Author's Note: You might have noticed I removed the last chapter and replaced it with this. There's a reason. I don't feel like interspersing a series with one-shots. I'm going to repost "Chess" under a separate entry, a story called "Mind Games". Besides, I'm doing so many Mac/Bloo hints in there, it probably shouldn't be in a Frankie/Herriman collection.

At any rate, I posted this a long time ago in 30Kisses on LJ, but I noticed I didn't post it here, so here it is.

Foster's ain't mine. No.

"The Rainy Day Song" (Theme- Foggy Day)

Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends normally stood tall and proud, far surpassing other surrounding structures in its size and grounds. However, today, recognizing it in the heavy condensation either took a skilled eye, or, in Frankie's case, a bit more patience. Unfortunately, while she possessed more patience in her pinky than most did in her their entire bodies (thanks to her daily troubles and tasks), her tank had recently drifted over to empty. The arrow, in fact, quivered determinedly, but she pressed onward, glaring past the windshield to where the house ought to be, but, of course, was not. Why couldn't anything ever be easy?

It didn't help that today had been the day from hell. Awoken at three thanks to a bizarre dream that couldn't possibly mean what she'd thought, she'd a difficult time falling asleep again. And, after lying awake for three hours, she shut her eyes to hear the alarm. Swearing profusely, she flung aside the covers, glowered at the radio, and began her day. She barely had time to dress and start breakfast before another catastrophe started. Some genius had wandered into the nursery, roused all the baby imaginary friends, and then darted off to create more mischief. While she'd love to pin Bloo as the culprit, she had no proof.

Because of this, she was late fixing Duchess's breakfast and, naturally, the spoiled, pampered, disfigured little cretin insulted her and the dish. She threw it off the table, kicked the remnants on the floor, demanded she clean her heels for touching 'that garbage' and promptly sulked until Frankie brought her another painstakingly cooked meal, which she proceeded to chuck in her face. Five attempts later, she finally deigned that she'd rather starve than eat her cooking and, personally, Frankie had no problem with that. She hoped the bratty friend starved (not that she told her that).

Slamming the door behind her, she came face to face with Foster's resident persnickety, no nonsense friend, Mr. Herriman himself. In the past few weeks, their relationship and its troubles mellowed, but seeing him after the recent fiasco strengthened her bad mood and day. He reminded her she was late preparing breakfast for the rest of the house, to which she replied something considerably ruder than she ought to have and what landed her with triple chore duty. She'd then threatened to cram his rules up where the sun didn't shine…and then remarked that there wouldn't be any room anyway because he was such a tight ass. Naturally, he didn't take to those comments and, as punishment, found herself stuck with Bloo all day. It wasn't that the imaginary blue blob was particularly annoying, but he was a handful. And, on top of her chores, he grated on her every last nerve.

The instant she threatened him, however, his creator strode in and overheard it. This led to her uttering a few choice statements about Bloo that he disliked, but Frankie really couldn't care less. Leaving both creator and creation in a foul mood, she stomped off to clean the toilets. This was, she reflected, not unexpected. After all, she dealt with a lot of other creature's crap. Now it had a more literal connotation.

Smelling distinctly and in a far worse mood than before, she decided to take a shower. Big mistake there. Undressing and turning on the shower head, she pivoted at a door knock. Wrapping a towel firmly around her body and ready to bite the head off anyone who dared interrupt her, she came face to face with Mr. Herriman. He blushed crimson and, much to her irritation, her face accrued new red hues. Recollections of the dream flashed through her mind and, for a split second, she almost asked him to join her. His furry face pressed against her neck while his paws caressed her bare back…

Staring at her clothes, particularly her bra, lying on the floor, he stammered out his request- grocery shopping. He apologized profusely, backing out and shutting the door hastily to allow her to redress. Shaking off her confusion and subconscious desires, she grumbled, applied perfume to mask her stench, and tromped off to retrieve cheese, bread, peanut butter and jelly, pasta, and various other 'necessities'. Bloo insisted on coming along, despite the nasty look she gave him, and, calling to Eduardo, Wilt, and Coco plus his creator, the four imaginary friends and eight year old boy crammed into the bus to further her ire and sincerely make her wish she hadn't awoken this morning at all. How easy it would have all been, if she'd let the dream run its course instead of waking to protest it.

The supermarket was no joy, either. Long lines (because today was Sunday and the sales started today), objects ringing up at improper prices, Bloo tossing things into the cart and her catching them at the last minute, keeping him from adding more to their bill by sampling things that weren't out to grab, and, of course, waiting in line for twenty minutes behind a group of people who deduced paying for fifty cents worth the groceries merited a credit card. A vein throbbed in her forehead when the cashier finished their order and, then she realized Mr. Herriman hadn't given her money out of Foster's funds. Therefore, ready to slit some throats, she paid for it out of her own pocket and directed Ed, Wilt, Mac, Bloo, and Coco to pull their weight and help her with the bags. Bloo tried to weasel his way out and dragged a paper bag across the parking lot only to have it split open. Wilt, thankfully, agreed to run in and grab another one, but her mood was so horrid, nothing would have lifted it, especially not Bloo's whispering to his creator or a few people staring at her entourage.

Fog cascaded upon the world abruptly and, while navigating her way through the myriad of streets, Mac and Bloo argued. And that brought her back to present day, wandering around unable to find Foster's and thoroughly irritated with the world. Sighing heavily, she finally, miraculously, located the driveway only for the fog to disappear. Perhaps a bout of good luck? Of course not. The fog lifted…and pouring rain took its place. Carrying the bags soaked her to the bone.

Wiping a drenched tendril off her forehead, she rested on a kitchen stool and, like clockwork, in hopped Mr. Herriman. She opened her mouth to snap at him when he handed her a pink, fluffy, warm towel. Pleasantly surprised (but suspicious, because since when did he do anything kind for her?), she dried herself off and glanced at him, sitting beside her and smiling apologetically. The bags, she discovered, were empty on the countertop- he must've stored the contents away while she contemplated her horrible, horrible day.

"Miss Frances, I feel I must apologize. I know I cannot fully account for your day, but part of it, at least, is my fault. I…" he trailed off, embarrassed. She smiled weakly, grateful he'd swallowed his pride and forgave her harsh words. His paw stroked her hand and a sudden rush of warmth flooded her. Turning her head, she discovered they were both blushing profusely and his paw tentatively rose to caress her face.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I shouldn't have said those things, either. I…"

I love you.

Persistent and determined, the three little words pushed against their mouths and sought release. Leaning in, their lips brushed…

Boom!

"What was that?" Frankie said, frowning and jumping off the stool. "That better not have been who I think it was…"

Sure enough, it was. Holding a bottle between two tongs, Bloo rushed past the two and dunked it in the nearby sink. Snatching a step ladder, he poured water on whatever it was and steam issued forth. The acrid smell of burning chemicals penetrated their nostrils and Frankie coughed, standing behind him to figure what exactly he'd done. Apparently, he'd set something on fire that wasn't supposed to see flames. Sheepishly, he pivoted and smiled innocently- she wasn't convinced. Most of the time, Bloo was physically incapable of innocence when it came to rule breaking and mysterious happenings.

"Aw, c'mon, Frankie, how was I supposed to know it'd do that? They really should label these things more carefully," he said, dropping the tongs. He'd accidentally turned the hot water on and, rolling her eyes, she changed it to cold.

"They do," she replied, pointing to a scorched label that read- 'highly flammable'. Bloo chuckled nervously.

"Gotta go!" he called, tumbling off the ladder and landing flat on his face. Behind her, Mr. Herriman snickered, hastily covering it up with a hacking cough that fooled no one. She raised an eyebrow, surprised at such a blatant display of dislike. He shot her an innocuous look and she fought a snicker of her own.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, scooping him up against his will and carting him off. The bottle, like what might have been between Frankie and Herriman, smoldered unnoticed in the sink.

…

Rain splattered the windows, but, cupping a warm mug of cocoa in her hands, Frankie was adverse to its effects. After scrubbing herself raw and finishing the rest of her accursed chores, she'd curled up on a couch in a less populated den. The clock's green numbers prominently displayed eleven, an hour after Mr. Herriman's staunchly enforced bedtime. She wafted the sweet aroma of marshmallows and melted chocolate towards her and sighed happily, at peace. While the rest of her day had been by no means easy, her conversation with him had served as brief interlude, an oasis in the middle of a tempest tossed desert. Had she seriously thought to say what sprang to mind, then? What might have happened had Bloo not run in there? She shivered pleasantly, shutting her eyes and imagining it.

They'd forgiven each other swifter than normal, hadn't they? Lately, their arguments fell apart at the seams and it was more like each other wanted a front, a protection lest their real feelings be exposed. Was he dreaming the same things as her? Could he be…?

Resting the mug and her eyes for a second, Frankie fell fast asleep.

…

Blankets wrapped firmly about her frame and a tender, whiskery kiss on her forehead. Mumbling sleepily, she rolled about, uncertain if the words she heard were in her mind or actually spoken.

"I love you."

…

Mr. Herriman opened the window and stuck his head out. Floppy ears waggled slightly thanks to the sudden motion. The cool night breeze carried no hint of rain or fog. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

…