Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy. Not me!
Broken
A rose petal fell from the top of the bookshelf, floating down until it landed in the middle of an open book. The reader tensed at the sight of it, a scarlet splotch intruding on the familiar creamy paper. Gingerly, as if it was a diseased thing, Rupert Giles pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and rose to his feet.
It had been a week since it had happened, and he was still finding petals. They appeared when he least expected them, and each one sent another stab of grief through him. They were a reminder of love lost, of –
No. 'Lost' was too gentle of a word. Torn, ripped, mangled, and broken, broken like her fragile neck, like the shards of glass at his feet… that was what had happened to his love. And it was all because of him. Angel.
That… thing, that fiend, had taken Jenny from him. But it had been Rupert's fault, too.
He remembered saying goodbye to her that night, looking over his shoulder and grinning at her as he walked out of the door. How could he have been so bloody stupid? The school was a public building, it was late at night, Angelus was on the loose, and he had just walked away, smiling giddily.
The same look had spread across his face as he had walked up those cursed stairs, feeling as if his heart would burst from joy. But instead, his heart had nearly stopped beating from the shock, his expression had changed from one of excitement to one of horror, and those empty brown eyes were staring through him.
He had run to her side, desperately calling her name. Her neck was bent at an unnatural angle, cool and still against his hand. No pulse. Fingers trembling with shock, he had carefully closed her sightless eyes.
Everything after that was a blur. He must have called 911, because his house was soon full of people. They looked around his home, bludgeoned him with queries, and took Jenny away. They took him away, too, but just to ask him more questions.
When he returned home, he had found the picture near the ice bucket. Seeing her blank eyes on paper, drawn by his cruel hand, had pushed him over the edge. A whirlwind of hatred, fire, pain, and tears followed, until he found himself in his house once more, with Buffy preparing a bed for him on the couch. He fell asleep sobbing.
The next day had been like any other. He had woken up, found that Buffy had left in the night, and prepared for the day at school. The thought of remaining at home, alone, with the roses still scattered about, was unbearable. He had avoided her classroom, instead remaining in the library all day. Xander and Buffy had left him alone, though Willow had stopped by once to check on him. Time passed quickly.
And then he was at home again, picking up rose petals and burnt-out candles.
Sighing, Rupert Giles lifted up another reminder of his broken love and threw it away.