A/N: Hello, readers!

**PLEASE NOTE** I changed Brittany's friend's name to Brittney, with two Ts, for those of you who read chapter 4 before I made the switch. I like it better this way. So...just FYI. It's not a typo, lol. :) ALSO! I most likely will not be updating next week. I have two 20-page research papers due next Thursday, one of which I haven't started, and one of which I'm only halfway through, so I really need to focus on my school work next week. I will update the week after, even though I have another 20-page paper due that week, so I just wanted to give you guys a heads up. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. :/

Ahem, so review responses (well, response; there's only one this time lol):

Last White Feather - Haha, thanks. I thought it was rather clever myself. ;) I'm glad you liked that chapter, and this one's for you. ;P I hope you like it!

Random ramble for today - You know what game I don't like? Call of Duty. I don't understand why people like it so much. I mean, I like video games as much as the next person, but give me a killing game in which you use a sword or mace or something in your hand to stab or bludgeon people or monsters to death up close and personal any day over some stupid war game, especially a war game where you work in a team and can actually talk to other people (I'm such a loner lol). I only mention it because every story that has Santana as a gamer seems to have her playing COD (not to impugn those authors' choices! It's their stories and they can write whatever they want to no detriment of the plot; it's just a personal preference thing for me, I suppose), and I've always wondered why. *shrugs* ...Yeah, so that was completely pointless, biased ranting about a video game. Because it's what I do best. ;)

OH! I keep forgetting this. Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Stupid people who don't know how to write a decent, consistent storyline own it. I don't think a disclaimer is really necessary, but you can never be too sure, right?

Anywho...I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :D


Brittney's eyes widened, becoming larger than Emma's when Brittany told her she was leaving home. Brittney's were the size of dinner plates.

"You feel like me?" she breathed. "You mean—"

Brittany nodded, her eyes still on Brittney's face. "I think we should trade places."

Brittney sat back, and Brittany did likewise. It was plain that Brittney needed some room to breathe and take in what the taller blonde was proposing.

"Could I?" she whispered, more to herself than anything. "Dare I?"

"It would only be for a little while," Brittany said reassuringly. "For the rest of the train trip, and when we arrive in Seattle, I'll be you, and you'll be me.

"When your fiancé meets us, I can introduce you as my best friend, who's come to be my attendant at the wedding. I can say I want you to go everywhere with us. That way, you can get to know her by observing the way she treats me. There's no way she can recognize you, is there? She's never seen you?"

"No," Brittney shook her head. "She's never seen me, not even a picture, as far as I know." She pressed her hands against her cheeks. "This is happening too fast," she protested. "I just can't think."

"Then don't think!" Brittany said. "It's so easy. This way, you'll have a whole week to see what Santana is like. That's what you want isn't it? A chance to get to know what kind of person she is before you're married?"

"I did say that," Brittney admitted slowly. "And it is what I want—only—how on earth will we ever tell her the truth?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Brittany said serenely, dismissing her new friend's concern with a light wave of her hand. "This plan might help me, too, you know. In case my stepbrother wires ahead to have someone meet the train in Seattle, hoping to find me. I'm not going back to Spokane, Brittney," she said, her tone sobering. "No matter what happens. I'm never going back."

From opposite ends of the berth, the two young women stared at one another, their expressions equally serious. Then, slowly, Brittney's relaxed into a smile.

"All right," she acquiesced. "I'll do it."

By the time the girls retired for the night, after sharing the picnic supper that Brittney had brought along, they'd settled on a plan of action. From the moment they arose the next morning, Brittany Pierce would be Brittney Bennett, and Brittney Bennett would be Brittany Pierce. They had even gone so far as to consider switching clothes.

But Brittney was just enough shorter than Brittany that they had decided against it, although Brittany had given the other girl her mother's cameo ring to wear. It was distinctive and easily recognizable.

Each girl was also so accustomed to hearing her own version of her name that they feared using any other would only confuse matters. So they had decided that Brittany would ask that Santana Lopez call her Britt, and that she would introduce her best friend as Brittney.

That way neither girl would be accidentally caught answering for the other. They were taking a big enough risk as it was. There was no sense asking for any further complications.

As she finally crawled back up into her berth and pulled the curtain closed in front of her, Brittany was more tired than she could ever remember. Every single inch of her body ached, but her heart danced with elation. She had taken the biggest risk of her life, and won. Perhaps even the storm would be gone by morning. Wasn't the weather always worse on the eastern side of the mountains?

She fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the train's gentle motion.


In spite of the fact that she had been exhausted the night before, Brittany awakened early the next morning. She could feel a delicious sense of anticipation fill her as soon as her eyes popped open. By now, Spokane and the life she had lived there were far behind. She could start a new life, one lived according to her rules. She could make of herself whatever she wanted.

She rolled over toward the green curtain, which still screened her berth, and discovered that she was grinning at absolutely nothing.

However, she figured that the decision to masquerade as Brittney had something to do with her good humor. The plan had been an inspiration, Brittany concluded. Not only would it provide her with a measure of safety when she reached Seattle, it had made her take a new look at the life which lay ahead of her.

Until she had met Brittney, Brittany had been frightened by the future, however much she had struggled not to admit it. Getting away from Finn had taken all of her energy, her creativity, her impetuosity. She'd had none to spare for what the future might bring. All she could imagine was a life of hardship and sorrow.

And it still might be like that, she admitted to herself, as she rolled over onto her back and tucked her hands behind her head. Undoubtedly, Brittany's future was uncertain. But she felt excited about it now. Filled with possibilities and the spirit of adventure.

She was bound by no one's rules except her own. Not Finn's. Not Rebecca's. The future could be whatever she chose. It was up to her to shape it.

You can't shape anything if you start your new life as a bed potato, Britt.

Laughing silently to herself and moving quietly, so that she wouldn't wake Brittney in case she was still asleep, Brittany threw back her covers, rolled onto her stomach, and slid down from the upper berth, pulling the robe she had set at the foot of the bed down with her as she did so. Brittany winced when her warm feet hit the frigid, hard floor of the train car. Quickly, she shrugged into her bathrobe and stepped outside the privacy curtain.

But as she released her hold on the upper berth, she realized something. The always-present swaying of the cars had stopped. The train wasn't moving. Unable to see out the window on her side of the train because the curtain was drawn, Brittany moved across the aisle to look out the window.

The berths on this side weren't made up, since the train wasn't full. Why had the train stopped? Brittany wondered. Surely, they weren't in Seattle already, were they?

Using the sleeve of her bathrobe, Brittany wiped moisture from the window. However, even with the glass wiped clean, she could see almost nothing. Staring out the window was like staring at a blank sheet of paper. All Brittany could see was white.

It wasn't until she saw one of the railroad men pass in front of her as he walked the length of the train that Brittany realized the truth.

She was gazing straight out into a snowbank. The train was nowhere near Seattle. It was still high in the mountains.

Swiftly, Brittany whirled and tiptoed back across the aisle. She knelt, and was attempting to ease her carpet bag out from under the lower berth when the green curtains parted. Brittney poked her head out.

"What is it?" she asked. "Are we there already?"

Brittany shook her head. "I don't know why, but we are still in the mountains. I'm going to get dressed and find out what's going on."

Brittney sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the lower berth. "I'm coming with you."

A few moments later, both girls were in the tiny women's washroom, struggling into long skirts and petticoats, pulling up stockings. The washroom wasn't really made for two. It was so small, the girls had trouble turning around. If they weren't careful, they bumped into one another.

Brittany was glad that she had brought skirts and shirt waists with her, rather than dresses. They showed the wear of being folded in the carpet bag somewhat less, although Brittany still felt travel-worn and rumpled. And she never would have managed the many tiny back buttons of the shirt waist without Brittney's help.

"I don't know why I think I'll be able to survive on my own," she said jokingly, as Brittney finished the last of them. "I can't even dress myself!"

"At least the corset hooks in front," Brittney commented.

Brittany made a face. She had always hated wearing a corset. And she had never learned to lace her stays as tightly as Rebecca wanted. Rebecca laced her own so snugly that her figure formed an almost perfect hourglass. Brittany had never understood how her stepsister-in-law was able to breathe, let alone function. Privately, she had always considered Rebecca's tightly laced corset to be a contributing factor to her famous ill-temper.

"No, but, seriously," Brittany protested. "I never even thought about this before, but it's almost impossible for me to get into my own clothing! I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had your assistance. How am I supposed to fasten up all those tiny back buttons?"

The shorter blonde was silent for a moment. Brittany could see her friend's serious expression reflected in the washroom's tiny mirror.

"You can't. Not without a servant," Brittney finally answered quietly. "Maybe we should have exchanged clothing after all. Santana Lopez won't know what I look like, but she does know that Papa wasn't wealthy."

Startled, Brittany stared. The similarities between the two girls were easy to see, but now that she knew what to look for, the differences were just as plain.

Brittany didn't think of her clothing as being particularly fancy, not compared to what Rebecca wore, anyway. But, now that she was paying attention, she could see that Brittney's clothing was as different from hers as Brittany's was from Rebecca's.

Brittany's shirt waist was made of fine, sheer white batiste. The front was adorned with lace inserts. A long row of tiny fabric covered buttons fastened up the back. Even Brittany's heavy, dark brown skirt fastened behind her.

Brittney's shirt waist was made of thicker, sturdier material. It buttoned up the front, as did her skirt of navy blue. Her garments were clean and well cared for, but they were also plain and functional, and she could get into each one of them all on her own.

They were the garments of a working woman, a woman who had few luxuries, and the luxury of a servant to help her dress certainly wasn't one of them. The two young women might look alike, but just a glance at their clothing revealed the fact that they weren't social equals.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said softly. "This is going to sound ridiculous—but I've simply never thought about such things before."

Brittney turned around to face her. "It's all right," she said. "Neither have I, really. I only hope—" she broke off, her expression clouding over.

"What?" Brittany prompted.

Brittney pulled in a deep breath. "I only hope Santana Lopez isn't disappointed when she finds out that I'm the one she's supposed to marry."

Brittany opened her mouth to make a swift dismissal of the other girl's concern, but something in Brittney's expression stopped her.

Switching identities wasn't a grand adventure to Brittney, the way it was to the taller blonde. Instead, it was her own act of desperation. She had latched onto the masquerade as her only means to discover more about her future spouse. Brittney might never have agreed to the switch in the first place, if she had not been feeling so frightened. Glibly dismissing her fears would hardly be the act of a friend, even a brand new one.

"Do you want to call off the ruse?" Brittany asked softly. Then she stood perfectly still as Brittney's pale blue eyes searched her face.

"No," Brittney answered after a moment. "However, I admit it is taking a little more getting used to than I thought it would. I'm not used to almost having a twin sister."

"If it makes you feel any better," Brittany began, directing a warm smile toward her friend, "neither am I. And I promise to do my best not to convince Santana Lopez that she has become engaged to someone who only cares about her clothes and her social calendar."

When the other girl didn't smile, Brittany made an even greater effort to alleviate the tension.

"Though that might not be a bad plan, you know," she confided mock-seriously. "The more idiotic I seem, the better you'll look by comparison."

At long last, Brittney's delicate features lit up in a brilliant smile. "It's all right," she said. "I really do want to go through with this. Just don't drive her away before we can reveal the truth, that's all."

"I promise," Brittany replied, pleased that she had actually coaxed the somber girl into teasing. "Now, let's get out of here before I perish of claustrophobia. I want to find Sam so we can discover where we are."

"And breakfast," Brittney said. "Don't forget about that."

As they made their way back through the sleeping car, both girls were smiling.


"We're at Cascade. That's the eastern side of the tunnel," Sam, the porter, said, when the girls located him. He was at the very front of their car, assisting the woman with the young child Brittany had overheard the night before. During the time it had taken the girls to dress, the rest of the sleeping car had come to life.

"But why have we stopped?" Mrs. Fabray, the woman with the child, asked Sam, voicing the question every passenger on the train wanted to know.

"Haven't heard for sure," Sam admitted, as he rolled up bedding, stowed it in an upper berth, and then pushed the berth closed. He looped the green curtains up and out of the way. "But I'd guess there's some sort of trouble on the tracks up ahead on account of this storm. Never seen on quite like it, I have to say."

"But I want to go to Seattle," the child protested. "I want to go home."

"Hush now, Beth," scolded her mother. "We all want to get to wherever it is we're going. I'm sure Mr. Evans and the railroad crews are doing the best they can."

Sam leaned down to tweak the youngster on the nose. "I can tell you why we stopped at Cascade, though."

"Why?" young Beth demanded at once. Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes. It was plain she considered her young daughter a handful. Brittany exchanged a quick smile with Brittney.

"Because there's a cook shack here," Sam said. "Best meal stop in all of eastern Washington. You're hungry for breakfast, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Beth Fabray said.

"Well, what are you standing around for?" the porter admonished. "We'd better get a move on." With one quick motion, he hoisted Beth up onto his shoulder and started for the train car door. The second he opened it, Brittany felt the bone-chilling cold of the storm.

"It's still snowing pretty hard, I'm sorry to say," Sam said as he looked out. "But at least the wind has died down. Some of the men have cleared a path to the cook shack. You ladies shouldn't have too much trouble," he told the three women still standing in the aisle. "Mind your head now, young lady," Sam advised Beth as they set off out the door.

"Gracious, he wasn't joking about the snow," Mrs. Fabray exclaimed as she moved to follow.

Brittany stuck her head out the door. It was snowing just as hard as it had been the day before. So hard, Brittany could see no more than a little ways in front of her. Because of the high snowbank, she couldn't see the cook shack at all. But she could still see Sam, with Beth perched high upon his shoulder, and Mrs. Fabray hurrying along behind. They reached a break in the snowbank, passed through it, and were lost to sight.

"Come on," she said to Brittney. "We'd better go too."

All the way to the cook house, she tried not to think about the fact that her newly dried ankle boots were being soaked once more.

The outside of the cook shack reminded Brittany of a barn, but inside, she was pleased to discover that it was warm and cozy. A dozen or so rough hewn tables flanked by equally rough benches filled the interior. Some were already occupied with other passengers from the train. All were ready for service, set with white enamelware and tin cups placed upside down.

In one corner of the cook shack, a big pot-bellied stove poured forth warmth. At the opposite side of the room from the stove was the kitchen. Brittany could see an enormous, flat-top cookstove. Pots, pans, and kettles hung from bit spikes along one wall. In front of the stove stood two Asians, one tall and thin, and the other, a woman, shorter and only the slightest bit thicker than the man.

"Hey, there, Tina," Sam called out. "Got some more customers for you."

At the sound of the porter's voice, the woman turned around. "Flapjacks or oatmeal?" she asked with a kind smile.

Brittany met young Beth Fabray's and Brittney's surprised and delighted eyes. "Flapjacks!" all three called back at once. Then Brittney clapped a hand over her mouth.

Their enthusiastic response provoked a ripple of laughter throughout the cook shack. The Asian woman, Tina, grinned. Brittany felt her spirits, which had been dampened by her serious conversation with Brittney, once more begin to soar. This really was an adventure, she thought. And she really ought to make the most of it.

"Let's go find a table," she said, linking her arm with Brittney's. "Come on."

They made their way to a table near the potbellied stove, with the Fabrays trailing behind.

"Looks like we'd better get a move on, Mike," Tina said, smiling as Beth chatted excitedly to Sam about how many flapjacks she was going to eat. "Don't want to keep that little lady waiting any longer than we have to."

The man named Mike smiled, and then turned back to the stove.

"You folks make yourselves comfortable," Tina called as she turned back around herself. "Breakfast will be coming right up."

"That's Tina Chang, the cook," Sam said as he swung Beth down from his shoulder. "Her assistant and husband there is Mike Chang. Best cooks at any stop in Washington. You ask anyone working the railroad."

"Sam says that enough times, he gets an extra helping of flapjacks," Tina sang out. A second wave of laughter went through the passengers in the cook shack.

Sam grinned, as though pleased to have been the cause of a joke. "You folks will be all right now. I have to get back to the train—see who else needs help. I'll come take you back when you're finished." His jovial gaze paused on Brittany and the blonde sitting next to her. "Or maybe one of these young gents can give you ladies a hand." With a tip of his hat, he set off.

"Gracious," Mrs. Fabray exclaimed, as she settled across the table from Brittany and Brittney. Automatically, she reached to restrain Beth, who was squirming on the hard bench, already impatient for her breakfast.

"I don't think I can remember when I last had so much excitement," Mrs. Fabray continued. All of a sudden, a frown appeared between her hazel eyes. "Gracious," she said again. Brittany struggled to keep back a smile. "Gracious" appeared to be Mrs. Fabray's favorite exclamation.

"You two girls certainly do look alike," she went on now. "I'm sorry, I know you told me who you were on the train, but with all the confusion this morning, I'm afraid it just went in one ear and out the other. I'm Mrs. Quinn Fabray."

Brittany took a breath and felt Brittney tense ever so slightly on the bench beside her. This was the moment of truth. "I'm Brittany—Miss Brittany Bennett," Brittany said. "And this is my friend, Miss Brittney Pierce."

"And the same name, too," Mrs. Fabray said, eyes wide in astonishment. Then her brow wrinkled once more. Uh oh, Brittany thought. Here it comes. The other woman had made the connection between the name Brittany and the incident last night already.

"Brittany," she murmured. "Now what does that remind me of?"

"But everybody calls me Britt," Brittany put in swiftly, hoping to head Mrs. Fabray off.

"Mama," Beth interrupted in a loud whisper, reaching up to tug on her arm. "Where's breakfast? I'm hungry."

"Beth," her mother chastised, immediately sidetracked. "You mind your manners now. Sit still and behave yourself, or you'll have oatmeal instead of flapjacks."

Beth sat bolt upright, hands locked at her sides. She looked so serious, yet so panic stricken, it was all Brittany could do to keep from laughing aloud. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brittney duck her head so Beth wouldn't notice the way that she was smiling.

"And you say that you girls aren't related?" Mrs. Fabray went on, apparently heedless of the reaction she had provoked in her daughter. "Not at all?"

Unable to trust herself to speak without laughing, Brittany shook her head. Mrs. Fabray shook hers, too, with a tsk of her tongue. "Well, I never. Keeping you girls straight will be an accomplishment, I must say."

"Excuse me," a new voice said. "Miss Brittney Bennett?"

Beside her, Brittany felt the real Miss Bennett jerk, as she restrained herself at the last moment from looking up. Brittany laid a hand on her friend's arm to steady her, and then looked up with a smile, and froze. Standing beside their table was a young woman she had never seen before.

She wore a long sleeved white shirtwaist and a dark, woolen skirt that went down to her ankles. She carried a thick coat over one arm. The woman's skin was a natural tan that shone radiantly under the soft lighting of the cook shack. Her hair was as dark as night and half pinned up, the rest falling in waves around her shoulders. One lock of hair had come unpinned and rested precariously across her forehead, as though threatening to tumble down into her eyes. Without warning, Brittany felt her fingers twitch. What would that fine, dark hair feel like as she smoothed it back from the beautiful Latina's forehead?

Abruptly, she realized that she still hadn't said a word, and that the mesmerizing woman was staring down at her, a faint frown between her eyes. They were as captivating as the rest of her, a deep, dark brown that warmed Brittany to the soul.

It was the kind of warm brown that always took her breath away, whose beauty struck straight through the heart. That was the color her eyes were. Suddenly, Brittany felt her throat burn, as if she was fighting back the impulse to cry.

"I beg your pardon," the young woman said at last, her husky voice hesitant. "I don't mean to intrude—I realize this is very forward of me—but did I hear you say that you are Miss Brittney Bennett?"

"Britt," Brittany finally answered firmly with a smile. For heaven's sake, get a hold of yourself. She's just a woman, she mentally scolded herself. The masquerade had been her idea, yet still this young woman's appearance had taken her by surprise. Something she couldn't and wouldn't allow to happen again. She was Brittney Bennett.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss—" Brittany let her voice trail off. "Actually, I don't believe that I've had the pleasure, have I?"

To her astonishment, a flush of faint color swept the young woman's face. "No—not exactly," she stammered. "That is—I—"

"Mama," Beth suddenly whispered again. "I'm about to starve."

"Beth," her mother addressed her sternly. "Hush now. You mustn't be rude to Miss—I mean—you should let Miss—finish—" Her eyebrows drew together in confusion and she broke off.

"Lopez," the stunning young Latina blurted out, the color on her face growing even brighter, a difficult feat for her darker complexion. "My name is Santana Lopez."


A/N: Santana's here! ...And let the games begin. ;)

Again, I'm sorry for making you guys wait 2 weeks for another chapter, but that's just the way things work sometimes. I'll be back with chapter 6 then! :D I hope you liked this chapter and thanks for reading. :)