A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within.

She hadn't meant for things to happen as they had. She hadn't meant for a lot, but that was never enough, was it? Especially when she had no control over any of it.

But that wasn't true, either, was it? She'd had a choice. One that she knew would be terribly hard to choose, but fact was: she had chosen it. Instead, it had been easier to lay the blame on that other person, even if that other person had given her the choice in the first place.

But Rachel was never easy on herself. She felt hard, she loved hard, and she hurt hard. So when she got threatened and the life she'd planned for herself was suddenly not in the cards… She'd run. She'd run, and she'd broken her heart.

It hurt when after she'd run, she wasn't followed.

They'd been dancing around each other for years. Two steps forward, as many and more back. The timing was never right, and the emotions were never fully developed. Something was always in the way. Or they'd hurt each other too much.

So when they'd had their chance, she hadn't believed it.

She was challenged. She was called out. She was propositioned, and she was scared. But not scared enough to give up. Not in the beginning.

Not when she should have.

It was all wrong. They needed each other like air, but they also needed each other like poison. Too much time had passed since they had been first aware of each other, of that possibility. And horribly, they'd ignored it.

They'd combusted.

And then Rachel had run. Easy to blame it on dark, heartbroken looks and awareness that something wasn't right. Easy to blame it on loving too much, when really, wasn't it loving too little?

They'd once been good friends. Then they'd parted, and then hesitantly built it back up. Built on dreams and hopes and pleadings and the total need to succeed, they'd ultimately betrayed themselves.

Again, it was easier to blame someone else.

To blame Santana.

She'd made her love her. She'd made her ache for her, wait for her, then devour her. And the girl Rachel had been spat back out in wasn't any shade of her old self. Of their old selves.

They'd been changed, and it hadn't been anything they'd expected. It had been worse, horrible, too powerful. They couldn't let each other go.

Until the choice.

They'd made the right choice, hadn't they? Hadn't Rachel? They were better apart than they'd ever been together, because being together was impossible to control. Swept up in emotion and need and fire, they'd about killed each other. So being apart was right, right?

Rachel had thought so. No, that wasn't right. She'd convinced herself it was right. That no amount of pain and tears and breaking hearts were worth them bringing each other down. Because either way, they'd die. At least this way, they could survive after death.

But now…

Staring into the dark eyes that had always captured her, at the lips that had caressed her body and soul, at the woman who had held all of her… Rachel didn't want to have to choose any more. She wasn't strong enough. She wouldn't be able to survive the finality.

So it was Santana. Santana's turn. What did she see, looking at Rachel? Did she see the distance between them, worn thin? Did she see scars that would never fade, that would prevent anything from happening, good or bad?

Did she see Rachel's heart pounding so hard that any second it would explode and kill her, Santana being the last thing she'd see in this life?

The woman dropped her head. "Rachel," she whispered.

"Santana."

"I've missed you."

And she was reborn.