It certainly seems like it's worth it when she wakes up before he leaves, the sunlight streaming through the curtains and the cracked windows, whether it's on his ship, or in her tiny area of her apartment. It seems like it's worth it when he offers up a small half-smile to her as he buttons up his shirt, the ghost of a laugh on his lips.
They exchange glances and say nothing but mean everything.
She bites her lip and nervously tucks her hair behind her ear, even though she's not nervous at all. She feels childish, depending on him, even though she repeats over and over that she doesn't depend on him. She depends on no one.
She waits on the bed, soft covers draped around her arms, and waits for the inevitable.
When he's gone she tries to go back to sleep.
Tries.
It certainly doesn't seem like it's worth it in the aftermath, when she's alone and she wonders when the next time is going to be and if there's even going to be a next time, but god, why are she even worried about this, it's not like she cares, because she doesn't.
But the more she thinks about it, the less it makes sense.
Mary Margaret and David are always intent on asking her how her night was-maybe a little too intent-but she tucks her hair behind her ear again, feeling childish all over again (yet in a completely different way), and telling them that yeah, it was okay. Pretty quiet.
When she says this she always thinks of the ship resting on the docks, and how close it is yet how far it is, and how unfair it is-
"Yeah, I-I made tacos. They were, uh, delicious."
"How are you doing, Swan?"
His voice is cracked and hoarse as he intertwines a section of her long, blonde hair between his fingers. The sunlight hits his hair through the window of her bedroom, but it's still cold and she pulls up the blanket around herself a little more.
She blinks and looks up at him, not expecting the sudden question. Or any question, of that matter.
"Excuse me?"
He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "Just making conversation, lass."
She feels a twinge throughout her body when he calls her that. It makes her sound like part of his crew. Someone who swabs the deck.
"Uh...I'm doing fine, I guess," she says, uncomfortable. Her eyes rove around, not daring to meet his eyes. The clock on the wall reads 10:15. She has no idea where David and Mary Margaret are, but frankly, as long as they're not here, she doesn't give a damn. She's probably off adventuring.
Like mother, like daughter, she supposes.
She narrows her eyes. "Why do you ask?"
He bites his lip and does some more eyebrow work. "Like I stated previously." He pauses and glances at her sitting up in bed, propped up on a few pillows, across from him. "Just making conversation."
She squints at him. "Are you sure?"
He glances to the side, smirking, then turns back to her and raises an eyebrow. "Believe me when I say this, Swan. I have never been more sure of anything in my life." He sticks out his right hand and places it in the air as he says this, and she closes her eyes and allows herself to smile for a second.
That night, he lets out a garbled, rushed, heavy sentence, something that she's not even sure she heard correctly, because that would be ridiculous, because they don't care for one another, because that would be ridiculous, but all the same, she can't stop replaying it over and over and over in her head until the three words mean nothing to her anymore.
Which is how it usually is with her, anyway.
It seems like it's worth it when she sees her parents together, hugging each other and making dinner together and just being happy knowing that they love each other, because she remembers her own stolen kisses in the middle of the night and the daylight waking them up and and the sideways smile on his face in the morning.
It doesn't seem like it's worth it when she remembers that it's hidden.
Because what they hide away in the dark of the night goes away the second the sun comes up.
The next time, she repeats his strangled words after they're through for the night, and they sit across from one another yet again on the bed. She repeats the ones that slip out of his mouth without him meaning to (or maybe he did mean to and couldn't ever find a way to say it) on her own, and his eyes fly open and he looks genuinely surprised.
She freezes in the moment, blinks a few times, and waits.
He smirks and raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a laugh still on his lips, like it never went away.
And suddenly, it seems like it might just be worth it.