"How we remember, what we remember, and why we remember form the most personal map of our individuality." –Christina Baldwin

Our first fight, since I've been sent back, is a few days later. We're sitting in the kitchen, containers of Chinese food around us, when I mention that I haven't seen him play his guitar in awhile. It's just a casual observation because honestly I miss hearing him play and I'm trying not to push him this time.

It's only once I see the look on his face as he slams his sweet and sour pork down, that I realize how he is interpreting my comment. His mouth is set in a scowl, his hands are clenched tight, and his face is slowly turning red.

"I thought we've discussed this," his voice sounds strained. "I don't need another mother pushing me into fucking anything, Rach. I'll work on it when I want to work on it. Just back off."

His chair skids against the linoleum of our floor, the scrapping echoing through the room. His music is a sensitive topic for him, one that often causes him to close off. It's not that he isn't any good, rather he is very good. It's something his mother is constantly nagging and harassing him about, which I know because I've heard her before.

"I didn't mean it like that," I reply softly, "I just miss hearing you play. Even when you're just tinkering with it for fun it soothes me."

"Well maybe you should go get Finn to soothe you," his words are bitter and a likely after effect of his anger and issues with the week prior. His hands flail through the air, his frustration clearly showing. I can't help the wince that crosses my face or the hurt I'm feeling.

"It's not like that with him, Noah, and you know it. I gave him a hug because he was hurting. You didn't hear me say anything when you hugged Santana or Brittany. I fucking pick you time and time again and you still throw him in my face." I'm standing up now, my clenched fists shaking.

"Whatever." His shoulders are tense as he rises from the table, his food left splattered on the surface. "I'm going for a walk." I listen to the sound of his footsteps and the sound of the door slamming behind him.

I'm fucking things up again, and only after I admit this do the tears start falling. I pack up the now cold food, shoving the containers onto an empty shelf in our fridge. I hate that when he storms out I worry. It's not that I don't trust him; believe me I've made mistakes on that front too, but more that I worry about him getting into a fight or getting hurt. I pull out a washrag and scrub down the surface of the table. When it's so clean that the light literally reflects off of it, I drop to the floor and begin scrubbing the tiles.

I scrub every surface in that kitchen, until the whole thing smells like lemons and shines so bright that it hurts my swollen eyes. Then I go down the hall and crawl into the empty bed. My tears stain my face and the pillow below me and I toss and turn until I hear the click of the front door.

I wake up the next morning so physically exhausted that I wonder if I am even going to be able to force myself out of bed. The day is gray. Clouds are lingering low in the sky and it looks like it's going to rain. It matches my mood perfectly considering how little sleep I've had.

I have to literally peel myself from the bed and basically throw myself into the shower. The warm water soothes my outer aches but does little to dull the numb feeling building inside of me. I wonder if I was given a thousand chances if I would ever be able to get one right. I find myself sitting on the floor of the tub, letting my tears mix with the stream of water pouring down over me.

I can hear the sobs escaping my lips and echoing through the small room. I wonder if he can hear them down the hall and if he can, what he is thinking. I've gone through losing him once before, something that I barely lived through the first time. I feel like in so many ways I'm even more invested in the relationship this time.

I have so much on the line; too much.

I'm panicking and I can feel the tension building up in my chest as I compel myself to try and breathe. There is a knock on the door, but I ignore it trying to focus on forcing the air into my lungs. When I see the shower curtain get pushed back and feel the body sink down behind me, I fight every instinct within me to just lean back against him.

I learned the hard way in high school not to let people see you when you are at your weakest. Tears may make me human, but they also made me an easy target very quickly. I don't like people seeing me cry and I hate the way the tears make me feel. Noah knows this, knows that I hate crying; it's like I'm exposed, as if someone has ripped me open for all to see. Which is why, when he wraps his arms around me and literally pulls me back into him, I can't help that the tears fall harder.

"Shh," he whispers his hands stroking through my hair. "I need you to breathe for me baby." I take in a huge gulp of air and it burns the whole way down. I'm coughing as it makes its way past my throat and into my lungs when I look at his face.

"I'm so sorry," the words tumble from my lips like the tears tumble from my face, "I can't lose you; I just can't. I'm so fucking sorry."

His hands are shaking and his face is pale, his head moving slowly back and forth. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I got into it with my mother yesterday before our talk and I was already on edge. I didn't mean to take it out on you. I spent half the night walking around town thinking about what a fucking idiot I am."

I burrow my face into his neck, my hair sticking to the wet material of his t-shirt. We sit together on the floor of the tub until the water turns cold. Yes, we are fighting, but we are also talking.

It's a step in the right direction.

#

The first time we tried a relationship, our sophomore year of high school, we lasted all of three days before my conscious kicked in. At the time I was in major like with Finn and Noah was preoccupied with Quinn and babygate. The distraction we provided for each other was short lived and mostly consisted of stolen moments and making out. The guilt, however, lasted much longer and resulted in my decision to end the relationship.

So when Noah came up to me after my breakup with Finn I wasn't really sure how to take it. We weren't exactly friends and the fact that he had noticed that I was struggling really shook me. The fact that I told him off instead of caving shocked him and only seemed to increase his respect for me. Suddenly it was like we saw each other in a different light and that, well, that changed everything.

Surprisingly, we started out as friends.

We started sitting next to each other in Glee, acknowledging each other in the hallway, and sometimes we would take our lunch out to the bleachers and just sit and talk. It was during one of these talks that Noah told me about his father leaving them as a child. It was also during one of these talks that I explained how hurt I was over everything that had happened with Shelby.

It was around the time that he started opening up that I realized how much I actually enjoyed being around him and spending time with him. I was more than a little aware of Noah's reputation among the women of our town and I had heard him referenced more than casually while at temple. None of that seemed to matter, though, when the metal of the bleachers dug into our back and he looked over at me and smiled.

Our relationship began to change, slowly. We began hanging out after school; I would sit on his couch with my nose stuck in a book while he sat on the floor in front of me, the sounds of Mario filling the room. Sometimes we would go off-roading in his truck, laughing as the mud splattered up the sides, with the windows down and music blaring through the open air. I began to help Noah with his homework, he with helping me to learn to play the guitar.

I felt a comfort with him that I hadn't experienced with anyone else and there was an ease in just being with him. Somehow, in the midst of everything, he became my haven.

The kiss that changed everything happened on a Tuesday.

It was like any other day in so many aspects. We were sitting on the bleachers bickering about our English assignment.

"Jesus Christ, Rach." He muttered with a bit of amusement in his voice, "You're eating this shit up, aren't you?"

I had pulled the book of poems from his hands and opened the earmarked page my eyes scanning the famous Gary Boone poem. Without waiting for further comment I began to read the poem.

"Of all the moments we in our hearts desire, surely it's of this that we most dream." I found my eyes looking up from the page to find him looking back at me; there was an intensity in his gaze that startled me.

"To bare our arms while covert eyes inquire, what passions are revealed within their gleam?" He reached over and gently brushed a billowing strand of hair out of my face, tucking it gently behind my ear.

"To touch, to hold, here more than arms embrace. For caresses gently gesture, 'Guards, dismissed!'" Suddenly it seemed like he was sitting so much closer than before. My eyes looked between him and the page, my breathing hitched.

"And silent lips accept with trembling grace, this sweet surrender, signaled by a kiss." And suddenly his palm was pressed against my flushed cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb caressing my lips. Each movement sent a shock through me and I found myself panting against his fingers, our eyes locked in a silent battle.

I remember the way his lips felt, just barely ghosting over mine, and the way his hand tangled in my hair and tugged softly on the ends. I remember the feeling of his shoulders as I gripped them when he added pressure to the kiss, the metal of the bleachers digging into my side.

It was in that moment that I realized that nothing would ever be the same again. I knew then that I wanted Noah for the rest of my life.

#

Things are a bit tense, and not in the good sexual way. We've gotten out of the shower and dried off, but I'm still trembling with cold and Noah is suspiciously quiet. There is always this awkward lull after a fight, almost as if we are trying to adjust to the moment, to each other.

I find myself in my reading chair, curled up with a throw and book. Normally, I find it easy to immerse myself in a new world, to lose myself for hours in the characters and the plot. Today, however, it's difficult. It isn't until I read the same paragraph five times that I let out a sigh of frustration and drop the paperback onto my small side table.

I listen to the hum of the washer and dryer, the sound of other people in the building moving about, and force my eyes out the window beside me. I watch the people walking below, bustling up and down the busy street in such a hurry to get somewhere.

There is an anxiousness that is gnawing in my stomach and I can't help but worry my lower lip in response. Yes, we are taking steps in the right direction, I acknowledge silently. But I can't help but worry and wonder if our small steps are enough to save us. Fighting has been a huge part of Noah's and my relationship. It's something we've done for years, for as long as I can remember.

Are patterns really that easy to break?

#

Our first fight, in our new relationship, was brutal.

We had been dating for a few weeks and there was still a bit of that new relationship awkwardness. I wasn't used to his brash words and behavior, wasn't used to his insatiable need to always be right, or the way he saw me. There was something about the way he looked at me as if he could truly see every part of me, see through me, which unnerved me.

A rumor was going around the school that Noah and Santana had hooked up at a party that he had attended while I was on vacation with Dad and Daddy in New York. I had studiously forced myself to ignore the doubts that were brewing in my head, had plastered my show face on, and spent the day brooding behind my smile.

I was on my way to the lunch room when I saw the picture plastered to my locker.

Noah was sitting on a couch, with a drink in his hand, arm slung around Santana's shoulders. Her head way resting on his shoulder and they both had the biggest grins on their faces. I remember the feeling of my heart dropping into my stomach and the feel of the bile rising in my throat and burning at my lungs.

I couldn't move, couldn't think.

A huge part of why my relationship with Finn had floundered so much the previous year was because of a lie involving the exact same girl. I looked at the way his fingers intimately curled around her shoulder, the way her head had nestled right into his shoulder, and I could see the intimacy in the actions.

Noah was standing at his locker talking to Mike when I found him. He turned around to look at me, a small smile on his lips which quickly dropped when he actually looked at my face. I knew that I couldn't speak, knew that the moment I opened my mouth and began to talk that tears would fall with the words.

So instead I took the picture and chucked it at his head.

We were standing in the middle of the hallway, our classmates doing little to hide their rubbernecking as they swarmed around us. I remember the way he bent down to pick up the picture, his face furrowing and his eyes squinting as he looked at the image.

And then he went pale.

I took that as all the conformation I needed and turned on my heel, shoving past our fellow classmates the tears burning at my eyelids. I made it all the way to the door before I heard his voice calling to me through the crowd.

I didn't stop, didn't even pause.

I could feel the tears before I even made it to the sidewalk. There were a few students milling about in the parking lot, all of them turning to look at me as I ran past. It was at the end of the parking lot where I had run into Finn and Matt.

My breathing was ragged and I could do little to hide the tear streaks as I begged them for a ride. Matt had looked behind me, clearly hearing the sound of the clank as the door slammed against the bricks and had simply ushered me into his car.

"So that's it?" Noah had yelled as he reached the car, his face masked in anger. "You're just giving up then? You're just like the rest of them." His voice was seething with disdain.

I had lifted my head from my hands so that he could clearly see my tear streaked face. I looked right into his eyes and gave him my best show smile I could muster. I watched the shocked look flit across his face, saw the way his features fell, and let Matt drive me away.

With as much as my dads traveled, I was used to the silence of an empty house, used to being on my own. That night was different though. I remember the way the comforter had felt as I wrapped it around me, the way my pillow brushed against my cheeks sticking to the tears.

It was around midnight when he knocked on my window and literally scared the shit out of me.

Dad and Daddy were protective, so much so that when they traveled they made sure I had a baseball bat in my room (as if I would ever need the protection in tiny little Lima). I found myself clutching to the wood that night, my hands shaking as I squinted out the window into the darkness of the night.

I wasn't sure what I expected (someone looking to rape and murder a poor young girl like myself), but it definitely wasn't Noah sitting on the branch of the tree. I pulled the window open, planning to curse him out, or better scare him with the baseball bat like he scared me.

Instead I found my words lost to me as he looked at the bat in my hand and chuckled.

"You're holding that wrong." He sounded incredulous, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You need to have your hands lower, down by the base."

My fists clenched and I found my hands twitching to slam the window down.

"Thanks for the batting lesson," I replied snidely as I leaned the bat against my desk.

"It's not what you think." He responded, leaning back against the bark of the tree. For a moment I was taken back that he didn't try and sneak through the window, that he wasn't trying to sugar coat and kiss away the issue.

I leaned my head against the upper pane of the glass, my eyes searching his face. Noah was a good liar and I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to tell for certain whether he was being honest. The fact bothered me more than I was willing to admit.

"The picture," I grumbled as I turned my face away from him choosing to stare at a scuff in the bark by his head, "there was an intimacy in it."

"Santana and I are close," Noah spoke clearly but slowly. I could tell that he was trying to choose his words carefully. "We're friends, B, that's all."

I scoffed and couldn't help but look into his eyes. "I could tell," the sarcasm dripped from my lips and I found myself moving to shut the window.

"I fucking love you," he blurted his hands moving to scrub at his face in stress. "I wouldn't do that to you and I'm not sure who took that fucking picture and taped it on your locker but when I find out they are seriously going to fucking pay for the pain they have put you through."

I was surprised by the sincerity in his voice and on his face. I found myself moving away from the ledge and signaling him to climb through the window.

"You're not going to like hit me with bat if I come in there, are you?" His voice was hesitant but also somewhat teasing.

I shook my head and moved away from the window and the bat, sitting on the edge of my bed. I needed time to process the events of the night, needed to think about everything and I was exhausted from the day.

I found myself pulling him next to me in bed, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around me. Through the silence in the room I whispered, "We're not done talking about this."

"I know," he replied softly, his lips brushing against the back of my head, "Whenever you're ready."

#

Our relationship has never been easy. It's always been hard work and compromises, and promises that sometimes don't get met. We've both made mistakes and said and done things that we later regretted. But at the core of it there is a love and respect that we both have for the other that makes things alright in the end.

I get up from my chair and make my way into the kitchen, mixer at the ready. I pull out the ingredients for my 'I'm Sorry' cookies relishing in the simple task of baking. It's only when I'm putting the dough on the cookie sheets that I realize what I'm hearing.

As the strings of Sweet Caroline begin to play through our living room, I continue to cut the star shaped cookies, and can't help but smile softly.

Maybe, just maybe, things would be ok.

Can something be semi-fixed? Stupid laptop :)

Anyways...

Hope you enjoyed the angst!

Coming up: A trip home and a new job!

N