The Shortest Distance

by yumi michiyo

It starts with a friendship composed of books, lazy summer afternoons, and understanding; it gradually blossoms into more. Slowburn Fabrose. Season 4 canon divergence!AU.

6. Part Five

Part Five: Oh, and patience is hard when you just don't know (Where all the waiting is taking you)

---

The first week of January passes uneventfully. Her mom spends Christmas and New Year's in New York for a change, and the rest of her time was spent working. Quinn seems just as busy; she's either in the office or sifting through work at home when Marley calls. The younger girl makes it her job to ensure Quinn gets enough leisure time, paging through events and new eateries and exhibitions they can visit.

"Marl?"

She glances up from her phone. Alex has a beer in his hand, setting her cranberry vodka on the table.

"Thanks, Alex."

He smiles, kissing her cheek. "Anytime."

Her phone buzzes in her hand. Quinn picks the contemporary art gallery visit over the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibition, which just makes Marley scowl. She types her scathing reply out and sends it.

Applauses fills the air. The guitarist takes his bows and steps off the stage. "He's not bad," says Alex, "I wonder if he's selling any of his stuff."

"Yeah," agrees Marley, who has heard approximately none of the man's set.

"Which bit did you like? I didn't care for the opening song, but his cover of Hallelujah wasn't bad – which is saying something since that song's been done to death. Though if you'd asked me, he should've done something that showed off his guitar skills a bit more."

"Uhh…" She's saved when her phone buzzes again. "Sorry," says Marley apologetically.

"It's alright. It's Quinn, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm." She's already engrossed with rebutting Quinn's points about Wright's less-than-impressive designs.

---

The moment arrives when her internship formally ends. Her supervisor finishes his speech and promises to deliver his reports to their professors, they all pose for photos outside.

Alex finds her as she's packing up her things. "Hey," he says.

"Hi." Marley finds it amusing that they've been going out for a few months now, and he's still as awkward as the first time he asked her out. "What's up?" she asks, resting her arms on top of her box.

"Nothing, really." He smiles. "Just can't believe it's over, and we're back in school. With classes. Professors."

"Yeah."

"So, listen," he starts, "I know we won't be seeing each other that often now, but… we're gonna continue dating, aren't we?"

"Of course?" She says without thinking, honestly baffled by the question.

Alex beams one of his megawatt smiles. "Oh, thank god. I really… I honestly didn't think you'd still want to go out with me after this. Like, you're way out of my league."

"What, really? I thought you were way out of my league."

"No way. I was the gangly small town kid back home in Topeka. Whatever you see now was puberty hitting me in the face like a freight train."

Marley laughs.

"Now that's out of the way, are you free Friday night? I've got two tickets to an open-mic night my classmate gave me."

"I'd love to."

"Cool." He leans forward to peck her on the cheek. "Look, I've gotta run. I'll pick you up at your place at seven?"

"Sure. Bye."

She watches him go. There's a weird sensation that she can't quite put her finger on.

She really likes Alex. He's handsome and sweet and funny. They get along well. Most importantly, he respects her limits, and genuinely cares about her as a person.

All that, and there's still something… lacking. She shakes off the feeling and goes back to her work.

---

She's just minding her own business, sitting on the edge of Quinn's bed and chatting about classes, when the door opens.

Rachel barely has enough time to say, "Can I borrow you for a minute, Marley?" before Santana grabs her arm and leads her away – or more accurately, drags.

"What?"

"I need your help," says Santana bluntly.

"Okay…?"

Rachel smacks Santana's thigh. She scowls. "Santana's going to record an album," says Rachel, looking pointedly at her girlfriend, "and we'd love it if you'd produce it."

Marley's jaw drops open. "You – that's amazing! But, me? You want me to... I'm not even out of school yet."

Quinn, who's followed them indignantly the moment Marley was kidnapped, gasps. "You're finally doing it? You got the funding?"

"We sure did, Q-ball," Santana snorts. To Marley, she adds: "You got in at fucking Atlantic Records. I'd say you know your stuff."

"I'll be contributing guest vocals, of course," Rachel interjects excitedly, "and providing songwriting expertise. It'll be great! Please say yes!"

Marley looks at Quinn, who smiles back. "What? It's a great opportunity."

"Damn straight," says Santana.

Quinn's right; it is a perfect opportunity. She's cut her teeth on actual album work in her internship, her professors are on her to find relevant projects for work experience, she gets to help her friends chase their dreams…

"I'm in," says Marley. Rachel squeals and hugs her.

---

When classes start, they fall into a routine where Alex walks her to class first, and then he heads to Cornell's campus for his afternoon classes.

Normally they part with a hug, but today he kisses Marley and says: "See you later, Marley. Love you."

It's so casual, so unexpected, that she doesn't fully process it until he's gone, the scent of his cologne lingering. Some titters sound from the spectators who clearly think she's standing there in a daze because she's madly in love.

But she's not.

---

"Okay. Cut. Cut. Stop."

Santana pushes back her headphones, putting her hands on her hips, fixing Marley with a look.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

"I should be asking you that. What's up with you, Rose?"

Alex comes to mind immediately. "Nothing," is what Marley says instead.

Santana tuts. "Saying nothing's wrong isn't gonna magically make everything okay, y'know. Trust me, I spent a long time in that stage of denial."

She brushes her fringe away from her eyes. "I just… it's complicated."

Santana sets her headphones down and exits the recording booth, pulling a swivel chair over to Marley with the spike of her shoe. "I know complicated, I'm dating it. Try me."

Marley chuckles weakly. "I'm not sure Rachel would appreciate that comment."

"She'll deal with it. It's what she does." Santana adjusts her seat. "And don't think I don't know what you're trying to do; told ya, I know complicated."

She sighs. "I… I'm conflicted."

"Mmhmm. And?"

"And… I don't know what to do. I don't even know what's wrong."

"Boy troubles?"

Marley gives a surprised laugh. "I – no. Alex is great. Alex and I – we're great."

"Okay," replies Santana. "Then what's the problem? School?"

"Nah."

"Problems with Quinnifer?"

Marley starts. "Definitely not! Why would you say that?"

"Hey, if you're not gonna tell it to me straight, I'm gonna poke around making wild guesses until I get tired of the damn game," shrugs Santana. "I'm not Rachel Berry."

She sighs. A restless, agitated energy buzzes beneath her skin. "Can we just… go back to work?"

Santana stands up. "Sure. But you gots to bring your A game, 'cause whatever you're doing out there isn't it," she calls over her shoulder.

Marley presses her lips together, flipping the switch to replay the minus one track.

---

She should've guessed something was up when Rachel asked to meet to discuss "the creative direction of Santana's album". She lasted all of ten minutes before shoving her planner to one side.

"Santana mentioned you're having…difficulties," says Rachel as casually as she can – meaning, not at all – as she leans forward on her elbows.

"I'm not. It's just complicated."

She makes a knowing sound. "If you prefer, I could help you with that? I've been told I can be complicated."

"By Santana?"

Rachel grins. "Among others. I know I'm a bit of a handful, but Santana told me that it wouldn't be a problem because she's got two hands."

"That's… incredibly sweet for her."

"Mmhmm. I find her soft side incredibly appealing, and I can't understand why she wants to hide it. As a matter of fact, if she ever finds out I told you that, she'll kill me." She looks strangely excited by the prospect, and Marley feels the urge to change the subject.

"I'm not having difficulties. I'm just at this point in my life which I don't know what I'm doing."

"That sounds normal. While I've known what I wanted to do with my life from the age of five, most people struggle with that exact same thing." Rachel's expression changes. "However, if your problem involves heterosexual intercourse, I'm afraid I'll have to get back to you on that; it's been a while since I've slept with a guy – "

"No! Oh my god, no," blurts out Marley, red-faced. "It's definitely – I just wanted to know how you know whether you're in love with someone or not. Not sex or – anything like that." She groans, mortified.

Rachel actually looks more eager, if Marley ever thought it could be possible. "Oh. Well, it's different for everyone, I believe. For me, it was when I woke up one morning, looked at Santana, and I could imagine waking up to her every morning for the rest of my life."

"Oh."

"That was for me," she repeats, blushing furiously. "I'm fairly certain it's different for everyone." Rachel's eyes brighten again. "Are you and Alex…?"

"No. I don't think so. I don't know." She mimics Rachel's pose (elbow on the table, chin on her hand) and sighs. "I… he told me he loves me. We've been dating for eight months next Friday; shouldn't there be something by now?"

Rachel frowns. "Wait. You're saying… you don't feel anything for him? A spark? Fireworks? No?"

"I don't know," says Marley helplessly. "I have no idea how these things are supposed to feel like."

"Oh dear," says Rachel, sighing as well. "Okay. Where do you see yourself in five years?"

"Uh… I don't know. Working here in New York in… a recording studio? With a well-known label?"

Rachel smiles encouragingly at her. "Good, good," she says, "let's say you win an award. Best Producer, at maybe… Billboards. Who do you thank in your acceptance speech?"

"My mom," says Marley automatically. "You guys, for getting me started. Quinn. Unique. Whoever I'm dating."

Rachel's smile slips a little. "Whoever you're dating? Not Alex?"

"I…" It just confirms whatever she's feared. She doesn't care to ask what leaps of logic Rachel's used to arrive at her conclusion. "I don't know."

Rachel reaches for her hand and squeezes her fingers. "Could you tell me exactly what happened between you and Alex? Please?"

"He told me he loves me."

"Oh."

"And I couldn't – I can't say it back. Not the way he means, and he wants. We were – I thought we were good, because he's sweet, and kind, and… wonderful."

"Marley. Sweetie, look at me." She sees the concern in Rachel's eyes, and then realises they're getting looks from the people in their immediate vicinity. "It's alright. You're okay. There's nothing wrong with you."

"I thought it was supposed to be like this," she says brokenly.

Rachel attempts to pull her into a hug, remembers she's sitting across the table, then scoots to Marley's side to hug her. "Everything will work out," she says, "you'll see."

"Really?"

"Really," says Rachel firmly, "take it from me; I was formerly engaged to the high school quarterback and now I'm in a happy relationship with one of the cheerleaders."

---

She needs time and space. Rachel's words continue to linger at the back of her mind. The other woman's been sworn to secrecy – even from Santana, which Marley greatly appreciates – but Marley knows that it's only a matter of time.

Her fingers find her phone, and she texts Quinn to check if she's free.

---

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," lies Marley as she follows Quinn up the steps. "I just felt like a quiet afternoon."

Quinn hums. "Well, I'm glad you're sharing it with me." She pulls out her purse and buys two tickets before Marley can stop her. Amidst Marley's protests, she says: "Pay me back when S's album takes off."

"That's not a sound investment."

"You're a music major. What do you know about finance?"

"Not much." She leads the way into the galleries.

There's no set route, no plan. She's been to the Guggenheim before, but never to their permanent exhibition; Marley wanders from display to display with her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

While the effect the hushed gallery has on her is substantial, it's not exactly the same as the last time. She passes each painting with a cursory glance, thoughts running a mile a minute. Her restlessness still buzzes vaguely, the anxiety over her procrastination making its presence felt.

At the end of the hall, a gentle pressure on her elbow stills her. "Let's go," says Quinn, glancing at the exit.

"Huh? We just got here."

"Yeah? And it's time to go. C'mon."

Completely baffled, Marley lets Quinn take them out of the gallery. "You just wasted fifty bucks – oh my god, you paid for my ticket, too."

Quinn shrugs. "So? It's just money, and we have better things to do." She leads the way down the street.

"But…"

"Rose, just be quiet, and follow me. Do you trust me?"

"Always," she says immediately.

Quinn's expression softens, and she turns her attention back on the way ahead of them, towards…

"A bookstore?"

"A bookstore," confirms Quinn. She opens the door. "Pick out something."

On the first day of fifth grade, she'd been seated next to a boy called Ricky Grossman who spoke with a heavy lisp. It had taken her a week to understand what he was saying as she stared, bewildered, at him.

Marley feels like that now as she stands in the bookstore, in front of a rack holding new arrivals.

"Huh?"

"Pick something," repeats Quinn. She's moved to the non-fiction section, a thick tome already in her hands. "When was the last time you read a book?"

"A while," she mumbles, abashed. Friday reading nights had become date nights, weekends for gigs and performances, her tiny amount of free time given to Alex.

"Exactly. Get something not related to school," commands Quinn.

She takes a step forward. Her fingers brush the spine of the closest book. She stands, paralyzed by indecision, and all the books that she's been putting off until tomorrow.

And then a hand on the back of her shoulder turns her around. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

Quinn smiles. She is led back outside, to a new destination which is less mystifying.

Central Park is fairly crowded on a Saturday afternoon, but they quickly find a shaded spot on the grass where they can sit. Quinn takes a book out of her bag, placing it in her lap; she doesn't open it, though.

She feels grass prickle under her skin. The ground is warm from the sun. A breeze ruffles her hair.

Marley breathes. A piece of the puzzle falls into place, familiar and comfortable like it's never been absent. She closes her eyes, and lets herself be.

It doesn't seem like any time has passed the next she knows. But when she opens her eyes again, the shadows have changed.

"Marley, is something wrong?"

It's a familiar refrain over the past two weeks. She finally feels settled in her own skin, enough that she ponders the question. But Marley still stalls for time as she turns to face Quinn.

"I… I'm not happy."

"Why not?"

She knows why not, but she's not yet brave enough to say it. Marley lowers her head, fingers picking at the grass.

"Hey," says Quinn softly. She scoots closer. "Talk to me."

For all that they've talked, she's never talked about her feelings with Quinn. The words stick in her throat, and Marley chooses a slightly less dangerous path of conversation. "I… how do you know you're in love with someone?"

Quinn frowns. "I don't think I'm the best person to ask," she says with a rueful smile, "seeing that I'm currently single."

"Did you like the guys you dated?"

"Of course! Otherwise why would I have dated them?"

Marley arches an eyebrow – a gesture she's learned from Quinn herself. Quinn laughingly lifts a hand in defeat.

"I liked the guys in high school well enough – otherwise I was gonna torture myself having to spend time with them. Plus, you can't really fake chemistry." Quinn tilts her head to one side, losing herself in memories.

"How about love?" And she treads on dangerous territory, but Marley really wants to know.

"I loved Blake," admits Quinn softly. "I wanted to spend every moment of the day with him. I thought about him when we were apart, I cared about what he thought, what he liked to do. But in love with him? I don't know. You should ask Rachel; Santana would probably laugh and then give you some dumb answer."

Marley looks away. "Oh."

"Are you in love with Alex?"

"... No." But she hesitates too long.

Quinn has this look on her face like she knows Marley isn't being fully candid with her – but it's gone, replaced by patient understanding. "I'll be here, whenever you're ready to talk," says Quinn firmly.

A weight settles, soft, in Marley's lap. A copy of Perks of Being a Wallflower sits there. She stares at it for a long moment, before staring at Quinn, who only smiles back.

Marley opens the book to a random page. Fittingly, the first line of text she sees is:

"And in that moment, I swear, we were infinite."

---

He opens the door with a broad grin. "Hey! I wasn't expecting to see you so soon." He bends to kiss her; she turns her head so his lips brush her cheek.

"Alex… we need to talk."

His brow furrows. "Okay?" He sits down on his couch. "What's up?"

"We've been dating for eight months…"

"Nine, actually."

She flushes. If she had needed further proof of their failure, it was here. "... yeah. I think we… it's not working."

He stares at her, silent and shocked. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I like you – but that's it. I don't feel anything more." She forces herself to meet his eyes. "I never wanted this to happen, but I – "

"Save it," he interrupts sharply. Alex stands, his jaw clenched. "So that's it? That's how you're breaking up with me?"

"Alex…"

"No, you know what? Fuck it. I don't want to hear any more. It's not my fault, it's yours, right?" He's angry, but quietly so; Marley feels like her insides are being squeezed by an icy cold fist. "I've heard that old story before."

"I'm sorry." It's all she can think to say.

"Fuck. Should've seen it coming. You've been distant lately, and I thought I'd give you space…" He shakes his head. "And you came all this way to tell me. Convenient. I guess I should be thankful, right?" Alex strides over to the door and wrenches it open. She takes it as her cue to leave, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Wait."

She pauses just outside, turning her head. He's fighting tears of his own, but one manages to trickle down a cheek. "Did you ever try? At all?"

"So hard," she whispers. "I'm so sorry." His expression is grim. Finally, he nods, once, before the door is shut in her face.

---

She arrives home somehow, face wet with tears. Stan and Gavin are home; they take one look at her, and chivvy her to her room, relieving her of her coat and hat.

"Darling, are you alright? Are you hurt?" cries Gavin.

"Of course she's not alright, Gav; she's crying."

"Not really in the mood for your comedy routine, guys," she says, mopping her face with her sleeve; Gavin tuts and hands her tissues.

"Sorry."

They hover nervously, exchanging glances. "You… you wanna talk about it?" asks Gavin nervously, "unless, of course, it's your – time of the month." He looks like he's about to say more, but Stan elbows him hard.

She tries to say no, she really does; but her face crumples with a fresh round of sobs. Through her tears, she's aware of the boys fleeing her room.

---

The door opens again. "I really appreciate you guys trying to be supportive, but I'd really like to be alone now," Marley says tiredly.

The bed dips under a person's weight; the newcomer says nothing, but a hand strokes her hair.

Her heart swells. "Quinn?" Marley sits up.

Quinn smiles at her. Hands brush hair away from Marley's face, and she's suddenly self-conscious of what a mess she must look. But when she tries to turn away, Quinn's hands keep her in place, thumbs stroking her cheeks.

She falls. Quinn catches her.

---

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Quinn's voice is steady, devoid of pressure or even curiosity. She doesn't lift her cheek from where it's pressed against the top of Marley's head, nor move her arms from around Marley's waist.

By this time, she's all cried out. Marley feels drowsy, snuggled into her best friend like this; it reminds her of how her mother used to hold her after a nightmare, when she was younger. "I broke up with Alex."

"What?"

"It wasn't working out. I… we talked, and mutually decided to end it." The lie slips out easily, and Marley's almost appalled at herself. She's afraid that Quinn will judge her if she said that she was the one who broke up with Alex for the simple reason that she doesn't love him as much as he loves her. Of course, there's the greater, more rational part of Marley who knows that won't happen, but that's not the part that takes control today.

For now, all she can think of is not having Quinn be disappointed in her.

"Oh." Quinn's hand starts up a rhythmic, circular pattern on Marley's shoulder. She leans into the touch automatically. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Me too."

"You guys seemed to be doing well."

"Seemed, I guess." She sits up, rolling her neck to ease the stiffness.

"Here, let me."

"You don't need to. I'm fine…" She trails off when Quinn fixes her with a stern look, then allows herself to be coaxed into turning around. Marley sighs when thumbs dig into the meat of her shoulders, soothing the tensed muscles.

"Better?"

"Mmmmm." She tries not to purr, but the sound comes out long and lazy, and she hears a laugh from behind. "I mean, much better. Thanks."

"Anytime." Quinn's fingers continue to move, the touch more gentle now. Finally, she drops her hands. Marley stretches.

"Thanks," she says quietly. "For coming."

Her friend just shakes her head, smiling.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Okay."

---

Marley refocuses her energy back into her music. There is so much left neglected and postponed, the pieces of her life set on hold to make room for Alex's.

Consequences, and her solutions to those consequences, are quickly evident.

"You want to what?"

She quails momentarily under the look on Santana's face, but soon gathers herself. "Revise the entire album," she repeats. "I've had a breakthrough, and I think that while it's good, it can be phenomenal."

Santana's frown deepens. "What kind of breakthrough? Have you been snorting cocaine with your music man?"

"Actually," she says calmly, "Alex and I broke up."

Santana's eyebrows go up. "The fuck?"

Rachel, who has been silent up until this moment, stirs herself to say "Santana," in a severe voice. It cows Santana instantly.

"It wasn't going well, and it showed in my work on your album," adds Marley. "I've been distracted over the past few months, and I'm sorry for that."

Santana just nods. "Okay."

She blinks. "Okay?"

"Okay. As long as you got your head screwed on right this time." Santana squints at her. "You do, right?"

And she pauses. Rachel shifts, attempting to make eye contact, and Marley takes a deep breath. "Yeah," she says, holding Rachel's gaze, "I do."

Rachel beams. Santana ruins the moment by saying, "Yeah, okay then."

---

Much to her dismay, Rachel corners her in the bathroom. "You broke up with Alex?"

"Yeah."

"That's good," says Rachel firmly. "It's not fair to you both if both parties aren't fully committed to the relationship. You're much better than I was."

"Thanks?" Marley's heard plenty of stories about Rachel's – and by association, Quinn's and Santana's – complex personal life, and she's hoping Rachel won't take this opportunity to overshare.

Rachel, however, doesn't seem to be in the mood for storytelling. "So… whatever your next move is, you know that Santana and I support you fully, right? I mean, it would be hypocritical of us to be anything but."

"Huh?"

Rachel's smile loses some of its brightness. "I, uh… shit. I think I've said too much."

And she would normally ascribe this to Rachel being Rachel, but Marley has the sneaking feeling she knows what this is about. "Said too much? About what?"

But Rachel's backpedaling with a speed that an Olympic cyclist would envy. "Nothing at all. I'm talking out loud, I've been told I do that too many times." And she scurries away before Marley can stop her.

---

She sips restlessly on her drink. Quinn's rarely late, but when she is, it's usually with good reason. With every minute that slips by in waiting, Marley's courage ebbs away.

Marley's had time to think it over. It was wrong of her to lie – or not being forthcoming with all the facts, as Rachel put it – to Quinn about the circumstances surrounding her break up with Alex. Quinn has the impression that Alex was the guilty party and has been vociferous as a supportive best friend; Marley being Marley, she's felt guilty for it.

So that's what she's here for today. To set the record straight. It's what Quinn deserves, right?

"Hey." Quinn materializes in front of her, looking like thunder.

Marley blinks. "Are you okay? You look terrible."

Quinn grimaces. "About the same as I'm feeling, I'm sure. The usual shit day at work, plus Ethan – the new guy – hasn't gotten the memo about sexual harassment in the office and thinks himself Casanova reborn."

"What did he do?" Anger licks at the pit of her stomach.

"The usual; flirting, displays of dominance that he thinks would impress me, inability to take 'no, I'm not interested' for an answer." Quinn leans back in her chair but offers Marley a soft smile. "Nothing I haven't already fended off."

Marley stands. "What do you want? My treat."

"That's not necessary."

"Yes, it is." She stands her ground. "Can I get you a snack as well? I know we're on our way to dinner, but it can be something you can keep in your bag. I know you forget to eat lunch sometimes." It was something Rachel had often scolded Quinn for in the past when they lived together, and Marley has the sneaking suspicion Quinn's roommates aren't as meticulous in monitoring Quinn's eating habits.

Quinn winces, proving Marley correct. "Yeah – now that you mention it, I forgot to have lunch today."

"Quinn!"

"I… you know how it is, with work and all. I got caught up, that's all."

Marley's frown deepens. "That's it." She walks over to Quinn's side of the table, plucking at Quinn's sleeve. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go?" repeats Quinn. "Go where? I only just got here."

"We're gonna buy groceries – because I have no idea what's in your place – and then I'm making you a proper dinner. With leftovers that will feed you for the next couple of days." She's thankful that it's a Friday, and there's no homework or other things that require her attention. "Up, let's go."

"Bossyboots," complains Quinn, even though she's smiling. Obediently, she lets Marley walk her out the door and towards the nearest subway entrance.

"Would you prefer I tell my mom about it?" asks Marley, and grins when Quinn's eyes widen.

"Okay, okay. Forget I said anything."

"Honestly, Quinn; I know Coach Sylvester wasn't a fan of eating when you guys were on the Cheerios, but Santana doesn't have this problem."

"She's got Rachel."

"True," admits Marley. Rachel's vegetarianism meant that she had to prepare a lot of her own meals, and she religiously packs meals for a grudging Santana. "But now you have me."

Quinn gapes at her. "Huh?"

Marley giggles, emboldened by Quinn's reaction. "Yep. Once a week, I'll go over to yours. We'll make it a standing date."

"Date, huh?"

"If you'd like," she hastily adds.

Quinn shakes her head. She seems completely recovered from her initial shock at Marley's boldness. "No, that's fine. Date it is."

She's distracted from her staring when they reach Quinn's stop. Marley leads the way into the nearest supermarket and bodega, in that order, gathering ingredients.

Nicky is home when they arrive; his eyes widen when he sees how laden down they are with food, and he rushes to help. "Why'd you buy out the farm?" he asks, eyeing the army of bags on their kitchen table and countertops. "Is the zombie apocalypse happening?"

"Less snark, more helping, and you'll get lunch out of the deal," answers Marley. This is her area of expertise, and it's lent her the confidence and nerve to be saying these things to them. Hands on her hips, she surveys the groceries (organised according to recipe) and plans what to start cooking first.

"Wash and chop the veggies finely, please," she instructs Quinn, "and put them in the colanders. Nicky, are you helping?" The last is directed at Quinn's roommate, who startles from inside the fridge when his name is called.

"Uh, sure? What d'you need?"

She points at the packets of dried pasta. "Cook those al dente, please."

"All those?"

"Yeah." Marley has no time for him as she starts marinating chicken, after setting the oven to preheat. Halley's Muslim, so it means they have two sets of kitchenware (because Quinn and the boys can't give up their pork); and Marley makes the fullest use of them. She peeks into their freezer and winces at the number of frozen dinner boxes tucked inside.

"They're Ed's," says Nicky automatically.

"Y'all have got to start eating healthier."

He salutes her with the spaghetti ladle. Marley ignores him.

"Quinn, let me know when you're done with the root veggies," says Marley. She has a baking tray, pot, and roasting pan set up.

Nicky does a double take. "How are you doing all this at once?"

"Marley's mom is the best and most popular caterer in Lima. Marley's pretty good herself," answers Quinn. Her head is down as she focuses on cutting potatoes evenly, and thus she misses the hot flush that steals over Marley's face.

"Cool."

With this much confidence invested in her, Marley can't help but feel the anxiety building. "I really hope it all turns out fine, though," she demurrs.

"It'll be more than fine." Quinn offers her a brief smile as she sets chopped potato chunks on the countertop beside Marley. "If I can make your mom's mac and cheese, you definitely can whip up meals for an entire week in one go."

"That's not quite the same."

Quinn just laughs.

Her spirits buoyed, Marley adds vegetables in the roasting pan, putting the whole thing in the preheated oven to roast. "We'll have roast chicken tonight," says Marley. She frowns briefly, running through her mental menu. "Then we can continue cooking afterwards."

"What cooking afterwards?" Halley, newly arrived, kicks off her shoes with a curse, and comes over. "Oh, food."

"Marley usurped the kitchen and I've never been happier," says Nicky by way of explanation. He playfully hipchecks Halley on his way to drain another batch of pasta.

"Oh, good. Gimme a sec to get out of this monkey suit and I'll come help." She disappears into her room.

Her work done for the time being, Marley wipes her hands on the back of her shirt and goes over to Quinn. "Want me to take over?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I'm good. Thanks for offering, though."

"You're sure? I don't have anything to do now."

She pushes aside a neatly chopped bundle of spinach. "I'm sure," says Quinn. "What, do you not trust my cutting skills?" She puts a hand on a hip, one eyebrow raised.

Marley sputters, caught off-guard. "Uh, no…?"

"Relax. I'm only kidding." Quinn laughs at her before turning back to her work. "Honestly, Marl; all these years and you still haven't learned to take a joke."

"You don't joke often," snipes Marley, still a little embarrassed.

"Nonsense, I'm hilarious."

"Ladies," interrupts Nicky. He has oven mitts on as he holds a steaming pot of pasta. "I'm done with the noodles. Where do I put this?"

"Uh, the sink?" Marley goes to check on the vegetables. Satisfied with their progress, she seasons the chicken so it'll be ready to put in once the vegetables are done. She plans to time it such that she can start the pot roast before dinner, and it'll have enough time for the meat to be tender and flavourful. She puts Halley – who's been hanging around waiting for orders – to work making the side dish of mixed salad for dinner.

Her mind's not really in the cooking, though. She still feels like something's happened, a moment interrupted by Nicky. She has a feeling she might know what it is, but it scares her to delve deeper.

By the time Ed arrives, dinner is on the table, the meal prep for afterwards finished, and she's gotten the pot roast settled in the slow cooker. "Did I miss something?" asks the big man genially. "It must be big, if you've gotten the little ladies in aprons."

"Shut up Ed; at least I look good in it." Nevertheless Quinn hands him a plate.

"No seriously; why did I come home to Martha Stewart, Rachael Ray, Bobby Flay, and Guy Fieri in my kitchen?" As he names each chef, he points to Quinn, Marley, Halley, and Nicky in turn; the latter two scowl at him.

"Marley decided we weren't mature enough to make food decisions for ourselves, and magnanimously took over," announces Nicky. Quinn elbows him.

"Ungrateful. Marley's doing us a huge favour," says Quinn. She glares at the rest of her household, giving only Marley a soft smile. "She can't keep doing it, and I expect you lazy creatures to pull your weight. Honestly, she contributes more to this house than all of us, and she doesn't even live here."

"You didn't have a problem before," mutters Nicky. Quinn ignores him.

Marley doesn't know how to react. There's an undercurrent of awkwardness, yet Quinn has her chin raised. "Quinn's right," says Halley after a pause. "Thanks for everything, Marley."

The men murmur their agreement, and Quinn's shoulders relax.

---

"Well," says Marley, pulling her coat on, "I guess that's about it? Remember to let the pot roast cool completely before you freeze it. The pasta's been divided into portions, so you can…"

"... defrost accordingly. I got it the first time," Quinn finishes for her patiently.

Marley looks away, embarrassed. "Oh. Okay."

"Relax," says Quinn, playfully bumping her with an elbow. "It'll be fine. We're big boys and girls."

"If you say so." Sufficiently bundled, Marley throws her arms out for a hug, which Quinn eagerly gives.

And she remembers the original purpose of their meeting today, which she'd completely forgotten in her zeal. Marley's buoyant mood deflates, and she pulls back. "Quinn?"

"Mmm?"

"I… uhm, there's something I need to tell you."

"Okay?" Quinn becomes serious immediately.

Marley kind of hates that she has such shit timing. She's dressed to go out, already sweating a little from the heat of being indoors, and the chatter from behind Quinn is proving distracting.

She makes her decision.

"Just… remember to defrost the stuff properly before you reheat it," says Marley lamely.

Quinn shoots her a quizzical look, but nods anyway. "Of course."

---

Once home, Marley flops on her bed. "Idiot," she mutters into her pillow. It's simple, just to tell Quinn the truth about her and Alex, but – what is the truth? She can imagine that conversation: not being able to explain why she didn't develop feelings for him. He had no problem telling her he loved her.

Of course, Marley knows that Quinn, being her best friend, will accept whatever answer she's willing to give. She knows it as a fact, and yet; her tongue stays still and the words stick in her throat. "Stupid," moans Marley. She flings her face back into the pillow.

Right on cue, her phone rings. Marley cracks open an eye to check the caller ID before answering the call and putting it on speakerphone. "Hey, 'Nique."

"Heyo, babe. It's Saturday night; are you out? It's really quiet."

"I'm at home."

"What? Why?"

She rolls over. "I broke up with Alex." She's glad she put the call on speaker, because the resulting screech would have deafened her if she had the phone close to her ear.

"What? Why!"

"It wasn't working out."

"I call bullshit." The background noise fades away, as though Unique's moved into a quiet room. "Marley Rose, you tell me the truth why you broke up with that man."

"I told you!"

There's an angry tutting noise. "Babe! We don't keep secrets from each other. Whatever you tell me, is safe with me."

Marley sighs. "... I know, 'Nique, but I… I'm just so messed up now. I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know, baby." Unique's voice is softer, more gentle now. "Let me help you. Okay? Tell me everything."

She rolls onto her back, pillow clutched to her chest, staring up at the ceiling. "... he said he loved me."

Silence. She gnaws on the knuckle of her pointer finger while waiting. Finally, Unique repeats slowly: "You broke up with him because he said he loved you?"

"It's stupid, I know – " begins Marley.

"– don't say that," interrupts Unique harshly. "Don't put your instincts down. If you bailed out, it means something wrong, just that your brain hasn't caught up with your gut yet. Go on. So you broke up with him?"

She screws up her eyes. "Yeah."

"Do you regret it?"

Marley blinks back the tears that threaten to fall. "... No."

"Oh, honey," says Unique. She makes shushing noises over the phone until Marley's sobs ease. "Why are you crying, sweetie?"

"I don't know. I feel… I feel bad for leading him on for so long, and then… he's perfect, Unique. I tried so hard to be the girlfriend he wanted, but I couldn't."

"Babe. Listen to me," commands Unique. "You're right. Okay? You're right; he's perfect. But," she continues in a gentler tone, "he's not perfect for you."

"... What?"

"Do you remember what I said, years ago? When we'd just graduated high school?"

It hits her like a freight train to the chest. "Oh my god."

"Yes, sweetie."

"I thought… no way," she insists over the tightening of her chest. "She's my best friend, and we've been best friends for so long. She doesn't see me that way, and I can't ruin this friendship. It was a joke, 'Nique, just a joke."

"At first I thought it was," answers Unique carefully, "but the way you guys are together, and the way she looks at you…"

"How does she look at me?"

"You don't know?"

"She's my best friend," says Marley weakly.

"Sweetheart. I'm your best friend, and I don't look at you the way Quinn Fabray does."

"You're not a lesbian."

"I'm also not in love with you."

"Stop saying that!" Marley snaps. "Quinn's not in love with me. I'm not in love with her. We're best friends; I'm just being stupid and confused after I broke up with the perfect guy and I don't even know why."

Unique is silent for a while. "Do you?"

Marley can't answer.

"Baby. I'm not saying I'm right, but I'm not saying you're right neither," Unique starts. "I'm not in New York. I can't be there to watch your girl and give you all the answers. All I'm saying is – based on what I know and have seen – it's not as complicated as you think it is."

Her throat dry, Marley croaks: "I… have to go. Bye, Unique."

At the very least, her friend doesn't try and stop her. Marley tosses the phone to a safe distance and lets the tears fall.

---

The vacuum left in her life by Alex shouldn't be a vacuum – and yet, there it is. So much of her free time was spent going out with him, to concerts and gigs and dinners. Marley didn't mind any of it, she honestly didn't. Yet, the contrast between how she alone chooses to spend her free time, versus with Alex…

But there's no time for moping. She has projects to do, a thesis to write, and Santana's album to rework. Marley even fills the odd shift for Oscar when she can – like tonight. It's rare she gets called in on a Thursday night, but two girls on staff called out sick, and Oscar doesn't trust that she's eating enough (his words when he called her to come down).

"Rosie!" he calls when she steps into the restaurant. "Finally! My God, you get skinnier each time I see you. Thank you so much for working tonight."

"Hi, Oscar." She accepts the clap on the shoulder on her way to fetching her employee uniform from the locker in the back.

"Have you eaten? We have a cornucopia today; loads of wrong orders. I swear, these people need to learn not to chew over their words before they speak. They are not tasty like my food!"

"I'll eat later," she promises. Marley dons her apron and goes out on the floor. Tonight, ironically, she's looking forward to a break from work; she loves the feeling of helping people enjoy a good meal.

The only other waiter on the floor is the still-hapless Philip. In between orders, he happily informs her that he's an aspiring theatre actor, and he's gotten his first callback.

Marley sighs. She can imagine the expression on Oscar's face when he finds out.

Philip jerks as he spots a customer from over Marley's shoulder, scuttling to seat them, grabbing menus as he goes. She smiles and goes back to cleaning cutlery. "Um, Marley?"

She sighs again. "Phil, we've been over this. Do you need me to go over the menu code again?"

"Huh?" He gapes at her. "Uh, no, the customer asked for you. By name." He pouts, thinking of the tips he won't be getting, and jerks his head at the table.

Marley stares. "Quinn?"

She waves. "Hey."

"Okay, this whole showing up unexpectedly thing just got creepy. Even for you. Because – wow, I wasn't expecting you to show up here."

"Me neither," says Quinn lightly, "because I'm actually here on a date."

"You – what?"

Quinn shrugs a shoulder. "He works in my department, and over the past few months, apparently, he's been working up the courage to ask me out."

"Oh. Wow. That's – great," manages Marley, because for many reasons she's not about to share with Quinn, it really isn't. "I won't get in your way, then."

"Marley, wait." Quinn's fingers catch the tail end of Marley's apron. "We're still on this weekend, right?"

She presses her lips together. She'd been all for making up some excuse about work to avoid Quinn while she decides what to do with herself and her feelings, but put on the spot like this, Marley finds it impossible to lie to those bright hazel eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Beaming, Quinn releases her. Marley ducks into the kitchen, heading into the storeroom, closing the door behind her. She finds a sack of rice to sit on as she buries her face in her hands.

It's not fair to everyone. Quinn deserves to be happy (and so does she, although Marley ranks her own happiness below Quinn's). She doesn't own Quinn; she doesn't have the right to feel hurt and betrayed like this. And yet, the prick of the needle deflating the bubble Unique had put into her head… Unique was wrong. She was right. Quinn doesn't feel that way about her. And she doesn't…

She shouldn't have let herself feel that way about Quinn.

Marley scrubs at her face with her sleeve. Her cheeks tingle; she'll probably need to wash her face before heading back out on the floor. For now, she's in no hurry.

The sous chef, Dan, stops his plating to stare at her as she exits the storeroom. "Hey, Rosie. What's eating you?"

Marley jerks, surprised. She forces a smile, shaking her head. "Nothing. School stuff."

He wags a finger at her. "Leave your troubles in the school, girl. Or quit. Come learn how to cook sous vide, that'll be a nice surprise for your ol' mom."

"Just because you dropped out of culinary school doesn't mean we all can be the Bill Gates of cooking like you," Marley says, smiling. "Dan… do me a favour though?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I help you for a bit? I don't wanna go on the floor right now."

He grins at her. "Sure thing. Here, wanna make this vinaigrette for me?"

She does. Working is therapeutic, but not as much as cooking. Marley rolls her sleeves to the elbows and washes her hands as Dan rattles off the ingredient list for her dish. Her hands don't stop moving, her mind stays just as busy, but eventually the inner noise loses some of its potency.

Dan samples her vinaigrette and kisses his fingers at her. "Forget music school, go cook," he laughs, drizzling some over two portions of salad and adding garnishes. "Here, take these out before Oscar has my head for keeping you too long."

Marley does. It's substantially more busy outside; just as she delivers the salads to their table, she's fishing her order pad out of her pocket to take another table's order, and telling another diner she'll refill their water in a minute.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Quinn laughing with a dark-haired man. Marley tears her gaze away, asking the table to repeat that last order.

---

At the end of her shift, Oscar sits her down in the kitchen with what looks like a bucket of pasta, and a terse command to eat. She does; mostly because Dan made it, and partly because she hasn't had her dinner yet.

She has no appetite, but eats anyway, and flashes a thumbs-up at Dan when he asks her how is it.

---

Marley wakes up late. She'd been plagued with nightmares which she can't remember now. It's Saturday, so it's her day to feed Valentino.

"You're so lucky you're a fish," she grumbles, sprinkling pellets into the water and watching as he snaps at them. "You don't have all these problems."

The fish fixes her with a beady stare and swims away. Marley sighs, and goes off to shower.

The conundrum remains of Quinn and Brooklyn. Marley can't very well say she suddenly has other plans, but she knows she can't be around Quinn right now.

Ryder and Jake were easy. They appealed to different parts of her, and everytime she came close to picking one, the other would do something to change her mind – to this day, Marley still sympathises with Archie Andrews. But this is different. She stands to gain nothing or lose everything – which isn't an ideal situation.

One of Santana's songs talked about this. She'd remixed it at least three times before she was comfortable with the message.

While this is going on in her head, Marley dresses on autopilot, automatically going for leggings and a T-shirt. Her brow furrows when she spots a sock out of place, and hunts through her clothes for its sibling.

Her phone goes off again. Her forehead puckers more when the sound doesn't abate; Marley heaves a long-suffering sigh and goes to pick up the call.

"Hey, girl."

Her frown relaxes somewhat. "Hey, 'Nique. What's up?"

"Nothing much. You free now?"

"Yeah? I'm at home, about to go out."

"Great. In your room?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

"Let's have coffee. Or chocolate milk, you dork. Because this huge bottle can only be yours."

Marley beams suddenly. She throws open the door to find Unique standing there, her phone held to her ear. "Surprise," says Unique, both to her, and over the phone.

"You dork!" Laughing, she grabs Unique tightly and squeezes her. "You couldn't just let me know you're coming up, could you? Who let you in?"

"Oh, now where's the fun in that? Besides, isn't that one of the things your best friend does? And I climbed in the window."

Marley frowns.

"Kidding. I ran into Andie while she was on her way out."

"Ah."

"Where are you headed, dressed like the bottom of your closet? Meeting Quinn?"

Marley's mood darkens a little at the mention of Quinn. Unique tuts.

"You're still hung up about that?"

"No, just that I… I'm actually on my way to her place. We have a standing arrangement on weekends for cooking." Her explanation starts to falter under Unique's hard gaze.

"Cooking what?"

"Uh… healthy meals for the week."

Unique's eyebrow climbs an inch higher. "For Quinn?"

"For everyone in her apartment," defends Marley. She quickly turns and busies herself with the kettle, then searches for teabags. "It's cheaper, and way more nutritious than buying lunch."

"Lord, give me strength."

Marley folds her arms across her chest. "You didn't come all this way to judge me, did you?"

"Nope." Unique pops the 'p' with relish. "I'm here to be your best friend. You do know you're only half-done, right?"

Marley sighs. "What are you talking about, Unique?"

Her best friend sighs. "Marley. Babe. Losing the guy doesn't mean that you automatically get the girl of your dreams."

"Oh, my god. Why are you still on that? This isn't a romcom."

"No," acknowledges Unique, "but it might as well be."

"She's not even gay."

"Look, I don't make the rules, okay? She likes you, and you like her. You've liked each other for ages, just that you were oblivious and it took a couple of failed relationships for you guys to realise that."

"Unique, if I wanted your two cents I'd let you know."

"That's something I've always wondered about, y'know; if you give a penny for someone's thoughts, but you put your two cents in, what happens to the other cent."

"Admin fees," says Marley brusquely. The kettle sings, and she goes to pour water into two mugs, leaving the kitchen shortly after.

"Where're you going?"

"I need to text Quinn. Tell her I can't go over, since my other best friend unexpectedly showed up in New York for the weekend," says Marley, eyeing the rolling suitcase parked in the corner of her living room.

Unique waves a hand. "Oh, right. Yeah, you don't need to do that."

"What? Why?"

"I already called her on the way here. We're all going out for dinner and drinks tonight; you, me, Quinn, and her friends." Unique beams at her. "We're all gonna have so much fun."

Marley's phone falls to the floor, hitting the wood with a dull thump.

---

"I hate you so much."

"No, you don't. You love me, only you love love Quinn Fabray, and I love you enough to want to help salvage that ship." Unique gives herself soaring wings with eyeliner, admiring her reflection.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I ship it. I ship you guys. If you and Quinn were an actual ship on the sea, I'd be the wind in your sails."

Marley shakes her head. "You're crazy. This is crazy. Are you drunk? Did someone slip something into your drink? Are you even Unique Adams? This is a pretty good imposter, though."

Unique ignores her. "The girl who's rambling to herself about alcohol and impersonators, calling me crazy? Good one, girlfriend." She crosses the room to Marley's dresser, rummaging through the clothing; Marley's squeak of protest goes unnoticed. "Isn't this just like old times? You and me, getting ready for the social event of the summer. New York is a pretty big step up from Noah Puckerman's booze-soaked socials in his mom's backyard, though."

She flings herself back on the bed with a thump. "I'm dreaming," says Marley firmly, "this is all a bad dream, and any moment I'm gonna wake up on Saturday morning and feed Valentino."

Unique snorts. "You're obsessed with that fish."

"He doesn't drag me out on surprise outings like someone does."

"He's a damn fish, and you're the one who maintains his Instagram account. If that's not obsession, I'll eat my MAC Technakohl."

Marley decides it's a battle she can't win. She covers her face with both hands. "Unique, I'm scared," she confesses.

"Oh, honey." Unique completely abandons her preparations to sit on the bed, her hand brushing Marley's hair from her forehead. "I know. It's gonna be okay."

"What if you're wrong? What if I'm wrong?" Cold dread settles in the pit of her stomach. "What if I was wrong about Alex?"

"You're not wrong," answers Unique fiercely. "I believe in you. Now c'mon, we'll be late."

She lets Unique drag her out, dread continuing to build. They've all hung out like this once before, and she remembers that being simultaneously the best and worst time of her life – and this time, Unique has an agenda.

Quinn is already there when they arrive. "Hey, guys."

"Quinn! You look amazing." Unique hugs her. "I love your coat."

"Thanks. You look great as well." Quinn checks her phone. "S and Rachel are running late."

"That's unusual for Rachel."

Quinn grimaces. "Not when Santana's involved."

It takes her a while to grasp her meaning. "Oh. Oh!"

"Just don't let them touch you; you don't know where that hand's been," suggests Unique with a devilish smirk, and gets smacked on the arm for her pains.

"We can order first, if you're hungry," says Quinn. "We don't have to wait for them. Especially you, Unique; when did you reach?"

"Sometime after lunch." She picks a lime soda, and Marley makes it two. Quinn adds an apple juice to their order.

"What brings you to New York this time?"

Although she's not religious, the innocuous question makes Marley look up to the sky and pray for a miracle.

"Surprising Marley," says Unique in her silkiest tone of voice. "I heard about Alex, and decided to come up for a girls' weekend."

"That sounds great."

"Of course, you and Rachel are more than welcome to join," adds Unique, "the more the merrier, after all."

Quinn arches an eyebrow, clearly trying and failing not to look amused. "Not Santana?"

"Please, you've known her longer than I have. She'll scoff when we invite her, but she'll show up anyway with some lame excuse about Rachel forcing her."

"That's true." Quinn turns back to Marley after checking her phone. "They'll be here in ten."

"Oh, by the way," interrupts Unique, "I wasn't joking about the girls' weekend. Do you have anything planned tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I really didn't have anything planned…" muses Quinn, flicking open her phone.

"Excellent. Come over at noon tomorrow."

Marley tries not to gape at them. "Unique," she hisses, kicking her best friend's shin under the table. Unique's smile freezes a little.

"I'd love to," says Quinn, smiling, "but I'm fairly certain you should consult the hostess before inviting guests."

The smile Quinn gives her is enough to bolster Marley's courage sufficiently for her to say: "You'd definitely be invited to whatever I plan. Unique, on the other hand…"

Unique smirks. "Fair enough," she says, sipping her soda.

Rachel chooses that moment to arrive, an amused-looking Santana in tow. "Hey, ladies! Sorry we're late. What'd we miss?"

"Nothing much." Quinn arches an eyebrow as her eyes sweep over Rachel and Santana. "However, I don't think S missed her opportunity." Santana cackles; Quinn immediately looks disgusted. "What, really? You're disgusting."

Rachel appears oblivious to them as she warmly greets Marley and Unique. "So. Dinner?"

---

Marley is powerless in her own home. Unique, already a force of nature normally, sweeps through her house getting things done. Andie, though invited to join their girls' hangout, regretfully declines because she has a date.

(Gavin invites himself but quickly makes alternative arrangements when Unique threatens to geld him with her fingernails. Stan stumbles over himself to say he's out the entire day.)

"What's up with him?" wonders Unique aloud.

"Dunno."

But Unique is distracted examining the fridge and cupboards, making sure there are enough healthy and filling snacks for Marley. "But there's nothing for real people to eat," she concludes.

Marley rolls her eyes. "I'll let you get on with it."

But less than ten minutes later, she finds herself at her corner store, putting items on a list into her shopping basket, half-wondering what she's doing here.

It's really not a mystery; she loves her friends, and is secretly thrilled about getting to spend time with them. What's more, she loves that she'll be surrounded by most of her favourite people.

"Oh, hey." Quinn materialises at her elbow. "Don't you have plenty of food in the house?"

Marley sighs. "Not good enough for Her Highness." As she puts Cheetos into her basket, it sinks in. "Quinn!"

"I was wondering when you'd notice," replies her friend, eyes bright, an amused smirk on her face. "I like how you took it for granted I'm here."

"Yes, well," says Marley to cover up her embarrassment, "you're kinda like background material."

Quinn just rolls her eyes at her.

---

Santana and Rachel are already in the apartment when they return, sifting through the contents of Rachel's portable hard drive. Santana lifts her head when the front door opens. "Q! About time, come tell the hobbit that 27 Dresses is better than Sleepless in Seattle."

Rachel scoffs. "The only appealing thing about 27 Dresses is Katherine Heigl, and that does not include her woeful lack of chemistry with James Marsden."

"You take that back, short stuff."

"Why can't we watch them both?" asks a bemused Marley.

"We only have time for the best movies."

"Disney!"

"Sure – if you can pick just one, Rachel."

Rachel gasps.

Deciding that she doesn't want to be present for the fallout, Marley goes to the kitchen to unload her groceries. "I don't even know where I'm supposed to put this," she grumbles under her breath.

In the end, she decides to open up the popcorn and pretzels, emptying the bags into two serving bowls and taking them back to the living room. She finds Unique monopolising one end of their couch, Santana at the other end, Rachel on her right, and Quinn on Rachel's right. Maid in Manhattan plays on the TV.

She slots herself between Quinn and Unique, earning a smirk from Santana.

"Jealous, honey?" teases Unique.

Santana snorts. "Not on your life, Aretha #2."

---

Marley has trouble suppressing her yawns towards the end of Tangled – much to Rachel's dismay and Unique's amusement.

"I think it's about time we got ready for bed," says Quinn.

"Sure, mom."

Quinn chucks a throw pillow at Santana. It snacks her square in the face, making her squawk.

To save the rest of her pillows, Marley shoos everyone away while she tidies the living room. Surprisingly enough, they've left the place in relatively good order, given that they've consumed approximately eight bottles of wine between the five of them.

She yawns again. She's never been good at holding her alcohol.

By the time she heads to her room, the sight of four girls greets her. Rachel – even more touchy-feely when drunk – has her arms wrapped around Quinn's as she sprawls on Marley's bed. Her head rolls from side to side as she laughs at some stupid joke Unique makes. Santana seems perfectly content to have traded her girlfriend for a bottle of Stoli.

"There you are!" crows Rachel. Her enunciation is surprisingly excellent for her level of inebriation. "The room is spinning. Come lie down with us before you spin off into space."

"Useless lightweight," grumbles Santana. She takes a swig of vodka.

Marley very obligingly goes to sit on the bed, glad that she chose to sacrifice walking room for a bigger bed, and gets tugged closer. It holds three girls (now four) uncomfortably piled together (Unique's already claimed the floor and set up her nest). "Are you okay?" she asks Quinn.

Quinn shrugs. "I've been worse." She's pink in the face, but she's also the fairest out of the five, so Marley knows it's not an accurate indicator of her state of inebriation.

Santana eyes her nervously. "She'll puke any moment."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. You almost got my shoes at Schue's wedding. You're lucky you were still looked fuckable after tossing your cookies in the toilet bowl."

Rachel scowls but doesn't say anything.

Santana turns to Marley. "Make sure she pukes it all up before she sleeps. Trust me."

"Right," says Marley uncertainly.

Quinn huffs angrily. "For god's sake – ! Let's just go so our precious Snixy can sleep peacefully and puke-free." She stands up surprisingly quickly, reaching for Marley's hand, and tugs her out into the hall. She doesn't say a word until they go into the bathroom and Quinn locks the door behind them.

Marley doesn't need to ask. Her fingers – previously passively clutched in Quinn's – curl around the older girl's hand. Quinn glances at their entwined hands, then up at Marley. She smiles.

"Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that," retorts Marley, "you look like you're gonna keel over anytime."

Quinn snorts. "I'm not drunk."

"You had most of that Merlot, didn't you?"

"San started it! One sip for each time there was some fantastic coincidence that brought the lead couple together…" She trails off.

Marley tries to keep the amusement off her face and fails. "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before."

"'M not that drunk," she amends.

"Sure, sweetheart." The endearment slips out of her automatically. Quinn doesn't seem to notice. "Hey – maybe you should wash your face before we head back? You'll feel better, at any rate."

She nods. Marley waits by the door as Quinn turns on the tap, splashes a few handfuls of water over her face, drying off with the hand towel hanging on the side. "Okay," says Quinn, "let's go."

Back in Marley's room, the lights are off. Santana is barely visible both because of the faint light from outside, and she has Rachel curled up on top of her, snoring softly. "About time," she says without looking up from her phone, "we were about to send out a search party."

Quinn ignores her. She gets busy setting up a place on the floor; Marley takes the comforter from her hands. "You go lie down," she insists, "I'll do it."

"I'm fine."

"That may well be, but I want to do this for you." She grasps Quinn's elbow, guiding her to the bed and pushing at her shoulders until she lies down grudgingly. "I'll come get you when I'm done."

Quinn pouts but rolls onto her side, away from Santana and Rachel, making no move to get up.

Marley has special permission to borrow her roommates' spare bedding for the night; she and Unique planned it such that if she moves her nightstand and chair outside, there's enough space in the room to hold all five of them for the night.

It doesn't completely exclude the risk of stiff necks, of course, but it's the best she can do with her current circumstances.

When she's done, she picks her way back to Quinn (Unique's dozed off by this point in the night). "C'mon," she says, shaking Quinn's shoulder, "let's go. This is the last time I'm gonna bug you, I promise."

Quinn opens an eye. "So fast?"

"It's just a makeshift bed. Come on."

Her friend scrunches up her face. Marley knows Quinn isn't a morning person, but she hadn't expected it to be this bad. "Why can't we stay here?"

A hot blush starts over Marley's face as she mutters: "This bed can't hold all four of us; three is already a stretch as it is."

The mattress shifts. Santana and Rachel are suddenly gone from beside Quinn. "Santana? Rachel!" Marley fumbles to prop herself up, craning her neck to check if they've fallen off. She finds them lying on her makeshift bed, and there's… giggling?

"Why's your bed so uncomfortable, Rose?" grouses Santana. "This is wayyyy better." She lets her face fall into the pillow, releasing a grunt of satisfaction.

"Firm mattresses are essential for preventing chronic back problems later in life," Rachel informs them sleepily. Santana smiles softly at her, kissing her forehead.

Even though Marley finds this rare display of affection from her abrasive friend incredibly adorable, it doesn't explain what's going on. "... Did you guys fall off?"

Santana snorts. "No. We did you a favour. Now go cuddle up to your girl and get some shut-eye."

"What…?" She realises Santana's right. While three is a stretch, two can share her bed comfortably – and it seems she and Quinn are those two. Which wouldn't be a problem, ordinarily, but given the struggling she's been doing recently about the nature of her feelings for her best friend… "Santana!" she hisses.

Silence. Marley groans.

Quinn stirs. "Marley? What's wrong?"

"... Nothing." Quinn, she decides, isn't sober enough to vent to. Marley will just wait until tomorrow to chew Santana out – perhaps with Rachel's help, once the other girl's sobered up enough to understand what she was an accessory in. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmm. You too. It's late." Quinn reaches up and slings an arm around her middle. It's incredibly awkward, but Marley manages to lie on her side with Quinn behind her. "Good night."

"Good night, Quinn."

"I can't keep doing this to myself."

"Huh?" She hadn't expected an answer, let alone to a question she hadn't even asked. "Doing what?"

"Wanting things I can't have."

"Like what?"

"Who," Quinn corrects her.

"Who?"

But she gets soft, rhythmic breaths in lieu of a verbal answer.

---

The next morning is like every other sleepover she's ever had with her friends. She wakes first and heads to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Except this time, Unique is up before her, waiting for the coffee to finish percolating. "Morning, babe."

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

Marley squints at her friend. Her expression is void of mischief, and so she answers the question. "Pretty good, but then again I got the bed. How about you?"

"Splendid. Gavin has the best pillows; so cushy."

"Mmm."

The coffeemaker stops humming. Unique pours herself a mug, then fetches milk for Marley – who shakes her head when she sees the glass. "Actually – could you pour me some coffee, please?"

"What's the occasion?" And she looks like she wants to say something more, but she remains silent as she sets the coffee before Marley.

Marley tips a bit more black coffee into Unique's mug before filling the mug with milk. She sips it, as Unique makes a face in the background. "I feel like having something stronger this morning."

"Stronger."

"You have your quirks, I have mine."

"Pfft."

The suspense is killing her. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you gonna say anything?"

"About what?"

Marley's mouth opens and closes soundlessly. "About – you know what," she eventually manages, "you being here. All of it."

Unique just shrugs. "Sweetheart, if you can't even say it, you're in big trouble."

"About Quinn having feelings for me," says Marley, dropping her voice to a whisper, eyes not leaving Unique's. To her dismay, her friend just smirks.

"Well, I gotta say she'll be good for you."

She won't stare. She won't give Unique the satisfaction. "So you're still on board with this whole – Quinn and me thing?"

"Not just me. Everyone and their moms can see it. We had a talk about how ridiculous you two are being."

Marley slides a hand across her face. "You know – okay, never mind. I can't… this is hard enough as it is."

"Oh, sweetie. I know it is."

She takes a few more sips of coffee. "Did you ever feel like – you were on the verge of something big and terrifying, and you were risking everything?"

"That was me when I was gonna tell Andrew how I felt about him," says Unique very seriously.

Marley grits her teeth and nods. What she feels for Quinn has always been far deeper, far stronger than what she felt for Alex. She's aware she's letting herself be persuaded it's more than friendship, but… it doesn't feel hollow. It feels right.

A gut feeling is all she's got to go on, but it's better than nothing.

---

She gets home soon enough after seeing Unique off at the train station. The place seems too quiet without her best friend, like the laughter's been sucked out of it, leaving a void.

Alone, but not lonely. Marley's struggled with demons for a long, long time, but she's never done it alone; even though there are some things she must do on her own.

This is one of those things.

She takes a deep breath, holds it, and releases. Marley disappears into her room, armed with a newfound conviction, and resumes work on the album.

---

When she plays the entire remixed album for them, her hands are shaking so much over the controls. Rachel's been appreciative, as Quinn has, but Santana sits in silence the entire time.

Once the music ends, the silence that immediately follows is deafening. Marley clasps her hands before her and asks, "Well?"

"That was amazing!" Rachel exclaims.

Santana just shakes her head. "Fuck, Marley; this is gonna make us."

"Make you," she says.

"Us," insists Santana.

Marley goes magenta. She can feel her entire face burn; as she's swept into a hug, she buries her face in the shoulder of whoever's holding her.

"Hey, hey," says a familiar voice; Marley feels it rather than hears it. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I think so." She pulls away so she can wipe her face on her own sleeve and not be gross all over Quinn's shirt. Quinn doesn't let her go far, with both hands on the tails of Marley's shirt.

"Oh god, Rose, I know it was a compliment from me but there's no need to cry," says Santana.

Marley laughs, but the tears don't stop flowing. "I know! I just… I've been an emotional mess lately."

Santana mutters something that sounds like "stubborn" and "useless" but Quinn's laughing again, pulling her back into a hug; Marley quickly forgets about it.

---

Rachel's pulled a few strings with old college friends, just as Santana's called in all the favours people owe her. Even Marley reaches out to graduated seniors to get that album out there as much as possible.

They end up booking a mini concert at a coffee shop performance space, with a small booth to sell physical copies (after much badgering from Rachel).

Marley's early, as always. She hovers outside the coffee shop, hesitant to go in because of the bustle of nervous energy that radiates from within. If she smoked, she'd be finishing off an entire pack by now.

When she turns, she spots Quinn emerging from the subway entrance. Marley beams, waving at her.

"Hey," says Quinn. "Aren't you going in?"

"I'm nervous," admits Marley.

Quinn peers curiously at her. "Well, you won't be singing tonight, so that's a load off your mind," she says teasingly.

Marley smiles. "I know, but I was a big part of the music as well. I want them to do well so bad."

Quinn pats her arm. "You all did a fantastic job. Just relax; tonight's for celebrating." And she leads the way into the shop, and into a scene of chaos. Rachel being Rachel is relentless in her perfecting of the finer details, practically a whirlwind of activity as she double and triple checks everything. Santana seems to be more abrasive than usual.

"Hobbit, quit crowding me. I told you, the mike is fine where it is."

"Fine, since you say so. I wouldn't know, I'm not the main performer, aren't I?"

Santana opens her mouth to retort – then Quinn wades into the fray. "Rachel, everything is fine," she says first, "we've all gone over the setlist and stage arrangements a hundred times. San, you're only being a royal bitch because you're scared; we all know that. Rachel – for some stupid reason, like being in love with you – is gonna put up with your crap but I won't. So fucking stop."

There's a beat, then Santana laughs. "Head Bitch still has her bite."

Quinn smiles tightly at her. "Of course. Now go out there and wow them."

Santana pales. "Fuck. This is really happening." Behind Quinn, more people have started trickling in; friends, acquaintances, even people Marley recognizes from McKinley High. Rachel takes her hand and leads her to one corner, whispering in low tones to Santana. Whatever pep talk she's delivering, Santana relaxes visibly. She takes the stage like she was born to it, fingers curling around the mike. On cue, the surrounding lights dim.

"Hey, guys. First, thanks to everyone for showing up tonight – including the ones Rachel threatened and arm-twisted into coming." There's light laughter; Rachel rolls her eyes, seemingly content with being out of the spotlight tonight. "Seriously, though, I'm really glad you're here tonight, sharing this big moment with me." Behind her, the backup drummer taps his hi-hat.

"Before I get into what y'all came here for, I gots to get the obligatory stuff out of the way. Thanks, guys, for letting me stage this here. Thanks to my excellent producer hiding in the corner over there. This album might've just been me complaining into a beer if not for you." She points at Marley, who instantly flushes when the cafe fills with applause; Quinn squeezes her knee reassuringly. "Shout out to you for taking my inherent awesomeness and turning it into fantastic awesomeness!"

"Inherent, really?" whispers Quinn into her ear. "She gets it from Rachel. Remind me to make fun of S for it later."

Marley giggles.

"And of course, the shortest person in this room." Santana pauses. "My girlfriend Rachel. The strongest, most supportive, most infuriating woman I know. The inspiration, the driving force. She's the real star here." Loud applause and hollering follows, intensifying when Santana mouths something to Rachel, and blows her a kiss.

"This is the sweetest I've seen Santana be in public," whispers Marley. Quinn hums distractedly.

"Okay, enough with the mush." And the band kicks off the intro of the first song of her set.

---

They make their way home much later that night, even while the celebration party's still in full swing.

Quinn's taxi pulls up outside. "I'll see you tomorrow?" offers Quinn with her soft smile. She holds out her arms for a hug. "Good night, Marley."

Their hugs have never differed. Marley always feels like she's safe and comfortable. Now's her moment.

But no words come out, and she's left standing on the sidewalk, watching the taxi speed away. Marley grits her teeth.

When her taxi pulls up, she hops into it and rattles off a Brooklyn address she knows by heart.

---

Outside Quinn's apartment, she's seized by a mild anxiety attack that leaves her short of breath; her breathing exercises do work, but they take twice as long before her heart stops pounding.

She rings the doorbell.

Quinn opens the door; her furrowed brow clearing instantly once she recognizes who's at the door. "Marley? What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

She smiles nervously. "Hi. Nothing's wrong, I, uh, I thought that I should do the showing up unexpectedly thing at least once."

Quinn's furrowed brow doesn't ease. "At two in the morning?"

"I forgot to tell you something important earlier… I'm not keeping you up, am I?"

"Oh." Quinn steps aside to let her in. "You're not. I always have time for you. As a matter of fact, I've also got something important to talk to you about. Although," she adds with a wry smile, "it could have waited until a more decent hour."

"Yeah?" She sits on the couch stiffly, as though she's at a job interview. Marley hasn't been this scared since the time she was waiting for her first therapy session, years ago.

Quinn sits beside her, expression sober. "You've been acting really strange lately," she starts, "and I haven't pushed you into talking about it because I trust you, but Marley…" Quinn's voice cracks a little, as does Marley's heart. "You've been stressed out and panicky and upset, and it hurts me to see you struggle."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm at my wits' end. I even asked Santana and Rachel, but they said to ask you myself, and Unique said the same thing to me when she cornered me in the bathroom after dinner…"

"She what?"

"Okay, maybe not cornered. She just told me to be patient, and that you'd talk to me in due time." Quinn's hands cover hers, and squeeze.

Marley nods. There have been many times she'd had this opportunity to tell the truth, and many times she'd let it pass. This is it; this is her shot, and she's seizing it with both hands.

"You're right. There's something I need to tell you." She pauses, and takes a deep breath. "I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I've chickened out all of those times."

Quinn's expression doesn't waver.

"I haven't… I didn't tell you the entire truth, about Alex and me. The… why we broke up." She fidgets. "I broke up with him, but not completely because we weren't working out… I have feelings for someone else."

"What?"

"Yeah." Marley ducks her head. "I'm not proud of it. And apparently, I've been completely oblivious for a long, long time."

Quinn smiles sadly. "I know that feeling."

"I thought you might."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

Her heart feels like it's going to beat its way out of her chest. "Yeah. Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Close your eyes."

Still with that faint smile on her lips, Quinn complies. Marley takes the moment to just watch her without fear of being caught. Her heart swells, and she wonders how she's gone this long without acknowledging fully the depth of what she feels for Quinn Fabray – or acting on it.

Before she can think about what she's doing, Marley whispers, "I'm sorry," and leans forward. Her eyes flutter shut as she moves, and finally, finally she brushes her lips against Quinn's, pulling back a second later.

Quinn's eyes snap open. "... Marley?" Her expression is unreadable.

"Quinn, I…" she begins, and trails off. There are no words for the emotions the kiss have evoked, nothing that could describe them accurately.

Mostly, Marley wants to kiss her again.

Quinn reads her mind.

Marley's eyes drift shut as she kisses back.

They part on a breath. Her heart feels like it's beating its way out of her chest in a way she's never felt before. She wants more, more, everything; all at once. She wants to breathe her in, drown in her, to be lost in this moment.

Quinn's eyes meet hers. They're hazy with emotion.

"Marley," she whispers.

Marley shakes her head. Whatever there needs to be talked about, whatever they need to do, it can wait. She's never felt so unrepentantly selfish in her life. Her fingers find Quinn's cheek, caressing the soft skin. Quinn's eyelids flutter shut.

Hands are gripping her shirt tightly – holding her close or holding on for dear life, she isn't sure – as Marley angles her face so they slide together, closer than before.

They kiss in silence until someone – Marley, maybe – runs her tongue over the seam of the other's lower lip; there's a low moan, and they come together again heatedly.

She's afraid her inexperience shows. All she's had were chaste kisses with the boys she's dated, clumsy and fumbling makeout sessions, and now she has this – fire – that runs through her veins, that drives her on.

"Stop thinking," murmurs Quinn. She adjusts her position until she's hovering over Marley, and then they are kissing again. The sensations of Quinn's mouth on hers fill Marley with desire. Suddenly bold, she drifts her kisses lower, tracing Quinn's jaw – each kiss draws a whimper – and down her neck. Her tongue darts out and tastes heaven in every inch.

Quinn moans from somewhere above her. She's on top, but Marley's taking control, and slowly the balance starts to shift. Marley's arm wraps around Quinn's waist, her other hand supporting Quinn's face.

Their pace slows. She returns to Quinn's lips – her new favorite thing – and kisses her lazily, savouring each and every moment their lips are in contact.

Finally, Marley rests her forehead against Quinn's and tries to catch her breath; perfectly content.

Quinn's eyes flutter open. She looks dazed. "That was…" Her lips curve into a smile.

She's certain she's grinning like a fool, she can't help it. Her hand rests on Quinn's collarbone, feeling heated flushed skin. Marley doesn't want to stop touching her. "I like you," she says, almost wonderingly.

Quinn's lips curve into a smile. "I like you, too."

"I thought you didn't… couldn't like me that way."

"I thought you didn't like me that way."

She stares at Quinn incredulously, then both burst into laughter.

"We're both idiots."

"Maybe," says Quinn, then angles her face forward to kiss her again.

But Marley pulls back immediately after. She has questions that gnaw at her, that even kissing Quinn doesn't dissolve. "Why me? You could have anyone."

Quinn's smile gentles at the edges. "I could, but they're not you. You've seen all of me, the mistakes I made, and you're not… you're still here."

Marley shakes her head. "Quinn…"

"You're not afraid of me," she says, looking small and vulnerable. Marley cups her cheek with a hand.

"Never."

Quinn chuckles, and the sound catches in her throat.

"You're the most incredible person I know," says Marley earnestly, "and I think I've always had feelings for you right from the start. It just took me a while to figure that it was more than one normally feels for a friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean… I've had crushes on both guys and girls. It just never crossed my mind that I could see you that way – and not until very recently, let alone that I could have you like this." Marley's thumb traces Quinn's upper lip. She breathes deeply, the scent of Quinn calming her in a way her exercises never quite achieved. "We probably should talk more about… this. Us," she says.

"Yeah." Quinn doesn't move, and so neither does she. "This is very sudden. One moment we're best friends, and the next you're kissing me."

Marley can tell that Quinn's teasing her. Someone needs to be serious, so she continues: "Is that what you want? For us to stay best friends, or…?"

Quinn's eyes flutter open, and she shifts so she can look at Marley properly, though she doesn't let go of Marley's hand; Marley didn't think it was possible for her to be more endearing. "I wouldn't be opposed to dating."

"I was afraid of ruining our friendship," says Marley, "in case I was horribly wrong about this, and you wouldn't want to talk to me ever again."

"But it was killing you." Quinn runs the back of her hand down Marley's cheek. "The same way it was killing me."

Marley blinks. "Killing you?"

"I thought it was my thing, developing crushes on girls I couldn't have," says Quinn with a rueful smile. Marley starts stroking her cheekbone with the ball of her thumb. "First Rachel, then Santana, then you. I tried to wait it out, to get over it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know, and I hurt you."

A soft kiss to her thumb makes Marley lift her head and look into hazel eyes. "That's past. Somehow, we got here, didn't we?"

"Somehow."

Marley tries to lean in to deepen the kiss, but Quinn shakes her head. "We need to talk properly," insists Quinn, "but not today, while we're still… distracted. Tomorrow. Or later today," she amends, wincing when she catches sight of the time displayed on her phone.

"Tomorrow," echoes Marley. Her brain sees the logic in this, but her heart wants nothing more than to continue kissing Quinn, making up for weeks of confusion and years of obliviousness.

With an effort of willpower, she draws herself away, and stands up. Still a little weak in the knees, riding on a high of emotion and adrenaline, Marley gathers her things and walks towards the door.

"I'll call you a taxi," says Quinn, pulling her phone out.

"Thanks."

Quinn walks her downstairs. They stand awkwardly together on the curb as they wait for the taxi. Marley wonders if it's still okay to hold Quinn's hand.

Quinn's palm slides against hers, their fingers automatically entwining. She's probably exaggerating, but the familiar gesture feels more intimate than before.

"You're red," says Quinn unhelpfully.

"Your fault." She lifts Quinn's hand to her lips, kissing the back of it; now it's Quinn's turn to blush.

The taxi chooses this moment to arrive. Marley turns to her. "See you tomorrow," she says.

"Okay. Marley?"

"Hmmm?"

Quinn draws her in and kisses her again. This time, it starts out passionate, mouths open. Marley swallows a moan as she responds, drawing Quinn closer to her, returning the fervour. With a last peck, Quinn steps back, somehow barely disheveled. "See you tomorrow," she says, a hint of a smirk on her face, turning on her heel and disappearing back into her building.

She is still dazed. Belatedly, she then remembers that Quinn's Cheerio motto had something to do with teasing and not pleasing. Marley gets into the back of the taxi – avoiding the smirking driver's eye – and bids him drive.

---

Author's Notes: The chapter title comes from The Bells by Lea Michele. Just in time for the weekend! Enjoy, friends! As always, extended notes to be posted to this story's page on my Tumblr. Hit me up at yumi-michiyo