A/N: Sorry, I've been away working on other projects. I hope to have this finished before the end of June so stick with me.

Chapter 43

The sound of the crackling fire mixed with the steady patter of rain against the window panes. The weather had grown colder as the holiday season drew near, but celebrating was the last thing on his mind.

Twirling the dark brown liquid in the glass he held, Myles couldn't stop thinking. Every night went the same way until fatigue finally set in and he dropped into a fitful sleep. His workdays behind a desk just didn't provide him with the activity he needed. Working on remote, he had all the time to think about anything he wanted, but his thoughts always centered around one thing.

Hannah.

Myles hadn't seen her since that night at Ruth's. She wouldn't want to see him. Not after everything he'd made her go through. Worried about his sister when Jack and Bobby told him about the bombing, he'd left her to face Allyson Forrester by herself.

Fortunately, things had turned out well that night. But it still didn't make up for all she'd lost. Her eyesight. Her job. Her future.

He didn't doubt that she'd rebound, probably even stronger than before. She had the family and friends that would see her through.

Special Agent Hannah Starr was everything he felt he wasn't. She made friends easily, she was open-minded to try practically anything, she could protect herself despite her disability. But most significantly for Myles was her nurturing family and loving home life.

He longed for that in his own life, but other than Ruth, he'd kept everyone at a distance. After a childhood of missed dreams and disappointments, it was the only way to keep from getting hurt. That had worked out for him…until now. Like a Texas tornado, Hannah had blown into his life and turned everything upside down.

Myles hurled his drink across the room. The glass shattered against the brick fireplace. Amber liquid dripped down the wall to puddle on the hardwood floor. The act itself didn't make him feel any better, and the momentary release did little for his overall demeanor.

Well, at least I didn't break another one of grandmother's heirlooms, he sighed. Years of his parents training him in 'proper' behavior forced him to his feet to clean up his mess. His mini-tantrums had become such a habit lately that he'd kept supplies in the hall closet. Of course, he'd soon have to shop for new glasses if this habit continued.

Mother would freak if she found out. Leland's don't lose control, he could hear her scold. Fortunately, she didn't come around. No one really came around much anymore. Not since Hannah…

Why did everything always go back to her? His frustration began to mount again. It was like he couldn't let fifteen minutes pass without thinking about her or someone mentioning her name. He'd dated women longer than he'd known Hannah, but they'd faded from his memory without much effort. Why hadn't she?

With the glass remnants in one hand, Myles shuffled to the kitchen to deposit his trash. Gone was his usual swagger. Even though his injuries left only a barely perceptible limp, his once confident shoulders sagged under some unseen weight.

Eating wasn't a priority, and it showed in his jaunt features. Half the time, he forgot; the other half, he just picked at his food until he could distract himself elsewhere. His normally crisp, starched clothes just hung wrinkled and ill-fitting from his body.

Catching his image in the mirror in the hallway for the first time in weeks, Myles skidded to a halt. God, what is happening to me? he prayed, running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let it get this long. The front shaded his hollowed eyes while the back ended well below his collar. He looked like a different man than the one he knew. Myles couldn't believe that one woman caused this.

No! he shook his head, continuing on his way to the kitchen. It couldn't be Hannah. He refused to believe it. He had to be still experiencing side-effects from the explosion and the whole bomber case.

Right. And Santa's about to drop down the chimney with wine and roses for a job well done, his subconscious mocked sarcastically. Even if he didn't want to admit it, Myles knew that his problems centered on a certain special agent…or more his feelings for that particular brunette. The real question though was what he was going to do about them.

Before he could mull over that question, a loud crash from the front of the house startled him. Reflexively, he reached for his sidearm which wasn't there. Instead he grabbed the broom handle and headed cautiously down the hallway.

He frowned at the strange noise coming from the front room across from the study, but couldn't quite make out what it was. The broom out in front of him defensively, he turned through the doorway and stopped in his tracks. His mouth dropped open as he gapped at the large hole in the wall.

Distracted as he'd been, Myles failed to notice that the storm outside had increased in intensity. The wind howled through the opening caused by the fallen branch from the large oak tree out front. Rain poured through the hole, soaking the furniture - the same antique furniture that used to belong to his great-grandparents and was at least 150 years old.

Biting off a curse, Myles sprung into action. Grabbing the most priceless of the items, he rushed between the living room and the study across the hall. Several trips emptied the room of most of the furniture, but did nothing to stop the rain from pooling on the hardwood floor.

Getting on the roof in this mess would be suicidal, but he really had little choice. There was no way he could keep the rain out without risking it. The only thing that seemed to be working in his favor tonight was the lack of lightning accompanying the storm. Seeing himself lit up like a Christmas tree would really cap off his evening.

Armed with a hammer and nails, as well as the large blue tarp from the garage, he soldiered his way through the storm with the ladder. After a few false starts in the blowing rain, Myles had it steadied against the eave and started up.

Once there, he regretted his impulsiveness. A board would have been a better option for covering the hole, but wrestling it onto the roof just wasn't something he wanted to do in this wind. However, that same wind made it virtually impossible to lay out the heavy tarp over the hole. Just as he thought he got it down to nail it, a gust of wind would come along and whip it away.

It took several tries before he finally looped the rope threaded through the tarp over the chimney well. That helped to anchor it, but it still took all of his strength to weigh down one edge until he got a few nails into the tarp.

Shifting around the edge of the hole, he wobbled slightly when he got too close but recovered. Struggling with the tarp to hammer in a few nails before moving to a new section, it wasn't long before his teeth were chattering from the cold.

Having forgotten a coat in his haste, his thin oxford and khakis did little to ward off the chill from the biting rain. He tried to work as fast as he could but the water dripping into his eyes blurred his vision and the cold numbed his fingers.

Myles had made it about halfway around the hole when a horn blaring and a car door slamming throw him off balance. He didn't realize how close to the edge he was until he started falling.

Even anchored to the chimney and half nailed into the roof, the tarp did little to slow his fall. As the hardwood floor rushed up to meet him, Myles braced himself for the impact.

But it never happened.

Instead, Myles found himself a mere three feet from the ground, suspended to the ceiling by the tarp rope wrapped around his left leg. The tarp, now buckled, created a perfect 'V' channeling the rainfall into a stream cascading down one pant leg. Struggling to catch his breath, he sputtered as rain poured down his torso into his face like a waterfall.

Despite every attempt to wrench himself free, Myles only preceded in tangling himself further. The lack of sleep over the past weeks could be the only explanation for the newsflash he saw in his mind. News at 11. FBI agent drowns in his living room while hanging from ceiling.

Shaking himself as he tried to find a position that wouldn't send water up his nose, Myles called out, "What else could happen?" Part of him was afraid of what that answer might be.