Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The evening is seeming to be a calm one. A plethora of green, yellow, red leaves cascading onto the damp street roads of North Philadelphia. The air is crisp and sharp on Mary’s breath, the walk home has been slow, cars bustling and horns honking as people make their way home to their heated little calidots, evening meals ready-set on the table, a perfect quartet waiting in their plush suburban homes.

Mary is deep in thought, the phone call from early afternoon still on the edge of her subconscious.
Mary, he needs you. He’s just a little boy. A little boy with no home.
She wants him, to bring him home and tuck him into the guest room upstairs. A soft dinosaur waiting on the silk sheets. Maybe be the home he never had. But she can’t just make that decision, not when she has a head-strong 16-year old and an opinionated 15-year old waiting at home. If they make this decision, they must make it together.
Talk to them, but please let me know by the end of the night, he can't spend another night on my office couch.
As much as she had wanted to move the kid in right then and there, leave her dingy office and go to decorate the room to be fit for the cutest little boy in existence, she has kids at home. And her kids come first, they always have, always will.

But God, she doesn’t want him spending another night there either.

She turns the corner, her house comes into view. The silly halloween decorations James had insisted were totally necessary to make them fit in with the other houses in the neighbourhood. Yet, no one else had even started thinking of decorations. She thinks she was played, and probably should have listened to Lisa’s whines that No one puts up Halloween decorations. She likes them, and so would the little boy.
What eight year old wouldn’t?

The giant skeleton smiles down at her, a taunt of what she could get from James and Lisa. Excitement at a new adventure, a new little boy giggling around the house; someone for James to kick a soccer ball with, Lisa to paint nails and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. She wants this little boy so bad.

The grass is crunchy under her shoes, echoing her own racing heartbeat. A nasty taunt of everything that lies before her from the universe, the way her heart might no longer beat for just these two teenagers waiting just a few feet away from her.

She doesn’t know how to ask the question yet; but she knows she needs to, and quickly. She needs the phone the social worker back by the end of the evening, a message on her phone screen requests in the next twenty minutes. She really wants this kid.

James is sitting in the plush corduroy armchair in front of the tv screen, a horror movie playing. Lisa is at the table, workbooks in a neat row as she scribbles on a white board. A small slice of their everyday lives. This would look different. There’d be a little boy in the middle, playing with legos, asking for help with homework. Apple slices on the table instead of piles of notes, ninja turtles on the tv in lieu of the nauseating images of James’ movies.

She takes a deep breath, toeing off her shoes to place them neatly in her designated caddy. The one next to hers is empty, no name tag. It’s ready for the boy. Her hair is loose now, flowing over her shoulders in a balayage of browns and blondes.

She clears her throat, “Lisa, can you come over here please.”

Her tone is serious, and both teenagers notice right away. Lisa closes her notebook, James mutes the tv.

“Is everything alright?” James questions, turning to face her.

Lisa sits down next to James on the side of the armchair. Her pyjama pants are a stark contrast to the simplicity of the couch, carebears and rainbows in a pattern. Mary smiles at them, they’ll be fine.

“I had a call today… from the social worker.” She starts, watching their faces habitually.

Both kids' eyes widen, anxiety hitting them both suddenly. They are both legally adopted, and she has no qualms about keeping them, they know that. But some habits never die.

“Nothing about you two.” A promise. A hook and line to stop them from spiralling into their own pasts.

“What about then?” Lisa asks, she’s leaning forward now, watching Mary’s every move.

“A boy. He’s eight years old, recently been taken from his mom and dad and he desperately needs a home. He’s spent the past three nights on his workers couch, guys. I think he really, really needs us.”

They look at each other, a conversation without words. A conversation that Mary is not privy to. Lisa is the first to look away, straight into Mary’s anxious eyes.

“You want a little boy to start living here? He’s a lot younger than us, will he not be lonely?”

“He’s an only child currently, so you don’t need to worry about that. Jen, the worker, says he’s a good boy, kind, a little sarcastic, and dangerously clever. A little bit like you two. And he’s just been taken from everything he’s ever known -he needs a place to land.”

Both teenagers’ eyes glisten, they know that feeling all too well.

“But I won’t do anything you two aren’t comfortable with. If you don't feel comfortable with him here then I’ll phone Jen back right now and tell her. But he deserves a place to sleep, so they need to find him somewhere else.”

The silence stretches long and awkward until Lisa and James clear their throats in unison.

“He can stay…”

Chapter Text

Greg is not happy.

You could ask anyone around him and you’d get the same answer. He doesn't want to talk to Jen, or the other kids or the nurse. He would like to go back home so that he can read his comic books and medical journals in peace.

This place is anything but peaceful and everyone is very, very annoying. The kids all scream and barrel through the hallways, something about pirates and magic treasure. Don’t they know that the only magic treasure in this place is the drawer of kitkats? Even the adults here are annoying, one middle-aged woman with dusty grey hair and annoying eyebrows had tried to take his medical journals away from him.

“Oh sweetie, did you take these from your daddy? I don’t think you can even read those, much less understand them.”

Greg did not take that lightly, and processed to rip them out of her hands very forcefully. Yes, he could understand them. He can understand them better than she ever could. He had told her as much.

Right now, Jen is driving him through the gridlocked lanes of the highway at peak rush hour, telling him about his happy new home. There will be two teenagers, a boy and a girl, and just one woman. No men.

“The woman is called Mary. Have you ever met anyone named Mary before, honey?” She asks, grinning like he’s a newborn baby.

He glares at her over his spider-man comic,

“Once I met Jesus’ mother in the mall, her name was Mary.” He deadpanes.

Jen can’t help but giggle at the little boy, he is a tiny thing, much smaller than an eight year old should ever be, but he’s wittier than some people she's met five times his age, and smarter too.

“You’ll get along well with Mary,” She answers instead of rising to the boy’s taunts. “She’s a doctor that specializes in diagnosing people, so maybe you can ask her about your journals.”

That gets his attention.

“She is a real doctor?”

“Yep. She works in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and she runs the diagnostics department. Do you know what the diagnostic department does?”

He thinks deeply for a moment, reviewing all the different people he had read about in his medical journals.

The diagnostics department are the ones… responsible for performing medical tests and procedures to identify and diagnose diseases, injuries, and other medical conditions.”

It’s like watching him read out of a book only he can see, a little smirk creeping onto his face . He knows he’s right.

“That’s a very clever answer, honey. Maybe you can ask Mary more about it when we arrive?” She poses, trying to think of some ideas to connect them.

“Maybe I could, or maybe she could make me a sandwich.” He answers, mostly to himself. Thinking about it he probably hadn’t eaten since early that morning.

“Are you hungry, sweet boy? We can stop in Mcdonalds on the way if you’d like, you have been a good boy waiting all day.”

She smiles at him, it wouldn’t kill her to buy him a happy meal and it means that he’s meeting her on a full stomach, you never know, he could be an angry person when he’s hungry.

“I’ve never had a McDonalds before.” He says it as an offhand comment, going back to his little medical journal on the importance of consent within the medical field.

“That settles it, a chicken nugget happy meal is calling your name.” She jokes, signaling off the highway and into the small service stop.

The building is an old one, grey paint peeling and a few lonesome cars parked across the roads. There are only a few workers in the small Mcdonalds, each one looking more exhausted than the last. She swiftly orders herself a coffee and him a chicken nugget happy meal.

When the food arrives Greg is majorly confused by the box. Jen leans across and opens it for him, then holds his little plastic toy out to him,

“Tada, the best part!” she exclaims, passing it over as she opens the box to make it easier for him to eat.

He eats a few of the fries, they’re warm and salty, and maybe the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Suddenly he clears his voice, seemingly bored of the silence that came with eating.

“Will there be a boy and a girl there?” He asks quietly, not looking up at her now.

“Yes there is a girl named Lisa. He’s a junior in high school and she’s 16-years old…”

“That’s double my age!” He butts in, grinning up at her.

“Clever boy! She works in a little coffee shop in town so you may be able to go visit her one day.”

“Will there be carrot cake?” He asks very seriously. The most important question of the day.

“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” She giggles, “You’ll have to tell me someday.”

“Okay… and the boy?”

“Well, his name is James, and he is one year younger than Lisa…”

“15!”

“Yep, good job. He is a sophomore in high school and has been living with Mary for about two years.” She explains, looking down at her folder as Greg finishes off his last few fries.

He folds the box closed and uses the napkin to clean his face. A full juxtaposition to the mess that is the McDonalds.

“I’m done now.”

“Okay,” she agrees, standing up and holding a hand out for him. “Let's go meet your new family.”

Chapter Text

The car ride to the nearest shopping mall is quiet. Lisa is curating a list of everything a little boy might need. James stares out the window, his thoughts wandering to the hours ahead. Soon, everything in this car will feel different: a booster seat where he usually sits, child-friendly music on the radio. He’s excited, but a small knot of trepidation still lingers in his stomach.

Mary turns to them with a wide, infectious smile.

“We’ve got two hours to make that room perfect for a little kid, so let’s assign roles. I’ll grab the basic clothes, pajamas, and underwear. James, you scout the snacks and drinks—tap into your inner eight-year-old and think about what you liked. Lisa, you handle all the hygiene stuff— toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, shower gel…” She looks over at Lisa. “I’ll just write you a list.”

Lisa turns to her, eyes wide at the thought of the long list.

The store is unusually quiet at this hour. A few lone shoppers shuffle past in oversized coats, their baskets overflowing with hot chocolate and pumpkin treats. Calm music floats in the background, matching the purposeful energy of the small family. Mary hands Lisa the list before hurrying off.

The list is long but precise:

Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Mouthwash
Shower gel
Tear-free shampoo
Kid-sized flossers
Wide-toothed comb
Washcloth
Sensitive skin body lotion

She notes that hand wash and lip balms are already well-stocked at home. Lisa, a self-proclaimed lip balm fiend, chooses a blue-themed set, and soon everything is neatly arranged in her basket.

Mary is crouched by the sock aisle when Lisa finally rejoins her, three packs of underwear clutched in her hands.

“Oh, there you are!” Mary beams, dumping her finds into the basket. “Got everything?”“Yep. Now we just need a basket for it all to go in.”

“Perfect. You can help me pick pyjamas, then we’ll find James and head home.”

They settle on a set of two pairs of light-blue fuzzy pyjamas—soft, cozy, and age-appropriate. Mary hesitates briefly, recalling Jen’s message that he still wore size six clothes, but maybe he’s just small. Lisa approves, adding a matching pair of slippers for good measure.

James is easy to spot—buried under a pile of chips, a haunted look on his face. Lisa bursts into giggles almost instantly.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing!” he protests, waving a finger at her. “Do you know how many kinds of chips there are? Too many!”

Mary intervenes gently, shoving a few packs back on the shelves.

“You could’ve just gone with regular Cheetos—everyone likes those,” Lisa adds helpfully, tossing a few of her own candies into the cart.

Checking out feels like a drawn-out marathon, each of them answering the cashier’s questions quickly but politely, their minds already at home, imagining their new life.The ride back is livelier. Excitement ripples through the grocery bags filled with blue shampoo, fuzzy pajamas, and snacks.

“Do you think he’ll be sporty or academic?” James asks, peeking into the bag of fuzzy blue bedsheets.

“He could be both,” Mary replies. “You don’t have to choose.”

Lisa speculates he might lean academic, maybe fascinated by trains or dinosaurs, and voices this repeatedly during the ride.

Once home, James carries the three grocery bags up to the newly appointed “little boy room,” out of breath but triumphant.
Mary sets to work on the bed, swapping the beige comforter for a cushiony blue one, perfect for a nervous little boy. Lisa arranges the toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash in a small pot by the shared sink, while the other toiletries wait patiently in the bag near the door, ready to join the basket she is eager to create.

James joins her on the floor as they fold the pajamas, placing them at the bottom of the basket. The snacks go on top, then the toiletries are carefully slotted between crackers, chips, and candy bars.

“If I were a little boy, this is exactly the basket I’d want,” James says, nodding seriously.

“We did well, didn’t we?” Lisa says, proud, moving the basket to the bed where it will be the first thing he sees.

Mary adds one last surprise, a small beige dog stuffed animal on the pillow, unnoticed by the others.

Lisa opens her mouth to comment, but the doorbell rings.

Mary takes a deep breath. “Alright,” she says, smiling. “Let’s go meet him.”

Chapter Text

The image that greets Mary when she opens the door is nothing like what she imagined. She expects a loud, confident boy to stride inside, maybe ask for a snack, toss a quick hello to Lisa and James, and then rush off to explore the house.

Instead, Jen stands on the doorstep, long blonde hair clipped back, a thick folder pressed against her chest. Behind her, a tiny boy with ashy-blonde hair and wide brown eyes hides in her shadow. His bin bag of possessions sits abandoned by the plant pot, useless compared to the instinct to disappear.

Jen shifts, opening the space, but the boy moves with her, glued to her side. For the first time Mary sees how small he really is—skin and bones under an oversized brown top, eyes bright with both wonder and fear, his every movement humming with nervous energy. Neither James nor Lisa had ever been this little. And God, he is heartbreakingly precious.

Mary crouches low, softening herself.

“Hi, sweetheart. My name’s Mary,” she says, calm and steady. No sudden movements, no outstretched hand.

That earns the faintest flicker of curiosity.

He steps forward, the tiniest shuffle—but enough. Enough to look her in the eye.

“You are a doctor,” he declares, solemn.

“That I am,” she replies, just as serious.

Jen’s eyes crinkle in a silent laugh as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s very interested in medical journals,” she explains. “He has a few in his bag. We were hoping you could look at them with him.”

Relief softens Mary’s chest. “That’s a wonderful idea. Tomorrow, after we’ve gone over the house and our rules, maybe have a snack, you can pick any chair in the living room, and we’ll look together.”

He nods, eager now, edging closer to the doorway. Closer to her.

James chooses that moment to wave. “Hi.”

It’s enough to spook him. He darts closer, straight into Mary, burying himself in her chest.

Mary stills, then carefully folds her arms around him. To her astonishment, he settles instantly, tucking his head against her shoulder.

Jen beams, eyes wide and knowing. “I think this is going to be a good fit.”

Mary grins back as she rises with him still clinging, his spindly legs wrapped around her waist, his arms tight around her neck. He dares a glance around the room and spots James and Lisa retreating toward the stairs.

“Where are they going?” he asks, pointing with sudden confidence.

“They’re going upstairs to their rooms,” Mary answers. “In just a minute, I’ll take you to yours.”

She sets him gently on the couch before joining Jen at the door. Their hushed conversation drifts over his head, punctuated by the quiet rustle of papers. For Greg, it stretches like hours; for them it takes only minutes. Jen finally hands the file to Mary, waves to Greg, and slips out. 

The silence that follows is sharp. Greg watches Mary, wide-eyed, his small body twitching in time with her movements. She tries a smile, worried it lands more frightening than gentle, and clears her throat.

“Would you like me to introduce you to the others?” she asks, careful, noncommittal.

He hesitates, then nods. Grabbing his bag, he follows her into the long hallway.

Muted green walls stretch ahead, dotted with photo frames and artificial plants. James and Lisa appear in equal measure, smiling from the walls.

“We can add a photo of you too, baby,” Mary says softly. “If you want.”

“I want to go to bed,” he deadpans, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips.

Mary chuckles. “Fair enough. I’ll just show you the bathroom, your room, and ours. Tomorrow we can explore the rest and talk about rules. Sound okay?”

In the bathroom, she gestures to a small blue pot by the sink. “These are your things. No one will touch them without asking.”

Greg nods solemnly, then edges toward another pot. “This one’s purple… is it for Li—Lu—Lin… the girl?”

“Lisa,” Mary corrects gently. “And that one—” she points to a green pot “—is James’s.”

“Everyone has their own,” Greg says, almost to himself.

“That’s right.” Mary crouches again, her voice a whisper. “That blue pot is yours. Only yours. You’ll always know where your things are, and no one will use them without asking. In this house, we respect each other and each other’s things.”

He blinks at her, then back at his pot, then toward the door. “Okay.”

A knock rattles the bathroom door. Mary ignores it, unwilling to break the fragile trust. Instead, she lifts him onto the counter, his legs dangling happily, before finally opening it.

James and Lisa stand in the doorway in their loungewear. Lisa’s black hair spills down her shoulders, her smile soft and nonthreatening.

“Hey, kid,” she murmurs, holding out a hand.

Greg touches her palm with one finger, grinning wide.

“You are sixteen,” he announces. “You work in a coffee shop.”

Lisa laughs. “I am. And I do. It’s called The Old Nest. ”

“Does it have carrot cake?”

His seriousness startles Mary.

Lisa matches it. “Sometimes. Not every day, but I’ll tell you when there is.”

“Good. I need to tell Jen.” His finger taps steadily against her palm.

Ten minutes later, Mary tucks him into bed. The beige stuffed dog rests on the nightstand, not quite ready to be cuddled.

“Good night, baby,” she whispers, smoothing back his hair. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

Chapter Text

The next morning is as slow as it could possibly be; the sky a perfect flourish of yellow, orange and pink. Birds whistling in the trees a quiet symphony as the house slowly wakes. Mary is awake first, sipping her coffee slowly as she watches the sunrise from her porch swing. Today is a big day, the day to teach Greg that their home is safe and comfortable. Somewhere he is wanted. 

She had checked on him a little while ago and he was still dead to the world, whole body bar his face hidden under the comforter. The dog still sits on the nightstand, but it's moved to the edge and is led flat, almost as if he had toyed with the fabric through the night. She’s just glad something had brought him comfort.  

Just as her coffee cup empties James joins her on the porch; he sits down on the side table, elbows leaning on his knees as he looks deeply at Mary.

James is silent for a long time, staring at Mary and then into the distance. 

“He’s so tiny.” He says at last. He doesn’t say who, they both know who he’s talking about. 

“You were never that little here.” She agrees, smiling lightly. 

“I was never that little.” James argues. “I can’t even remember being small like that. I just want to, like, scoop him up and give him a cuddle.” 

“I don’t think he’s there yet considering he ran away when you tried to say hi.” 

“True,” he laughs. “Maybe one day… Hopefully soon.” 

“Give him time, Jaime. He’s only just come from his bio parents house, you don’t know what his life was like there.” 

James swallows hard, “We just gotta prove to him that we’re safe people and then he might start to feel comfortable with me and Lisa like he did with you.” 

Mary smiles, she’s so glad that he wants to get to know the little boy. That he and Lisa are already working hard on loving the little boy. 

A few moments later they hear footsteps brushing down the stairs, they watch through the front door to see who it is. 

Lisa joins them on the porch, and mentions that Greg is still sleeping. Mary thanks her for checking and says she’ll go wake him now.

“…But before I do, I want to know if there’s anything you want me to explain to him when we go over the rules. I’ll cover all the usual things, but is there anything specific? Like not touching something, or…”

“Just to knock before opening our doors,” James says, thinking out loud. “And maybe not to touch anything in the pantry if it has a name on it.”

Lisa nods in agreement, and Mary smiles.

“Those are very good, understandable rules. Anything you’d like to add, Lisa?”

“Um… can you tell him not to use our towels and stuff? I know he’s little, so he might get confused, but just so he can try. And maybe let him know that sometimes we need alone time or want to go out — so he won’t be upset. We can always play with him at other times.”

Mary nods, swallowing the last of her coffee.
“Those are fair. It’s not about shutting him out. It’s about helping him understand what makes a family work.”

James fidgets with a loose thread on his jeans, and Mary can see how much he already cares.

“Knowing what’s expected will help him feel safe. Boundaries mean he doesn’t have to guess.” Mary says gently.

Lisa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… I guess rules are like proof that he belongs here. Like we’re trusting him to get it right.”

“Exactly,” Mary agrees. “And it’s important for him to understand that you both deserve privacy and boundaries too.”

Both teenagers smile, relieved that Mary is on the same page.

“I’m going to check on him,” Mary says. “You two can grab some breakfast first, and then I’d like you to sit with us so we can talk about the rules together.”

Greg’s room feels airy and quiet when Mary opens the door. The curtains are still drawn, and he blinks sleepily at her as she sits beside him.

“Good morning, baby,” she whispers, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Did you sleep well?”

His eyes are half-lidded, lips smacking softly as he begins to sit up. Mary slides a hand under his armpit to help lift him the rest of the way.

“Do you want to hear about our plan for today?”

He nods faintly, not ready to speak, but clearly listening. His hands fidget against the duvet, rubbing the seams until the fabric begins to wear at his fingertips. Mary sets the little dog in his lap, giving his hands something soft to explore. He flinches briefly, then relaxes as the plush warmth presses against his palms.

For a moment, he simply breathes in the quiet comfort of the morning.

“We’re going to have breakfast and then talk about our house rules,” Mary says softly. “They’re not meant to hurt you or make you sad. They’re just to help you feel safe and know what to expect.”

It takes a few minutes to get him moving. Mary doesn’t rush him, and she doesn’t make him get dressed just yet — there’s no need. His little body stretches and yawns under the soft comforter, and she lets him take his time.

By the time they reach the kitchen, James and Lisa are perched on the island, finishing the last bites of their breakfast. Morning sunlight streams through the windows, catching the edges of their hair and filling the kitchen with a warm, quiet glow.

Lisa sets a small bowl of cereal in front of Greg. He digs in eagerly, crunching through it with tiny, determined bites. His sleepy movements give way to a faint energy now that he’s awake.

When he finishes, they all settle around the table together. Mary watches him for a moment — small, curious, a little uncertain, but safe here, for the first time in a long while. The house hums quietly around them.

The start of a new day. New routines. A little boy beginning to feel at home.

Chapter Text

Mary finds a big sheet of A3 paper she once accidentally brought home from the office. She sets it on the table with a handful of colorful pens, then, in large, easy-to-read letters, writes across the top:

House Arrangements

She hands each child a pen and slides the paper into the middle so everyone can reach.

“In this house we follow a few simple rules so everyone is treated equally and fairly,” she begins. Her voice is warm, but it’s clear to James and Lisa that most of the words are meant for Greg.

“These rules aren’t here to get anyone into trouble,” she continues. “They’re here to make sure we’re all happy, comfortable, and most of all—safe.”

The three kids nod, James and Lisa playing along for Greg’s sake.

“Our first rule is that everyone cleans up after themselves.” Mary writes it down in clear blue ink. “That means putting your plate into the dishwasher after eating, or putting toys away in the living room. And if something isn’t safe to do alone, or you need help, you can always ask. We help each other.”

She taps the pen against the page, then looks at James. “Can you think of one?”

James leans forward. “Um… we should always knock before going into someone else’s room. It’s important to respect their space.”

“Perfect,” Mary says, jotting down Knock before entering—respect . She turns to Lisa. “What about you?”

Lisa hesitates, looking at Mary for reassurance. Mary gives her an encouraging nod.

“We shouldn’t use each other’s things without asking,” Lisa says. She glances at Greg. “Like towels. You’ve got your own blue one, kiddo, so that should be the one you use. Okay?”

Mary adds quickly, “But it’s okay if you forget at first. And if your towel’s in the wash, we’ll find you another one.”

Greg nods, chewing on the thought, clearly trying to hold onto all this new information.

Mary points toward the kitchen. “Another rule is about food. If you want me to pick up something special from the grocery store, just write it on the list on the fridge. When I get it, we’ll put your name on it. Then it’s yours unless you give permission to share. Same for everyone else—if someone’s name is on it, you ask first.”

Greg perks up, his first words of the day soft but eager. “You will buy me Go-Gurt if I want it?”

“Of course,” Mary grins. “And they’ll be just for you, unless you say otherwise.” She writes it down.

“I just check if someone’s name is on things first?”

“Exactly. And do you see that cupboard?” She points across the room. “Everything in there is for anyone, anytime. No need to ask. If we’re running low, you can either write it on the list or just tell someone.”

Greg stands up from his seat and leans on the table for a few seconds, staring at the paper without truly reading anything on it. Then he shuffles closer, as if trying to get a better view of the paper, though maybe just to be nearer to her. Mary gathers him gently onto her lap, settling him sideways so he can still see the page and the teenagers, but also tuck into her if he needs.

He looks calmer now, though a little glazed, the weight of so much information pressing down on his small shoulders.

“Our last rule is simple,” Mary says softly, rocking him just a little. “If something’s wrong—if you spill something, if something breaks, or if you don’t feel well—you always tell a trusted grown-up. That way, we can help.”

Greg is quiet for a long moment. Then he whispers, shy in the way only a little kid can manage, “Can we see them one more time?”

Mary beams. He’s settling, asking for what he needs—proof that he’s beginning to feel safe. She pulls the paper close and chants just for him:

“We knock before going into bedrooms. We ask before borrowing. We respect each other’s things. And we always talk if something’s wrong.”

As she bounces her knees, Greg giggles, wriggling sweetly, his head tipping back against her shoulder. She hugs him closer, arms circling his middle, rocking them both in an exaggerated sway while he repeats the rules under his breath, again and again, like a song.

“See?” Mary whispers into his hair. “These aren’t just rules. They’re how we take care of each other.”

James carefully lifts the finished paper, holding it by the corners so it doesn’t crease. He carries it over to the wall above the kitchen table, pausing to make sure the spot is just right. 

He tapes it up slowly, smoothing the edges, stepping back to check that it hangs straight and flat. The bright letters stand out clearly, bold and friendly, each rule easy to read at a glance. 

Lisa grabs some colouring markers from the drawers and hands three to James. Together they grab doodles and weird lines along the edges to make the poster recognisable. Both teenagers giggle as they draw childish images.  

Mary shifts Greg gently on her lap so they can both see the poster. He leans forward a little, eyes wide, trying to take in the words one by one. His small fingers hover in the air, tracing an imaginary line over the ink as if he could follow each rule with his touch. 

Mary smiles and quietly guides his hand, letting him move it slowly from line to line, repeating each phrase softly out loud. She quickly joins him. 

The kitchen feels calm, warm, and almost protective in this moment. The sunlight streams in through the window, catching the edges of the paper and making the rules feel alive, like a map for how the family will care for each other. 

Greg leans back against Mary, resting his head on her chest, and she wraps her arms around him gently. Together they sit quietly, absorbing the poster, the rules no longer just words but a promise that someone will always be there to help, guide, and protect him.

Chapter Text

Greg wakes early the next morning, the early light filters softly through the curtains. He is careful not to disturb anyone; silent as he slips from his bed, straightens the comforter, and sets his little blue towel neatly on the bathroom hook. 

Every movement is deliberate, as if he’s rehearsing perfection. 

Mary watches from the doorway as he brushes his teeth, small fingers tracing and tapping the edge of the sink in time as he hums under his breath, repeating the rules they had talked about the morning before. Knock before entering. Respect others’ things. Ask before borrowing. Talk if something’s wrong. 

His finger taps one last time at the edge of the sink as he finishes, turning to Mary with a tentative smile. 

“All done?” She asks softly. 

Greg nods, wiping his mouth on his own little blue towel. “Yes. All clean”

Breakfast is a measured, careful affair. Greg sits upright, spooning cereal slowly into his mouth, trying his very hardest not to spill anything. He glances over at James and Lisa periodically, mimicking their bites and careful sips, as if copying the correct way of doing things. 

Mid-morning he moves through the house like a little shadow of responsibility. He puts away the toys Mary had got out to see if he wanted to play with her for a while. He helps fold laundry without prompting, even polishes a small corner of the table very badly whilst trying to mimic James as he finishes his chores.

Each act is deliberate, precise, but there’s a tightness in his jaw, tension in his shoulders. He’s trying so hard to fit in. 

At lunchtime, Greg flinches when Lisa reaches for the wrong utensil or James accidentally drops a napkin. He corrects himself constantly, whispering the house arrangements to himself like a chant. “Knock before entering… ask before borrowing…” He repeats it under his breath like a mantra, eyes wide, scanning the kitchen for anything that could be “wrong.” 

By afternoon, the strain is beginning to show. Mary offers a craft activity for them to do together, but Greg sits meticulously, arranging crayons in size order, then rainbow order, then alphabetical order of the colour names. 

He refuses to ask for a colour, far too worried it might be “wrong”, and fidgets every time Mary offers to help him. His hands rub against each other, rocking slightly in rhythm as he quietly hums the same tune he had started the morning with. 

Every minor sound feels amplified. The scrape of Mary’s pencil against her paper, the soft clatter of the paper stack. The scent of the markers seems to press down on him. His eyes dart between James and Lisa, seeking affirmation and reassurance. When either one of them looks back at him, he quickly retreats to the orderly line of his crayons. 

Safe and Controllable. 

Mary notices the tension in his shoulder, the repeated motion of his his, the way he rocks back and forth almost inadvertently. Each one added to her mental list -the strain that’s mounting beneath the surface. She is conscious not to speak too loudly or rush him, letting him stay in his careful rhythm. Though she keeps a gentle presence beside him, a gentle, quiet anchor to help him stay present.

He helps her tidy away the crayons, lingering far longer than necessary to place each one in the “right” order. Mary rolls up the paper carefully and drops it into the drawer beneath the TV.

“This is where we keep it, okay, baby?” she says, pointing to the drawer so he knows exactly where it is. “You can get it out whenever you want.”

He doesn’t answer, but glances over, rocks twice in place, and murmurs something under his breath. The words are soft but deliberate: “We knock before going into bedrooms. We ask before borrowing. We respect each other’s things. And we always talk if something’s wrong.”

Mary feels a quiet relief. The rhythm of the rules seems to anchor him, providing a fragile calm—but she can tell it’s the only thing holding him steady right now. She doesn't quite know what to make of that. 

Everything is seeming to pile up: a chair being slightly out of place, a pen not returned perfectly, the dinner being five minutes later than Mary had said it would be. Greg’s shoulders slump, he mutters softly to himself, a mixture of frustration and confusion. 

Finally, as the four of them sit down to eat an early dinner, he drops his spoon. It clatters on the ground a little too loudly for his small ears. Greg’s bottom lip quivers and he curls in on himself, shoulders up to his ears. He takes a deep breath and then starts to eat his dinner. 

Every bite seems to be perfectly calculated, as though one wrong bite will make him stand out and banished away. He watches the older two as they eat; fork in his right hand, napkin tucked beside him. Every time James cracks a joke he laughs just a beat too late, and when Lisa offers him the salt, he passes it onto the next person without a word, eyes glued to his plate. 

Mary watches his every move, how rigid his shoulders are, how tightly he grips the fork. She doesn't say anything in front of the others, but she feels the [it in her stomach growing. 

He’s trying too hard.

When he finishes his small portion, he insists on stacking each plate perfectly on top of each other in the dishwasher. He lines his up exactly with the rest, double-checking that it doesn't touch the sides or the back. Mary tells him he can go watch the tv, trying to prompt him to go and reset without explicitly saying it, but he insists on hovering until everything is in order, as if letting go might mean the world is ending. 

Later, upstairs, Mary sits on the kids’ bathtub as Greg brushes his teeth. The light overhead is harsh and makes his tiny face look far too pale, hollowed from the effort of the day. The toothbrush moves in stiff, rigid motions, each one identical to the last, as if he’s following a script from his head.

“Alright, baby, that’s two minutes. You can spit now,” Mary says softly. 

But Greg doesn't move. He freezes. The brush slows in his mouth, foam dripping from the corners of his mouth. His hands tremble dangerously, knuckles white as he grips the handle. 

Mary tilts her head. “Sweetheart? You can spit.”

He doesn’t. His chest begins to rise and fall faster, sharp, shallow breaths rattling in his throat. His little body rocks forward and back, heel to toe, heel to toe, as though he’s bracing himself against something only he can feel.

Then, with a sudden gasp, he yanks the toothbrush out and slams it hard against the porcelain sink. The sound rings out loud in the tiny bathroom. Droplets of foamy water splatter across the counter. Tears spill hot and fast down his cheeks before he can stop them.

“I can’t—” His voice cracks, a strangled sound clawing its way out. “I can’t do it right! I never do it right!”

His face crumples, red blotches breaking across his skin. He balls his fists tight at his sides, nails digging into his palms, his whole body trembling. His breathing quickens into hiccuping sobs, shoulders jerking with the effort of holding everything in—and failing.

Mary’s heart twists. She crouches near him, her voice gentle, steady. “Hey, baby. It’s alright. You don’t have to get it perfect.” 

But her words seem to make it even worse. His cries have turned high-pitched, panicked, the sound of a child completely overwhelmed. Greg shakes his head violently, rocking harder and harder until he just drops to the ground. His head is hitting the bathroom cabinet in harsh bashes now. Mary knows she’s going to have to intervene if it carries on like this. 

“We knock before going in, we don’t borrow, respect each other’s things—” The rules tumble from his mouth in a jumbled chant, repeated again and again, the only lifeline he can cling to. His hands flap against his sides before flying to his hair, tugging at the roots. “We always talk if something’s wrong—we always talk if something’s wrong—we always talk—”

It takes time. Long minutes of rocking, of his body shaking with each sob, of him muttering the rules in broken fragments between gasps. His head works overtime as it attempts to guard itself from the hard wooden door. In the end Mary has to pull him away and into her open arms, no longer able to watch him hurt himself. He wails even louder, the rocking becomes harder as he tries to escape her grasp. 

“You can rock.” Mary tells him, simple terms, simple words. “Rock as much as you want, but we can't hurt ourselves.” 

Gradually the fight in him fades. His fists unclench, his shoulders slump. His chanting quiets into little whispers, almost like prayers, until finally he buries his face against her neck and clings to her shirt.

Mary strokes his back in slow circles, her eyes stinging. She can feel it now—the weight of a whole day spent locked in, trying to copy, trying to pass, trying not to slip. And now the dam has broken. 

As she holds him, the pieces fall into place in her mind: the rigid routines, the rocking, the repetition, the desperate need to get it all “right.” A quiet thought lodges in her chest— Maybe this explains why the world feels so heavy for him.

She doesn’t voice it. Not tonight. Tonight, all he needs is her arms steady around him, her voice a calm rhythm in his ear.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” she whispers again. “You just have to be you. And that’s enough. That’s always enough.”

He exhales shakily against her, too exhausted to argue anymore. He stays curled into her, drained and trembling, but allowing himself, at last, to be held.

Chapter Text

The clock had long ticked past midnight. Past one.

Mary sits rigid on the sofa, where she had been for the past two hours, one hand wrapped around a cold mug of coffee she stopped drinking hours ago. Every sound outside, a car on the street, footsteps on the pavement, make her rise from her seat. 

She checks the clock again: 1:41. Their curfew was 11:30. 

Finally, headlights sweep across the living room's dusty wall. Mary feels her body fill with unbridled fury. A car door slam. Then another -louder. Laughter cuts through the quiet street like a knife. The music rattling the windows as the bass is turned higher and higher.

Mary is already on her feet when the front door opens. 

James steps in first, head now, hesitant, trying not to meet her eyes. Lisa breezes in behind him, phone in her hand, laughing at something only she could find funny in this tense situation. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Mary’s voice lashes out before the door even clicks shut. Voice cutting across the room like a whip. 

Both of them freeze. James at least has the decency to look sheepish and he swallows hard and looks down. 

Lisa arches a brow, defiant. 

“It’s not that late.” Lisa says casually, slipping off her sneakers. 

“Not that-’ Mary lets out a disbelieving, humorless laugh. “Your curfew is 11:30! It’s now 1:45. You are more than two hours late. I have been sitting here imagining the worst thing you can think of. Police knocking at the door! A phone call from the hospital! And you think you can stroll in here laughing?” 

James wines. 

Lisa tosses her hair. “We were fine. You’re just overreacting.” 

“Overreacting?” Mary’s voice climbs, sharp enough to cut. “You come blasting music into this house in the middle of the night, shouting on the doorstep, and you call me dramatic? There is an eight-year-old asleep upstairs who finally fell asleep after hours of struggling to settle, and you decide it’s the perfect time to come home acting like you live in a nightclub? Do you have no respect for anyone other than yourself?”

Lisa’s arms fold across her chest, rolling her eyes. “Of course! Everything’s about Greg. Always Greg! When you asked if he could come here I didn’t know bringing him here meant my whole life would have to stop!” 

Her chest is fluttering from how loud she’s yelling. A wild look in her eyes as they stand face-to-face.

James, quietly, tries to intervene. 

“Lisa—” He tries, but she barrels on.

“I can’t go anywhere without a million rules. Now you want me to keep to a curfew. I need to come home at a reasonable time . And why is that? Right, it's because of him !” She screams, finger pointing aggressively towards Greg’s closed door.

“It’s the same curfew!” Mary shouts, matching attitude with the angry teenager. 

“But now everything revolves around the curfew! Just because your precious foster kid has to sleep? Why does his life matter more than mine? Why does his life mean I can’t have one?” 

Mary’s fury sharpens to steel. “Enough.”

Her voice is so cold and final that Lisa falters.

“I asked if you felt comfortable with him here and you said yes.” Mary says quietly, ice cold. “You will not stand in this house and speak about him that way,” Mary says, every word deliberate, dangerous. “He is a child. He has lived through things you can’t even imagine. And if you ever suggest again that he ruined your life, you and I will have a very serious problem.”

Lisa’s chin trembles, but she juts it up stubbornly. “You can’t control everything I do.”

Mary’s jaw tightens. “You’re right. I can’t. But I can control whether I trust you. And tonight, you shattered that trust.” Her voice rises again, the anger too hot to keep down. “Two hours late, music blasting, laughter on the doorstep — what if he woke up terrified? What if I had to explain to him that the people he’s supposed to feel safe with don’t care enough to follow a single rule? None of this is his fault, so do not dare to go there.”

Lisa glares back, words stuck in her throat.

“Go to bed,” Mary snaps. “Both of you. Before I say something I can’t take back.”

James doesn’t argue. He scurries down the hall, head ducked. He turns back to her, opens his mouth as if to apologize. Mary rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment before she gestures to his room.

Lisa slams her bedroom door hard enough to make the frames on the wall shake.

Mary stands trembling in the hallway, chest heaving.

Then, soft footsteps on the stairs.

Greg appears in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up. “Why’s everyone shouting?” he whispers. He rests his head on her stomach. 

Mary kneels instantly, pulling him close. Her voice gentles, but her body still thrums with anger. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Just the big kids forgetting how to be quiet at night. You’re safe.”

He leans into her shoulder, small and warm. Mary holds him tight, her jaw set. Whatever storms Lisa brings into this house, Mary will not let it touch him.

Mary lifts him into her arms, his legs encircling her waist and his head settling on her shoulder. She can feel his sleepy little smile into her collarbone. Mary tucks Greg back into bed, smoothing his hair and whispering soft reassurances. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe. Go back to sleep now.”

She steps into the hallway, quiet on the balls of her feet, and pauses. James is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, eyes low.

“I’m… sorry,” he murmurs, voice small. “I didn’t think about how loud we were. I tried to get her to come home at 11:30 but she said you wouldn't care. That you’d forgive us because we’re still adjusting to him living with us.” 

Mary nods, just briefly, before starting down the hall. Relief flickers in her chest. For a moment, she thinks the night’s chaos is over. She finally has some sort of understanding over what happened. 

Then — from the other side of the house — comes a deafening blast . Music. Loud, chaotic, pulsing. Lisa’s door swings open and the bass reverberates down the hall.

Greg jerks upright in bed, wide-eyed, hands clutching his blanket. He lets out a startled squeak.

James is already moving, crouching beside the bed and sliding an arm around Greg’s shoulders. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll get through it.”

Mary stops dead. Every muscle in her body tightens. 

Oh?

Oh. 

Oh. 

The calm she had fought to preserve shatters. She storms down the hall, boots thudding on the floor, and rips open Lisa’s door.

“LISA! What on earth do you think you’re doing?! " Her voice is sharp enough to make the walls vibrate.

Lisa freezes, fingers still hovering over the stereo. “I… I just wanted to listen to—”

“No! Stop!” Mary cuts her off, hands on her hips, fury blazing. “I understand that you’re angry. I understand you feel like the curfew is unfair. But the curfew hasn’t even changed and you're blaming a child for it! Wanted to blame a child  for missing your curfew! Do you lack that much respect for him? That much respect for me ? 

The silence is deafening. 

“...And blasting music like that, in the middle of the night, while a little boy is sleeping in this house? Totally unacceptable!”

Lisa opens her mouth to reply, but Mary’s voice climbs again, unyielding. “Do you realize what you’re doing to Greg? To James? You can’t take your anger out in this way -not in this house! This house is supposed to be safe for us, for him — and I will not have you destroying that!”

James crouches a little lower beside Greg, soothing him, but Mary doesn’t soften. Her voice is controlled fury now, cold and measured. “If you’re angry, we can talk tomorrow. You will respect the rules tonight. Music is off. Volume is down. Doors closed. You follow curfew, or there will be consequences. No exceptions.”

Lisa flinches under the force of Mary’s stare. For the first time, the weight of her actions sinks in.

Mary steps back toward the doorway, sweeping her gaze over both teenagers. “This isn’t about punishment. This is about protection . Protecting the people in this house, especially the youngest ones. I will not negotiate that, Lisa. Not tonight, not ever.”

The room falls silent, except for the shaky breathing of Greg and the faint residual hum of the radio. Lisa’s lips press into a thin line. James rubs Greg’s back gently.

Mary exhales, trying to release some of the tension, her eyes never leave Lisa. “Music off. Lights low. Let’s get back to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, like adults. Understood?”

Lisa finally nods, slowly, muted. The first flicker of accountability appears in her posture. Mary allows herself a small, wary sigh — the battle is not over, but the line is drawn.