"Are you sad?" Jude asked, patting the dirt around the freshly planted petunias. "That everyone's gone for the Fourth of July?"

"A little bit," Lena admitted, kneeling next to him, tilting the watering can to sprinkle the plants. "I mean, can you believe them?" she asked, mock-offended. "Why nobody else wants to spend time with their moms is entirely lost on me."

"The pier does sound pretty cool though," Jude replied, the slightest bit jealous Mariana and Callie had declared a girls' night and ditched him to spend the evening shopping and riding the ferris wheel. Idyllwild was hosting a music festival, so Brandon would be there, and Jesus was hours away at boarding school. That left only Stef, Lena, and himself to celebrate. Plus Connor, who would be arriving any minute.

"Oh, you can go to the pier anytime," Lena said, flippantly waving her hand. "Our Fourth of July barbecue, however, only happens once a year. You were the only one smart enough not to miss out."

"Well, I do like barbecues," Jude conceded.

"That's the spirit!" Lena replied. "We'll have everything. Hot dogs, burgers, watermelon, you name it. When your brothers and sisters were little, every year they used to eat those red, white and blue popsicles," she said, grinning at the memory.

"Yeah?" Jude asked, his face mirroring hers—Lena's smile was contagious.

"They were so messy. They'd melt and the dye would make everything sticky and stain their clothes. So it was tradition that after dessert, everyone would change into their swimsuits and run around in the sprinkler to wash off. It didn't hurt that it'd burn off some of that sugar energy too," Lena laughed as she gazed into the yard. She could picture all of the children as they were back then, jumping and giggling without a care in the world.

Well, almost all of them. She glanced over at Jude. He was still smiling, but his eyes had dulled. Holidays were always hard for him and Callie. In addition to the plethora of disappointing memories associated with many of them, there would always be that gap. There would always be those missing pieces when they looked around the house, when they heard other members of the family reminiscing back on a time before they were part of it. There would always be that nagging feeling of what could have been had they found each other earlier.

"But you know what?" Lena asked, wrapping an arm around Jude's shoulder, pulling him into her. "I would never, ever want to go back. You know why?"

"Why?" Jude asked. He knew the answer already, of course, but he loved hearing her say it.

"Because then I wouldn't have you. I wouldn't trade a day with you for anything in the world," she said, kissing his cheek, causing him to giggle. Though there'd always be that pang of sadness remembering the void of the past, she knew the only thing now in her control was the present. And she would do everything she could to make it as wonderful as he deserved.

The two went inside so Lena could start preparing the salad. Stef was going to pick up chips and meat to grill on her way home from work. As Jude was drying his hands, dirty from helping Lena in the garden all day, the doorbell rang.

"I got it," Jude said, tossing the towel on the counter and rushing to answer the door. "Hey Connor," he said, his face lighting up.

"Hey," Connor replied, equally as happy. He felt a sort of relief rush over him as he followed Jude through the door. It was so much different from his own house—warmer, and calmer somehow. It immediately made him feel comfortable and protected. It wasn't just a house, but a home, which was more than he could say for his own.

"Hi Mrs. Adams Foster," he greeted Lena.

"Hi honey," Lena said warmly, looking up from her cutting board. "How are you?"

"Good. My mom wanted me to bring this," he said, holding up the fruit tray somewhat awkwardly before placing it on the counter.

"Well that was very sweet of her. Tell her we said thank you."

"Will do," Connor nodded, shoving his hand into his pockets.

"Do you want to go upstairs and play a video game? I was looking through Jesus' old ones and he has a soccer one that looks pretty cool," Jude suggested.

"Do you know what year it is?"

"I think it's 2009."

"Dude, that's like the best one," Connor grinned. "That's the year when Messi and Ronaldo go-"

"Do either of you want something to drink?" Lena asked, figuring if she didn't interrupt and ask now she would never get a chance. Those two could talk about video games for hours as it was, and she imagined with the added soccer aspect Connor could ramble forever.

"Sure," Jude said.

"I'll take one too," Connor replied.

"Water?" Lena asked, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet.

The two nodded in agreement, continuing to enthusiastically discuss their plans for the evening.

"We should check and see if Jesus has any other old games," Connor said, taking his glass from Lena.

"Okay, but I think they're mostly weird skateboarding ones," Jude replied.

"Those could be cool. There was this one I played at my cousin's house that-"

He was cut off by a boom, the sound echoing through the walls. The horrible dissonance reverberated in his ears. He could've sworn it even shook the foundation of the house. Suddenly Connor was in the dark. He could taste the bitter alcohol on his tongue, feel its burn in his throat. His leg was stung with an agonizing pain again, crippling him. He couldn't breathe. He was stuck.

After the boom came a scream. It came out before Connor could stop it, before he could even process what was happening. It was instinctual. It pierced the air.

After the scream came a crash, the cup slipping out of Connor's hand and breaking on the ground. The shards tinkled against each other like eerie wind chimes.

Connor blinked quickly, his head darting around. Who had shot the gun? How had they gotten in the house? Why would someone do this?

He spotted Jude first. He glanced over him quickly, and didn't see any blood. That was a good sign. He spied Lena soon thereafter. She was still standing as well.

He let himself breathe, but was still on high alert. The shooter was probably still here. Why were Lena and Jude still standing there? Why wasn't anyone running? Why were they looking at him like that?

He saw Lena open her mouth, but he couldn't hear her words. The shot was still ringing through his ears, muffling her voice like she was talking underwater.

"What?" he asked, trying hard to focus, to find some clarity.

"It was a firework," Lena said, more loudly his time. Her eyes were clouded with concern, and she took a small, tentative step towards him. "It was just someone shooting off a firework, sweetheart," she repeated again, more softly now.

Connor froze before swallowing hard, his mind catching up to the reality of the situation.

Of course it was just a firework. It was the Fourth of July, for god's sake. How hadn't he thought of that? He felt his face grow hot.

"Sorry," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I…sorry."

"Why would someone be shooting off a firework right now?" Jude asked, balling up his fists.

"They were probably just testing it out," Lena explained.

"It's still light out, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Jude shot back angrily. He knew his fury was irrational—after all, how could his neighbors have known?—but someone had hurt Connor, and his temper flared.

"Jude-" Lena began calmly.

"No! It's ridiculous. We should go tell them not to do that because-"

"Stop!" Connor yelled, causing Jude and Lena to flinch in surprise. "Jude, just stop," he repeated firmly. "It's not their fault."

"Yes it is," Jude shot back, gritting his teeth. "They shouldn't have-"

"Shouldn't have what? Shot off a firework at their own house? Wake up, Jude. This is the real world. Not everyone is going to baby you all the time. Sometimes you have to just suck it up and deal with it," he spat.

Jude blinked, recoiling and backing into the counter as if Connor had slapped him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead his jaw just hung open, and Connor couldn't bear to look at it.

"I need to go," he said, making a snap decision and turning to go back through the front door.

"Honey, wait," Lena said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. Connor quickly ripped it from her grasp, biting his tongue as hard as he could in an attempt to keep the tears from brimming over.

He sucked in a deep breath once he was safety outside and away from them, trying to clear his head. The pace and confusion of what had happened, and the guilt of what he had done, was weighing on him. He allowed himself to take a seat on the porch stairs for a moment, putting his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands.

It wasn't long before he heard a car door slam, and he looked up to see Stef making her way towards him, carrying two grocery bags. He sighed, digging the heel of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots—an outlet for the frustration that was eating at him.

He childishly hoped that if he kept his eyes closed, he could will himself to become invisible. Maybe if he couldn't see her, she wouldn't be able to see him either.

However, he knew this was to no avail when he heard the rustle of paper being set down and felt a presence next to him.

"Hey," Stef said, knocking her knee against his. "We have these fancy things called doors now. You can try ours out if you want."

Connor lifted his head up, but continued staring at the ground, not willing to make eye contact. "I already tried it," he said, playing along.

"Oh yeah?" Stef raised an eyebrow. "How was it?"

"Fine. It's what happened when I was through it that wasn't fine," he said vaguely.

"Ah. Did Lena kick you out for putting too much ketchup on your food?" Stef teased.

"No," he said, daring to lift his head and meet her eyes.

Stef pursed her lips sympathetically, interpreting the desperate eye contact. "Tell me about it?" she asked delicately, resting a hand on his knee.

He knew it was weak of him to crack so easily, but the minute Stef made contact, he wanted to tell her everything. She made it so easy for him to pour his heart out—so unlike his own mother, who resented ever having children in the first place. She kept her distance, doing the bare minimum to maintain the appearance of being a good mother with a happy life. Appearances. That's all his family ever seemed to care about.

"I heard a firework and thought it was a gunshot so I kinda freaked," he admitted, twisting his fingers together, a nervous habit.

"I see," Stef nodded.

Connor laughed humorlessly. "Pretty stupid, right?"

"No, I don't think so that's stupid at all," Stef said seriously.

Connor sighed, growing irritated. It was frustrating, being told conflicting things all of the time. There were the Fosters—a fantasy world. And then there were the Stevens—his world, the real world. He suddenly felt like he was being lied to, like Stef was treating him like a baby, spoon-feeding him unrealistic reassurances that would only end up hurting him in the long run when he had to go back and face the truth.

"It is stupid," he shot back. "Practically having a panic attack and crying over a damn firework like a little bitch is stupid."

"Hey," Stef raised her voice, shocked at the sudden language and bitterness. She squeezed his knee, chastising. "We don't say that. Not about ourselves or anyone else, understand?"

Connor shrugged, his anger dissipating and being replaced with defeat. "That's what my dad said."

Stef bit the inside of her cheek, once again less than impressed at Adam's parenting techniques. "When?"

Connor looked down, his face writhing in pain at the recollection. "My little cousin had birthday party last week."

Stef furrowed an eyebrow, lost. "And?" she prompted.

"A balloon popped," he said simply.

"Ah," she muttered in understanding.

"I couldn't stop shaking, and I guess I let a tear fall too because I heard someone ask 'who's the bigger crybaby, Connor or the four-year-old birthday girl?'"

Stef's heart sunk, unable to imagine dealing with the embarrassment. It was no wonder he ran out of the room this time. If his own family couldn't even understand and support him, why should he trust anyone else to?

She saw some of herself in Connor, and some of Frank in Adam. Their fathers were similar—both valuing strength and masculinity, holding the same macho mentality in a place of high importance. She at least had had her mother to lean on for support when Frank's rigid stances and pressure got too much, but she knew Connor's maternal support system was lacking. Who could he lean on? Who was going to reassure him that fear and emotion did not equal weakness?

"It's probably hard for your dad to understand," Stef started, treading lightly. Adam was still Connor's father, after all, and he always would be. It wasn't her place to trash him, especially not in front of his own child. Stef didn't think he was an altogether bad guy either, just that he had a skewed way of trying to do what was best for his son.

"I think it's hard for anyone to understand the kind of trauma a shooting can have unless they've gone through it," Stef continued. "Maybe even impossible to understand. But take it from someone who knows: what you're feeling, what you're going through, is perfectly normal."

"I just don't like being scared all the time," Connor admitted.

"I know," Stef sympathized, rubbing his shoulder. "But even though you don't like it, and it's no fun, it's okay to be scared. It's not something you can help."

Connor nodded, his shoulders slumping.

"But," Stef continued, "you can get help for it." Connor gave her an interested side-glance, silently signaling her to continue. "Have you ever thought about going to therapy?"

"Why?" Connor furrowed an eyebrow.

"I think you might be suffering from some PTSD," Stef said gently.

"PTSD," Connor repeated the unfamiliar phrase.

"It stands for post traumatic stress disorder," Stef explained. "It's very common in people who have gone through traumatic events. Soldiers, especially. People who have been in war zones."

"Really?"

"Mhm," Stef nodded. "Even the strongest, bravest people get haunted by violence, you know. It definitely doesn't mean you're weak, and it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

Connor felt his muscles relax slightly. There was a name for what was going on, and he wasn't the only one this had happened to. The feeling of isolation was slowly melting away. But he still had questions, and he was still a bit wary of it all. "I don't think my dad would really support me going to therapy."

"I'm sure Lena could help get you an appointment to talk to the school counsellor, if you'd prefer," Stef suggested, understanding Connor's concerns, though her gut told her to push more qualified help a little harder.

Connor nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, sensing it would make Stef proud. "I'll do that," he agreed.

"Great," Stef said nonchalantly with a quick nod. "I'll ask her to set it up tonight."

"Cool," Connor nodded, nudging the ground with his shoe.

"And like I said before, I'm always here too," Stef told him, giving his forearm a squeeze. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a spare business card she carried with her on the job. "This feels very official," she said with a small laugh, attempting to lighten the heavy mood, "but if you feel too awkward asking Jude for my number, it's right on the card," she said, handing the slip to him. "You call me any time, okay? Morning, afternoon, evening, even night. Especially night, in fact. I know how scary and lonely waking up from a nightmare can be, and sometimes you just need someone to listen before you feel ready to go back to sleep," she said, giving him a sad smile.

"Thanks," Connor said sincerely, placing the card firmly in his pocket, making a mental note to program it into his cell phone later. "Jude's lucky he has you," he said shyly, not used to showing this kind of vulnerability to anyone but Jude.

"You have me too," Stef assured him, her mouth twitching into a smile at his sweet words. He deserved to have an adult in his corner for once, someone that he could relate to and felt like he could turn to when things got rough, and she wanted to be that person. "There's plenty of me to go around."

"You're a good listener," Connor continued.

"Yeah, well, that's because I never have anything to say," she teased, patting his back and lifting herself off the stairs. "But, I do have something to grill," she said, the corners of her mouth curving into a wide grin. "What do you say? Help me fire it up?"

Connor rose hesitantly, but didn't respond. He knew he had to apologize to Jude first. But what if Jude didn't want to forgive him?

"What's the matter?" Stef asked, crossing her arms when Connor didn't move.

"Jude and I sort of got into a fight," he admitted. "Or, more like I yelled at him when he was just trying to help me," he said, scratching the back of his head, ashamed thinking back on his actions.

"It happens to the best of us, love," Stef flashed him a sympathetic look. "We all say things we don't mean and misdirect our anger on people we care about. Jude understands that."

"I just…I sounded like my dad," Connor said, sucking in a deep breath, his own words replaying like a wicked chant in his mind. "And I don't want to be my dad."

"Hey," Stef said, wrapping an arm around Connor's shoulder and gently leading him into the house. "You're not your dad."

"But I could turn into him."

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because," Stef said, opening the door and guiding him through the living room. "I know you."

Connor stepped into the kitchen, stomach sinking slightly as he saw Jude swivel around on the barstool to face him.

"Hey," he started awkwardly.

"Hey," Jude said, his face stony, still on the defensive.

"I'm really sorry," he said bluntly. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. I didn't mean them. I didn't mean them at all. I wasn't even really mad at you."

"Then who were you mad at?" Jude asked accusatorially.

"Myself, I guess," Connor admitted. "I was embarrassed by the way I reacted, and I took everything out on you. I'm sorry."

Jude nodded, the anger dissolving from his face. "You don't have to be embarrassed though, you know. Nobody is going to make fun of you or anything."

Connor nodded, quickly glancing at Stef's encouraging expression. "I know," he said, confident that, in this house at least, that was true.

Stef was standing next to Lena, and when he caught sight of her, he realized she probably deserved an apology from him too. "Sorry, Mrs. Adams Foster. I didn't mean to be disrespectful earlier. I was just stressed out I guess. I know that's not really an excuse, but still."

Lena shook her head, holding up a hand. "Already forgiven."

"I'm sorry about the glass I broke. I'll pay for it."

"Thank you, sweetheart, but that's really not necessary," Lena assured him kindly.

"All right," Stef clapped her hands, "now that that's all settled, what do you say we fire up the grill?" she asked, rubbing her palms together.

Pretty soon the backyard was filled with a deliciously smoky aroma, sizzles and hisses from the fire filling the yard. Once Jude and Connor were seated around the faded picnic table, Lena slid them each a plate and a pair of foamy, pill-shaped items.

"What are these?" Connor asked, lifting up the tiny Ziploc to examine its contents.

"They're ear plugs. I though they might help tonight. They won't completely cancel out the noise, but it'll muffle it some so it won't be so loud."

"Thanks," Connor said, letting out a relieved breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Yeah, thanks mama," Jude agreed, stashing his pair into his pocket. "Why do we have these anyway?"

"Ah, those are from the dark days," Stef interrupted, sliding a tray of hot dogs into the middle of the table before plopping herself onto the bench.

"The dark days?" Jude asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Back when Brandon's keyboard didn't have a slot for headphones," Lena explained, rolling her eyes at Stef's dramatics.

"And back when Brandon didn't have talent for the piano," Stef added, causing Lena to slap her arm. "We all became very dependent on a good pair of ear plugs."

The rest of dinner continued much the same way—joking, lighthearted conversation, and laughter. When the sky began to grow darker, the four of them brought lawn chairs and blankets outside, preparing to mooch off their neighbors and catch a glimpse of their firework displays.

Jude and Connor set up camp near the garden, inching their chairs closer as the night went on. They couldn't hear much with the ear plugs, but they didn't need to—a glance over at each other every now and then said it all.

It wasn't long before their pinkies were touching, much like their first date at the movies. Connor thought about what Stef had said, about bravery and love and fear making you a stronger person, not weaker. So he bit his lip, using those nerves to propel him. He churned that negative energy into a positive and slid his hand farther out to Jude.

Jude took it without hesitation, grasping it tightly. The two were unknowingly mirroring Stef and Lena, who were sitting behind them, having clasped their hands together minutes ago.

The moms shared a look. They could feel the young couple's butterflies from feet away. They knew what that was like more than anyone, how much a silent, private moment could mean. How much a single touch could heal.

As Connor weaved his fingers though Jude's, he felt the spark. A spark much more powerful than the ones exploding above them.

Because, unlike the sparks in the sky that would eventually evaporate into the air, bleed into the night, leaving behind nothing but colorful lines of smoke, the spark he had was real and forever.

His spark with Jude, with this family, would never go out: it would light him up and let him shine.

To my fellow Americans: happy Independence Day! And to my non-American readers: I hope you're having a great day too! After watching the shooting range storyline, I couldn't resist the urge to write something like this. It's probably been one of my favorite arcs The Fosters has ever done, and I found the bonding between Stef and Connor to be especially sweet and realistic. I hope you enjoyed reading my take and expansion on it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Special thanks to: Allia, for always being my enthusiastic guinea pig; Sam and Dustin, for refreshing my memory about Connor's mom; and Lacorra, a scene from Safe in Your Arms inspired the balloon popping part. Little trivia fact: the title of this story is taken from a song from the musical If/Then, in case you wanted to give it a listen.

ANYWAY, I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback, so a review would be amazing and very much appreciated. As always, thanks so much for reading!