AN: Here's that angst, as promised.

She is gone in a flash of light which splits the dark sky in two, a clattering of metal on cement, and her name tearing from his throat.

He blinks at the spot where she'd stood a moment ago, braced against the tangle of darkness coiling around her. Her eyes -wild and desperate- had sought his, her pleading words settling heavily in his heart. Above all the rest, it is these ones which hold the most weight;

I love you, with her hand clasping his and the gusting wind around them, her heartbeat beneath his trembling palm.

And it is this which Killian remembers;

I love you, with her hand brushing his cheek and the light leaving her eyes, the sway of the Jolly Roger beneath his trembling knees.

(The very words Milah had spoken before he'd lost her, too).

(He hadn't gotten the chance to return them then, either).

He doesn't know he's moving until he finds himself bent before the dagger, crouched as if to pounce. The silver of the blade glints up at him, the streetlamps reflecting off of its surface, right where Emma's name is now carved in curving, sinister letters. The final cruel joke in his search for redemption; for three hundred years he'd yearned for the Dark One's death, and now all he wishes for is the Dark One's safety.

The Dark One, now with hair like strands of gold and sunbeams, with eyes the shade of salvation and hands which held his so tightly. Killian's certain he will see her again, but he also knows that when he does, it may very well not be her. He envisions her green gaze and can't fathom those eyes holding hollowness the way they once did emotion, reflecting the darkness as they once did the light.

(His Swan was not meant for curses and daggers. He can only think of her with fingertips glowing white with magic that saves, magic which can only do good, which can only heal the wounded parts of them all).

His Emma was only ever meant for saving and being saved.

And he will, he will save her if it's the last bloody thing he does. He will save her or he will die trying, will leave this world with her name lodged in his throat and arms stretched out to where she stands. He will save her, and he will echo the words she had choked out into the swirling, blackening air.

I love you.

The words he had so longed for. The very words he'd known she had wanted to say earlier, with her knees pressed on either side of him, holding him to the mattress. (She had been an anchor then, keeping him exactly where he desired to be). Words he had sensed were coming, words he had practically felt building up these past weeks. Words which took on a new meaning the moment they were spoken; in an aching confession, the darkness closing in around them, and Killian understood; Emma didn't think she'd get another chance to tell him. The words were meant as a goodbye.

(It's not goodbye. If he knows nothing else, it is this which Killian feels entwined with his very soul, curling around his spine, filling the emptiness of his bones. If he knows nothing else, he knows Emma).

He believes in her. He believes in them, in the power they hold when it's combined, when it twists and joins and becomes something utterly magical. (It becomes something utterly true).

He believes in that I love you, which Killian feels echo through him like a battle cry. It holds together the pieces of him which are desperate to break, to shatter beyond repair. It keeps him sane, keeps him holding on to goodness and hope by a thin thread- but holding on, regardless. It reverberates through him, settles into the space his heart had long ago reserved for her;

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.