

"Oh god. That nickname comes back to haunt me."

"I'm not mad at you, Quinn. I'm glad you stuck up for me, them being your mom's friends and all."

Quinn nods, but doesn't lose her vaguely guilty expression.

"Is something else bothering you?"

"No," says Quinn quickly.

Marley has an epiphany. "You're worried I think you and your mom agree with them."

"No!" But her eyes tell another story.

It dawns on Marley, then, that the both of them have been looking at their friendship through very different lenses. "... okay. You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"You're not being nice to me 'cause you wanted something from us," says Marley bluntly. "But you have a past. People have believed the worst of you. I've heard the stories," she speaks louder, over the beginning of Quinn's protests, "I don't believe that's who you are now."

Quinn looks away.

Marley sighs. But before she can say anything, Quinn jerks her head back up, her determined gaze finding Marley's. "I'm sorry," she starts jerkily. "I'll just go."

"Quinn, wait."

She actually does pause, and Marley rushes her words out before the older girl can flee: "I invited you to my house for dinner."

Hazel eyes narrow in confusion, but it works; Quinn stops gathering up her things to listen. "I'm sorry?"

"The thing is – I don't do that for just everyone," says Marley. "Tina, Sam, Jake… only Unique's been to my house before, and I've known her for years." She reaches for the book in her bag, gripping the spine for courage. "I trust you. Believe me, it's weird for me since I don't usually trust people so quickly, but – I don't think you're friends with me because you want something. And I know neither does my mom."

Slowly, Quinn subsides. Her shoulders lose their tension. "You and Rachel are scarily alike," she says, shaking her head. "Always forgiving me, seeing the best in everything…"

Why do you always think you need to be forgiven? The thought flits into Marley's mind, but is tamped down in favor of a warm smile. Quinn has her hands clasped together on the table, in front of her. She looks like a little girl waiting for a reprimand. The sight spurs Marley to rest her hand on Quinn's before she can overthink the gesture.

Quinn looks up, surprised.

"We're friends," Marley says decisively, "okay?"

"... Okay."

She heard that Blake might be joining Quinn in Lima for the summer. She remembers (very vaguely) the last time Quinn brought a boyfriend home; some wealthy-looking guy from Yale who looked bored out of his mind.

"Biff Apple," says Unique with a nod.

"Apple?"

"McIntosh. Same thing." She makes a vague gesture with her nail file, then goes back to work on her left pinky nail. "Does this look even to you?"

Tina squints at her. "Looks fine."

"Good."

Marley sprawls on the bed, scooting on her front towards them, propping her chin up on her clasped hands. "How do you even remember that?"

Unique smirks. "'Cause Quinn tried to take his nose off in the parking lot after."

"No."

"Yes!" Unique looks incredibly smug. "Jake told me after hearing it from Puck. The uppity fucker – "

"Unique!"

"Well, he is!"

Marley sighs. "Go on."

"He had this totally different image of Quinn. Like, he didn't know about her scandalous past, et cetera, et cetera; then Santana and all told him. Apple boy wasn't happy, nope. He called her a slutbag."

"What?"

Tina nods. "That's when she attacked him," she takes up the narration, "then Puck threw him in the dumpster."

Unique blinks at her. "How'd you know?"

"I saw him trying to climb out. He asked me for help." Tina shrugs. "The whole time he was ranting about Puck and Quinn."

"You didn't actually help him, did you?" asks Unique, wrinkling her nose.

"Well… I told him there was a latch at the bottom that he could pull to open the emergency hatch in the side of the dumpster," replies Tina.

"But… there's no emergency hatch," says Marley with a frown.

Tina shrugs again, but she's grinning. "He didn't know that. I guess now he does, after rummaging through all that trash."

Unique cackles. "OMG, I love you, babe," she exclaims, clapping her hands together and kissing Tina's cheek.

Marley feels a little conflicted. On one hand, she was there; she knows that Biff didn't make much of an effort to understand Quinn's interest in Glee or to interact with her friends. He certainly deserved what he got, especially after what he called Quinn.

But Marley feels more. She wants to slap him, to hurt him for daring to hurt Quinn like that. It scares her; the trembling of her hands, the clench of her chest, and the primal urge to tear him apart with her bare hands.

"Marl?"

She looks up into concerned brown eyes. "You okay, hon?" asks Unique, fingers curling around her clenched hand. Marley relaxes under the touch.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Quinn comes by for their movie night, but there's something off. Marley can read the older girl now, though not as well as she would like.

"Are you okay?"

Her attention was trained on the TV. "Yeah," she replies, still not looking at Marley.

Marley purses her lips. She reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." There's a hard edge to her voice that Marley has learned to recognize, and remembers from the time at Puck's party, when she was talking about her baby. As before, Marley doesn't probe; just goes to the kitchen to fetch another drink, putting it on the coffee table in front of Quinn.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"It's nothing much."

"Well, okay." She makes no move to continue the movie, however. Marley watches Quinn carefully.

Just when she's about to give in and pick up the remote, Quinn says: "I talked to my mom this afternoon."

"Oh?" Marley doesn't know Judy Fabray, but she knows this can be nothing good.

"About those bitches at the party."

Marley clenches her jaw, controlling the wave of anxiety that rushes through her belly.

"It didn't… go so well." Quinn finally turns to her then, eyes soft. "I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" is the first thing Marley can think to say of.

"Huh?"

"It's your mom, not you. You don't have anything to be sorry for, Quinn; you've been a great friend." She scoots closer but hesitates when about to rest a hand on Quinn's, still nervous about initiating physical contact.

"Yeah. I… she said some things that got to me, that's all." Quinn shakes her head.

"Oh. That sucks," says Marley. She knows first-hand how deeply words can cut.

"There's something I've always wanted to ask you," says Quinn, and then bites her lower lip as though regretting she's said that much.

"About?"

"About… back then."

"Oh." Marley drops her gaze. So far, she's garnered enough information about Quinn to know her past is about as painful as her own. Marley's better now, but she wonders if that means she can talk about it – even just glossing over, as Quinn did.

Her deliberation lasts a little too long, because Quinn stops fidgeting with the hem of her skirt and says: "Forget it, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

"No, I mean…" She pauses as she searches for the right words. "I do want to – my therapist said it would be good if I could. Talk about it, I mean. She said it was part of the healing process."

"You haven't talked about it yet?"

Marley shakes her head.

Quinn sighs. Thankfully, she doesn't say anything – and doesn't need to. Marley knows very well the struggle and loneliness of carrying something dark and heavy inside, and the fear of rejection.

It's this mindfulness that spurs Marley onward past her last doubts. She places a hand on Quinn's knee. "Ask," she says with determination.

A tiny smile glimmers on Quinn's face. Her thumb brushes the back of Marley's hand. "It must have been hard, with everything," she starts tentative, "keeping it from your mom."

Marley closes her eyes and lets herself revisit those months. "It was a struggle," she confesses. "There was food everywhere. Mom always wanted me to taste test new dishes, or she'd saved me something from the cafeteria for lunch and I was expected to eat in front of her. I had a schedule drawn up. Times I could go to the bathroom to – to purge – without anyone missing me. Places no one went to. I was so tired all the time, I was starving, and the worst part was…" She takes a deep shuddering breath. "I would look in the mirror and all I could see was that it wasn't working. Everything was crumbling around me and it was all for nothing; I was bloated and fat."

Quinn makes an angry noise but doesn't interrupt. Her fingers wrap around Marley's wrist.

"I was in really bad shape when I started therapy. Angry and tired. I didn't want to talk because I'd hid it for so long, I'd worked so hard to make sure no one found out." She laughs mirthlessly. "It was a while before I could enjoy eating again."

"I'm so proud of you," says Quinn quietly, "all the progress you've made. You've come a long way."

She smiles absently. "It's part of the reason why my mom started taking proper catering jobs, you know. She used to bake for people as a hobby, but we needed the money to pay for therapy. She didn't need to – "

" – Stop right there," orders Quinn, giving Marley's wrist a shake. "Don't do that."

"Sorry." Marley gives her a rueful smile – which rapidly dissolves into tears on seeing Quinn's own tear-filled eyes. She cries into Quinn's shoulder, the latter holding her and rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," murmurs Quinn into her ear, once her tears have slowed. "I should have known better."

"No, it's fine." Marley pulls away a little, just so she can look Quinn in the eye. "I'm glad you asked. I needed that too, and… it feels good. Like, I feel that the more I talk about it, someday it won't affect me this much."

Quinn smiles sheepishly. "If only I'd known that earlier," she says, deadpan, and it makes Marley smile as well.

"Better now than never, right?"

"Oh, certainly." Quinn settles back into the couch, and Marley does too; by unspoken agreement, they continue the movie. Marley's hand doesn't leave Quinn's throughout.

Much later that night, it occurs to Marley that she has no idea what set Quinn off so badly. Her friend has gone through so much, and there's still more that she doesn't know about her – case in point, Biff McIntosh.

She would love to be there for Quinn, just like Quinn's been there for her.

If Quinn ever trusts her enough to let her.

She is writing at her desk when Marley enters, but clearly is expecting her. "Hi, Marley," says the woman, smiling broadly, "it's good to see you."

"Hey, Doctor C." Marley shakes the woman's hand and takes a seat in the plush leather armchair.

"Sweet?" The bowl on the desk is pushed in her direction.

"Thanks."

"You look great. How's school and New York?"

"Both are great." She takes her time unwrapping her butterscotch candy. It's a habit she's developed when formulating answers to her therapist, so she doesn't get overwhelmed. "I'm holding a 3.2 GPA, and my professor wants me to start on my professional portfolio next year. My manager promised me a pay raise if I go back."

"That's wonderful." Doctor C makes a note on the pad in front of her.

"I, um, I'm doing fine with the other stuff too. I eat fast food once in a while, when my roommates order takeout."

Doctor C beams at her. "I'm glad. How did you feel about that?"

She takes her time. "Guilty, at first," admits Marley, looking down at the candy wrapper in her hands. "Like I was cheating. Calculating how much work I would have to do to make up for it. But it passed really fast. I haven't let it take over in a while, so I knew I could let it go."

"Very well done." Her therapist sets aside her pen and pad, steepling her fingers. "You've made remarkable progress, Marley."

"Thanks."

"Which is why I'm wondering why you made this appointment," says Doctor C gently. "It's only been six months since our yearly update."

Her stomach turns over. "I, um, I wanted to talk about something that's been bothering me."

"Oh, okay. What's on your mind?"

"I'm… I don't know." Even now, admitting it to her therapist feels like a mountain to overcome, almost as bad as before. "I have these feelings which scare me."

Doctor C's eyes soften at the edges. "Do you think you can talk about it?"

Marley relates the story of Biff's dumpster dive; the therapist's mouth twitches at the sides at the part about the emergency hatch but she makes no other reaction. "I was so angry," she says quietly, "just… rage."

"That's normal. Biff said terrible things about someone you care about."

"But I didn't… I wanted to hurt him badly." Marley reaches for another piece of candy. "I wasn't this angry when Unique was catfished. Or even when I found out Kitty knowingly made me develop my disorder. I think…" Her voice falters, "I think that if he'd been in front of me, I'd have killed him."

Doctor C is silent for a moment. Marley keeps her head bowed as she contemplates the lime burst between her fingers, turning the candy over and over.

Eventually, she speaks. "You care about Quinn a great deal, don't you?"

Marley nods.

"I understand she's had quite the tumultuous life?" She follows up with a quick, "As always, everything you tell me remains in this room."

Marley laughs. "That would be an understatement, but yes." Doctor C knows the bare facts, but not in detail; Marley hasn't yet been comfortable enough to share what she knows of her friend's secrets – even with her therapist.

"Would you say that she trusts you?"

"Enough to share those personal things with me."

"Do you trust her?"

She pauses. "I…"

Doctor C waits.

"She knows about me, about this. She was the one who noticed in the first place. She's never judged me for any of it, nor has she pressured me into talking, or anything I didn't want to do. She's protected me." Marley lifts her head. "I trust her."

Doctor C smiles. "Good. That's good."

"But, sometimes I just wish…" She fumbles, actually physically fumbles, for the right words. "I wish that she would open up more. I mean, I understand that she – "

Her therapist holds up a hand. "I'm going to stop you there, Marley. Do you know why?"

She nods. "This is a safe space," she recites, "and I never have to moderate myself."

"Precisely. Could you repeat that, please, as you intended?"

"I want her to open up," says Marley bluntly. "Most of what I know about her is what Rachel – her best friend – told me, or through other friends. To me, she's only ever confirmed it, or talked about it briefly. I wish she would trust me enough to talk to me about what she's feeling – or she felt. I mean – I do trust her, but – yeah."

Doctor C nods thoughtfully. "First, thank you for using your words, Marley."

Marley ducks her head. "Thanks."

"Secondly, what you're feeling is perfectly normal. You've shared a lot of your thoughts, experiences, and feelings with Quinn; it's not strange to want the same." The therapist folds her hands on the writing pad in front of her. "In my professional opinion, I don't see any reason for concern."

"In your personal opinion?"

The older woman smiles. "In my personal opinion, I think it's only a matter of time. Quinn gives me the impression that she's a very private young woman who needs time and space to open up. You've been a good friend to her, from what I've heard."

"Oh."

On Quinn's last night in Lima, they drive out a little further, almost out of town. There is a small place overlooking a pond, where the only lights are from their car headlights and the moon. They've been here before.

Not geographically, Marley thinks; Quinn's driving, but she picked their parking spot. They're at the field overlooking the railyard – much to Quinn's amusement – but it's devoid of people, and it's somewhere they won't be disturbed.

"How'd you get to know about this place?" asks Quinn, already halfway through her ice cream.

Marley flushes scarlet. "Jake took me here once," she mutters, "and he said his brother used to bring girls here to make out with. Not that we actually did anything."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Of course it had to be Puckerman." She doesn't comment further – Marley's eternally grateful.

It's cool enough that they don't need to blast the air conditioning. Marley sighs in contentment.

"Recline your seat all the way," says Quinn.

Bemused, she does.

Quinn reaches up and slides back a hatch to reveal a sunroof, the moon and stars neatly framed within. "Stargazing in comfort."

"That's awesome. How did we not do this earlier?"

"I forgot about it until Rachel browsed through my owner's manual yesterday," admits Quinn sheepishly.

Marley hums. Between the satisfaction of dinner, the comfort of plush leather seats, and the company of one of her best friends, she's feeling incredibly content in this moment. "What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?"

"Um…" Suddenly shy, she repeats her question.

"Were you looking for something deep and insightful, or just mundane?" asks Quinn, a smile playing on her lips.

"Whatever. Really, I just… wanted to find words to describe this."

Quinn moves her body so her head tips to one side, nudging Marley's shoulder. "I really don't think there should be."

Marley hums her agreement.

Author's Notes: Chapter title comes from Leave Your Lover by Sam Smith. Extended author's notes and further meta about this story can be found on my Tumblr; I'm yumi-michiyo there.