Author's Note: It occured to me no one would notice if I posted a different one-shot in place of chapter four unless I posted a chapter five slot. Otherwise, they might write it off as a glitch. So, uh, here's "Heat Wave" (theme- 'beneath one's dignity'/infra dignitatem).
Not mine.
Heat Wave
Frankie Foster fanned her face distractedly, nodded at a disgruntled imaginary baby, and slumped dejectedly in her rocking chair. Sweat trickled down her brow; she'd give anything to turn on the AC. Today was the hottest day in recent history (the swimming pool had transformed into a sauna), yet the stingy, fuss budget Mr. Herriman refused to let them switch on the air conditioning and receive much needed relief. Personally, she couldn't understand his reasoning- he too suffered, particularly because he was covered in fur. Yet he believed that nothing could possibly come of denying the A.C. and set about to prove it by sitting in his broiling office with the windows shut.
"It's your funeral," Frankie had muttered, patience at an end. Despite her budding romantic feelings for him, right now she could care less if he melted into rabbit stew. Even creatures she normally got along well with, such as Wilt and Mac, she'd a hard time biding her tongue. The infernal damp clung to her clothing and its fellow companion, humidity, made moving through the house akin to wading through the kiddy pool. Naturally, all that might be avoided were her boss to succumb and cool the house. But he wouldn't.
Surrendering, since they fussed no mater what she tried, Frankie departed to accomplish one of the many remaining tasks on her list. By the time she finished, the sun had reached its zenith and its influence remained unrelenting.
"Miss Frances, air conditioning this house is costly and entirely unneeded. The friends of Foster's can find ways to cool themselves," Mr. Herriman informed her, scowling and fidgety. He fanned himself idly, and, then, reminding himself it was improper, halted abruptly. Sweat normally invisible thanks to his fur glistened and the imaginary rabbit swayed slightly, feeling rather nauseous and, well, warm. He ignored it, nonetheless. It was nothing.
"And when they end up in the hospital thanks to heat stroke, what will you say then?" she retorted, glowering. "Three quarters of the imaginary friends here are covered in fur. You're furry, for heaven's sake!"
Frowning, he winced at the way his stage gloves stuck to his paws and swallowed hard, lightheaded. Leaning heavily back in his chair, he willed away his maladies. Mind over matter, after all, ought to triumph. Ought to, but the more he thought about them, the stronger they seemed to become. Psychosomatic over putting it out of his mind.
"That is besides the point, Frankie," he replied, forgetting the formality. The world twirled threateningly, and realigned itself. He attempted to yank off his gloves, but his head spun worse than before. He understood it was hot outside, but when had it jumped this high?
"Mr. H, are you okay?" she blinked, forgetting their argument momentarily. "You called me 'Frankie'…and you look like you're going to faint."
"I am fine…I do not need air conditioning…Foster's should…should…"
Slumping over onto his desk, his head smacked impressively against the stack of files. Despite his insistence Foster's needed no cooling systems, he'd passed out thanks to heat stroke.
Fur, sweaty between her fingers, she stroked endlessly. Since his fainting, she'd called an ambulance and then insisted on riding in the back seat. Madame Foster glanced at the two but said nothing, privately scrutinizing her affection when she thought no one watched. For the past twenty minutes, she'd caressed his face (what she reached through the oxygen mask), ran her fingers over his ears, and scarcely breathed. The paramedic, too preoccupied with writing in his notebook, kept his head down. If he noticed Frankie's affectionate gestures, he refrained from mentioning it.
Why am I doing this? She thought, coursing her tips at the edge of his collar and leaning intently. Despite their argument, despite the heat at Foster's (thankfully, the ambulance was air conditioned), she couldn't keep her hands off him. Was it because conscious, he'd never let her roam this freely? Was it because something about him made her heart race?
"I told you to turn on the A.C., you crazy rabbit," she whispered, resting her hand on his mini vest and feeling his heart beat steadily beneath. She shut her eyes, letting the rhythm consume her. A minute passed and a wooden cane prodded her in the arm.
"Checking to see if he's alive?" Madame Foster said and Frankie, startled, opened her eyes abruptly. Blood rushed to her face and, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she jerked it away. Mr. Herriman twitched his whiskers, subconsciously shifting to get close to her hand again. Despite being unconscious, he divined her touch from his creator's.
"How…how long were you watching me, Grandma?" she muttered sheepishly. Nonetheless, she yearned to be closer and an image rose that she quickly discarded, of lying beside him and wrapping her arms around his midsection. Afraid she inexplicably possessed mind reading capabilities, she stared fixedly at the ambulance's sides. Her hand unconsciously drifted towards his velvety ears.
Smiling cryptically, she replied, "Oh, I wasn't watching you, dearie. You know old women like me often drift in and out of attentiveness."
Swallowing hard, uncertain she truly hadn't seen her or was pulling a fast one to speak more about this later, she kept mum. Meanwhile, the ambulance trudged through the thick traffic and Mr. Herriman breathed calmly, helped by the oxygen. They ran over a large bump and she grabbed his paw and squeezed it tightly. It must have been her imagination, because she thought he squeezed back. But he was unconscious, wasn't he?
"La, la, la," Madame Foster sang, winking at her creation. "It's just a nice summer day…"
And, under the guise of senility, she pretended not to spot her granddaughter's hand tightly wound about her creation's.
Kicking the vending machine spitefully, she glared at the candy bar, stuck behind its metal confines. If she rattled it, it might come loose, but then again, it also might topple over. While this might be the best place to be if an accident happened, she'd rather not have it due to her stupidity. One creature in the hospital thanks to that was enough. Nonetheless, her stomach growled, ignoring all logic. It wanted sustenance and chocolate resembled food.
"So, how long have you been in love with Mr. Herriman?" Madame Foster inquired demurely, like asking whether it rained yesterday. Frankie pivoted, stunned at the innocent look on her grandmother's face and the question. Humming to herself, she continued knitting like nothing had ever happened. Her needles clacked in the silence.
"What?" Frankie exclaimed, frightening a nearby couple and their infant, who shrieked. Grabbing the stroller, they quickly left the mad girl behind. Throughout the corridor rang the baby's discomfort (actually caused by a dirty diaper). Needles weaved in the fabric nonchalantly.
"I'm…I'm not in love with Herriman!" she said, blushing heavily. Why now, of all times, should she turn crimson? Giving the machine one last indulgent kick, she settled into a cushiony sofa like structure apart from her grandmother. Snakes coiled and uncoiled in the pit of her stomach. Her conscious mind refused to accept it, but her subconscious already asserted it as fact. She wasn't in love in with him. It was ridiculous to think she was.
After all, he was a large, imaginary rabbit. Shouldn't that factor in? Yet the words her grandmother told her growing up mentally smacked her. "Love transcends all boundaries- age, sex, human/imaginary, race, and religion. As long as it's pure and innocent, love can overcome anything. Never be afraid of love. When the time comes, you'll know."
"Has the time come?" Madame Foster pressed, sensing her train of thought. "Sometimes others can see what's blind to another."
Sighing heavily, Frankie twisted her hands and stared at the floor. Love was blind. Love consumed everything until it was the only thing. Hadn't she thought about him more often than was normal but dismissed it? Hadn't she experienced bizarre dreams and inexplicable fancies? Hadn't she drifted off occasionally, imagining them together and then busying herself to rid herself of the idea?
"Grandma…" she whispered, jumping when her hand landed on her shoulder. The older woman smiled sweetly, understanding her uncertainty. Yet these were two creatures Madame Foster cared about more than life itself and she'd long come to the conclusion if they had to unite as a couple to be happy, then they had her blessings. How could she deprive them of their joy? Thus she pushed, hoping they'd eventually unify and comprehend.
"He's not going anywhere. Trust me," she murmured. "Tell him."
"But…" Frankie protested, cringing when Madame Foster prodded her with her cane for the second time today. That cane could be a formidable weapon if she so chose. It hurt more than it looked, too. Still, she wasn't certain she ought to tell him just yet. What if her feelings weren't for real? What if he didn't feel the same? What if, worse yet, he already had someone else? Mr. Herriman never told anyone anything personal; it was possible. Doubts and dissensions flooded her mind.
Rising uncertainly, she set off, but not to his room. Not now.
After an hour of questioning herself, questioning the past and present, and dissecting all their interactions, she accidentally wound up wandering past his room. Poking her head in, she saw his chest rise and fall smoothly, fast asleep. She wasn't ready to divulge herself awake, but getting this out in the open would make her feel better. Scanning the perimeter, she drew the curtain around them and sat in the chair beside his bed. Her fingers unconsciously stroked his arm.
"I…I know you can't hear me right now, but that's okay 'cuz I kind of don't want you to. I have to say this, though…Grandma's good at prying things out of people.
"I don't know how it happened or when it started, but…oh, this is ridiculous."
Mr. Herriman turned over, whiskers twitching again, and, smiling serenely, nuzzled her hand. The color raced to her cheeks, but before she jerked it away, he kissed it. Her heart pounded in her chest, her palms were dry, but her hand acted of its own accord. It caressed his face, tenderly running over his features. Her body, it seemed, was speaking for her.
"What's ridiculous, Miss Frances?" he replied, rolling closer and kissing her arm. Impulsively, she lowered herself and pecked him on the lips. Blushing uncontrollably, she started to pull back but his paw on the back of her head stopped her. Her heart thundered in her ears.
"That..." She knew he shouldn't have been expecting this, but everything had happened so fast, she was confused. She didn't want it to stop, yet she had to figure it out. Unable to control himself either, he brushed his lips against hers. The rest of her quandary temporarily vanished, powerless in the wake of his kiss. She kissed him back intensely, gratefully sinking in the joy that consumed her. His paw roamed through her hair, undoing the ponytail and letting it fall free onto her shoulders.
Tapping her lips teasingly, his tongue ran across them and she opened them immediately, placing a possessive hand on the back of his head. Their tongues batted each other playfully and his paws tumbled in her fiery red locks, occasionally brushing her neck to induce pleasant shivers. Occasionally, his paws tentatively stroked her face and darted to her waist; he could hardly believe his luck. All those months of longing…and her hands perused his face, down his shoulders, and rested on his chest.
Neither of them heard anyone approach, nor saw their shadow. They were, needless to say, a little busy elsewhere. A sharp rap on the back of their heads stopped them and, wincing, they turned (Frankie nearly toppled off her chair in shock). Madame Foster smirked, examining their scarlet faces.
"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for that crazy old coot, her cane, and the open door," Madame Foster said, chuckling. "While I'm very pleased you two have finally gotten on with it and advanced the plot, I'm not sure you wanted to give people a free show."
A number of creatures had congregated, including, Frankie recognized, horrified, Mac, Bloo, Eduardo, Wilt, and Coco. The blobby blue imaginary friend had fainted dead away in his creator's arms, muttering about "the end of the world". Mac's brown eyes were wide, staring at Frankie and Herriman like he'd never seen them before. Wilt and Eduardo's mouth's gaped; both looked like they'd received the shock of their lives. Coco cocked her head, expression indeterminate.
"I can explain!" Frankie blurted, bereft of anything vaguely resembling an explanation. "We were, we were…"
"I was choking and you see, Miss Frances was administering mouth to mouth," Mr. Herriman finished, face glowing like the setting sun. Despite the fur, his face glowed radiantly. Madame Foster snickered, completely unconvinced. Herriman wasn't a good liar and no one would buy that excuse, not in a million years.
Dully, Mac replied, "That's for people who are drowning. You administer the Heimlich for people who are choking. That doesn't involve mouth to mouth at all."
Frankie blurted, "Yes, Heimlich. We'll, uh, keep that in mouth, I mean, mind! I mean…oops."
Mr. Herriman rolled his eyes, mentally noting that unless his mouth covered hers, perhaps she shouldn't speak. After all, she wasn't exactly doing such a great job right now. He brushed his paw against her hand and wished he had a clearer way to say "be quiet".
Madame Foster raised an apprising eyebrow, but winked at the two guilty parties.
"I think now we ought to let Mr. Herriman get some actual rest," she said, emphasizing 'actual' strongly to communicate to Frankie it was time to withdraw. Face still glowing, she retreated into the hallway, where neither of them looked at her. They scoffed their feet and or sneakers on the floor or, in Bloo's case, mumbled 'end of the world…end of the world…".
The group left the large, amused imaginary rabbit alone, where instead of sleeping, he vividly imagined their kiss repeatedly.
Two days later, fanning herself again, Frankie turned to her grandmother, smiling serenely in the face of the continuing heat wave. Though Mr. Herriman had, after a barrage of complaints, reticently switched on the AC, it had yet to circulate fully. The two Foster's women sat in the den, completely deserted in favor of the pool. However, Frankie had business with her grandmother. The questions burning in her mind lately yearned to be expressed. She had to know the whole story.
"How…?" Frankie murmured, sipping her iced tea and suppressing a smile. It was nice ordering Bloo around instead of vice versa.
"How what, dearie?" Madame Foster replied calmly, sipping her own and pulling a face. Bloo hadn't put enough sugar in hers. Then again, Mac had dutifully instructed his imaginary friend the second time and not the first. Absently, the elderly woman retrieved a sugar packet and proceeded to dump the whole inside her glass. She swirled it with her straw.
"How did I know you two had a thing for each other? You don't get to be my age without learning a thing or two about love," she answered cryptically, smiling ruefully. Swallowing the rest in one gulp, she left Frankie to her thoughts.
The blistering heat wave continued for another week, but Mr. Herriman decided that despite the electricity bill, perhaps it was better to run the AC. If he was going to fall into Frankie's arms, he'd rather be conscious for it.