That little bloody cat was a traitor, wasn't it? Running off to greet him like he was worthy of being happy to see. Pixie was a frustratingly sweet little thing, much too like her mistress for a cat. Her little mews of excitement as she wound around his ankles seemed to give him away, that perhaps he doted on the stupid creature when Tinkerbell wasn't looking. Maybe she was right after all, and her cat had grieved him more than she had. He wouldn't be surprised but the cat really wasn't what he was here for. (If she'd been gone, he'd have found a place for it, but it wouldn't have been with him.)
In the end that the fairy was there was not a surprise. He'd known almost before he walked in the door that she'd be there, and his brilliant excuse of making sure she was still there was absolutely idiotic now that he considered it. What did it fucking matter, really, when he'd already cut her out as securely as he could manage? It didn't matter if she was in the City or in Storybrooke, because he'd already let her go. He'd never even bloody had her, really, he was a fool running in the second he had a figment of an excuse. It'd shattered spectacularly and even though he had no right to be, he felt undeniable relief she was still there. Didn't matter what she was wearing (he was pretty sure he'd teased her for those owl slacks before), just seeing her gave him relief and comfort he didn't deserve. A part of him wanted her gone because it'd be easier for him, true — most of him had craved her like oxygen since he'd pried himself from her bed and he had been quite terrified at the prospect she was really gone. Idiotically, really, because it wasn't as if he didn't know that one day she'd be gone. Did it really matter when if it was inevitable?
The look on her face, though, struck him more painfully than her words. He'd expected disinterest, or anger — anger would have been better. He was used to people being angry, pushing him away because in the end that was what most did. When people knew him they didn't want him anymore, a lesson he'd learned securely before he'd even become a pirate. He'd told himself she didn't care because that meant there was no chance, and yet the expression writ on his face certainly was not one of disinterest. It was of a woman who had fallen victim to his cruelty and selfishness not once but twice, and it was easier to pretend none of it mattered when he wasn't looking her in the eye.
She looked away quickly, yet the damage was still done. She flicked on the light, and it seemed quite fitting. Tinkerbell was always forcing light into something he wanted to keep dark. Into his life, into his heart, he would have been better off drowning in hatred and loneliness and yet here he was flitting towards her like the light could do something other than burn him. Show him for the ugly creature he really was. He swallowed at her command to go — yes, he should, he'd made up his mind three days ago and ought to stay by it, and he walked closer anyway. "I wanted to know you were still here," he muttered uselessly, but that wasn't as true as I wanted to see you and it was so much harder to admit.