Author's Note/Disclaimer: Sorry for the delay, but I had to have the perfect ending chapter. Tis sad…

And Foster's doesn't belong to me. Yes, Foster's with my damn New York accent.

Chapter Thirteen: Finale

Imaginary friends and creators are an interesting topic at the best of times and an annoyance at the worst. Most parents have learned to cope with whatever their children create and some even realize that not only are their imaginary friends sentient beings, they are completely separate from their children. Unfortunately, like children, some parents like to display imaginary friends as though they are prizes to be won or trophies earned. When a child grows up in such an environment, their imaginary friends reflect that.

Richie wasn't sure he ever truly cared for Blake Superior, but his parents had never truly cared for him, either. Therefore, he never learned how to properly concern himself with anything other than money. And now, he'd lost the only real friend he had, albeit imaginary, because he was incapable of holding onto him.

Leaves crunched underfoot as he halted, watching Blake out of the corner of his eye. The liger sat hunched on a bench; his eyes were narrowed and his tail whipped back and forth ferociously. A group of children played nearby, but when they spotted him, they leapt up suddenly and darted away. He snorted, stretching his jaw experimentally and baring his teeth.

"I thought they usually kept wild specimens contained behind bars in the zoo," Richie called nonchalantly, putting his hands in his pockets. Blake spun around, but his expression never faltered. He snapped his jaw once more, half in yawn, half threat. However, contrary to his aggressive stance, he was listening.

Imaginary friends disliked abandonment, regardless of whether they were attached to their creator or not. They grew accustomed to a certain lifestyle…and, in their hearts of hearts, wished to be the best friends they could be to their creator. Blake would never admit to such a thing, but he subconsciously wished Richie would actually give a damn about something other than himself, his wealth, and reputation.

"And I thought we were through," he replied icily, folding his furry arms across his upper torso. The wind captured his cape and twirled it around. Richie restrained a smirk- the sitting superhero, capable of saving him from everything. He always shared in his glory, regardless of whether he actually did anything. But had he created him solely for that purpose? Or, when he was four, had he wanted something more? A companion and hero against his parents, who were never home and never cared to contact him? An ease to his loneliness?

"Is there something wrong with seeing you off, then?" he retorted, but the words coming out were not the words he truly desired. He wanted to ask him why childhood was so short lived and what was wrong with keeping your imaginary friend longer, but the thought never even occurred to him. Likewise, he wished to tell him he needed a friend, a real friend, not the sycophants, but how could he ask that when he didn't know himself? How could he express himself when he had no idea how to put it into words? Was he just going to let him walk out on his life when he, truly and deeply, needed him?

"I didn't think you cared that much," he replied stiffly, arching his back. Why was everything forever formal? Why couldn't he express himself clearer than this? Was it possible?

"I don't…" he murmured, but sat beside him on the bench. Blake's eyes widened, but he merely slid further down. Despondent but unaware of the reason, the towheaded boy hung his head and counted the cracks in the pavement beneath their feet. One, two, three…this was getting him nowhere. But where did he want to be?

"Then why are you here?" he pointed out, extending his paws. A small robin landed on it and twittered happily. Typical; nature loved him, everyone adored him. But hadn't he created him to be loved? Because he couldn't be?

"I…" he halted. The words swelled and died in his throat. A petite redheaded girl broke away from the group and stared, head cocked, at the liger. She offered him a smile he didn't return. Shaking her head, she returned to her comrades and Richie frowned, recognizing her openness and ease. He'd never be like that.

"If you do not have anything to say to me, then I will leave you, Richie. Forever."

The words hung in the air like a fetid scent. He gaped, but no words came to him. Nothing to demand, no further commands. His brain literally drew a blank. The liger inclined his head and gazed at him as if waiting for an objection. When none came, he frowned, an odd expression framing his face like losing the greatest treasure in the world, and took off.

Richie watched him until he was a speck in the sky and sank to the bench. He didn't know why, but he shared the sentiment.

Frankie lay flat on her back as the clouds rolled by. A chill autumn breeze swept her fiery auburn hair and rustled her green cardigan, but she paid it no mind. Instead, she sighed heavily, her mind cluttered and obstructed. A few leaves landed on her chest; it gently rose and fell, the only action completely uninhibited by duress. Such a simple motion, whereas love was utterly, completely bewildering and complicated.

Would she have fallen for Mr. Herriman under different circumstances? He was her boss, yes, and an imaginary friend as well. Not to mention her grandmother's creation, making their age difference vast. Yet hadn't she learned, growing up in such an unconventional house, that age, species, and appearance were nothing in considering character? They were superficial at best and hurtful at worst. They shouldn't obfuscate the issue, but she clung to them in lieu of a life preserver. She was sinking amidst her emotions.

Love…it alone baffled her. She'd heard someone once say that if you only think you're in love, you aren't. Beforehand, she might have scoffed, but now that her heart ached, skipped beats, and soared around him, she was uncertain. Love was more than a feeling- it was physical. She ached for him like a drug and that terrified her.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she had no control over her emotions. She might deny it, she could even go so far as to pretend it didn't exist, but it would always be there. She wondered if this was how he felt about the issue and sat up, hugging herself. Shaking her head, she lay back down. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Still too many questions, query, and conundrums.

"Miss Frances?" he called and, then murmured, "Frankie?"

She bolted upright and rose, but he placed a paw on her shoulder. Smiling benignly, he seated himself beside her and began to extract his paw when she laid her hand atop it. Awkward silence descended upon the couple, but neither was particularly eager to break it. The hand on his paw sweat profusely and she, blushing slightly, shifted it away. His eyes widened, but still, nothing was said.

"I'm so confused…" she muttered finally, eyes averted. To her surprise, a smile broke out across his face. She blinked, wondering what on earth could cause him mirth. Questions danced in her mind and in her features.

"And you think I was not? I've been dealing with this longer than you have, Miss Frances-"

"Please," she said, the corners of her lips twisting up, "call me Frankie." I like how my nickname sounds coming out of your lips.

The smile widened and he removed his paw to hesitantly wrap his arm around her waist. Fortunately, she discovered what he was up to and aided him, thus eliminating any indecision. His furry arm was pleasantly warm and she easily envisioned herself leaning against his chest and watching the clouds together. Her heart skipped a few beats.

"Er, yes…" he murmured, having lost his train of thought. He glanced down at her as if believing this to be a dream. A sly grin spread across her face and she pinched him. He yelped, opening his mouth to chastise her.

"You're awake," she said, grinning widely. "Unless you want me to pinch you again to prove it."

Bristling, rubbing his sore left arm, he murmured, "No thank you. Once was quite enough."

"Good," she replied, smiling serenely. Gazing into his warm eyes once, she leaned her head against his chest. Now not only had he seemingly forever lost his train of thought, he was flustered as well. He couldn't very well tell her to stop, but the urgent matter had vanished from his mind. Nothing irritated him more than lost business.

"Are you deliberately trying to muddy the issue, Miss Fran-Frankie?" he murmured, blushing softly. She smirked, then recomposed herself. The added weight of her head left his chest (he wouldn't admit it aloud, but he missed it) and she turned around to look at him directly. The arm around her waist remained, albeit loosely.

"No," she said seriously. "Go on."

He stared blankly, willing his mind to return to its old path. When it didn't, he mentally cursed and then jumped as she twined her fingers in between his pads. A mock innocent smile flitted across her looks and he shook his head. She was always good at that, pretending she'd done nothing wrong. It was one of those things he'd found irksome until he fell for her…and then it became one of the reasons he loved her. That and everything else about her, from her backbone to her capabilities as a strong woman around Foster's.

"Love," she pressed, deciding he couldn't rediscover the topic of discourse himself.

"Ah, yes. Love. Love is not always the clearest thing in the world, Frankie, nor is it always pleasant. It arrives when you least expect it and grabs hold for dear life. In its purest form, it is nothing to be ashamed of, regardless of how others might view it. It is a rare, delicate thing and…"

He dropped his gaze, abashed, until she lifted his chin with her fingers. He smiled softly at her.

"I am honored to share it with you."

Blushing crimson, she replied the four sweetest words she could muster. "And I with you."

Bloo reclined in his creator's lap like a cat. He'd marked Mac as his "property" in no time, which was why the poor boy was wearing a turtleneck. The last of the autumn leaves were falling and soon it would be winter, time for scarves, heavy winter coats, and snowball fights. Not only that, but cozying around the fire and simply being together.

Of course, not everyone would be together this winter. Blake Superior had vanished and try as he might, Richie could not enunciate the reason behind his sudden moroseness. Instead, it dragged him down and blinded him to the truth. In the end, if he never figured it out, he'd become what he feared at four- a tyrant like his parents

Meanwhile, Frankie and Mr. Herriman continued their romance, all the while realizing that while they had doubted themselves and their feelings, this was normal. Of course, they didn't always discover this on their own- they had a little help from Madame Foster along the way.

Even so…they, Mac and Bloo, and everyone else in love found that love truly has no bounds.