Chapter 2

As Rachel approached the fire station, a feeling of trepidation began taking hold. Was she doing the right thing? Did she seem desperate? Would he think there was some ulterior motive? Hell, she didn't even know his first name…or his marital status. She took a deep breath, telling herself that: (a) men are basically clueless and, with food involved, he never would suspect any motive beside gratitude and (b) as Santana said, "nothing ventured, nothing gained". Armed with two large plastic tubs filled with cookies, Rachel entered the building.

She approached the desk, and the Sergeant looked at her with decided interest. He was Asian, lanky, and quite nice looking. Maybe this was a Mecca for handsome firemen…Anyway, Rachel was here. She screwed up her courage, smiled, and inquired, "Excuse me, is a Lieutenant Puckerman here?"

The man (Mike) replied, "Yeah. Wait just a minute, I'll get him." Excusing himself, he left the desk and walked away, and Rachel placed the cookies down on a nearby table.

Mike went to the lounge where the firefighters hung out when they were on duty and not at a fire. "Hey, Puck," he announced.

The man looked up inquisitively, replying, "Yeah, Chang, 'sup?"

"There's a total hottie waiting in the lobby, and it looks like she brought homemade cookies."

The man was dumbfounded; the women he knew that constituted "total hottie" status didn't know where he worked, most of them didn't even know his name (beyond "Puck"), and he doubted that any of them could boil water, much less bake.

"C'mon, Puck!" Sam Evans goaded him. "I don't care what she looks like; she brought cookies!"

"OK, OK, I'm goin'" he acquiesced, and exited the room to the jibes of his fellow firefighters. He entered the lobby to find a woman whom he didn't recognize, yet looked vaguely familiar. She was petite, no more than 5'1'', with long brown hair and expressive brown eyes. She was very slim, although she had "curves in all the right places", accentuated by a pair of skinny jeans and a simple pink cardigan sweater with the sleeves pushed up, buttoned except for the top two buttons. Around her neck was a delicate gold Star of David pendant that glinted in the sunlight, and which caused his heart to do a little flip in his chest.

"Excuse, me, Miss, do I know you?" he inquired, "because I'm sure I'd remember someone as pretty as you," he qualified his statement, giving her a smirk that morphed into a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rachel replied, "we met yesterday. You physically extricated me from the theater to keep me out of harm's way," she explained. It immediately dawned on him; she was the chick with the green makeup, "Elphaba", the witch. "I'm Rachel Berry," she introduced herself, extending her right hand, smiling genuinely and looking him in the eyes.

"Noah Puckerman; my friends call me 'Puck', he countered, smiling, using both hands to hold hers between them and matching her gaze, eye to eye.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Noah," she replied. Normally, he would have corrected her, as nobody outside his family had the privilege of calling him by his given name. Coming from her, though, it felt natural and…right, somehow. "I baked these cookies to thank you…that is, all of you, for what you did at the theater," she explained.

"Just doin' our jobs, Rachel, but thank you, they look awesome," he commented.

"They're also to apologize for my bad behavior," she continued. "I'm sorry I was so difficult."

"That's OK," he accepted, "nothing wrong with bein' a little feisty," he teased, winking at her in the process. Rachel smiled demurely, blushing in embarrassment and looking away, an action that he somehow found endearing.

"I heard you went back onstage and helped calm the audience instead of lookin' out for yourself, first. That was very brave of you," he averred, smiling as he noticed her blush again.

"It was nothing, really," she replied modestly. "I just did what needed to be done." They stood there for another moment, her hand still clasped in his, when Mike, the man at the desk, answered the phone, bringing both Rachel and Noah back to reality. He (reluctantly) let go of her hand, and she smiled gently. "I really should get going and let you return to your work. It was great to meet you. I hope you all enjoy the cookies," she stated warmly.

"Same here, Rachel. Thanks again, on behalf of all of us." As he stood there, containers of cookies in hand, Rachel, still smiling, walked to the door, turned, waved, and left the station.

Noah carried the cookies to the firemen's lounge, placing them on the table. The men quickly descended on the treat, opening the containers and helping themselves.

"Wow, Puck, these are really good!" Sam commented.

"Yeah", Dave Karofsky agreed over a mouthful of cookie.

"Hey, leave some for me," Noah complained, helping himself to an oatmeal cookie and taking a big bite. "Whoa, these really are good," he concurred.

"You totally have to thank her, dude," Sam insisted.

"Yeah," Mike chimed in, having left his desk for a minute to help himself to a snack. "Don't let this one get away, Puck, she's a 'keeper'!" he teased.

"'The Puckarone' doesn't do girlfriends," Noah protested.

"Hey, buddy, I saw how you looked at her," Mike observed. "You know you're gonna see her again, so just get over yourself and deal with it," he advised.

"You married guys are all alike," Noah complained, "Once you're shackled to the 'old ball and chain', you're not satisfied until all the guys you know are, too."

"'Denial is more than a river in Egypt', Puckerman," Mike retorted sardonically, "Stop kidding yourself." Point made, Mike returned to his desk with two more cookies and a freshened mug of coffee.

Deep down (way, way down), Noah knew that Mike was right. He really wanted to see Rachel again. She seemed like a genuinely nice person, and aside from the fact that she was a knock-out, and Jewish, he knew that she had a spirited disposition (which could prove interesting in bed…at some point, of course). He had failed to procure her phone number (dummy!), but he did know where she worked. All he had to do was call the theater, find out when the next performance was scheduled, and go from there…

At the same time as the firemen were consuming their well-deserved treat, Rachel was walking down the street, deep in conversation (over the phone) with Santana, who was currently at work. "Rachel, I'm dying here," Santana whined. "Tell me what went down, and don't skip anything."

Rachel sighed before beginning. "Well…he was very nice, appreciative of the cookies, polite…"

"Rach, get to the good stuff," Santana interjected. "Was he as hot as you remember?"

Rachel smiled, answering with a giggle, "even hotter."

"Did he take your number?" she queried.

Rachel's face immediately took on a look of dejection. "No, he didn't. He's probably married, San." Rachel sighed again. "Oh, well, I did a nice thing, and that's the beginning and end of it," she pragmatically observed.

"Too bad," Santana said comfortingly (as best she could, that is), "I had high hopes. Oh, well, better luck next time."

Rachel ended her conversation and headed toward the subway station for her ride home. She had tried…and apparently failed.

Author's Note: Comments? ;-)