All around him the townspeople of Storybrooke tear themselves apart (the dwarves especially seem to harbor pent-up feelings of hostility towards each other, and he doesn't really want to know what that one did to Granny to have her chase him with a crossbow) but Killian keeps moving steadily past them, his destination set. His boots crunch over abandoned shards of glass, remnants of the spell that has the town in it's clutches.
He still aches from the falling so hard, so heavily - so easily tricked by a young lad and his marbles. He had expected that Henry at his worst would not wish to go with him, would fight back with cruel words (he is his father's son, after all) but there's a part of him that also aches at the thought that even though he and Emma are (were?) together, that in his heart the lad might reject him, reject the relationship. Killian shakes his head, wishing the thought to vanish into the bitter winter air but it clings to the back of his mind like barnacles to the hull of a ship. It will take some heavy labor to remove it.
Good thing that he's not due much longer for this world, right?
He does not understand all that holding one's heart can do, but since his steps are relatively unencumbered he can assume that the Crocodile is distracted by something else, or does not closely track his movements. Perhaps the man merely assumes that Killian is chasing after his grandson, and that perhaps the boy would flee to one of his homes. He's not sure how this dark magic works, so he keeps his thoughts centered on Henry, keeps thinking that perhaps he is hiding at Emma's new home, even if he doubts that to be the case.
He needs to get there. He needs to do it (a man who does not fight for what he wants deserves what he gets, after all).
When he spots the small cottage, he breathes a sigh of relief, though his soul and the space where his heart should be are quickly filled with dread at his next action but he cannot - will not - give up now.
Emma had given him a key a few days ago, the smile on her face lingering as she placed it in his hand and promised that he could come over whenever, for whatever and her meaning was not difficult to grasp (her mouth on his, the press of her body against his own) though that had yet to come to pass. The Dark One took his heart and the Snow Queen cast her spell before they could carve out a moment of time together. Killian knows it will always be like this - constantly running from one thing to the next, kisses and moments stolen in between, but if he meant being with her -
No. He cannot think like that. If he thinks like that, then he is already dead.
He slips the key into the lock and enters the cold, dark house.
"Henry?" he calls out, always mindful of his master (he has never hated the Crocodile as much as he does now, making him his pawn, sending him to kidnap his - and Milah's - grandson). He waits in the hallway, closing the door softly behind him, counts to ten. There is no sound of movement - there is no one here, and he is alone.
He flips the lock on the door and then sets about his business.
There is something intrusive about his actions that bother Killian, but he needs to do this - needs Emma to know, needs Emma to not come find him. The Dark One is more powerful than she is, and he will not have her risk her life just to save him (his life is not worth as much as hers, in the end, even if he is the only one to realize that). He needs her to live to save this town another day.
But more than that, he needs her to know how much he loves her. The Dark One told him that he cannot tell Emma what has happened to him, cannot tell her about his heart being gone; that doesn't mean he can't tell her how he feels, and how sorry he is that this has happened.
And of course, finding the means to tell that to her is more than slightly impossible when he can't find a single piece of paper or a bloody pen in her house.
He scours the home, growing more frantic with each passing minute, uncertain if the Crocodile will call him back, will make him return without completing this final task. Finally, he finds a piece of paper with a blank side, and a pencil that the lad must use for his schoolwork. He takes it to the kitchen table, and pulls up a chair and yet, the minute he sits down, he cannot find the words to say exactly what he wants.
Words rarely fail Killian; with all of his reading, with all of his experience, he always knows what to say when he needs to say it. But now - faced with telling the woman he loves, the woman he gave up his ship for, the woman he tried (and failed) to be a better man for - now he cannot summon up the words to express any of this.
He can see tendrils of dawn creeping into the sky and he knows that he will have to return soon to the pawn shop, to where the Dark One waits for him. He must do this now, or not do it at all.
And so he thinks about Emma, about the first time he saw her, golden and perfect in the sun. He thinks about her tenacity and her stubbornness, the way that she abandoned him because she was unwilling to take a chance. He thinks about her dedication - to her son, to her parents, to her role as Savior. He thinks about her fierceness and her fear, and about the way that she has learned to drop her guard around him. He thinks about the softness that lingers in her smile when she's with her family (when she's with him) and the coy flirtatiousness that finds it's way there when it's only them.
Above all else, he thinks about how it was worth it, to give up his ship and bring her home - how even the moments with her were far better than the moments without have been, and how that will have to be enough for him now. At least Killian knows he can be - maybe not a better, but at least a good enough - if he has proper inspiration, the right influence.
He picks up his pen, and writes. And what is writes is everything that she means to him: sun and moon and North Star, light in the darkness and the path homewards (he wanted a home with her, wanted to be with her forever, but that is not in the cards and he's usually the one to stack the deck). She is everything to him, and she needs to know it - needs to know how much she means, how wonderful she truly is, even if she doesn't believe it herself. You are worth risking everything for, he writes, and I hope you remember that, always and forever.
He cannot tell her about his fate, but he makes it obvious that he loves her, and he will always love her, and that he hopes she will remember him fondly (though she has every right to be angry with him for leaving her because it's his own fault, this predicament he's in).
He signs his name with a flourish, then makes sure that her name, which he has written large across the top, is what she sees, tracing the letters in lead, reverently and delicately (he does not say her name lest the Crocodile find out and tell him to destroy the letter). When he finishes, he places it on the countertop, near the machine that makes the coffee she loves so dearly. Perhaps, when this is over and she returns home, she will see it, and remember him, and the time they shared, and her offer to come into her parents' home for coffee after their first (only) date.
Even without a heart, Killian's chest throbs at that thought.
He lets himself out, locking the door behind him, watching as the sky slowly changes colors, purple to pink to blue as he walks to the pawn shop, hands in his pockets, body weary from the constantly feeling that he is fighting with himself (though he has done what he needed to do - one last gasp, one last effort).
Halfway between his destination and Emma's home, the town changes: snow begins to fall, small flakes and then larger ones, and the fighting that was rampant throughout the streets slow down than stops entirely. Dwarves hug their brothers, Granny makes up with her customers, and Killian ducks down the back alley, wanting to be seen by no one.
He leans against the wall and takes a moment (the pull of the Dark One now thrumming through his veins - he wants to know where his pawn is, it seems) and in that moment, he smiles. Whatever has happened, it appears that the Snow Queen has been defeated, which means that Emma won, and he is so proud of her - his brilliant, beautiful love. He is so proud of her, and even though he never will be able to tell her of his joy that she succeeded, he can be in awe of her one last time.