Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes

"Yes. And... uhm... sigh the card. L-love Rupert." Giles held the phone tightly, his knuckles white from the strain.

"Yes... Yes. Thank you." He paused for a moment before replacing the handset. A wave of panic washed over him and he reached for the phone. I must have gone insane, he thought. Perhaps all of those concussions had finally taken their toll in stripping me of the last shreds of sense.

What have I done?

He'd taken great care in this pursuit, no idle thought or whim had carried him to this point. He'd planned and considered, researched and dreamt. All his machinations leading him to the abyss before him.

He knew it was a shot in the dark. A helpless, desperate attempt to find love. He'd been so cautious before and lost opportunities mocked him. But was that any reason to go mad? Surely he'd gone mad. This was all an illusion, a delusion... that she could ever return his love.

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the rush of fear that threatened to devour him.

"The deed is done," he muttered to himself. And now the anguish of waiting began.

It was sometime during the night... another sleepless night... thoughts of her filling his head... that he had decided. He would tell her how he felt. He would do it that very day, before she left for college. Before she left him.

Not of the spontaneous variety, he spent the balance of the night planning. He would send her flowers. Roses. That much he knew. But what to say? How could he express the depth of his feelings and yet not frighten her with them, as they frightened him.

He knew enough of her schedule to make sure they would be delivered without the others knowing. It would afford her the luxury of destroying him secretly. The others need never know.

But what to say?

He did what he did best... researched. Volume after volume of poetry. Unsatisfied, he dared to pen a verse himself.

Look upon these flowers and shame them with your beauty.

Look upon me and feel the swelling of my heart.

Look upon the future and show me what you see.

Love, Rupert

Somehow the day had passed. And still nothing. She should have received his gift hours ago. Surely, if she felt something in return she would have called. Something. Anything. But instead he sat surrounded by nothing.

Unable to even go through the motions anymore, he retreated from his library. He would go home and mourn a love that would never be.

Thinking the ache couldn't be sharper, the strangling of his love any crueler, he entered his home. And he saw them. There on the table were the flowers. Not only had she not wanted his love, she had rejected it... returned his gift. He grew numb from the pain. Stumbling, he forced himself, some perverse need for torture pushing him on.

He fell into a chair at the table, his eyes glazed with a sadness too profound. His roses, his love, withering before him. He sighed deeply, inhaling the last scent of a dying hope.

What's this!?! His heart stopped. He must be mad from grief, he thought. He leaned forward, slowly, afraid, and drew another breath.

Willow? His heart started again and raced with a furious beat. The roses smelled of her! The fragrance was unmistakable. Not a trace of the bouquet was that of a rose. It was Willow! He held them to his face and let the soft petals caress the tears that came unbidden.

Through blurry eyes, he spied the card. His hands shaking, his lips trembling, he read...

Keep these as you keep my heart.

My love. My love. My love.

Forever begins tonight.

All My Love,

Willow

Another breath.

Another sigh.

"Willow."

He cried.

THE END