A/N: Guten Tag, meine Leser! Because everybody loves German. :)

Anyway, so, my Beta got back to me within a couple hours for this chapter, so I thought, instead of Thursday, I'll update now! I felt bad for the shortness of the last chapter, so I wanted to make it up to you guys. Here's a long one, and only a few days after the last chapter was posted, so yay. :)

Reviewers:

T - Um, thanks for the 'Boo!'? I'm sorry that chapter was short, and well, I hope you like this chapter. :)

Last White Feather - Aw, you always say the nicest things. *blushes* ;) Ooh, yes, it's not going to be all rainbows and sunshine all the time for our female leads. Thanks for the review! And I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

Oh! Have you guys seen the movie Kyss Mig (Obviously, the English version of the title is Kiss Me)? It's Swedish, and it's about these two women, one's about to get married, and the other is an out lesbian, who fall in love. It's sooo freaking good! Europeans make the best lesbian-themed movies, I don't care what anyone says. Anyway, well, I watched it online this weekend (it's not for sale on DVD anywhere online yet, for the US, sadly.), and it really is amazing. It says so much with so few words. Anyway, I heartily recommend it to everyone. Everyone legal, anyway, since this movie has some...kind of explicit sexual material in it and is thus rated R. Can't be soliciting R-rated movies to those underage, you know - don't want to be arrested and all that. ;) Oh! There's a Brittana fanfiction based on the movie (it's completely different from the movie, but the author based it on the movie trailer) called I was yours from the moment I met you. It is also good. Lighter than the movie, certainly, but it's a very nice read, if you would find yourself so inclined to check it out sometime. :)

Random fact of the day: I like to hold conversations with myself in different English accents (or Russian, but English is easier), imitating people's voices from TV or movies that I've heard (Native British people would probably cringe at the inaccuracies, but I still think it's fun). My mom says I spend too much time by myself. I say that I would thrive in solitary confinement in prison. ;)

Okay, that's enough out of me. Enjoy!


But all that day, getting Brittney alone proved impossible.

The snowstorm continued without abating. The train sat at Cascade. As they returned to the train after breakfast, Brittany learned that, sometime during the night, a mail train had pulled in behind them.

This was the famed #27, Sam told her as he greeted her upon her return to the sleeping car—the fast mail. Usually nothing stopped the mail from getting through because Ms. Sylvester had sworn that nothing would. She had deadlines to meet, and nothing interfered with the schedules she set, not even the weather.

However, this storm had defeated even the Empire Builder. Like the passenger train ahead of it, the mail train, too, sat motionless in the railyard at Cascade, paralyzed by the storm. Not until word came that the tracks ahead were clear would the two trains be allowed to move forward.

But hours passed, and no word came.

To Brittany's relief, the sleeping cars were sparsely populated, occupied mostly by the elderly, women, and children. Most of the men passed the time in the observation car, or "smoker," helping the car live up to its name. Every time one of them came forward to his regular seat, he seemed to bring with him the smell of tobacco.

It made Mrs. Fabray wrinkle her nose in disgust, a thing she did so often that Brittany began to be convinced the other woman's nose would simply stay that way.

The air of the sleeper was close and hot, the coal stove stoked constantly to keep the temperature in the car as comfortable as possible. Yet the scent of cigar smoke seemed to linger in the air, even in the cars nowhere near the smoker, clinging to the gentlemen's garments as they passed through the aisles.

"They drink alcohol back there, too, you know," Mrs. Fabray had confided in a low voice to the other three women. "And they play cards, or so I hear. Mr. Fabray never visits the smoker when we travel together. He stays right by my side."

As she spoke, she had looked approvingly at Santana, who was seated next to Brittany. Even though Santana was a woman and so would not be permitted in the smoker even if she wanted to visit the car, apparently her presence next to her fiancé was a testament to her moral character in Mrs. Fabray's eyes. Santana had not left Brittany's side since their meeting at breakfast. Instead, she had returned with Brittany and Brittney to the Winnipeg. She, herself, had a berth on the Similkameen, she had told them, the sleeper just one car back.

Mrs. Fabray had nodded her head in approval when Santana had informed them of the arrangement. It was clear that she thought that Santana had done what was proper, refusing to so much as bed down in the same sleeping car as her fiancé.

Equally clear was the fact that, while suspicious at first, Mrs. Fabray had quickly been won over by Santana. Brittany even thought that she could pinpoint the exact moment when the other woman's opinion had changed. Santana had won Mrs. Fabray's heart in the time it had taken the Latina to cut up her daughter's flapjacks.

As far as Brittany was concerned, Mrs. Fabray's approval was the final seal to her own observations. If Mrs. Fabray approved of the brunette, then surely Santana Lopez must be safe. But so far, Brittany had been unable to accomplish her goal of determining whether her observations agreed with Brittney's, and if her friend agreed that they should end their masquerade.

Brittany sighed now, tapping one foot impatiently against the train's wooden floor, wishing she could come up with some subtle way of attracting Brittney's attention. Could she accidentally swing her foot too far and kick her, and then apologize and insist that they go to the washroom to make sure she hadn't caused any injury to the other girl?

Oh, that's an excellent plan, Britt, she thought to herself sardonically. Remarkably subtle. No one would notice a thing. Even Rebecca would have seen through a tactic like that. Beside her, Brittany heard Santana clear her throat. The Latina leaned forward just a little, as if about to say something.

Perhaps she will talk to Brittney, Brittany thought, although she knew that it was she, herself, who should be making conversation.

The trouble was, she couldn't have the kind of conversation she wanted with Mrs. Fabray present. If she started asking Santana questions about her life in Seattle, the older woman would realize that Miss Bennett and her fiancé barely knew one another. An arranged marriage might not be all that unusual, but Brittany was still reluctant to do anything which could possibly attract added attention to herself or Brittney, and she had a sinking feeling that anything Mrs. Fabray knew would soon be known all over the train.

Santana leaned back and Brittany sighed again, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and turned her attention to the transformed Winnipeg. During the time the passengers had spent at breakfast, the porters had been busy, once again returning the sleeping cars to their daytime configuration.

The upper berths were pushed up out of sight. Brittany knew from watching Sam stow Beth Fabray's berth that the bedding for each set of berths would be neatly folded up and stored inside the upper one.

In their stowed position, the berths were completely invisible, having been carefully designed to form part of the elegant decoration of the train. Their outer surfaces were covered by finely decorated, glossy wood paneling. Brittany never would have suspected their existence if she had not already known they were there.

The pull-out platforms that turned the seats into the lower berths had all been pushed back out of sight. The plush, high backed seats once more simply faced one another. The green baize privacy curtains were looped up out of the way. The car looked exactly like it was set for a day excursion of a few hours.

The only problem was that they were not actually going anywhere.

Brittany uncrossed her arms and crossed her ankles. The foot that rested on the floor continued its steady tap, tap, tap. Brittany's thoughts pounded in time to the rhythm. In the seat opposite, Mrs. Fabray finally broke the silence by beginning an anecdote about the weather.

How on earth could she get rid of Santana and Mrs. Fabray? Brittany wondered. All she needed was a moment. Just one moment to speak to Brittney and end the deception. However, both of the other people seemed attached to her like sealing wax. Santana by what Brittany was sure was a sense of duty, and Mrs. Fabray because she was curious.

It was true that the older woman had left for a few moments shortly after breakfast to wipe Beth's sticky fingers and face. But after giving permission for Beth to play with a girl her age from the other sleeping car, she had rejoined their party almost right away.

Not before Brittany had caught a glimpse of her speaking with Sam, however, glancing furtively back at Brittany and Brittney as she did so, a fact that made Brittany's stomach plummet in dismay. Either Mrs. Fabray was discussing the fact that there seemed to be two young women apparently named Brittany, or she was telling Sam that Miss Bennett and Miss Lopez were engaged. Either way, it could only spell trouble.

If other passengers learned of "her" engagement, Brittany and her partner in crime would lose their opportunity to quickly and easily end their masquerade. Explaining the situation to Mrs. Fabray would be difficult enough—but it would be preferable for it to be her alone than the whole train.

Think, think, think, Brittany told herself in time to the tapping of her foot. Mrs. Fabray finished her tale about the weather and launched into one about one of Beth's escapades. But, for the first time since she could remember, Brittany's headstrong nature refused to work for her. Her brain seemed frozen, unable to find a way out of the current situation. Her impetuosity had failed, thwarted by Mrs. Fabray's avid curiosity and Santana Lopez's good manners.

And her good looks, Brittany found herself thinking. Despite being startled by that thought, Brittany was unable to resist glancing sidelong at the stunning woman seated beside her for the briefest of moments, and once again was mesmerized by her beauty. Stop it, Britt! Focus, Brittany chastised herself, trying to shake off the effect her "fiancé" had on her. Now was not the time to admire the Latina's almost overwhelming appearance. She had to think about how to get an audience alone with her blonde friend.

Brittany uncrossed her ankles and planted both feet firmly on the floor. It was time to face facts. The person who was thwarting her most soundly was the person she wanted most to help: Brittney. And for one simple reason. The other blonde had not looked at Brittany since they had reboarded the Winnipeg.

She couldn't take her eyes off of Santana Lopez.

All morning, Brittney had sat beside Mrs. Fabray on the seat facing Brittany, watching Santana from carefully lowered eyelashes. If the brunette had noticed the attention she was receiving from her fiancé's friend Miss Pierce, she had been too polite to show it. But, as the hours of the morning had dragged on, Brittany had thought that she could feel a change in the Latina as she sat beside her, like a watch slowly being wound tight enough to break the spring.

Santana Lopez wasn't as calm as she appeared. Her wishes, too, were being spoiled by the morning. Brittany almost laughed aloud when she realized the ironic truth. The whole time she had been hoping for a moment alone with Brittney, Santana had been hoping for a moment alone with her!

What had she said at their first meeting that morning? "You must agree we have much to—" Discuss? Had that been what Santana had been about to say?

Mrs. Fabray reached the climax of her story. "Can you imagine that?" she said.

Oh, yes, I can, Brittany thought, though she hadn't heard a single word Mrs. Fabray had said. However, she could all too clearly imagine a moment alone with Santana Lopez.

A moment in which she would no doubt wish to begin discussing their upcoming marriage. A moment Brittany was positive she could not let happen. Until she had spoken with Brittney, under no circumstances could Brittany allow herself to be alone with "her" fiancé. And it had nothing to do with how attractive she found the Latina. Not at all.

"Lunch time. Lunch is ready, folks," Sam announced without warning. Brittany started, and then got swiftly to her feet. Was the morning really gone already? Still she was so grateful for the distraction that she almost hugged the porter. After the tense morning on the train, even the cold walk to the cook shack seemed a welcome distraction.

By unspoken consent, passengers occupied the same tables they had for breakfast that morning. But no sooner had Brittany sat down to eat than she discovered eating was completely out of the question.

Sitting beside Santana had been uncomfortable enough, but now the brunette was once more opposite her, where her intense brown eyes could look into hers at any time. Brittany was sure her dark eyes would be full of questions. Abruptly, she found that she couldn't eat a thing. She did her best to cover it up, arranging and rearranging the food on her plate, listening to Beth prattle on about her morning.

She thought that she had done a pretty good job of covering up her discomfort until Santana spoke. "Are you well, Britt?" she asked during a pause in the conversation, concern evident in her husky voice. "Do you not care for the stew? Shall I ask the cook if they have something else?"

"No, thank you," Brittany replied, realizing that the truth was that she felt worn out completely. Why was handling Santana Lopez so difficult when it ought to have been so easy? Make up an excuse, she ordered herself silently. Pretend you're back with Finn and Rebecca.

"It's just my head, that's all," she said, touching her temple, inspired by the excuse Rebecca had always used to get her way. "It aches."

At once, Santana rose to her feet, her own lunch forgotten. "Perhaps a moment of quiet while most of the other passengers are at lunch would ease your pain," she suggested kindly, almost eagerly. "Please, allow me to escort you back to the train."

Oh, no you don't, Brittany thought, and then was surprised to find herself suppressing a sigh as Santana came around the table and helped her gently to her feet. It was exactly the kind of suggestion she should have expected of the Latina, she thought. Thoughtful, but uninventive.

Why not a brisk walk and a tour of the Cascade railyard? she wondered, as she felt the brunette's hand against her back, in case she was feeling faint, no doubt, and needed to be steadied. Why not a sudden headlong plunge into a snowbank? Why not a shock, an adventure, not a rest, to cure her headache?

Santana's head was tilted up towards hers, her deep eyes searching Brittany's face. As always, that one errant lock of hair tumbled over the Latina's forehead.

Without warning Brittany realized that she had forgotten the rest of the occupants of the table, including Brittney. All she was doing was staring at Santana, struggling with the impulse to do something, anything daring.

What would it take to shock her? Brittany wondered. To stir her? To make her midnight eyes kindle, then burst into flame? What would it take to make her body tremble against mine?

I could tell her the truth, she thought. That ought to do it. But then she would lose her chance. Her chance to know what the Latina's hair felt like as she brushed it from her forehead. Still lost in the brunette's gaze, Brittany felt her right arm lift, as if it had a mind of its own, inching ever closer to that inviting lock of dark hair lying precariously across the tan forehead.

"Miss Bennett?" she heard Santana inquire softly, her tone puzzled. "Are you ill? Shall I summon aid?"

"No, of course not," Brittany said, the sound of Brittney's name acting like a bath of cold water. What on earth had she been about to do? What had she been thinking? The close air of the train car and the cook shack must be affecting her more than she realized. That must be it.

She didn't care about Santana Lopez. She was right for Brittney Bennett—the real Brittney Bennett—not for the real Brittany Pierce.

"I think you must be right," Brittany said. "If I could just return to the train to lie down—but—perhaps—Miss Pierce—"

Brittany broke off, turning to look over her shoulder to where Brittney was still seated at the table. Here, finally, was the opportunity Brittany had waited all morning for: the chance for the two young women to be alone together. Now if only Brittney took the hint.

"I'll walk her back," Brittney offered. She rose, not looking at Brittany. Her face was pale, Brittany noticed, as though she was the one who had claimed the headache. Brittany realized suddenly that she had been standing with her back to Brittney, but the shorter blonde had had a clear view of Santana's worried face.

But she isn't really worried about me, Brittney, she thought, hoping her friend would understand. Only about the woman she thinks is her fiancé.

"Well, if you're sure," Santana said, clearly hesitant to leave Brittany's side.

"Of course," Brittany answered. "Brittney can get me settled, and then come back to finish lunch."

Finally, Brittany thought. Her impulsiveness seemed to be working once again. She and Brittney could have their chat on the way back to the train. Then Brittney could come back to Santana and ask for a moment alone with her. She could tell the brunette the truth. She would be shocked, perhaps put out, but she would soon recover. After all, it wasn't as if she had really gotten to know them well. Santana was probably like everyone else, practically unable to tell one girl from the other.

"Thank you. I would appreciate that, Miss Pierce," Santana answered sincerely. She smiled warmly and Brittney flushed at the attention. Then Santana stepped back, so that the two girls made a bracket on either side of her. Brittany and her friend were just turning to go when a tiny woman in an enormous woolen shawl bustled over to them.

"Oh, good, I haven't missed you," she said, her tone breathless. "I know you'll think it terribly forward of me, seeing as how we haven't been properly introduced, but I just couldn't help myself. What a romantic story. Getting on the train in the middle of the night. I just had to come over and offer my congratulations."

No! Brittany's thoughts screamed. No, no, no.

Suddenly, the woman broke off, her eyes darting between Brittany and Brittney. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed, the fringe on her shawl quivering. She sounded so exactly like Mrs. Fabray that Brittany battled a wild impulse to laugh, in spite of the fact that she didn't find the situation the least bit funny.

"Gracious," the woman went on, continuing her imitation perfectly, "however do you tell them apart?"

Santana looked at the two blondes standing on either side of her, an expression in her eyes that Brittany couldn't quite read. She stood so close that Brittany could feel the sudden ripple that passed through her body. What was the saying? she wondered. As if somebody had walked across her grave.

"Oh, but how silly of me," the tiny woman said, just as Brittany felt Santana pull in a breath to speak. "As if you wouldn't recognize your own fiancé. The heart always knows its choice, doesn't it? Which one is she?"

Once more, Brittany felt Santana's hand, warm against the small of her back. The Latina's voice was perfectly steady as she answered, "This is Miss Bennett, my fiancé. And this is her good friend, Miss Pierce. Thank you for your congratulations."

"Yes, thank you," Brittany forced herself to say. On the other side of Santana, Brittney stood without making a sound, her blush long since faded.

Well, Brittany thought despondently. That's that. And realized that the excuse she had offered just a few moments before had suddenly come true. From one ear to the other, her head ached.


"We never should have done this," Brittney said frantically. "It was a mistake."

The two girls were making their way back to the train, finally escaping from the cook shack after Brittany and Santana had accepted half a dozen more congratulations. It seemed that the whole train knew of their engagement, and of the romantic way Santana had set off to meet her.

There was no way to tell the brunette the truth now, not when revealing it would humiliate her in front of so many people. Not to mention the disastrous effect it would have on both Brittany and Brittney's own reputations.

There was no help for it. The masquerade would simply have to continue all the way to Seattle. Though how long it would be before they reached it, neither girl knew. The trains hadn't moved so much as an inch since arriving in Cascade.

Brittney marched through the snow, moving as quickly as she could through the deep drifts, her wide, forceful steps betraying her inner agitation. Brittany was glad that their fellow passengers were in the cook shack or on the train. Anyone observing them would be able to tell at once that something was wrong.

"We should have told her the truth," Brittney said. Brittany brushed snow from her face, and took a firm hold of her temper. It was still snowing, but the snow was different now. The flakes were larger, wetter, sticking to everything in sight.

To help measure just how much snow was coming down, Judge Schuester, the man who had promised to speak up for the conductor if Finn complained about him, had thrust his walking stick into the snow at the base of the snowbank. He had gone out at regular intervals to check the snow's steady progress up the stick. An accumulation of snow as wide as his hand had fallen during the morning.

"I never should have let you talk me into this," Brittney said accusingly.

Without warning, Brittany turned her foot. She lost her balance and her temper all at the same time, leaning to one side and sitting down abruptly.

"Will you stop blaming me?" she snapped. "I didn't talk you into anything and you know it, Brittney. You agreed it was a good plan. I gave you the chance to back out first thing this morning, and you didn't take it. So stop trying to make what's happened my fault."

Brittney whirled to face her. "Don't you dare yell at me!" she shouted. "Papa used to do that. After he died, I swore—I—"

She broke off, breathing hard. Through the thick, while flakes of snow, the two girls stared at one another. So that's it, Brittany thought. She forgot that she was sitting in the snow, her skirts getting wetter by the second. She even forgot about Santana Lopez. She forgot everything but the horrified, haunted look in Brittney's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said softly. "I didn't know."

Brittney made a strangled sound. "Oh, Britt," she said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." She hurried forward and helped the taller blonde to her feet. "You're all wet again," she added.

Brittany felt a bubble of laughter rise up and escape before she could stop it. "Actually," she said, "I'm beginning to think it's my natural condition. But being cold and wet does seem to have made my headache go away."

"Well, at least that's something."

The two girls stood, staring at one another. "We really are in a mess, aren't we?" Brittany said after a moment. "I tried to think of a way to get your attention all morning, but—"

Brittney lifted her hands. "Don't tell me, I know," she broke in with an embarrassed chuckle. "All I did was stare at Santana. I couldn't believe it when Sam came to tell us it was time for lunch. The whole morning had gone by, and I had never even noticed. You must have been so annoyed with me—I wouldn't have seen you if you had been standing on your head."

"Don't think I didn't consider it," Brittany answered, laughing. "Though I admit that was after I considered kicking you in the shins."

Brittney smiled. "And then that woman with the shawl," she said. "I thought that fringe had taken on a life of its own—and then I thought we'd never get out the door: 'Ooh Miss Bennett,'" she went on, her voice rising to a sing-song, " 'such a lovely story—sooo romantic!"

"Stop!" Brittany protested, as both girls dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter. They leaned on each other, gasping for breath in the snow. As their laughter died down, Brittney's expression sobered. She reached to brush the snow from her friend's head. On the far side of the snowbank that bordered the tracks, Brittany could hear the hiss of the steam engine, stoked to keep the power in the cars going, but other than that, the whole world seemed still.

"She's a good person, isn't she?" Brittney asked.

Brittany laid both hands on the other girl's shoulders. "Yes, she is," she said, looking into Brittney's winter blue eyes. "We'll find a way to make this all work out."

Brittney's lips lifted in a faltering smile. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," Brittany said reassuringly. "Santana isn't like my stepbrother—or your father."

Brittney's face crumpled as if she was about to cry. "I'm sorry. But I don't think I can talk about that," she said, her voice quivering.

Brittany hesitated, torn between the desire to honor her friend's wishes, and the desire to know the truth. "But that's why you wanted to know about Santana, wasn't it?" she persevered. "To make sure she wouldn't treat you like your father did?"

Silently, Brittney nodded her head, averting her eyes. Then she turned and began to walk back toward the train. Brittany fell into step beside her. But something in the other girl's posture caught Brittany's attention. Brittney was holding herself as stiff as a board once more. The realization struck Brittany with such force she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "He hurt you, didn't he?"

Brittney stopped also, though she kept her face turned away. Brittany could see the muscles in Brittney's neck work as she swallowed convulsively, trying to answer.

"Not very often," she finally admitted in a small voice. "Mostly, he just shouted, morning, noon, and night. According to Papa, everything was my fault, including the fact that my mother left us. If I'd been a good girl, she would have stayed, he said. I don't think I was ever the kind of daughter that he wanted."

"But that's ridiculous," Brittany objected fervently. "Your mother probably left because she wanted to get away from him. It's likely that he bullied her, too."

Brittney nodded mutely. Though neither girl could bring themselves to voice the thought that hovered in the air around them: surely Brittney's mother should have taken her with her when she departed. She never should have left her with a man like Brittney's father.

"Actually, I don't think he wanted a daughter at all," Brittney went on after a moment. "I'm sure he wanted a son. He told me so often enough. He said I was weak and needed someone strong to 'guide' me. So when he said that he had arranged for me to marry the daughter of his oldest friend, all I could think of was that he was finally going to get someone to control me like he always wanted."

"By choosing someone just like him," Brittany filled in, making a sudden connection.

Again, Brittney nodded dejectedly. "And then he made me promise to go through with it," she choked out. Now that she had started, the words seemed to pour out of her like water from a breached dam.

"He told me he was dying, and then he made me swear to marry Santana Lopez. He knew I'd never go back on a deathbed promise. But I had to know what Santana was like before I married her, Britt. I just had to. How could I live the rest of my life with someone just like my father?"

The situation the shorter girl described made Brittany shiver with a cold that had nothing to do with the snow around them. It was so close, so terrifyingly close to what had happened to her. Thomas Pierce wasn't like Brittney's father, it was true. But Finn was. Of that, Brittany had absolutely no doubt.

No wonder Brittney recognized a kindred spirit when she saw my desperation, Brittany thought. No wonder the other girl had helped her.

"What would you have done if Santana hadn't been different?" she couldn't help asking. "If she had turned out to be a bully like my stepbrother and your father?"

Brittney shook her head, her face exhausted. "I honestly don't know," she said. "I'd like to think I would have been as brave as you were, that I would have run away. But I don't know if I ever would have found the courage. I've never been very adventurous, not like you."

"Well, I think that you're more than making up for it now," Brittany said, trying to lighten the mood. She linked her arm through Brittney's and urged her forward. It was time to get back in side. All of a sudden, Brittany felt chilled to the bone. Though whether it was the weather or the revelations about what Brittney's life had been like, she wasn't certain.

They rounded the opening in the snowbank and started toward the Winnipeg.

"I just wish I knew how it would end," Brittney burst out abruptly.

So do I, Brittany thought. But she didn't say it aloud. Instead, she did her best to keep Brittney's flagging spirits up.

"Gracious, Miss Pierce!" she exclaimed, trying for an imitation of Mrs. Fabray. "Don't you know? We're going to live happily ever after. Both of us."

Brittney's lips lifted in a smile that showed she appreciated Brittany's effort, even if she wasn't quite ready to believe it.

"If you say so," she said.


A/N: And there it is. The blondes can't switch back quietly, and there seems to be a love-triangle going on already, even if Brittany doesn't want to admit it. My, oh, my, what is going to happen next? Well, you'll just have to wait until next week to find out *snickers* ;) I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! :D