I'll Stand By You

chapter one

It was pouring rain, again, and Santana could feel the squish of her cold feet inside her soaked sneakers while she ran for shelter. The eighteen year old ducked beneath an overpass a couple of blocks from where she had been attempting to use a pay phone before the storm had hit. Not that her abuela would have answered the call anyway, but it was a nice thought while it lasted. She cursed under her breath and pulled her jacket closer to her, even though it was wet and she could feel the chill down to her bones.

She was lucky to have even found a working pay phone, anyway. Her abuela had confiscated her cell phone before that final, fateful confrontation, forcing her to seek out other means of communication - knowing, of course, there weren't many in this digital age. For an old bat, Santana mused, her abuela was surprisingly with it about some things. There was no betrayal worse than the betrayal of your own blood, and after her parents were gone, leaving her with just her abuela, well...this was how she'd expected it to go. It had been inevitable, really. From bad to worse and finally to intolerable. She knows her friends back home would have helped her out, but her pride had kept her from asking, and so she'd done the only other thing she could think to do, which was to take herself as far away from the situation as possible. Now, after buses, trains and a couple of kind strangers on the road, here she was: New York City, the sprawling metropolis of her childhood dreams. She just hoped it wouldn't become a nightmare, like everything else in her life.

As she shielded herself from the elements, she thought long and hard about her next move. 'Plenty of people live on the streets in New York,' Santana told herself. 'You can busk for food money and stay in a hotel for... a night or so until you run out of savings...fuck.' She knew she was in way over her head, but she absolutely could not stand to continue fighting with her abuela. With her parents out on business, her abuela was the only person she had, and being anywhere near that house made her feel not only unwanted (which was bad enough when it came to this woman who had once been the light of her life), but borderline unsafe, with the talk of conversion therapy she heard on a daily basis. The rain let up enough for San to come out of hiding and start walking down the street again. 'Think while you walk, think while you walk,' she coached herself. 'There has to be a way for me to stay out of the streets...'

Damn you, she thought, tears welling up in her dark eyes. Damn you, abuela. Why did you have to make everything so hard? Why couldn't you just accept me as I am, or at least just let me be? But these were questions to which she knew she would never get the answers. Her grandmother had always been ready to voice her disapproval, but rarely ever expressed anything else. That was just how it was. Her mother and father had tried to mediate things between them, to the detriment of their own relationship, and Santana had vowed she'd be damned if she was going to be the reason they ended up getting divorced, as so many of her friends' parents had. No, someone had to go, and since her abuela was old and incapable of living on her own, and because her son - Santana's father - would never even consider putting her in some kind of senior living facility, it had to be her. It was always going to be her. Better it happen now, with her mother and father away, than later. She wouldn't have wanted them to be in the middle of all that drama. This was going to break their hearts enough, without actually seeing her walk out the door and into a big and dangerous world, with only the clothes on her back and the contents of her college savings fund in her wallet.

Since her college savings didn't include much, she knew she wasn't going to make it very long in New York without some serious help. She needed to make friends fast, or else be smarter about how she was going to get around day to day. Santana sighed, knowing that if she'd stuck to her summer job instead of ditching it to spend more time with Quinn and Brittany, she would've had a lot more money to bring with her. She had spent her high school years telling herself to have fun now, that she'd have time to work for the rest of her life. Of course, she'd done all of this not knowing what would happen with her family situation, not knowing that she would be leaving home so early on in her life. Where she'd once considered her savings a small fortune, she was now realizing so many things at once - mainly, that the cost of living in New York was much higher than that of Lima, Ohio.

Still, as the rain tapered off to a light mist, she walked with her head up and her shoulders confidently set, wanting to appear as though she belonged to this city, still so much brighter in the darkness than Lima had ever seemed in daylight. She'd heard that if you look like a victim, you'll eventually become one, and she had no intention of ever being somebody's victim again. Her abuela had gifted her with that much, at least. She didn't really have much of an idea of where she was, although the last person with whom she'd hitched a ride had mentioned something about the theater district being near where she'd been let off. Santana had harbored a secret love of Broadway musicals since childhood, even though she knew that she'd probably never get to actually see one performed live. And yet - now, here she was, in the Big Apple itself, the Great White Way somewhere near. The thought warmed her through the cold rain, lent speed and strength to her steps. Before long, the signs and marquees came into view, and Santana laughed softly to herself. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized it was the first time she'd laughed since before she'd turned her back on her old life and left everything and everyone she'd ever known and loved behind, but she pushed the thought away as she approached the theater where "Wicked" was apparently running. A wide, almost goofy smile stretched across her face. "Wicked" was her favorite, and now here she was, standing beneath the marquee at the very theater where the tale of Glinda and Elphaba played out in front of a packed house night after night. She stared in wonder. It was almost like a dream.

A dream which, sadly, she could not afford. But a good dream, nonetheless. She was one step closer to it all. She thought back to the ballet classes she'd taken in her youth; dance had fueled her feisty personality throughout grade school, and junior high. Once she'd joined her high school cheerleading squad, the Cheerios, she just hadn't had time to pursue it further. It was one of her greatest regrets, choosing one over the other. Dance had gotten her through every battle she'd ever had to face. Maybe, she thought optimistically, it could someday help her get through these feelings as well. One day she hoped to continue her training again. Until then, she knew that she now had something to work toward, another motivator in the equation. She continued her walk, looking all around her as she did so. Although she was trying very hard not to look like a tourist, or look lost, she found it difficult to refrain from taking in every sight and sound.

At that moment, in a tall building not too far from the theater where she'd been performing, the current darling of the Broadway scene stood in the corridor outside her apartment, locked the door and turned up the collar of her long coat, knowing it was cold and rainy outside. She hadn't been able to sleep since she'd gotten home from the show, and thought maybe a little walk outside would help to relax her, clear her head. The city had always been a friend to her, a source of comfort in those times when her feelings were all jumbled, her thoughts disordered. The sights and sounds of this most amazing of places almost never failed to calm her, and she expected this time to be the same as always. By the time the elevator brought her down to the first floor lobby, where she and the security guard exchanged knowing glances, the man grunting his usual perfunctory "Ms. Berry," her smiling her usual smile in reply, the rain had become a soft drizzle, the lights of the city smudged like a watercolor painting against the street and sidewalk. Once again, the city showed her its unique and unexpected beauty, and Rachel was grateful - until a scream broke the stillness of the night. Instinctively, she ran in its direction.

Santana's breathing was heavy as she tried to compose herself. She knew the scream had drawn attention to her - which was unintentional - but she hadn't heard the bicyclist behind her and he'd scared her half to death. He was stopping for nothing, not even people walking down the center of the sidewalk. She wasn't used to so many people being around all the time, least of all so many trying to share one sidewalk and cross the street at the same time. Her heart pounded in her chest as she placed her hand on it, pulling herself to the side of the shared pathway and telling herself to calm the hell down as a figure came jogging towards her.

"Are you all right?" the figure said as it approached. As Santana calmed, her vision cleared, and she saw that her questioner was a short, beautiful young woman with long dark hair, large chocolate colored eyes, and a slightly longish nose. "I heard you just as I was leaving my apartment, and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn't investigate the matter. I carry Mace and a rape whistle, plus I've taken several self-defense classes, so..." The woman's voice trailed off. "You - you're not hurt, are you?"

"No," Santana said, finally feeling as though she could breathe normally again. She squirmed under the short woman's intense gaze, feeling both uncomfortable and somehow safe at the same time. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, though. It was just a stupid guy on a bicycle - he came up behind me, so fast...it kinda scared the crap out of me. Anyway, I'm good now. Thanks again."

The woman stuck her gloved hand out suddenly for Santana to shake, a dazzlingly bright smile lighting up her face. "I'm Rachel Berry."

Santana didn't know what to make of this Rachel person, but she figured she'd need to make some friends in a hurry if she was going to survive in this crazy city. She took the offered hand and shook it, smiling in response despite her uncertainty. "Santana Lopez. I'm...new in town."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance. Santana...that's a lovely name. Are you hungry? You look like you could maybe use a nice, hot meal. I know a little diner not too far from here. Why don't you accompany me and tell me a little bit about yourself, hmm?"

Santana glanced a bit sheepishly down at her wallet, then back up at the mysterious woman standing in front of her. Based on the size of her diamond earrings and matching necklace, she wasn't so sure that her definition and Miss Rachel Berry's definition of "little diner" would coincide. She bit her lip and opened her mouth to protest, "Actually, I should probably just be..."

"My treat," Rachel insisted, linking arms with the total stranger. Santana's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't pull away, surprising both herself and her new acquaintance. "I'm in dire need of some coffee - I feel like I haven't slept in ages. Besides, their food is to die for! You'll adore it, I'm sure of it. You'll never want to eat anywhere else ever again." Rachel started to walk as she spoke, so Santana had little choice but to keep pace with her, their arms still joined.

"I...okay, sure." Santana agreed, if only to make herself feel like she had some sort of control over the situation. Rachel Berry seemed hell bent on taking her, and she wasn't sure there was much else she could do at this point. (Although Santana suspected that if she really had tried to pull away, Rachel wouldn't have stopped her.)

"Excellent!" Rachel exclaimed, as though they hadn't already been walking for a minute and a half. "So, Santana - what brings you out into our fair city's streets so late? I myself have a habit of taking short strolls around the neighborhood when I'm feeling restless and can't sleep, which is more often than I would prefer these days - although of course I never let it affect a performance - but you...you seem rather young to be out and about by yourself at this hour."

Santana felt herself bristle internally, but she managed not to let it show, smoothly answering, "I'm eighteen, actually. Just graduated from high school, taking a year off before I go to college. New York is...it's a place I've always wanted to see, so here I am."

"That's wonderful! There's no better place to start your education, even if it's not in a classroom, than right here." Rachel's legs seemed far too long for her small stature, Santana noticed, peeking out as they did from a short skirt that just barely extended past the hem of her jacket. Her strides were surprisingly long too, as they trotted along briskly. "What are you planning to study, if I may ask?"

"Dance," Santana replied, biting her lip. She hadn't intended to answer so honestly, but there was something so genuine in Rachel's manner, like the woman actually cared about who she was and what she wanted to do, that she found she couldn't help herself. "I really love to dance. It's, like, my favorite thing in the world."

Rachel smiled at the slightly taller girl, taking in the details of her lovely face - the warm, caramel-toned skin, the full, red lips, the bright, yet somehow wary eyes. "That's wonderful. I'm sure you're quite talented. It's just a feeling I have, and I'm almost never wrong about these things. Call it something of a sixth sense, if you will. I remember my own time in dance classes quite fondly."

Rachel spoke, Santana noticed, as if she were quite a bit older than herself, but another, closer glance at the diminutive starlet told her that the other woman couldn't be much older than a recent college graduate. It was more likely that she just seemed older because she had so much experience with the city. Santana didn't mind - she was eager to learn, and she knew it was just sheer dumb luck that she had met someone like Rachel so quickly after entering the city limits. Besides, Rachel had an intriguing quality about her that Santana couldn't quite put her finger on. The woman was talkative, that was certain, but very knowledgeable and seemingly more than happy to share her trade secrets about New York and all it had to offer.

"You're a dancer? Professionally?" Santana prompted, wanting to know more about the woman walking beside her.

Rachel gave a light laugh. "Not quite. At least, not according to Cassandra July-"

"Crazy Cassie July?" Santana cut her off, amazed. She double blinked. "You mean you know her? I've seen her on YouTube. She's a legend, and not entirely in a good way."

"Know her?" Rachel waved her hand as if to say it was nothing. "She was my dance instructor at NYADA. Whatever else she is, she's an incredible dancer – I, regrettably, am not. However, I was good enough to pass her class and obtain my degree in theatre performance, which was good enough for me," Rachel continued to explain, as they walked through the door of what truly was a small diner.

A pair of tired-looking waitresses perked up instantly when they saw Rachel walk in; their smiles fell momentarily when another young woman followed, but came back as their two new customers settled into a comfortable booth.

"Hello, Dani. Hello, Sugar," Rachel called, waving the waitresses over. "How are you tonight? Business has been good, I hope?"

"Business is never good at this hour," Sugar cracked around a mouthful of bubble gum. She blew a small bubble, let it pop, then resumed chewing. "At least not until you come in," she said, smiling sweetly, touching Rachel's hand as she did. Santana found herself disliking this one instantly, bristling at the inappropriate gesture.

"Down, girl," the other waitress said. She looked at Santana appraisingly. "Who's your friend, Rachel? I don't think I've ever seen this one before."

"Oh! Where are my manners? Please forgive me," Rachel exclaimed, blushing faintly. Santana stared at her incredulously. "I'd like you to meet my friend Santana Lopez. She's newly arrived in the city and was in search of the finest all-night eatery in town, so of course I brought her here."

"First rule of living in New York: flattery will, in fact, get you everywhere," the waitress said. Turning back to Santana, she extended her hand. Santana shook it. "Hi. Nice to meet you, Miss Lopez. Can I start you two off with something to drink?"

"Coffee, please," Rachel groaned. "Santana, please feel free to order anything you want. As I said before, this is my treat."

"Um, coffee sounds great. Thanks." Sugar, the redhead, stepped around Dani to place two oversized menus on the table between Rachel and Santana.

"We'll be back in a few moments to take the rest of your order," she said, smacking her gum. "Rachel - you still take your coffee with...sugar, right?"

Santana noticed the way the waitress was looking at Rachel. It was a look she hadn't seen before. It was a hungry look, almost predatory, and it made her shiver despite the warmth of the small diner. She glared up at Sugar, not bothering to hide her distaste. Rachel, for her part, seemed oblivious to the waitress' gaze, just smiling politely, as though Sugar wasn't blatantly hitting on her.

"Come on, Sugar. Leave them alone," Dani admonished. "You want to have a conversation with Miss Berry, call her on your own time."

Once they left the area, Santana gave a nervous little laugh. "You must come here often?" she surmised. Rachel gave a little shrug.

"Often enough, I suppose. I used to work here, too. That's how I know them so well." Then, anticipating Santana's next question before she even had a chance to ask it, she said, "When I was in college, I supported myself by being a waitress. I know Sugar is a little much, but you get used to her personality. She's like that with everyone. And Dani? She's one of the kindest people you'll ever meet," Rachel paused and gave the aforementioned girl a wink as her coffee was placed in front of her and took a little sip, heedless of the steam rolling off the top of it. "But I know all about them. I want to learn more about you."

Rachel was blunt, that was for certain. San sipped her coffee casually, avoiding answering right away. Lie? Or tell the truth? She'd already told Rachel part of the truth - the truth about loving to dance and wanting to study it. She'd also only just met this girl, and though she seemed trustworthy enough, anyone can put off the appearance they want to give. Rachel had already mentioned having a degree in theatre performance. Obviously, she was an actress. But since Santana could also find no motive for deception on Rachel's part, she felt torn, unsure as to how to proceed from here.

Dani's reappearance at their table gave Santana a reprieve and a few moments to determine her best move while Rachel ordered a large house salad. Santana was actually pretty hungry, but settled for a simple grilled cheese sandwich not wanting to put Rachel out despite the older woman's advisement to order anything she wanted. The Broadway starlet raised her eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing, to Santana's relief.

"Um...well." Santana set her cup down, fidgeting with the handle, running her finger up and down it distractedly. "What do you want to know?"

"Well," Rachel said, teasingly drawing the word out with a smile, "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Where are you from, what do you like to do besides dance, where do you see yourself in five years - that sort of thing."

Santana blinked, trying to retain all that Rachel had just said. "Okay, well." She drew in a deep breath, let it out in a big huff. "I'm from Ohio. Kind of a small town girl, as the song goes." The woman across from her laughed delightedly at the Journey reference, and the musical sound of it warmed Santana in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. She wanted to hear more of it.

"Although I didn't quite take the midnight train - mine was a little bit earlier." Rachel laughed again. Santana actually felt herself blushing; it almost seemed wrong to be having such a good time after everything that had just happened to her, but she pushed the negative thought aside.

"Very clever," Rachel said, raising her coffee cup to take another sip of the still-warm beverage. She had indeed added sugar to it, along with half-and-half, just as Santana had. "My old Glee Club coach would have greatly appreciated that. He was such a fan of that band. So much so, to be honest, that it wasn't until about a year after I graduated from high school that I could listen to them again."

"You were in Glee Club, huh?" Santana repeated the bit of information, trying to commit to memory every detail she could about this woman. "That's funny - my coach was the same way. Must be a show choir director thing, to like Journey."

"I'm not sure," Rachel mused. "I don't remember my mom's Glee Club ever doing Journey, but that could have been just because my coach used that band as inspiration so often that she got sick of it too, " Rachel laughed, suddenly feeling nostalgic for those much simpler days.

"You weren't in your mom's Glee Club?" Santana questioned, thinking back to when Rachel had said her director was male.

Rachel gave Santana a wink. "My family life is...a little complicated."

The young Latina scoffed, nodding in understanding. "Tell me about it." She took another sip of her coffee, thinking that she and Rachel might get along just fine. Despite their clear difference of personality, they seemed to have a lot in common. One of those friendships that just...clicked.

"So, you're a small town girl. I hope you weren't living in a lonely world," Rachel joked. Her smile vanished when she saw Santana stiffen; clearly, she'd struck a nerve. "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to - I -"

"No, no," Santana hastily responded. One of Rachel's hands covered hers, where it had been set next to her coffee cup. "No, you didn't. It's just - let's say there were times when it felt that way." She smiled to ease Rachel's sudden anxiety, warmed by the other woman's gentle concern. "But I guess that's true for just about everybody when they're in high school, right?"

"Or even when they're out of it," said Rachel. "Look at me. Outside of the theater, I have no life. All I do is work. Rehearse, perform, sleep. Sometimes I feel like these late night walks are the only times I can ever truly relax, and just...be. You know what I mean?"

Sugar brought their food over. Rachel looked up and thanked the waitress with a pleasant smile. Santana declined to acknowledge her, getting the pop of a blown bubble in response.

They ate in silence for a time, each caught up in their own private thoughts. After a little while, Santana looked up from her plate with a nod and a little smile. "Yeah. What you said a minute ago? That makes a lot of sense." There was a pause where the two girls simply took in the moment. After a beat, Santana continued their conversation, not particularly wanting the night to end, knowing she had nowhere to go after this, not particularly wanting to think about that dismal fact.

"So, um," she wet her lips. "What are you starring in, currently?" She felt kind of bad for asking. Rachel was likely well known in the theatre world, but Santana just hadn't had the time to keep up with it recently, dealing with some obviously more pressing concerns.

"Funny Girl," Rachel answered. "And I'm honored to do so - don't get me wrong. It was always my dream to follow in Ms. Streisand's footsteps. It's just...it's a lot sometimes. Being in theatre, you don't really get much time to yourself. You'd think my social life would be thriving, but only during the day while I'm at work. Occasionally there's a party or what have you, but...all of my close friends, I left behind when I moved away from Ohio." She knew that she was babbling a little, but she couldn't help herself. It felt good to open up to someone - someone who hadn't heard it all a million times before.

"I can relate. Um, I mean, like, you know, in the sense that I left some good friends behind in Ohio to do this whole gap year travel thing," Santana said, wishing she could take the words back almost as soon as she said them, fearing that Rachel would figure out that she wasn't being completely truthful. "So, you're saying that achieving your lifelong dream of stardom, fame and fortune isn't exactly all it's cracked up to be?"

Rachel laughed, more at herself than at the question; but when she returned her focus to the young woman sitting across from her, she could see something haunted in her dark eyes, some recent pain that she was trying to hide, without much success. She found herself desperately wanting to learn more, to find out just what it was that had cast that deeper shadow there - but she didn't want to pry, or scare the girl away. If the plan that was taking shape in her mind worked out, there would be time for her to find out.

"Well, no. Not entirely. I mean, of course the validation of my talent and all my hard work is wonderful. And the money doesn't hurt, certainly." She sighed wistfully and raised her hand to signal Dani for a refill. When the waitress came over to their table, Santana covered her cup with her hand and shook her head 'no,' not wanting to cost Rachel any more than she already had. Once Dani had walked away and they were alone again, Rachel continued. "I know these are what one might call 'first world problems' or whatever, but...as the saying goes, it's lonely at the top. Or at least it can be. But all the people I work with are great, and the work itself is both challenging and absorbing, so I comfort myself with that. I try to, anyway."

Santana took in what the other woman was telling her, unsure what to make of it. So, even when you're a star with money and fame, you can still be a lonely insomniac? What did that mean for her, then? Right now, Santana was homeless, scared, alone in a new city that she knew absolutely nothing about. And what was her plan? To...rise to the top? For what? Clearly, it wasn't the highlight of Rachel's life either. What did that leave? Some happy medium, she assumed. Now, if only she could figure out what that medium actually might be...

"I'm not complaining, you understand," Rachel amended, pulling Santana out of her reverie. "Just thinking out loud, really. I think mostly I just...I miss my old friends. I miss the old times. I've made new friends, but...my best friend in high school, he's on a different track. We don't really get to talk anymore. And my ex from high school...I thought he was the love of my life."

"Oh..." Santana felt bad, but wasn't sure what else to say. "What - if you don't mind my asking - what happened with...your ex?"

"He...he passed away." Rachel looked down and then back up quickly, flashing a small smile. "But - it's okay. I'm okay. Just being nostalgic tonight. Don't mind me."

She's straight. She's straight and she misses her old friends. Does that mean she doesn't want to make new ones? Santana tried desperately to process all of this new information, suddenly disappointed, and a little fearful. Where would that leave me?

"Since Finn passed away, I've had other relationships," Rachel continued, her eyes misting over as she recalled the hectic last several years of her life. "Men, women...people in and out of the theater. But relationships - they've always been difficult for me. I guess maybe that's because I can be kind of difficult myself." She laughed softly, crinkling up a discarded sugar packet in her slender, delicate fingers. "I still believe in love, though. And I feel it can be found in the most unexpected of places, in the most unusual circumstances, as long as you have that faith in it. And I believe in friendship, too. You can never have too many friends, I always say - although of course that's ironic in my case, since I've never actually had too many friends."

Santana blinked, taken aback by the need to discard the last thought she'd just had, thrown by Rachel's words. Okay, so she's not straight, not strictly speaking, she thought. I never would have guessed. She realized that there was so much more to the young starlet than met the eye. Rachel was a complex, complicated person who had achieved a lot in a short time, yet still felt so much missing in her life. She saw pain and sadness in the expression on Rachel's uniquely beautiful face, but she saw strength and resilience there too. If Rachel could get through the loss and hurt she'd experienced, Santana thought, then maybe...just maybe...she could somehow get through her own as well.

"I'm sorry you lost your ex. I know what it's like to lose someone you love too," Santana said, thinking of her abuela. "It's hard, and it hurts like hell." She felt a tear welling in the corner of one eye, angrily wiped it away with the back of her hand. "But you know what? You just - you just have to go on. You have to make your own way through it, somehow."

Rachel smiled a warm, understanding, hopeful smile. She lifted her head proudly, sticking out her well-sculpted chin, her eyes shimmering with the idea of a better future. "Thank you." Santana had never heard anyone sound more sincere. "I...I think I needed that."

Still taken aback by Rachel's surprising mood change, Santana stumbled a little with her response. "You're...you're welcome. Anytime." But she meant it. She wasn't sure who Rachel was, really, and she knew they hadn't known each other for a very long time. But she felt...drawn to her. Compelled to be her friend.

Santana glanced up at the clock, nervously, knowing their night would eventually have to come to an end, and she had nowhere to go. She bit her lip. It was easier to ignore cold hard truths like that when Rachel was telling her all about her life and they were spilling things to each other that no one else knew. Now that there was a silence...

"Listen," Rachel said, her tone suddenly very serious. Her large, chocolate brown eyes seemed to glow with an intuitive understanding of Santana's true situation, even though they hadn't spoken about it. "I don't know where you're staying, or - or if you've even got a place to stay, but if you like...you're welcome to stay with me. At least until you've got your plans sorted out."

Santana was stunned. Here she was, a virtual stranger - a wanted criminal on the run, for all Rachel knew, or a serial killer or something - and this woman was inviting her into her home without a second thought. That was either incredibly naive or incredibly generous of her; Santana couldn't decide which. And yet -

And yet.

Could she accept Rachel's offer? It was too much, too nice, too kind - and yet...how could she not?

"I - I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't want to put you out or anything," she stammered. "You've probably got a whole routine, a well-ordered life with assistants and managers and a driver and a bodyguard, and I...I'd probably just screw it all up."

Rachel's hand, warm and soft and so, so comforting, covered her own, and Santana quieted at the touch. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like that, had looked at her without expecting anything at all from her, that it was all she could do not to just get up and bolt out the door and out into the night, never to be seen again.

And yet, she knew she'd never be able to bear it if she never saw Rachel after this.

The Broadway starlet's musical laughter broke the silent tension of the moment, and she said simply, "No, you wouldn't. And I couldn't possibly sleep ever again if I knew you were out there, alone and vulnerable and unsafe."

"Hey, I can take care of myself," Santana protested weakly. But while her head may not have trusted Rachel entirely, her heart was longing for a home, even a temporary one, some semblance of normalcy in the midst of this sudden, overwhelming change that had taken place in her life. Ultimately, it was an easy decision to make. She let out a sigh. "On the other hand, I'd be willing to that bet your place is a lot nicer than any hotel I could afford."

"Wonderful! It's settled, then." Rachel rose from her seat, leaning backwards to work the stiffness out of her back after sitting for so long. "Dani, we're leaving!" she called out. The waitress nodded in response from where she stood behind the cash register, knowing that Rachel would leave her payment on the table, as she always did; sure enough, Rachel fished her wallet out of her black purse, plucked a couple of bills from it and casually tossed them down on the table.

"Come on," she said, holding her hand out to Santana, who sat staring at the two fifty dollar bills that had just landed in front of her. $100 for a $20 check? "Come on," Rachel repeated, laughing. "Now you see the real reason why they love me here. I'm a very good tipper."