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

Author's Note: Has it really been two months?! Again? So sorry. Thanks for sticking with me. But on a bright note, even though Ochem was kicking my ass earlier in the quarter, I rallied and got an A on my final. Yay! Sorry I had to all but abandon this fic to do that...but since it's spring break, and I have some time, here's another chapter for you! (With any luck, Ochem won't kill me next quarter and I'll be able to update more frequently...)

Trigger warning: Child abuse/neglect and sexual abuse, past tense. (Just as a note, the next couple chapters after this should be lighter. Becky just needs to get her story out first, and that's an angsty tale. Sorry. I'll try to keep it on the lighter side, for a while anyway, but then it'll get darker again before we reach the end.)

Chapter 7: She Called Him Lee

"So, what are we thinking for dinner tonight?" Stef asked Lena, as they returned to their house.

"Stir fry?"

"Works for me. Becky?" Becky started a little, not used to being asked for input.

"Works for me." That seemed like the safest answer. She sat in the kitchen as they prepared the dinner around her, accepting a knife, cutting board, and some vegetables to chop up. Lena made two batches; one with chicken and the other with tofu, so Becky guessed there may be vegetarians in the house.

A young boy came running into the kitchen. "When's dinner?" he asked. He seemed to see Becky then. "Who's this? New girl? You said something about a new girl at breakfast."

"Danny, I'd like you to meet Becky. Becky, this is Danny. He's in the room across the hall from you."

"Nice to meet you," Danny said, extending a hand.

"You too," Becky said, taking it.

"Dinner is about fifteen minutes out. Why don't you set the table, and then rally the rest of the troops?"

"Sure thing," he said, grabbing handfuls of silverware from a drawer and dropping them off on the table, before running to a cabinet and getting napkins. He seemed to skip around the table as he set it, and it made Becky tired just watching him, wandering if she ever had that much energy at that age. As soon as he was done, he raced upstairs, downstairs, and then outside, and Becky could see him pounding at the doors of the bed-cabins from the window.

Stef saw the direction Becky's eyes went, and smiled. "That kid makes me feel old. I wish I had a quarter of that energy."

"Me too," Becky agreed.

Kids of all shapes, sizes, and ages started coming from all directions, talking loudly. Becky couldn't figure out individuals until they had all settled down at the dining room table. There were three boys and four girls. One of the girls looked younger than the energetic Danny, and one Becky judged to be a few years older than herself. One of the boys looked enough like Danny to be his brother. A girl about her own age came into the kitchen to grab a pitcher from the refrigerator and gave Becky a soft, welcoming smile.

Lena and Stef brought the finished meal to the table, and Becky slid into an empty place near Stef and next to the girl who smiled at her.

"This is Becky," Stef said. "She just arrived today and I'm sure you'll all make her feel welcome. Why don't we go around and you can all introduce yourselves?"

"I'm Jules," said the girl next to her, the one who smiled.

"Katya," said the older girl next to her. She spoke with a slight accent.

"Miguel," said the Latino boy who Becky thought might be fourteen. He looked hard, with his shaved head and tattoo, but he gave her a big, goofy smile.

Lena had the chair at the end, but the next girl, who looked to be the youngest of the lot, perhaps eight or so, didn't say anything.

"This is Emma," Lena said. "She's a little shy."

"I'm Erin," said the girl next to Emma.

"Patrick," said the boy who looked like Danny.

"You know me. I'm Danny. Patrick's my big brother." Danny's eyes shone with hero-worship at he looked at Patrick.

"Where's Shawn?" Stef asked as they all started passing plates and digging into the food.

"Oh, right. He told me to tell you that he's helping Wayne and he'll probably just eat at the barn," Patrick said. He turned to Becky. "But he says welcome to you."

"Hmm..." Stef said. Over breakfast, she had asked all the kids to be at dinner to meet Becky. But she couldn't really fault Shawn for helping out the older sergeant who'd lost his legs to an IED. Wayne was a good mentor to Shawn, their just-turned eighteen year old who wanted to join the military.

"You'll meet Shawn soon enough," she told Becky, helping herself to some food as it came down the table.

Becky nodded and listened passively to the conversation flowing around the table. The kids talked about school, and about people she didn't know. They animatedly discussed an impromptu soccer game after school, raved about Jay's new cookies, and complained good-naturedly about the homework Jude had assigned. That was just the part of the conversation Becky could track. There was a lot more than just seemed like a part of living in Haven, discussions of people and activities that she didn't know enough about to follow. She noticed that the little girl, Emma, didn't say a word, and that Danny said about twice as much as anyone else, but that nobody seemed to mind.

After dinner, the kids all got up and ran off. Jules stayed behind in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes, the still-silent Emma at her side. Becky remained seated at the table unsure of what to do.

"Becky, why don't you join me in my office?" Lena asked, motioning Becky to follow her. Lena led the way through the living room and into a small room Becky had first mistook to be an alcove. Perhaps it was, if alcoves could be said to have sliding doors that transformed them into tiny rooms. The alcove held a few padded armchairs, a desk, a metal filing cabinet, and a mysterious cupboard that did not appear to have any doors. Lena followed the Becky's eyes.

"It's a Murphy bed. At need, we can turn this room into another bedroom."

"Cool."

"So, we haven't really talked much since you got here, aside from the tour. How are you liking the place?"

"It's really...interesting. Different, but in a good kind of way. The people seem pretty nice."

"I'm glad you feel that way. We want you to be comfortable here. I know it's a little off the beaten path, but that is what allows us to work sideways around the system."

"Sideways?"

"Solving problems using an indirect approach. Stef makes sure that what we do isn't obviously illegal."

"Isn't harboring minors a criminal offense?"

"It's a misdemeanor charge, technically. The police would require a warrant to search the property for the minor in question, unless an emergency arose. Which would mean they would need evidence to get a warrant. It can be punished by a fine or jail time."

"Why do you risk it then?"

"As I said, we approach things differently here. For one, my wife is a retired cop with strong ties to the force both locally and in San Diego. Also, we are former foster parents with an excellent record. Lastly, we do run an outreach service, the sandwich van. All these things generally set us in pretty goodwill with the authorities, even if we don't specifically have permission to do what we're doing. If it happens that a minor in our care decides or needs to go back into the system, they're usually willing to accept the story that we ran into the person while doing outreach. There are two exceptions in this household, and I want you to be aware of that. Both Danny and Emma are under ten."

"Under ten and already failed by a system meant to protect them."

"Yes, it's sad. Technically speaking, we have an obligation to report to the law any endangered minor under the age of 14. Also, if someone is wanted by the law for a juvenile infraction, we technically could be charged with aiding a fugitive, though it likely wouldn't stand in court."

"What would happen if the cops did come here?"

"Well, any adults in the house – Stef and I – would be taken away for questioning for sure. Other adults – Dani, Callie, members of the community – might be questioned as well, depending on the circumstances. CPS would take anyone under the age of 18 without a guardian present – that's you kids, probably not the Haven kids whose parents are here – and put you guys in foster care and group homes, and you'd probably also have to talk to the cops. Unless someone was running from the law, and then that person would go to juvie, not into care."

"And then?"

"I guess that would depend on the reason and the cops and the judge and the law. Most likely, in any case, we'd stop being able to provide this particular service to minors. The most extreme scenario might have Stef and I serving jail time, but we feel the risk of that to be low enough, balanced against providing a safe place for underage runaways."

"You're good people."

"We try to be." She paused. "I'd like to talk more with you about the circumstances that prompted your phone call – was it really only last night? – but I'm not going to force you to talk if you don't want to, or don't feel ready. You can say nothing and stay here, and we'll still take care of you the best we can."

"Callie told me that."

"I thought she might have."

"Did she tell you anything?"

"Nope. Doctor-patient confidentiality holds out even in the boonies. The only thing she mentioned was that you had a cut on your side that you may need help changing the bandage on, and she only checked to make sure our first-aid kit was up to the task."

"Oh."

Lena sighed. "Look, our phone conversation was enough to show me that you belonged here. That was your, uh, entry interview, so to speak. If you choose to tell me more, it's only so we can figure out the best way to help you and because I think it helps to talk about things, to process and to heal."

"Callie said that too, about the benefit of talking about things."

"She's come really far from the teenage foster kid we took in all those years ago."

"I didn't think kids in foster care could end up as doctors."

"It is my belief that every child is born with limitless potential. And that even if the world knocks you down, you can still get back up again and access that potential. Callie is a shining example of that."

Becky was quiet for a while, thinking, and Lena wondered if the girl would talk to her. Finally, Becky came out with "Callie said that they shouldn't just get to walk." Lena smiled a little at that. Callie had obviously made a deep impression on Becky, if every other sentence was going to start with "Callie said".

"Who shouldn't just get to walk?" she asked.

"My...my mother. And the man."

"If you want to press charges, Stef would probably be the best to ask about that."

"I don't know if I do. But...I guess...information never hurt."

"Well, if you're in the mood to share, why don't I get Stef and you can tell us, and then we could see about what would happen if you did decide to press charges?"

"Alright." Lena disappeared for a brief moment and returned with Stef in tow. "Whenever you're ready."

Becky took a deep breath. "My mother is – has always been – a single mom. I don't even know who my father is. I know I was a mistake. I know she didn't have a good relationship with her parents. I know that she pulled herself from practically nothing and became the head of PR for a big firm. Which is great, really. I'm proud of her for that. For a while, when I was younger, things were fine. We were fine. She was even dating this great guy for a while, years even, and I thought he might become my father." She paused, embracing the memory. "Darren. He was great. But then he was killed in a car accident when I was eleven, and she...she just wasn't the same afterward."

A long silence followed. "What wasn't the same?" Stef prompted, when it became clear that Becky was lost in memories of her past.

"She was grieving. I understood that. I was grieving, too. But there was like, there was always a bottle around. Sure, there had been bottles before, but not like this. I didn't understand it at first, but I soon grew to realize that when the bottle was nearing empty, she was...changed. Like a different person. She was mean, she didn't seem to care anymore, she wouldn't make me dinner or help me with my homework or let me go to a friend's house. But those were the evenings, and in the morning she was sometimes back to being my mom again. Some days, I got myself up and made my own breakfast and lunch, while she slept on the sofa, but sometimes she'd be up and she'd make me a big breakfast. Waffles usually, or french toast. She made really good french toast. Once in a while she'd wake up in a really good mood and she'd call my school and tell them I was sick, and then call her work and tell them she needed to stay home to take care of me, and we'd have a fabulous day. We'd bake a cake and go to the beach. Things like that."

"That sounds nice," Lena said.

"It was." Becky had a tiny smile on her face, which then disappeared. "But those days stopped. And there were more bad mornings than good ones, and some days she'd wouldn't even come home at night. I grew used to taking care myself. Once though, while I was cooking dinner, I had a small accident while cooking popcorn and the fire alarm went off. A neighbor heard the alarm and called the fire department. Nothing was damaged except the microwave, but they were concerned I was alone at ten thirty at night. The cops called my mother's cell, and she came immediately, saying she was held up at the office, but that I was very responsible for my age."

"How old were you?" Stef asked.

"Twelve."

"In California, there's no legal age guidelines for latchkey kids, but there's pretty much an understanding that twelve is about the youngest it's okay, and that's for a few hours after school. Not all night," Stef said.

"I'd been a latchkey kid for a long time before twelve, but I wasn't left home alone all night until around then. But it stopped after that night. My mother, she slapped me for causing trouble and bringing attention to us; it was the first time she had ever hit me. But she almost never stayed out again. I found out why she had been staying out all night. It wasn't for work. She began bringing the men home with her instead." She paused, quiet for a while. "They weren't like Darren. They weren't anything like him. I wised up pretty quickly, and would just stay in my room all night. I ate before my mom even came home, and didn't drink a lot of water so I wouldn't even have to leave to go to the bathroom. In the morning, when I'd get up, usually he'd be gone, but not always. Guaranteed, there were lots of bottles strewn around the living room. I picked them up; my mother was usually in a better mood if I cleaned up."

"You said they weren't like Darren. What were they like?" Lena asked.

"The best ones were the ones that ignored me completely," Becky said bluntly. "Or the ones who didn't even realize I was there. Others...well, my body...it was, um, changing?...and they'd...uh, comment on that, or something. Sometimes I'd see them in the morning, they'd be in the kitchen in a, um, a towel or boxers or something usually, and they'd, like, leer at me or something."

"Did they ever put hands on you?"

"Not usually, no. I mean, there was one guy who would slap me on the, uh, butt, or another who always managed to need something on the other side of me, and when he was reaching, he would brush against my, um, my chest."

"Did you tell your mom?"

"Yeah. The first few times she'd confront the guy, but then he'd just laugh, and say I was lying. And then she'd get mad at me for lying, and asking why I was trying to ruin her chances of happiness, so I stopped saying anything."

"Was that the worse of it?"

Becky looked down. "No," she admitted. "I couldve dealt with that. I mean, it was, like, nothing, right?"

"It was hardly nothing," Stef interrupted. "It was sexual harassment. Of a minor. Illegal in more than one way."

"Oh. I guess I figured it was just normal, or something. Like Darren had been the abnormal one, and this was just how things were. There were a couple though that just seemed to take it...uh, too far?"

"Like?" Lena asked gently.

"One guy, he was over a few times, he broke in on me showering. The lock on our bathroom door was crap. He even opened the curtain. I shrieked, and my mom came but she was really hung over and believed him that it was an accident." She paused. "I stopped showering except when I knew I was home alone."

"That sounds pretty traumatic."

"I guess, but the first time I ran away was after one of them came into my room after she was passed out, drunk. I woke up with his hands underneath my pajamas. I tried to get away, but he held me down and touched me all over for a while. He was really drunk, too, and finally he just passed out. I ran away that night."

"Where did you go?"

"I stayed with a friend. Her mom didn't even know I was there that night. I stayed the following night, too, and I told her mom that my mom had to work late and was worried about leaving me home alone really late. She bought the story. That time."

"It happened again?"

"Three more times, with variations. They, um, got, uh, worse. I barricaded my door, but there was only so much I could do, especially after my mother tried to get in once and I got into a lot of trouble for it. The second and third times, I stayed with my friend, and then her mother grew concerned, and called the cops because she was worried there may be trouble at home."

"She was right. About there being trouble at home, I mean. I believe you mentioned the cops in that phone conversation we had. You said they didn't believe you."

"Nobody ever believes me."

"We do," Stef said, resting a hand on Becky's leg, who flinched away and tucked herself up into a tight ball on the chair. Stef withdrew her hand, and repeated herself, "We do."

"Thanks," Becky said, absently. "I kept going back. I mean, it wasn't much, but it was home, you know. And my mother, I just hoped that someday she'd be my mother again. That this was just grief. But this last time, it was the last straw. I'd rather be dead than go back there. I'd kill myself before that happened."

"Don't say that," Lena said.

"It's true," Becky said, her tone defiant but her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You don't have a plan, do you?" Stef asked.

"To kill myself? No, I don't. I just, I'm not going through that again."

"I won't let that happen. You have my word. We'll protect you, keep you safe," Stef assured.

"Do you want to finish this another day?" Lena asked, not wanting to break the fragile girl in front of them.

"No, I'd rather just finish. I don't know if I've be able to start again if I stop now."

"Okay. Whatever makes you the most comfortable," Lena said. Becky paused, and opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. What?"

"Um...Do you know...does Callie live around here?...I mean, no, she's probably busy...sorry, bad idea, forget I said anything..."

"Would it be easier for you if Callie were here?" Lena asked, taking a guess at what Becky was trying to say.

Slowly, Becky nodded. "I told her. She offered to tell you, if I wanted. I said I would, but...she has a family, kids. This isn't her problem."

"Why don't I give her a call, and see if she's available?" Stef asked. "If she's too busy, she'll let us know." Becky nodded. Stef left to find her phone.

Lena turned to Becky. "You seemed to have connected quite strongly with Callie." Becky ducked her head, embarrassed. "It's a good thing, that you found somebody you feel you can talk to."

"She understands," Becky said. Lena wondered what Callie understood, that they didn't, but didn't press her for now.

Stef came back. "Callie's coming. The kids are asleep and Wyatt's home with them. She's just be a minute or two." She went to sit over next to Becky, who flinched away, and Stef revised her initial plan. Every maternal instinct she had screamed for her to hug, to hold, to comfort, but she also sensed that Becky might construe that as a threat.

Becky started talking again. "This guy, he was the last straw. He took it further than any of the others, but that wasn't the worse. The worst was that my mother saw him do it and didn't even stop it. I know she was drunk, but shouldn't even a drunk person intervene if she saw a guy doing that to her daughter?" She started to cry, and it broke Stef and Lena's hearts to see her do so and know that they could do nothing to help her.

Callie, entering at that moment, immediately went to Becky and gathered her into her arms before Stef or Lena could warn her away. They watched in awe, as Becky accepted from Callie the comfort she would not take from them. They had formed a bond.

"Yes, she should have," Callie reassured the crying girl. "No matter what, she should have. I can't make any excuses for her. Alcohol changes people, yes, but you never should have had to go through that."

"Tell them," Becky whispered through her sobs. "I thought I could but I can't. Will you?"

Callie took a deep breath. "He raped her, Moms. And her drunken mother watched as he did it." She then turned her attention back to Becky, soothing and comforting her.

Lena and Stef looked at each other, and Lena leaned against Stef, finding comfort in her partner's arms. She didn't want to believe Becky's story; as a mother herself, she just couldn't fit her head around a mother watching her child get hurt and doing nothing. Stef also tried to process it. She'd seen a lot in her life as an officer of the law. And she battled with her higher power every time she saw a parent who'd hurt their kid. It was horrible, but it happened. Becky's story, though, hit her hard, especially given the picture Becky had painted of her mom before the death of this Darren. She desperately wanted to find the cops who had talked to Becky before, and confront them about this. There was no reason that child should have had to go through that. She should have been taken out of that house a long time before.

Finally, it seemed like Callie's efforts were working, and Becky's sobs were quieting, though there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

"Do you want to press charges?" Stef asked. "I can open a case, start looking into this."

Becky looked at Callie. "It's your decision," Callie told her. "I can't make it for you."

"You have two options," Stef said. "One, you put it behind you the best you can. You stay here as long as you want. We'll protect you, take care of you. When you're ready to leave, we'll help you the best we can. We can help you relocate to another part of the country if you want. Or, two. You get justice for what happened. You put away the people who hurt you so they can't ever do it again, not to you and not to anyone else. You still stay here, we'll still take care of you, but you'll probably have to face them eventually. And, though I'll keep your name out of it as long as I possibly can, you'll have to come out as you."

"What if it doesn't work, and I go back there?"

"That would be the worse case scenario, but you could run away again and we'd welcome you back to Haven," Lena said quickly.

"Well, if for some reason the spotlight was on us for helping you to begin with, we have lots of friends. Friends and family. We'll find you a safe place to stay for a little while, and as soon as it was safe, you'd come back here," Stef said, more practically.

"We could even get you somewhere else. There's Mariana, you met her. I also have a brother who travels in Central and South America, so you may be able to get out of the country with him and his wife. Or moms have friends all over, even the other end of the country; two of their friends live in a tiny town in Maine and you could stay with them," Callie offered.

"Honey, I know you said you said you'd kill yourself if you had to go back there. But even if you lose and the courts send you back, there are options to get away. Maybe not precisely legal ones, but as I said, we go sideways with the law here," Lena prompted gently. Callie met her eyes when she heard the bit about Becky threatening to kill herself, but Lena's eyes told her they'd fill her in later.

"Do you know what it's going to be?" Stef prompted. "You don't have to decide tonight."

Slowly, Becky nodded, and met Stef's eyes. "I'd like to press charges."

"Good. I agree it's the better idea-"

"But we'd support you whatever your decision," Lena interrupted.

Callie whispered something to Becky, who whispered back. Callie turned to Stef. "I have her rape kit. I can give you that."

"That's excellent," Stef said, surprised. She hadn't expected that Callie had already done one. She hadn't expected to have one at all, so it was welcome news. "Hard evidence – DNA – is hard to dispute. I'll run it under Jane Doe, if you want," she told Becky.

Becky nodded.

"Becky, what's your mother's name?" Lena asked gently.

"Annabelle. Annabelle Mercer."

"Good, that's good," Stef said. "Do you know the name of any of your mother's boyfriends? Especially the last one?"

"The last one...she called him Lee." Callie's eyes widened slightly when Becky said that.

"Lee. Do you know the last name?" Stef asked.

"Sorry. I don't."

"Do you know what his job is? Did he work with your mom?"

"I don't think so? He was still wearing a shirt and tie, though."

"White collar. That narrows the field slightly. What did he look like?"

"Tall, blond but dark blond, fairly fit but with a bit of a beer belly."

"She has bruises on her wrist where he grabbed her. You could measure it and get an idea of his hand size," Callie offered.

Stef nodded. "Good idea. How old was he?"

Becky looked at Callie quizzically. "Your age? Maybe a little older? Sorry I don't know."

"That's okay. You're doing great. This is a good place to start. Can you remember anything else?"

Becky thought hard. "I think Lee was a nickname," she said finally.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, once she called him Liam. That seems more like a full first name." Callie's arms tightened around her, and Becky looked up, confused to see that the normally calm and collected doctor's face was ashen. Confused, she looked at two women across from her, and found that Lena and Stef wore similar looks. It had seemed like a simple enough admission, but what had she said to cause such a reaction?