Say It With Flowers (Cardcaptor Sakura, Eriol/Sakura, Ch3)

[storypaint]

Title: Say It With Flowers
Comm: 15pairings
Words: 1181
Pairing: Hiiragizawa Eriol/Kinomoto Sakura
Chapter: 3/3
Summary: A week after she got back from the wedding, she got the first bouquet-- jonquils for sympathy, pot marigolds for grief, white poppies for consolation, and a blue iris in the middle of the orangey golds for hope.

Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura is the property of CLAMP. All of the floral information on traditional meanings of flowers I got from these webpages: About: Mother's Day, USA Bride, and Wikipedia article: Language of Flowers.

He wondered what it was that had made him send the first bouquet. A variety of reasons, he supposed--he didn't want her to know who he was, so cowardice; he wanted her to feel like someone cared, so sympathy; he knew she loved flowers, so practicality. Oh, and love.

He could feel himself blush even though he was alone. In fact, that was the only time he let himself relax and show the truth. He loved Kinomoto Sakura. And not as Clow had supposed he would, as a daughter.

That thought made him feel guilty, and then a little amused that his former self had been wrong on another point, and that it was about love again. He got the feeling that Clow didn't understand love--real human love. His guardians had loved him, as they were made to, and a few women over the years, but Clow had always been bemused by it. Love fascinated him in its gritty reality, in its unpredictability. It was the one thing he could never predict truly.

I guess the divorce proved that, a voice in his head that rarely spoke anymore said placidly, and Eriol got a glimpse of memory--a woman with dark hair and a door slamming behind her. Then the presence was gone.

Eriol rose from his Throne O' Ultimate Evil (dubbed so by Nakuru, and somehow it had stuck) and strode over to the bookcase. He pulled out a well-worn tome (the novel Pride and Prejudice, one of his guilty pleasures) and took a photograph from between its pages. Kinomoto Sakura grinned back at him with her arm wrapped around his younger self in a photo taken only a few days before he had returned to England and his susequent betrayal. Sakura's cheery letters had helped him through the rainy days, but he had gently lessened correspondence when Li-kun had returned from Hong Kong. He didn't want to interfere with their relationship this time; the confession was over and no more needed to be done on his part. The letters had abruptly ceased when Li returned to Hong Kong for the second time. It was Tomoyo who had informed him when Li announced his decision to marry Meiling, sending a short and polite postcard. She seemed to blame him partially, though he couldn't understand why. Li-kun and Meiling-san themselves had sent a wedding invitation, but he had declined.

He didn't know when he had fallen in love with the Cardmistress. All he knew was that he didn't want to make her unhappy. When she was with Li-kun, her letters were full of love and sunshine, and he would fall asleep in his Throne O' Extreme Evil sometimes with one clutched to his chest, feeling almost as though he were in Japan again. He didn't tell her about Kaho; he wrote fun and meaningless things about taking Nakuru to the zoo or sewing Spinelsun a sun hat, just to annoy the guardian. He had spent a lot of time lying about who he was and he was good at it; she never suspected.

When he received Tomoyo's postcard, he had cried for Sakura, knowing that her pain was probably even greater than his was most of the time. He wasn't surprised when she stopped writing. He knew how it was to lose all motivation.

When he got the wedding invitation, he couldn't resist his desires any longer and had come back to Tomoeda. His guardians had made no protest. He may not have told them he was in love, but they knew. Nakuru read his journal regularly (he tried to keep it interesting for her) and Spinelsun was observant.

He had searched for a way to approach her after all this time, but nothing seemed right. How did one approach a heartbroken childhood friend and offer her another love entirely? Very carefully, he decided. So he sent her the first bouquet and the flower guide. Flowers were classy, he thought. Sometimes they were better than words in getting one's point across.

When she tore up the iris, he was a little perturbed. He had been scrying her from his home, curious beyond belief to see her reaction. He saw how much pain she still felt and again he wept for her.

The only thing to do now, he believed, was to restore her faith in her invincible spell. At the moment, Sakura couldn't love anyone, even her family. It was killing her inside and even weakening her magic. Keroberos slept very soundly in the Clow book, and Sakura was alone.

He set out to remedy her loneliness and declare his suit. Why not say it with flowers?

*

The next bouquet arrived the next morning like nothing had happened. It held blue forget-me-nots (how ironic, Sakura thought sourly) that meant "I cannot be without you"; several blue irises this time for hope, blue veronica for fidelity, with a sprinkling of white roses for innocence, purity, beauty and charm. Angered, she threw the flowers in the trash, and there they stayed all week, shining at her every time she opened the lid.

Eriol called to check up on her. Initially the conversation was awkward. She was embarrassed by her behavior at the restaurant. Eriol was his usual smooth self and soon they were speaking as though it were old times. She told him all the things he had missed while in England--Yamazaki and Chiharu's wedding, just days after they graduated high school; the shock they received when Rika finally revealed the name of the person who gave her the engagement ring; Tomoyo's acceptance to design school in Tokyo and susequent departure there. There was plenty to discuss.

"Would you like to come over for a while?" he offered finally. "Ever since I told Nakuru and Spinelsun that I saw you yesterday, a certain moon guardian has been pestering me to see you and her counterparts."

"I... well...," Sakura said, "Kero-chan is asleep for the next decade or so, he told me. And Yuki moved with my brother into their own home. Yue sleeps most of the time as well, Yuki says. But I'll come see you... and them."

She found herself anticipating it as she drove. Eriol always found something cheerful to say...

'Your invincible spell,' she thought, recalling Eriol's words. Could her optimism be coming back?

She thought of the flowers in the trash can and decided not. Why did it matter, the philosophies she held as a young girl? Things are so much more complicated now...

She was greeted at the door by Eriol alone, smiling apologetically. She noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses today--contacts, she supposed. His eyes were more intoxicating unfiltered by glass. She knew that the glasses helped Eriol be inscrutable--one sees a lot less due to the simple reflection--and she appreciated quietly that he trusted her.

"I am afraid," he said, "that Nakuru has finally overreached herself in torturing her co-guardian, and that I had to lock both of them in separate rooms to prevent Spinelsun from committing murder, so it's only us for right now."

Sakura nodded. To be honest, she hadn't been looking forward to Nakuru's persistent questioning or Spinel's tart remarks. She would just hang out with Eriol. His presence was familiar and relaxing, just like it used to be.

"I thought perhaps we could have tea on the porch," he said. "My garden is blooming and it's quite a sight."

Was she ever going to escape these flowers? What was up with people and their obsession with nature?

Sakura reminded herself that Eriol had no idea about her sudden animosity to petaled plants, and nodded. She didn't go outside much anymore. Her mother's garden was a jungle, in fact. Her father had carefully maintained it all these years, but he had left at the height of the growing season and Sakura had felt no motivation to take care of it herself, not even to honor the memories. Sometimes she grew weary of her father's ritualistic mourning. It seemed he wanted everything as it was when Nadeshiko died, as though she were going to come back and scold him for rearranging the furniture or not feeding the children the proper brand of rice. The last time Fugitaka had bought a new armchair it sat in their living room like a stranger invading their territory. She never saw her father sit there. He would rather sit on the worn couch and remember the way his wife would lean back on his shoulder as they watched television.

As she was thinking Eriol gently took her arm and led her through his house to the back porch. There were flowers in vases scattered all over the place. He seemed very fond of white roses and of vases obviously crafted by Nakuru in several clashing shades of color and lopsided shapes. The one on the table on the back porch said "I LOVE MY MASTER" in large, decorative, English letters, not that Sakura knew that. It was one of the first ones Nakuru had created, not long after she was made. He had created her with a childlike spirit, in order to have something to care for beyond himself, and when she learned of the custom of Father's Day she had decided to celebrate it as only she would. It was his favorite gift from her, even though he was picking clay out of her hair for days after she'd tried making Suppi into a mold for her leftover clay.

Sakura seemed a little better than she had when he'd met her last week, he thought. Or perhaps he was happier. His fingertips on her upper arm guiding her seemed gentlemanly, he knew, but her skin made his skin tingle in response.

I've got it bad, he thought wryly. He could feel a blush creeping onto his cheeks, but fortunately he had to let her go to pull out her chair.

"Thank you," she said softly. She reached out and left her fingers trace the letters on the vase as Eriol went to get the tea. She looked out into the garden. It looked as though Eriol let things grow as they would, the ivy creeping underneath the flowering trees, the daffodils and daisies cheerily fighting for sunshine.

He came back with their tea on a tray and beside her cup lay a single yellow rose, streaked at the tip of each petal with a delicate red. She took her tea and the flower in the other hand, running her fingertips across the stem, carefully avoiding thorns but feeling the soft prickle of the small ones.

They spoke easily together and she found that she enjoyed being able to read Eriol's expressions. He seemed more sincere. She found herself slipping into her old enthusiasm as she told him about her life since he had left. She'd played volleyball in high school and their team had gone to the championship in Tokyo her sophomore year. Somewhat hesitantly she told him that she had invited Syaoran to watch her play. He said he would try and come and she had played her best that day for him, certain he was in the audience, but he hadn't been and she had cried that night quietly in her hotel room. It was something she hadn't shared with anyone before, not even Tomoyo, but she saw the understanding and the sympathy he felt for her. And there was Chiharu's wedding, which she had fled early, missing Syaoran so much that she had nearly bought plane tickets to Hong Kong. He was still trying to get approval to be with her, he said regretfully in reply to her hasty, tear-stained letter. She could feel the hopelessness in his words and in the smallest smear in the character for her name. It was one of the last letters he wrote her and she had carried it with her for months, trying to press hope into the pages and praying for a miracle.

"'A thousand years, you said, as our hearts melted. I look at the hand you held, and the ache is hard to bear,'" Eriol said quietly. "By Lady Heguri. Would you like to walk through my garden?"

He rose and offered his hand, and when she gave hers to him he bent over and kissed it, a slight brush of lips on the back of her hand that nonetheless sent goosebumps down her spine. How long had it been since she had been given affection like this? He stood straight and took her hand as they began to walk through his garden. She entwined their fingers. His were long and a little rough. Something about it felt familiar. Had she ever held his hand before?

She liked it. In his hands, she felt safe.

"I love gardens," Eriol said fondly. "Nature is such an amazing woman. She doesn't use magic to make her plants grow. I believe," he said, and looked at her with a smile in his eyes, "that a flower is the most magical thing there is on this planet. From whom does it take aid or direction? From whom does it learn to grow petals and thorns? Someone much greater than you or I. Clow loved them too, for this reason."

Sakura took the rose she had been holding and touched it to Eriol's cheek. She was rewarded with a look of surprise--she always found it amusing when she could surprise the wise magician--and a flush across his alabaster skin.

"And flowers can have so many meanings, too," she said. "When you were in England, did you study the language of flowers?"

Gently he let go of her hand and took her rose from her. He ran his fingers down the stem with a touch of power, removing the thorns, and threaded it into her chestnut locks. It rested above her ear. She smiled like she used to when she was a child and he was overcome by her beauty.

"Not in England, but I have dabbled in the subject," he said lightly. He took her hand again and led her over into the shade of a tree. They sat down in the grass and Sakura looked up into the branches. She smiled.

"Like when we met," she said. "So many years ago..."

"Only a decade," he replied. "But it feels like a life ago to you, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she replied.

"In Victorian times," Eriol said, "Flowers were the language of the gentility. They oppressed their feelings--it was the way of the times." He glanced at her and then squeezed his hands in his lap. It didn't seem to be something he was conscious of. "King Charles the second brought the custom over from Sweden in the 1600s, and it caught on in England while Queen Victoria ruled. Everything was about appearance--one had to appear exactly the way one should, or suffer socially. But with flowers--they were beautiful, they were safe. They didn't have to convey a meaning unless the giver wanted them to. Young people in love traded red roses; gentlemen in courtship offered blooms before their hand. It was thought romantic."

Here he seemed to stop abruptly, warring with himself. "It wasn't," he said finally. "It was cowardly. To offer your suit without any risk."

"It wasn't cowardly," Sakura said firmly. She wasn't sure why she was disagreeing, except on principle. She didn't want to believe that lovers were cowardly. "Just because your words could be misinterpreted didn't mean it wasn't a risk for the gentleman to give them. A striped carnation is still a no, words or not. There was always a chance that someone wasn't ready to love you yet.

"Eriol, have you been courting me with flowers?"

He couldn't conceal his shocked face quickly enough. She laughed a little inside, pleased that she had changed since he had left. Naive Sakura was no more, or rather much less naive than she had been. She'd learned that love wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. It was also risk and waiting and confusion.

"I wouldn't dream of interfering with your mourning," he said carefully in case she was upset with him. "I admit to trying to cheer you up..."

She leaned over inches from his face and stared furiously into those intoxicating indigo eyes. Then she leaned back, pulled the flower from her hair, and covered it in ice. She had magic beyond the Cards; they didn't use half of the power she had now. She used to practice without them whenever possible, in case there was some kind of test to marry a clan head. She wanted to be good enough for him.

Now she had to be good enough for herself. It was harder.

She pressed the ice rose against Eriol's lips and when he gasped at the cold she put a frozen petal in his mouth. She watched the ice begin to dissolve and let the flower go.

"My heart right now is cold from neglect, and icy, and I don't know where my feelings are," she said. "I don't know if they are frozen and if I melt the ice that they'll return. I might melt the ice and find there's nothing left at all... I don't know how I feel for you, Eriol. But if you'll quit giving me flowers and start showing me the feelings that those bouquets stand for, then maybe we'll find out about the ice."

She leaned forward and kissed him gently where the rose had been and his lips were still cold. He didn't react quickly enough to reciprocate. She climbed to her feet and leaned back against the tree. He could see that she was crying.

"Sakura, I--" he began, then stopped. "I-- I don't want you to cry."

"I don't think I'm crying," she said. "I think the ice is beginning to melt." She smiled and it was the ghost of a trademark Sakura smile, but it was a special Sakura smile anyway, the one she wore on the photo in his novel. It was the smile that made whoever was on the receiving end feel special.

"Can I see you next week?" she asked. He nodded and took her arm.

And the ice rose lay there on the green grass and began to melt.