There was always a period of waiting, of watching, of wondering what, exactly, the result would be if he took this thing from this person, or that thing from that person. Wondering what this or that would look like in his Collection. Watching the people and what they held dear. Waiting for the right time for the right person.

Then there was always a period between the choice and the actual collecting. This was a period both wonderful and terrible, because of the anticipation that came of wanting, knowing that his Collection would soon grow again and wishing that time could come immediately.

And there was the time when he finally took what he'd come for, held it carefully between his paws, and watched what became of its previous owners. That was his favorite part about adding to his Collection, watching lives fall apart because of the loss of one little thing. How important one little thing could be to the lives of mortals, how much they had wrapped up in such seemingly unimportant objects, how much fell into ruin when those seemingly unimportant objects were taken away. The memories of what happened when he took each new object for his Collection were part of what made them special.

This time, he took a small, gold ring from the pocket of a human woman who slept in a bed that was not her own, with her clothes slung haphazardly over a chair, and the proof of her marriage hidden from sight. He cloaked himself, so that no one could see him, and watched as she rose and dressed, kissed her lover good-bye, and left her trysting place, feeling in her pocket for that very ring he now held as his own. The stricken expression on her face was exquisite, the stiffness of horror in her limbs divine. The way the thoughts spun around in her head, the way she rushed back to search the hotel bedroom as soon as her lover left it as well, was quite entertaining. Already he was pleased with this new addition to his Collection.

And this was only the beginning, for she was not the one he had taken the ring for.

~~~~~

It had been a bad day from the start, really. Nearly sleeping through his alarm, rushing around to get Bethany to day care before work, then the stack of reports the assistant vice president deposited on his desk to get checked, fixed, entered into the system, and sent on by the time he went home that night-- since someone else hadn't done their job and gotten them to him on time. That was enough to make for a bad day, in itself. Why should he have hoped it would stop there?

The call came an hour before he had to have the reports finished, when he was scrambling to find out what had happened to the six hundred credits one of the reports said had been paid but which the system said was never received. He'd been expecting the company's financial controller, and was surprised when his response of "Runnoe," was answered with, "Mister Runnoe? Is someone coming to pick up your daughter?"

It had been Nova's turn to pick up Bethany, but for some reason she hadn't shown up and wasn't answering her cell phone. A call from Ian proved that they were right. The day care should have closed half an hour ago, but some kind soul was waiting for Bethany's parents. He didn't have a choice; the reports would just have to wait until the morning. Maybe he could come in an hour early to finish as many as he could, before the boss came looking for them. Torn between worry, annoyance, and the stirrings of a familiar, resigned sort of dead, he clocked out and hurried to the lift.

Ian had a feeling he knew where his wife was, why she hadn't picked up their daughter on time. She'd sworn last time was the last time-- every time, she'd sworn it was the last time. This was the first time, though, that she'd failed to at least keep up with her responsibility to Bethany.

Nova wasn't in the apartment when he got home with Bethany. Nor did she come home for dinner, even though he'd set a place for her and made enough for all three of them. She didn't show up for bath time, or during the short movie he put in for Bethany, or bedtime. The front door didn't come sliding open until well after he'd put the three-year-old to bed, and he was sitting on the couch staring at a hand-held monitor, currently loaded with a novel by one of his favorite authors. He hadn't actually read a word in the past hour.

He turned at the sound of the door, and there she was, looking contrite, nervous, and... like she'd been crying. The door shut behind her, and there was a moment where they just looked at each other, as if neither one of them knew quite what to say or do. Then Ian broke the stand-off by putting down the hand-held, swinging himself over the back of the couch, and putting his arms around her. For a moment, she even let him, putting her head in his shoulder with a pitiful-sounding sniffle.

Then she slipped out the embrace and moved to the table to set down her purse and keys. As she leaned on her hands on the tabletop, not looking at him, he stared in silence, unmoving, for a long moment before what he was seeing sunk in. It was another long moment before he brought himself to break the silence.

"You aren't even wearing it anymore?" he asked, voice soft.

"I lost it," she said roughly, voice thick. "I looked everywhere."

She lost it. "You lost it?"

"I take it off when I--" She stopped angrily, as if unable to even say it. "All right? It must have fallen out of my pocket. Or maybe someone stole it. That's why I'm so late." She finally looked up at him with reddened eyes, and her voice was pleading when she insisted, "I looked."

"I know you did," Ian soothed, though he felt uncomfortably hollow. "We can... we can get another. Maybe one you'll like better."

Nova shook her head slowly, short brown curls brushing the side of her face. "What's the point, Ian?"

"We've been through this before."

"And look where it's gotten us. Right back where we were last time we went through it. Nothing's changed, Ian, except this." She held up her naked hand. "Maybe this is a sign, Ian."

"Don't talk like that," Ian protested. "It's just a stupid coincidence. We don't want to end this, remember?"

"Ian...."

He kept talking. He didn't want to hear whatever she was trying to say. "We'll go out tomorrow after work and look for a new one."

"Ian!"

"We've stuck together this long. We can get through this, we always have."

"Ian, I love him!"

Words he'd intended to say died on his tongue, and he closed his mouth, just looking at her. Back at her, as she looked at him, waiting for an answer-- or just a reaction-- but he couldn't give her one. The silence seemed much too loud after that, but the only thing he could think of to say was something that she didn't want to hear. He knew she wouldn't, not after that. It beat on the inside of his skull in time with his heartbeat, but he didn't let it out.

Finally she looked away. "I'll start packing tomorrow. We can talk about the paperwork after work...."

She turned away entirely, sniffing again, when he didn't answer. "I'll-- I'll stay at my mother's until... until I find a new place."

There was another long silence. She didn't look at him again, but at last she snatched up her purse and keys again and fled the apartment.

And as the door shut behind her, Ian finally let out the only thing he could say, now that she couldn't hear it and be even more unhappy than she already was.

"But I love you."

Chapter Three

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