"What-fucking-ever!" Brandon shouted angrily, slamming a textbook down on the table. Lena's face darkened formidably.
"Brandon Michael Foster, you cannot talk to me that way." Her eldest son ducked his head, clearly aware he'd stepped out of line. Lena, though faintly aware of how loud her pulse was in her ears, continued shouting. "I am your mother, and I will ground you until the end of time if you swear at me again, understand? We don't do that in this house."
"You're not my mom!" Brandon yelled back, only to see his adoptive mother's face crumpled. "Fuck, Lena, I'm sorry, I… I mean, crap. I mean, darn. Lena- Mama-"
"Brandon, I think we both need some space," Lena asserted, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. "You may not raise your voice at me, and you may not insult me. Please go upstairs to your room, and in ten minutes we can talk." Her tone left no room for argument, and Brandon grabbed his book and left the room without further argument. In all honesty, he couldn't even remember why he was mad in the first place, he felt so badly about what he'd said to Lena.
Lena, for her part, managed to keep it together until she heard Branson's bedroom door slam. It was then she burst into tears, crumpling to the dining room floor in broken sobs. It was just then that Stef arrived home from work.
"I'm home!" she called as she dropped her keys on the table next to the door. "Lena? Kids?" Stef suddenly heard the crying, and turned abruptly. "Lena?" She ran to her wife and took her into her arms. "Baby, what's wrong?" Lena only buried her face into her hands, still crying. "Lena," Stef said again, this time less panicked. She kissed her hair. "When you're ready to talk, love, I'm here."
After a long moment, Lena took a deep breath and sat up, her curly hair stuck to her face in damp strands.
"It's Brandon," she said in a quavering voice.
"What?!" Stef replied, clearly shocked.
"He…" Lena stumbled over the next sentence. "He said I'm not his mom." Another few tears slid down her face as she looked imploringly at her wife.
"What in the name of-" Stef started. "I'm gonna kick that boy's ass."
"No, Stef, let me handle it." Lena interrupted, a placating hand on her partner's wrist. "I need to."
Stef sensed that her wife wasn't going to budge, and nodded reluctantly. "You go tell him you're his mama and if he doesn't want you he can live on the streets," she said vehemently. Lena laughed.
"I think I'll be a little less horrid than that, but that's the gist of it," she chuckled, standing up. "I'm gonna splash some water on my face before I go up to him."
Despite her quick wash, Brandon could tell in an instant that his mama had been crying. He could hear it in her quiet "Can I come in?" issued from outside his door, and he could see it in her puffy, red eyes.
"Mama, I'm really sorry," he started, his words running together, hoping to say all he needed to before she interrupted. "I was rude and disrespectful and terrible and I'm sorry. I know you're my mom just as much as Stef is and I love you for it." He blushed when he said the word love. "I was distracted and angry and I didn't think. I should have thought."
Lena looked at him in silence for a long moment, wanting to be sure he had finished. When she was sure he had nothing left to say, she took a deep breath and began.
"B, you know I love you. And you know I've considered you my son since the day your mom and I started dating. And you know that what you said downstairs was out of line and I know you'll never say anything like it again. You're a good kid, Brandon, and you're not usually one to speak without thinking. So we're gonna let this one slide, okay? But I assure you if you open your mouth like that again, things are not going to be pretty." Lena raised both eyebrows and stared him down until he nodded earnestly. "No swearing, and no questioning my parental control, or I'll have to prove it to you in an unpleasant way," she clarified. He nodded again, guilt written all over his face. "Now give your mama a hug," Lena ordered, holding her arms out. Brandon fell into them like he used to when he was a small child with a skinned knee or a bad dream, and she pressed her lips to his hair.
"I love you, Mama," he said, his voice now thick with tears.
"I love you too, Brandon," she replied, kissing him again. After another minute of holding him, she pushed her son away and studied his face. "Get washed up and start your homework," she said fondly. "Mom or I will holler when dinner is ready." She stood and tousled his hair. "And if you could put in a word with your younger brother against his gratuitous condiment use, all will be forgiven."