A/N: Hello, everyone!

I just realized that I totally forgot to respond to the reviewers! Sorry guys! I've been really busy this last week, and it completely slipped my mind. I'll do it here, though, k? Great. :)

wkgreen - Yes, indeed, it is way more complicated now! Thanks, as always, for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :D

cbatton - Thanks for the review! I'm really glad that this story is suspenseful (in a good way) for you! I love that you get that way while reading; I was worried that maybe it would all be cliche and too predictable. :) Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Ryoko05 - Haha, we'll see what happens. I like that you're falling in love with Santana, though, even if things may or may not be what they seem...Thanks for the review, as always! :D

Last White Feather - They do indeed. :) At least, if Brittany doesn't push her feelings aside for some reason...Aw, thanks! I thought it would be nice to let you guys know some of the actual facts about some of this stuff, and not what I've changed to make it fit my OTP and Glee. :)

Anywho...I have nothing else to say. Except, you guys can expect updates to come in the evening (US-EST) from now on. I don't have time during the day anymore to update. I'm sure most of you don't care, but this is for those of you who may like to or have time to read things during the day. :)

So, here's chapter 9! Enjoy! :D


Cascade, Washington

February 24, 1910

Brittany woke to a world of whirling white, and the sinking realization that the train would not be moving on that morning from Cascade. During the night, the storm had completely erased the railroad crews' hard work of the previous day. The drifts of snow were now so deep that they came halfway up the sides of the trains.

Neither the mail train nor the passenger train would go anywhere until each wheel had been painstakingly dug out all over again. And still, the air was filled with blowing white.

Brittany felt depression settle over her, as heavy as her blanket. Had it really been little more than a day ago that she had fled Spokane? It seemed as though she could barely remember a time when her world hadn't been filled with the storm, bound by the train.

Get up, Britt, she urged herself. Wallowing in self-pity never did anybody any good. The only problem with getting up was that she would have to face both Santana and Brittney again.

After a night filled with restless dreams, Brittany had come to a conclusion, the only one she felt that she could reach. She wasn't quite sure what had happened between her and Santana Lopez last night during their dance, but she was quite sure that it could never be allowed to happen again. Not for so much as an instant could she allow herself to forget that Santana was Brittney's fiancé, not hers.

"Britt," a whisper floated up to her. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Brittany answered quietly.

"I think the washroom is empty," Brittney whispered back.

"All right, I'm ready whenever you are," Brittany said. Once more, the two girls dressed in the tight quarters of the women's washroom, but there was little sense of camaraderie today. Silence wedged between them like a third person. Out of the corner of her eye, Brittany kept catching the other blonde's eyes watching her face, and then sliding away.

She saw, Brittany realized. She knows. She wished with all her heart that she could summon up some comforting words to explain away what her friend had seen last night. But she couldn't do it. She didn't understand how it had happened herself.

The only thing she knew for certain was that, no matter which direction she took, she was likely to end up on the path to betrayal.

"Well, I think it's just plain bad management," Mrs. Fabray announced later that day.

She was sitting in the cook shack along with Brittany, Rachel, and Brittney. The day had turned out to be another one of long delays. Once more, the train wheels had to be dug out before they could move forward. Santana, out of obligation to her work duties, and Rachel's husband Noah worked alongside the train crews.

The other women had elected to remain in the cook shack for the day, although Brittany had protested. She hated sitting around doing nothing when she could have been out there helping as well. But the crews had forbidden it, stating that she would just be in the way and the threat of injury was too great for them to risk having her there, much to Brittany's chagrin. So Brittany had to spend her day waiting around in the cook shack with the rest of the women.

The big wooden building was warm, not as stuffy as the train cars were, and staying put kept the women from getting cold and wet as they trekked back and forth to the train.

The morning had passed fairly quickly, but as the afternoon had worn on, all of the women's spirits had begun to flag. Brittany's back ached from the long hours of sitting on the cook house bench. Her clothing, fresh from her carpet bag just that morning, nevertheless felt soiled and rumpled. A fine film of grime seemed to lie over everything. As the afternoon hours stretched toward evening, Brittany found herself dreaming of a long, hot bath.

Only Mrs. Fabray seemed as starched and fresh as ever, her shirt waist free from wrinkles, a jet brooch pinned to its high neck, her back ramrod straight as she sat on the hard wooden bench. Brittany was sure that, should the older woman rise to walk about the room, her petticoats would still rustle with authority. Brittany's felt as limp as a well-used rag.

"Beth, you stay well back from there, now," Mrs. Fabray called out to her daughter as she stood with Abby Puckerman on the far side of the room watching Cook Chang wield an enormous knife. Beth Fabray shifted backward one small step.

"I mean, really," Mrs. Fabray continued, barely pausing to take in air. "You'd think that they would be prepared for things like this. The trains run all winter don't they?"

"Don't think anyone has ever seen a storm quite like this so late in the season, ma'am," Tina Chang's quiet voice said. The Asian woman approached their table with four cups of steaming hot coffee.

"The crews will be in any minute now," Tina said simply, as she deposited the cups before them. "Word is, they have finally dug out the trains."

Mrs. Fabray snorted, unimpressed. "You mean again. They did that yesterday."

"You folks should be able to get under way real soon now," Tina went on as if she hadn't heard the blonde woman. "I thought you ladies might enjoy a cup of hot coffee before you get back on the train."

"Thank you," Rachel Puckerman said at once. "That's very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Chang."

Tina's round face lit in a tired smile. "My pleasure, ma'am." As she moved back toward the enormous cook stove, Brittany realized Tina and Mike must be almost as tired as the railroad crews were. After all, they were just two people, yet they had been responsible for feeding everyone for two days straight.

With a sudden gust of freezing air, the door to the cook shack banged open. Snow blew in through the open door.

"Trains are moving out," a voice Brittany recognized as Sam's called out. "All passengers are kindly requested to return to the train."

"I'll take the baby," Brittany offered as the rest of the women rose to their feet. Rachel gave her a tired smile in thanks, as Brittany hooked the basket forever holding Isaac over one arm, and followed in Mrs. Fabray's wake, retrieving Abby on her way to the door.

Isaac Puckerman was a tiny baby. Unlike his sister, he had his mother's prominent nose and large, dark brown eyes. They stared solemnly up at Brittany from the depths of the basket.

"He's awfully small, isn't he?" Brittany murmured.

"I think Rachel is worried," Brittney answered. "She says that Isaac doesn't eat the way he should." They were practically the only words she had spoken to Brittany all day. The silence between them had stretched out so long, it seemed to Brittany that it had a voice of its own, asking endless, unanswerable questions.

"We should go," Brittany said, suddenly realizing they were the only passengers remaining in the cook shack. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Chang," she called as she and Brittney hurried toward the door.

The two cooks turned form their positions near the cook stove. "Hope you folks have an easy journey the rest of the way."

Brittney slipped a shawl from her shoulders, covering the baby's blanket with it. Then she pulled the door open. Together, the two blonde women went back out into the storm.

The snow was blowing wildly as they made their way from the cook shack. The wind always seemed to be worse just before nightfall. By the time they made it back to the train, Brittany was shivering, deep, hard tremors from the pit of her stomach. From the depths of his basket, Isaac Puckerman wailed. Rachel moved toward them the second Brittany and Brittney were inside the Winnipeg.

"It's all right," she said. "I'll take him."

"I'm sorry," Brittany said, feeling the need to apologize for some reason she couldn't explain. The baby wouldn't have stayed any warmer if his mother had carried him.

"It's all right," Rachel said again. But her face puckered as she took the basket from Brittany's arm. Silently, she peeled back the shawl and looked inside. For the first time, Brittany saw fear in the other woman's eyes instead of good humor.

"He'll warm up," Rachel said, holding the shawl out. Brittney took it without speaking. "He'll be just fine."

Quickly, she moved down the Winnipeg toward the Similkameen. The two remaining women returned to their seats, still not speaking. Brittney looked down at her clasped hands, turning Brittany's mother's ring around on her finger. Brittany gazed at her friend's agitated fingers, wishing she could think of the right thing to say.

There was a sudden, neck-wrenching jerk, and the scream of metal against metal. The train seemed to lunge forward. Both girls pitched in their seats. Brittany put her arms out to brace herself, and ended up catching Brittney by the shoulders. The two blondes clung to one another for an instant, and then pushed back into their respective seats.

A sound Brittany hadn't heard in nearly two days suddenly filled her ears: the growling of the steam engine. Slowly, the wheels continuing to scream in protest as they moved along the track, the train inched forward.

Without warning, the growl fell silent. The train was entering the tunnel. Brittany knew the exact moment their car was swallowed up. The window at her side went from white to black as the blowing snow outside was replaced by the close stone walls.

Brittany swallowed once, then twice. She could feel her pulse begin to beat in her throat. Across the aisle, her eyes met Brittney's.

Brittany hadn't thought much about going through the tunnel. It was simply how one got from one place to another. If all had gone according to schedule, the train would have made this run in the middle of the night when the passengers were all asleep. Brittany never would have known she had ever been through solid rock.

But all had not gone according to schedule. With every second that passed, Brittany began to feel more and more as if she were being buried alive in her own tomb. How long? she wondered. How long before they reached the other end of the tunnel?

All around her, Brittany could hear the creaking of the train. The light in the car flickered as the overhead lantern swayed ever so slightly. Brittany knew she should be grateful it wasn't completely dark. At least the cars had their own illumination.

But as the seconds ticked past and the journey continued, Brittany found it difficult to be grateful for anything. Even a return to the storm would be better than this. All she wanted was to be out of the tunnel.

With a second unexpected lurch, the train came to a stop. Brittany stared out the window in horror. The world outside was still pitch-black. They were still inside the tunnel.

"What's happening?" she heard Brittney say, her voice a thin thread of panicked sound. "We're not out of the tunnel yet, are we? Why are we stopping?"

"I don't know," Brittany said. Her ears began to ring with the effort she was making to keep her composure. Her jaw ached from keeping her teeth clenched against the desire to scream.

With a flurry of skirts, Brittney moved across the space between the two seats, her hands reaching for Brittany's. The two girls clung together so tightly, Brittany was certain the bones in both their hands would be broken by the time the train was clear of the tunnel.

She heard a child, she thought it was Beth Fabray, begin to wail. Brittany turned around to stare back down the aisle, craning her neck to see over her shoulder. "Sam," she called. "Do you know why we're stopping?"

"Don't know for sure," Sam answered back at once. "But I reckon it has something to do with the tracks at Wellington. We will move on just as soon as we can, I'm sure."

"Well, really," Brittany heard Mrs. Fabray's voice say over the wailing of her daughter. Brittney's hands jerked. She gave a snort of desperate laughter. Brittany bit down hard on her lip to keep from joining her. She had a feeling if she started laughing now, she would never stop.

"It'll be all right," she said, in unconscious imitation of Rachel Puckerman. "We'll make it though this, Brittney."

Brittney's blue eyes looked steadily into hers. Her lips wavered upward in a tentative smile. As she had yesterday afternoon, she said, "You promise?"

On impulse, Brittany wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her close. She could feel Brittney's heart beating hard and fast, knew her own heart beat with the same explosiveness. She knew what Brittney was asking, and what her answer had to be.

"Yes," she whispered fiercely as she stared into the darkness pressing down around the train. Pressing down against her heart. Maybe if she said it with enough conviction, she could find some way to make her vow come true.

"I promise."


The Railyard at Wellington

February 25, 1910

The next morning, Brittany was stiff and groggy. Though she had gone to sleep with high hopes, all she had to do was to open her eyes to have them dashed. The snow swirled outside the train window without let up. Brittany began to feel as if she had been traveling inside the storm forever.

Had there really ever been a time when she had known a sound besides the scream of the wind? A bed bigger than the upper berth? A world larger than the Winnipeg? How much longer would it be before she could move and speak freely?

How long would it be before she faced Santana again?

At the thought of Santana, Brittany's fingers, busy buttoning up Brittney's shirt waist, faltered. One look at the shorter blonde's pale, pinched face after waking had convinced Brittany that her friend was in even worse spirits than she was. In an effort to cheer her up, Brittany had loaned the other girl the nicest of her remaining shirt waists. The fine, white lawn was embroidered all over in an eyelet pattern. The collar and cuffs were bordered in lace. So far, neither girl had mentioned Santana.

"Britt?" Brittney asked now. Her eyes met Brittany's in the washroom's tiny mirror. "Is something wrong? Did you change your mind?"

"Change my mind?" Brittany repeated, unthinkingly. Oh, yes, she thought. I've changed my mind. I wish we had never embarked upon this masquerade in the first place.

"About the shirt waist," Brittney clarified. "I'd understand if you didn't want me to wear it. It is awfully fine."

"Heavens, no," Brittany responded quickly, as she resumed her careful buttoning. "My mind just got away from me for a moment, that's all."

"Maybe you have mine too," Brittney ventured with a smile. "I swear my head hurts so badly I can't see or think straight."

"It's the strain of not knowing, I daresay," Brittany said quietly. She finished the buttons and gave Brittney's back a quick pat. "There you go. Let's go find Sam. Perhaps he will have some good news for us."

But when they found him at the far end of the car once more helping with Beth Fabray, the porter had none. Instead, he told them a rotary had been out all night, clearing a slide at a place called Windy Point.

"Came back for more coal, and went right back out again," Sam said soberly, his usual cheerful expression strained. "Though I did hear the engineer say that the snow was soft. That'll make it easier to clear, even if it is a big one."

"I'm hungry," Beth Fabray whined. "I want my breakfast in here. I don't want to go back out in the storm. I'm tired of being cold."

Brittany mastered a spurt of irritation, although she had to admit that Beth's pronouncements and her own thoughts were a pretty close match. She, too, was tired of tramping back and forth, getting cold and wet for every mouthful. She, too, was tired of feeling trapped inside either a cook shack or a train car. But, unlike the six year old, she could see there wasn't any choice.

"You'll like Wellington," Sam assured the young girl, his glance taking in her mother. "There's a real hotel here."

"A hotel!" Mrs. Fabray exclaimed. "I shall book a room at once. Bring my things along, please, Sam."

If Sam resented her high-handed manner of dealing with him, he didn't show it. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he answered quietly, as though knowing that he was about to be the deliverer of unwelcome news. "But I'm afraid it won't be possible to secure a room. The hotel is full up with railroad crews, particularly now that there are extra men to help clear the slides. But the hotel does have a real dining room."

Mrs. Fabray sniffed to show her disapproval. "Well, I suppose that's something. How do we get there?"

"Just go straight along the main track," Sam said. "Jones' Hotel is right behind the depot. There's no way you can miss it. Not even in all this weather."

Brittany didn't think Finn or Rebecca would be impressed with the inside of Jones' Hotel, but it was warm and cheerful and, if nothing else, a change from the cook shack at Cascade. The tables were set with blue and red checked table cloths and boasted not hard benches, but individual chairs. The windows even had lace curtains draped across them.

"Well," Mrs. Fabray said, as the party paused inside the doorway to shake and stamp the snow off. "This is better, I must say."

At that moment, Rachel Puckerman appeared from what Brittany assumed was the kitchen, a huge, white apron wrapped around her dress, her arms full of a steaming platter of ham and eggs.

"What on earth?" Brittany said.

Rachel laughed as she deposited the serving plate on a table occupied by Noah and Santana. The Puckermans's young daughter Abby was perched on her father's knee. The baby's basket rested on a chair beside him.

"With all the extra people from two trains. Mrs. Jones is swamped," Rachel explained, as she motioned Brittany and Brittney over. "So some of us are pitching in to help."

"You go ahead and sit down," Brittany said at once, quickly maneuvering Brittney into the only remaining chair at the table. "I'll go with Rachel and see if Mrs. Jones needs more help."

Brittney's pale face flushed with color. "I should come with you," she tried to protest.

"You aren't feeling well," Brittany said firmly. She pulled in a steadying breath and switched her attention to Santana. She hadn't seen the Latina at all the day before, except from a distance. And Brittany hadn't spoken with her since the night that they had danced together.

"Good morning," Brittany said, her eyes taking in the brunette's ashen face, the dark rings of weariness beneath her deep brown eyes. Even the lock of hair that tumbled down over her forehead seemed to droop. Brittany's fingers itched with the desire to smooth the lock of hair back, and the Latina's worries with it.

Santana's chocolate eyes flashed up to her face. "Good morning," she answered steadily.

"Miss Pierce isn't feeling very well," Brittany hurried on. "May I leave her in your care for breakfast?"

"Of course," Santana said at once. Her eyes left Brittany's face to rest upon Brittney. "I'm sorry to hear you aren't well, Miss Pierce. Perhaps some of Mrs. Jones' fine breakfast—"

"Under the weather, are you?" Noah Puckerman put in.

"Oh, Noah," his wife protested. "For heaven's sake!"

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" her husband answered, reaching back to capture her hand. "I got her to smile."

At this, Brittney actually chuckled. Mr. Puckerman beamed across the table at her. "There, you see?" he asked his wife.

How easy they are together, Brittany thought as she watched Rachel's fingers tangled with her husband's. How right. Could she and Santana ever grow to be like that, she wondered, if they had enough time?

She heard a sniff behind her and realized Mrs. Fabray was still standing nearby. No doubt she was miffed that the taller blonde had insisted Brittney take the only seat at the table. Swiftly, Brittany made eye contact with Rachel. The small brunette freed her hand from her husband's.

"I hope you won't think it forward of me," she said, moving to take Mrs. Fabray by the arm, "but I've been keeping my eye on a table for you all morning. It's right over there—next to that small table with that green plant. Don't you think that's just the loveliest touch? Though how Mrs. Jones keeps anything growing with so much to do, I'm sure I can't imagine."

"Some women are just naturally handy that way," Mrs. Fabray answered. "Mr. Fabray always says that no one can match me for African violets."

"I'm sure he must be right," Rachel said. Mrs. Fabray sniffed again, but she sat at the table Rachel suggested. Brittany gave a sigh of relief. Now, perhaps, Brittney could have some time with Santana. Brittany tried to ignore the swift twist of her heart. I'm doing the right thing.

"No more dawdling," Rachel said, tucking her arm through Brittany's and leading her off to the kitchen. "I'm going to put you to work."

The rest of the morning passed in a blur as Brittany helped serve breakfast. Mrs. Jones was thicker, dark-skinned woman who managed to accomplish what seemed to Brittany to be a truly astonishing amount of work. During the course of the morning, she learned that the robust woman cured her own ham and bacon, canned fruits and vegetables, and baked her own bread.

She also clerked at the Wellington store and post office, made beds in the hotel and did all the hotel laundry by hand. Yet she claimed the only reason she needed help now was the sudden, unexpected influx of extra people. Even when the winter weather was at its worst, for two trains to be stuck at Wellington at once was simply unheard of.

"Well, I can't imagine how you do it all," Brittany mused, during a lull in the action. Several women, including Mrs. Jones, stood at the entrance to the dining room, surveying the contented eaters filling the room.

"It's all a matter of what you're used to, I guess," Mrs. Jones said. Brittany saw her eyes move to the table where Santana still sat with Brittney, Isaac's basket beside them. Noah Puckerman had long since risen to attend to his active young daughter.

"I still can't get over the fact that you're not sisters," Mrs. Jones went on, her eyes resting on Brittney. "You girls sure do look alike. And you say that's your fiancé? You're not worried about her spending so much time with your friend, now are you?" she teased gently.

Rachel jointed them with a laugh. "You'd never ask that question if you could see the way she looks at Britt."

"Rachel," Brittany protested as she felt her face begin to heat from embarrassment.

"Well, it's true and you know it," Rachel responded. "And you're just as bad."

Brittany shut her mouth with a snap. Were her newly discovered feelings for Santana so plain that even Rachel could read them?

"Well now," Mrs. Jones said, her yes switching to Brittany's rapidly flushing face. "That's different then."

Without warning, a figure appeared in the dining room doorway. With a start, Brittany recognized the conductor from the passenger train. She remembered him as calm and self-assured. But this man had none of the assurance that had helped him face down Finn.

Now, he looked wild and storm-blown. Though the entrance to the dining room was some distance from the front door of the hotel, he hadn't stopped to brush off the snow that had collected on his garments.

He paused just inside the doorway, his eyes sweeping the room once, twice. Then they focused on the object of his search like a homing beacon, and he headed straight for Santana.

As Brittany watched, the conductor leaned over, whispering urgently. Santana stood so abruptly her chair tipped over backward. She didn't stoop to pick it up, nor did she turn to make her excuses to Brittney. She simply seized the conductor by the arm and walked him back across the room, speaking swiftly and quietly.

When they reached the doorway she looked up, studying the tall man's face, plainly asking a question. When the conductor nodded, Santana returned the gesture and patted the man on the shoulder. The conductor looked over his shoulder just once, and then hurried through the doorway.

Santana stood for a moment, her back toward the room, staring forward as if at nothing. Behind her, the dining room grew so silent Brittany swore she heard the blood rushing through her veins. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noah Puckerman move forward.

"For God's sake, Santana," Noah said. "What is it, woman? What's happened?" At the sound of another voice, Santana started and turned around slowly. At the sight of her face, Brittany took an involuntary step forward, her breath crowding into her throat.

She had thought the Latina was pale before, but compared to what she looked like now, her earlier pallor was nothing. Brittany had never seen anyone look like this. Santana's normally tan face was nearly as white as bleached bone.

Her vivid brown eyes seemed to blaze from her face, filled with some unidentifiable, desperate emotion. The expression in them was so bright, Brittany almost raised a hand to shield her own.

Santana's eyes swept the room, once, twice, as had the conductor's before her. As though she were searching for the one person in the world she couldn't live without. The person she would cling to with her dying strength, ask for with her dying breath. Her lifeline.

The realization struck her hard and fast, a fist straight to Brittany's stomach. She was the one the Latina searched for with those wild, brown eyes.

"Santana?" she called out.

Instantly, Santana's head swiveled toward her. Her eyes locked onto Brittany's. Brittany made a strangled sound, part joy, part relief, part despair. Now, there was no help for it. She could never go back now, regardless of what the future might bring, regardless of what it cost her.

Deep within her eyes, behind the devastation, the flame that they had started blazed like a bonfire.

Brittany forgot about Rachel Puckerman and Mrs. Jones. She forgot about Brittney just across the room. The only person she could see was Santana Lopez. On unsteady legs, she walked across the room.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

Santana didn't answer until Brittany reached her, until she had captured one of the blonde's porcelain hands in her tan one. She squeezed so tightly that Brittany all but heard the bones crack. Then Santana pulled the taller woman to her side, wrapping one arm around her waist as she faced the occupants of the trains. Brittany felt Santana pull in one breath, and then another before she spoke.

"There's been an avalanche at the railyard at Cascade."


A/N: Oh, no! Not an avalanche! :(

Fun fact: The hotel that Mercedes runs was actually real. Except, it was run by a husband and wife named Bailets, so the hotel was called Bailets' Hotel. It also had plants all the time there, as well, and was quite famous for it. Of course, I took liberties with this for the sake of Glee. :)

That's all. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and chapter 10 will be up in a week! :D