Disclaimer/Author's Note: All my stories are finishing up on me! (sobs) First TOS, now this! Wah!

At any rate, this one is drawing to a close soon too. I can feel it. And I'm not happy, but there's not much I can do about it. So, uh, enjoy because there isn't much left to say. Oh, and Foster's isn't mine.

Chapter Twelve: Realization

Water lilies floated in the pond by the unicorn's pen. A twenty-seven year old woman with flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes idly tossed tattered remains of a flower inside. Each petal drifted independent of its sibling and she hardly paid them any mind. Her thoughts were a dark, swirling mass of confusion as she replayed her time with Benjamin. How could she have missed those clues? How could she have been so naïve? There really were no chivalrous humans left.

The problem was now that she knew the truth, her feelings hadn't stopped. She was bewildered; how could she fall for him of all creatures? And she knew this was love. She'd never felt like this in her life…and she hated it. She hated the thought of falling for someone and having no say in it. Suddenly, horribly, she comprehended Mr. Herriman's situation a few months ago.

Dignified hops behind her caused her to spin around. Incredibly miserable eyes met hers and she'd never seen him look so defeated. However, he forced his face into a smile that nevertheless halted before it got anywhere near his eyes. To Frankie, it looked excruciating. The horrid thing was she wore the same expression.

"Well, Miss Frances…here we are."

Somehow, the loss of her nickname in his voice stung more than she'd expected. It was like everything between them had faded into oblivion. Benjamin was gone, like he'd never existed, and he was ducking behind the formality again. But she had no idea how to make him stop…or if she wanted it to. Maybe if he acted like everything was like it had been, the world would stop and she could get off this dizzying ride. Everything would be normal and this fresh hell would become Bloo's latest stunt.

"May I?" he murmured politely, indicating the log she was on. She shrugged, eyeing the pond again. One ripple in the water caused so much damage. She'd started this…she'd rocked the boat. How she loathed her curiosity; she hugged herself tightly and pretended not to notice when he sat beside her.

Silence descended and he glanced at her morosely before rising to his feet again. He only maneuvered a few feet away when Frankie rose herself and placed a hand on his furry shoulder. He shut his eyes and drew a deep, shaky breath. He wasn't going to get his hopes up and he definitely wasn't going to let his heart's racing, sweaty paws, and delirious delight in her hand on his shoulder get the best of him.

However, he confessed he had no idea how to really deal with this. He'd hid his affections away and they'd been unearthed. True, he would have suffered, but it would have been alone. He hadn't dared entertain hopes otherwise then and he scarcely dared now.

Shutting himself up in his office hadn't helped either, nor had running away. No matter what he did, he ended up hurting someone. He swallowed hard and bit back a sigh. Frankie watched him closely and he wondered what was running through her head. Was she questioning her fate like he had his? Was she wondering how best to tell him that because of his trickery, she could never love him? He knew he should have disagreed instantly to Madame Foster's idea but a small part of him had hoped so desperately she might love some part of him, if not the real creature.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm not furious at you for tricking me like that," she said, yet she spoke calmly. He turned, not daring to look her in the eyes just yet. The hand on his shoulder squeezed it comfortingly and then she shifted away. Hardly surprised, though slightly disappointed, he frowned. Perhaps she was too bewildered to berate him.

"I do not blame you in the slightest," he said, inclining his head. "Were I in your situation, I would-"

Smiling weakly, she interrupted. "I'm not really in the mood for this right now, okay, Mr. H? I have a lot of thinking to do and I'd appreciate it if I was left alone."

Knowing an exit cue when he heard one, he fumbled for a response and then hopped away, leaving her to her thoughts, confused and bewildered though they were. There was nothing he could really do now, nothing he could say to make things better (though he could make them worse if he was a masochist). All he could do was sit out and wait for her to puzzle everything out. Unfortunately, that was not a wait he relished the thought of, yet he had no choice. This wasn't going to be solved as easily as a poorly constructed bet.

Blooregard Q. Kazoo balanced himself perfectly on the railing and rocked back and forth, worrying his creator tremendously. Already he'd nearly fallen backwards twice (and scoffed at Mac's concern as well) and Mac was not keen to see another. The two were conversing quietly, all the while spying on Blake Superior and Richie. However, oddly enough, they weren't as couply as they made themselves out to be. They sat at a picnic bench and appeared to be arguing, not making out. Then again, Bloo, who knew virtually nothing about anything, claimed that they were just about to. Mac shook his head, absent mindedly catching Bloo as he leaned too far forward. Something fishy was going on here.

"Honestly, what loser holds onto their imaginary friend for longer than a few years? The only reason I keep you is because if I didn't, I'd look bad," Richie snapped, folding his arms across his chest. Bloo said "a ha!" in his arms, but Mac was concentrating on Blake's face. An incredibly hurt look entered his eyes and he turned his head to shield his creator from his pain.

However, if they were a couple, why were they arguing? Even while Bloo boasted that they were going to win, Mac tuned him out. They didn't seem like a couple at all. In fact, they didn't seem like they were friends, either. Richie was acting like Blake was dragging him down…and that he hated him. Given the looks he'd caught his creation giving his creator, Blake didn't feel the same way. Beneath the cold exterior, the liger was deeply hurt he was this willing to abandon him.

"Yes! We won, we won!" Bloo cried, pumping his fist in the air.

Meanwhile, Richie continued to berate his imaginary friend until the creature roared, baring his teeth, and abruptly flew away. The small blob shoved at his arms, but Mac tightened his hold. Whining and moping, about to bite him, he watched, annoyed, as the liger became a speck in the sky. More so than the bet, Mac found himself worried about Blake's emotional state. He was a caring soul by nature and regardless of his personal feelings about his creator, the thought of any human abandoning their creation filled him with disgust.

"Did we?" Mac whispered. "Did we really?"

"What are you talking about? Of course we did. Did you see him take off? Man, that must've been some argument. Probably about how much better I am than him. I knew he was jealous," he gloated, sticking his tongue out. Posing, he stood atop his arms and then promptly fell out, straight on his face onto the ground.

Sighing heavily, he wondered if there was a point in trying to locate the other imaginary friend. Unfortunately, he had no idea where he might have gone. Perhaps the best thing to do now was to prevent Bloo from running off half cocked and then see if he could fix a friendship. Not that he really cared, but anything was better than enduring more conceit at Foster's and besides…humans shouldn't leave their imaginary friends like that.

Scooping up his creation, he tightened his hold lest he run off at Richie and wondered how to best approach this.

Relationships varied amongst imaginary friends, but Richie's with his creation had never been terribly strong in the first place. Underneath his boasting and conceit, Richie's shallowness and insecurity ground Blake's nerves. They'd a series of arguments growing up, culminating in the decision that they were together as friends only in public. In private, they bickered like there was no tomorrow.

The truth was Blake was jealous when Richie got new friends, superficial though they were. Since he'd been created with the notion that he was the best friend ever, imaginary or not, he believed that his creation was wasting his time with this cretins. Moreover, when he informed him of this and the fact they were using him for his money, he'd found himself shoved rudely out of the mansion. Richie disbelieved him and refused to readmit him unless he lied and said he'd been mistaken. He hadn't done that yet.

Yet in public when he had to show off his fabulous imaginary, he'd call upon him and he'd be forced to show up. He'd become less of a friend and more of a commodity. However, he'd gritted his teeth and bore it in the hopes things would get better. They hadn't. In fact, they were steadily zooming downhill at a rate that dizzied most. This latest argument was the straw that broke the camel's back. Unless his creator apologized, this was where they would part ways. He was certain other children would value him higher than his spoiled "friend".

Yet even as he thought that, his conscience panged. They'd their disagreements, yes, but he was his creator. Wasn't that bond supposed to mean something? Mac and Bloo were tighter than friends because of it and yet, here he was, flying away from him because the very sight made him nauseous. He sighed, wishing it could be otherwise. But if neither of them wanted to work on it…

Landing on a nearby branch, he watched them, safely distanced. Perhaps they really were a testament to their relationship's strength and love. Most children left their imaginary friends as they aged and he was no exception. Miserable, he took flight again to mull the life of an ordinary imaginary friend.

Relationships fall apart and come together. In the case of Frankie and Mr. Herriman, she lay flat on her back and watched the clouds pass by. A sultry breeze swept her hair and rustled her green denim skirt. Ages ago, she'd lie here and pretend the clouds were various creatures, including her imaginary friend. She'd never an imaginary friend because she'd been so busy taking care of them. Sometimes, she wondered if she was capable of it at all.

Never had she thought she'd have one interested in her romantically, however, especially not Mr. Herriman. Persnickety creature that he was, she'd have assumed it was beyond him. After all, Madame Foster had never bothered to contradict that notion and he seemed too inflexible to show affection, much less love another.

And to think, she might have continued to think that if she hadn't stumbled upon the diary in the first place. Did she regret that? Did she regret everything that had happened afterwards? Did she wish she'd never opened it in the first place and everything was the way it had been?

Musing, she plucked a strand of grass and chewed on it reflectively. Ironically, the only thing she regretted was the way she'd found out. She'd forced his hand instead of letting him come to her. Would he have if she'd given him the time and actually been open to it? Yet the fact remained she hadn't been open until she discovered she had to be. And now that she was…she didn't mind as much.

As for feeling any more, well, time would tell on that, unfortunately. The more she thought about it, though…the more she realized the truth. Whether through accident or dumb luck, she'd fallen for him as well.