The Exception To the Rule. Noah Puckerman didn't "do" girlfriends. He was strictly a brief encounter, first names only, "slam, bam, thank you, ma'am" kind of guy. That is…until he met Rachel Berry.

Thanks once again to Ryan Murphy, who has created characters upon which numerous stories can (and have) been built. These characters belong to Mr. Murphy, the story (and any new characters), to me. All (new character) names are strictly "made up"; if they inadvertently belong to someone, it was unintentional.

This is an "AU" story: Rachel grew up in Shaker Heights, rather than Lima, along with Santana Lopez and Kurt Hummel. Noah still grew up in Lima, along with Sam Evans and Brittany Pierce. Noah is a few years older than Rachel, and they have not previously crossed paths.

This started out to be a longish one-shot, but it evolved into a short multi-chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

At 26, Rachel Berry was finally living her dream. She had graduated at the top of her class from Tisch, participating in numerous school productions, ranging from chorus line to featured roles and, finally, female lead. BFA and good reviews notwithstanding, breaking into the theater had been an uphill battle. Mixed in among the rejections were a couple of chorus jobs on Broadway, as well as more heavily featured parts further off (off-off-Broadway, that is). To supplement her income, she had sold handbags at Macy's, waited on table, substitute taught in several elementary schools for under-the-weather music teachers, and worked as a receptionist in a producer's office.

Her first true break came when she had been hired for a small part (basically chorus with a couple of throw-away lines) in "Mama Mia!". She had also been the understudy for "Sophie" and, as luck would (finally!) have it, the actress became pregnant and left the show, paving the way for Rachel to step in. To her surprise (and delight), attendance to the play picked up as word of her performance spread, and her agent began receiving offers for other opportunities.

Rachel remained with the production for close to a year when she received news that left her speechless (as her friend Kurt Hummel would sardonically observe, a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence); "Wicked" needed a new "Elphaba", and the producers were looking for a fresh(er) name and face. Their new "Glinda", Faye Rogers, was a daytime Emmy-winning actress with a recurring role on a soap opera and, therefore, was extremely well-known; her role had been back-burnered on the show specifically for her to take on this project. With a guaranteed box-office draw, they decided to take a (calculated) risk on a lesser-known actress who had the potential to be a break-out star. After observing her performance in "Mama Mia!", they had decided that Rachel was the perfect candidate, as long as she was interested.

Needless to say, "interested" was an understatement, and Rachel respectfully (and, actually, a little sadly) turned in her notice. Now, six months into one of her lifetime-dream roles, she was exactly where she wanted to be. She was getting rave reviews for her performance, some even comparing her (favorably, of course) to Idina Menzel, the originator of the role. Due to Ms. Rogers' fame, they had appeared (in costume, with the other principal actors) to perform on a couple of talk shows, and, since no "Wicked" ensemble was complete without an excerpt from "Defying Gravity", Rachel was receiving further critical acclaim and reaching a wider audience than those fortunate enough to attend a Broadway show. Yes, Rachel had reached a good place in her life.

To celebrate her six-month anniversary with the show, Rachel had gone out with her best friends Santana Lopez and Kurt Hummel. Once their orders had been taken and the salad served, Kurt opened the conversation: "Diva, you have to find yourself a man," he instructed. Santana nodded in agreement as Rachel stared at her friends in disbelief, mouth agape. "Kurt, I'll have you know I am perfectly happy with my current arrangement, and I'm certainly too busy at the moment to consider encumbering myself…"

"With all due respect, Rachel, you're protesting too much," Kurt interjected.

"Mmmhmm," Santana uttered, nodding her head in agreement. "Come out with us to the club after dinner, Rach. I'm sure there'll be a ton of guys to pick from…"

"Thanks all the same," Rachel acknowledged with a weary smile, "but I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check. We have an extra matinee tomorrow, and I really need to get some sleep."

"OK, we forgive you this time," Santana acknowledged, "but you need to get 'out there', again."

"I will, San…I promise," Rachel avowed. Her friends dropped the topic (for the moment), and dinner continued smoothly.

The following day, the matinee performance was moving along extremely well. Present in the audience were several school groups, and the children seemed enthralled with the story thus far. Rachel always enjoyed it when the audience suspended their disbelief, and felt herself playing to that, enticing them further into the story unfolding onstage. They had just finished "Popular" when there was a loud "POP" offstage, and the theater went dark. A collective gasp was emitted from the audience, and the room became abuzz with the confused and concerned theater-goers.

Apparently, there had been an electrical short backstage, and a small electrical fire had broken out. The front of the house was notified, and ushers, stage hands, and anybody else available quickly entered the auditorium, manned with flashlights. Rachel bravely grabbed a flashlight from one of the crew backstage and made her way onstage. "Hi, everybody!" she began, using the flashlight to illuminate her face.

"It seems we are having some technical difficulties, and the remainder of today's performance will be cancelled." Responding to the instructions in her earpiece, she continued, "If you contact the box office, you'll be refunded in full or offered replacement tickets for an upcoming performance." She took a breath to steady herself; she faintly smelled smoke and was determined not to panic. "Please leave the theater in an orderly fashion. There are people on the floor who will help guide you safely outside. Thank you!" Rachel ended her announcement and exited the stage, following the beam the flashlight provided.

The stage door was opened, providing much-needed light, and as the remaining cast and crew hastily exited the building, Rachel moved in the opposite direction toward her dressing room, where her purse and other personal effects were locked up. She would need her keys, ID, and subway fare to get home, and she'd be damned if she was going to walk through the streets of New York with green skin and the (small) facial prostheses that enhanced her "witchy" appearance on the stage. As she approached her destination, she heard the sound of sirens punctuating the clatter of feet and muffled sound of hasty conversation. She unlocked her locker and removed her personal effects, and was about to head to the bathroom with a jar of cold cream and a towel when a fireman entered the space.

"Miss, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, now," the fireman instructed.

Rachel's back was to the man as she answered, "Excuse me, sir, is it alright if I remove this first?" she spun around to display herself in her resplendent, green glory and looked up into the most beautiful hazel eyes she had ever seen.

The man eyed her up and down and chuckled, replying, "Sorry, Miss, but I'm afraid you'll need to go as is. This is a dangerous situation; please leave it to the professionals."

Rachel straightened her back and tried to look as imposing as her petite frame would allow and replied, "I simply cannot be seen on the streets of New York in full makeup. Please allow me…" The fireman grinned, picking up Rachel and slinging her over his shoulder like one would a sack of potatoes. He grabbed her tote bag and headed swiftly toward the stage door.

Rachel was not going to go without a fight, and she began pummeling his back with her fists, kicking and yelling "Let me go you Neanderthal! Give me your name so I can report you to your superiors!"

The fireman chuckled again, answering, "I'm Lieutenant Puckerman, FDNY, Engine 34, 440 West 38th Street. My commanding officer is Captain Mathers, and I'm more Cro-Magnon than Neanderthal, if you asked me." By this time, they were outside of the theater.

Lieutenant Puckerman placed Rachel gently on the ground and handed her the tote. In the afternoon light, she saw him clearly for the first time and she felt a tiny fluttering deep inside as she noticed how attractive he actually was. She smiled genuinely and attempted to cover for her outburst: "I'm sorry if I offended you, Lieutenant," she offered.

"No problem, Miss," he replied with a grin. "I'd suggest that you go 'defy gravity', now, and leave this to the professionals." He returned to his duties, and Rachel began walking to her subway station, doing her best to ignore the stares, finger pointing, and cell-phone picture-taking that transpired during her journey.

Home at last, Rachel carefully removed her costume and hung it up for her next performance. Now dressed in yoga pants and an oft-washed NYU hoodie, and armed with a large jar of cold cream and an old towel, she entered her bathroom. First, she gently removed the pointier nose and chin "enhancers", gently placing them in a dish on the vanity. Now that her face was back to its usual proportions, she unzipped the hoodie, removed it, and then began liberally applying the cream to her hands (green arms fortunately courtesy of costuming rather than makeup), then upper torso, neck, and finally, face. Soon enough, Elphaba was no more, Rachel's clean face reflecting back at her from the bathroom mirror.

Rachel had just put the water up for tea when she heard a key turn in the lock. She glanced at the clock and realized that the dog-walker was returning from their afternoon walk. She entered the living room to be greeted by Larry Horowitz, the dog-walker and Maisie, her retired racing Greyhound. Larry unhooked the leash and Maisie trotted over to Rachel, her tail gently wagging, and buried her head in Rachel's thigh in a gesture of affection. "Hi, baby girl!" she greeted the dog, rubbing her gently behind the ears. "Thanks, Larry!"

"You're welcome, Rachel," he replied. He picked up the envelope on the kitchen table, which she had left for him before she went to work. "Larry, I'm off for a couple of days. I'll call and let you know when I need you."

"OK, Rachel; no worries," he cheerfully responded, and, with a quick pat to the dog and a wave to Rachel, he left the apartment for his next appointment.

Rachel made her tea and toasted a bagel, the dog following her like an adoring shadow. She finally sat down on the sofa, and the dog climbed into her (large) doggie bed, settled herself, and closed her eyes for a nap. Rachel had just picked up the TV remote when the phone rang. She noticed that the caller was Santana when she reached for the phone.

"Hi, San; what's up?" Rachel opened the conversation.

"What's up?" Santana emoted. "OMG, Rachel, your theater was on fire, and all you can say is 'what's up? How are you?...Why didn't you call?...I was so worried…Kurt is frantic…" Rachel smiled; her friends were the best, there was no doubt.

"Santana, calm down," she advised. "I'm fine. There was a small electrical fire, and the FDNY had everything well under control." She smiled to herself, thinking of the handsome fireman, and her mind drifted off momentarily.

"The news said you were very brave, going onstage to keep the audience calm rather than thinking of yourself. I'm proud of ya', kid," Santana complemented, bringing Rachel back to the present.

"Thanks, San. It wasn't a big deal; I did what had to be done," she answered pragmatically. "The worst part was that I had to go home in full makeup," Rachel recounted.

"How in Hell did that happen?" Santana incredulously retorted.

"I was going to wash up, and this fireman stopped me…actually, he carried me out, kicking and screaming."

Santana laughingly replied "That must'a been hilarious. So sorry I missed it." She paused briefly before continuing, "So, chica, what did he look like?"

A small smile crossed Rachel's face as she answered, "Actually, San, he was pretty cute. Tall, dark, nice looking…"

"You obviously liked what you saw, girl," Santana observed. "Did he ask for your number, or what?"

Rachel rolled her eyes before replying, "Santana, he was acting in the line of duty; beside, I was green as grass at the time…not exactly eye candy for the average man, that's for sure."

"Too bad," Santana commiserated. "Did ya' at least get his name?"

"I was pretty agitated when he hoisted me over his shoulder, so I asked for his information to report him to his chief," she explained.

Santana grinned at the description; it must have been quite a scene. "OK, give, what is it?" she curiously inquired.

"He said his name is Puckerman, he's a lieutenant, and he works out of the station at West 38th street…Engine 34, I think he said," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Puckerman? Rach, he must be Jewish…he sounds perfect," Santana exclaimed. "You definitely need to follow up on this, girl. It's like we told ya' the other night, you need to get back 'out there'."

Rachel smiled, primarily to herself. The man was nice looking, responsible (considering his job, and all), age-appropriate (she guessed), and Jewish (not that it mattered…very much). "Desperate much, Santana?" Rachel teased.

"Rachel, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained', my Papi always says," Santana gently chided her. "You could bake some cookies and take them over to the station; ya' know to say 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' or something," she suggested. "Your cookies are awesome, and, one look at you, not green, and I'll bet he'll be thinkin' about your other 'cookies', too."

Rachel giggled at Santana's suggestive reply. "Thanks for the compliment, San, however lewd it may have ended up," she commented. "Actually, it's not a bad idea. They really did help us, and it's the least that I can do," she mused, convincing herself in the process.

"OK, tell yourself that, Rach; whatever it takes," Santana acknowledged. "Just go out there and do it…tomorrow."

The girls ended their conversation shortly thereafter, and Rachel began to mull over what type of cookies she would bake. She eventually decided on oatmeal, with chocolate chunks and dried cherries, and her sugar cookies, which were always in high demand; whenever any of her friends had a party, they usually requested that she bring a batch (or two). Since she didn't have to work tonight or tomorrow, now would be the perfect time to start baking.

Author's Note: So...what do you think?