Thanks everyone for their reviews, adds and faves. I appreciate it soooooo much. really.

Panda-Panda, Conri: Cross dressing Britt does many things for me also. Make sure you check out Gleedcanon on Tumblr for #Jazzverse.

I wake up with light streaming through my window. Dust swirls through the ribbons of light, stirred by imperceptible movements of air. I'm comfortable and warm and I settle easily into the warm body pressed against my back.

…

I'm pressed back to chest with someone whose slender arms are wrapped securely around me. One arm is slung over my waist with the other acting as a pillow under my head. I watch their fingers flex infinitesimally.

This isn't the first time that I've woken up with an unknown Trick but it's the first time in a while. I try to remember what happened last night. I remember Shelby making her speech. Then the soldier boys started coming in and them there was that strange blue-eyed boy that wanted sarsaparilla. The boy that I talked with while he kept buying me drinks.

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to remember anything beyond that. I fail, realizing that the person sharing my bed must be that same strange young man. I can only hope that he paid for our evening. Shelby will read me the riot act if I gave it away for free. Even with all the drinks he must have bought, I still need a Trick for the week to pay my board.

I sneak a peak over my shoulder. Sure enough, the boy from last night is snuggled into my back. I turn to face him, wriggling back on the bed so I can get a better look at him. We're still on top of the blankets on the still made bed.

His hair is long and pulled back in a braid which must have been hidden under his cap yesterday. His limbs are long, lithe, almost delicate in their repose against the bed. His brow is undefined, soft in sleep, though there is a shallow crease between his eyebrows, like he has cause to fret even in his dreams.

I can't help but reach forward to smooth out the line there. I pause within a hairs breadth of his skin. My finger tips tingle with the heat coming off him.

The crease deepens for a second and he mumbles something before one comprehensible word slips out. "Santana?"

My hand snaps back to my chest. I try not to look guilty as I shuffle further back over the blankets. He doesn't open his eyes though. He's talking in his sleep. Dreaming about me. My mouth goes dry.

I can't have some Soldier deciding that he loves me. I'll never leave Clothier. I don't fall in love. I've never had the capacity for it. For all the men that have declared their affections for me, I have never once returned their sentiments. Of course, I've read about love and the perfect life of those who have it. But it's not something I can imagine in my future. I can't become a wife in a little house with six children and a white picket fence. I'm a whore and nothing more. I came to terms with that a long time ago.

When I'm sure that the soldier(I wrack my brain for his name) Brent is still very much asleep, I slip from the bed. I hold my breath and listen for any noises in the House. There is nothing. It must still be very early in the morning.

I sit down in the chair by the window with a sigh. I won't be going back to sleep now and I can't leave the room until Brent wakens. It's House rules: if a Trick has paid for the night then he gets to wake up with a girl next to him.

Sometimes I can read in the morning if I remember to bring a book into the room. Apparently literature wasn't something I thought about last night. I'm pretty sure I didn't have sex with Brent though. My clothes seem to be all in order(my corset is still laced) and Brent has only lost his jacket and overshirt.

I look over the boy still asleep on the bed. His fair hair and features are certainly feminine. His lean, long arms muscular but hardly bulky. He said last night that he is twenty one but I can't believe that for a second. He's sixteen, seventeen at most and far too young for a soldier. Granted i'm only nineteen and have been a whore for a long time. I'm not one to judge any other person's vocational choices. Even if a boy does choose a profession sure to get him killed.

Brent grumbles in his sleep and even those husky mumblings are sweet and feminine.

…

An absurd thought occurs to me and I glance toward the boy's chest. His collarbones are as delicate as the rest of him but there is no sign of anything strange otherwise. I glance over his shoulders down his defined bicep and lean arms. His chest rises and falls subtly. He is certainly slim, still lying on his side, the topography of his frame well defined. There is a distinct but smooth curve in his shape. His chest and ribs dip down into his waist then back up over the rise of his hips. The way he is lying shows perfectly the way the curve of his hips and thighs taper down to his knees.

He(although I'm very nearly convinced that this must surely be a woman) has a more womanly figure than I do. Of course I have been called skinny and boyish in the past but I am still distinctly female. This person lying peacefully, mumbling my name in restful sleep must be female.

I'm leaning so far forward in my seat that I may as well be standing. I finally shift to the bed, careful not to disturb him. I look over his face again. She is familiar now, like I've spent the night staring at her; stared at her long enough to describe the hidden constellations in her freckles. A memory of last night comes back to me.

— — s — b — —

We spent hours just talking and drinking at the bar. He paid for the whiskey and then for a bed. He seemed genuinely surprised when I followed him into this room though. I had to wonder why he thought a simple room for one night could be so expensive. I guess the alcohol may have been impeding his judgement. I know it was impeding mine.

I took his jacket off without a thought and he let me. I let my hands drift to the hem of his overshirt and tried to lift it up. He gasped so dramatically I couldn't help but laugh. I stepped back to look into his face and found it so bright red that I worried for his health.

He grabbed my hands, stilling them against his stomach. I could feel the muscles underneath tensing as he shifted from one foot to the other. I looked up into clear blue eyes. The bashful smile there made me catch my breath. I pushed up on my toes so I could kiss him.

I don't usually kiss Tricks on their first trip(sometimes never) but the alcohol had me feeling…giddy, like a young girl with a fresh crush. I looked at his lips, determined not to miss, despite the alcohol. His grip tightened on my hands and he leaned away, causing me to fall against his collar.

Tears immediately filled my eyes. The sting of rejection too much to bare. I tugged on his shirt even tighter and pressed my face against his chest as sobs shook me. I felt him lean back then a gasp reached my ears. He mumbled something about 'oh poor little darlin' and then wrapped his arms around me.

I sobbed into him as his arms squeezed me tighter to his chest. "What on earth have you to cry about?"

I mumbled something but I don't know what.

"I want to help Miss Santana but I need something to go on."

That just made me cry even harder since no one had called me 'Miss' in a very long time.

"Oh please stop crying," he said with a hint of desperation. "Please, I'll kiss you if it will make you feel better."

That got through to me and I leaned back to look at his face which was once again as red as Tina's petticoats. He looked so nervous that my tears stopped and I actually laughed.

I told him through sniffles, "Don't be so nervous Sweets. You paid for the time, it's up to you."

"I'm not sure what I paid for but if this means you're staying then I'll pay whatever you ask."

I know that he laughed then but everything after is a blur. The fact that no clothes(other than shoes) were removed after that conversation suggests that not much happened between then and now.

Except a lot has happened. I'm pretty sure I've come to the conclusion that this particular Trick is actually a woman.

— — s — b — —

I lie down and lean my head to the side, hoping that a different viewing angle will make things clearer. It doesn't help at all. Instead I am just that much closer to her(maybe her) and his(maybe his) breath is stirring the air at my chest.

I finally follow the impulse to smooth out the crease between his brows. My hand drifts from my side to follow the line of her brow with just one fingertip. The crease grows deeper before smoothing out altogether. Her eyes open; Sparkling blue takes my breath away.

"Good morning Miss Santana," such easy simplicity.

"Good morning Sweets," who knew I was capable of equal simplicity.

Brent smiles broadly, "I'm glad you're still here."

I guess she remembers more than I do. "Do you remember much of last night?"

He nods. There is a sparkle in his eyes and he seems to see the question in mine. He answers what I won't say out loud. "There was no mischief had Miss Santana," he glances down at the shirt covering his chest. "We still have our clothes on and everything, see."

I follow her gaze down and accidentally let my eyes wander further down to her crotch where a bulge pushes out her buttons.

I'm so confused I just don't know how to even begin my question.

I glance back up to her face. She is smiling serenely as she asks, "What's in your mind Miss Santana?"

The question is as open and uncomplicated as Brent himself seems to be. Simple except for that one biological puzzle.

I have to know. "Brent…" I pause with no idea how to ask my question. "How long have you been a soldier for?" I stall as I press one hand to her sternum and feel bandages under her shirt.

He frowns, "I enlisted About nine months ago I guess," he scratches at the back of his neck. "I think so. But I never really knew much about reading a calendar so…" he trails off. "What about you? Have you worked here long?" Again the question is uncomplicated and completely void of innuendo or scorn.

I shrug my shoulders. This isn't helping anything. His voice is low and gravely with sleep. But anyone can lower their voice. I need to know. That curve of her hip. The delicate curl to her lips—her cheekbones—are tantalizingly feminine. Everything about her contrasts with the rough fabric and boxy shape of the soldier's uniform.

I lean in to kiss her again, remembering her reaction last night.

She reacts the same way, abruptly pulling back from me. I play the whore well, reaching down without hesitation. I grab at the bulge in her pants and know instantly that it is not connected to a man's body. The weight and warmth is altogether wrong. The way that Brent leaps away from the bed is even more telling.

"Who are you?" I question, standing by the other side of the bed.

She looks stunned at my and question.

"I—I already told you," she stammers. "My name is—"

"A lie. Your name isn't Brent and you aren't a soldier." I pause, "Unless you are. But they don't know about you. They can't." I begin pacing the room as I try to get a grasp on what is going on.

The soldier stares at me, colour draining rapidly from her face. She's panicking, her eyes darting between me, the bed and the door. I shift to stand in front of the door.

I need to know what is going on here.

"You're a girl. You're dressed as a man and you've taken a man'a name but you aren't one."

— — s — b — —

Brittany breathes shallowly, each breath tearing through her lungs. Her secret is out and she is ruined. She'll be sent to prison just as soon as Santana can send for her captain. That's the punishment for a woman posing as a man in the U.S Army. There is nothing she can do to stop it. Except maybe threaten or hurt Santana which she would never do.

Brittany feels tears of panic prick her eyes. She stumbles back to the bed and sits down with her back to Santana. The first sob surprises her but she quickly covers her face with both hands. She doesn't want to break in front of this woman. It's kind of inevitable but she'll hide the tears if she can.

A soft hand on the back of her head makes Brittany jump. She looks to the side and sees Santana sitting next to her. Her hand is still hovering above Brittany's shoulder and she is smiling hesitantly. Brittany says nothing, surprised when Santana'a hand goes back to smoothing down her hair.

— — s — b — —

I don't know why I'm still here. Maybe it's curiosity. The girl is a mystery after all. Maybe I just can't bear to see her looking so damn sad.

She swallows before speaking. "Are you going to report me?"

This is what has her so distressed. I shake my head. If this girl wants to run around playing soldiers that's none of my concern.

Her worried frown is replaced instantly with a relieved grin. She launches herself at me, her arms wrap tightly around my back so that my own arms fold automatically over her shoulders. Her face is pressed against my shoulder and she mumbles her thank you's over and again. I awkwardly pat down her hair waiting for the sobs to cease.

Finally, she leans back, swiping the tears off her cheeks.

I search her face. Her cheeks are still ruddy and wet with tears. My hand is acting of its own accord, continuing to stroke her hair.

She takes a deep breath, looking up at me through pale eye lashes, "I guess you might want to know some things?" she rubs at the back of her neck. I wonder how anyone has ever mistaken her for a man.

I shift a lock of hair behind her ear. When my fingertips stroke back down her left cheekbone her face floods with colour. My fingers trace over one side of her jaw then the other; fingertips follow over her brow and she smiles. I pull my hand back and feel my own face grow hot. She takes my retreating hand and returns it to her face. Her hands are so warm around mine. Just like the cheek she presses into my hand.

I let my thumb stroke over the soft skin below her eye. "Who are you?" I feel my eyes narrow as I try to will this woman to reveal her secrets.

"I'm Brittany," she says with a shrug as she lets our hands drop to her lap.

Now I know. Brittany is just as uncomplicated as Brent had been.