Author's Note: Title taken from the lyrics of the song Breathe from the musical In The Heights. This story ties in with the canon from my story These Holidays Won't Be Wonderful. I think it stands fine on its own, but there are a few references to that canon, so you may want to read that first if you haven't.
1991 – 8 years old
The sounds of the city rise up to her from down below, as Emma lays awake, listening to the other girls snoring softly. She's supposed to be asleep like the others, but Emma very rarely does what she's supposed to do when it comes to the foster homes. It's probably why she never stays in one for very long.
She waits a few minutes more, until she's sure that all of the girls are asleep and then slips from her bed, tip toeing to the window. It's the beginning of December, so she won't have much time tonight. She pushes the window up as quietly as she can and then carefully climbs out onto the fire escape. All the other little girls wear frilly nightgowns to bed, but Emma much prefers the long footed pajamas like the boys wear. They make it so much easier to get around.
Once she is safely on the fire escape, she pushes the window down so that it is almost closed, with just enough room for her fingers to slip back under. Then she starts to climb, up and up and up. Higher and higher. Her fingers are freezing, but she keeps climbing until she reaches the roof.
She settles herself on the edge of the roof top, her feet dangling, as she takes in the city below. Her breath puffs out around her as she takes in the Christmas lights, twinkling in the store windows and on the trees. Traffic is still humming, even this late at night. As the cold settles into her lungs and the city settles into her bones, she finally feels content.
She is free here, not caged and unwanted. The city feels like it belongs to her, like she can do anything from up here. Not for the first time, she imagines running away from this place. It's her favorite fantasy, having replaced the one where her parents come to rescue her after Christmas last year. At least this fantasy has the possibility of coming true.
It's starting to get too cold for her thin pajamas, so she climbs back down, feeling more and more trapped with each step down from the rooftop. All that she wants is to climb back up, to stay there forever. But she forces herself to continue the climb down until she reaches the fire escape outside the window of her room. She pushes it back up and slips back inside.
And when the window closes with her back on the inside, Emma feels caged once again. She climbs back into bed and waits, counting the hours until she can go back up the fire escape and feel free again.
1993 – 11 years old
Summer in the city is one of Emma's favorite times. She loves to wander around, taking in the sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle. There's something almost magic in the heat that rises up from the pavement and the sun that shines off the buildings. She soaks it all in every chance she can get.
Which is pretty often in the summer, if you're Emma Swan. She's small enough to be able to sneak out pretty easily, street smart enough to wander around without getting lost, and quiet enough that most times they never notice she's gone. Most 11 year olds would be lost in the crowds after a few minutes, but Emma can explore all day without getting at all turned around. It's a gift.
Except for today, when it turns out to be a curse. The supervisor of the foster home is waiting for her at the door when she comes scrambling up the stoop just as the sun is starting to set.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Emma blinks at the anger in Ms. Brooks' voice. She's never heard the woman sound like that before. Granted, she's only been in this home for about two months, but still.
"I was just exploring."
"Just exploring!" Ms. Brooks explodes. "I nearly called the cops."
"Sorry." Emma mumbles, although she's really not that sorry. She wasn't doing anything wrong.
"Oh, I'll give you sorry!" Ms. Brooks promises and then, before Emma can react, her hand is slapping Emma's cheek so hard it makes her head whip to the side. "Get in that house, now!"
Emma has been roughed up by the other kids plenty of times. The boys especially like to pick on her. She's been punched and kicked and pushed and shoved all over the place and she's learned to defend herself pretty well. But this is the first time an adult has ever hit her. She supposes she should be surprised that it's taken this long.
She pushes past Ms. Brooks and climbs the stairs to her room quickly. The window is open and she's stepping through it before any of the other girls that she shares with can react. She hears them call out "Emma" but ignores them as she grabs the hot bars of the ladder.
She climbs the fire escape with tears welling in her eyes and a welt swelling on her cheek. She blinks back the tears, refusing to allow them to fall. She will not cry. She doesn't cry. Not anymore.
Her vision finally clears and she makes it to the top. When she reaches the roof, she looks out over the city and curses everything and everyone – her parents for abandoning her and the foster system for failing her, to name just two – except the city and the sky. They're the only two things that have never let her down.
No one comes looking for her and the summer night is warm enough that there's nothing urging her inside. So she stays on the roof and sleeps under the stars and feels freer than she ever has before.
1996 – 13 years old
The sun is out and there's a breeze blowing, signifying spring. Emma can't keep the smile off her face as she basks in the light. It has been a long winter, with two different moves, lots of bad weather, and not nearly enough time up above the world. But it looks like spring has finally sprung, and Emma has taken the first chance she can get to escape up to the roof.
There are birds flying around above her head, also apparently pleased with the weather. She watches as they soar, gliding across the sky and wishes not for the first time that she had wings and could be as free as they are. This is the closest that she gets to that feeling, and she clings to it.
Watching them fly, she begins humming to herself softly. It's a song that one of her many former foster mothers used to sing as a lullaby to her real daughter, Susan, with Emma laying in the other bed and listening, pretending that she was being sung to as well, and not just a body in the room that was being ignored. The song had stuck with her, and it seems appropriate today, not only for the birds flying above her head, but also for Emma in general.
Before she realizes it, she is singing the song, the lyrics coming to her easily. It's slow and soft, just like her foster mother used to sing.
"Pack up all my care and woe
Here I go
Singing low
Bye, bye blackbird"
If anyone knows about cares and woe, it's her, Emma thinks. She continues to watch the birds that seem to be flying closer to her now that she's started to sing. Seeing them circling down lower and lower makes her smile. She's not exactly a nature girl, but there's something about birds that she's always loved – and not just because of her last name.
"Where somebody waits for me
Sugar's sweet, so is she
Bye, bye blackbird"
She always imagines her mother when she hears that part of the song, and she can't help but do so again today. Was her mother out there somewhere, waiting for her? Emma doesn't believe so, not after thirteen years. She tells herself that she's given up hope, but there's still a tiny piece of her that she keeps buried way down deep inside that can't quite let it go.
"No one here can love or understand me
All those hard luck stories
They all hand me"
Her voice constricts on those lyrics, feeling them far more than any of the others. She knows what it's like to be unloved, to have no one understand her or even try to. And because of that, the song that should fall flat when being sung by a thirteen year old instead sounds heartfelt and beautiful.
"Make my bed and light the light
I'll be home late tonight
Blackbird bye, bye"
As she finishes out the song, the birds come to land next to her, almost like a little audience. They ruffle their feathers and coo softly and Emma giggles, feeling much better for their company. She tilts her head down in a mock bow.
"Thank you." She tells them, and she swears that the birds nod back at her.
The birds stay perched beside her and Emma continues to hum softly, her mind drifting as it used to do so often to thoughts of her parents. She's been pushing them out of her mind more and more as the years go on, but they still seem to sneak in whether she wants them to or not. She's given up her belief in fairy tales and the hope of happy endings, but she hasn't been able to give up the questions that surround the parents she's never really had.
What were they like? Why had they abandoned her? Did she look like her mother or her father? Did her mother sing? Had she inherited that trait from her? Why didn't they want her? The questions go on and on, but they always circle back to that final question. Why didn't they want her? Why didn't anyone seem to want her?
"No one here can love or understand me" she sings to the birds, trying to stop the questions in her mind.
"All those hard luck stories
They all hand me
So make my bed and light my light
I'll be home late tonight
Bye bye, blackbird
Bye bye"
And as the birds fly off into the beautiful spring sky, Emma wonders if she'll ever find a place where she can feel like she's truly home.
2001 – 18 years old
She moves across the hospital room slowly, her body aching. She should still be in bed, but she needs this more than she needs to be resting.
After they'd taken the baby away, she'd begged the nurse and guard to let her go up to the roof. The nurse had been ready to agree, but her guard would not allow it. She can't really blame him. Taking prisoners up to roof tops isn't exactly a safe idea, even if Emma feels far too exhausted and weak to try anything.
She makes it to the window and looks out. The hospital that the prison transported her to has its maternity ward on the fifth floor. It's certainly not the height she likes, but it will have to do.
She looks back at the nurse. "Can you –"
"I really shouldn't." The nurse says softly.
"Look, I –" There are tears in her voice that she chokes back, "my hands are cuffed behind my back. I'm not going to jump. I swear. I just – please open the window."
The nurse softens. It's the first time Emma has sounded like a scared 18 year old. The nurse moves to open the window.
Emma leans out, sucking in the air. She can feel the nurse griping her cuffs, as though she is seriously afraid that Emma is going to jump.
She tries to imagine that she's up on the roof, but it doesn't work. She can't see the sky for the buildings that are surrounding her, the metal of the cuffs is keeping her grounded in reality, and Worcester can't even be described as a city – not like the ones she's used to. Not like the ones she loves.
She feels the buildings closing in on her, the weight of everything that's happened today settling on her. The tears that she's been holding back all day – for years, really – finally start to trickle down her cheeks, until they're falling in a steady stream.
She knows that giving up the baby is the best thing for both of them, but right now, at this moment, it doesn't feel like it. It just feels like another blow, another loss in a list so long she can't keep count anymore.
She wants nothing more than to climb out the window and go up to the roof. She needs the escape, the freedom that only that can provide her. But she can't have it. She's stuck in this room, with just a tiny taste of the freedom she craves, feeling more shackled now than she ever has, even when her wrists had been cuffed to the bed while she was in labor only a few hours ago.
So she leans out the window and cries until she has no more tears left and the nurse guides her back to the bed and cuffs her to the bed rails. And when everyone leaves her alone, she feels only emptiness. And when she dreams, she is standing on the top of the tallest building she's ever seen, and the tears come again, because that's all that she wants and it's so far out of her reach.
2011 – 28 years old
She stands outside of Mary Margaret's for nearly ten minutes before she manages to make herself knock. She's not used to needing anyone else, and it's a feeling that she doesn't like.
"Emma." Mary Margaret says, looking surprised, but also sort of pleased.
She feels very out of her depth, standing there. She shoves her hands in her pockets and finally makes herself speak. "Sorry to bother you so late. Is that spare room still available?"
Mary Margaret smiles and nods, allowing Emma to enter.
When she makes her way into Mary Margaret's apartment and finds what appear to be old fire escape stairs that lead up to her bedroom, Emma can't help but smile. Maybe this won't be such a bad thing after all.
And it isn't. Because climbing them each night to get to her bedroom makes her feel less restless, even if they don't lead to the roof, like they had in her childhood.
2013 – 30 years old
She sits at the top of the clock tower, looking out over Storybrooke. She breathes in the air and allows it to settle her.
"What are you doing up here?" Regina's voice cuts through Emma's thoughts and makes her jump. "Besides abusing your power as sheriff, that is."
Emma glances over at her and manages a small smile. "Just keeping an eye on the town."
"From the top of the clock tower?" Regina raises an eyebrow.
"You're not the only one who has eyes everywhere," Emma shoots back. "And what are you doing up here, Madam Mayor?"
"Looking for you." Regina admits. "I couldn't find you in any of the usual places, so I decided to get crafty."
Emma smiles at that. "And how did you find me?"
"Your car is parked two blocks down. And I've noticed that you like to go out on the balcony when you stay over. So I thought this might be where you were, being the sheriff and having the ability to get up here and all."
"Very astute, Madam Mayor." Emma grins.
"I'm not the mayor for nothing." Regina winks at her. "So, what are you doing up here, Emma?"
Emma blinks and looks out over the city. The sun is just beginning to set and the sky is painted pink and purple. "Just clearing my head. When I was a little girl..."
Emma shakes her head and trails off.
Regina says nothing, just waits her out, resting her shoulder against Emma's.
"When I was a little girl, I used to climb out of the windows of the foster homes I was in, when they were in the city, and I'd go up the fire escape to the roof. And I'd just stay up there for hours, looking out over the city. It was the only time I didn't feel trapped."
Regina's voice is suddenly icy. "If you are feeling trapped here, Miss Swan, you are free to leave at any point."
She moves to stand up, but Emma's arm is faster than her and she grasps Regina's hand. "Don't."
Regina settles beside her, but there is still tension in her body.
"I didn't mean that I felt trapped here. I just meant – Regina, I've been here for two years. That's longer than I've ever lived anywhere since the time I was three and my –" Emma trails off, not willing to talk about that.
"And your foster family sent you back," Regina whispers the truth.
"Yeah." Emma manages. Regina squeezes her fingers. They are quiet for long minutes, just watching the sun set.
"Henry told you?" She finally asks.
"It was in your file."
"Ah, yes, the file you gathered on me when you were trying to drive me out of town."
"Emma –"
Emma shakes her head. "Shh. Don't talk. Just – sit here with me for a while, okay?"
Regina doesn't respond verbally, but Emma feels her body relax next to her. They sit together until the sky is dark. Only then, once the stars are out, does Emma speak again.
"I don't feel trapped here. And that's why I had to come up here."
Regina's brow furrows. "That doesn't make sense."
Emma laughs wryly. "Most things about my life don't make sense." She searches for the right words to explain to Regina. "My childhood was not what you'd call a walk in the park – you already know that. I was always dreaming of escape – of running away. But I found out pretty quickly that actually running away – at least at that point – never turned out well for me. So I had to discover another way to escape. Turns out there always was one just outside my window. I could go up the fire escape to the roof and take in the city and feel calm. And free."
She pauses to gather her thoughts, her fingers unconsciously rubbing over the heart pendant at her throat. "It was the one thing that was constant, that never changed on me. I could always go to the roof. I could always see the sky and the city. And having that was all I needed."
She turns to meet Regina's eyes. It's getting harder to make out her features, although the light in the tower will be on soon.
"After –" She still can't seem to say the words, not to Regina at least, "I got out of prison, I stopped climbing up to roof tops. I felt like there was too much to escape and I didn't want the feeling to change. I just wanted that little bit of magic to last, even if it was only in my memories. So I moved all around and I just accepted things for what they were. I'd always feel trapped and alone."
Regina squeezes her hand again.
"And then I came here. And I was reminded of how I used to climb and of that feeling of freedom and contentment. And I ended up staying and –"
"And what?" Regina pushes softly.
"And I started to feel it again."
"Trapped and alone?"
"No." She shakes her head. The next word comes out a whisper. "Content."
She turns to look at Regina and there are tears in her eyes. "I've never felt like this before. But when I'm having dinner with Mary Margaret and David or walking Henry to school or when I'm with you – I just feel it. And I needed to be sure, so I came up here today. And it's the same. Here – right here, in Storybrooke, Maine of all places – is where I feel content. It's where I feel happy. And I don't want to run away. I'm not trapped or caged."
Emma remembers the day on the roof with the birds seventeen years before, singing iBye, Bye Blackbird/i and wondering if she'd ever feel truly home anywhere. The truth hits her and falls out of her mouth easily. "I'm just finally at home."
After a few moments Regina rolls her eyes. It's so exaggerated that Emma sees it plainly even through the dark. "It took you two years to figure that out, Miss Swan? No wonder we have so many open case files in the police department."
And it's such a Regina reaction that Emma bursts out laughing – a full on laugh that causes the built up tears to leak out of her eyes as she does. Regina laughs too and Emma thinks that it is her favorite sound.
"We really should go," Regina says once the laughter finally dies. "Henry will be having a fit."
"Not to mention Mary Margaret. She's the one doing all the cooking." Emma agrees, pushing herself up to a standing position.
"I said that I would –" Regina starts to argue, but Emma silences her with a shake of the head.
"Mary Margaret would've been devastated if she didn't get to cook me my birthday dinner." She helps Regina up, keeping their fingers entwined. "Thank you, by the way."
"Whatever for, Miss Swan?" There's a playfulness in Regina's voice that Emma adores.
"For agreeing to come. I know how you feel about Mary Margaret and David and –"
"They're important to you. And it's your birthday. That gives you a little leeway."
"Oh really?" Emma smirks.
"I said a little, Miss Swan. Believe me, if we make it through dinner, that will be it." But there's a smile on Regina's face that gives her away.
"Of course, Madam Mayor."
They start for the stairs leading down the tower, but just before start down, Emma pulls Regina to a stop. "No one's ever come up with me before. I was always by myself, wishing I wasn't."
"And now you're not."
"And now I'm not." Emma leans over and kisses Regina.
"Happy birthday, Emma." Regina whispers against her lips.
And Emma thinks of the dinner waiting for her at Mary Margaret's. Of Henry and Mary Margaret and David and especially of Regina. Of this new family that she's somehow found. It's everything she used to dream of.
"Yeah, it is." She smiles. And she doesn't feel trapped at all as she steps foot back on the ground below.