Disclaimer: Not mine. No.

Chapter Seven: Significance

Wind rattled the denizens, but beneath layers of earth, insects, and plants, the only noticeable chill came from omnipresent conditions, hardly a situation to query over. Mac perched uncomfortably on the couch and glanced at anywhere but Madame Foster as he retold the previous events. Bloo remained oddly silent, eyes drawn to the television set and the doom it foretold. Whenever Mac faltered, he'd shift, glance at him intently, and then eye the carpet. What bizarre thoughts unfolded in his little head, he kept them to himself.

Madame Foster, too, silenced herself. At certain points, such as the girl's description, she opened her mouth as if to speak and then swiftly shut it. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, eyeing the room solicitously, but no phantoms leapt out. In fact, no imaginary friends or humans ventured near the room whilst Mac 'regaled' her with this afternoon's events. His voice pierced the relative silence, otherwise unmarred by Bloo's and Madame Foster's breathing.

When he finally finished, she held up a hand and then placed her chin on her fist reflectively. Shutting her green eyes, she leaned back in the chair and sat like this for a good twenty minutes, pensive. Bloo leaned forward, eager and anxious at once, but Mac slid back to the cushions. He had the impression whatever she wished to impart would not please them in the slightest and, apparently, Bloo shared that notion. Even if he hadn't spoken it aloud, Mac hadn't spent ten years with his imaginary friend and lived oblivious to his habits. He had created him, after all.

Maybe she's waiting for me to talk, Mac thought when the silence hovered oppressively over their heads. Self conscious, he cleared his throat and instantly, their eyes shot towards him. The sudden shift in attention unsettled him temporarily and he forced himself to regain his bearings.

"You don't think that girl was serious, do you?" he murmured, hoisting Bloo off the cushions and depositing him on his lap. Bloo glanced up, eyes glassy and unfocused. Mac shuddered innately and turned his head to peer at her.

"I know an imaginary friend who wouldn't think twice about harming my Funny Bunny…" she whispered, but the comment was more to herself than him. "She'd find it amusing."

Stomach churning, he gulped and immediately clutched him tighter. Bloo acted for all the world like a stuffed animal, never commenting when he held him too hard or squeezed breath out. The news just kept improving, didn't it? Next she'd tell him that girl was the head of DIE or something and she was the one who issued the command to steal him. A shiver raced down his spine imagining it.

"It's not like Bloo's in any real danger, is he? I mean, more than usual…" his voice tapered off at her expression. Madame Foster rose solemnly, glancing at Bloo as if looking at a terminally ill patient about to die. This time, both boy and blob shuddered and Bloo spun around to hug him about the middle.

"If I were you," she remarked seriously, "I would be very careful where and where I let him roam. And I wouldn't let him out of my sight."

Madame Foster had experienced and seen a great many things in her life. She'd married, watched her children grow, and saw her granddaughter's birth. She'd lived in a time when being aboveground didn't mean the difference between life and death. She'd existed in a world where walking side by side with Herriman wouldn't get both of them killed. She'd enjoyed freedom such as she feared Frankie, Mac, Bloo, and everyone else below would never share. This, more than anything else, made her feel so terribly, horribly old.

Had it really been thirty years since Berry seized control of DIE and turned the world into this? What had turned that imaginary friend against them in the first place? She remembered their first and only meeting, of course, but it explained nothing regarding her past. However, her future it detailed perfectly.

Snowflakes descended upon the sleepy 1123 Wilson Way. Though it was past nine o'clock, many residents enjoyed a late slumber. The only creatures up and about were Mr. Herriman, who would have only slept late if he'd been drugged or assaulted beforehand, and Madame Foster. They sat in the parlor and watched the snow tumble gently down into a mounting bank. White covered the edges of the window and blanketed the grass and nearby mailbox. A roaring fire warmed them gently and, were it not for the strange figure limping by; they would have been perfectly content to remain there for a great while.

Haphazard pink pigtails lay on her neon sports jacket, inadequate for the weather conditions. Madame Foster cleared away condensation on the glass to peer at her gaunt face and figure. She wore a pair of tight pink pants that were none too thick and pink winter boots. Though it was difficult to tell because of the frostbite, they conjectured her skin too was the same unnatural shade of pink. Mr. Herriman sat up straight to scrutinize her closer. An imaginary friend in need?

Unperceivable to them, bags lined the girl's eyes and her stomach growled angrily. Unbeknownst to them, she hadn't eaten a good meal in two weeks, not since her creator died. She'd curled up in the alley and waited for sleep to claim her- sleep that never came. Nightmares reigned supreme, reminding her of her hatred for Virginia and yet, her undying love. She hated her for leaving her…and wanted her back badly. Without her, everything fell apart. No one wanted her and no one cared.

Yet had anyone cared to begin with? Had Virginia only played with her emotions? Had she planned when she was going to leave her and do it right after they were the closest? Was that all other imaginary friends and humans did- work someone and then tear their beloved away? She couldn't stand the lot of them. They were pathetic, weak creatures. She stumbled, boots catching on a rock, and collapsed facefirst. She was weak too.

Immediately, Herriman and Madame Foster strode and hopped out the door to tug her inside into the warmth. In the silent house, their steps echoed. A coat, boots, scarf, and mittens sat by the door for such an occasion. After all, you never knew when someone needed a helping hand.

They never questioned their motives; a creature was hurt and or sick and needed help. Foster's doctrine dictated they tend to her and besides, they'd never seen a reason not to before. Most imaginary friends were kind at heart and, after suffering a tragedy, desired tender loving care. They were like children themselves, waiting for affection and concern. In their minds, she should be no different.

Snow caked onto Mr. Herriman's paws and he shivered, rubbing his arms. He'd go anywhere his creator demanded; he was forever loyal to her, but that didn't mean he was always comfortable with it. Walking around in bare paws on the snow was like a human walking on ice without shoes or socks. Perhaps more so, because his paws were rather sensitive to temperature changes and this howling, freezing conditions induced shivers.

Madame Foster knelt by the girl and checked her pulse. She offered him a weak smile to remind him they wouldn't be out here long, so he shouldn't worry about frozen paws. She nodded at him and he gently hefted the girl into his arms and, hopping carefully, back into the house. Her head lolled back and forth, but otherwise, she gave no sign of consciousness.

Tenderly, he lay down on the couch and then, gathering a blanket, wrapped her and propped her head up. She coughed, turning her head back and forth, and Madame Foster vanished to retrieve a glass of water. Herriman sat on the armchair and watched the girl struggle to return to consciousness. Sickly coughs wracked her frame and after a particularly unpleasant one, her eyelids fluttered open.

If he'd been expecting a thank you, any expression of gratitude, he was sorely mistaken. Fury contorted her countenance and she snarled, balling her fists. Utter hatred burned in her eyes. He'd never seen a creature less grateful in his life and was about to open his mouth to chastise her, when she snapped.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she snapped. "Who gave you the right to touch me?"

"I beg your pardon, but you collapsed in the snow. This is no way to properly thank someone who has perhaps saved your life. Were you to remain in those frigid conditions any longer, you would have doubtlessly perished," he retorted coldly. Her nostrils flared and she clawed at the blanket, but he'd wrapped it too tightly around her to easily escape. Like a child having a temper tantrum, she kicked and punched at it.

Madame Foster chose this moment to enter, tray containing water and a few nourishments in her hands. Once spotting the girl was awake, she smiled softly at her and laid it on a nearby table. She glanced at Herriman, whose expression was mounting dislike. However, since he seldom got along with many creatures, she disregarded it and the cold fury surging through their link.

"How are you feeling, dearie?" she said gently, placing a hand on her forehead to take her temperature. She slapped it away and Herriman started, eyes narrowed distastefully. She shook her head at him to prevent him from physically hoisting the girl out on the streets again. Yes, she was fully aware of how protective he was over her, but sometimes that protection wasn't merited, regardless of the warning signals he sent her repeatedly.

"I don't need your false sympathy," she snarled. "You're weak, both of you. Weak, pathetic creatures who subsist on charity. I won't be like you."

Madame Foster and Mr. Herriman blinked, glancing at each other. They weren't quite sure how to respond. He recovered first, bristling. First the insult to his creator and now this? She ought to be out on the streets indeed. She hardly deserved their compassion, not if she was going to abuse it.

"I saw no one else offering to help you," he retorted frigidly. "This is Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and we take in imaginary friends in need, give them a new home in the hopes they'll be adopted-"

Those, it turns out, were quite possibly the worst combination of words he could have uttered. She ripped the blanket off, growling ferociously, and, though she quaked on her feet, she managed to hold herself like she were the strongest of the three. Her chest swelled indignantly and her fists balled tightly enough for her nails to draw blood. They dug into her palm, but she grinned at the pain. Pain was suffering and suffering was life. They couldn't understand; it was beyond their puny brains.

"I will never serve under a human again. They will bowto me and give me allegiance. And you two, you will be heads on my mantelpiece. You will remind the public that there is no such thing as charity and good will because all humans are liars in the end. They only live to please themselves and leave you.

"And you, rabbit, I will have your foot as a good luck chair, your head on a pike, and your pelt as my belt. You were too weak to realize that your human can be easily overthrown- you're her bitch. You disgust me.

"You will rue the day you rescued me."

Sadly enough, she did. Who knew such bad tidings could come from a good deed? Who knew an imaginary friend could raise an empire and bend people to her will on spite alone? Who knew she could turn the world into a waking nightmare?

Yet even though she reigned terror upon the world, she herself harbored a dangerous secret, one which kill her were anyone to find out. She'd managed to rule for decades when her rule was precarious at best. How had she survived this long without anyone discovering she was actually an imaginary friend? Moreover, how had she acquired a transformer? Only Foster's friends received them and hers clearly enabled her to do more than to transform into that one form since she'd had it before.

It hadn't aged, either. Was it her true human guise or one projected by the transformer? It couldn't be the one she presented to DIE- they'd recognize it immediately. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that though she ruled over them, her grip was tenuous at best. Yet without sufficient backup, how could the situations reverse?

Sighing heavily, she rested her head on her dresser. It was times like these she wished something would give and let her take the advantage back. But until that happened, they were thoroughly stuck.