A/N: Another one-shot that turned into more. A big thanks to my beta nolinkedlists.

And into my garden stole; when the night had veiled the pole

.

You remember her like you remember every line of every song you ever sang. You remember her like quotes from your favorite books – the books you read so often that in random situations words and images and messages will create a spot in your mind and you find yourself contemplating. Whenever you wake up from such a daydream you have to remind yourself to move again and you're always a little amazed by how easily life goes on without you despite these deep epiphanies you experience. Her memory is only for you.

You remember her like the lullabies you heard as a child and when you close your eyes at night her melodies fill your mind and softly guide you to sleep. You never have to wander far to see her, because she's everywhere.

You flip open a random magazine at the grocery store and there she is, flashing her mega watt smile. You walk through town and her face is adorning every other poster.

You remember her like the steps to your bedroom door back in Lima or the creaking of your garden gate. Every conversation you had back in school is burned into your memory. You know her – her voice, the curls in her hair, the flicker in her eye, her storm outs and how she'd run to you every time she was in doubt.

She helped you grow. Grow strong, independent. It's because of her that you applied to Yale and you're beyond happy she's achieved her dreams, too, not because of you, but despite you. She kept reaching out when you had no one else. When the world came crashing down on you, when your past and your secrets threw their shadow upon you, when you found yourself trapped in one of your dark circles of punishment and self-destruction – she was there, always. She saved your life.

You know her like the summer sun and the winter's snow. You know the depth behind those chocolate eyes; those eyes that now stare at you and everyone from the sidewalk. She always knew she'd be a star one day and you secretly you knew it, too. It was the reason for your envy, for every threat you felt, for every push you gave her in order to put her in her place.

Maybe he knew it, too.

It's been a while since you last saw the real Rachel and not just her picture. College and her moving in with Finn and your first job and then the second – it consumed so much time that you grew apart and all that's left now is a promise to keep in touch. She's still your best friend, more at heart than in action, but it feels real nonetheless. You followed her blooming career and collected paparazzi snapshots of her for fun, or that's what you tell yourself. If you're being honest, though, you like being able to look at her face, the face that you once hated and came to adore. You like her sincere expressions, when she's not smiling for the camera, when she's scrunching up her nose a little or when she frowns. You like seeing her happy with friends or even Finn, when she's smiling for real and her eyes shine just the way they used to back at school when she looked at you. You can almost hear her laughter.

Once upon a time, back in junior year and before, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off her face. But then she began to smile for you and not just a faceless audience and your anger softened and envy faded away. The foolishness of your younger self makes you chuckle every now and then. It also makes you sad.

You remember that smile as if it were yours, even though you've gone such a long time without it, so when your hear the door bell and open up and there she stands, unsmiling, it almost breaks you.

Hey, you try, come in.

But she just leaps into your arms and sobs. You let her. For a while. You slowly walk the two of you backwards a few steps and close the door with one hand before burying it back in her hair. Her tears soak your shirt and her whimpers echo through your apartment. You wanted to see her, but you can't be glad that she's here. Not like this. Not when she's crying. You can't enjoy being able to hug her again after all this time. You can just stand on the laminate of your living room and hold her. Your heart aches before you've realized what's happening. You feel yourself shatter together with her.

I didn't know where else to go, she sobs, and the fact that she needed a reason to seek you out breaks you again. You're always welcome here, you assure her, blinking your own tears away.

You run your fingers through those soft brown locks and place a kiss on top of her head. She smells like thunder, but her hair is dry. You think that a storm might be coming up and it only seems fitting. When Rachel cries the heavens crack open. Nothing good can exist in a world where she's sad.

Your arms wrap fully around her shoulders and you tighten your grip on her. You're aching to ask what's wrong, but you don't want to push; you don't want to scare her off. It's still a little surreal that she's actually here, in your arms.

You only got to hold her once like this before, when you said goodbye on that day in the late summer of 2012 as you both left for college. That's when you knew you had missed your chance with her. She was going to New York with Finn, not with you. You thought of it as the end of the world back then and yes, a lot has changed. But the world is still turning and somehow all it took was a few short journeys around the sun to bring her back to you. You only wish her tears were those of joy.

Her hands clasp tightly at the back of your blouse. She feels so small and weak, so fragile in your arms. You think of all those posters and magazines and photos you've seen, the ones which make her seem tough and dainty, sexy and glamorous, joyful and proud. There's not a lot left of that person right now. She softens with every sob as if they are peeling off layer by layer. Tough comes off first; next follows glamorous; then proud. What remains is the tiny remnant of someone you once called a diva. She feels real now. She feels like what you imagined she'd feel like back in high school, like you imagined she'd feel after a slushie had hit her and she'd run off to dry her face from ice and tears. You were too much of a coward to comfort her then. In a twisted way you're happy that you get to do that now.

You're always welcome here, you repeat for her and for you. Your stomach turns and twists and you kiss her head again in an attempt to soothe her pain as well as yours.

Finally she steps back and sniffs and wipes at her eyes before taking off her coat. Uncertain where to put it she bites her lip to keep it from trembling too hard as her eyes search the room. When you finally remember how to move you take the piece of clothing from her.

Here, you say, have a seat. I'll make you some tea.

You offer her tissues and lead her to the couch before setting up the kettle.

When you re-emerge from the kitchen, balancing two cups of chai latte with soy vanilla milk - which you remember is her favorite - she's pressed into one corner of your white three seat leather couch. She has her knees pulled up to her chin and barely looks up at you when you hand her one of the cups. The little hairs at her hairline are frizzy and you know she hates it as much as you think it's cute. Her cheeks are flushed and almost as pink as her eyes are red and swollen. Her lashes glisten and her eyes shine darker than you've ever seen them before.

Thanks, she says, her voice just above a whisper.

You sit down next to her and wonder how it's possible for someone to dominate a stage like she does and then slump her shoulders and take so little space on a simple couch. She's always been small, but never tiny like this. Like she's trying to vanish.

She asks if she can stay a few nights and you answer she can stay however long she wants.

If she wanted she could stay forever, but of course, you don't tell her that.

You don't say anything after that. You just sit there next to her, watch her cradle her cup and inhale the scent of her tea. You'd smile if you weren't so sad for her.

When she lifts her head to look at you a fresh shiver of tears overwhelms her and her whole body starts to shake. I'm sorry, she sobs and that's when you feel tears running down your own cheeks, too. You set both your cups aside and open your arms for her again. She takes the invitation and falls against you; she closes her eyes and buries her fingers in the cloth of your shirt and hides her face in the crook of your neck.

Don't be. You can always come to me. Always.

You don't know how much time has passed when she starts to breathe evenly. She doesn't move and neither do you. She's comfortable in your embrace and whatever you thought your life was like before, you now know you were wrong. Nothing has ever been real until this moment with her in your arms. And you delve into this feeling; your heart bursts open to welcome her back. Years have passed and they couldn't separate you, couldn't destroy that bond between the two of you.

Is it ok if I don't want to talk for a while, she asks, and her voice is so soft. You want to somehow track back that path she took to come here and pick up the pieces of confidence she must have lost on her way; you want to give her back that voice that can enchant crowds, the voice that worked its magic on you even when you hated her. You could despise her, hurt her, ignore her, but you could only ever love her voice.

You ask her if she's hungry and her stomach responds with a growl. She hesitantly lets go of you when you get up to prepare a quick dinner.

She's back in your arms in no time. It's different now that she's calmed down and you've realized she's really here. She doesn't hold on to you as if her life depends on it. Instead she leans into you, rests her head on your shoulder and plays with the hem your shirt. You don't think she realizes she's doing it.

And it should feel awkward, but it doesn't. Not at all.

It's been a long time since anyone held me, she whispers, and you get an idea what this could be about, but don't comment. Your mind is spinning with secret hopes that you'll never allow to bubble to the surface. Instead you give her shoulder a little squeeze with the hand you've swung around her to press her against you. It's a silent promise that you'll hold her whenever she needs to be held.

.

Her luggage arrives two days later. Her dads sent it.

You go to auditions and meetings with your agent and a writing class you decided would broaden your horizons, so you're not home a lot. When you get back it's already dark and she's prepared dinner and looks at you with a mixture of sadness and adoration and gratitude. It breaks your heart not being able to ask her what brought her here, but you promised. Instead you give her a hug and compliment the scent coming from the kitchen.

She's here, without Finn, just for you and for herself. You're not going to press your luck.

I'm so proud of you, she says at the eve of day number three, looking up from her zucchini risotto. You crease your eyebrows in confusion and look at her, waiting for her to continue.

Her confession that she's followed your career as well makes your heart jump a little and suddenly you know what she's so proud of. Your cheeks burn when she says how brave you are for coming out to the press, America, everyone.

It wasn't an easy decision to make and it wasn't an easy journey. For an entire year you didn't receive any job offers. Lesbians aren't attractive to our target audience, they said. Even your PR asked you to change your statement into a coming out as sexually fluid. Being undefined is not only acceptable for an actress, it is preferable. You're young and pretty and so very feminine. You're not Ellen DeGeneres and men will be disappointed to find out they don't have a shot with you. Their words, not yours.

It was then that you realized high school never really ends. It was then that you realized you've been through too much to live your old life all over again. It was then that you realized it was time to finally be someone, no matter the consequences.

Calling Santana was the obvious thing to do. She'd survived being outed to the entire state before she was ready. No Brittany could mend that; no friends could undo that; no Finn could sing that away. But she graduated high school as a stronger, better person and despite the rivalry between you two you came to love her again as your best friend.

Is this about Berry, she asked, and you snorted into the phone. She may be a bitch, but her ability to see through people has always been astonishing. Not exclusively, you admitted, and there was silence on her end of the line for a while.

You'll have to face a lot of crap. There'll always be people who hate you for who you are. Don't do it if you can't deal with that. But since you told me, I guess you've already made your decision anyway.

She's proud of you, too.

I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Rachel says, and you admit that you had wished for her to be there. Of course, another part of you is glad you didn't have to see her being with Finn during your struggles.

That same part of you remembers this one day after Cheerios practice back in junior year when you went back to your car and found her leaning against it. You didn't understand that the tingles in your stomach weren't anger and you didn't know what really caused your urge to avert your gaze whenever her dark eyes sought out for you. When you found her leaning against your car that day all you could think was that she made you feel wrong. She made you feel uneasy. She made your skin itch and your throat go dry and your head spin and it was infuriating and so frustrating. As soon as she saw you approaching her she stepped away from the vehicle as if it was on fire. She bit her lip and asked you a question you can't recall. You probably never heard it, because that day, that damned fateful glorious day, your brain switched off and your body acted on its own accord. And it launched forward and it grabbed Rachel's neck and it pressed its lips to hers and the next four seconds you remember better than anything else in the world.

You remember how her breathe caught and her fingers twitched against your arms, first squeezing lightly, then pushing you away. You remember how she parted her lips and how one kiss became two and how you've never tasted anything like her, before or since. You remember how wide her eyes were when you parted and how she looked at you, open and with something that you now know was pure shock, but not the disgust you mistook it for back then. You hyperventilated. You stuttered. You ran. You ran all the way home. And then you made new plans to torture her out of your mind again.

You think that maybe this all had to happen. Maybe you could only grow strong without her, even though seeing her again someday had always been part of the plan. And the journey that you took was fruitful, healthy. Only because you took this path alone are you now able to hold Rachel in your arms without shattering into pieces.

I'm glad you're here now, you tell her and she smiles.

You've moved on, battled your way through the labyrinth and fired two agents on the road, but you'd sacrifice anything except yourself – and maybe her. It's tough on some days, tougher on others, easier on most nowadays. You're as happy as you think one can be.

So when you look at Rachel – your Rachel – Rachel who's always been a part of you and will probably always be – you mean your words. You are glad, so glad, that she's here.

I should have called or… her words die on her tongue when she sees you shake your head.

You're still my friend, you let her know. She smiles again and you finish your dinner.

.

Three more days pass until she breaks it to you.

He pushed me, she almost whispers, setting aside the cup of coffee in her hand. The words seem to physically hurt her, like saying it out loud would make her experience it all over again.

It was a simple argument, one like many they had before. You remember how vicious Finn's words could be sometimes and you remember how he almost flipped you out of your wheelchair at senior prom. You remember how Santana told you about what he did to her, how he called her a coward, poking his sausage fingers into her biggest insecurity.

Santana almost shattered to pieces then and she ran. She ran and hid and you and Brittany spent an entire day searching for her. She couldn't go home and face her parents. She couldn't seek Brittany out when her cowardice had almost destroyed their relationship. She couldn't talk to you, because you weren't supposed to know.

Eventually you found her in the park on a swing. It was obvious that she had spent the day running. Running away, running without an aim. She was sweaty and dirty and her eyes were so dark you almost started to cry for her, too.

Of course that was before that damn ad revealed her secret to the rest of Ohio.

At least at that point she already knew you had her back. Not much of a consolation, but this time she had someone to run to instead of from. She shattered in Brittany's arms before your eyes and it felt like you were destroyed just the same.

You never judged her for slapping Finn.

You don't think Rachel knows any of this, because you never told her. It was between him and you or Santana and him and of course, Finn never told Rachel any of that, either. He's always been good at arguing his own flaws away and pointing fingers at other people instead.

She tears up again when she tells you how they both got angry over literally nothing; how she yelled and how he finally lost it and pushed her; how she stumbled backwards and crashed into the cupboard behind her. How he just turned away and didn't apologize for hurting her.

She had been yelling at him, after all. Totally uncalled for.

It was just a little push anyway.

And she's crazy, that much he'd been telling her since before they became a couple.

You're angry. You imagine his giant paws grabbing her petite shoulders and pushing forcefully against her body. You imagine how he underestimates his strength, overestimates hers, how his face turns red and hers turns pale. You imagine the second before the push, how realization hits her and how she can't do anything about what's happening; how she takes a step back and closes her eyes; how small she must have felt. You imagine how her back collides with the furniture and you imagine the bruises on her back and the pain in her chest. You imagine what a breach of trust that must be for her and you want to hurt him, too. You imagine her breaking down in her own home with no one to comfort her.

It's like he's physically hurting you, too.

Rachel, you gasp and grab her hand.

She gulps. I'm ok, she responds. But it was the last straw. I'm never going back to him.

Her dads had picked her up immediately, packed her things for her and ensured she never had to see Finn again. You make a mental note to thank them if you get the chance.

That night she sleeps in your bed, wrapped in your arms. She kisses your cheek and thanks you for everything.

I wish I could give you something in return.

But you just kiss her cheek as well, right below that birthmark you love so much. You don't want her to give you anything, because she's giving you so much already, just by being right here right now. You tell her that and for a second you wonder if it's too much. If that'll scare her off.

It doesn't, though. She scoots closer and kisses your cheek again and you don't think you've ever felt anything remotely like happiness before this moment.