Author Note:

Not at all close to my goal of posting another chapter in time for New Year's, but alas, it was not meant to be. Life got in the way. Hope you enjoy this next one; I had a great deal of fun shifting the focus back to Callie and Stef and exploring some new areas of growth in their relationship. Also played around with some family dynamics, but the process was just okay. Mainly it felt like it was time to situate Callie with the rest of the kids.

Hopeful that with the start of the new season we'll get some more activity on this fandom. I'm already so excited seeing some new stories/crossovers popping up. I feel like I'm missing some of my regular readers, too...so if you're around, drop me a line to let me know you're still here, please! Much love, ~b'shert

Chapter 36: Mending a Broken Heart

Lena felt her nerves fray as her children ragged on one another at the table during their evening snack. It'd been a long day, one spent organizing parent-teacher conferences and fielding a number of calls from anxious parents. She had been planning running a bath when she got home until Stef had called. A fellow unit member had suddenly became ill and been sent home. Too late to find a sub, she'd been asked to stay to cover the remainder of her coworker's shift. While neither minded the overtime, it meant Lena had been in charge to figure out dinner and wrangle the kids through their evening routine. Now, she was counting down the minutes for Stef to come in the door. Which she should have, over forty minutes ago.

"Ew. What are you doing?" Mariana scoffed, sharing a smirk with Brandon. The two of them had just watched Callie spread a thick layer of butter onto her slice before using a teaspoon to sprinkle white sugar over it.

Callie looked around the table. "Fixing my bread?" she answered, confused. Shrugging, she tore the soft center out of the crust and popped it into her mouth. The butter had melted, soaking the dough to create a warm, gooey surface for the crunchy granules of sugar. The best combo, ever—and even better on homemade bread.

"Why can't you use jam or cheese like everyone else?" Mariana asked with a hint of derision. From across the table, Brandon snickered.

"Brandon. Mariana. That's enough," Lena said firmly. Wanting to do something nice for her wife after a twelve-hour shift and not have to think of a bedtime snack for the kids, she had popped a sourdough loaf into the oven after dinner. She was beginning to regret that decision, though, as she watched the interaction between the two girls.

"But—"

"No, Mariana. If what Callie is doing offends you so much, you can go to your room and get ready for bed," she scolded. She'd been allowing this exchange to happen between the girls, partly because she was curious as to how far her younger daughter would take things but was nearing the end of her rope. While she would never wish a hard life on any child, she was finding it difficult to deal with how spoiled Mariana had been acting lately.

"Sorry Mama."

Lena levelled the girl with a steely gaze. "It's not me you need to apologize to, Miss Thang."

Her youngest daughter groaned and rolled her eyes. "Sorry Cal."

"S'okay." Callie shrugged again. She didn't get what the big deal was. "This is really good," she said, turning to her foster mother. "Thank you for baking."

Feeling her annoyance immediately dissipate, Lena couldn't even bring herself to remind her daughter not to talk with her mouth full. Not being privy to the same comforts as the others, Callie and Jude seemed to light up over the simplest, everyday experiences. Like bread. That, she could do.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Anytime."

Stef was relieved to find Callie still awake when she cracked open the door to the girls' room and peered inside. Her daughter was lying on top of her comforter, reading; however, the lamp was on the dimmest setting and she was in her PJs, a sign that she planned to go to bed soon. This had been the pattern for over a week and she and Lena were beginning to think it was something they needed to be more worried about, like low iron or the start of depression. Consequently, they were keeping a very close eye on her and planned to call their family doctor if it persisted.

"Hi my baby," the cop whispered, smiling when Callie's face brightened at seeing her. "What are you doing up here all by yourself?" she asked. The rest of the family was still downstairs.

"I wanted to work on a song and didn't want to bother anyone," Callie replied, putting the book down.

"That's great, honey!" She hadn't seen her daughter touch her guitar in over a week. Sure enough, it was back in its usual spot in the corner by the shared dresser. "I have a hard time believing you'd bother anyone with your strumming, though, honey. We all miss you playing, you know.

"So what song are you working on?"

"Something by The National. You probably don't know them."

"Try me."

Callie looked at her skeptically. "It's called Sea of love."

"Hmm? The, 'Hey Joe, sorry I hurt you, they say love is a virtue…' That one?" Stef tried as the girl's eyes widened. "I do know a thing or two about folk bands. I discovered them during the 2008 Presidential campaign."

"Oh…" Callie scrunched her face. "It's not really folk. It's indie rock."

"Okay Miss Indie Rock. So how far did you get?"

"Not far. I got too tired," the girl admitted as she let out a big yawn right on cue.

"I can see that. Have you brushed your teeth?" she asked, not yet finishing her sentence before Callie nodded emphatically.

"Mhm!"

"Good girl. How about I go get you a glass of water and your multivitamin, and then I'll come back up to tuck you in?"

"'Kay."

"What did you do?" the cop remarked in amusement when she came back a short while later. Callie had the covers pulled over her but the blankets were askew and a lump at the foot of the bed looked strangely like a fitted sheet that was crumpled into a ball. This was not a surprise; her daughter was a restless sleeper and had likely paid little attention to making the bed.

"Come on. Sit up," she said, patting the girl on the leg. She handed Callie her water and a Flintstones chewable before stripping the sheets off the bed and straightening them.

"All done?" she asked, taking the glass back and setting it on the side table.

"Mhm."

Looking at Callie—warm, clean, in clothes that fit her…fed and loved—made her happy. It had only been a few months and despite the turbulence, the girl had settled in many ways. Even simple things, like the multivitamin, was a big deal. Callie had initially been so mistrusting of them that she would pocket them—and as they later learned, any and all medications—in her cheek and spit them out later. They hadn't appreciated the extent of the problem until one day she took a ladder to clean the eaves. Under Callie's window was a deposit of multivitamins, omega-3s, probiotic capsules, and Amoxicillin tablets. All intact. After that discovery, they were more careful. Vitamins were changed to chewable and medications were ordered as emulsions whenever possible. If not, they would check for any cheeking, much to the girl's dismay.

Callie smiled as she snuggled into the pillows the cop had just fluffed for her. "It feels nice with the sheet there," she said earnestly as the woman tucked the blanket around her.

Stef rolled her eyes. "Really? I would've never guessed," she said, smirking at her daughter. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed under her as she faced Callie. With everyone else downstairs, she was looking forward to giving her daughter her undivided attention.

"You doing okay, Cal? Mama and I feel like you've been sleeping a little more than usual, yet you seem just as tired."

"Yeah."

Despite the dismissive reply, Stef noticed the girl's face drop. Her daughter wasn't going to let her in without some digging—but luckily, she wasn't one to give up so easily.

"Are you still getting cravings during the day and feeling nauseous?"

"Mmm, yeah. Sometimes. Mama lets me have the snacks you bought."

"Lucky girl." She smoothed Callie's hair—which, though unruly, had been looking much healthier lately. Her daughter opened her mouth as if to say something before closing it again. There was a question there.

"How come you stood up for me?" Callie asked, finally managing to get the words out. "When Bill was over."

It was something she'd been thinking of and feeling guilty over, but hadn't mustered up the courage to ask. Why they'd covered for her when it would've been so easy for them to turn her in.

"Hmm?"

Callie frowned. "You know, when you said to Bill that the school didn't have proof of me smoking pot, but…"

"Even though I knew you had? Oh, I remember," the cop said, wearing an expression of amusement. She definitely had not forgotten how Callie had tried to pull a fast one on her the day she'd gotten suspended.

"Yeah," Callie said dejectedly. It was weird how Stef often seemed to know what she meant.

Stef hummed and adjusted the covers, biding her time to find the right words. It was no simple task to explain to her child that she didn't think being potentially breached for parole was in her best interests—especially given that she and Lena fully expected their children to be honest with them.

That what she felt was needed for Callie was a stable home with parents who'd be on her, not juvenile detention. Because each removal, no matter how short, was traumatic.

She didn't know how to say any of that without Callie concluding she could get away with breaking her conditions and assuming that they'd always stand up for her. They would, of course—but she didn't want her daughter confusing their support with having pull with the powers that be. Because she didn't have that.

"Well, for one, I believe in second chances and that you deserve them, just as much as anyone else in your situation would. Mama and I weren't going to take that away from you just because we weren't happy with some of your choices," she began.

"Your worth didn't change, honey. You weren't, all of a sudden, less deserving because you made mistakes." Her tone was tired, carrying a hint of exasperation with it. "People's worth are not determined by their behaviour, Callie. I don't believe in that.

"You thinking about your brother?" Stef asked when the girl didn't respond. She had a hunch as to where the self-consciousness stemmed from.

Her daughter gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before she dropped the act. "Jude's mad at me."

"Have you had a chance to talk to him?" Stef questioned. She felt for her daughter; what they had witnessed over the weekend at Dr. Wiseman's had likely been one of Callie and Jude's first major fights. They had since apologized to each other but things still appeared distant between them. Jude seemed to be managing okay and was spending more time with the two older boys; his sister, on the other hand, was still holding on to the weight of his words and was taking it much harder.

"No," Callie sighed, feeling a twinge of resentment. All of this had started because of Dr. Wiseman. "It's fine…" she minimized.

"Callie…" the woman said sympathetically, worried at how quickly withdrawn her daughter had become. "He didn't mean it, honey. Just like you didn't mean everything you said. But words can really hurt…you two need to learn that," she gently reminded.

That was what it all boiled down to: hurt feelings.

"Stop FOLLOWING me!" Callie shouted as she stormed down the hall. She was angry, but the waver in her voice gave away that she was crying. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I know that's what you'd like but I can't allow you to walk off," the cop murmured, following closely behind. Callie might want to be alone, but she definitely wasn't getting that right now.

The girl spun around on her heel to challenge her. "Why not? This—this is crap! I said I didn't want to come to this. You and Lena never fucking listen!" Callie ranted in frustration.

Unwilling to let her daughter get away with being disrespectful, Stef took grasp of Callie's arm. "Hey! Language!"

"Well maybe I wouldn't have to resort to using language you don't like if you just listened!" the girl sassed, squirming to get out of the hold Stef had on her.

"Callie! Stop. I know you are upset, but you do not get to talk to us this way or walk away," Stef said firmly. She let go in favour of crossing her arms and levelling Callie with a stern look. "We may not be home right now but don't you think for a second that I won't have you write lines for me while we're here," she warned.

"I don't CARE!" her daughter huffed tearfully. "Your lines are bullshit, anyway!"

"Okay. You are pushing it, missy. I'm giving you a chance to calm down—"

"I WON'T! I WON'T because I'm not going back in there!"

"Alright. You need to stop shouting at me this instant," Stef said firmly. She narrowed her eyes at the child, who had started to argue but thought better of it.

"Thank you. Now…I wasn't going to suggest that you needed to go back in right away. I thought we could have a snack break and get you cleaned up before we even talked about doing that," she coaxed. Seeing her daughter's anger dissipate, she extended her hand.

"I don't need to go to the bathroom!"

"We're not going to the bathroom, Cal," she reassured, hoping to placate her. "Just the kitchen. Come on…it's this way."

Callie gave her a sad look of resignation before reciprocating. Together, they walked hand-in-hand toward the staff area tucked away in the back. By the time they got to the table, her daughter had calmed enough to allow her to give her a hug.

Grabbing a juice box and granola bar from the basket on the table, she sat them in front of Callie before heading to the sink in search of paper towel. She felt terrible knowing that this battle wasn't done yet; she still needed to convince Callie to return to the session.

By the time she returned, the tantrum had subsided. Callie was crying softly and she felt guilty for having been annoyed with her for provoking Jude. All it took was one look at her daughter to recognize that it'd come from a place of hurt and that her tolerance to cope had been surpassed.

"Oh…Bug. I know it's hard…" she soothed, pulling up a chair. "…but you need to watch your temper," she said as she began to wipe the girl's face.

Stef tapped Callie on the shoulder. The girl's eyelids had begun to flutter and she did not want her to fall asleep since it was still early.

"Hey, before I forget! Close your eyes and don't open them until I say."

When she returned a minute later, she had the bag with the one item she'd brought home from work.

Callie immediately opened her eyes at feeling the weight press on her legs. Whatever it was, wasn't visible through the blue-tinged plastic.

"What is it?" she asked, flashing an impish grin. She wasn't used to getting random presents, although with Stef and Lena, it was different. It wasn't unusual for the women to come home with something for them. Last time, it'd been a new outfit from when Lena had gone to the mall for herself.

"I don't know, honey. Guess you're going to have to see for yourself." As Stef watched her daughter carefully pull the sterile wrapping off the item, she couldn't help the myriad of emotions. Callie would be thrilled, but for her, returning the book symbolized a failure.

After discussing with Roberts and her colleagues, she had no choice but to accept that any efforts to pursue charges would do more harm than good. They'd have to get Callie or Jude to speak, but even if that were possible, the odds would be against them.

The main issues were that while the drawings themselves were evidence, they weren't considered reliable like audio or visual proof. It'd be hard to prove Jude had done them or that he wouldn't be influenced in any way by seeing them. Especially not with the amount of time that had already lapsed.

At the end of the day, unearthing their trauma for the sake of a statement that was unlikely to result in any charges wasn't worth it to her and Lena. For now, the evidence had been collected and reviewed—ready for when either child chose to come forward in the future. The chance of that happening was minuscule but they'd agreed that this was the safer, less intrusive option. But this went against everything her law enforcement career had been built upon.

Callie frowned as she ran her fingers over the embossed dust-jacket. Something about the gold, raised print tugged at her memory. She cracked it open, finding the familiar handwriting.

Happy 5th Birthday, Callie Quinn! Can't believe this is FIVE! Love you to pieces, Mama.

"Where'd you get this?" Callie breathed. Before Stef could answer, she sat up to throw her arms around her foster mother. "Thank you! Thanks so much!"

"You're welcome, honey." Callie's grip on her was so tight that she could barely get the words out. "But you should really thank Bill the next time you see him. If I remember correctly, when they cleaned out your family's apartment, a neighbour or maybe the landlord put aside some of your belongings. Those went to Bill and he's been keeping everything until you and Jude could be adopted."

Her daughter let go and sank back into her pillow, waiting for her to continue.

"Remember last week when he came by? He brought them over then," the cop said.

"Oh. Okay…"

Stef waited for the next question to drop as she watched the girl's brow furrow, processing the information. It was coming.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"Being cleaned," the cop replied calmly. Internally, she was bracing for a tantrum. "Don't worry, they're coming. All of it was in storage and we wanted to make sure everything was clean because depending on what else was being stored, there was a worry that there would be pests," she explained, keeping it as factual as she could. The items had gone through the bug sauna at work twice to make sure all the eggs were gone.

"Okay," Callie said happily. There was a pause before she spoke again. "I don't mind if it isn't clean."

Stef bopped her daughter on the nose. "I know you don't but Mama and I do." She waited for more questions but luckily, they didn't come. For now, Callie seemed to accept what she'd been told.

"I was going to bring you up the mini-stereo from the garage and some spare headphones, but wanted to check to make sure that'd be something you want first" She remembered Callie telling her she was too old for the stories and didn't want to assume anything.

Callie stared at her. She'd forgotten that the cop said she could borrow the cassette player but that was before she realized she would get her book back. "I'd like that," she said quietly.

"Alright, we can do that," Stef said, beaming at the thought of being able to do something that Callie wanted. "I can't promise I'll get it done tonight but for sure tomorrow after work. Remind me, okay? If you need it before I get to it, I've left it on the table in there with a couple new batteries."

"Kay," Callie whispered. "Thanks for letting us keep our stuff."

"No need to thank us. We don't want you and Jude to have to let go of anymore things."

"Stef?"

"Yes, my Bug?"

"Do I have to let Jude listen?"

Stef drew in a breath. Something about Callie and Jude's dynamic had shifted since their argument; neither had ever approached her or Lena for advice before. But while a part of her was thrilled, telling them what to do wasn't easy, either. The children had only had each other to rely on for so long that it felt awkward to suddenly intervene.

"That's a tough one, Cal," she said honestly. "I think that Jude was very upset to find out about the tapes the way he did and that it'd disappoint him to not hear your Mom, now that he's aware that is a possibility," she said. "It would probably be very special to him-just like it was to you-if you shared it with him."

The woman tapped on the cover. "But I also know Jude was a baby when you got this present...so you feel like he doesn't have a right to it, correct?" she suggested gently as Callie nodded.

"But, he doesn't even remember her," the girl countered.

"That's not true, honey. Jude remembers," Stef replied, trying to abate her daughter's bitterness. "Maybe differently than you do but he does remember your Mom. We make memories from the time we are very young.

"And that is why I forget things, because…" She gestured, inviting Callie to get in a good dig, if only to lift her spirits.

"You're very, very old," Callie filled in before dissolving into giggles.

Stef winked. "Don't I know it!" Seeing her daughter's expression become downcast, she sighed; she hadn't really answered her question. "Look, Mama and I would be delighted if you shared the recording with Jude. I think it'd be special—not just for him, but for you too—to let him in on a memory you were able to have with your Mom when he was too young to remember. It isn't his fault that he was a baby when you turned five, is it?" she pointed out gently. "You giving Jude a chance to hear her…that doesn't take away from your experience, right?"

Callie sighed. Her foster mother did have a point.

"I know it's not going to be easy," she empathized, "and we wouldn't expect you to share those cassettes when you're not ready. So if you need more time, that's okay—but I'm thinking you should probably listen to them in the den until you're ready. Because it might hurt Jude's feelings even more if he found you in here listening and you don't plan on letting him listen, too," she suggested, relieved when Callie nodded.

"Sound fair?"

"Yes ma'am," the girl replied sadly, having expected an answer like that.

"Did you not get enough for bedtime snack?" Stef questioned as her daughter's stomach squealed. "Why don't you go get something downstairs? You'll have to brush again but at least you won't go to bed hungry." She cracked up at the horrified look Callie gave her. "Oh right, sorry. We wouldn't want to brush twice," she teased lovingly. This kid was a riot.

"Heard you made a welfare donut out of Mama's fancy sourdough," she said, referring to the butter and sugar spread Lena had told her about. It was somewhat of a derogatory term used to describe a staple in poorer households and prison.

Callie grinned. She figured she'd done something that was looked down upon. "It was good. But I can use other stuff next time." She didn't want the others to be mad at her, too.

"No, no. You can use whatever you want—I'm so happy that you liked it. Sorry that Mariana and B gave you such a hard time. That wasn't nice of them," Stef apologized on their behalf. She would be discussing it with them later.

"That's okay." The girl's expression became serious. "We used to have it at home—only sometimes because Mom said it was bad for your teeth. But in juvie, food was pretty bad…the bread was okay though so I'd make sure to always eat it to hold me a bit longer between meals," she divulged. Amidst the constant yelling and noises that never failed to startle her, two slices of bread with soft butter and white sugar was the one consistent thing she looked forward to. "It kinda made me think about the time before everything changed," she said quietly.

Feeling awkward, she scooted down a little in the bed and curled onto her side.

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. You had to grow up way too fast," the woman murmured, stroking Callie's hair.

Not knowing what to say, Callie grew silent. She hadn't liked being there but wasn't resentful about it. Sure, some of the guards had been scary but for the most part, she had had the advantage of being one of the younger inmates and the older girls on her block often looked out for her.

Stef smiled as her daughter took her hand and rested her face against her palm. Her hand was now trapped between Callie's cheek and the pillow.

"You smell," Callie informed her before moving away.

"What? I do?" Taken aback by the girl's bluntness, the cop withdrew her hand and gave it a whiff. "Sorry, Cal. It's hand sani."

"Where were you?"

"Hmm? Didn't Mama tell you guys?" She had missed this nighttime routine with her daughter—the back and forth with questions pertaining to topics that were never set in stone. Some days, the most talking they did was at the end of the day. "One person on our unit got food poisoning and had to leave early. We were short-staffed and things were already busy so I was asked to cover the rest of her shift."

The woman couldn't help but chuckle when Callie replied with, "She said seven but it was almost nine," referring to how late she had been. It wasn't accusatory, but more of a simple fact. You couldn't get away with anything with this kid, who was always quietly taking it all in even when you least expected it.

"I know. I'm sorry—I didn't intend on coming home so late. There was a domestic violence call that came up at the end of shift and these things always end up taking longer than usual. She really didn't want to press charges or leave…by the time I convinced her, we needed to find a safe house that had available beds," she explained. Never one to confuse protectiveness with coddling, she didn't hide her work from the children—much to her wife's dismay.

She watched as her daughter fidgeted under the blanket and pulled the comforter right up to her chin. "What's on your mind, love?"

"You're always in danger," Callie remarked quietly.

"No. That's absolutely not true," the cop countered, picking up on the sudden anxiety.

"But, you have a gun."

"We do carry a firearm for our safety when we aren't able to bring things under control with our words and body language. But we have a lot of training to assess for risk in many different types of situations, and if there's any uncertainty, we always bring backup patrol.

"Not all parts of my job are risky. I also issue a lot of traffic tickets and talk to certain hooligans who are found skipping school, don't I?" She gave her daughter the side eye and received a mischievous grin in return.

"Today I helped out with the new batch of K9 recruits."

That piqued Callie's curiosity. "What's that?"

Stef grabbed her phone from her pocket, pulling up a photo of the eight-week old puppy she'd gotten to handle that morning . The German Shepard was all snout and ears, with paws that were too large for him. "We're training police dogs for our canine unit. I was working with this little fella," she said, handing it over to Callie.

"He's so cute! What's his name?"

"Ricochet. With a name like that I don't think any of us are surprised that he's probably going to be let go from his duties," she joked. "He's incorrigible."

Story of my life, she thought. Her children didn't listen to her and her puppy didn't, either.

The girl frowned at hearing the familiar word. "What's incorrigible mean?"

The earnest question puzzled the cop; it was such an odd thing to focus on. "It means that he's so stubborn that he's not able to be corrected or reformed," she explained.

Callie felt tears prick her eyes. "That's not fair! He's just a puppy!"

The turning of the tides in her daughter's demeanour caught Stef off guard. "What's not fair, love?"

"Because! Maybe—maybe he's trying his best but it's really hard and none of you can tell because he can't talk! It's not fair that he's gonna be put down because he isn't good at doing what you say!" Callie defended as she continued to get worked up.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Who said anything about putting down Ricochet?" the cop interrupted as the words sank in.

"But. You said—" The girl frowned as she tried to remember the exact words Stef had used.

"Mom?"

Stef fought to maintain a neutral expression as her heart thudded in her chest. She wasn't sure if Callie had meant to call her that, or if it'd happened absentmindedly because she was tired.

"Yeh—es?" she responded, mimicking the singsong way in which her daughter had addressed her: Mo—om.

"Is let go the same as put down?" Callie asked in a small voice, sure she'd start bawling if it was.

"No, baby. It's not the same as put down," the woman clarified. That level of distress suddenly made a lot more sense.

Callie stared at her, a mix of relief and embarrassment on her face. "Oh. Okay. Good…'cause just because he's not good at stuff yet doesn't mean he won't be or that he's a good for nothing," she said passionately, wiping away her tears. "That's not fair, because you only see what he's doing and not how hard he's trying. He's not…he's not a bad dog!"

"I didn't say that Ricochet was a bad or useless dog, did I?" Stef asked, trying to mask her amusement. "He's actually quite a perceptive little guy and we're hoping that he'll go to our trauma division—so he can give support to victims of crime when they're being interviewed. He'd be great at something like that," she pointed out, relieved to see Callie's anxiety dissipate.

"Yeah. He can do things that he's better at," the girl agreed.

The sight of her daughter wiping away her tears tugged at Stef's heartstrings. "Is that how you feel sometimes—that no one sees how hard you're working?" Stef gently pried. Decades of being with Lena had taught her how to recognize when her children were projecting.

Her daughter gave another nod. Yeah.

"Lovebug…" the woman said sympathetically as she wracked her brain, trying to determine at what point Callie had decided her efforts were going unnoticed. Moving closer up the bed, she clasped the girl's hands in her's.

"Mama and I see how hard you're trying, I promise that we do. We see it every day—if we have ever given you the impression that we didn't think you were giving it your all, it was unintentional. I don't want you to ever forget that, okay?" she said, getting another half-hearted nod in response.

"I'm so sorry you felt this way, I wish we had known so we could've talked about it...". She paused, trying to figure out what else to say.

"It's important to try…but you know what else?"

Callie shook her head, giving her a dubious look.

"It's even more important to think about why you're trying. Those reasons behind why you're working so hard," she said, suspecting this had something to do with her daughter's recent uptick in anxiety.

"Right?"

"It doesn't matter," Callie said with a sigh.

Concerned, the woman frowned. "What do you mean? Of course it matters, honey."

"They're going to come take me away…aren't they?" Callie said in a discouraged tone before averting her gaze entirely. True, she didn't know what to think of Stef and Lena but she was absolutely certain she didn't want to go back to juvie.

Stef's stomach instantly churned with guilt for not being able to be more transparent with the girl—especially now that she knew Callie had likely been dogged by this fear since the family meeting. With the statement from the school clarifying the suspension and the approval to move Callie out of group therapy, the situation was looking slightly more hopeful.

Without confirmation from the Parole Officer, however, things remained precarious. Technically, Callie could still be arrested on a breach of conditions but as the days passed, she was more confident that wouldn't happen. Unless, of course, the truth about the marijuana possession, running away, and firearm came out.

Her daughter wasn't aware of these details, though. Much of it wasn't appropriate and Callie wasn't mature enough to hear it, anyway. And she and Lena, not wanting to get anyone's hopes up—including their own—hadn't planned on sharing that information. Not until they heard from the PO about how juvenile justice wanted to proceed.

For now, Callie needed to believe that the consequences were grave enough that it'd help them keep a tight rein on her.

She just wished there was a better option. One that didn't take advantage of her daughter's loss of security. Callie appeared fragile and unsteady, rarely challenging them and needing more consistent reassurance. It felt like they had clipped her wings and taken away her voice, which was what was most concerning. There were some positives that had come out of it, though. For the longest time it seemed like the only thing their daughter knew how to respond was to fight. Now that that instinct had gone, they could talk. Callie could talk. The three of them had been able to have the most honest discussions they'd ever had without argument.

"Cal. I can't make any promises, but as far as we know, going back to juvie isn't on the table this time. What is being considered is that you might have more visits with your PO over the next little while," Stef said, drawing on language Bill had used.

It was the truth; the Juvenile Justice branch had only asked for a management plan, which included increased frequency of appointments.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, seeing the doubt flicker across the girl's face. "We don't know what's going to happen yet, and I can't imagine how stressful and frustrating…how out of control that must feel," she continued. "But you have a lot of people on your side. Me, Mama, Jude and the rest of your siblings…our parents. Bill. Yes, even Bill," she emphasized when Callie's brow furrowed.

Stef squeezed her daughter's hand tight in encouragement. "There are so many of us on your side who are fighting for you…I know it's a big ask, but you need to trust that we're working on it and let us.

"For now, all you need to know is that we will get through this as a family. Mama and I will walk with you every step of the way—whether you want us to or not. If you have increased visits with your PO, we'll be going with you."

"Really?"

The cop smiled sadly. "Yes, really." She felt awful that she couldn't give Callie the solid ground she was seeking for—that this was the very best she could do at this time.

"I want you to listen to me. Really hear me out, Callie," she urged. "No matter what happens, none of us are going anywhere," she enunciated. "I—I want you to start telling yourself that even if you don't fully believe it."

Because it was true. She and Lena had discussed it over and over and were adamant that even if the worst happened and Callie was taken into custody, their home—her home—would be waiting for her. They would fight to be able to go through with the adoption.

"Do you hear me?" Stef demanded, gently shaking Callie's hands. She was determined not to let her lose hope. Losing hope was dangerous. When kids felt like they'd lost everything, they often didn't see a point in trying anymore and would become more reckless. Because there was nothing left to lose—to care about.

She wouldn't let Callie go down this path again.

A/N: Trouble brewing between Callie and Jude. I have some ideas up my sleeve but would love to hear your's!