A/N: Hey, guys!
My apologies for the delay. The semester is over, finally, so yay! More time for reading and writing :)
This chapter is dedicated to imjustagirl2004. I know, it's no Naya, but at least this is some sort of award for your awesomeness. Better than nothing...right? :)
Response to reviewer:
Last White Feather - Aw, well, thank you! :) Now I'm nervous that the rest of this will suck, lol. I hope it continues to be good! :) Thanks again and I hope you like this chapter! :D
I don't feel like boring whoever actually reads these A/N's with my random ramblings today, so without further ado, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
"Miss Bennett, watch out!"
Snow filled Brittany's mouth, stung against her eyes, spilled down inside her coat collar. She reached to wipe it from her face, and found herself staring at half a dozen sets of enormous eyes, some already filled with frightened tears.
In an attempt to relieve the mothers on the train, as well as raise her own spirits, Brittany had taken the older children outdoors for a snowball fight during a break in the weather. But she had been distracted by the sight of a strange train moving along one of the side tracks, shooting huge arcs of snow up into the air on both sides of it. In fact, she was so distracted that she had taken a direct snowball hit to the face, launched by the girl who had spent the morning playing with Beth Fabray.
Brittany threw her head back and roared with laughter.
"Good hit, Abby!" At once the children hurled themselves upon her, clinging to her skirts and laughing in relief.
"All right, that's enough for now," a voice from the break in the snowbank said. It was Rachel Puckerman, Abby's mother. Over one arm, she carried a basket with her infant son, Isaac.
"You are an awfully good sport, Miss Bennett," Rachel said, stepping through the break in the snowbank and waving the children over to her. Abby Puckerman dashed to her mother's skirts and held on tight, claiming Rachel for her own.
Brittany had liked Rachel Puckerman on sight. She was plainly busy keeping up with her family, but her warm brown eyes were filled with good humor. Her husband, Noah, was a large, muscular man with thick, dark hair like his wife, but his eyes were a more golden brown than Rachel's, a trait which he passed on to Abby.
"It was an awfully good hit," Brittany admitted, giving Abby a quick wink. She ducked behind her mother's back, not certain what to make of so much grown up attention for a thing she had been so sure had been going to get her into serious trouble.
Rachel smiled warmly at the exchange. "You can thank my husband for that. He's always out teaching Abigail how to throw or kick a ball. Such a sportsman – he's determined Abby and Isaac will be the same. And from the looks of it, he may be right," Rachel laughed as she took a closer look at Brittany. "You know, you should come in, too," Rachel told Brittany with a chuckle, as Isaac began to wail from the depths of his basket. "You're as wet as they are."
Brittany grinned. "Just a few more minutes, please, Mother."
Rachel put her hands on her hips, and then slowly began to shake her head, her grin as wide as Brittany's. "You're as bad as they are, Britt Bennett."
But she didn't press Brittany any further. Instead, she ushered the children back toward the sleeping cars with promises of dry clothes and a story. Left alone, Brittany drifted closer to the passing track. She stood, her breath hanging in the air around her, watching the strange train at work, savoring her first real moment alone, her first real taste of independence.
"It's called a rotary," said a new voice.
Brittany started at the sound, and then turned to find Santana standing beside her. Brittany had been so engrossed in watching the snowplow work, she hadn't heard the Latina approach.
A strange feeling swept her, part dread, part relief, part simple curiosity. Her impulsive decision to play with the children had accomplished the very thing she had been avoiding all day: a moment alone with Santana Lopez. Brittany told herself that she ought to go back to the train, but the truth was that she didn't want to. It was beginning to feel too much like running.
"I never thought about how they kept the tracks clear before," Brittany said, turning back to watch the rotary. "That's what makes the snowbanks on either side of the tracks, isn't it?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Santana nod. "Each time the tracks are cleared the banks grow higher," she answered. "The trouble is, when they get too high, they start to fall over. That creates a problem all its own."
Intrigued, Brittany turned to face the shorter woman. "How come you know so much?"
Surprise flickered across Santana's face. One dark eyebrow quirked up, disappearing into that errant lock of hair. "I work for the railroad, for the Superintendent, Mr. Harold Figgins. Didn't you know that?"
Brittany felt her face flush. If Brittney had known this, she had said nothing. "No," she replied. "I didn't. I didn't even know women could work for the Superintendent of the railroad."
Santana looked back over to the snowbank for a second before smiling wryly and letting out a huff of dry laughter. "No, you're right about that. At least, women usually can't. It helps that my father was close friends with Superintendent Figgins and had worked with him for years." Then Santana fell silent for a moment, her dark eyes gazing intently into Brittany's ocean blue ones. "You really don't know anything about me, do you?" the brunette asked at last with a rueful smile.
Brittany felt her heart begin to pound at the base of her throat. She had been afraid of what those brown eyes would see if they looked at her too closely, and now she was alone with them.
"No," Brittany had no choice but to answer once again. But at least this time she knew it was the truth. Brittney Bennett knew next to nothing about Santana Lopez. Brittany Pierce would not be standing in the snow with the Latina if she had.
"I'm sure—my—father—" Brittany stumbled just a little over the words, and then recovered. "I'm sure my father meant to tell me more, but he died before he could."
"But not before you gave your promise to marry me," Santana pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone.
Not able to bear looking at the other woman any longer, Brittany turned back to watch the rotary. "No," she said for the third and final time. "Not before that." For a moment, the only sound was the roar of the snowplow at work.
"He was dying," Brittany blurted out, suddenly compelled to offer some sort of explanation. "I had to do what he asked. There is nothing more sacred than a deathbed promise."
"Do you really think so?" Santana asked, still looking at Brittany. "I would have thought a deathbed promise could be a dangerous thing, a final chance for one person to bend another to his will."
"Or a final chance to right an old wrong," Brittany added. Couldn't this be the reason Brittney's father had demanded her promise to marry Santana? she wondered. Wasn't it possible that, at the very end of his life, he had wanted to do right by his daughter?
"Yes," Santana slowly agreed after a minute. "I suppose it could be for that."
Brittany waited until she felt the weight of the dark-eyed gaze lift off of her, telling her that the other woman was staring at the rotary once again, before she spoke.
"Would you rather not marry me?" she asked.
Lightning quick, Santana turned back toward her. "I didn't say that."
"But you don't really know me, either, do you?" Brittany prompted, gathering her courage to face the brunette woman. "You promised to marry a total stranger, just as I did.
"I suppose it happens all the time," she went on when Santana didn't speak, "and I just never thought about it. And I can see why a woman such as myself might agree to such a plan. I have so few choices. But, you…You are so independent and have so much more freedom. Did you not wish to choose a wife for yourself?"
Santana stayed silent, her eyes ranging across Brittany's pale face as though searching for some feature only the blonde could possess. "Perhaps," she said at last. "However, just as you did, I made a promise."
And she would never go back on her word, Brittany realized suddenly. She wouldn't rearrange a situation to suit her, as Finn Hudson had. Santana Lopez was an honest person. And what am I doing? Deceiving her. Brittany felt sick to her stomach. She needed to get away from Santana, and quickly.
"I'm cold," she said abruptly. While they had been standing outside talking, the sun had disappeared below the tops of the mountains.
"Then we should go back," Santana said at once. "I've already kept you talking much longer than I should have."
"I'm a woman, not a child, you know, Santana," Brittany said, irked by the Latina's assumption that it was up to her to know what was best for her and act upon it. "I can make my own decisions."
Santana's eyes glinted with some emotion Brittany couldn't quite identify. "I stand corrected," Santana said gravely. "In that case, Miss Bennett, perhaps you would allow me to ask you a question."
Brittany raised her eyebrows to show that she was waiting.
"Would you rather not be engaged to me?"
Brittany felt the whole world narrow to the space between them, as wide as the earth, yet no more than a single step. Tell her, she ordered herself. Do what she would do, the honorable thing. Do what's right.
Instead, she stared deeply into Santana's warm brown eyes and said, "I'm sure Miss Bennett would like very much to marry you, Miss Lopez."
Then she took the Latina's arm and walked the rest of the way back to the train in silence.
"Just one more!" Mr. Puckerman called out. "A dance for the sweethearts!"
At the far end of the sleeping car, Brittany spun around. She could feel her cheeks flush with sudden heat. Standing beside her with the baby in her arms, Rachel laughed.
"Now, look what you've done, Noah," she chastised her husband at the other end of the car. "You've embarrassed Britt."
"I'm supposed to embarrass her. She's about to be a bride," Noah retorted jovially. He put the bow of his fiddle against the strings and played a few impish notes. "Come on, now," he teased. "I see how coy you've been, Miss Bennett, getting all the youngsters to dance in their elders' garments. But it's your turn now. It's no use protesting because I won't put this fiddle away until I've seen you and Miss Lopez dance together."
"A dance! A dance for the happy couple!" a variety of voices called out. Brittany was sure she recognized the voice of Mrs. Fabray chief among them. Her cheeks still bright red, her eyes sought out Santana where she stood beside Noah Puckerman at the other end of the car. Surely she didn't want this to happen either, did she?
Brittany hadn't spoken to the Latina since their late afternoon conversation. To her relief, it had been easy to avoid the shorter woman. Not long after the two of them had returned to the train, Santana had joined the rail crews digging out the wheels so that the passenger train could pull forward and allow the mail train to roll into position at the giant water tank that sat near the entrance to the tunnel.
Staring at the workers from the windows of the train, Brittany thought that she had never seen such backbreaking work. Each wheel of both trains had to be freed from the snow before the trains could move so much as an inch. All afternoon, the air had been filled with the clang of shovels slicing through the snow. It had been almost dark by the time the crews had finished, and the passenger train had been run into the eastern portal of the tunnel while the mail train took on water.
Brittany had been glad when the train had once more been backed up into its original position in the railyard. She hadn't liked sitting in the tunnel. The dark outside the windows seemed unnatural, and Mrs. Fabray had shared the news that she had overheard Sam say that they could all be overcome by the fumes coming from the engine if they stayed inside the tunnel too long.
By the time the trains were moved back into their original positions, word had spread through the cars that they wouldn't be moving on that night, but instead would spend once more night at Cascade and proceed through the tunnel the next morning.
That news was discouraging enough, but the realization that accompanied it was even worse. With the coming of nightfall, the storm had returned. Once more, it was snowing.
It had actually been Brittney who had asked Mr. Puckerman to play his fiddle after supper, remarking that it was such a cheerful sound. Surely a little fiddle playing would help restore people's spirits. But it was Brittany who had the brainstorm of enlisting the children to play dress up.
With a collection of shawls and hats from the ladies, and hats and neckties from the men, Brittany and Brittney had adorned the children in their elders' garments, and then set them dancing down the aisle. Adults and children alike had enjoyed the sight, but it did not take long for the young people to become tired. All around her, Brittany could feel the spirits of her fellow passengers begin to sag, like wet clothes on the line. But she had never expected that she might be pressed into service more directly to help keep people's spirits up.
It wasn't that she didn't enjoy dancing or wasn't good at it—quite the opposite, in fact. She loved the freeing feeling she always got when she danced. No, the problem wasn't the dancing. The problem was her dance partner. She didn't think she could handle being so close to Santana during such an intimate act as dancing.
"Come on, Miss Lopez," Mr. Puckerman coaxed. "Don't be shy. You have to put your arms around her sometime. You don't want to wait until after you're married do you?"
A burst of laughter swept the sleeping car as Santana's cheeks flushed a deep red in response.
"Noah," Rachel said sternly as the laughter died down. "That's enough now." In reply, her husband played a series of descending notes that made it sound as though he were crying. Again, the passengers of the Winnipeg laughed in delight. Standing beside her, Brittany heard Brittney laugh along with them, the sound unnatural and high.
Brittany was just beginning to hope that she was off the hook since Noah Puckerman was doing such a fine job of entertaining people all by himself, when Santana stepped forward from her position at Mr. Puckerman's side. She curtsied, and then stood up straight and extended her hand, her eyes meeting Brittany's down the length of the aisle.
"Would you do me the honor, Miss Bennett?"
If she could have, Rachel Puckerman would have clapped her hands in glee. "Oh, well done, Santana," she said with a bright smile. "You'll have to go now, Britt," she teased the tall blonde gently. "There's not a woman alive who can turn that invitation down."
Well, I'm certainly alive, Brittany thought sardonically. Though, she was beginning to think better of it. Wouldn't it be better if the earth simply opened up and swallowed her whole?
I guess there's no help for it, she thought as she sighed almost inaudibly. But she was careful to avoid looking at Brittney as she moved forward. Slowly, Brittany walked down the aisle until she reached Santana, and then sank into her best imitation of the curtsy Rebecca reserved for her most important guests.
"Miss Lopez," she said. "It would be my pleasure."
A whisper of approval from the ladies swept through the Winnipeg.
"That's the spirit!" Noah Puckerman cried. He played a swift ascending scale, and then launched into a dance tune, the notes running like honey, sweet and slow.
There is no help for it, Brittany thought. She was going to have to go through with this. She stepped forward and felt herself instantly surrounded by Santana's arms.
The aisle of the Winnipeg was wide enough to walk down comfortably, but just barely wide enough for two people to dance down. Within seconds, Brittany realized what dancing under these conditions really meant.
Unlike a ballroom, where their bodies would be held at a specific, sanctioned distance when they danced together, in the close confines of the train aisle Santana's body was pressed against Brittany's own. As they maneuvered their way slowly down the aisle, turning in the steps of the dance, it seemed to Brittany that she could feel Santana's every inch.
She had never felt such a sensation before.
She could feel the warmth of the Latina's arm encircling her waist, every single one of her fingers as the smaller woman's hand pressed against her back. She could feel Santana's legs move against hers as they moved in time to the music, never missing a step.
Brittany's body began to feel strange to her, light and heavy all at the same time. Her very breath seemed to grow thick inside her lungs, but her blood rushed through her veins. She was aware of herself as a woman for the very first time.
Aware of the way the soft swell of her breasts pressed against Santana's own. The way the steps of the dance made their bodies move in perfect rhythm, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh. Brittany felt a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment creep through her whole body. A fine tingling danced across the surface of her skin.
I want this to go on forever, she found herself thinking. As if from a great distance, Brittany noticed that, as always, one lock of hair tumbled down across Santana's forehead. She lifted her hand from the brunette's shoulder to brush it back, and looked straight into her eyes.
Brittany felt her heart squeeze inside her chest, and then pick up with redoubled tempo, pounding in her ears until it became a steady roar. She had imagined this moment earlier, she thought. But she had never dreamed that it might come true. That she could make it come true.
There was a fire burning in Santana Lopez's deep brown eyes. And Brittany had been the one to put it there. All she'd had to do was hold the smaller woman in her arms.
Dear God, she realized suddenly. How could I have been so blind?
She had mistaken Santana's steadfastness for a lack of impetuosity, of passion, but there was nothing passionless about her now. The fire in her eyes burned clear and upright. No sudden gust of circumstance would make it waver. It was like Santana's sense of honor. Only death would snuff it out.
Never in her life had Brittany seen passion such as this. Passion that ran straight and true from a generous heart.
And she had been the one to put it there. She and she alone had lit the fire in Santana Lopez's eyes. In that moment, Brittany knew that all she wanted now was to watch it burn forever. To spend her life heated by its warmth, guided by its light.
"Look at that," she heard a voice beside her whisper. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"
"Never," she heard a second voice say. "I've never seen a couple so much in love."
Brittany stumbled, her body failing to move in sync with Santana's for the very first time. If not for the tight grip of the Latina's arms around her, Brittany would have fallen to her knees in the aisle. Santana stopped dancing at once. The fiddle music faltered.
"What is it, Britt?" Santana asked, her tone urgent. "Are you all right?"
"Of course I am," she answered, stepping back with an attempt at a smile. She had to do something, anything to get out of the other woman's arms. The longer she stayed in them, the longer she feared she would wish to stay.
It isn't possible, her mind frantically thought. I can't let it be possible. She had just met the Latina that morning. How could she be in love? In love with a woman who was promised to another.
Brittany took another faltering step back. She was Brittany Pierce, not Brittney Bennett. Santana Lopez wasn't hers, could never be hers. How could she have forgotten?
She could see Santana's worried eyes, searching hers for an explanation. But at the very back, the fire still burned bright. It was damped down by other concerns now, but not extinguished. It would never be extinguished, Brittany was certain. Between them, they had started a fire that would burn for all time.
And she had no right to it. No right to it at all.
I've got to get out of here, she thought anxiously.
Without speaking, she pushed her way past Santana and moved blindly through the sleeper, past the astonished faces of her fellow passengers, past Noah Puckerman with his bow held motionless in the air.
She reached the access between the cars, fumbled her way from the Winnipeg to the empty day car ahead of it, where she had not set foot since she had boarded the train. To conserve the supply of coal, the day cars weren't heated, as there was room to accommodate everyone on the sleepers. The cold air was a shock to Brittany's heated skin, like a plunge into icy water.
She didn't stop until she was halfway down the day car. There, without warning, her momentum deserted her. Brittany slumped onto a seat, leaning her head against the cold glass of the window, breathing as heavily as if she had just run the race of her life, her thoughts tumbling.
It couldn't really happen, could it? People couldn't fall in love in the space of a single day.
A scrap of sound attracted her attention. Brittany sat up straight, no longer leaning against the window, but she didn't turn around. A moment later, she could see a dark shape outlined in the window. A woman's frame.
She didn't doubt for a moment that it was Santana, but Brittany continued to gaze straight ahead, not at the brunette, but at her own pale features reflected in the darkened window.
Don't turn around. Don't turn around, she told herself over and over again. If she did, she knew that she would be lost, consumed by the flame.
For the span of one heart beat, then two, Santana stood behind her in the cold, empty day car. Brittany clenched her hands together so tightly in her lap that they began to ache. Perhaps, if she squeezed hard enough, she could drive away the memory of what the Latina's body felt like beneath her hands.
Tell her, she urged herself once more, as she had that afternoon. Tell her the truth. Do it now, before it's too late. Then, from far off, Brittany heard some small corner of her heart begin to laugh in wild and desperate abandon. Because the truth was that it was already far, far too late.
She saw Santana raise a hand as if to touch her, and then drop it back down to her side. A moment later, as silently as she had come, Santana vanished. Brittany waited, knowing what would inevitably come next.
"I'm tired," she said as Brittney materialized by her side in the day car.
"Yes," Brittney answered, her tone perfectly neutral. "I imagine that you are. I've asked Sam to make the berths up. Everyone else is retiring for the night."
Brittany knew without asking that part of what the other blonde meant was that Santana was no longer on the Winnipeg. She had returned to the Similkameen, her own sleeping car.
Brittany rose, her body as stiff as if she had labored with the railroad crews to clear the tracks. In silence, she followed Brittney back into the Winnipeg, doing her best to ignore the conversations that suddenly fell silent as she passed by. Still silent, she dressed for bed, and then accepted a boost from Brittney up into the upper berth, and heard her companion settle into her own berth below her.
"Good night, Brittney," Brittany said.
"Good night, Britt," Brittney answered after a moment.
"Things will be different tomorrow," Brittany promised suddenly. "You'll see."
Brittney was quiet for so long, Brittany was sure she wasn't going to answer. "I hope so," she finally said quietly. She pulled the long green curtains across the front of their berths.
Long after she could hear from Brittney's breathing that the other girl had fallen asleep, Brittany lay awake, listening to her own breaths move slowly in and out, powered by the beating of her treacherous heart.
A/N: Well, it looks like our dear Brittany has got a dilemma on her hands here...Uh oh. Wonder what's going to happen...;)
Fun fact: the actual Superintendent of the railroad's name was James O'Neill, but since this is a Glee story, I thought I'd throw in Figgins for a second, lol. :)
I hope you guys liked this chapter, and chapter 9 will be up in the near future!
