Title: Fated

Pairing: Emma S. & Killian J./Captain Hook [Captain Swan]

Genre: Romance/Angst/Adventure

Rating: T+ (for description of violence)

High above the world, in the fabled White Mountains, three sisters robed in white sit together and watch mankind below, as they weave the Tapestry of Life.

They are the Fates, forever youthful and ageless, more powerful than the gods. Clotho, the eldest, wields the shuttle on the loom, weaving the threads of men's lives together. Lachesis, the second, touches every single thread, arranging them for her sister as they work the loom. Atropos, the youngest, does not touch the loom. She holds a small silver knife, watching her sisters work, and as a mortal's life draws to an end, it is she who cuts the thread.

One day, Lachesis felt many of the threads beneath her fingers tremble and fray.

"Sisters," said she, "I feel many mortals' ends drawing near."

"Where, sister?" said Clotho.

"I see them," said Atropos, closing her eyes. "Many, many colorful threads fading…red, and fading…"

"In Storybrooke," she and Lachesis said together.

The sisters turned their eyes to the north of the earth, to Maine, and the mists of the world whitened and fled away before their gaze, as they sought the scene surrounding the end of these mortals' lives.

Storybrooke's main street was littered with the wreckage of war. Many of the structures lining the street lay in ruins, pieces of their broken shells spilling out onto the road.

A small, weary group of warriors was gathered at one end of the street. Jiminy the Cricket, still in human form, clutching a shotgun, his face and clothes partially blackened with soot; Granny and Red, the former clinging stubbornly to her crossbow despite a long gash on one arm that spilled a steady stream of blood, and the latter holding a small knife stained with red, her clothes torn in many places; Victor Frankenstein, standing next to them, grasping a pair of revolvers, limping from a wound in his leg; all seven dwarves, and Anton supporting the Blue Fairy, all with a myriad of cuts and bruises, on their feet by sheer will alone; Jefferson the Hatter, with a long sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, blinking back blood that dripped into his eyes; Regina, disheveled and ragged, her magic sputtering weakly in her hands; Henry, the only one merely dirty and unharmed as he gripped his small sword; Snow White's bow drifted toward the ground as she clutched a wound in her side, Charming's arm the only thing keeping her on her feet, even as he struggled with a wounded and dislocated shoulder; the left arm of Captain Hook, Killian Jones, was pressed to a wound similar to Snow White's, and the fingers of his only hand were clenched around the handle of his sword; Emma Swan was the only one who stood erect with both hands wrapped around the hilt of her father's sword, despite cuts that trickled blood down her face and one leg.

At the other end of the street stood Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, cane cast aside, the only living soul without a single scratch, magic crackling and smoldering in both hands; and Belle's unconscious form rested on the ground beside him.

In between both sides lay the bodies of the fallen, fairies, former citizens of the Enchanted Forest, and even already decaying human figures that spilled no blood from their wounds and decapitated stumps. Among these lay Geppetto, his son Pinocchio, the fairy Nova, and the mighty Cora, all lifeless.

Clotho nodded to Atropos, and sorrowfully the youngest Fate moved to the loom. She took the frayed threads from her sister Lachesis, and severed each of them with the silver knife, one by one, a tear falling with each cut.

As she finished, and the sisters were about to turn away from the grievous scene, Lachesis spoke in warning.

"Sisters…I feel one more thread trembling."

"I see it," said Atropos, gazing down. "A thread once vibrant and full of color, now stained red and grey and black, stretched longer than men's wont. Alas for this…the thread regains its color once again, just as it trembles beneath Lachesis's fingers."

"This is on all of you!" cried Rumplestiltskin, sweeping one arm round at the destruction about them. "All this death—because you chose to stand between me and one man not worth saving!

"You cannot defeat me! None of you can! But you may yet go your way in peace if you give me the pirate you have so fiercely defended up til now! Are you willing to give your lives to protect his—when he will probably die with you in the end?"

Killian closed his eyes, and then drew near to Snow White and Prince Charming. "Majesties, I beg you…please do as he says."

Emma looked outraged. "No!"

"Not a chance in Hell, sailor boy," Grumpy snarled. "If we go, we go together!"

The dwarves bellowed an assenting battle cry in answer, and everyone else shouted or clamored their agreement.

"No, stop!" Killian said, motioning for silence. "I will not have any more innocent blood spilled on my account today." He inclined his head to Snow White and Charming. "I do not ask your permission, Majesties. I wish only to say goodbye."

"No, Killian!" cried Henry, and Emma raised her sword higher as she growled, "Over my dead body!"

"Grumpy," said Killian, his gaze both forceful and pleading at the same time.

The dwarf glared at him defiantly for a moment, and then something broke in his expression. He nodded, set his axe on the ground, and moved to Emma. A look of realization flashed across her face as Grumpy's arms closed around her, and she fought him, kicking and screaming, trying to bash an elbow in the dwarf's face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Killian's expression was one of the acutest pain. "I'm sorry, Emma, my darling…but you must let me do this. You're the Savior, you're needed. And above all…Henry needs you."

"But I need you," Emma sobbed, her struggles against Grumpy beginning to wane. "Killian, please!"

Waves of sorrow flooded Snow White's face, and the bow fell from her fingers as she reached out to touch Killian's face in motherly benediction. "We really were wrong about you, Killian," she said softly.

In spite of Charming's valiant attempt to remain staunch and strong, his smile was etched with grief as he grasped Killian's hand with his free one.

Killian managed a smile in reply, and he was about to turn away when a small hand closed around his wrist.

Henry's face was wet with tears, and the look in his eyes was heartbreakingly beseeching. Killian dropped to his knees just in time to receive him as Henry threw himself into his arms. "Please don't go, Killian," the boy whispered. "Please don't go."

Those seven words almost broke Killian's resolve, and his heart was bleeding freely now. "I must, lad. I'm sorry. I never wanted to leave you." He withdrew gently and tried to wipe some of the tears from the small face. "Try not to forget me too quickly now, you hear?"

"Never," said Henry passionately.

Killian smiled and hefted his sword in hand and hook, holding it out to him. "Here. Your grandfather will help you learn how to use it. It's yours now."

Henry dropped the small sword he held and took Killian's blade with trembling and reverent fingers, gazing down at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Rising to his feet, Killian turned to face Rumplestiltskin at the end of the street. The small crowd of friends and warriors parted to clear his path, murmuring encouragement and goodbyes as he limped past them.

There was a hint of something that was almost respect, as well as mockery in the Dark One's face as Killian staggered towards him.

"Well, well, well, pirate—for the first time in your life, you do the right thing."

"Yes," Killian gasped past the pain in his side. "The right thing, to save lives." He halted a few feet from where Rumplestiltskin stood. "So take mine, and end this."

A small, scornful smile twitched the Dark One's lips, and then magic exploded from his hand, slicing through the air like a burning red blade of raw power. It went straight through its victim like a sword, vanishing upon achieving its deadly goal. For a single, split second, Killian stood stock still—waves of pain frozen on his face, and then he fell to the ground, blood pouring from a wound in his chest.

Emma's anguished scream reached his ears faintly, as if from far away. "NO!"

The magic glowing around Rumplestiltskin's hands faded. "I think I can safely say that our paths will never cross again, pirate. Congratulations. Miss Swan and her friends no longer have reason to fear harm from me."

He bent and lifted Belle as easily as if she were a small child, and vanished in a swirl of crimson smoke.

No sooner was he gone than the blurred shape of a beloved face appeared above Killian, and he heard the soft sound of sobbing in Emma's voice as a forehead bent to touch his.

Tears stained the faces of the Immortal Ones as they watched the scene before them.

"Alas," sighed Lachesis, "That the thread should regain its color now…"

"Alas," Clotho agreed.

"Sisters," said Atropos, her eyes glistening, "There are days when it is a mercy to cut the thread of a suffering one, and days when I feel at peace to cut the thread of one who has had a long and happy life. But there are days when my hand moves to the loom to cut, and tears cloud my eyes as my own heart cries against me, cursing me and calling me cruelest of beings, for cutting a poor mortal's thread too soon in life. This is one of those cursed days. Sisters, all color shall fade from this mortal's thread too soon as it is, without the aid of my knife to speed its end. Please…please let these mortals have a few moments more before the thread is cut."

Clotho and Lachesis looked at each other, and Lachesis gave a small smile.

"Very well, sister," said Clotho. "But do not let the mortal suffer long."

"No…no…no," Emma sobbed, over and over, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood with one hand as she cradled him with the other arm. "Killian?"

Killian coughed painfully, and he was shaking with effort to keep breathing.

"Please," Emma whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "Please don't leave…not now…please, Killian, I chose you…"

A small smile graced Killian's lips. "And I chose you, love…"

Lachesis closed her eyes as she felt the fibers of his thread fraying beneath her fingers.

His eyes slowly slid closed, and his breath slowed down, expelling with a gentle sigh, and stopped.

"No, please, Killian…please…I love you…"

In that moment, Emma's hand began to glow with golden light as it rested over the fatal wound.

Lachesis gasped as she felt a sudden warmth blossom in his thread, and for the first time in centuries, her hand left the loom.

Emma's tears ceased abruptly as lifted her head from Killian's and looked down at her hand. She gasped as she saw the glow and jerked her hand away as if burned; staring at it like it had sprouted extra fingers. The glow gradually faded, and another light caught her eye, radiating upward out of Killian's chest. The wound was closing, the beam of light growing narrower and narrower as the flesh knitted back together.

"The thread…" breathed Atropos.

The thread was shining with the same golden light, and the frayed strands were binding themselves back together.

"This child is powerful," Clotho said solemnly.

Atropos beamed down at the two mortals, tears of joy shining in her eyes. "Yes, she is."

As the light died away, Killian gave a jerk and his eyes flew open as he drew a long, shuddering, gasping breath.

Emma uttered a strangled cry and threw both arms around him, crushing him to her heart.

"Emma…darling…" came Killian's voice in a distinctly pained tone.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

His smile had not a solitary trace of pain in it. "I love you, too," he said softly. "You saved me."

"Yeah, I guess I did…I'm not really sure how…"

"I do."

She looked at him in surprise, and his reply was a smile brimming over with faith, confidence and love.

"You're pure magic, my darling. You're the product of True Love."

Emma gave a short laugh as she brushed away her tears with her sleeve. "So I've been told." She ghosted her fingers along Killian's cheek. "So, since you died, and I managed to magically bring you back, we're done with the lone gunslinger act, right? Whatever we have to face, we face it together."

"Together," Killian whispered, and reached up to draw her down and claim her lips with his as the cheering voices of friends and family swelled up to surround them in joyful thunder.

High above, the three sisters—the legendary Fates, smiled down at them in silent blessing.

"And it is days like these," said Atropos, her eyes shining, "That beautify all the years of watching."

- Fin. -