Disclaimer: I don't own the Fosters, only the plot and any characters you don't recognize from the show.

Author's Note: I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I decided to write it down to give myself some peace. I might leave it as is, or I might make it a series of one-shots that come as inspiration hits. If you think I should continue it, let me know. Otherwise, hope you like it!

"Cole! C'mere for a sec," Michelle called.

"Yeah?"

"I just had an interesting phone call on the topic of you. What would you say to a visitor in the next day or two?"

"A visitor? What kind?"

"The kind that's interested in taking you home to live with them."

"What? A foster family?"

"Yes. A foster family. They saw your profile. Interested?"

"Sure, I'll meet them."

"What do you say about tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'll make room in my busy social calendar," Cole said with an eye roll.

"Alright, Mr. Sarcastic. I'll call them back and let them know."

Cole turned to leave, and then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, what are their names?"

"Emily and Alex King."

"Cool." Cole turned and walked away. He was tempted to stay, to try to hear the conversation when Michelle called them back, but she seemed in no hurry to pick up the phone, so he went up to his room instead. A family. Somebody had read his profile and was interested. Interested in him. He knew, logically, that his parents weren't happy with his "lifestyle" - he wasn't happy with them, either, for that matter – but it had still hurt when it turned out they didn't want him at all, when they didn't even show up to see him in the hospital. He once thought that if he could just not be transgender, be normal, he would, but he spent too long denying it. Too long angry at god and the world for making a mistake and putting him in the wrong body to go back now. Too long denying himself. He knew what that meant though, knew he practically signed his own death certificate in the family department. If his own flesh and blood didn't want him, who else would? So, yeah, he went along with the girls to Callie's photo shoot, he let Michelle put up that profile on him to find him a foster family, but he knew that if he were lucky, his best chance would be an LGBTQ group home, where, at least, he could be himself and accepted. Love, affection, a family – they just weren't in the stars for him.

But on the other hand, his profile did attract someone's interest. The interest of Emily and Alex King. And, on his profile, it did say he was transgender. So they knew. He knew they knew. That meant, they were okay with it right? If he were to dream, they'd be a family who'd be cool with it, with him, accept him for who he is. But what if they didn't? What if they were like his own family? What if they only wanted to fix what they saw was broken? A lot of people were like that. Even people in this place, like Becca. Becca said that he wasn't really a boy; he just couldn't come to terms with being a lesbian. He wondered what she'd say if he were attracted to boys. It's a lot harder to argue someone wanting to change their gender just so they could be gay, right? She, like many others, just didn't understand the difference between gender and sexuality, a difference Cole knew so well.

As he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about all the ways tomorrow could go, he didn't even notice when his roommate, Monica, came in. He didn't notice that dinner was being served until Monica shook him. He passed through dinner and chores in a haze, and though he went to bed early, stayed awake staring at the ceiling for hours. What would tomorrow bring?

Cole dressed carefully the next morning, in his favorite blue plaid shirt and chinos, topping it with a loose sweater vest despite the San Diego heat. The sweater vest was an essential part of his wardrobe; it helped cover any odd anatomical markers left by the Ace bandage around his chest. So what if Gabi said he dressed like an old man? It was his style.

He spent a while staring at his face in the mirror, not something he normally did, as he hated what he saw. First, he hated his reflection but it felt like a lie, or a cruel joke. He remembered being quite young, five or so, and thinking that there was another person in the mirror staring back at him, a girl who mimicked his every mood. He kept wondering why people said they saw themselves in the mirror. He never did. It got a little better, once he started dressing right and after he chopped off his hair with kitchen scissors at the age of about 8, much to his parent's dismay. They took him to a shrink their priest recommended, who told them that this was just a stage he was going through, that they should encourage him towards girly pursuits. He believed it a while himself, and liked the warmth and affection he was rewarded with he acted like a girl. But living a lie, holding conflicting realities in your head all the time, just became too much.

As a teenager, he started cutting his hair and dressing like a boy again. He found people who could get him the hormones he needed to transition, if he paid them. But soon enough, his parents gave him an ultimatum: stop this nonsense and be a girl, be who you were born to be, or get out. He choose to be who he was born to be – a boy – and got out. For the next ten months, the streets were his home, and he did what he needed to do to survive and get the drugs. There aren't a lot of options available when you're barely fourteen. He was caught by an undercover cop, sent to juvie, and eventually sent here, to a girl's group home, because he didn't have the right plumbing to go to the boy's, and the LGBTQ ones were full. There were perks: regular meals, a roof over your head, safety, staff who let you dress how you wanted and called you by the proper pronoun. But being off the streets meant no more hormones. And now, watching the changes in his body, he hated his reflection once again. It no longer showed who he was inside. Perhaps if he did take the family, even if they weren't so great, he'd have more freedom to get out and get the hormones. He'd survived on the streets before; he could do it again. With that in mind, he went down to breakfast with the girls.

Cole had breakfast clean-up, an easy task, and then school, but no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind was too caught up with the meeting this afternoon. He'd heard such things described as an "interview", and he wondered if interviewing for a job felt like this. People said they got "interview jitters". Jitters was the right word about now. Finally, as each minute that passed felt like an hour, the clock read 1:25pm. The Kings were supposed to come at 1:30. Rita said he could wait for them in the living room. He stared out the window, watching the cars pass by. At 1:29, a car pulled up on the curb, and a man and a woman exited. But they went into one of the neighbor houses. At 1:33, just when he thought they'd changed their mind, another car pulled up to the curb and a woman got out. She came and knocked on the door. Rita answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi. My name is Emily King. I spoke to Michelle about Cole."

"Right, Mrs. King. Please come in."

"Call me Emily," the woman said and walked in. Cole took a minute to study her as she and Rita exchanged pleasantries. She seemed pretty ordinary. Shoulder-length brown hair, rectangular glasses, neither tall nor short, neither skinny nor fat, neither old nor young. Early to mid thirties, maybe.

Rita approached with the woman. "Cole, I'd like you to meet Emily King. Emily, this is Cole."

Emily stuck out a hand. "Hi Cole. I'm quite pleased to meet you."

"Me too," he replied quickly.

"Unfortunately, Alex is away at a conference, or else we'd both have come. But, if, you know, we get along, maybe next time?"

"Yeah, uh, sure." Rita was staring at him. Cole couldn't figure out why until, "Oh, uh, can I get you something? Would you like to sit down?"

"I'll take a seat, but otherwise, I'm fine."

"I'll leave you two to talk then," Rita said, taking her leave.

"So, Cole, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks, Mrs. King."

"This isn't a formal interview, and call me Emily, alright? Hearing Mrs. King makes me think my mother-in-law is standing behind me, and that is a frightening prospect." Cole couldn't help but smile at that.

"Yes, Emily."

"Better. Anyway, the last time I did something like this, the kids were 8 and 9 years old, and you're certainly not, so I don't think I have much experience here and I wouldn't exactly call social chitchat my strongest suit."

"You're the first that's shown interest in me, so I don't have much experience either. And social chitchat is lame."

"So, we're in agreement. The first? Really? That surprises me."

"Not many are interested in a transgender kid." There. It was out there. Now to see how she reacted...

"Can't see why that would stop anyone, but then again, Alex is always trying to tell me that not everyone is as open-minded as we are. I've never understood those kind of hang-ups, personally. People are people. Your personality, your words, your actions, are the things that show the kind of person you are."

"So, you really don't mind?"

"Nope. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Well, I'm fifteen. I do well enough in school. I can cook a little, and I like to keep my things organized. I guess I've never done much in the way of activities." As he said it, he realized how pathetic it sounded.

"Maybe you just haven't found something you love yet."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Okay, well, do you want to know about me?"

"Yeah."

"Fair's fair. My name is Emily, and a lady over 30 never tells her age. I'm married to Alex, you know that, and we have two kids at home, Makensie and Jamie. Makensie's 12, Jamie's 11. We adopted them almost two years ago, and they've been begging for more siblings ever since. I'm a computer programmer, and I mostly work from home. Alex is a psychologist."

"A psychologist?"

"Don't worry, no headshrinking at home. We have very firm boundaries about the office and home."

"Oh, okay."

They talked for a while, back and forth, and Emily managed to elicit quite a bit of information from Cole that he hadn't planned on sharing, like about how his parents wouldn't take him back and that's how he ended up looking for a foster family. They realized that they shared similar tastes in movies and books – pretty much everything, with a weakness for classic science fiction – and he found her to have a very dry sense of humor, which he quite enjoyed. Eventually, there was a pause in conversation, and Cole could tell that Emily was going to say something she wasn't quite sure about.

"Can I be frank with you?" she said finally.

"Sure," he said warily.

"I know you spent a while in juvie, for drugs and the things you had to do to get them..." Long pause – oh no, here it comes, Cole thought, sitting back and crossing his arms defensively. "...I don't care."

"What?" His arms fell to his sides. He was shocked, to say the least.

"I don't care. I know I can't say I get it, that I understand what it's like to be born in the wrong body, but I feel I can empathize a little at least. I get that things were hard on you, and you did what you thought you had to do, to survive...mentally, physically, emotionally." Nobody had ever told him that they understood before.

"I wish you hadn't had to go through that, but wishing isn't going to do anything. So, what I can promise you is this. Come live with us, be part of the family. Not just until you're 18 – though we can't stop you leaving then, if you want – but for the long haul. Be a son, a big brother. Figure out what you love in life and do it. And, I promise you, we'll help you transition, if that's what you want, as long as it stays within the law. It might be tricky, it might not always be easy. Sometimes, we may fight and lose, and you have to be willing to accept that. You just won't have to do it alone."

"You'd be willing to open your house to, to expose your kids to, a felon?"

"As I said, I don't care, as long as that stuff is behind you. We might have to set a few ground rules about the kids, because they're young yet. I'm not saying hide anything – and quite frankly, they may ask questions you'll find obtrusive no matter how much we counsel them – but all I ask is that you try to keep it age appropriate, and if you're uncomfortable with answering something or unsure if you should, just find me or Alex and we'll help."

"Wow."

"I get it, it's a lot to take in, to think about. And you should think about it. As I said, we can do the long haul. But this is a two-way street. Can you tell me, will you at least consider my offer?"

"What about the rest of your family?"

"I'm sure they'll love you too, but why don't you all meet and we'll see? Rita tells me Family Day is on Saturdays, and that you usually don't have many visitors? Why don't we come this Saturday – Alex will be back by then, the kids will be out of school – and we can all get to know each other a little more?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, sounds great."

"I'll tell Alex, she'll be thrilled. She really wish she could've made it, but we didn't feel like putting this introduction off til later."

"She?"

"Yeah, didn't I say that?"

"You didn't."

"Oh, yeah, then, we're lesbians. Does that bother you?"

"Nope. Should it?"

"I don't see why. As I said, I never understood these hang-ups some folks have."

"People are people."

"Precisely." She looked at her watch. "I'm afraid I have to go, the kids will be home soon from school. Here's my card, feel free to contact me at any time, ask me anything, and I'll see you Saturday?"

"Yeah, that's the plan."

"Well, alright then." She paused. "Would you mind terribly if I hugged you? I feel like hugging you. Is it too soon?"

Cole considered it. Normally, he didn't really do hugs. Big surprise; nobody ever hugged him. But even though he'd only known Emily for about an hour, he felt like he'd known her for much longer than that. And moreover, she felt sincere, and while he didn't exactly know how to react to that, it seemed good. "Sure."

Emily reached out and hugged him. It took a little for Cole to remember what to do with his arms, and the hug was short, friendly-like, not too tight, not too intrusive. It felt...good. "Thanks," Emily said.

"Yeah," he said, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant about it.

"See you Saturday?"

"See you Saturday." He confirmed, showing her to the door. He watched her get into her car and drive away, holding the memory of the hug in his heart and her card in his hand. Of all the possible scenarios that had played out in his head over the last 24 hours, none of them had been like this. She was...accepting of him, of all of him. Unreservedly. When was the last time someone had given him that? Maybe there was grounds for hope here. Hope for a family, a real family.