To say that the night they had spent together was perfect, or at least everything after the rocky start was, was an understatement. To say that waking up in bed alone and with no sign of Rory the next day was the complete opposite... well that was an even bigger understatement.
Of course Collin knew they still had a million and one things to work out. He knew that simply sleeping together wouldn’t erase all of their problems. But he had kind of thought that sleeping together at least meant that they both wanted to figure out a way to work them out.
Apparently, he was wrong.
Day after day after the fateful night of their reunion passed without a word from Rory. She even managed to do an excellent job of eluding him despite the fact that Oxford had maybe 20 residents and everyone knew everybody else. After the first few days of trying to find her whenever he got a free moment away from Natalie and their ‘mission,’ Collin realized how futile his search was. For all he knew, she’d skipped town completely again. And no one, with the current supernatural tensions would tell a vampire where a werewolf was hiding. If she had wanted to be found... well she would have let him do just that by now.
Since the realization, Collin had fallen into a grumpy, dark routine. He woke several hours after sunset, much later than he ever would have let himself sleep before, would get any work or reports Natalie had for him done, then head off to Fangtopia where he’d spend the night drowning his sorrows away with shots upon shots of A-. He’d go home, far too late, barely getting inside before sunrise and then repeat the whole process.
He didn’t do much beyond that, didn’t say much beyond what he had to, despite Natalie’s insistence that he tell her what was wrong. But he couldn’t. The one and only person he wanted to talk to about it all was the one person who was causing him all of this anguish and she clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
He was on his way to Fangtopia, following his new routine, when a very familiar scent overwhelmed him. He was just about to open the door when he saw her. Standing, completely frozen in his spot, he stared at her. Rage immediately flooded through him. But in the very next instant, it melted away. He wanted to be mad at her. God, did he want to be mad at her. Who told this freaking crazy woman that it was okay to simply disappear on your husband like this whenever things got rough?! But he couldn’t be mad. If he was painfully honest with himself, which he needed to be, she would be so much better off if she had stayed away from him.. for good. Things were far too complicated, far too dangerous with his ‘mission’ and the supernatural tension and his role in it and everything. And as much as he wanted to be mad at her for disappearing on him again, a part of him, the logical, smart part of him, wished that she hadn’t come back.
He let the door close finally and took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them some but maintaining enough distance that he couldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch her. That wouldn’t do him any good. With his hands buried in his jacket pockets, he looked at her. He tried to just stare, not let any emotions make their way onto his face. But he failed miserably. His gaze was nothing but longing and hurt and confusion and despite everything, love.
“Five minutes.” he agreed.
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