Author's notes: Hehhehheh… um, sorry? (ducks as readers throw rotten tomatoes) Yeah. I'm not going to waste time with excuses, other than I was busy.

So, here's (finally) chapter ten…

Frankie sighed heavily as she absentmindedly signed the paper that the nurse had put before her. After one day in the hospital, she was being released. She handed back the clipboard, grabbed her new set of crutches, and clumsily hobbled over to the nearest elevator.

She leaned on the cold metal bar around the interior of the elevator. Tapping her foot, she stared at the green marble floor. Mentally, she counted the floors as she traveled up.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six…

The doors opened, and once she clambered out, almost immediately Wilt sprinted over to her with a big grin on his face.

"Wh-what? What happened?" Frankie said, hoping that it was good news.

"Mac…" Wilt whispered, panting. "He's awake!"

Frankie didn't even say one word to him in reply; within an instant she was speeding to Mac's room as fast as her crutches could take her. Within seconds she had arrived, and as she peered through the glass, she saw that the child had indeed regained consciousness, something Bloo apparently had learned earlier due to the fact he was now talking amiably to his best friend.

She gently nudged the door open and knocked with a slightly trembling hand. Immediately the little boy looked up and smiled. "Hey, Frankie!"

Bloo took this as his cue to leave, giving Frankie time alone to talk to Mac.

Mac was sitting up in the bed, wide-awake and completely conscious. Most of the machines and wires were gone. All that remained was a single IV, the oxygen tank connecting to the tube going to Mac's nose and a heart monitor eliciting rhythmic beeps that echoed throughout the room.

She felt her eyes well up with tears of joy as she limped in. "H-hi, pal…"

The young woman sat in one of the chairs next to the bed, gently taking Mac's small hand into her somewhat larger one. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I'm just a little tired," Mac replied calmly, yawning for emphasis.

"Are you sure?" she only inquired fretfully with a worried frown. The child chuckled a little as she actually checked him over.

"Frankie, I'm absolutely fine! That thing over there is pain stuff, so I don't hurt as much." He pointed to the IV bag in an attempt to allay her concern. Satisfied, she ceased her fussing and paused before inquiring gently,

"So…did the doctor and Bloo fill you in?"

Mac nodded, yawning again. "Yup. I have asthma and Terrence disappeared. Are you okay?"

Frankie couldn't help but laugh. "You're worried about me? Mac, you're the one who everyone is worried about…"

Mac grinned as she tousled his hair affectionately. Frankie noticed that although it wasn't a strong as his usual smile was, to her relief it also wasn't as weak as she expected.

"I'm glad you're okay, Mac. You really scared me… I don't know what I'd do if you had…"

She couldn't finish the sentence; the horrifying thought was too difficult to comprehend. The child frowned.

"I'm fine Frankie… I-I'm sorry for scaring you…" Mac whispered before abruptly trailing off.

She found no need to panic over this however; he only seemed to be drifting off to sleep. Frankie knew that his body needed to rest and heal after the whole ordeal. Not wishing to keep the weary child awake, she settled comfortably into her chair as she calmly watched Mac's head slowly fall back on the pillow, his eyelids following suit and drooping shut.

Suddenly, Frankie heard a faint beeping noise. Even glancing about wildly, she saw that the line on the heart monitor had gone flat. Foreseeing that something was horribly wrong, she pressed the call button with a panicked yelp. Almost immediately, a few frantic-looking doctors and nurses came in. In the chaos that followed a nurse forcibly pushed her out of the room.

"What's happening? W-what's happening to him? Please, please don't make me leave!" she screamed, turning heads. Just as she was forcibly ejected, Madame Foster and Mr. Herriman stepped out of the elevator nearby.

"My goodness, Miss Frances… What is troubling you? Master Wilt informed us downstairs that Master Mac is conscious… What ever are you upset about? Unless…" Mr. Herriman trailed off as soon as he spotted the panic written on her features.

Madame Foster took over, taking hold of the hand of her hysterical granddaughter. "What's wrong, dear?"

Frankie sobbed, "I-I'm not sure… They won't tell me. I-"

"Miss Foster?" A doctor called. Frankie hastily hobbled over to meet him.

"Y-yes?"

"I have to tell you about his condition-" he began before she cut him off.

"I thought…I-I thought he was getting better…" she whispered dumbly.

"He was," the doctor said, sighing. "But….just now, his heart stopped. Fortunately however, we were able to bring him back without much trouble."

"He…h-he what?" Frankie brushed away a tear. "Why… why did it happen?"

"We think it was because of a heart problem that's been there since he was born, but wasn't large enough to notice until a moment ago, when he went into shock because of his recent breathing problems and injuries. Because he's been having trouble breathing, it made the oxygen supply to his heart decrease. The condition is called congestive heart failure. His heart needs more oxygen than most people's. We're doing tests to be sure, but I'm sure my hypothesis is correct."

The shocked young woman nodded dumbly as she struggled to absorb the barrage of information at once. "But… what can we do?"

"Now that we've caught it, we can make sure that this doesn't happen for a while. His asthma is a problem, though- asthma and heart medications are not meant to be taken together. There is a special medicine for that, and it is fairly uncommon. We have to send away for it, and it might take a few weeks. Until then, he should lie low, and not get excited. The more oxygen his heart needs, the harder it will have to pump. The next time, he might not be so lucky; it might be a heart attack."

Frankie stared blankly at him. "H-how should he lie low?"

The doctor rested a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head sadly. "He'll have to stay bedridden."

"But he's only eight!" she protested. "He needs to run around and have fun and-"

"I know it will be hard for him," he responded before declaring firmly, "but it must be done to keep him alive until the medicine comes."

With that he promptly left her side, leaving the badly stunned young woman alone to mull over the horrific news. Finally though, after what felt like an eternity, realization of what just happened finally struck. Frankie managed to limp over to the nearby waiting room where she took a seat, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

She filled in Bloo and Wilt. The news came as a shock to both. Bloo turned a paler shade of azure before putting a blobby arm over his welling eyes.

Wilt whispered something to Bloo, who then nodded. Frankie watched as Bloo slowly let the tears roll down his face.

After a brief moment of silence, Bloo spoke. "Frankie," he said, "I-I can't lose him. Not n-now… after all we've been through…I-I couldn't go on, Frankie, I just couldn't, and…a-and…"

Frankie had never heard him speak so seriously. Too drained to even offer a few words of comfort, she simply gathered the distraught little imaginary friend into her arms and together they waited in painful silence.

It was an hour before the doctors let Bloo, Wilt, and Frankie back in Mac's room.

He was unconscious once more, but the doctor said he was just asleep and that they shouldn't wake him up. The tests showed that the doctor was right; Mac had the heart condition since he was born.

She sat in one of the cold metal chairs; Bloo and Wilt followed seconds later. The room was eerily silent, except for the monotonous beep of the heart monitor. It was late afternoon, and the room was getting dark. The trio watched their friend by the light of the machines. Much to her dismay, Frankie noticed that his breathing was getting worse; it looked like it did when they brought him in originally.

She held his limp hand, wishing that it wasn't as cold.

Suddenly they heard a knock, and turned their heads to the door. A sheepish looking Connor stepped in.

"I heard that about the little guy… It's so sad…" he muttered.

"You must see this type of thing all the time, though," Frankie replied, quickly returning to her vigil.

"Well, I don't really know as much about the other cases as I do this one."

Frankie felt her face turn red with annoyance. "Why are you so interested in Mac and Terrence?" she snapped.

Connor was quiet for a moment. "I just, um… Well, Terrance lived with me for a while, so I'm kind of concerned. And when I found out about Mac, I… Anyway, it's a long story, see, I…"

The young woman's lips slowly began to curl into a snarl. Before the obvious tension could rise any further, Wilt seemed to suspect Frankie's irritated notions.

"Connor… I think it would be best if you two settle this later. Frankie, Bloo, and I have enough to worry about."

Noticing the dead serious look on the lanky imaginary friend's face, Connor left the room in a huff.

"There's something I don't like about that guy," Bloo muttered.

All of a sudden, they heard a groan from the bed. Frankie hurriedly reached over and began to stroke Mac's head. He seemed to be waking up, but it was taking an awfully long time.

"Mac… Mac…pal, wake up… Mac?" she whispered, feebly hoping that the encouragement would help.

Frankie felt the hot tears well up furiously in her eyes as she helplessly witnessed how heartbreakingly hard it was for the child to regain consciousness once more.

Mac could faintly hear a far-off voice telling him to wake up. Instinctively he tried to do so, but found it immediately to be a momentous task. Why was it so hard? God, why did it hurt so much? What had happened to him?

He attempted to open his eyes. No luck. He tried again. Exhaustion filled his whole body. Mac ignored it, and decided to try one final time.

His eyes fluttered open, and his blurred vision became clear. Frankie's worried face loomed ahead of him.

"Hi, pal…" She whispered with a weak grin, relieved to see him conscious once more. "How are you feeling?"

Mac moaned. "Like… like a truck ran over me…" He swallowed. "What happened to me? I remember talking to you, and then…" he trailed off to a coughing fit.

Only then did he notice the concerned blob holding his hand, squeezing it tightly as he was forced to stand by and wait for the fit to subside.

"Mac… you… you…" Bloo whispered, clearly not possessing the strength to reveal the horrible truth of all he had learned.

Wilt, who seemed to be the calmest of them all, informed the boy of everything; the heart condition, how it would affect him, and the precautions that had to be taken.

"So… I'm really sick…" Mac muttered dejectedly. Frankie nodded, before abruptly bursting into tears. Sobbing uncontrollably, she swept him into a tight hug, and inadvertently agitated a few bruises.

"Ow…" Mac moaned, pulling his hand away from Bloo's and clutching his side.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" the mortified young woman sputtered, hastily withdrawing her arms. "I'm sorry! It's just that…well, in everything that's happened in the past hour or so, I…I kind of forgot that you were hurt to begin with, and…I-I…"

"That's okay," he whispered as she began to delicately stroke his head. "I guess I just better get used to it..."

Two days later, Mac was finally released from the hospital.

"There's nothing more we can do for him," the doctor had said. "He'd be just as well off in his own bed at home, with a familiar atmosphere."

There hadn't been much change in his condition. His breathing had improved slightly, but it still was not at the same point it had been before. His heart hadn't acted up again, but it occasionally hurt for a moment or two. The doctor called this "angina", and pointed out that if it began to happen constantly, that they should get Mac to the hospital as soon as possible. However, he said an aspirin would help short-term angina.

They had given them a portable oxygen tank, as was used at the hospital, in case he had trouble breathing. The doctor said that they should use it if Mac's lips had a bluish cast to them.

The ride home seemed to go well; Mac didn't have any problems. However, it wasn't until he got up the stairs that he started coughing.

"Buddy, are you okay?" asked an extremely concerned Bloo as he paused on the staircase.

Mac took a few deep breaths and nodded. "I'm… I'm fine. Really."

Despite his objections, Bloo helped him the rest of the way to his room. Once there, the boy put his pajamas on and climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up.

"That walk from the foyer to my room never seemed so long…" he murmured to himself, just as Frankie hobbled in on her crutches.

"How are you feeling, pal?"

"A little out of breath," Mac whispered calmly.

The twenty-two-year-old's forehead furrowed with concern as she ruffled his hair gently. "Do you want us to set up your oxygen tank?"

"No," he replied. "I'm fine. Just…I'm just tired."

Frankie let herself relax a bit, although she was still clearly worried. "I'm going to get dinner started, but yell if you need me, okay?"

"Okay…" the child murmured. Frankie frowned and ruefully exited the room

"Do you want to play cards or something? Coco taught me how to play Poker last week, and I'm really good at it," Bloo inquired hopefully.

"Nah," Mac answered with a yawn. "I'm really tired, so I think I'm going to take a nap… Thanks, though…"

Most days followed the same pattern; Bloo loyally coming in to amuse Mac, along with several other imaginary friends. Mac seemed to be getting somewhat better, but Frankie didn't want to take any chances.

The entire house meanwhile noticed a major change in the menu; more heart healthy food. Despite this, still Mac didn't eat much, much to the resident caretaker's constant worry.

One night, Frankie noticed that he hardly touched his dinner. "Are you feeling okay, pal?"

Mac shook his head. "Now… now that you mention it…" he trailed off, grimacing painfully.

"Oh jeez!" the young woman gasped, instinctively springing into action.

Frankie set up the oxygen tank, with the tubes going to Mac's nose, before positioning herself on the side of his bed, leaning awkwardly on one crutch.

"Any better?"

"A little. I feel a little dizzy…" His hand went to the collar of his pajamas.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" she said with bated breath. He didn't say anything, but only nodded weakly.

"Wilt? Wilt!" Frankie hollered. A moment later, the lanky friend appeared at the door.

"Frankie, what's-" He stopped when he glanced at Mac. "What happened? Is he feeling okay?"

"Wilt, get a glass of water and an aspirin right away." The caretaker demanded frantically, and like an arrow, Wilt shot off. Shortly later, the medicine had been successfully retrieved and Mac quickly settled himself back upon his pillows after taking it.

"Is it working?" Frankie asked as she hovered anxiously by his bedside.

Mac took a moment to answer. "Yeah, I think so….I'm really tired, though…"

Frankie put a hand to his forehead. "You feel a little warm… Wilt, can you get the thermometer?"

Wilt did as he was told, and Frankie took Mac's temperature. "Hmm… a hundred and one degrees…" she murmured, trying to appear calm as she read the results out loud. "You just rest, Mac… I'll be here…"

She sat herself upon the bed and began to ruffle his hair softly, while Mac promptly drifted off to sleep. Wilt was sent off again to fetch Bloo, who arrived almost immediately.

"Hey, Frankie! How's…" the azure blob noticed his sickly creator, and went silent.

"He's getting sicker, Bloo." Frankie murmured bluntly as she stroked the boy's head. "I hope they hurry up with that medication…."

Bloo took his place at Mac's side. "I know, it's already been a week… I-I hope he'll be okay. How bad is it now?"

Frankie put her hand back on Mac's forehead. To her dismay, it already felt noticeably warmer.

"Well… Let me put it this way," she replied, her voice quivering and thick with worry, "It's probably going to be a long night."

Frankie was correct. Mac's temperature went up to a hundred and three, and showed no prospect of lowering.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Mac woke up, moaning as he was beset by a case of the shivers. Despite her bulky cast impeding her, Frankie immediately fetched a few extra blankets for the ailing eight-year-old.

"Frankie… I don't… I don't feel well…" he whispered weakly as she tucked him in. She squeezed the feverish little boy's hand and cracked a wan smile.

"You're really sick, pal. Hang in there…you'll get through this…"

His breathing was disturbingly heavy. She sent Wilt to get a glass of cold water.

"Small sips… That's it, Mac… You'll be okay…" she continuously tried to reassure him, although she said it more or less to calm herself down than anything.

He slipped back into unconsciousness. Frankie quietly waited for a while, still holding his hand. She then took his temperature once more, and to her relief, it went down a degree.

In the next few hours, Mac bobbed in and out of consciousness, looking sicklier and utterly exhausted each time he awoke.

"Don't say anything, you gotta save your energy," she told him once as he lay awake for a bit in a feverish delirium, cradled gently in her lap. The stubbornly loyal Bloo remained unusually silent, holding his creator's hand throughout the long night, before finally falling asleep himself, right next to Mac.

Her water method seemed to be working, and his temperature fell to one hundred.

Several imaginary friends waited outside the door, waiting for any news on how the house's resident eight-year-old was. At about two in the morning, a knock at the door startled an extremely drowsy Frankie and forced her to get up from where she was sitting and tense up with alarm. Her grandmother and Mr. Herriman quietly came in the room, motioning for her to settle down.

"How's Master Mac?" the imaginary rabbit inquired his voice carrying an unusual quaver.

"Eduardo came and told us that he wasn't feeling well," her grandmother added kindly.

Frankie sighed heavily and paused to balance herself upon her crutches before answering. "He's one sick little boy, that's for sure. I think he's getting a little better, though; his fever's gone down a bit, and-"

The trio heard a moan from the bed. Madame Foster came over to his side and took his small, smooth hand into her wrinkled palm. Mac's eyes fluttered open partway, and she flashed him an encouraging grin.

"Hang on, boy… If I can make it to be as old as I am, I'm sure you can get through this."

The weak little boy gave her a weak smile before shutting his eyes settling into unconsciousness once more. The elderly lady set down Mac's limp hand, and turned to her granddaughter.

"You're right- the child's not looking well at all. But I have a hunch that he's going to make it for a while. You'll see." She motioned for Frankie to bend over so she could give her granddaughter a kiss on the cheek. "I think you're handling this very well, dearie. After all, this is only part of what's to come. But he'll pull through this, if you can."

She and her imaginary friend left the room, leaving a slightly confused young woman to ponder over these words.

Madame Foster was correct; Mac's condition would get better for the moment, but was sure to get worse if the medication didn't come soon. What really intrigued her, however, was when her grandmother had said before she left.

"He'll pull through this, if you can."

She chewed upon her lower lip as she mulled. What did the old woman mean?

Suddenly, Frankie knew. Madame Foster meant that if they were to get through this, she had to pull herself together emotionally and mentally if she was going to be there to support Mac.

She heard a feverish moan as the delirious eight-year-old stirred slightly. Instinctively she hobbled back to his bedside, nabbing a nearby washcloth she had been using earlier. As the ailing little boy mumbled something incoherent, Frankie tenderly wiped his sweaty brow as she hushed softly to try and soothe the sickly child.

After all, if she didn't encourage him, who would?

Morning had arrived, much to a certain caretaker's initial irk. The exhausted young woman cracked her eyelids open a bit as she slowly awoke, but shut them almost immediately as soon as the harsh morning sunlight assaulted her vision. Eliciting a loud groan, she rolled over in the bed a little as she strove to get her temporarily blurred thoughts into order.

What was going on? It didn't feel like she was dressed in her nightgown or anything, which was rather odd. Wait…no, that was right, as she managed to remember; she never got ready for bed last night. But if that was the case, so what on earth caused her to-

Mac.

As soon as his name flashed through her mind, Frankie's eyes snapped open as she was jolted fully awake.

"Mac?" she inquired in a hoarse squeak, searching about wildly. Much to her utter horror, he was nowhere to be seen at first. Where was he? The boy was so deathly sick the night before, where in the world could he have-

The sounds of light whimpering and the feeling of something warm squirming slightly against her body quickly answered her question, putting an abrupt end to her brief but frantic search. The exhausted woman peered down and much to her heavy relief and slight embarrassment, she saw that the child lay snuggled safely in her own arms, of all places. Cracking a weak smile, Frankie tightened her squeeze on the sleeping eight-year-old and was awash with relief by the simple fact that they had all made it through the seemingly never-ending night.

Not only that, but his breathing appeared to be easier too, and his pallor was hardly the ghastly pale shade it had been last night. She felt his forehead and couldn't help but elicit a light giggle; there was barely a trace of fever to be found.

"Is he okay?" someone suddenly moaned groggily. Frankie looked about briefly and let loose with another brief chuckle; her memory of the last little bit of last night's episode was even worse than she thought. She couldn't remember how she ended up cradling the dozy azure blob too, much less realize that he had been right there the entire time.

Fortunately, by this point nothing was coming as a surprise to her, not even when she finally noticed the large hand resting limply upon her shoulder. She didn't need to turn her head to confirm that it was indeed Wilt dozing in the grossly undersized chair by the bedside; the familiar sound of the loyal imaginary friend's gentle snoring was more than enough confirm her suspicions.

As she yawned heavily, Bloo whimpered as he removed his face from where it had been buried in her sweater and struggled to keep his eyes open as they adjusted to the harsh glare.

"Mac…" he murmured sleepily. "Where's-"

Frankie tittered as she gave him a brief reassuring nuzzle, to which the exhausted blob responded in turn by resuming his curled position against her. Together their eyelids seemed to droop in unison as they settled down to grab a few more hours of much-deserved rest.

"I..I-I think he's gonna be alright." Frankie murmured happily, coddling the pair close as she drifted off back to sleep. "Let's just hope this is gonna be as bad as it's gonna get…."

Author's notes: I hope that longer chapter made up for the time that I didn't write… I definitely think that it was not the best chapter I've written, but it's done! Please review, and Dude13 will forward all reviews to me.