Disclaimer: I don't own it, lamentably.

Chapter Five: Half the Battle

For the next few weeks, Mac waited agitatedly by the mail box. Frankie had given him a crash course in R.D.'s exploits in the past and the internet filled him in on the rest. His essay, heartfelt but far less banal than the other fangirls, he'd spent a day agonizing over. Even Mr. Herriman, usually a stickler for hard work and extreme effort, thought he might be taking things a bit too far. It was just a "trite essay for an undeserving fanbase". Fortunately, he hadn't time to add anything else, because Mac, disgruntled, had wadded a discarded draft at his bowler hat. Declaring him a "hooligan", the imaginary rabbit had hopped out swiftly.

Now his attempts might have been for naught. Today was the deadline for notification and, standing on his toes to watch the mailman, he didn't see anything in his arms that looked remotely like an announcement. Of course, he had no idea what such an envelope might look like, but that didn't stop him from stamping his foot impatiently. He and Frankie hadn't quite constructed a plan if he didn't win and what they had was weak at best. Their last brain session culminated with Frankie sighing and telling him he'd better win that damn contest because otherwise they had no idea what they were up against. Only Bloo and Kip knew what was going on and without the contest, they couldn't plan accordingly.

At long last, the smirking postman delivered. Every girl on the block enamored with R.D. had the same thin manila envelope. Mac's, however, was thicker than normal. The postman winked, still smirking, and walked away. He found this whole R.D. business rather amusing- even his own daughter was practically in love with him. Teenage girls and their pop idols.

Mac eagerly shred the envelope (and safely situated the rest of the mail on the sidewalk). Skimming the contents, he reached the end and grinned like the Cheshire cat. There, tucked within an official notice, was the "golden" ticket. A pass for him (and him alone, for some bizarre reason) to visit R.D. in California, plus a VIP card to get into everywhere else for the day. He snatched both, raised his fists over his head, and pumped them in victory. He was going to see Bloo!

Kip furiously answered the phone and turned on his hostage/rock star. R.D.'s eyes tracked him around the room while he paced. When Kip said nothing and randomly lashed out, that was when he was at his most dangerous. He waited on pins and needles, wondering what he was in for now. He couldn't remember doing anything rebellious lately, other than the usual.

"Fine," his producer growled, eyes narrowed to slits. "I'll let the disgusting little boy tour with us for a day. But if he does anything, anything at all, I'll have your heads."

Interest piqued, R.D. leaned forward on his chair and listened. He preferred threats directed at other people infinitely. But someone on tour with them, even for a day? It sounded too good to be true. And, in R.D.'s experience, anything too good to be true usually was.

"His name is what?" he snarled, glaring at R.D. Uncomfortable, he squirmed in his chair. The voice he normally silenced squeaked in renewed hope. Mac's coming? Tell me he's coming! Mac!

"How the hell did a twelve year old boy win your contest, anyway?" he snapped suspiciously.

Twelve? Mac's twelve! Bloo thought, azure eyes wide. Is it Mac? Is it?

"That was a rhetorical question!"

Bloo bounced happily in his chair and an ecstatic grin split his face. What an amazing thing hope was. It filled him to the brim and lent him enthusiasm he hadn't felt in years. The mere thought of seeing Mac again was ineffable.

"Fine. But I warn you, if that little brat gets under my feet or tries to lure my client away from his forced career, I mean, his life dream, I'll kill him. And if you don't think I'm serious, you've got another thing coming."

Slamming the receiver down so hard it cracked, Kip spun on Bloo. Bloo grinned back, springing from his chair to bounce on the balls of his feet. Kip stared momentarily, distracted by his grin. Bloo hadn't grinned like that in ages, especially not at him. He almost forgot what he was going to say.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked at last, stunned. "I didn't say you can leave."

"Mac's coming, isn't he? He won that contest, didn't he? That's why you're pissed, isn't it? You don't want him to come! You didn't think he would! But he did…or he is! I knew he wouldn't give up on me!" Bloo cried, hopping up and down. Kip watched distastefully, scowling at his charge.

"You're goddamn lucky that this brings us and by us, I mean me more publicity."

Growling at him like he'd planned this, Kip, fuming, strode out. Bloo stared after him for a few moments, too excited to speak. When he did, he screamed, pumping his fists in the air much like his creator had a half hour ago.

"YES!"

Three weeks later, fingers drummed impatiently against the arm of his coach seat. Terrance had pestered him endlessly, up until their mother left him at the gate. He managed to insult him any way he could, including insinuating R.D. was actually Mac's secret lover. Fortunately, Mac's mother had decided to silence him at that instant, saving Mac the necessity of hissing an insult back. He knew far too many of Terrance's little dark secrets.

Girls on the plane shrieked nonstop about R.D. behind him (he ignored them the best he could). Instead, his thoughts were worry lined, wondering how long Bloo would hold on sans him. Was he seriously considering what he wrote in "Teenage Suicide"? Was he giving up on him?

His stomach lurched when the plane hit turbulence and he found he couldn't even eat the customary bag of peanuts. Just the thought made him queasy. Four years of pretending Bloo didn't exist and all the anxiety bundled up inside. He wondered if it was confinement or his throat closing up giving his chest its constriction. What kind of trouble had Bloo landed himself into, if he couldn't outwit his way out? The thought troubled him for the rest of the flight.

One of Kip's representatives awaited him at the California gate and eyed him warily. Though he hadn't honestly expected Bloo to be there, part of him had anticipated it. Bloo would be waiting at the gates and he'd tackle him to the ground in a fierce hug that seized the air from Mac's lungs. He'd tell him he wasn't serious about anything, especially "Teenage Suicide", and he would gladly go home with him. Then, after Mac scolded him, he'd hang his head and gladly accompany him back to Foster's.

"Where's Bl-, I mean, R.D.?" Mac asked, glancing around as if he might pop out abruptly. The assistant merely shook his head and led Mac to the awaiting taxi cab. Whoever financed this trip had literally spared no expense. Sitting by the sidewalk, the cab looked especially woebegone beside expensive new cars and limos. Its many chips, scratches, and bird droppings told Mac the caretaker of this vehicle clearly couldn't care less. Luckily, the vehicle operated better than it appeared.

No one answered a single question, so he leaned back and waited, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Though it irritated many people and imaginary friends alike, it was a nervous habit he couldn't kick. The movement eased him slightly, particularly now that they neared R.D.'s studio. He swallowed hard, pensive on his possible findings. There hadn't been any recent pictures of Bloo/R.D. and, as Frankie told him, Kip probably had a good reason for keeping him out the limelight. Mac was going to discover just what was going on here, even if it killed him.

They pulled up; the assistant and driver haggled, since the assistant apparently hadn't been paid to give him any sort of tip. Curses flew like good wine and Mac stealthily crept away to locate R.D.'s dressing room. Through myriads of avenues, haphazard trailers, and occasional scalpers, he managed to locate it, far in the back. In fact, if he hadn't been as nimble, he might have found himself mauled by the half dozen fans doing the same thing. Fangirls really did scare the hell out of him sometimes.

"Bloo?" Mac murmured, pounding the door. No one answered and his heart sank a little. What if Bloo wasn't in there but Kip? What if he'd spent the last hour questing in vain? Then he'd have to spend another hour, maybe two, finding his imaginary friend in this labyrinth.

"Bloo!" he thundered, trouncing the steel door so hard, his fist was going to feel it for weeks afterwards. However, before he raised his hand to hammer again, it creaked cautiously open and a pair of faded azure eyes gave him the once over. A margin of Bloo's humor and liveliness flickered in his eyes and he offered his creator a weak smile. Mac stared, taken aback. How could this morose individual be his imaginary friend? The words to "Teenage Suicide" swirled through his mind and he sighed, connecting them reluctantly with the rock star. When he saw him up close, they fit entirely too well.

"It's been a while since anyone's called me that," R.D. murmured, lowering his gaze. Heat flushed his cheeks, lending them a more sentient appearance. He looked emaciated, a daytime vampire. Mac continued to stare, disturbed by his friend's condition. He had to yank him in, meanwhile scanning the perimeter for Kip.

His dressing room was sparser, too, than what he'd seen of others. Only a bean bag chair, a broken mirror, and a cot adorned the room. Sticking out from under a beaten pillow was, upon closer inspection, a four year old picture of Mac. Mac glanced at it, then at R.D., flinging himself on the deteriorating bean bag chair. The diminutive star offered no explanations, merely gawked at him. More thoughts raced through his mind than he felt safe to express.

"Bloo, what the hell is going on here? Your stuff looks like it came from a garage sale, you don't look like you've eaten in days, and you haven't actually talked to me in four years. In fact, the last time we came face to face, you ran away.

"Are you too important to talk to me? Am I just one of the little people you stepped on? If that's true, then why are you constantly apologizing to me in your albums? Why are you-"

Bloo rose, striding across the small expanse to peer down at his creator. His eyes narrowed to slits and he resembled his producer. Mac, having no idea what this signified, opened his mouth to add more fuel to the fire. All he knew was four years ago, Bloo had dumped him. And now that he was here, face to face again, he wanted answers.

"You wanna know why I haven't talked to you, Mac?" Bloo snapped, his nose mere inches away from Mac's. "You wanna know why I ran away? And all that other crap?

"I'll tell you! Kip, my evil producer, threatened to hurt you when I was Deo, four years ago. He tricked me into being adopted and when I tried to back out, he told me he'd kill you. The night of the variety hour, he forced me into a human form because he thought it'd make more money. I ran away from him and started living in the streets.

"That night I followed Terrance home, I fled because I thought you'd react like this. I was too ashamed of what I'd done, too afraid of your reaction, and I couldn't take it. I didn't tell Foster's I was living in the streets because that meant I would have to admit everything leading up to that. Not to mention I was afraid if I lived there again, Kip might be able to find me, but, more importantly, you."

Voice dangerously low, he proceeded to tell him what transpired that night and Kip's general treatment. Mac, thunderstruck, said nothing until he finished. In his bag, he carried a few candy bars and, fumbling, he offered one to Bloo. The latter refused, folding his arms across his chest and shaking his head.

"I'm not hungry any more. I'm not anything any more. When I wrote 'Teenage Suicide', I wasn't sure if I wanted you to hear at all. It was my last attempt to reach you, but, if that didn't work, it'd be my encore song for my last show ever. It still might. I'm done being Kip's bitch."

Trembling, Mac grabbed him by the waist and sat him down. Bloo's eyes softened and he leaned against him temporarily. He hadn't felt comfort in years, particularly not from Mac. He rested against his shoulder and sighed.

"I'm so tired…" he whispered. "Just let me have this one last encore…"

"Bloo!" Mac scolded, scared out of his mind now. He raised his head to regard him.

"Don't you understand? I've worked this all out. If I die, sure fans might be upset, but Kip can leave you alone. And then everything'll be all right. You'll see, Mac. Everything'll be so much better."

Brain numb with horror, Mac discovered absolutely no thoughts came to mind. He was simply too aghast to think, nonetheless spell out Bloo's reasons for living. The humanoid imaginary friend smiled tragically and brushed his cheek with his palm. His eyes sparkled with tears and, when Mac touched his own cheek, a stray tear slid down his.

"I'm doing this for you."

Kip banged angrily on the door; he'd discovered the annoying intrusion had weaseled his way into R.D.'s dressing room and he was furious beyond words. He raised both fists, splintering the wood. Mac jumped, but Bloo smiled sadly. He rose soundlessly and, after messing up Mac's hair, left to talk to Kip. Mac was left alone, head buzzing and heart heavy.

Author's Notes: Not that it matters to y'all, but I decided to do things backwards today. I'm actually replying to the reviews before I write the chapter because, as you know, I haven't been replying. Whee, my fingers are flying!

At any rate, here we go.

Rakal- You pretty much summed it up (although others added). The lyrics to the song definitely made an impression on the seriousness and emotions in that chapter. The funny thing was, there's another version of that song I almost used, but I decided against it. I also wasn't going to put the song in there at all…because I'm not terribly confident in my songwriting ability (considering that's the second song in my life I've ever written).

And didn't you notice? I specialize in depressing. Thanks…I love my Mac! I wanted to hug him so much while I was watching the pilot today. My baby!

MisterBlue- He's apologized on every song in that album and the last. Frankie was getting sick of Mac ignoring him- and again, another irony was my original composition had Mac finding out the song for himself. I guess here he's too stubborn.

I was hoping I could clarify a few things, while I'm here. The reason I keep using "R.D." instead of Bloo is because Bloo is starting to become the hollow rock star. He feels he's dying inside and is assuming the role of R.D. Part of him thinks it's just a big acting gig, but this time, he's stuck in the role. I don't know if that makes any sense to anyone but me…

A. Nonymous- I'm going to have to respectfully decline writing the hundred word essay. Have you ever actually tried to pin down your words to a concise amount? Ask any of my friends- I did that once and I was not a happy camper. I'm not going to spend hours trimming it down to exactly a hundred words (because I'm obsessive like that).

I'm not entirely certain of Kip's fate at the moment. I usually leave the conceptualization of the end until I actually write it. That way, it's fresher and it surprises me.

I thought that the last chapter would have made those quotes perfectly clear, however. (frowns) That's part of why I didn't respond. Mac was starting to realize Bloo's lyrics had more significance than the press placed on them. Most people treat pop lyrics like cheap toys. They don't assume they have any deeper meaning- they're just as vapid as the singer. Mac discovering that they weren't was important.

The chorus was where the words (Chorus-2X) were written above. Unless you're planning to make me an actual song with that, I don't think it matters.

(Frowns) Yes, I have heard of it. I've probably seen advertisements on the TV. Why do you ask? Do you have tickets for me?

Trixie21- The song was meant to be creepy. Nothing less would have shocked Mac into figuring out Bloo desperately needs his help. And, if I'm right, it takes a hell of a lot to break Bloo's spirit. It's almost dead; too….Mac's arrival might only delay his inevitable "death".

The sad thing is, it might not be as easy as Mac showing up to bring Bloo home.

That's it for now, folks! Until we meet again…