Hanlon walked to his captain's office, trying not to rely on his cane to keep his balance, as he knocked on the frosted glass of the door and waited for acknowledgement. A gruff New York accented, "Enter," came through the door. When he entered, he stood at attention, swaying slightly, until the grey haired and bespectacled captain said he could sit. "Is this how they train you in Chicago Hanlon? Like you're in the fucking military? Sit down son. You don't need to be standing." Hanlon sat down keeping eye contact with his captain as he tried to get comfortable in the too small oak office chair for his too large of a body. "So how has New York been treating you Hanlon? I mean it sucked that you got into that accident as you were moving out here. Then you were in that coma for what, three months, and then therapy for two, but other than that, how's the FDNY been treating you?"

Hanlon instinctually reached for the angry red scar that made a path from his left eye to his ear at the mention of his accident, the only reminder he had of it for the most part besides having lost his equilibrium. He shifted in the chair to get the feeling back in his ass and felt his body start to fall forward, so he worked to correct himself as he thought carefully about what was going to be leaving his mouth, "Well sir. It's been fine. Nothing that I'm not used to. The guys have been hazing me a bit for being the only noob here, but they've taken it easy on me. I'm just anxious to get green lighted to go back to full training and get out on the aerial, sir. I really hate being a desk jockey. I wasn't cut out to be behind a desk. No offense captain."

"None taken. I hate this fucking desk too, but it comes with the title, so I don't have much say in it. Glad the hazing hasn't been too bad, especially since hazing in not condoned by FDNY. I can only imagine that a few of the pranks have been due to your accent. By the way, how in the hell does someone born and raised in Chicago still have an Irish accent?"

Hanlon rubbed the back of his neck as he thought of the best way to explain his rather un-American accent, "Well Captain, you met the Hanlon clan while I was in the hospital. They're all 'right off the boat' so to speak. My entire family lives within a three block radius of each other in Chicago and I was raised by my ma, grams and aunts, who've never lost their accents. I was also sent to Ireland for every holiday and vacation, staying with my ma's family, to keep my Irish culture, so instead of having the normal Midwestern accent, I've kept my family's brogue."

The captain just grinned, nodding in understanding, "I can understand. It's the same with the families in Little Italy, most have been here for generations, but you'd swear by their accents they were right off the boat to. I guess I'm just not used to an Irish accent, "as the captain talked he pulled something out from underneath his desk. Suddenly a plate of shortbread cookies appeared with a card and a child's drawing taped to the top. The captain cleared his throat as the Irish firefighter just looked at the plate, "These are from my granddaughter Melissa. She's my Little Miss Sunshine because she's always looking at the positive side of things. When she heard me talking about how you're finally at the firehouse now, she thought you needed a present, so she and her Granny made some shortbread for you. She said they were 'Irish' cookies. She also drew you a picture." Hanlon took the plate covered in plastic wrap with the homemade card taped to the top. A bright red brick firehouse drawn in crayon adorned the front while the inside said "Welcome Home" in a second grader's careful script. He knew his captain was watching, so he pulled the plastic wrap back and pulled out one of the cookies decorated with red sugar and took a bite. Giving a nod and a smile to his captain as he chewed, he finished the cookie and was thankful for the cup of coffee that appeared in front of him.

The captain's gruff voice carried over Hanlon's chewing as he asked, "They're a bit dry, aren't they?" Hanlon just looked at his captain as he gulped the acrid liquid, not wanting to say either yes or no, while wishing there was some cream in the strong coffee. "Don't worry, you won't offend me, and I'll tell Miss Sunshine that you loved them. They taste great, just dry as can be. She's learning to make them on her own and my wife said she was adamant about making these all by herself. So there you go, handmade cookies by Melissa. I do recommend though that you dip them in your coffee. They'll go down easier." Hanlon smiled as he took the Captain's suggestion and dunked the next cookie in his coffee and sat back in the chair waiting for the real reason he was called into his captain's office.

"Well Hanlon, onto the real reason I called you in, I got your last medical evaluation, and according to the docs and therapists, you still aren't at one hundred percent to get back on the aerial, so no active fire fighting for you right now." He felt his face and heart fall at his captain's words. He had thought he had finally passed all of their evaluations last week. "But." His captain stated holding his hand to silence Hanlon before he could protest, "But they have Okayed you to do lead vehicle. You'll be in the battalion truck hitting the calls first and assessing what is needed for each call. You have excellent assessments and evaluations of emergencies and you are mentally cleared for all work. The medical evaluation team felt that this was a good fit for you to get back into the game while you still heal and get your coordination and equilibrium back. What's ya say Hanlon? Better than being a desk jockey?"

Hanlon couldn't keep the grin off of his face, "I'm just…wow, yes I'll do lead vehicle. Anything to get me out on the streets again. I'll do my best sir. You have my word," Hanlon was standing up and enthusiastically shaking his captain's hand. It wasn't the aerial, but lead vehicle was still a great way for the young fireman to get back out into the community and make a difference.

"Well, I'll have Thompson brief you on the truck and your exact duties, and maybe get you out for a bit in the truck today. Go find Thompson and get going. Just leave the cookies. I'll finish them off for you and then tell Miss Sunshine that you loved them. Just don't forget your card." Hanlon stood at attention again, his cane in one hand and the card in the other, waiting to be dismissed. "Get out of here Hanlon! That's an order." He left the office quickly, the grin not leaving his face as he heard a grumbled, "Damn Chicago firefighters."

Hanlon walked as quickly as he could to his locker and taped Melissa's card to the back wall, and grabbed his uniform jacket before entering the bay looking for the short blond haired Thompson. He finally spotted him, going over the equipment in the back of the large red and gold Excursion. "Thompson, my man, Cap told me to find you to go over my duties in lead vehicle."

Hanlon was taken aback when Thompson turned toward him, an angry expression on his face, "You do know Hanlon that a lot of guys in this house have been waiting to be in lead vehicle, and you just waltzed into it." Thompson was shorter than Hanlon's 6'4" frame, but was poking him in the chest rather hard, making the taller man use his cane to keep from falling backwards. "On top of that, you aren't even physically capable of doing everything. It's like you're this golden boy from Chicago that is the epitome of what a firefighter should be and so you get all the good assignments. On top of that you're fucking Irish with a damn accent that women find hot."

Shocked deep green eyes stared at Thompson during his tirade and watched as the angry smaller man grabbed a binder and quickly starting explaining everything. Hanlon listened, but he had done lead in Chicago and there wasn't much difference. What shocked him even more was the angry attitude that Thompson had taken towards him. Thompson was the normally fun loving, party guy of the firehouse, setting up the bar meet ups and Sunday football parties. Had he taken Thompson's position? Hanlon shook his head as he finished half listening to Thompson explanation about the log and equipment on the truck.

"Any questions Ireland?" Hanlon just raised his eyebrow at his new nickname at the firehouse.

"No, we had the same thing in Chicago, only difference is you have the lead out on patrol. So nope. Guess I'll just grab a couple of bottles of water and head on out." He didn't want to start anything with Thompson at the moment, so he just shut the binder with a slap and walked to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles out of a case and went back to the truck, putting his cane in first and lifting himself up. As he signaled for the door to be lifted so he could drive out, he watched as several of the other men came out to watch, none of them sporting a happy look on their faces. Hanlon just put on his sunglasses and ignored them, speeding out as soon as the door was all the way up.

Dispatch crackled through the truck as Hanlon drove around midtown. It was busy and crowded, a normal New York traffic day. As he got stopped due to some filming that was taking place, his mind wandered to what had brought him to his current situation. His temple started to ache slightly as he rubbed the scar from his accident. It was an intersection similar to the one he was waiting at that he was tagged by a semi and thrown against his windshield causing the concussion that had put him into a coma. From May to late July he was unaware of anything besides the film that seemed to play in his head. He knew that coma patients were supposed to possibly be able to hear what was going on around them, but he didn't. He just kept having these dreams that would play out like an episode from a T.V. show and then get tucked away in his brain when it was finished, yet drowned everything else out. It was as if the dreams were controlling him and he wouldn't wake up until he had seen all of these dreams, and that was what had exactly happened. When the last scene played out, he had started to wake. He couldn't remember anything specifically but he was aware that he was dreaming during his coma.

The worst part though wasn't the actual coma or the dreams; it was the physical therapy and the fact that his equilibrium had become nonexistent and having to use a cane to keep him up was embarrassing. It sucked. That was the only thing that was keeping him from being back on the aerial and getting back to fighting fires. At least they okayed him to drive the lead vehicle, despite the other firefighters not being too happy it. Hanlon sighed as he listened to the radio crackle to life about a car accident that needed medical, something he didn't have to deal with since he was in the lead vehicle.

As the intersection finally cleared up, Hanlon put the truck back into drive and listened to the radio, always heading into the direction of the emergency just in case he was needed. As lunch time rolled around, the radio crackled to life again, but this time, he was needed, "Battalion 63, call of female trapped in rafters of Crawford theatre on the campus of NYADA. Please be advised assessment for equipment and personnel needed immediately. Over"

He grabbed the radio and responded, "Battalion 63, responding. ETA is seven minutes. Battalion over." Hanlon flipped the lights and sirens on and started weaving his way through traffic. Luckily due to the filming the traffic was lighter than where he was before and actually pulled the truck up onto the wide walkways of NYADA and drove right up to Crawford Theatre. Radioing in his arrival and exiting the vehicle, he quickly made it inside the theatre, his cane forgotten in the truck, his balance normal, despite his gait being a quick job. As he came down the main aisle, he saw students holding a blanket or tarp tautly under a small woman clinging to a pole over the stage.

A tall guy with green eyes and short brown hair walked up to him immediately talking like he was in trouble, his voice thick with guilt, "Well this group is here to practice for midterms and Rachel, um Rachel Berry. She's a freshman. She went up on the light rafters to adjust a few of the lights for the scene and somehow slipped and fell over the railing. Luckily she grabbed the scenery pole and has been clinging to it."

Hanlon ignored the boy's outstretched hand and immediately ran back to the truck and grabbed some equipment after radioing in. He quickly ran to the ladder and climbed quickly, latching onto the railing of the rafters with his harness as he carefully walked down the rafter, not wanting it to sway.

When he was over the girl, he knelt down and softly called to her, "Rachel? Rachel Berry? I'm Lt. Hanlon from FDNY, and I'm going to be with you until the rescue team comes okay?" When he spoke, the girl hesitantly looked up, making Hanlon stare into the deepest brown eyes he had ever seen.

Rachel held on for her life to the swaying scenery rod, thankful it had to hold up heavy canvases and wooden scenes, since it was holding her up, yet cursing Brody for her predicament of even being on it. Granted he didn't know that she would slip and fall through the railing of the lighting rafter, but still. If he hadn't insisted she go up to fix the lighting, she wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. It was instinct and fear of death that had made her grab out as she fell and luckily grabbed the pole and pulled herself up and into the bear hug position with her arms and legs wrapped around the thick pole, holding on to it so tightly she lost feeling in all of her limbs. If she could have flipped Brody off when he suggested she just climb back up onto the rafter, she would have, but instead yelled that the pole was unsteady since it was suspended from the ceiling and it swayed violently.

So she stayed in that position for what seemed to be hours, listening to the voices of her fellow actors until she heard an Irish brogue talk to Brody and then says something into a crackling radio. The fire department was here! If she could have, Rachel would have clapped in glee, but instead sent up a silent prayer of thanks. She listened to the creak of the ladder and rafters as someone walked along them. She was too scared to move her head from against the pole to look, but she heard the Irish brogue again, soft and warm, "Rachel? Rachel Berry? I'm Lt. Hanlon from FDNY, and I'm going to be with you until the rescue team comes okay?"

Rachel carefully turned her head so she could look up at the voice, and was shocked by what she saw, a man kneeling on the rafter, leaning out past the railing looking at her. His hair was a rich copper color, very short, but still messy, and as she looked into his eyes, she saw confidence and compassion in his dark green eyes that had flecks of whiskey through them, almost making them appear to glow a little. He had a crooked, reassuring smile on his face as he waited for her to respond. All she could do was murmur a weak and scared, "Okay," to him in response as she kept her death grip on the pole.

"Good. Now I'm going to come down and sit on the pole with you. I've got a helmet to put on you and I'm going to harness you onto the rafter up here for some extra security. The only thing I ask is that you listen and follow my direction implicitly and do everything slowly and I'll get you down from here. Got it Rachel?"

"Yes sir."

"No sir. Call me Hanlon, all right? Now I'm going to ease myself down onto the pole about ten feet away. The pole will sway when I get on it, but I just need to you keep a hold of it. Okay Rach?"

Another weak, "Yes" came from her. Rachel moved her head slightly so she could see a pair of large steel toed boots carefully land on the pole, causing it to sway. She heard Hanlon say something, but she was too preoccupied with keeping on the pole to really hear him. She watched as he grabbed onto the bottom of the walk with his arms, his muscles straining as he carefully lowered himself onto the pole and straddled it. If she wasn't terrified out of her mind, she could appreciate his strength and rippling muscles, but right now, she just hoped his strength would save her. He took the same position as Rachel, but she could feel the pole sway as he slowly pushed himself until he was right in front of her, so close that she could feel his cool breath on her cheek.

She didn't know how long she had been trapped on the damned pole, but she did know that as soon as Lt. Hanlon pulled her close to him, wrapping his strong arms around her protectively, she knew everything would be okay. He was a complete stranger, but in his arms, she felt like she would always be protected from harm. As she held onto him, reveling in his cool, calm and confident persona, she felt herself relax against him. That changed when she heard the auditorium doors slam and yelling fill the area. She looked down and saw several men from FDNY, one being blond and from the look on his face, he was pissed, and Hanlon's once relaxed muscles had become instantly stiff under her arms.

Mister blond head, as she referred to the firefighter yelling, looked right at Hanlon and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing up there Hanlon? You're not cleared for anything other than driving the damn truck. Do you know how much…"

The blond was cut off by Hanlon as a deep rumble left his chest as he yelled back, "Shut the fuck up man! I'm doing my job! Just do yours Thompson and get her down!" Rachel heard boots above them on the rafter as she felt Hanlon's chest rumble as he softly mumbled, "They seriously had to send Thompson. Shit I'm gonna get it back at the firehouse." She wanted to say something comforting, but didn't know what, so she just squeezed Hanlon even tighter, even as she felt him put something around her and heard a metallic click. He leaned into her and whispered, "I'm going to have to drop you over the side and you're going to be lowered. Yell, scream, do whatever you need to, because it's okay if you're scared."

Rachel looked into his deep green and amber eyes, "I'm not scared though. You make me feel safe. Can you come down with me?" His chest rumbled again as he let out a deep chuckle. That sound and the feeling of him stirred something in her mind, like she had heard it before, felt the rumble before, but Rachel shook her head at the thought. She had never even heard of Lt. Hanlon until today. Suddenly she felt the security of his arms leave her and she was suspended above the stage, her scream now filling the auditorium as she was lowered slowly to the stage. Brody's arms wrapped around her as soon as her feet touched the ground, yet despite knowing Brody and his interest in her, she didn't feel any warmth or security in his arms like she had in Lt. Hanlon's.

She was whisked away to an ambulance to get checked out, and lost sight of her coppery haired firefighter due to the fact that Brody was hovering around her. As she sat in the back of the ambulance and answered the medics' questions, she heard an angry voice from the other side of Brody, "Hanlon, I'm going to report you. You aren't cleared to do anything other than drive the lead vehicle. What if you had lost your balance up on the pole with her, huh? You both could have been killed, and it would have been totally on you, because you haven't been cleared. You're a fucking Irish Chicago idiot Hanlon." Rachel bristled at the words the unknown man had said. Lt. Hanlon was not anything he had just been called, he was kind, protective and a gentleman. If it hadn't been for him, she would never have made it up there on that pole. His gentle voice and strong, encircling arms gave her all the confidence that she would be okay.

Then she heard the gentle Irish brogue much quieter than the other man's voice, "I did what I needed to do. It took you fifteen minutes to get here, and do you honestly think she would have lasted up there by herself for fifteen minutes Thompson?" Rachel sat up straighter, straining to hear his response, "I did my job. If you report me, fine, so be it. I'm not going to fight you on it, because I did the right thing, and I'm pretty sure Rachel Berry knows I did too."

Rachel smiled at Lt. Hanlon's response, but frowned at what Thompson said next, "Who the hell is Rachel Berry?"

She could almost hear the contempt through the Irish brogue, "It's the victim's name you idiot. If you took the time to learn about the victim, than maybe everyone wouldn't think you're such an assmunch. I'll see you at the station Thompson."

Rachel heard the sound of a door slam shut and an engine roar to life. She knew it was Lt. Hanlon leaving, and a small frown formed on her face. "Hey Rachel, you're safe now. No need to frown baby." Rachel looked at Brody and gave him a small smile in response, but her mind was on the truck that was pulling further away from her. One thing she did know was that she had to repay Lt. Hanlon for his kindness, and to figure out why she felt a little empty now that he wasn't with her.