Chapter 2:

No one could fathom how it had happened.

There were no other homes for miles around and Bristol (where he claimed to have last been) was even further away. The absolute absurdity of his ending up on their rooftop, of all places, seemed rather plain and understandable when compared to the bizarre fact that his recollection of getting there involved an updraft, a boxer from Swindon and, as he put it, "a large chunk of time where absolutely nothing happened". Sufficed to say, everyone was very confused by the thing, especially the girl who had been startled awake by the sound of the roof cracking and had looked up to see a pair of long, gangly legs sprouting from the ceiling.

The entire house was a whirlwind of activity after that. Some of the girls screamed and cried at waking up to such a sight while other more industrious sorts attempted to reach the poor soul firmly lodged in the shingles. Chell had needed to stop old Mrs Turre who had decided that swatting the legs with her broom was a sure way to get them going. It did work in one sense: the legs at first had seemed content to just hang there looking slightly forlorn and very nervous; carefully stretching out to find anything to land upon. However, once the introduction of the broom transpired the legs went slightly round the bend. They kicked and thrashed, flailing with impressive reach. Whoever this person was they had to be an oddity of nature , Chell mused, as she had never seen anyone with so much leg or so large of feet in all her life. It was as if some gawky giant had been playing a game of hopscotch and overestimated the jump.

Some of the male servants had arrived after hearing all the commotion, but kept their distance from the kicking limbs. A young lad (Tommy, if she was remembering right) was trying very hard not to laugh. She could make out a voice somewhere above the roof, but it was drowned to a whisper by the whooping howl of the wind.

Very cautiously she moved forward, dodging some of the blows that would have smarted had they hit their mark and placed her hands on the man's legs attempting to hold them steady. His first reaction to her hands on him was to squirm again, but she held tight making his limbs remain still with all her strength.

"There's a girl!" one of the men cried, "I'll go knock the lady up. No doubt she's heard the commotion; wondering what all the fuss about. Poor man's going to be up there for a while; can't do much with the wind blowin' can we." With that he set off back down the attic stairs.

From above there came an audible knock as whoever was out there rapped their knuckles on the roof,

"Hello?" she heard him cry above the wind, "Is anyone in there? I could really use a hand right now and it's um… well, it's fairly urgent. I just- if you could just tap once to, you know, let me know if you're going to be sticking around a bit and maybe- maybe help me down. Two taps if it's a 'no'. You know, sorry mate, can't help, on your own. You know two taps for that." He was quiet for a moment, "Or three if you have a plan to get me down. Cor, that would be brilliant! Yeah! Three taps for that and maybe four… four if you don't have a plan. Four taps: no plan… right. Although, just saying, I would very much appreciate the second and third option. Or was it the first and the fourth? The ones in favour of the whole getting me off the roof thing; those options, in particular, would be tremendous."

She formulated her own idea.

She looked to the other girls still crowded around and motioned them towards the attic door.

"You're not going to try pulling him in are you?" a blue eyed girl mumbled looking from Chell up to the pair of legs, "Were all in our nightgowns! It's just not proper!"

"Come girl, the man needs to get inside somehow." One of the men said, although it looked as though he himself had only just realized he was standing amongst twelve young ladies all in their night attire. He blushed and motioned them to the attic door. They all left rather quickly leaving behind Tommy who seemed more content to snicker into his hands then do anything useful.

"Right, so… I haven't felt any tapping going on, just a really long holding sort of sensation." The man above said between other things which were lost to the wind.

Chell glanced back at the ceiling. It was barely keeping him up really and she was certain that if she gave his legs a firm tug that the portion of roof holding the rest of him was sure to give way.

Deciding on her course of action she pulled.

"What?" the man above cried out, "What are you…?" She tugged again, "Oh, oh! You're pulling me in. Brilliant! Alright, alright, just… just be sure you catch me."

She gave another sharp tug and the boards bent.

"That's it! That's it!" The man cried out. Some of the shingles cracked and fell inside, "That's not it! That's not it!" The surrounding boards groaned and splintered sending the man straight down atop of Chell who did her best to ease his fall but was unprepared for just how heavy he really was. "Catch me, catch me, catch me!" he cried, but he was far too much and they both went crashing to the floor in a plume of splintered wood, dust and rain.

Chell ended up on her back with a pair of sore elbows for her work while the not inconsiderable weight of the man from the roof pressed down upon her. She could feel every movement he made as he looked about himself; gaining some sense of the world he had, quite literally, fallen into. When he finally realized that the soft floor beneath him was not actually floor, his wet, blonde head swivelled towards her; his eyes the palest blue and owl like behind a pair of thick spectacles. He went to speak, stopped then shut his mouth with an audible snap. His Adams apple bobbed as he observed the girl trapped very surely beneath him.

"Are you alright, sir?" Tommy asked, grabbing hold of his elbow and attempting to hoist him. The man, for his part, was still staring at Chell as if she were the one who had just blown in on a wind storm and crashed through the roof. He sputtered and blinked before his ears turned an alarming shade of red. He threw himself to his legs in a panic and the boy by his elbow stumbled back.

Apparently Chell had been correct in her initial assessment of him: he was a giant. His head knocked the ceiling just next to where the rain was steadily pouring in.

He was clad in an unremarkable suit which was poorly patched in the knees and elbows. On first inspection she would have said his outfit was black, but the murky streaks coming off of him caused her some doubt. What was clear was that this man who had been rained on and blown about through half of England was somehow still covered from head to toe in chimney soot. She looked down at her cream nightdress to discover it coated in the same black slag.

"And you miss, you alright?" The boy asked helping her up as well. She nodded, thankful for the hand. Their visitor was still standing next to his hole and shivering terribly; wringing his large, knuckled hands. A muddy puddle was forming just below his oxfords.

"Oh, I didn't mean to do that." He said, his teeth chattering away, "Look, I know rooftops, bit of a roof professional, really. Good at all things related to… rooftops and their…flat bits. And this one, well this one was just unsound, really; could have gone at any time."

"Is that so?" An icy voice interrupted the small gathering.

"He blew in from the roof, Ma'am. I've never seen anything like it." Tommy cried excitedly, but her severe look stopped him from making any other comments and he was instructed to leave the room in a voice which brooked no argument and which promised pain should he dawdle.

She was dressed as if she had been up for hours and her hair was pulled up and away in a respectable manner. Chell realised rather belatedly that her own was still down and shamefully loose.

"What do we have here?" she purred, her yellow eyes pierced the man and roved over him in a fashion of supreme distaste. She seemed to find every bit of him an affront and where his size would have intimidated most Miss Gladish was a woman not easily daunted. Her eyes slid to the front of Chell's nightdress noting its marred colour with a disgusted twist of her pointed lips.

"Ah, evening Ma'am!" he went to tip his hat before realizing that it was most likely miles away and stuck up a tree, "Ah, right, wind." He muttered giving a wide, beaming smile to the severely unimpressed Miss Gladish, "Mister Stephen Wheatley, at your service. Sorry for just dropping in… quite literally. I uh, was just blowing by and apparently got a little stuck. Thankfully your girl here," he looked to her and noticed for himself her dishevelled state. His ears went a wild pink once more and he turned back to Miss Gladish uncomfortably, "Clever girl here; she pulled me in."

"My name is Caroline Gladish and this girl is anything but clever."

Mr. Wheatley's smile faltered,

"I-I'm very sorry" he stuttered.

"As you should be." Miss Gladish cut in although where one may have expected her to shout or rage her words were clipped and cool, "You have broken my roof, sullied my floors and sent this household into an uproar. What was your business on my roof?"

"Nothing! Nothing, Ma'am! I just got caught up on it was all. As I said, blowing by… I think." His face creased for a moment in concentration, "I actually can't recall. I just, look, it was an unfortunate landing. If anything, we should all just be very glad that no one was hurt. All is fine, we're all safe."

If it were possible the woman's face seemed even more sour than usual.

"You must be very foolish," she said, "as you look and sound rather foolish. Those two traits are often accurate gauges in assessing an individual. Did you know that?"

For Mr. Wheatley's part he looked certain that he had just been insulted, but if there was a proper response it was failing him miserably.

"Girl, you will take Mister Wheatley and have him cleaned up. He is making a mess of my home." Her nose crinkled in a look of supreme distaste as she turned once more to Mr. Wheatley, "You, will be staying the night-"

"Ah, thank you, ma'am. Thank you-"

"And tomorrow morning we will be discussing your options on compensating me for the damages I have incurred by your… blowing about."

"Of course." He said though his face gave way to what he thought of the idea. He had only known Miss Gladish for all of a minute and already he looked eager to be anywhere else.

Miss Gladish took a moment to eye Chell's own state of dress before adding, "Do you not have any decency, girl? You look a careless strumpet. Get dressed."

Mr. Wheatley's ears flushed once more though he seemed steadfast in his decision to not look at her if he could help it. He muttered an apology and followed Miss Gladish down the attic stairs.

Chell stood still for a moment observing the damages from the night's events. The rain was beating a steady rhythm on the floor, the debris and the soot were creating a muddy concoction under her feet and her nightclothes were absolutely filthy.

She was not a creature accustomed to embarrassment no matter how often Miss Gladish attempted to make her one. Her hair was always up and proper when in company, her clothing always pressed and clean. She was not vain, but diligent in her cleanliness as she was in all the other aspects of her life. To know that Mr. Wheatley, and even the other men of the house, had seen her dressed in so little and with her hair so free was a source of shame; keen and unfair.

She kicked a bucket under the drizzling hole that Mr. Wheatley had left behind and searched her drawers for something proper.

…

The night had been filled with interest. She had gone about the business of tending to his needs, but Mr. Wheatley seemed aware of how poorly he looked set against the backdrop of Johnson Manor. He gave his footprints and soot covered pants harsh looks as if they were misbehaving children and him a parent quite unable to control them.

After his bath and a hot cup of tea he sat next to the fireplace looking far more human than he had upstairs. He had a healthier colour about him which made his unnatural thinness slightly less worrying. Another contributing factor to his healthy glow was that Miss Gladish had left some time before. With her departure their new guest seemed far more at ease, allowing his long limbs to stretch out towards the fire and his shoulders to fall into the soft backing of the chair.

The clothing which had been found for him was all that was available. On his lanky limbs the ensemble fit so poorly that the effect was rather comical even if it was quite poor of her to think so. The legs of his pants ended mid-calf and his shirt rode up about the same, exposing the strong but thin muscles of his forearms. The shirt was far too tight around his shoulders, but the front of it hung from his skinny frame.

His height was more than a bit disquieting. Although she could not affix a number to it she could tell his was considerable. Chell was of an average height amongst the girls but placed next to him the crown of her head only reached a place just below his shoulder. Had he some other disposition she may have been more wary of him, but he was meek and shy; a sense of apology hanging about him which eased her mind and made him far more likable than she would have been originally inclined to think.

He spoke, frequently, Chell realized, and about anything which struck him. It was refreshing, she had to admit; to have a friendly voice speaking to her as if the conversation was not entirely one sided. He seemed inclined to fill any and all silence not worried in the slightest if she had no response for him. He took it well and chattered on.

"Of all the rooftops in England!" he said, "After I met that frankly frightening lady of yours I was resigned to it, of course; just my luck isn't it? I mean not that I expected anything else really; smashing through the roof and all. If I had landed in a house full of smiling faces offering me tea and biscuits I would have had to step back and say, 'right, what's all this business then?' But this! Oh, this is fantastic, truly lovely." He sipped his third cup of tea and bit fiercely into one of the few remaining biscuits.

"You're very quiet." He said around the biscuit.

She was surprised. She had assumed that he knew of her condition as he appeared to find no problem with her conversation. She wasn't sure what that said about Mr. Wheatley, but she couldn't help but think it a good thing.

She gave a small shake of her head.

"Ah, come on! Nothing to be shy of, luv. I mean, understandable you might be tired after having been woken up by ol' Wheatley, but-"

She shook her head again. She was not a lady in distress, nor was she infirmed and she would not act it. Very directly, with a clear, indifferent look on her face (there was no sadness in this; there was no pain) she indicated the column of her throat then made a slicing motion through the air.

He seemed to grasp her meaning immediately.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize…" She frowned at him in warning. She willed him to understand that she was not inclined to pity. He understood her intention rather quickly saying, "Right, of course, you probably hear that a lot; must get tiring."

She gave another small nod, but an impish grin was dancing on her face. He smiled back and she could not help but think well of him. It startled her to say the least. She was the practical sort, not prone to the distractions of other girls and accustomed to relying on one's self for both company and amusement. Friendship was unlikely as so many came and went, love was out of the question; an impossibility in her situation. Even friendly and kind Mr. Wheatley, who was an offer of something that she didn't fully grasp, was a distraction too good and far too great. Her life was already set; as unalterable as the stars or the sun and, besides, she would never see him again.

Against her better judgment she let herself observe the thin length of his nose and the ease of his smile. She listened intently to his wittering voice and watched his long hands as they punctuated his statements and curved around his teacup.

In a day he would be gone and she would be upstairs breathing through the slats and touching the dining room glass. Nothing would change.

You're a fool.

He spoke for some time afterwards and once he was off to bed she went about tidying the area which they had occupied. As she sorted out the cushions and cleared away the tea things she caught sight of a small, dark shape set against the floor. Upon closer inspection she realized it to be a leaf. It would have had to attach itself to him quite solidly for it to have made the journey from the roof, through his bath and to the sitting room. She held it in her hands, her body turning cold. As she made to leave she tossed the leaf's fragile form into the fire. Its body curled, the fire popped and the door clicked closed.

AN: Once again I would like to thank emuisemu because whether she realized it or not she totally inspired me to change this chapter. I had about two pages or so written out and it just wasn't coming together. It really wasn't. Originally it was more convoluted: the roof breaks in the storm, areas of the house need to be opened to make space for the servants, a chimney sweep is called. Bah! I hated it. I built up the intro to have something immediate and incredible happen and then the next chapter just seemed like a let down. I logged on to Tumblr to take a bit of a break and emuisemu had sent me a note. I can't remember how it was worded, but immediately I said "I have to cut out all this crap". I wanted to make it fun and this idea suddenly popped into my head. BAM! Wheatley crashed through my roof. Imagine my surprise when later today I was reading a review by Curtisimo who postulated (jokingly) to this very thing. I wanted to PM you Curtisimo. I wanted to PM you and send you all my love and excitement, but I also didn't want to spoil the surprise.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It was hard to get out, but hopefully worth it :)