A/N: Just a quick one shot of Garcia's thoughts during season two inspired by Song: To Celia by Ben Johnson.
Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes
Poets say that the eyes are the windows to the soul or the place where love resides. That the eye can see things more clearly in dreams than in imaginings when they are awake and for Garcia Flynn that is certainly true. Each night, his dreams conjure up her face with it's alabaster skin, rosebud lips, and luminous brown eyes. He is not sure when her deep rich chestnut curls began to replace the sunkissed waves of his wife's hair but now they are all he sees. Even though he encounters her each day, it is in dreams that she is most real. Where he can map the arch of her brow and the curve of her cheek. Graph with mathematical precision the exact angle at which she tilts her head as she looks up at him. Note the perfect proportion of her exquisite frame; the hills and valleys of her form which call out for his touch.
At first, when she was hunting him through time, he would be startled by little hints of her. Her eyes glowing as flames fell from the sky around them. He would wake gasping from the fear that he saw reflected in their amber depths. He knew he was the cause of her terror and he would force himself to remain awake. Unwilling to close his eyes again and risk being faced once more with her anxiety and fright.
Over time it changed. After a day with clear blue skies he saw the blue satin bell of her dress as she sat in the President's box in Ford's Theater. The soft blush of a rose and she would appear behind his eyelids in the pink dress she wore with Bonnie and Clyde. And always, those haunting eyes, telegraphing messages to his soul. Sometimes hard and unforgiving, others anxious or challenging. More recently, there has been a warmth, conveying compassion and affection to his troubled mind. Causing him to dive deeper into dreams, longing to remain there basking in that glow.
With the frequency of contact brought on by close quarters, he is starting to know their mysteries even during the daylight hours. A quick glance can convey amusement over the antics of their quirky pilot and his nerdy love. Shuttering of lashes and banking of fire within relays her hurt at the inconsideration of her one-time lover. The raising of her eyes and a quick twitch of her hand radio her pleas for assistance. Assistance which he is willing to give regardless of what is asked. Those eyes that have haunted his dreams have taken route in his heart.
He is one again a school boy trying to decipher some new language. A language that is unique and known only to them. It is slow going. There is no vocabulary list for a conversation held entirely in shades of brown and green. A moment of progress is conveyed through a puzzled look. When brown orbs appear as though they have just witnessed a surprising transformation. Seem to gaze upon him as if seeing something new. Seeing him as a person, not as an action of terror or destruction. Beholding the shadows of the husband and father that he once was. Perhaps recognizing and one day, he can only hope, echoing the longing and desire contained within his. Just as quickly it is replaced. Not by fear as it once was but by doubt. Not, he thinks, doubt of himself, but doubt of herself. Of her value and importance and this is somehow worse. He wonders how she does not see the pledges made by his eyes whenever he regards her. Pledges to love and cherish, to honor and keep safe, to, if she is willing, worship with his body. He realizes that he could spend years studying and never learn all of the complexities of this new language but his is willing to devote his life to trying.