Disclaimer: Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends is not mine, but this plot is. Oh, and to answer any questions, imaginary/creator telepathy is my idea. It appeared in Sunrise, Sunset (which no longer exists on this site...please, someone, give me a copy of it) and it will appear again. I rather like the idea of them being linked.

I'd love to see more Frankie/Herriman stories, though...as well as fanart. Y'all can thank Grand High Idol for her fabolous drawing of them. Go to her bio and check it out on DA.

Chapter Four: Unraveling

"All right, who hurt you? I'm coming in with the cavalry!" Madame Foster cried, flinging his door open. It banged against the wall and Herriman started, blinking furiously.

He choked back the flood, but tears streamed down his face. Such an unguarded moment...he hated having her here seeing this. In her eyes, he was this illustrious figure who never shed a tear and here he was, sobbing because Frankie couldn't return his affections. He was a fool. All his life, he'd avoided emotional displays and when one attacked, he spent more time abating it than the actual outburst. Losing face meant losing everything to him.

Whiskers twitching, he gawked when she strode confidently inside. Frankie's action and the shocked look on her face burned his eyelids like tears. His creator scrutinized him and the belligerence vanished, replaced by concern. She grabbed his hand and hopped nimbly onto the chair Frankie vacated not fifteen minutes previously. A lump formed painfully in his throat and he was at a loss to reply.

"Who was it?" She murmured and sprang into his lap. Oddly, it dislodged the lump. It was ironic- in her youth, she'd run to him for comfort like an overstuffed animal and now, here he was, needing it himself. Instead of his child clutching him, he longed to clutch her and bawl. No...he couldn't succumb to that. He couldn't...but she already saw his tears...what was he supposed to do?

"Eleanor...I mean, Madame Foster, now is not the time…" he protested weakly, realizing his mistake five seconds too late. Eyes widening, she peered him anew and rapped her cane smartly on his mahogany desk. He had the distinct impression she wanted to do the same to his head.

"Since when do you call me by my first name? I remember even when I was a child; you'd call me Miss Eleanor instead of Ellie…" She smiled fondly, remembering such an occasion. Mr. Herriman stared, nonplussed. He'd only called her that when she absolutely insisted…or after she fell asleep and no one heard the mistake.

"I apologize, El-, Madame Foster, but I am far too busy to-" he started, but she saw right through him. Like he'd predicted, she rapped him on the head soundly, but not hard enough to really hurt.

"Now I know something's wrong. Not only did you do that twice…but do you think I'm blind? You're still crying and you're shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I might be old, but I'm not senile! Now are you going to tell me what's up or do I have to whack it out of you?" she threatened, brandishing the cane. He eyed it warily- of course, he knew she'd do it, but the question was whether it was worth the abuse. Perhaps she saw the conflict in his eyes, because it lowered and her expression softened.

"What happened?" She touched his face and he bowed his head like a guilty child. He hated this, but he couldn't tell her. Let her do her worst, she wouldn't get a word out of him. This was his problem and his alone. He wished their bond hadn't been this strong, to bring her here in the first place.

Swallowing hard, he turned his head and tried to ignore the weight in his lap. Missing the smirk on his face, he gasped when she wrapped her arms around his midriff. He might be able to ignore her before, but definitely not now, not with her compassionate eyes shimmering. But apprising her was not an option…what was he supposed to do?

"I…I cannot tell you…" he whispered and wrapped his arms around her slight form. How he wished it were Frankie…how was he going to face her? How was he going to face anything?

"I'm not leaving until you spill," she informed him grimly. "So sit tight."

…

"Mac!" Bloo exploded and propelled himself at his creator. Spectators in the hall described it as a flying blue blob sailing through the air like a snot projectile. Whatever the case, Mac stumbled backwards slightly and smirked. Once, when he was ten, Bloo had jumped off the balcony and struck Mac with such force, he gave him a concussion. Bloo had been almost as apologetic as Wilt and hovered protectively over his creator.

Mac blushed and hugged Bloo to his chest. Like a cat, Bloo rubbed against him and then coursed his blobby arm along the side of his face. Tension hung thick in the air and Wilt, Coco, and Eduardo approached through an adjacent room. The two noticed only each other.

Bloo raised his head to be level with Mac's lips and the brown haired boy blinked, radiating heat. Time slowed to a crawl and the seconds ticked by. There were three inches between them…two…one…

"Crazy rabbit!" Frankie muttered and bowled creation and creator over. "What the hell am I supposed to say? He sprang this on me out of nowhere!"

Mac and Bloo tumbled to the hard floor and winced at the impact. Bloo landed in Mac's lap, fortunately and hugged his creator's legs. Mac groaned, rubbing his sore rear. What on earth was that all about?

"Oh, sorry, you guys," she said carelessly and then marched off, muttering about diaries and insane imaginary friends. All four present imaginary friends and Mac stared blankly. O-kay…

"Anybody else think something weird's going on here?" Wilt said, frowning. And, not too far away, sobs filled their ears…

…

Frankie stormed past Mr. Herriman's office door and halted, hearing her grandmother's voice through the open door. Swallowing hard, she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone stifling sobs. In five seconds, her chest constricted and she bit her lip. The only possible creature crying was Mr. Herriman and guilt overwhelmed her. She'd broken his heart, hadn't she? But she hadn't meant to…

Who would have guessed he felt that deeply for her? But how could he expect her to reciprocate on such little notice? She hadn't told him no…but she hadn't said yes, either. She'd pulled her hand away, which to him must have meant there was no chance. But she hadn't meant to say that…she had no idea what she intended to communicate…

It wasn't that he was that bad, even when he grated her nerves. He was just doing his job and ensuring Foster's ran properly. Half of the things she did if she didn't, no one would. And he never worked her until she collapsed.

"Why can't you tell me?" her grandmother murmured and it carried into the hall. Frankie hugged her arms to her chest and listened intently. Guilt bore down on her like a hundred point weight. He couldn't tell her because he was afraid of hurting her…and he couldn't talk to Frankie because she avoided him…he was out of options…she'd driven a wedge between them…

"Is it about Frankie?" she continued and Frankie gasped audibly. She clasped a hand to her mouth in shock, but it was too late. Sounds of a cane scrambling across the floor accompanied her grandmother at the door. However, by the time she reached it, Frankie was long gone. Sneakers whipped around the corner and Frankie hurriedly buried herself into a thankless task. So now she had two people to avoid, lovely.

…

"So Frankie's pissed and Mr. Herriman's locked himself in his office? Suspiiiiiiiicious," Bloo said, bouncing onto Mac's neck. Coco watched them amusedly, noting that he wouldn't stop touching his creator. Mac had only been here twenty minutes and Bloo couldn't keep his hands off him. She chuckled.

Wilt watched too, but he frowned. Sure, Bloo was hyperactive, but it was like he was marking Mac as his property. It was unsettling to say the least. Maybe when they separated, he'd ask him about it. And then there was that almost kiss…

"Si and Herriman been acting weird 'round Frankie," Eduardo asserted. "Like he no want to be near her."

"So Frankie tried to do Herriman in with a knife in the parlor…interesting…" Bloo said and grinned. "All we have to do is find the bloody knife…"

"I don't think she tried to kill him, Bloo," Mac said stoutly and glared down at his creation. Bloo, unfazed, continued his insane theory. He proceeded to explain how everything, including Herriman's crying, fit in.

"I bet when I started that food fight-"

"You started a food fight?" Mac interrupted, scowling. "Bloo, if you keep this up, you're going to get thrown out. That's the fifth one this week."

"I know, I know," Bloo said, waving him off. It wasn't important how many times he'd been punished or how severely. After all, these were just innocent pranks. Bloo never intentionally hurt anyone.

"You know? Where will you live?" Mac snapped, temper getting the better of him.

"I was saying," Bloo interrupted, speaking over him, "before I was rudely interrupted-"

"Mac's right," Wilt cut in and scowled. "Mr. Herriman's going to get sick of you if you don't stop soon."

Coco added a comment and Eduardo nodded. Bloo folded his arms across his chest and reclined against Mac; how dare they interrupt his far fetched theory with logic. What was wrong with them? Whatever he had to say was far better than their reminders of the precariously thin ice he skated on. Mac's comfortable…

"I get I'm in trouble! Now let's go to the parlor and look for the knife," Bloo snapped and Mac folded his arms over his imaginary friend. A smile broke across his face and he snuggled closer, sighing deeply. He could stay here forever.

"There is no knife, Bloo, because she didn't try to kill him. He's not crying because she stabbed him. Your imagination's running away with you again," Mac replied and blushed when Bloo kissed his hand. Wilt's eye widened and Eduardo gawked. Both glanced at Coco, trilling happily.

"The truth is out there and I'll find it or my name isn't Blooregard Q. Kazoo! Frankie Foster, we have you for attempted homicide number one!"

Shaking their heads, the other three dispersed, leaving Mac prey to Bloo's ravings. However, when he dropped him, he shut up quickly.

…

Madame Foster frowned and shut the door reluctantly. Sooner or later, she'd have to have a talk with the two again, though perhaps later would be best, considering the reactions. Herriman resembled a bed sheet and his fingers gripped the desk. He didn't have to ask to know who had spurted away like she had wings on her feet. He felt drained, too weak to protest or fight his creator anymore. He just wanted this to be over.

"Frankie…" he muttered and sighed heavily. She turned in his direction with a curious expression.

"Ha, caught you again! But seriously…this thing with Frankie isn't a fight, is it?"

Exhausted, he merely shook his head and with remarkable speed, she darted to his side. One hand stroked his side and he enveloped her again, rocking her gently back and forth. Completely unnerved, she glanced up at him and bit her lip contemplatively. Her imaginary friend gazed back at her and sighed. He looked like a woebegone child.

"But why else would you be…" her voice trailed off and she stared, disbelieving. Removing her arms, she hopped off and stared at him like she'd never seen him before. The color returned in full swing, transforming him into a ripe tomato. By the look on her face, she'd put two and two together.

"No…" they both breathed in unison and she unconsciously retreated a few paces. Herriman's heart pounded in his chest once again (at this rate, he'd have a heart attack).

His creator trembled and then, with an expression like someone died, she said, "You're in love with Frankie, aren't you?"

…