Author's Notes: The usual thanks to Mike the Americanizer, proofreader of over-enthusiastic commas, and operator of the fine-toothed comb of language. Any mistakes left are wholly mine.
Part Fifteen: nothing is as bad as it seems, we'll come clean
As she used to before, Marley gives Quinn her space. She sends the occasional text sharing some funny anecdote from her day, sometimes photos of Hugo doing something cute. The two subjects converge more often than not; she really has no self control when it comes to her grumpy old man.
Quinn always replies; not always promptly, but sooner or later Marley gets a text back. Even something as simple as a 'lol', or a smiley face that makes Marley grin, or – once – a cute animal picture of her own.
It helps that she's going into this prepared. Marley has her new hobbies that help her to stay out of her old habits: Her Lakers hat starts to show a little wear-and-tear. She's almost a match for Brittany on the dance floor. It becomes an unwritten rule that Quinn doesn't accompany her on her home decor expeditions. She becomes familiar enough with LA's food trucks that she can write a guide of her own, much to Finn's delight.
Most importantly, Marley's content. Perhaps she's not incandescently happy like Jane Austen would describe it, but she's happy enough with how her life has turned out so far…
… well, if she could get rid of this giant invisible wall between her and Quinn, then it would be perfect.
It's rare that Santana video calls her, and rarer still that Marley has no idea what occasion would warrant that. "Oh, hey, Santana," she says warily. She pats down imaginary fly-away strands of hair.
"Rosie, my girl, have I got news for you." Santana looks and sounds completely at ease.
"Uh, okay?" She transfers her phone to her other hand, sitting properly on the couch.
Santana makes a dismissive sound. "Don't sound like I'm gonna say something bad. It's good, I promise."
"Alright. What is it?"
"Did Rachel ever mention this little workshop thingy she'd got cast in, by Eggy St Thames?"
She frowns. "Eggy? Do you mean Jesse?"
"Bless you."
Marley's frown deepens. "And yes, she did mention that in passing," continues Marley.
"Good, good. So, Messy's funding search went through, and the musical's opening off-off-Broadway." She takes a breath, and when she next speaks, her voice has taken on the tension of a person held at gunpoint. "Rachel's quit being bargain bin Jasmine to star in this one, and – I don't know, maybe she likes your face or something – she'd like you to be there on opening night."
Marley squeals. "What. Wow! That's just – oh my God, I'm so happy for her!"
"At least one of us is," grunts Santana.
"Speaking of which, why are you so grouchy?"
"'Cause I'm calling Finnessa after you."
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed. Mind you, I only agreed to do it because Rach is calling Q-bert and Britt."
Marley feels cold. "Wait. You're inviting Quinn?"
"Well, duh, My Little Lunchlady," drawls Santana. "She's only Rachel's best friend and the reason for the permanent footprint in my lower back where she dug her heel in during the good ol' days of the Cheerios pyramid." Santana's mocking tone relents a fraction. "Why, aren't y'all good? You two are unbroken-up now, right?"
"We are," says Marley. "I just… I don't want her feeling pressured into spending more time with me than she wants to."
"Newsflash, Rosie: she's not there for you. She's gonna be there for Rach because my girl is one step closer to that Tony she's been dreaming about since she was a squirt in a turkey baster."
Marley makes a disgusted face.
"Anyway," continues Santana, "Quinnie'll use her grown-up words to tell you to buzz off if she decides she doesn't like your face as much as she used to. She's not a puppy." A pause. "Though, she is a bitch."
"Hey. That's my girlfriend you're talking about," says Marley, low and tight.
"Whoa, hey. Hawt." Santana dramatically clutches her chest. "Protective baby Rose does things to me. If only you'd come around a couple years earlier…"
"Santana."
"Okay, okay. Got it. Jeez, it's weird when anyone other than Rachel does that," she mutters, sounding distinctly unrepentant. "I'll be good. Anyhoo, it's a fucking Glee family production, so you is not allowed to bail out. Hummel had a hand in costume design, and yours truly made sure the songs didn't suck so hard."
"Really? I – wow, I wasn't expecting that." Marley adjusts her grip on her phone.
"So you're coming?"
"Of course I'll be there. When is it?"
"Saturday, the fifteenth of August. Eight PM."
She does a quick mental calculation, and finds it to be three weeks away. "Okay. I'll note that down."
"Good to hear. Okay, so I have to call Mr Pyramid Nipples now…"
"Santana," she growls.
"You're not fooling anyone, Rosie. I know you're not actually offended, because he does have pointy – "
Marley pinches the bridge of her nose. "Please don't finish that sentence."
"– fine. Man, you're like one of those baby bunnies they dress up with vampire fangs and claws in memes; you're not actually threatening."
Just as she's spluttering and searching for the words that won't come, Santana rolls her eyes and says: "Alright! I'm hanging up now before you have a coronary or something, and Q murders me. Later." And she terminates the call before Marley can respond.
It's Quinn to contact her first this time, and Marley knows it's because of Santana (and indirectly, Rachel). Nevertheless, it's Quinn reaching out first since they – reconciled, in spite of the general lack of enthusiasm from the people around them. Marley takes it as a good thing.
She answers the phone with, "Did Santana call you about Rachel's show?"
"Hello to you, too," responds Quinn a little dryly, and Marley blushes hot.
"Oh. Sorry. Hi. I guess I got a little carried away back there."
"It's fine." She can almost hear the smile in Quinn's voice. "But to answer your question, yes. That's what I'm calling about, as a matter of fact."
"Okay." Marley holds her breath.
"I was wondering if you'd made any travel plans," says Quinn.
"Um. Sort of?" Marley spent her lunch break browsing flights on her phone, and thinking about places to stay. She's still deciding between asking to stay with Rachel and Santana or her old housemates, or booking a hotel room; she tells Quinn so.
"Okay. I was wondering if you'd want… if you'd consider booking a hotel room with me." Quinn sounds hesitant, and Marley doesn't blame her; she's feeling amazed that one of them has finally broached the subject, and it wasn't her. "I looked up the theater, and it's pretty far from Halley and the boys' place. And as much as I love them, I don't think I would want to stay with Rachel and Santana."
This surprises Marley. "Oh? Why not?"
"Rachel's always been… high-strung. Especially before a premiere. I can imagine that she's going to be unbearable to live with."
Marley pulls a face. "Oh. Yeah." Though she's certain the mental images her brain is producing are exaggerations, Marley does recall the college years and the stories she's heard from Quinn and Santana. "You might have the right idea."
"Hey, are you alright? You sound a little… on edge."
"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm fine," says Marley.
"Let me guess. Santana?"
"No…?"
"Marley." Quinn's voice changes to what Marley's privately dubbed her 'teacher voice'. It works.
"Okay, maybe I let her get to me a little," says Marley, sliding lower in her seat.
"That's not like her," says Quinn. Marley can hear the frown in her voice. "She's mellowed out a lot lately. Are you okay?"
Marley lets her sigh escape slowly, in a soft controlled exhalation. "It's not – it doesn't really have anything to do with Santana," she confesses. "I was thinking about us."
"... Oh."
"She asked about that and I didn't really have an answer for her, so – yeah," finishes Marley lamely. "That's about it."
The silence that follows is impenetrable and more than a little intimidating. Marley clears her throat, and starts: "I'm sorry – "
"Are you – "
They both break off. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," says Marley.
"No, you didn't – I was only gonna ask if you had plans tonight."
"Uh, no. Not really."
"Okay. Good, because I don't think this is a conversation we should be having over the phone."
Marley swallows. "Yeah. Uhm. You're right."
The little Italian place is something she wouldn't ordinarily try on her own, but Marley knows that it's the kind of place Quinn likes. She arrives about ten minutes earlier than planned, but to her surprise Quinn's already there.
Quinn lifts her head, gives her a warm smile and little wave. "Hey." She has a menu in both hands, which she abandons in favor of giving her fullest attention to Marley.
"Hi." She pulls out a chair, sits down. "I was worried I'd be too early."
"Nah, you're fine. I had a light day today, otherwise I wouldn't be this early." Quinn props her elbow up on the table, her chin resting lightly on the back of her hand. "Sometimes I like lecturing better. I was supposed to have office hours, but no one showed up. So no issue if I closed up half an hour early."
The small talk makes Marley's teeth ache. Quinn seems to sense her discomfort, because she hands Marley a menu of her own. "The chicken alfredo's really good," Quinn says, "and they also have chocolate lava cake," she adds with a smirk.
It stirs a memory which makes Marley smile. "I'll pass. I've got no one to eat my spaghetti for me." She dares lift her gaze to meet Quinn's, and holds it. Marley hopes the longing in her eyes isn't too obvious.
"I miss her already," says Quinn.
"Yeah, me too. Do you think she'll be at Rachel's show?"
Quinn tears her eyes away to glance down at her menu, a wistful smile tugging at her mouth. "If it's kid-friendly, then I imagine Shelby wouldn't be able to say no to Rachel. Definitely."
The waiter hovers nearby. They give him their orders and he takes their menus, promising to be back soon with their drinks and appetizers.
Quinn sighs softly. "So, New York."
"New York," echoes Marley. She smiles ruefully. "I guess the question now is whether we're sharing a hotel room or not."
"Marley, I don't want you to feel awkward or uncomfortable…" hedges Quinn.
"The same goes for you, Quinn. Things between us are still kinda shaky, and – I want you to have your own space. If you know what I mean." Marley makes a vague gesture which morphs into a shrug halfway through. "I – god, I'm still so bad at this. I'm really hoping you know what I mean, because I feel like I'm gonna mess up a further explanation."
The corners of Quinn's eyes crinkle into a smile. "I do. You're fine."
"Okay. Good," says Marley, relieved. She mirrors Quinn's smile. "That's great."
"We've made it this far. I think we can handle a weekend in New York together," Quinn says with conviction.
The firm way she says the last word makes Marley's insides turn over. "Yeah. You're right," she says, not meaning it at all.
"Okay, so." Marley claps her hands together. "I have to get going in three minutes, so I'm just gonna run through everything one last time."
Gabe eyes her dubiously. "Oookay," he says, but gets up from her couch.
She bustles around her house, talking non-stop. "Hugo's kibble is here." Marley opens a cupboard door. "He likes it if I mix in a little wet food, but he can't have that everyday. On weekends he gets a bit of shredded boiled chicken breast and egg, but not too much; I've prepped enough for the weekend, it's in the little Tupperware containers in the freezer – "
"Marley," interrupts Gabe, as patiently as he can. "I know. We've gone over all of this twice already." Hugo, who's wandered over to investigate all the bustle, walks over to him. He bends to give Hugo a pat. "We'll be fine. Couple of bachelors having a weekend in."
She reluctantly relaxes into a smile. "I know. You're right. I'm just – I've never been apart from Hugo this long since getting him." That's only part of the reason for her anxiety, but Marley isn't about to go into details. "Right. I have to go, I'll miss my flight." Marley crouches down to address her dog. "Bye, my handsome man," she croons, rubbing his ears, laughing when he noses her hand. "Behave for Uncle Gabe, alright? Mommy'll be back before you know it."
Hugo whuffs at her. She kisses the top of his furry head and straightens up, brushing off her hands on her jeans. "Right. Uh. If you can't reach me, I have my friends' numbers – "
"– written on the neon pink Post-It stuck on the fridge," finishes Gabe.
"And – "
"– in case that falls off and Hugo chews it, you've sent me a photo of the list. Yes, Marley," he says to her incredulous expression, "I was listening when you told me. Twice." He smiles beatifically.
"Uhm." She blushes. "I guess that's my cue to go, then."
He nods sagely. "We'll be fine," he reassures her. Gabe follows Marley to the front door, scooping Hugo into his arms along the way. "Bye Mommy!" he says in a comically high-pitched voice, waving Hugo's paw at her.
Marley makes a face. "I regret this already. You're gonna teach my son terrible things."
"Naw. Never. Hugo, tell Mommy she's wrong." Gabe switches to his Hugo voice. "You're wrong, Mommy."
She rolls her eyes at them.
It's a blessing of sorts that they aren't alone for the entire trip to New York. Initially, Marley's glad for Brittany's company in keeping Quinn occupied and out of her shell, but that changes sometime halfway through.
She feels horribly awkward watching Finn and Quinn interact. Marley knows they talk – for lack of a better word. She knows they've gone out for drinks once or twice; they're both mature adults, keen to repair what was a rocky relationship as teenagers. But Quinn still looks so unsure of herself, so on edge around a doubly-awkward Finn, that it tears at Marley's heart.
They're all seated in a row on the plane, with the aisle separating Quinn and Finn – appropriate, Marley thinks. They've broken off their slightly-awkward conversation about LA food culture and Quinn has her eyes closed, seemingly relishing the quiet.
Brittany shoots her a look when the other two aren't looking, as though to say what are you waiting for?
Marley pulls a face right back. Huh?
Brittany's eyebrows do a complicated waggle. You know what to do.
She does. But God help her, she doesn't have the courage to follow through. Marley blows out her bangs and lets her attention wander to Quinn. Her hand rests, palm-up, on the armrest between her and Quinn. It used to be their thing, in the early stages of their relationship, when Marley wanted to initiate physical affection but was unsure of whether Quinn wanted the same.
But this time, she doesn't wait.
She keeps her eyes fixed on Quinn's left hand as she takes it from Quinn's lap. Marley threads their fingers together, thumb stroking the side of Quinn's hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Quinn's eyes open; Marley smiles at her.
Marley's smile widens when the hand in her grasp relaxes fully, before curling around her fingers. Brittany grins at them both from across the aisle.
She'd let Quinn get dressed first because she has a book that's a couple of chapters from the end calling her name, and Marley has been trying not to die of anticipation the entire day.
When the bathroom door clicks open, she's halfway through the nail-biting ending – which is completely forgotten when Marley looks up.
Quinn – who has always been perfect in Marley's eyes – looks stunning in a simple black dress. Her blonde hair is up in a chignon that shows off her neck.
"What do you think?" asks Quinn.
"Beautiful. You look – you're always perfect," says Marley in a rush. Her eyes don't leave Quinn.
Gradually, she notices the colour suffusing Quinn's pale cheeks. Quinn smiles shyly, says: "Thank you," and the spell breaks. She crosses the room to check her phone; Marley's treated to a glimpse of creamy shoulders, exposed by the low cut of the dress – and the faint trace of a scar. She finally manages to tear her eyes away, blushing just as hot.
Her book's fallen shut, her page gone. Marley doesn't care.
"We've got about two hours before we need to be at the theater," says Quinn.
"Oh. Okay." Marley stands up. "I probably should – you're done with the bathroom, right?" she asks, gesturing in Quinn's direction.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's all yours." She sweeps up her dress, clearly taking care not to wrinkle it, and sits gracefully on her bed.
"Okay. Okay, good. I'll just…" Marley busies herself rummaging in her suitcase for her things. She's blushing hot, aware that she's making a fool of herself.
Marley examines herself in the mirror critically. She wasn't sure about the emerald-green dress when she'd bought it, in spite of Unique's assurances that it was perfect for her. She doesn't normally wear dresses; she's half-convinced that she's done something wrong, and she looks like a kid playing dress-up. She has a simple silver necklace that she was told would go with the dress. Her hair is down because she has no clue what to do with it.
She raises a foot and eyes her shoe critically. The heels are too high; she should have put her foot down (literally and figuratively) when Unique insisted they made her outfit perfect.
Speaking of Unique, where is she when Marley needs her? Marley sends off a quick text, and resumes pacing the bathroom, wobbling slightly, regretting not seeking a second or even third opinion.
Chill wmn, her best friend finally texts back, I cnt make it. Drew's tied up w/ work (dumbass kids u kno how it is). We'll c u guys the theater
Marley tries not to scream. She looks terrible in a dress that doesn't suit her, her makeup's all wrong, and the only person in the world she cares about looking good for is sitting outside. She rubs at her face, trying and failing to keep her anxiety in check.
Breathe, she tells herself. You've made it this far.
Her exercises help. When she can finally breathe normally, Marley decides she's not doing herself any favors hiding in the bathroom; Unique isn't going to swoop in and save her, and she doesn't want to keep Quinn waiting.
If she plays it cool, hopefully Quinn won't notice how self-conscious she's feeling and comment on it. Marley gathers up her things and exits the bathroom, head held high. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she says breezily, crossing the room in quick strides, mentally crossing her fingers. "We should get going or we'll be late; you know how anal Rachel can be about punctuality."
While she's folding up her clothes and dropping them into her suitcase, she doesn't hear anything. Marley slowly stands up and turns around to see Quinn staring.
"Quinn?" She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, thinking really, really hard about not biting on her lower lip.
Quinn starts, and blushes. "Sorry. I – You look lovely, Marley." Quinn stands up. "That dress really suits you. Is that new?"
Marley blushes instantly; so much for playing it cool. "Thanks. I, uh, I got it the last time Unique was in town; you know I can't pick dresses for myself."
"Maybe, yeah," agrees Quinn with that soft half-smile of hers. "But you always look so good in them anyway."
The blush intensifies until Marley's half-convinced her brain's too overheated to think of a reply, but luckily for her Quinn doesn't seem to be waiting for one. "So, uh." Marley waves her hand between them, smiling weakly. "Theater?"
"Yeah. Theater." Quinn finally looks away as she gathers her things.
The show's due to start at eight, but Rachel asked them to come a little earlier so they can visit backstage before it starts. (She and Santana hadn't mentioned asking the same of Finn and Brittany, and Marley thinks it's for the best.)
The stage manager, an affable man named Marcus, lets them in. Behind the curtain is a riot of color and noise that is immediately nostalgic. Girls in colorful costumes hurry to and fro, caught up in the flurry of last-minute preparations and mini-crises. Stagehands in black go around with clipboards in hand, walkie-talkies buzzing. And a man strides through the entire mess over to them, parting the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.
"Quinn Fabray," he says grandly. He spreads his arms, gives them a little bow. "I'd recognize that impeccable bone structure anywhere."
"Jesse," returns Quinn, much less grandly. Marley can tell that she's fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. "Congratulations."
He smiles, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, no need to offer your congratulations yet. Save them for afterwards along with your inevitable praise." Jesse's attention turns to Marley, and he holds out his hand. "And you must be Marley? Rachel mentioned you'd be the stunningly beautiful brunette with Quinn."
She blushes and takes his hand, at a loss for a verbal response – and almost squeaks in surprise when he lifts it to his lips. "A pleasure," he says, and drops Marley's hand.
Quinn glares at him. "Where's Rachel?" she asks with a pinched smile. Jesse doesn't seem to hear, initially; he flags down a passing stagehand to exchange a few words before returning his attention to them, still smiling widely. "Rachel's in her dressing room." He jerks his thumb back over his left shoulder. "You should go say hello; I'm sure she'd appreciate that. Perhaps you'll find Santana there as well. She's gotten rather good at hiding, as she's been finding herself on Rachel's bad side rather frequently these days."
"Yeah, sure. See you later." Still looking murderous, Quinn reaches for Marley's hand and she tows the younger woman away; Marley lets her. "Was he always like that?" Marley dares to ask once they're safely out of earshot (which is not very far away because of the general chaos), still flustered both by Jesse's forwardness and Quinn's sudden possessiveness.
Quinn snorts. "If you ask me, he was a lot worse when we were in high school. Puck suggested we go key his car and punch him in the face after he egged Rachel; I kinda regret not taking him up on that offer now."
"Uh, okay." She has more questions; but for now, she's happy to have Quinn's hand in hers, and Quinn leading her in the direction Jesse indicated, steering them through the tangle of people and costumes. She smiles back at Quinn as she knocks on the door labelled 'Rachel Berry'.
"Come in!" yells a familiar voice.
Rachel has her back towards the door when they enter. "Kurt, sweetie, it's about time you got here."
"Wrong best friend," quips Quinn.
She whips around. "Quinn! Marley! I'm so glad you guys made it!"
"Yep, I think she might be happy to see you," drawls Santana. She gets up from the couch in the corner of the room to join them.
Rachel turns her head to shoot her girlfriend a filthy look.
"Hi, Rach," says Quinn. She makes an 'oof' noise when the force of nature that is pre-performance Rachel Berry envelops her in a hug. "Break a leg tonight. Not that you'll need it; you've got this."
There's a knock; a head pops in. "I can hear Satan in here. Rachel Berry, I have my eyes closed, you'd better not be doing anything mentally scarring."
"Shut up, Kurt; Quinn and Marley are here!"
His face lights up instantly. "Quinn! Oh my god, it's so good to see you," he says, dashing over to kiss Quinn's cheek and hug Marley. "Long time no see, Marley."
Rachel latches onto Marley after Kurt, leaving him free to hug Quinn. Quinn tilts her head in Rachel's direction. "She's been impossible, hasn't she?" she says over Kurt's shoulder, addressing Santana, who cackles.
Kurt uses the makeup bag he's holding to swat at her. "Don't be mean. Rachel's taken a lot of responsibility for the show's success on herself."
"What Hummel meant to say is she's been such an absolute joy and light lately that we've taken to calling her the Beast," adds Santana.
Quinn snickers. "Not to her face, surely."
"You kidding? I like my face the way it currently is."
"I can hear everything you're saying, guys; I am right here," says Rachel from Marley's shoulder. And yet, she sounds unbothered as she gives Marley a little squeeze before letting go. Rachel spins on her heel. "Rest assured, I am a professional and will deal with you both later," she shoots at Santana and Kurt, before sticking her head out the door and yelling for Marcus.
"Rachel, what are you calling him for?" asks Kurt. "I have your bag here. The one you asked me to bring to you? Remember?"
"We've got some time before curtain. I think I should go over the stage directions one more time." She frowns. "I don't think he can hear me. I should go look for him. Enjoy the show, guys!" Rachel leaves.
Kurt groans softly. "Rachel, you've gone over the list five times already so far today," he says, taking off after her.
Quinn glances over at Santana, who's still leaning casually against the dressing room table, arms folded over her chest. "I'm surprised it's not you saving everyone from Hurricane Rachel," she drawls.
Santana shrugs. "Kurt thinks Marcus is cute. That's one less person I need to worry about protecting from Berryzilla." She looks at Marley and smirks; Marley narrows her eyes at her. "It's good to see you bitches. Where are you staying?"
"Park Central."
"Nice. Very nice," nods Santana; her eyes light up suddenly. "Can I come stay with you?"
"Uh…"
"No," says Quinn flatly.
"Come on. I'm only half-joking; the Beast is a terror to live with." Santana's voice drops. "We don't even have sex anymore. She just wants me to rehearse with her. In bed." She gives a theatrical shudder.
"You're a natural. I'm surprised you aren't part of the cast." Quinn says dryly.
As if cued to the conversation, Rachel's head pops back into the room. "Santana, if you're quite done socializing," she says pointedly, "I could really use your presence preparing for the premiere of this musical that you helped create." Rachel turns to them and says brightly: "Later, be sure to tell me if I was brilliant, or simply outstanding."
She follows it up with a cackle as Quinn rolls her eyes. "God, Berry."
Help me, mouths Santana. She turns her back to Rachel and mimes death throes.
"Santana," says Rachel impatiently, folding her arms.
"Don't be such a wuss. You secretly love this, and you love her," says Quinn, giving Santana a shove. "Go do as your woman says." The shorter woman glares daggers at her before disappearing.
"They're ridiculous," says Quinn, shaking her head.
Marley smiles. "It's cute, though."
"Cute? Really? Were we looking at the same people?" Quinn laughs. "We should really go look for our seats now. Do you have the tickets?"
"Yep." Marley fishes them out of her purse. They had insisted on paying full price for their tickets – over Rachel's protests. She also checks her phone. "Oh, the others are here."
"Let's do this, then."
Perhaps it's from being reunited with her friends, but Quinn seems more relaxed; her eyes shine, and she's far more tactile around Marley – more like the old Quinn.
Marley decides not to overthink things, but to enjoy the moment instead.
The show is amazing, and really – was she expecting any less? Marley's always known Rachel is brilliant at what she does, but this production proves that she and Jesse together are a force to be reckoned with.
The night's not over yet; they have an after-party to attend. Marley double-checks the address on her phone, frowning. "This is the right address…" Beside her, Brittany's practically bouncing in excitement as muffled music reverberates through the walls.
She walks in and blinks in surprise. "This is…" Marley trails off as she attempts to take in the entire place. The normal decor seems to be a classic Fifties' American roadside diner, but it's been decorated with an unhealthy amount of glitter. "Wow," she adds, as a waitress roller skates past them.
"This is the perfect place for a New Directions party," declares Brittany, already dragging Finn over to the jukebox in the corner.
Holding court at the bar is Rachel herself, adorned with a pink feather boa. "Guys! Over here!" she yells, waving them over. "Thanks for coming! I know you must be tired after coming all the way from LA, but Jesse throws the best parties."
"Uh, no prob, Rach," replies Quinn. She looks discomfited by the amount of glitter in their surroundings. "Congrats again on your show. You were brilliant, outstanding, and all the superlatives."
Beaming, Rachel opens her mouth to say something else, but the waitresses have suddenly burst into song, and she swells excitedly in her haste to join in. Marley glances at Quinn, sees her panicked look mirrored there, and wordlessly tugs her to the corner of the restaurant.
Quinn shakes her head. "This is insane," she says with a little laugh, sinking into a booth.
"And so Rachel."
"Very Rachel," she agrees. Back in the middle of the fray, Jesse's pulled Rachel up on to the stage (and of course there would be a stage, this is a party with Rachel Berry in attendance) into a rousing (and dramatic) duet of Don't You Want Me; Marley and Quinn exchange looks and laugh.
"I'll bet Hugo's monogrammed raincoat that this is the highlight of Rachel and Jesse's night, and not the show," says Marley.
"I'm not taking a sucker bet," shoots back Quinn. "Also, seriously? He has a monogrammed raincoat?"
"Unique spoils him."
"There my bitches at." Santana emerges from the crowd, three beer bottles in her hands. She hands them one each, and takes a deep draught from her own. "This is a good place to hide."
"Shouldn't you be up there, singing a duet with your girl?" asks Quinn, bumping Santana's arm.
She scowls heartily. "No me gusta. Do you see the amount of glitter over there? It's contagious, I swear. The only way I'll be willingly going close is if I'm drunk off my tits first."
"Charming."
"You're forgetting that my ex, and my girlfriend's ex – who are dating each other – are also at this party. I have my fucking right to get stumbling drunk practically written in the Constitution." Santana giggles suddenly. "Before you give me your half-assed sympathies, Q, we're all good. We had a cozy dinner last night because Rachel needed 'closure before moving on to the next stage of life' or some shit like that."
"And how did that go for you?" asks Quinn.
"We all got shit-faced. Someone lost their shirt." Santana frowns. "I don't remember much after that, really. Rach said it's better I don't ask."
The song ends. Before Marley can respond, an excited Rachel appears at Santana's elbow, flushed and grinning, Jesse not far behind. "Sorry. When the stage calls, one must answer," says Rachel breezily. "You have drinks! Wonderful. I have more drinks." She sets the bottle of champagne she was carrying on the table; Santana snags a champagne flute from the table behind them without missing a beat, and hands it to Rachel, who fills it with champagne.
Quinn looks horrified; Marley stifles a laugh. "Your show was amazing, Rachel, and you were fantastic," she says. "Congratulations."
Jesse smirks and wraps an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Naturally. It's a pity Rachel decided whatever brief spark we shared couldn't be rekindled. Imagine us as a couple; we would have taken Broadway by storm years ago." He squeezes Rachel's shoulder. "By now, you'd be giving that Tony acceptance speech you've been writing since sophomore year."
"Yeah, no. That never happened and is never happening, so… hands off, St Flames. Find your own impressionable starlet." Santana peels his fingers away, hip-checking him and replacing him with her own body, squeezing into the booth as well. Rachel huffs but doesn't seem to mind the show of possessiveness; she presses her chin into Santana's shoulder, smiling.
Jesse, on his part, appears completely unbothered. He beams at them all, dusts off his jacket, and excuses himself to mingle.
"I can't believe you used to date him," grouses Santana. "He's such a…" She makes a rude hand gesture.
"To be fair, you used to taunt me in high school," Rachel says serenely, "and look at us now." She kisses Santana's cheek, grinning when it reddens.
"Whatever." She steals a sip of Rachel's champagne.
Quinn clears her throat. "God, I thought the college years were bad enough. You never do grow up, do you, Lopez?"
"Surely not as much as you," drawls Santana. "Look at you, Lucy Q; all out of the closet flying your rainbow flag from every rooftop." She jerks her chin at Marley, smirking obnoxiously.
"Pot, meet kettle."
Rachel rolls her eyes at them both, throwing her unoccupied arm around Quinn. "Guys, maybe not tonight? We should be celebrating! Not just me, but everyone; Kurt's costumes are wonderful, and Santana, your music is so good." She lifts her champagne flute. "We've done pretty well for a bunch of Glee kids from Ohio – well, for you guys. Stardom and my eventual takeover of Broadway was kind of inevitable for me."
Santana snorts in an unladylike manner. "As was that ego of yours, Streisand," she says, but clinks her beer to Rachel's glass.
Marley watches her friends interact with an easy smile on her face. She's happy just being like this, surrounded by the people she loves.
"Babe, you look gorgeous. I don't know what you were freaking about earlier."
"Unique!" she says happily. The mood she's in is too good to be spoiled by the memory of being upset that Unique was late. Marley squirms out of the booth (no mean feat, with four people sitting in a space designed for two) and throws her arms around her best friend, then Drew in turn. "I didn't see you guys come in."
She snorts. "We snuck in during intermission and sat in the back. Don't tell Rachel."
"Your secret's safe with me."
("I can hear you! Why does everyone think I can't? Just because I'm vertically challenged, that doesn't mean I'm not here," exclaims Rachel hotly. Santana barks a laugh and pulls her away to talk to more of their friends.)
"Hi, Unique. Andrew," says Quinn warmly – but only Marley notices the waver in her voice. Her hand finds Quinn's. "It's good to see you both."
"Likewise, Quinn – it's been too long," agrees Unique. She opens her arms to Quinn, who gratefully returns the hug.
Marley finds herself feeling nervous. It's the first time Unique and Quinn are seeing each other since she'd gotten back together with Quinn, and – despite knowing them, she's terrified. She just wants the two most important people in her life to get along.
Which they are, as Quinn answers Unique's insistent questions, and Drew lets himself get dragged into the conversation about students and how each generation gets increasingly degenerate.
"And how are you, babe?"
Marley tips her head to the side, letting it rest on Unique's shoulder. "I don't know," she admits. "Tired, confused. Stuck in this weird place."
"Oh, baby." Unique strokes her back. "It'll be okay."
"I don't know," she mumbles. "You had your reservations, and I… what if everybody's right? What if I've been pushing this for the wrong reasons?"
"Marley, I'm not you. I'm not stupidly in love with that girl; you are. And I know you; if you've been fighting this hard, there's something special about her." She pats Marley's arm. "Never mind me; you got this. Like you always do. Okay?"
"... Okay."
Somewhere in the background, Santana has taken the stage in the corner to belt out a very intoxicated version of Sara Bareilles' I Choose You. It doesn't stop Rachel from whooping and catcalling her from the audience. It's a bizarre backing track to the seriousness of their conversation, but like most things in Marley's life, she takes it in her stride.
Quinn is a giggly drunk.
It's a revelation, given that she's never actually seen Quinn properly wasted. Tipsy, inebriated, various other synonyms for being lightly intoxicated, yes… but Quinn Fabray is very much intoxicated. Marley's been told she's a bubbly drunk, annoyingly so. But Quinn is a giggly drunk, and currently hanging off Marley's arm as she steers them through the lobby of their hotel.
Marley sighs fondly. It's ironic that their positions are reversed, but she really doesn't mind, even though she's tipsy herself; she couldn't very well refuse all the drinks, and the few toasts to the longevity of the show. And of course there was Noah Puckerman and his habit of offering drinks to girls…
Quinn makes a soft grunting noise. "I haven't let myself get this wasted in a while," she mutters into Marley's shoulder, following it with a giggle.
"What?" Marley misses the last part because she was focused on pressing the right button for their floor (and ignoring the hand Quinn has on her upper arm, rubbing the heated skin there).
She repeats her words, syllables slurring together. Marley sighs and brushes Quinn's hair away from her sweaty forehead. "Clearly with good reason. We should get back to our room and you can sleep it off, you drunkard."
"Mmhmm. Home."
The lift dings. "Nope," says Marley, deadpan. "Wow, you're really drunk." She steers them through the corridor and stops outside their room.
"I guess." She giggles. "This is fancy." Quinn toes at the carpet.
"It's our hotel room. Remember? We don't live here in New York anymore?" asks Marley, bumping the door open with her hip, guiding Quinn in, and bumping it shut again. Marley huffs, thinking she should get an Olympic medal for all the feats of athleticism she's performing while drunk, and giggles.
Quinn nods. "Yeah. Not that drunk."
Marley simultaneously loves and hates the fact they got one room but twin beds. "I guess this one's yours from now on," she says, easing Quinn onto the bed closest to the door with a soft sigh, adding: "You're gonna regret this tomorrow," in a stern tone that has no real bite. "Oh, crap, wait, your contacts!"
"Took 'em out earlier," mumbles Quinn. "Knew there was more champagne headed my way." And she rolls over, grunting something that sounds like 'Puckerman' into the pillow.
"Oh. Good." Marley sits down to catch her breath.
An arm wraps around Marley's middle, hand splayed over her midsection. The air whooshes out of her lungs in surprise. "Quinn? What are you – " She cuts herself off with a moan when the hand slides upwards. "Quinn."
Hot breath tickles the nape of her neck. "Marley," says Quinn, voice suddenly clear.
"Quinn. Don't." But Marley's eyes close. She tips her head backwards, lets herself melt into Quinn. It's been far too long since… anything, honestly. Her hands bunch the material of the bedsheets, neither stopping nor returning Quinn's advances.
"Missed you. So much." The words tumble onto Marley's goose-fleshed skin.
"... I've missed you too," she admits. Only because Quinn is drunk and probably won't remember any of this in the morning, and she's tired of pretending she doesn't – her train of thought comes to a shuddering halt when lips ghost the back of her neck.
"Want you," mutters Quinn in between open-mouthed kisses, hot breath caressing Marley's skin.
She closes her eyes. "I… we can't. Not like this."
Quinn murmurs her name in a low voice that has Marley aching with want. But she manages to turn in Quinn's loose embrace, curl her fingers around Quinn's shoulders, and create a safe distance between their bodies. "I should let you sleep."
"Marley…"
"Quinn, you know we can't. Not like this. We can't complicate things any more than they already are." She refrains from elaborating because it's apparent that Quinn isn't in any shape to be listening. "Wait here," she says, and goes to her suitcase. While she's retrieving the things she needs, she fumbles her other accessories off inside, to be dealt with at a later time.
When she returns, Quinn is still sitting up, back against the headboard. Marley sits on the bed and Quinn's body automatically gravitates towards her warmth.
Marley places a bottle of water in Quinn's lap and wraps the fingers of her right hand around it. "You need to take some aspirin before you sleep." She lifts Quinn's other hand, palm-up, and presses two pills into it, closing her fingers around them.
Quinn obediently swallows the pills and drinks her water. Marley waits until half the bottle is gone before tugging it out of Quinn's hand. She removes Quinn's necklace and shoes. "Lie down," she says, pulling the comforter up, urging Quinn into bed. Quinn complies, eyes closed the entire time. "Good night, Quinn."
"Marley."
Her tone is plaintive. Against her better judgement, Marley answers. "Yeah?"
"Stay with me?"
It's just a request, but Marley chooses to ignore the question mark. "Okay," she whispers, kicking off her shoes and climbing under the covers with Quinn, who hums contentedly and curls into Marley's body.
This is… everything Marley wants, but can't let herself have. Holding Quinn like this lets her pretend that they've gone back in time and a future together was something Marley could let herself dream of. She screws up her eyes and buries her face deeper into soft blonde hair.
She can't go on like this.
Marley wakes before Quinn. Her chest aches with nostalgia; Quinn draped over her, head nestled in the crook of her neck, one hand wrapped around Marley's middle. Just as she's contemplating what to do, she feels Quinn stir.
Quinn's body slowly stiffens. "Marley?" she mumbles tentatively.
"Quinn – "
But she's disentangling their bodies, hastily enough that the comforter is knocked askew, looking everywhere but in Marley's direction. "Sorry," says Quinn, "I'll just…" Quinn disappears into the bathroom, leaving Marley to sit up and wonder what happened.
When Quinn emerges, she gets dressed without another word, and otherwise acts like nothing happened. Marley takes that as her cue to follow suit.
It's not until Marley tries to leave the room when Quinn steps in front of her. "What happened last night?"
Marley's teeth press briefly into her lower lip, confused by Quinn's erratic behaviour. "Uh, we had a lot to drink last night," she says. "We managed to make it back here in one piece to sleep it off."
Quinn's expression is like stone. "Is that all that happened?"
"What do you mean, is that all?"
"I didn't… do anything?"
Marley shakes her head. "Of course not. We were both too drunk for that. I'd never start anything, and you and I both know that's not something you do."
"You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Marley. We both know that you can't tell a lie to save your life."
"Then why ask?" Marley persists.
Quinn runs a hand over her face. "I was hoping we could be honest with each other."
"I think last night was the most honest we'd been with each other in a while," says Marley quietly. She sits on the bed before her knees give out. She's told Quinn that she's bolder now, but it's still taking a lot of courage for this conversation.
Quinn follows suit, mouth thinning as she presses her lips together, and says nothing further.
"How much do you remember?" Marley asks.
"I – most of it," answers Quinn, clearly uncomfortable. She sucks her upper lip inwards. "I remember – touching you. You holding me." Her ears are red.
"You told me that you missed me," says Marley.
"I was drunk."
"I know." She tries not to sound as disappointed as she feels.
Quinn glances at her. "You can say whatever's really on your mind. I'm not made of glass, I won't break."
"I… Honestly, I wouldn't know where to start, even." Marley gives a tired laugh, fingers twisting and untwisting in her lap. "It feels like I have you, but not really. We're neither here nor there. Friends but something more; together, but you can't even look me in the eye most days. I love you, but sometimes I look at you and wonder if things would have been better if I hadn't pressed you into giving this another try."
Quinn lets out a shaky breath.
Marley notices. "Quinn… this doesn't mean we've failed," she says. "If we had, we wouldn't be here together right now, talking about this."
"If this isn't failure, what is this? What are we doing?"
"I don't know," she says, and the raw honesty tears her throat. "I don't know anything anymore, Quinn. I don't recognize the people we've become when we're together. Everything's so complicated, and the only thing that keeps me going these days is the simple fact that I love you – and that's enough. That has to be enough." Her mouth twists. "When did we let us get this complicated?"
"I hope you meant that as a rhetorical question."
Marley lifts her chin. "What we feel for each other hasn't changed, and I don't want to go on pretending it has. This morning, when we woke up… Quinn, it hurt when you thought I didn't want that."
She gets no immediate reply. Quinn has her eyes shut. Shoulders bowed, looking as if she'll crumple inwards any moment.
"Quinn?"
Silence.
"Talk to me," murmurs Marley. "I can't help but feel like there's something more you're not saying."
Quinn's lips part, but no sound comes out. Marley waits.
"When I left, that day," Quinn's voice cracks a little, "I thought… in the end, my mom was right. That I'm not capable of having normal relationships."
She doesn't dare speak. But she grips the bedsheets hard enough to wrinkle them.
"But she was wrong. And you're right. I've grown so much. I… I have friends. I have people who care about me. Every bit of me." Quinn stumbles a little over her words. "But I'm still scared."
"It's okay to be scared. I was scared you'd say no to starting over," admits Marley. "I was scared you wouldn't give me a chance to show you that I'd grown into someone who deserves to be with you. Mostly, I was scared you would run. Quinn – what you said, about me deciding that I wasn't good enough for you – I couldn't stop thinking about that."
"I was hurt," says Quinn. "All I could think about was trying not to screw it up, and it felt like everything was crumbling in my hands. So I lashed out. I do that, all the time."
She finally rests her hand on Quinn's knee. "I can't promise you everything will be perfect. I can't say that either of us are perfect, or going to be; we've made mistakes. We'll definitely say or do things that'll hurt the other's feelings. I know I have." Marley's teeth press briefly into her lower lip as she chooses her next words carefully. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I want you to trust me again. I," she falters, "I know that I don't really have the right, but…"
"Marley," interrupts Quinn, "do you know why I said yes to starting over with you?"
"No…?"
"I don't trust easily – especially when I've been hurt before." She pauses. "But, Marley, you're the only person whom I would trust unconditionally, over and over again."
Marley's eyes well up.
"When I stopped to think about that, I realized… being with you changed me for the better, even when we were just friends," continues Quinn quietly. "You helped me make peace with my past – all of it. I would have never been able to confront my mom without you. I would never have been able to have the relationship I have now with Beth; even with Puck, or Shelby. I learned what it was like to let my walls down and someone in. But more than that; from you, I learned what intimacy truly means: it's not simply letting someone in. It's trusting that someone with everything that's inside."
The tears spill over before Marley can stop them. "Hey," says Quinn, her thumbs brushing at them, "no crying. This is a good thing."
"They're happy tears." Marley kisses Quinn's knuckle when it lingers close to her cheek. "I want you to know that you mean everything to me," begins Marley, "and you've been a huge part of my life even before we became something more. I've never felt so sure about anything or anyone else before. And because of that – I underestimated what intimacy meant to me. And you. Our first time… I admit I wasn't in a good place. I was anxious about my future, our future… as well as being irrationally jealous of Rachel. In hindsight, we probably could've chosen a better place or time, but I don't regret it."
Quinn's eyes widen; her lips flatten into a thin line.
"I don't regret a single moment of it," says Marley firmly. "Never. I was twenty-two and the closest I'd gotten to sex before that point was sitting in a hotel room Jake Puckerman booked for us." She snorts. "Everyone talked about how sleeping with someone was the next natural step in a relationship, of being with someone. And I thought, that would be it for me. That was how I was gonna show that someone that I was committed." Marley pauses. "But I was wrong."
Quinn blinks.
"I believed physical intimacy was real intimacy. But with you, I learned that it was feeling comfortable enough to decide when and where I'd give everything. Before, when I first started therapy," continues Marley, "I was never direct. I'd make excuses for people, if forgive them anything. Everything that went wrong was never their fault. Doctor C taught me not to moderate myself, but… I only had the courage to do that outside therapy very recently." She sits up straighter. "Quinn, I didn't feel like I had to give everything. I wanted to give you everything."
Quinn gives her a watery chuckle. "Come here," she says, shaking her head, holding out her arms to Marley.
Marley gladly buries her face into Quinn's neck, hoping that it will muffle the embarrassing sounds she's making. She holds on, not daring to let go, feeling warm and safe wrapped up in Quinn's arms. "Quinn?"
"Hmm?"
"What have you got planned for today?"
She frowns. "Nothing much. We're all flying back later this afternoon, remember? Today's Sunday."
"Don't go home today," says Marley quietly.
"What?"
Marley – reluctantly – extracts herself from Quinn's arms. Her heart pounds in her ears like it hasn't since she was younger. "Spend the day with me," she says, taking Quinn's hands in her own, "there are a few places I want to visit before we go home, and I… I'd really like it if you'd come with me. We can reschedule our flight to tomorrow, call in sick to work."
Quinn just looks at her for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, she asks: "What about Finn and Britt?"
"They'll understand." Their friends have been involved with them from the beginning; Marley feels like this day should be theirs alone, as it should have been from the start. When Quinn continues to stare blankly, not saying anything, Marley deflates. "... Never mind. Forget I asked."
"No, wait." Quinn reaches for her phone. She dials a number, and waits, expression neutral. "Hello? Jim, it's Quinn," says Quinn into the receiver when the call connects, "I'm afraid I won't be able to come in tomorrow. Something's come up… yeah. Yeah, I know. I'll reschedule when I get back. Yes, sure. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."
And now it's Marley's turn to stare, not daring to smile or react in any way.
"I trust you," is all Quinn says.
First stop, Defonte's.
Marley sneaks glances at Quinn throughout the entire cab ride out to Brooklyn. If Quinn was surprised when she told the driver their destination, she doesn't react outwardly.
Help, she texts Unique. Quinn + me nt going home tdy. Explain ltr
She hadn't thought everything through when she'd asked Quinn to stay, half-expecting Quinn to turn her down. But she hadn't, and here they were. Marley shoves her hands into her pockets to force herself not to fidget when they enter the little sandwich shop – then jumps when her phone buzzes in her palm.
got u covered bby. Luv u gd luck xx
Unique's reply gives her the jab of confidence she needed to do this. "I've missed their roast beef and avocado," blurts Marley. It was the first thought to enter her head.
Much to her relief, Quinn laughs softly. "Really? LA is the city of food trucks, and you haven't been able to find one comparable to Defonte's?"
"Oh, have you taken up that pastime as well?"
"Finn always gets so excited when talking about food trucks. It's hard not to pick up a few things." She places her order with the man behind the counter. "Actually, he was talking about going to look for some New York food places today. He said something about Rachel giving him a few recommendations."
Marley keeps her eyes fixed on the man making their sandwiches, watching him slice the loaves and layer ingredients inside. "I think about that day, sometimes; when we were moving your stuff, and you brought me here." Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Quinn now watching her. She pretends not to notice. "I was in the bad place in my head and I didn't know how I got there. I don't remember anything else except the feeling of being overwhelmed, and then you getting me out of that loop."
"Marley."
"It's not a bad memory for me anymore because of you," she asserts. "That's part of the reason why there's nothing like Defonte's sandwiches in LA." And Marley smiles, because Quinn's fingers are curled around her pinkie. She leans her head on Quinn's shoulder. "I remember you saying something about things not having to be complicated? I don't remember exactly what; I only remember you said it because I found it to be such an ironic statement coming from you…"
She can't really see Quinn's expression from this angle, but she does hear the soft huffing sound, and feel the brief pressure of Quinn's lips on her temple.
"You know what I remember from that time? Those early days of our relationships always seemed so rushed. Like we had a deadline hanging over our heads, the days ticking off."
Marley nods into Quinn. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, I'd feel like we didn't have the time to let us develop at a natural pace; like our milestones were triggered by drama."
"What is a natural pace even, anyway?" And she can hear the laughter underlying Quinn's voice, matching it with a giggle of her own.
Marley shakes her head. "I wouldn't know; I'm not exactly an expert at relationships. But I'm thinking… Dates. Casual ones, not just the kind where we dress up and go out for dinner. Pizza at someone's house, coffee on Saturday afternoons. You accompanying me to pick up my mom's birthday present, me surprising you with tickets for this movie you've been wanting to see for weeks but never found the time to go." She smiles. "Don't get me wrong; I've loved everything we did together."
"Me too," says Quinn. "Though now that you mention it… we've had way too much drama for one relationship."
"Honestly? I thought it came with the territory for dating Quinn Fabray." Marley stirs when their order number is called. They bring their food to a small table in the corner.
Quinn looks lost. "Marley…"
She could kick herself for ruining the mood. "I hope you're not gonna apologize or something like that. Starting over, remember?" Marley follows it up with a smile over the top of her sandwich. "Plus, we've only just started our date."
"Our date?"
"Yeah."
"Is this what it is? Alright," says Quinn. She ducks her head, but it does nothing to hide the smile spreading over her face.
Marley hails another cab, this time instructing the driver to head to Washington Square, New York University. At this juncture, Quinn doesn't even give her so much as a raised eyebrow. Marley doesn't elaborate; not until they've pulled up outside the building.
She leads the way. They pass through the campus, weaving through students and tourists, and come to a halt outside the main building where Marley spent most of her undergraduate years.
This time, Quinn initiates physical contact; she loops her arm around Marley's waist and pulls her in. Marley's heart lifts.
"This makes me think of the beginning," she says. Her hands are still in her pockets, and she glances up at the building. "When we met back in Lima, and I thought I wasn't going to see you again because you were in Yale, and I was heading here."
Quinn glances at her, but doesn't say anything.
"I didn't know you were in the city so often. I enjoyed every second of the time we spent together. And when you chose Columbia for grad school… it made me happier than I could say." She drops her gaze, smiling at the memory. "That was probably when I started falling for you, only I didn't know what it was until later."
"That long ago?"
Marley laughs. "I said probably. You're the first and only girl I've ever been with, you know. I didn't have any prior experience or frame of reference."
Quinn turns a little pink at that. "I wish I could say the same for you."
"It doesn't matter, honestly."
"I suppose," says Quinn dubiously.
She leans into Quinn's side in lieu of a verbal response.
The Medusa exhibition is long gone, but they go to the Museum of Modern Art anyway because it's one of Quinn's favourite places. "I haven't been here in a while," she says. Quinn wanders over to a large canvas as though approaching an old friend.
Marley trails after her. She stands a few paces away, hands in her pockets, just watching Quinn admire the artwork. Somehow, Quinn looks lighter, younger; as though a weight's been lifted off her shoulders. A warm glow suffuses her.
They turn a corner and Marley has to bite her lower lip to prevent a giggle. "Is that…?"
Quinn turns back and regards her, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, it is."
Marley takes in the painting, a smile lingering on her lips; she can feel Quinn's eyes watching her, waiting for something. "It's pretty. For a Caravaggio."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Still the same terrible sense of humour."
"Still the same old me," asserts Marley with a smirk.
Quinn's eyes soften. "And I couldn't ask for more," she says, coming closer.
Marley refocuses on the painting. Her cheeks feel heated; it's amazing how her girlfriend is so adept at turning the atmosphere on a dime. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Be so adorable all the time." Maybe adorable isn't exactly the word she's looking for, but vocabulary is difficult when Quinn is this close.
"Like you aren't?"
"You're a biased party."
"Mm. So I've been told." There's the feather-light pressure of a kiss to her cheek, and then Quinn moves away. "Come on. There're plenty of other new works I want to see before we go on with your tour."
She follows, still dazed. She'd forgotten how much she'd missed flirty Quinn and her banter until now.
Central Park is crowded, even for a summer afternoon on the weekend. But they've both lived in the city for years, and it doesn't take them too long to find a relatively isolated spot.
Or at least, for Quinn to find a spot. Marley is unabashedly giddy, too preoccupied with Quinn to be of much help.
The grass underneath the tree prickles the underside of her legs, even through her jeans. Marley stretches her legs and lets her head tip backwards against the tree trunk, staring up into the foliage. "I didn't know how much I missed this until I did."
"Yeah." Quinn follows suit; Marley watches her out of the corner of her eye. "So, what insight have you got for me here?"
She laughs a little. "Not much. Just… I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for reaching out to me that day," murmurs Marley.
Quinn's fingers brush Marley's cheek. "Oh, Marley," she breathes, "you have, every day since." Marley's eyes flutter shut when the feather-light touch moves to the corner of her mouth.
"Why me, though? Why then?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know. I just felt that you were hurting, and that someone needed to say something." Quinn withdraws her hand. "There was a time I would have left it at that, but… that wasn't me anymore. I decided I would be that person who said something."
"And I'm glad someone did; but most of all, I'm glad it was you," says Marley.
Quinn doesn't say anything, until –
"Oh," says Marley quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
"It's not because of what you think it is," insists Quinn. She presses a kiss to the palm of Marley's hand. "It's – god, I wasn't expecting all this when you asked me to spend the day with you. Marley, you're – you're the most inspiring person in my life. Just when I think I can't love you any more than I already do, you just say all these things, and I – god." She laughs softly. "Honestly, that was the last thing I'd ever have expected you to say. But I'm grateful for it."
"Me, too."
Quinn's silent for a long moment. Marley's afraid she's said too much, but something in those inscrutable hazel eyes spurs her into taking the next step.
She crawls forward. The first touch of skin on skin doesn't burn any less than it did last night. Quinn's breath escapes in a jagged little sigh.
"Tell me to stop," whispers Marley, "and I will." Her fingers rest on the curve of Quinn's cheek.
"… I don't want you to stop."
So she doesn't.
Quinn hums into the kiss. Marley only notices because she's hyper-sensitive to everything Quinn, but the sensation of soft lips moving against her own is pretty darn distracting.
Marley pulls back. Quinn follows. Hands cup the sides of her neck possessively, and Marley loses more of the little composure she had left.
She remembers how Quinn likes to be kissed; butterfly pecks in between longer kisses. Fingers in her hair, teasing and tangling silky blonde strands. The occasional playful kiss to the end of her nose – which Marley does, causing Quinn to wrinkle it. The familiar sight makes her smile.
Marley darts a surreptitious glance to their surroundings; they're secluded enough that she feels bold enough to continue. She crawls into Quinn's lap, rising enough on her haunches so she's leaning down into Quinn. Both her hands are cupping Quinn's face now, holding her steady so Marley can kiss her again and forget about the world around them.
Quinn gives a soft whimper. One of her hands has settled on Marley's back, keeping their bodies close.
"We should… stop," mumbles Quinn. "For now."
"Maybe." Marley plops back on the grass, sitting on her heels like a kid – but not without a last quick kiss. She knows she's grinning goofily, but she doesn't feel inclined to do anything about it.
"You look like Christmas came early."
"Well, it did," declares Marley. Much like a horny teenager, she's already thinking of excuses to be kissing Quinn again. Immediately. "You have no idea how happy you've made me."
The corners of Quinn's mouth quirk up, and she rests her hand on Marley's. "I think I might."
She misses being wrapped up in Quinn. "Can I…?"
"Hmm?"
Marley moves closer. Her knees nudge the inside of Quinn's legs, opening up a space for her to sit between them. Quinn's arms meet over Marley's middle, urging her backwards to rest against Quinn's body; her hands rest over Quinn's. Marley grins goofily, letting her head fall back on Quinn's chest so she's looking up at her, framed by a leafy green halo. "Hey."
"Hi."
She swallows, throat suddenly dry. "I love you."
Quinn goes pink – even though she's smiling brightly. She leans down, and whispers her answer in Marley's ear, ending her sentence with a kiss to the side of her head.
Marley's smile turns incandescent.
"What's gonna happen now?" Quinn's voice is small in the silence of the dark room.
Too comfortable to move, Marley rubs Quinn's elbow; the part currently under her right hand. "We take it one day at a time. That's all we need to do."
"You make it sound so easy."
She smiles. "It's a gift," says Marley. She snuggles closer, tightening her grip on Quinn and dropping a kiss into tousled blonde hair.
After a while, Quinn speaks. "When I was younger," she says, "I wrote stories. Those that I remember seemed to be about an ordinary girl who realized she had incredible powers one day, and she used them to save the world." She smiles; Marley can feel it on her skin, where Quinn's face is pressed into her neck. "I'd write them on paper I tore out from writing books, and I'd make my own illustrations for them."
"Did you keep any of them?" She wonders what's the connection, but decides not to ask.
The smile falls. "No. My father found them one day. He tore them up and threw them out; he disapproved of me writing. Said that I'd grow up to be some penniless and starving artist-type."
Marley licks her lips. Quinn rarely mentions her father. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not, because screw him anyway. I got pregnant at sixteen and so much for the rest of that life plan he'd made for me." Quinn's breath tickles her skin. "I don't think I've seen him since the day he kicked me out."
She's apologized countless times, for everything Quinn's survived. She would, again, but she knows it's not what Quinn needs anymore. Instead, Marley runs her palm up and down Quinn's upper arm, squeezing to remind Quinn she's here and safe.
"Lucy did a lot of stuff like that. She used to fish worms out of puddles on rainy days."
Marley's heart melts. "I'd stand on the sidewalk protecting snails from being stepped on."
Quinn smiles. "Lucy would have loved you."
"And I would have loved to meet her." She drops a kiss on the exposed skin of Quinn's shoulder. "You know… it's kinda funny, don't you think? That you and I had our own problems with food?"
"I wouldn't call that funny. More ironic."
"Well, I think that it means we were meant for each other," declares Marley. "Like fate, or destiny."
Quinn jerks her head up to stare at Marley, eyebrow arched. "Fate? Really?"
"Otherwise I'm at a loss to explain how perfect this feels. How happy I am, right now." She kisses Quinn because she can. "Since we're talking about our childhoods… when I was in third grade, I used to dream about marrying Elvis because he could sing and dance at the same time."
Quinn laughs indulgently. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"You must be kidding. I think I did one better, you're a veritable triple threat." She tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind Quinn's ear. "Not to mention being incredibly gorgeous; way better than Elvis and his pelvis."
She hums. "Nice save."
"Kid me would have dumped Elvis for Lucy in a heartbeat," says Marley innocently. "Just saying."
Quinn barks an incredulous laugh, but kisses Marley immediately after.
Marley wakes to unwelcome grey light; it's a reminder they have to get back to real life, but she feels invincible. She smiles contentedly to herself, and rolls over. "Quinn," she murmurs, peppering kisses on Quinn's face. "Wake up."
"Mmmph." Quinn's not a morning person; especially not after the night they've had. But she stirs and blinks awake. "What time is it," she grumbles, rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand.
"Early."
Quinn makes a noise of displeasure. "Go back to sleep," she groans, rolling away from Marley and burying her face in her pillow.
"Nah," replies Marley. Quinn's movement exposes her back to Marley, who delights in letting her fingers trace lazy patterns over bare skin. "Already awake."
"Morning people," grouses Quinn, still sleep-befuddled and out of it. Still, she rolls flat on her back, trapping the questing hand beneath her, and smiling up at Marley. "No. Don't kiss me. Morning breath," she says, shaking her head.
"I don't care." Marley cups the back of Quinn's head and kisses her; Quinn puts up a token protest before eagerly melting into her. "I love you."
Quinn just shakes her head, seemingly exasperated; however, her eyes tell a different story. She pecks Marley's cheek and climbs out of bed to disappear into the bathroom.
Marley flops back down. Her phone's dead – likely from all the missed calls and texts. She's gonna be in so much trouble with everyone she knows but she's not bothered at all. Marley has nothing to do while waiting for Quinn, so she decides to start being a responsible adult again. She fumbles around for the shirt and shorts she was wearing – at some point – last night; she finds the shorts but not her shirt. She finds Quinn's shirt, though, and just shrugs, pulling them both on.
Marley plugs her phone into the charger and watches it light up. There are a few missed calls and texts, naturally; from Finn, Brittany, Unique, Gabe… even the airline. But it's hardly the avalanche that she'd expected.
The most recent text is from Unique and says simply: took care of everyth. Hope u fixed ur shit w/ ur girl. There's an email as well, with a timestamp of a few minutes after the text, with two e-tickets to Los Angeles and a make sure u dont miss this one from Unique.
Marley smiles gratefully. She dashes off a quick reply, and leaves her phone back on the table.
Quinn emerges from the bathroom in a fluffy white bathrobe, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. She looks mildly panicked. "Oh my God! Britt'll be wondering what happened to us."
"It's fine, Unique explained everything to them. She also took care of our flights and stuff, so… we're good."
"... Is that my shirt?"
Marley blushes. She hates how she keeps doing that around Quinn. "I couldn't find mine!" she protests.
Quinn suddenly grins at her around the toothbrush. "No, you know what? Keep it. It looks better on you," she says, and disappears back into the bathroom.
"I was planning to, but we still have to find my shirt," Marley calls after her, "I don't wanna leave any surprises for housekeeping." She starts circling the room and scooping up things. Her belongings sail haphazardly into her suitcase, Quinn's onto the bed.
She calls Unique.
"Heyyy," says Unique. She sounds vaguely smug. "All good?"
"Yeah. Got your email. Thanks for everything, 'Nique."
"'Least I could do." Her voice softens. "You take your time. Tell me everything another day, yeah?"
"Of course," she says, around the sudden lump in her throat.
"You're quiet."
Marley turns her head to smile at Quinn. "Just happy. Also, you know; I'm really liking this whole… going home together, thing. Flying home to LA together."
"Me too." Quinn gifts her one of those shy smiles that melt her heart; Marley kisses her temple and molds their hands together on the armrest between their seats. "You know what I'm looking forward to? All those dates you mentioned."
"I haven't forgotten," answers Marley, heart skipping a beat.
Author's Notes: The chapter title comes from Just Give Me A Reason, originally by Pink and Nate Ruess. But y'all may have guessed that I'd have the Glee cover featuring our girl Quinn and her baby daddy Puck (personally, I'm picturing Quinn and Marley singing their own version).
And with that, the story is more or less complete! There'll be an epilogue coming, of course, but this is officially the last chapter. If you're reading this, thank you for joining me on this crazy rarepair journey and giving Quinn and Marley a chance.