Part Twelve: Holding my breath, last one I've got left 'til I see you
Author's Notes: The Americanization of this chapter, American fact-checking (you mean you people don't have free/pay-per-use airport lounges?), and general beta work done by Mike. Any more mistakes spotted are my own.
"Babe."
Marley looks up from her phone, and grins. "Hey!" She leaps off the bed to envelop her friend in a running tackle of a hug; partly because she's missed Unique so much, but mostly to muss up her outfit and make her screech.
And screech she does, but she clings back to Marley just as tightly. "Oh my God, babe." Unique attempts to surreptitiously pat down her blouse without breaking the hug. "It's been too long!"
"I know!"
"You don't call me enough!"
"We talk for hours at a time!"
"Weekly!"
"We text for all the other days!"
Unique laughs, a deep belly laugh. "I know! I'm just messing with you, don't mind me. It's really more of – oh. My. God! You're here! In front of me!"
Marley giggles and hugs her again. They stand, rocking from side to side, just enjoying each other's presence.
"Where's your better half?"
"Quinn's out with Santana. I didn't really ask, and I don't think I wanna know, anyway." She pulls away to look at Unique properly. "Where's your better half?"
"I left him downstairs with your mom. Knowing her, he's either being interrogated within an inch of his life downstairs, or being stuffed full of home-baked goods." She pauses, a smirk on her lips. "Or both, at the same time."
Marley gasps. "You're an evil woman."
"Your mom made me do it. She promised me halibut sous vide, which – oh my God, since when did that happen? Me and Drew are moving in here, or we are taking your mom back to New York with us." She licks her lips exaggeratedly; Marley laughs, and shoves at her.
"It was her Christmas present. Dan gave me the idea last year." She links her arm with Unique's, and they descend the stairs.
Drew looks up from the kitchen counter island. He has a muffin in one hand – presumably freshly-baked, because the entire place smells of muffins – and a fork in the other. Crumbs litter the plate set in front of him. Save me, he mouths; the girls laugh.
"Unique, darlin', you are just in time to try my world-famous mixed berry muffins," says Millie warmly. "I just tweaked the recipe a little, an' Drew here is takin' his own sweet time tellin' me how they turned out." The last part is said with a glare in his direction that holds no real heat.
Unique goes over to rest her hands on his shoulders. They do this thing where they talk with their eyes, looking at each other intensely. "I think he's too busy swooning over how good they are," she says. "Right, baby?"
He nods. Millie beams at them both. She sets another muffin on his plate, and hands three on another plate to Unique. "If they're that good, don't be shy! I've a whole batch there I need y'all to eat up."
Marley shrugs at them both, smiling sheepishly. She takes one just so Millie won't give her a plate – which, indubitably, will hold more than she can actually eat. "Mom, Unique was saying that you promised her halibut sous vide."
"I certainly did." Millie transfers the remaining muffins to a cooling rack. "We got a brand-new grocer, and I gotta say, it's a real step up from Save-A-Lot. Drew and Unique were so kind to swing by and pick up a few things for me before they came here. Speakin' of which…" Millie reaches for her purse.
"It's no trouble at all, Mrs Rose," says Drew quickly, mouth finally void of muffin. "You're taking the trouble to cook, and we'll be eating the food anyways."
"It's Millie, sweetheart. Or Mom."
"Mom!" protests Marley, embarrassed on behalf of Unique, who's pink enough for it to be visible over her dark complexion.
"Like how that one does it," laughs the older woman. "No formalities 'round here; you're all family, hon."
"Thanks, Millie – Mom," says Unique in barely a whisper. Drew gives Unique this soft grin that softens his naturally stern expression, and makes him resemble a teddy bear. "We really appreciate it."
Marley slings an arm around her best friend's waist. They weren't in Lima for Christmas because they were spending the holidays with Drew's family in Michigan, and are now visiting the only family Unique has left in town.
"Family don't mean y'all get out of payin' for groceries," adds Millie. "My kitchen, my rules. Receipt or y'all don't get fed."
Marley hides a laugh behind her hand.
"Before you give yourself a conniption laughin', my girl, you're my kitchen assistant, so you'll be workin' for your supper too." Millie pats her butt affectionately as she shoos her biological daughter towards the stove. To Drew and Unique, she points out a drawer and says: "If you both ain't fussy about hard work, we could always use a coupla extra hands. Aprons're in the drawer, and there's plenty to be done around here since I promised sous vide cookin'."
"But – muffins," protests Unique. "You just gave these to me."
"Oh, hmm. That's true. Then the pair of you stay guests an' finish your muffins, then back to work? Nothin' better'en muffins fresh outta the oven."
Marley turns around indignantly. "I have muffins to eat too!"
"You've been eatin' my muffins for years, my girl; the muffins can stand a little while, but my sauce can't." She kisses Marley's cheek, using the opportunity to push a wooden spoon into her daughter's hand.
"No fair," she whines – mostly for Drew's benefit, because Unique has seen plenty of variations of this dog-and-pony show over the years. But she grins at her friends over her mom's shoulder, and flashes them a cheesy thumbs-up.
When she booked her flight home for the holidays, flying to New York was her immediate priority. Being able to afford a round-trip flight via New York is now the least of her problems, but it seems almost embarrassing to fly back to Los Angeles using the same route as well.
Marley's flight west leaves at night, about two hours after Quinn's flight east. That gives them most of the day together.
Parting hurts less than it used to. Marley can't decide if it's because she's getting used to it, or that she won't let herself get emotional over it.
She curls her fingers around Quinn's arm. Despite all the turmoil generated by the most diverse group of people to graduate from McKinley High a couple of years back, she isn't comfortable with being openly affectionate in their small town. "What did you want to do?"
"Mmm, nothing in particular." Quinn suppresses a soft yawn. "I'm looking forward to having a holiday to recover from my holiday."
Marley lets out an undignified snort. "Right?" Her gaze roams the airport, until – "Oh, hey," she says suddenly.
"What?"
"The airport lounge."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "You have to buy a pass for those, and we'd only be using them for a couple of hours."
"We should go have a look, anyway." And Marley leads the way, practically dragging Quinn behind her.
She can almost feel Quinn swallowing the told you so she undoubtedly has on the tip of her tongue when the receptionist quotes a hefty sum for two one-day passes to the lounge. Marley thanks the woman for her time, and turns to Quinn – only to stare, stunned, as her girlfriend pulls her credit card out of her purse and hands it to the receptionist.
"Quinn, what?"
"I'm not squeezing into a Starbucks, or even – " she wrinkles her nose " – a cramped seat in some godforsaken corner of the terminal. Especially not when it's the last few hours I'm spending with you." The last is spoken in low tones, as the receptionist passes Quinn two vouchers. "Besides, it's not as though we're still broke college students."
Marley shakes her head. Her internal miser is speechless with horror. She squirms, uncomfortable at the perceived waste of money, until Quinn reaches out to hold her hand.
"Breathe, sweetheart," says Quinn. She squeezes, once, as she leads the way to the most secluded corner of the lounge.
Marley's fingers automatically curl around Quinn's, the touch and endearment soothing her immediately. She lets Quinn gently push her into a squashy armchair.
"Are you alright?"
Marley smiles, amused. "Better, though you could've warned me before buying the passes," she says, mock-stern.
Quinn laughs. "Surprise?" She casts a surreptitious glance around – the receptionist has her head down, and the only other occupant of the lounge is facing away from them – before bending to kiss Marley.
"Mmm. Apology accepted." She steals a last peck before Quinn pulls away, also glancing around – for very different reasons from Quinn's. "Oooh, there's a drinks bar."
"Of course there is, for the price I'm paying," says Quinn, arching an eyebrow.
She swats Quinn's shoulder in mild reproof. "Go get drinks. I want a black tea, please."
"Yes, ma'am." Quinn's eyes sparkle with amusement as she salutes Marley, and walks away. Marley follows her movements for a few seconds before she catches herself.
By the time Quinn returns with two mugs of tea, Marley has her book out. She smiles gratefully at Quinn, who settles in the chair to the right with a sigh. "God, this is comfy," she says, pulling out a book.
"And private." There's nobody in the immediate vicinity; it may as well be a private lounge. It's a pleasant change from the bustle of the main terminal. "What are you reading now?" asks Marley.
"Antifragile."
"Wait, you haven't finished it?" She squints at the dust jacket. "I thought that cover looked familiar."
Quinn smiles. "I struggled through it in junior year, and gave up halfway through at the beginning of senior year. I finally felt intelligent enough to try again now I'm an Ivy League graduate twice over." She tucks a bookmark into her book. "Yours looks tiny in comparison."
"I didn't feel like lugging anything big. It's supposed to be a holiday." Marley sticks a finger in so she can shut her own book and show Quinn the cover of The Phantom Tollbooth. "I forgot I had a copy in my room."
"I've heard of this one," muses Quinn. "It's very witty. Do you like it so far?"
"I do. I laughed out loud at all the puns and plays on words." She flips it open again until she finds her favourite passage about the royal meal in Dictionopolis, and reads it aloud. Quinn laughs at all the right moments.
"I love that."
"Thought you might," says Marley happily. "I'll send you a copy."
Quinn smiles, nods her acquiescence, and reaches for her tea.
About forty-five minutes before Quinn's due to report to her boarding gate, she stands up. "I'm going to the bathroom."
"Alright," says Marley distractedly. She turns a page and reads on.
A pressure settles on her knees; bemused, Marley glances up – and sucks in a breath through her teeth when she meets Quinn's eyes. She's close enough that Marley can feel her hot breath on her lips, that she could tip forward a few more inches and kiss her. "You should come with me," she says, a mischievous spark turning hazel into green and – Marley knows what that look means.
"Okay," says Marley, dazed. She shoves her bookmark into her page and attempts to put the book on the table; Quinn giggles when Marley misses the table completely, and the book thumps to the floor.
"You should take better care of your books," chides Quinn. She stoops to retrieve the book, wiping away invisible dirt from the dust jacket and laying it beside their empty mugs.
Marley shakes her head, smiling. "I was distracted."
"Can't imagine why."
"But, our things?"
"They'll be fine, this is a private lounge. I didn't shell out nearly a hundred bucks to worry about luggage. I've thought of everything, now please shut up and let's go." Quinn leads the way, keeping her grip on Marley's wrist.
"Is there any reason you needed company for the bathroom?" asks Marley, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I mean – we're not in high school anymore. I'm pretty sure bathroom time isn't a group activity."
"You mean, apart from kissing you?" Quinn backs them into a stall.
"You could've kissed me outside." Marley walks her fingers up Quinn's shirt, knowing it will annoy her. "Any reason we have to hide in a stall?"
"You know why." Quinn bats away her hand with a sound of annoyance, and takes advantage of its newly-unoccupied status to pin her wrist against the wall.
"Nope," says Marley, "not a clue." It's a struggle keeping her breathing normal when Quinn starts kissing up the side of her neck. "Did you lock the door?"
Quinn reaches out and snaps the latch into place. "Yes."
Marley giggles, and sinks her fingers into Quinn's hair as she tries to maintain her equilibrium. "Why are we doing this here, instead of – I don't know, somewhere more private? Like this morning, at home?" Where you'd have time to ravage me properly, goes unsaid.
"Because we were having a nice brunch with your mom, and I'm not about to take that time away from you. Also, my flight leaves in – " Quinn checks the time on Marley's wristwatch, " – thirty-five minutes, and yours in two-and-a-half hours, to opposite ends of the country," says Quinn, in between kisses, "and I have no clue when I'll be seeing you again."
"Thirty-five minutes? That's not much time." She's being deliberately difficult, which Marley has learned will drive Quinn to do many fun things to her – especially now, when they're on a tight schedule. "Not that I don't like you being… spontaneous, but…"
Her girlfriend growls softly. "But then you should stop asking questions designed to annoy me, and focus on keeping quiet." Quinn plucks at the collar of the white button-up so she can nip at the skin of Marley's shoulder. "God, I swear you knew what you in this shirt does to me."
She inhales sharply as Quinn's hand yanks up her hem and slips under, caressing her lower back. "I, uh," she momentarily loses her train of thought when Quinn's mouth latches onto her neck, "I don't know what you're talking about." Marley honestly has no ulterior motive for liking her button-ups. Quinn's attention is just a nice bonus.
"Shhh."
Marley groans. She tips her head back when the hand sneaks lower, under her belt, and into the waistband of her (conspicuously damp) panties. "Oh – "
Quinn swallows further sounds with a bruising kiss – and there are plenty more, when fingers start stroking her clit. Marley whimpers and fists Quinn's dress; she knows her girlfriend won't appreciate the wrinkles, but she doesn't care about that now.
"I'm already – mmm – already so close," she says. Her hips rock shamelessly against Quinn's hand.
"Only close?" Quinn sucks on the pulse point in her neck.
"Ha-harder." Marley stuffs her lower lip between her teeth so she won't scream. "Yes. There." She whimpers, knees buckling as she comes hard. Quinn's hand on her wrist – still pinning her against the wall – keeps her from folding in on herself embarrassingly.
"You call that being quiet?" Quinn kisses her softly, taking away some of the sting from her abused lower lip. Marley tilts her head to kiss back, her hand on Quinn's cheek, directing Quinn where she wants her.
"You try keeping quiet when your naughty girlfriend randomly decides she wants to ravish you in an airport bathroom." Marley kisses her again, deeper this time; Quinn laughs, and puts some space between them.
"I know that look," says Quinn. "This is about you, not me." She abruptly leans in to peck the disappointed pout off Marley's lips. "Believe me, I got everything I need from watching you."
"Pervert," says Marley.
Quinn smiles. "Okay, serious now. I was dreading saying goodbye, so I decided to be… spontaneous."
It's impossible for her to remember she had reservations about semi-public sex when Quinn's in a playful mood; and thus, impossible to resist. "Very spontaneous, indeed."
The fond smile slips a little. "... Was it okay? It's a bit much, I know…"
"It was fine. Unexpected, but if I didn't want to, I would have stopped you earlier." Marley checks her watch. "We have another… ten minutes left, which should be enough for real goodbyes." She shoots a pointed little look at Quinn, which Marley intended to ease Quinn's fears.
It works. Quinn's expression loses its uncertainty as she laughs, the sound low and easy. "One day, I promise, I'll be good with words."
"I'll hold you to that," she says. Marley's fingertips run over Quinn's face, smoothing away strands of hair mussed from their activities. "Which reminds me. I read this book in LA which reminds me of you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Kintsugi."
"... What?"
"It's a Japanese artform." She kisses the side of Quinn's mouth softly; lips dragging over skin. "The art of repairing broken cups and bowls with gold, so it becomes unique, and more beautiful than when it was whole." Her fingers wind into Quinn's hair, holds her close. "Like you."
Quinn's hot breath gusts over Marley's mouth, but that's all the contact they have now. "I remind you of a broken bowl?"
"You aren't cute when you play dumb." Marley's fingertip follows the bridge of Quinn's nose and hops off at the tip, gliding over the seam of full lips. "I meant that there is a special beauty in things that have overcome hardships. I would show you photos, but I'm a bit busy right now." She smiles, amused, when Quinn's lips part at the slightest pressure from her thumb.
"Mmm. I can Google it later, I guess," says Quinn, sounding breathless.
They make it to Quinn's gate, hand-in-hand and breathless, as the last call for her flight blares over the intercom. There's just enough time for a quick hug, Quinn's lips on her cheek and a whispered, I'll see you soon in her ear before Quinn disappears inside.
Marley has plenty of things to think about on her flight to LA.
Despite everything her therapist has said about her relationship with Quinn, and despite a part of her agreeing with her therapist, it's so easy to throw caution to the wind and stay helplessly, hopelessly, in love with Quinn. Especially after this morning alone…
She blushes, and glances around self-consciously.
Just about everyone important to her knows that she wants to return to New York, but she hasn't been completely candid to any one of them. They don't know that she's gotten as far as planning – and Marley would like to keep it that way. Part of her can't wait any longer, and wants to return to New York for good. Another part wants to call Quinn and make plans for when she's moving to Los Angeles.
Which is a very good reason for her to start on Doctor C's homework immediately. She knows her therapist was right to call her out on her emotional dependency, especially since it's led her to come to an important conclusion:
On her last trip to visit her in LA, Quinn confessed to her about not wanting to become emotionally dependent on (and thus vulnerable to) anyone, even her…
… implying that she isn't on the same level as Marley, who's already there.
Marley sighs. Doctor C had already advised her to simply enjoy what time they could find together. She'd already failed one thing; she won't do that again.
Her cozy house lacks a lot of the touches that make a house home.
She drops her suitcase on the floor, her duffel following suit. Marley places her hands on her hips and surveys the place. She'd planned her trip so that she'll have the weekend to rest before heading back to work on Monday, and a weekend is plenty of time to be making changes to herself.
Originally, she'd intended to spend it with Quinn, but Quinn couldn't get the leave. And now, her weekend alone has become serendipitous to her homework assignment.
Marley's house was part of her contract deal. Atlantic was to find somewhere for her to live while she's employed there, and they pay part of her rent (because with the prices in LA, there's no way a junior producer can afford a home from the get-go).
It's a proper house and not a shoebox apartment only because the agent happened to have that property on hand when Atlantic's office called, and the rental was reasonable, so well – it reminds her how lucky Marley is to be that wanted, that the company would go to those lengths to have her on the team.
Since she doesn't own the place, there's a limit on the things she can do, like no major renovations. Redecorating is fair game, however.
Bright and early on Saturday morning, she goes around the whole house with a notepad and pencil, making a list of things she wants to change.
It gets surprisingly long. Marley's a little ashamed of that. For the longest time, she's treated the house as a temporary place, somewhere she's only staying for the time being before she moves to a place more permanent.
By changing these things, she's actively making this house a home. Which is a good thing, except acknowledging that she may be living long-term in a city that doesn't have her girlfriend in it is –
It eats away at her stomach and creates a pit of anxiety. It's not a good feeling.
But this is healthy. This is what her therapist mentioned – she's getting rid of this dependency on Quinn and becoming her own person. And like any other addiction, rehab hurts. Heck, Marley's had plenty of experience kicking her eating disorder.
Speaking of which…
… she needs to eat breakfast. Her stomach is protesting.
Marley makes an omelette, and toast to go with it. As she eats, she checks her phone for any furniture stores she can go browse in. She has the afternoon to herself.
See, that's the thing she likes about LA; she has a car, and she doesn't have to rustle up a posse to help her carry large purchases home. Marley can also cover more ground as long as she knows which way she's driving and what she's looking for.
Or… she can park somewhere and chance it on foot. Either way appeals to her.
Marley puts on Santana's album in the car because why not? She's not being blindly loyal; Santana is good at what she does, Rachel's just as amazing at writing music, and she's an above-average producer.
While she doesn't want to shop at antique stores with stuff that's easily a monthly paycheck, Marley doesn't want to end up buy something kitschy or touristy; she's lived in the city long enough that she doesn't pass as a tourist anymore.
Marley ends up buying dish towels with cute retro prints, to replace the plain blue ones the house came with, and a new spatula (the one she has doesn't feel right in her hand). It feels like a small milestone, but it's enough that she heads for her late afternoon appointment with a smile.
"Hey!" Brittany greets her enthusiastically. "You're early!"
"I finished my stuff earlier than expected." She follows Brittany into the spacious studio, setting her bag in the corner the older girl indicates. "More time for this."
"Great." Brittany looks her up and down; Marley squirms a little under the scrutiny. "Let's do some warm-ups before we start?"
Her friend easily drops into a few long, languid stretches that Marley has no hope of imitating perfectly. She does her best, and within fifteen minutes they're warmed up and ready to go.
"I thought we should start off with something easy, since you haven't danced in a while," says Brittany. She goes to retrieve her phone and hook it up to the studio's sound system. "Normally when Mike comes to visit, we just wing it, but I think we should start off with learning a routine so your body remembers how to move, then we can freestyle."
Marley smiles. "Mike visits?"
"Yeah! But not frequently. I'll like, totally call you the next time he does."
"So what are we doing? Mr Schue's classic one-two-shuffle?" asks Marley teasingly.
"A step up," laughs Brittany. The music pulses, and she dissolves into a fluid routine. Marley watches, her eye picking out moves and trying them. She's rusty enough that she feels like she's having an epileptic fit doing them.
When the song ends, Brittany walks over, pink in the face. "What do you think?"
Marley shrugs. "Looks fun. Lets get started."
She gets most of the moves down after a few tries, but it's her stamina that's lacking rather than muscle memory. An hour in, and Marley's redder than Brittany ever was, panting for breath.
"We should take a water break," says Brittany casually. She's not even breathing hard, and Marley wants to flop on her and die. But she manages to nod, say, "Sounds good", and retrieve her water bottle from her bag. Half of it ends up on her face.
"How were your holidays?" asks Brittany.
"Pretty good, considering." Marley wipes her face with her sports towel. "We had dinner with Shelby and Beth."
"Oh! You've met Beth. She looks just like Quinn, doesn't she?"
"Yeah, and she acts like Puck. It's a little disturbing. Thanks for the presents, by the way."
"It's totally okay. We're just sorry we couldn't be there with everyone. It's been a while since we saw San and Rachel." Brittany's blue eyes cloud over momentarily. "Is Rachel being good for her?"
"They seem really happy," offers Marley.
"That's good." Brittany takes a sip of water. "I was worried for her. This happens to be one of those alternate universes where Brittana doesn't last forever, but I didn't know who she'd end up with."
"Brittana?"
"Me and Santana, duh. Brittana. That's our power couple name."
"Right," says Marley, nodding.
"MIT taught me a bit about branching universes and alternate realities, so I calculated the chances of us in nearly all the possible universes," Brittany explains, demeanour serious as though she's delivering a TED talk. "The chances of us not being Brittana is really, really small, but not as small as the chances of you and Quinn. Or me and Finn, actually. That makes us really special 'cause we all exist in the same universe, at the same time." She frowns suddenly. "I don't have Tubbs on mental link right now, so I can't ask him to double check our calculations."
"Okay, Britt." She lost Brittany somewhere around alternate realities, but Marley knows better than to tell her friend that she's not making any sense. "Honestly, though, I think the amazing part is that we're all still friends. Sort of."
Marley draws her knees closer, resting her chin on top of them. "Britt, can I ask you something personal?"
"Sure," replies Brittany. "Fire away."
She's thought a lot about this, and come to the conclusion that Brittany and Finn's situation are most parallel to her own. "I heard from Unique that Finn moved here to be with you."
"Oh, that." She rubs her nose. "Yeah. That's kinda complicated. And a long story. It started when Tubbs ordered a coffee from the Lima Bean…"
Marley blinks in surprise. "I know about that bit," she interrupts gently, "about him, uh, opening his gourmet coffee business."
"Oh, goody. Then maybe you should buy a bag from him." Brittany digs around in her bag, retrieves an honest-to-goodness business card for Marley. It has a cartoonized version of Lord Tubbington holding a mug of coffee on it, and the legend 'Tubbington's Finest Pawffee'.
"This is… amazing, Britt," says Marley, equal parts impressed and confused – this was actually a real thing? Not just one of Brittany's – well – Brittany-isms? As much as she adored her friend, there was no denying that she existed in a reality that only occasionally intersects with everyone else's. She turns over the card, scanning the list of Tubbington's social media.
"Sam designed the logo," she explains. "Finn helped print the cards. Look, Fondue for Two is a social media partner." She points at a space halfway down the list. "Also Queso por Dos. Tubbs is very particular about bilingualism."
Marley decides that here and now isn't the right place to ask questions about Brittany's cat and his coffee business (and she has so many questions). She tucks the card into her bag. "Maybe we can talk another time? But I really wanted to ask you – "
"– how Finn and I got together, because you and Quinn are in the same situation and you wanna compare so you know what to do?" finishes Brittany.
She should have known better than to be indirect with Brittany. Defeated, Marley nods. "How did you know…?"
"It's written all over your face." Brittany wrinkles her nose. "Not literally, though, like when Finn ate all of Tubbs' snickerdoodles and he drew on Finn's face with a Sharpie in revenge while Finn was napping. But like, it's clear as though you wrote with a Sharpie." Her expression turns sad. "But we took a while. I dated Sam for a bit after San graduated, and we even got married. Then Blaine asked him to move to New York with him, to join everyone else, and I went to MIT."
Marley refrains from reminding Brittany that she was present through most of this. "Uh-huh."
"Which was really awesome, because I learned that the numbers in my head that I thought were just coded messages from aliens messing with me actually mean a lot of important things to the really smart guys at MIT, but being smart Brittany is hard. I'm best at being just Brittany, so I quit," she explains.
"Okay."
"Being just Brittany means I get to dance all I want and do other stuff I like. Tubbs and I talked about it, and we decided the best place we can do all the things we wanna do is Los Angeles. I had some money after making a time dislocator invention with the MIT guys, so we used that to move here, and start Tubbs' company." She shifts a bit so her back rests against the wall.
"While we were getting our stuff ready for the move, Finn and I spent a lot of time together. At first, I thought I wanted to spend time with him because he's the only guy from Glee I haven't had sex with – that is, out of the guys who actually want to have sex with me – because of all the Quinn and Santana and Rachel drama, but… he's super nice. He doesn't roll his eyes when I don't understand some of the long words that people use. With more than four silicons."
"Syllables?" suggests Marley, and Brittany nods.
"Yeah. He just gets me. I like that I can be the one explaining stuff to him sometimes. I was sad when I was leaving, and he was sticking with Burt to work in the tire shop." Brittany sighs. "I told him he should come with us, because he'd have plenty more work there; there're a lot more tires to fix in LA, because it's hot and the tires melt on the road."
"What happened after that?"
She beams brightly. "A couple of months later, he just showed up here. Said he'd gotten my address from Sam, and that he woke up one morning and decided that fixing tires were the same everywhere, but fixing tires in LA would be good because then he'd get to see me a lot more." Brittany shrugs a shoulder. "The sex part happened a lot later," she adds, completely unnecessarily.
"Wow," says Marley quietly. "That was quite a story – apart from, you know, the last bit." She clears her throat. "Thanks for sharing that with me, Britt."
"No problem." She scoots over so she can rest her head on Marley's shoulder. "You're sad," says Brittany quietly, "why are you sad?"
"Well…" Marley lets her cheek rest on Brittany's head. "I had to choose between here and my dream job, or New York and Quinn. And I was double-thinking that for a while, thinking maybe I'd made the wrong choice because it was hard on the both of us."
"That sucks."
"Yeah." She hugs her knees closer. "So I was considering moving back, and then Quinn talked about moving here. Which was good, except my therapist said I'm being too emotionally dependent on Quinn."
Brittany frowns. "What does that mean?"
"Like…" She pauses to think over her words. "It means that Quinn is the only thing that makes me happy. Not my job or hobbies or anything else."
"Oh. That's not ideal. I don't think it's very healthy to make somebody your whole universe. Like, the reason we have planets and meteorites and other space stuff is so everything doesn't swing out of balance whenever something changes. Like global warming."
"I know," says Marley with a sigh. While accepting Doctor C's words was hard, having the entire complex idea broken down, Brittany-style, was worse because it made perfect sense. "So… yeah. I'm trying to find other things that make me happy so I don't rush into big and potentially dumb decisions."
"I don't think you can make dumb decisions," says Brittany, "apart from, y'know, not eating properly and all. But that wasn't all you, so I suppose that's okay." She gets up, stretching like a cat. "I think we've had enough of a break, so we should get back to dancing."
Started dance classes, she writes to Doctor C. Maybe starting regular massage therapy at this rate. Also, attended a free lecture about alternate realities and universes.
That would count as three items, replies Doctor C. You've been busy.
On Sunday, she and Finn go out on a food truck hunt. They're armed with a list of famous food trucks from a website meant for people new to LA (Marley), and a mental map of LA's roads and its shortcuts (Finn).
"Okay, the schedule says they should be there already," says Marley, thumb scrolling down her phone screen, "at Glendon and Wilshire."
"Glendon and Wilshire, copy," says Finn absently, taking a hard left at the next intersection. "What are they famous for, again?"
"Lobster rolls."
"Oh, yeah." He grins. "I love lobster rolls. I remember learning in History class that people thought they were a bug or something, so nobody ate them. Imagine how desperate was the first guy to eat a lobster."
"I tried one for the sake of having eaten them, so I'm looking forward to this – oh, hey! Pull up!" She points up ahead, to a large black truck parked on the curb. Finn does, and parallel parks in double-time. "Nice," he says, holding up a hand for Marley to high-five.
There isn't much of a queue for a Sunday afternoon, so they're back in the car with a lobster roll and a grin each under twenty minutes.
"'Dish ish aweshum," says Finn, mouth full.
Marley, far more well-mannered, simply nods.
Finn finishes wolfing down his roll and belches. "Oh, man," he says, reaching for a wet wipe from the glove compartment, idly licking a smudge of mayonnaise from his thumb, "I really want another one, but we're gonna head for a few more trucks, so I really shouldn't. But, so good." Finn belches again. "What's next?"
"Gross, Finn," complains Marley, but unlocks her phone and hands it to him anyway. "You pick the next one."
"Cool." He grins suddenly. "Your wallpaper's cute."
"Huh?"
He minimizes the browser and angles her phone, showing her the photo of Quinn and herself from Quinn's last visit to LA.
"Oh. Thanks."
Finn goes back to scrolling through the list of food trucks. Marley resumes eating, chewing thoughtfully.
She hadn't intended on asking Finn for his side of the story today, but… it's tempting. Brittany's obese, business-inclined cat aside, she's rather curious about how Finn – small-town, simple Finn – decides to travel hundreds of miles for a girl he wasn't even dating at the time. He couldn't for Rachel, and she was his fiancée at the time.
"How about this one?" says Finn abruptly, breaking into her thoughts. He shows her a photo of a large taco almost bursting with stuffings. "It's not far from here."
"Looks good."
The instant she's disposed of her lobster roll's wrapping into the empty paper bag that sits between them, Finn releases the handbrake and pulls out of their lot. "Excited?" asks Marley pointedly.
"Oh yeah," he says, grinning. "Me and my firehouse buddies don't really have time for this, and it's been a while since Britt and I went on a proper hunt."
"Should I be concerned about how many trucks we're gonna visit today?"
"Not that many. Promise."
Marley loses track of how much calories they've consumed – after the third stop, merely watched Finn consume – sometime in the middle of the day. It's partly her fault, really; she'd spotted a handmade sign advertising a food truck festival while they were getting lost in the outskirts of town.
Finn had been positively euphoric to see so many trucks parked together, meaning they could sample as much as they could stomach without having to drive around. The event organizers had even been as thoughtful as to provide plastic chairs and tables for people to sit and eat, meaning…
"Please, Marley?"
She groans. "I'm stuffed, and you're disgusting."
Finn grins, looking abashed. "It's the famous loaded triple chocolate butterscotch caramel milkshake, c'mon… I can't finish it on my own."
"I'm not stopping you from getting it," exclaims Marley, fighting to keep the smile from her face, "all I'm saying is that I will burst if I eat any more, so don't expect any help from me."
He pouts. "You'll change your mind," he says, taking out his wallet and walking off towards the truck. "It's that good."
Marley sits at the nearest unoccupied table to wait for him. While she's too full to drink (really, it should be eat given something as solid as the milkshake), she does have a bottle of craft beer that she's taking her time to finish.
Finn ambles over, a beer in his hand.
"What happened to your milkshake?"
"Brittany texted. Her dance class is over, so she's headed here to join us. I told her to bring her appetite." Finn looks positively gleeful that he has another partner in crime to eat with him. "I'll wait." He leans over to tap his beer to Marley's. "Cheers."
They drink. Marley's attention is on her sweating beer bottle, picking at the label as it slowly peels away.
"Something on your mind?"
She blinks. "What?"
Finn shrugs. "I can sense when people have stuff on their minds. I've been well-trained."
Marley laughs, despite herself. "Well-trained alright."
"Yeah. Would it have anything to do with what you and Britt talked about yesterday?"
"How did you kn – she told you about it?"
"Yeah, if you call her sitting me down last night and saying: Finny, I think Marley has something she wants to ask you about so remember to ask her in case she's doing that nervous fidgety thing when she's got heavy thoughts to me, telling me about it," Finn says casually. "She didn't give me more details than that."
"Oh."
"So, what is it you wanna ask me?"
"Well, I…" Her mouth twists as she attempts to phrase her question. "What made you move out here in the first place?"
Finn's eyes go very wide and he blinks at her, like a fish out of water. "Whuh?"
"Brittany told me her side – which mostly was about Lord Tubbington and his coffee empire…" Marley frowns, and then resumes. "But she mentioned you showing up here unexpectedly."
"Um." Finn goes pink, pushing up the brim of his baseball cap to rub at his forehead. "That, well… it gets kinda complicated."
"I never figured you to do complicated," says Marley warmly, and Finn chuckles.
"Yeah. Guess I picked that up from Rachel; sometimes the difficult stuff is really worth it, y'know." He gives her his trademark lopsided grin. "Britt's more on my level than any other girl I've dated, but in a good way. She gets me, you know? And it goes both ways, especially since I talked to her a lot more and I got to understand the stuff she says better."
Marley nods.
"I'll admit I was scared of leaving Lima because everywhere else seemed so… big and impossible," he continues. "Like the big city would eat you up and spit you back out if you weren't careful."
She remembers how she felt on her first day in New York, and all the times throughout when she was certain she wouldn't make it. "I think I know what you mean."
Finn nods. "Everybody was so desperate to get out of Lima. But I didn't really see the appeal of the stuff they were willing to risk failure for. I'm good at fixing cars. I liked being who I was. But after she left, I woke up one day and thought that whatever Brittany was talking about, the life she imagined… it was worth it, you know?" He clears his throat. "Except that, it only seemed worth it with her around. Not with anyone else."
"But more than that, I guess… it comes down to the person that I was when I was with Britt. She doesn't make me feel like I was wasting my potential, or that I'm stuck anywhere. She doesn't make me a better person, but she helps me make me a better person." Finn rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "... I hope that made sense, 'cause I have no idea how to make that easier to understand."
"No, I understood that just fine." Marley reaches out to pat Finn's arm. "I… that made a lot of sense."
He gives her a wide relieved smile. "Oh, good. That's great. I hope that helped with… whatever's going on with you, right now."
Marley nods slowly. She returns his smile. "Definitely. Thanks, Finn."
Brittany approaches them. "Hi, Finny. Hi, Marley. Finny, you said to bring my appetite and now I know why because I saw this milkshake that I think you'd like." She sets the massive mug she's been carrying with both hands on the table. "It's a loaded triple chocolate –
"– butterscotch caramel milkshake," he finishes. Finn's eyes go wide, then crinkle as he beams. "Awesome, babe." He kisses Brittany's cheek.
"Ready?"
"Ready." Quinn has a plastic bag in her hand emblazoned with her local bookstore's logo. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a brand-new copy of Gregory MacGuire's Wicked.
"Got your iced tea?"
Quinn drags the mug into the frame. "Yep. You?"
Marley takes a sip of hers. "Our official Skype book club's first meeting. I've been waiting for this," she says, and opens her copy of the same book. "I'm so excited. I've been wanting to read this since I listened to the cast recording."
"You haven't watched the musical yet?"
"No, but Rachel's promised to take me the next time they have a revival. I'd ask you the same, but then again, your best friend is Rachel Berry."
Quinn laughs. "She took me to the Broadway staging in our sophomore year."
"I'm not surprised. I think a more accurate question would be to ask, what haven't you watched yet?"
"You're lucky you asked me this in Rachel's absence," says Quinn lightly. Her mug occupies a full corner of the screen. "I don't think my iPad battery can survive the list."
Marley shakes her head fondly. "Okay, I think I've taken up enough of your time." She checks the clock on the wall. "I'll call you back in two hours?"
"Think you can pry yourself away from the book that long?" Quinn teases her, and Marley huffs good-naturedly.
"For you, maybe," she says, and blows her webcam a kiss. "See you soon."
After the minor success of Trent Morgan, Marley's given a new talent – an alternative rock band making their second album – and a lot more creative license. It helps that the guys have some creative vision of what they want their new project to be, but unlike Trent, they haven't written enough music to make up a full album.
And of course, they're on a strict schedule.
The perfectly logical response to all this is for her to buy a plant.
It's a spider plant which she names Peter Parker because it's a spider plant, and she… she doesn't have any other good ideas, being completely drained of creative energy after a full day trying to whip the new album into shape.
She's not a geek. Not really. It just meant she listened to Sam when he waxed lyrical about the merits of Professor Weird versus Doctor Y (or something like that) on those long bus rides to show choir competitions.
Anyway.
It counts as something for herself and her house; and she picks the side table next to the big French window for his perch.
Her email to Doctor C includes a photo attachment of Peter Parker in his new home, and a note asking if Sam's influence, as an ex-boyfriend of Quinn's, counts.
Doctor C writes back promptly to say she isn't the therapy police, and that Peter looks happy.
Marley's proud to have progressed on to bigger things. A large suede couch now takes pride of place in her living room because she thinks it's cozier than the original leather piece, and she ordered a matching footstool online.
The throw blanket she got for Christmas occupies half the couch, perfect for cold nights. Marley has it on good authority that she might be getting another patchwork quilt for her next birthday, so the other couch is taken care of.
Quinn calls her on Skype. Her bemused expression fills the screen. "Hey, Marley."
"Hey, you." She pushes aside the little ache in her chest on seeing her girlfriend. "What's up?"
In answer, she holds up a brown bag. A familiar logo is printed on the side, Lord Tubbington's beady eyes staring back at her.
"Oh! You got it!" exclaims Marley excitedly.
"I did," confirms Quinn, eyes crinkling at the sides. "I thought it was a joke."
"Yeah, same. But then I went to the warehouse – "
"There's a warehouse?"
Marley giggles. "Yes. That was my reaction, too. Have you tried it yet?"
"No, I literally just got home and Halley thrust it at me… the three idiots say hi, by the way…"
"Tell them I said hi back," says Marley, smiling. She puts her iPad on the bed and flops down on her stomach in front of it, hands cradling her chin. "Don't just sit there – go brew a cup."
"It's eight. I'll be up all night if I drink coffee now," says Quinn, frowning.
Marley waves a hand. "It's also Friday. Come spend the time with me. We'll do something fun – have a Skype sleepover, or watch movies… I could read you this article I found the other day. We could read our book together." Her voice turns wheedling. "I'll make myself a mug too. We'll keep each other company."
"Don't you have things to do tomorrow?" The image quality is just good enough that she can tell that Quinn's expression stays the same. She knows Quinn long enough, though, to guess that her persuasion is working.
"I can easily do them tonight."
"Just how strong is that?"
She dissolves into another fit of giggles. "Let's find out. I haven't actually tried it yet, I just got this bag a couple of days ago." Marley climbs off the bed and runs for the kitchen, tablet in hand. "Look, I've got my moka pot ready to go," she says, aiming the front-facing camera at the aluminium coffee pot.
"You don't really drink coffee."
"I'll make an exception for Brittany and her cat."
Quinn sighs. It comes over as a breathy rush of sound. "... Fine. I don't know how I let you talk me into these things…" She trails off, muttering to herself, as she scoops up the iPad and goes to her kitchen.
While the coffee brews, Marley talks about her latest project, and how consensus is an occasional event, not the norm for the band members when it comes to writing songs. Quinn seems a little preoccupied, but listens intently regardless. She lets it go, because nothing good comes out of making Quinn talk when she doesn't want to, and Marley's more interested in spending what time they have together happily. Not fraught with personal issues, or emotional baggage.
At long last, both of them have a steaming mug of Tubbington's Finest (four on Quinn's side, because her housemates are insatiably curious). Marley eyes her coffee with some distaste; she doesn't really take her coffee without copious amounts of sugar and milk, but adding her usual quantity would make her unable to taste the coffee.
Marley opts to take a tiny sip of the black coffee. She scrunches up her nose; it's rich, and very bitter, but there's a smoothness that even a novice coffee drinker like herself can appreciate. Quinn and her housemates seem to love it, however. They drink it black – Marley makes a face, which Quinn sees and laughs at – and immediately look up Tubbington's Finest online to make orders of their own.
"How's your coffee?" asks Quinn, eyes twinkling green – and there's the mischievous Quinn she last saw at Columbus airport. It's clear that despite her earlier trepidation, the coffee has improved her mood tremendously.
Marley sticks her tongue out at her. "Bitter." She makes a show of dumping plenty of milk and sugar into her mug, laughing at the disgusted expression on Quinn's face. "As good as this coffee is – or you say it is – I'm really not a coffee person." Marley takes a sip and makes a noise of satisfaction, smacking her lips exaggeratedly. "Now it's good."
"Philistine," says Quinn fondly. "So, since we'll be up all night now…" she throws a pointed glance at their coffee mugs, "… what did you want to do?"
A grin starts small, then spreads over Marley's face like wildfire.
The other part of her homework, the one she shares with Finn, is LA-centered. Marley lets him take her out on a friend-date that consists of tickets to one of the Lakers' home games, and dinner at one of his favorite bars, Nelson's. And really, with date ideas like that, it's no wonder he had no luck dating girls like Santana or Quinn or even Rachel.
(Though, to be fair, Rachel's that kind of girl who adapts herself to whoever she's dating.)
Brittany, though. Brittany loves the colourful basketball uniforms and the mascots and the excitement of cheering when somebody shoots a slam dunk or something (on both sides; she's unbiased that way). Even though it's a friend-date, Marley gets the sneaking suspicion that Finn's taken Brittany on quite a few romantic dates with a similar itinerary – but with very different results.
"Finn?"
"Aw, yeah!" It takes a while for him to realise that she's talking to him, and he peels his eyes away from the court. "Uh, sorry. What?"
"You promised me you'd explain the rules," she says, trying very hard not to laugh. "All I know is that our guys – " she points at the half of the court occupied by men in purple and yellow jerseys, "– are trying to shoot more baskets than the other guys." She points at the group in navy and white. "Who are we playing again?"
"The Nuggets," says Finn distractedly.
"The Chicken McNuggets?"
"Huh?"
Marley laughs at his expression. "I was kidding."
"That wasn't funny," he huffs, and playfully elbows her. "We're playing the Denver Nuggets – they haven't been in the championships in decades, the Lakers shouldn't be crapping around like this; we got LeBron, for God's sake."
Clearly he's expecting her to understand everything he's just said. Marley nods slowly. "Okay…" She covertly Googles everything on her phone.
"But yeah, of course there's a lot more to it than just that," he says. "Like, the strategy, and there're different kinds of shots they can make; not to mention the player stats – " He cuts himself off as the court erupts in a roar; one of the purple-and-yellow men has just scored. "Awright!"
Marley shrugs. She doesn't have to know basketball to be able to watch it, and at least she knows which team she's supposed to be rooting for… so she takes another sip of her drink and watches as the orange ball bounces back and forth between the players.
Even if their team lost, Finn still buys her a hat in bright yellow and purple "for next time", with the Lakers' logo on the front. He already has his own purple-and-yellow jersey over his shirt.
Finn perks up considerably when they arrive at Nelson's. He buys the first round of beers, and bacon cheeseburger sliders for them to share. "I usually come here after Lakers games," he explains, somewhat sheepishly, after the third waitress in a row comes over to greet Finn by name. "I like the cheeseburger sliders, 'cause the cheese reminds me of the Lakers colours."
"Creature of habit," remarks Marley with a smile. "You can take the boy out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the boy."
Finn actually laughs at that. "Sounds about right," he says, and taps his beer bottle to the neck of Marley's. "Britt loves that Nelson's serves themed food during game season and they make the effort to make her sliders look like little footballs."
"I think it's great you two have so many things in common," says Marley.
He gets this smitten look. "I know, right? Best impulse bus ride ever."
Watched my local basketball team lose, she reports to Doctor C. Had a consolation beer in a sports bar while wearing my team hat. Just for the hell of it, Marley attaches a photo one of Finn's friends in the bar took, of her and Finn with their Lakers gear and their cheesy grins.
Quinn calls, sounding less than thrilled about the news she bears. "I got another promotion."
"Quinn, that's amazing. That's like – didn't you get promoted a couple months ago?"
"I did," she replies tonelessly, "bumped up from full editor to a senior editor."
"Wow. That sounds fantastic, but… why do you sound so unexcited?"
"I got the promotion because I tried to hand in my resignation." Quinn sighs; it comes through as a low rush of static. "My bosses really, really don't want me to leave."
"That's…" Marley can sort of understand; Quinn's meticulous, hard-working, and brilliant. "I can understand why. Any employer would be crazy to let you go just like that."
"I know. Maybe I should threaten to leave until they make me the CEO or something," jokes Quinn. "But the thing is, the promotion comes with a whole lot of added responsibilities."
"Oh."
"I need to come in on Saturdays now. I have way less manuscripts to look over, but now my job is focused on making sure the other editors look over their manuscripts, and I have the proofreaders to oversee." She sounds harried.
"Are you okay with that?"
"I guess. I love my job. Not so much dealing with people doing my job."
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to."
She's said the wrong thing. There's a distinct hardness to Quinn's voice as she says: "I can't leave, Marley. Not now, at any rate: they've made that abundantly clear."
"You can, if you tried hard enough. They're not your jailers; if you really wanted to leave, they can't hold you there against your will."
"I don't…" Quinn exhales. "The publishing business is small enough that I'll be burning bridges here if I quit without good reason. The money's good, and I still have a bit of student loans from Columbia left to pay off."
"So… you're staying."
"Marley."
"No, I get it. Work's important; that's why I moved out here in the first place."
"... Yeah."
"I just thought that… you were actually thinking about coming out here. Dumb, right, that I was already making plans for when you moved."
"Marley," pleads Quinn, "don't do this."
She forces a laugh, glad that Quinn can't see her face right now. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying that I thought wrong."
Quinn draws an audible breath, then says: "I don't think now's a good time to be talking about this. Maybe I should call you back when we've both calmed down."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll… I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"I love you." Quinn probably tried for reassuring, along the lines of everything is gonna be alright, we've survived worse, but it comes off with more than a hint of desperation. Marley should probably respond soon. Quinn's too proud to ask questions like are we okay or even are you mad at me, and she's probably freaking out silently.
"I… I love you too." It feels empty. Marley's stomach clenches as the call ends, and all that's left in her ear is the dial tone.
Marley lies in bed, listless. She has the niggling feeling that she's making much ado about nothing (et tu, Shakespeare?) but also –
Quinn isn't coming, is she?
She isn't going, is she?
Which means that either they stay here in this comfortable nest of Skype dates and cross-country flights and longing phone calls or –
She refuses to give thought to the alternative; unacknowledged, it vanishes.
In this frame of mind, she gets out her phone and Googles nearby pet stores.
She loves animals. Her mom used to joke that they'd wanted a puppy and got her by mistake, which is why she shares a name with this famous Labrador from a book. It wasn't true, of course, but it didn't stop her from having a few nightmares about being traded in at the Lima animal rescue for a puppy.
While she's not really a cat person (even before meeting Lord Tubbington), and hasn't the time or energy (or permanence) for dogs, Marley thinks a rabbit or turtle or even a fish might be good. Liven up the space, give her something to look forward to coming home to. Simple to look after around her schedule. Not demanding of more time than she can spare.
Suddenly, she misses Valentino. Marley texts Gavin to ask for an update on the sulky Arowana.
But in the meantime, she's in the car and off down the street. Approximately twenty-five minutes later, she's standing in a shiny national chain outlet that's fairly large, and the sounds of animals fill her ears from all around.
Marley gets distracted by barking. The store has quite a few puppies for sale, and the cause of the riot appears to be feeding time. She laughs as a tiny daschund trips over his own paws in his excitement to get to his feeding dish.
A pet is a huge commitment. Not just in terms of upkeep for the animal's lifespan, but also towards LA. Nothing says settling down for the long-term more clearly than a pet.
Gavin responds with a photo of Valentino, looking unimpressed as always, captioned with an unhealthy amount of exclamation marks. He also attaches a photo of a terrapin which he explains is named Chrétien de Troyes, and is Valentino's new buddy.
… Apparently, he's been sleeping with an Arthurian scholar on exchange from the UK.
Wtf, types Marley, y do the ppl u sleep w/ keep buying u animals
idk lmfao
She sighs and pockets her phone. Marley's here because she wants to purchase a small pet. If she was going to get a dog, she was in the wrong place, because she'd always been quite adamant on adoption.
Marley really shouldn't be doing this. But she is. She pulls her phone out again.
"Unique, babe," she greets her friend when the call connects.
She can't see it, but Marley is quite certain Unique has on this penetrating scowl she gets when she's suspicious. "What have you done this time, Marley Labrador Rose?"
Marley yelps in indignation. "Unique!"
"Sorry, I heard barking in the background and couldn't resist," cackles her best friend. "I do know that's not actually your middle name as your mom insisted it was…"
"How cruel," mutters Marley, "I call to ask for your advice, and what do I get? Insults. Et tu, brute?"
"Alright, alright! I most humbly apologize." Unique clears her throat. "So. You need advice?"
"Yes. I, uh, do you see me as being a fish person, or a hamster person?"
"... What? This better not be some freaky kink shit…"
"No! I meant literally! I'm standing in a Petmart or whatever, and I need advice on what pet I should get."
"Girl, you should have just started with that," says Unique, a touch peevishly. "So, literally a pet. Like an animal you keep alive for fun."
"Yeah."
"Not a dog? You always struck me as more of a dog person."
Marley sighs. "Not a dog, no."
Thankfully, Unique doesn't press. "Right. Okay. So… what fishes do they have? I remember you were really fond of that grumpy fish your housemate had… you even had an Insta for him."
"Valentino the arowana, yeah."
"Right," she says, and Marley can hear the judgement in her voice. "I'm thinking something exotic. You're not really a goldfish kinda gal."
Marley laughs. "Not a goldfish kinda gal? Really?"
"Well, yeah. Look – just send me photos of your top three, alright? I don't know what you got to choose from."
"Okay. I don't think I'm getting anything today, honestly… having a pet is a really big decision." She's already heading over to the aquatic section. "I'm only here on impulse."
Marley doesn't elaborate, and Unique doesn't ask her to. Her best friend just says, "Just lemme see what you shortlist. Later, babe," and hangs up.
Hours later, she has more than twenty photos of animals, and is struggling to narrow it down to a top ten list, and from which she'll pick her top three to send to Unique when –
– her phone screen changes.
Quinn's calling. Marley regrets setting a photo contact picture, because those eyes are crumbling her resolve.
Averting her gaze helps, as does switching off her ringer. But barely a minute after the call rings out, Quinn calls again.
Marley's far from ready to talk to Quinn. But she has to.
"Marley?"
She can't speak. A lump's formed, hard and heavy, in her throat.
"Marley, I know you're there. I guess… you don't really want to hear from me right now. I wouldn't either, if the roles were reversed." A soft sound, like Quinn's clearing her throat. "But that's exactly why I'm calling. I'm trying very hard to be that person you need me to be."
Marley's eyes flutter shut.
"You're right. What I said, earlier… that wasn't fair to you. Especially after everything I told you before." Quinn's voice falters. "It wasn't fair of me to get your hopes up, and then let them down like that."
Her eyes open. "No," croaks Marley.
"What?"
"I said no." She swallows hard. "I wasn't being fair to you, either. You never said anything definite, we were only making theoretical plans, and god – I was having all these fantasies as though what we talked about was real. I had no right to be disappointed."
"No, you… Marley, this isn't your fault."
"Yes, it is. Things have changed, now, and it wasn't fair of me to expect everything we talked about not to change. You can't put me over your job." She hesitates, then adds in a softer voice: "I didn't."
"No. There's a difference," answers Quinn. "You made it very clear that I was important to you, that you actually considered putting me over your job. I felt valued. But I… I didn't do the same. I made it sound like my job was more important than you. I made you feel like I loved you less than my work – which I never, ever, should have done. I'm sorry, Marley."
She takes a deep, steadying breath. "And I forgive you. But… this doesn't change anything, does it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I bought a plant," says Marley. "I named it Peter Parker. I've been buying chairs and couches and dish towels. I'm gonna buy a pet, once I decide whether a fish or a guinea pig fits best into my work schedule." She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand.
"I don't understand."
"I'm not going back to New York." A tear escapes her eye, despite her best efforts. "And from the sound of it, you won't be leaving anytime soon. And I… I don't blame you for that."
There's a long silence, and when Quinn finally speaks, her voice is hard and terrible. "I hope you aren't saying what I think you're saying."
"Everything's been hard since I left," says Marley.
"We both knew it would be hard. Hell, we both agreed we'd do this no matter how hard it got."
"Yes, but look at the fights we've had since then. Your mom, then Puck, and Shelby – "
"You can't blame me for those things happening," hisses Quinn.
"I can't. Believe me, I wish I could blame something or someone because then, at least, I could get mad. I could feel resentful or upset, and I could get over it eventually." She rubs her face. "It's not your fault, or mine, or anyone's… Quinn, you told me that you couldn't live with yourself if I gave up my dream and grew to regret it. I feel the same way."
"... Is this an ultimatum?"
Marley gasps softly. "Quinn, I would never do that to you."
"That's exactly what it feels like."
She struggles to breathe. "I'm sorry," whispers Marley.
"What are you apologizing for?" Quinn, too, sounds on the verge of tears.
"For breaking your heart."
The silence that follows is so profound, Marley thinks the line may have been cut. Certainly, there's no other sound in the universe apart from the beating of her own heart.
"... Marley?"
"Still here," she says.
"Can I tell you something?"
"You can tell me anything, Quinn."
"When you thought about coming back to New York, I… I wanted you to. I was so sure you'd made up your mind, that it was only a matter of time."
Marley waits.
"You're so talented, Marley. I talked myself into believing that you'd come back, you'd get yourself a job far more amazing than this. The risk would pay off, it would be worth it. We'd have everything. You told me I was part of your dream."
"You still are."
"Maybe, but at what cost?"
"Quinn, there's nothing wrong with me wanting to be with you," says Marley, heated now. "It costs me nothing."
"Except your job." Quinn's the gentle one now. "I've seen one person rewrite her dreams before. Once is enough."
Sharp anger flares up, unbidden. "I'm not Rachel."
"And that's why it won't take me getting into a near-fatal car accident to change your mind," replies Quinn. "Although that hurt less than this."
Another silence.
"Can we not do this right now?" pleads Marley. "I'm glad you called, but… this is different. I don't know what I should be saying or doing to make this right."
"Yeah. I agree."
"I love you," says Marley fiercely. "I wish that would fix everything."
"... I wish that, too."
Author's Notes: The chapter title comes from Send Me The Moon by Sara Bareilles.
Further Author's Notes: I'm sorry for breaking everyone's hearts with this chapter :D