He wants to go back in there. He wants to tell her the truth, to truly set things right before it all comes crashing down. Before the end comes. But his legs force him onwards, with all the pain in his being consuming both anger and fear in silence.
The streets are empty save for him and every footfall is a heavy weight against the pavement as he walks further from Emma and the future he once thought he could have with her. Instead he draws that much closer to death with every step. And all he can do is curse the day he ever crossed swords with the Dark One because while his past brought him to Emma it's also going to take him away from her forever.
Clenching his hand into a fist he closes his eyes and allows himself to remember, to hold on to that last memory of her. It was only a moment. His lips to her lips, her cheek, her neck, breathing her in one last time. And yet it was hollow. He wanted it to mean everything, to pour every last ounce of himself into their parting but she didn't know what he was trying to say. She didn't know the truth, that he wouldn't be coming back, that his goodbye was an ending for them, that he was sorry they'd had so little time.
Even now his betrayal of everything he's fought for, of the man he's tried to become feels muted, an echo of remorse without his heart. And he's sorry. Seven hells he's sorry that it's come to this, that he's being forced to leave her alone without explanation. But he knows she'll survive, that she'll make it through this crucible. She's a tough lass, always has been.
He looks up to the sky, knowing it's his last night on earth, wishing he could see the stars one more time, wishing things could have been different. But the world never was partial to those with dark pasts. Instead he watches as the curse descends and a sad smile fades from his face. At least she'd be safe from this. The bloody Snow Queen's seen to that. And he has no doubt that she'll stay free of the hat. The Dark One has underestimated her before and hopefully that will be his undoing. Biting his tongue against grief he realizes in that instant that he's given up. There will be reprieve, no last minute amnesty. He's imagining Emma's life after it's all over, after he's gone. And so it seems that after all this time, after hundreds of years he truly has been broken. The Crocodile's finally won.
And yet it doesn't matter because he loves her.
He loves her.
And it's only now that he realizes he never told her.
Yes there were gestures, and words and looks and touches and kisses but never those words. He only hopes it's enough. He knows it never will be.