Author's Note: I beg your pardon for waiting a month to update. My Jimmy Neutron obsession helped that, as well as Kingdom Hearts 2. At any rate, this chapter is a series of drabbles of varying length. The first one occurs during "Setting a President" and the third after "The Big Picture". My personal favorite is the fourth, since it varies from my usual writing style and flows differently. At any rate, enjoy! Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends belongs to the great and benevolent Craig McCracken.

"Uproar, chaos"

Frankie Foster drummed her fingers on the tabletop, glanced out the window, and sighed heavily. Today marked two weeks since her accruing Mr. Herriman's job and, rather than the superficial satisfaction in surpassing his leadership, she felt hollow and drained. Scowling, she shifted her restless fingers to the stack of paperwork, but they coursed through her hair instead. They disobeyed her habitually, prompting her to search information and find out where he'd gone off to after leaving Foster's. Why should she care? Shortly before losing, he'd tried to ruin her reputation just to hold onto his job. Foster's was through with him and so was she.

Yet, as a certain Jedi Master might say, there were 'disturbances in the Force'. Things that ought to bring her great happiness barely impacted her. Sure Foster's ran well under her tutelage, but then there were the insidious cracks seeping. Her grandmother, usually chipper and attending every single meal, rarely appeared any more. Whispers of imaginary friend prejudice entered her ears when she shopped and she'd pivot, expecting to see him and only spotting a shadow. Her heart would soar expectantly and then plummet to her stomach.

But I don't care, she asserted, scoffing outwardly. Why should I? Why should the thought of seeing him, bringing him back here, make me happy? He's been nothing but a despotic dictator and I'm glad to be rid of him.

"Right?" she whispered to no one in particular. And no one in particular answered.

"Solipsist"

"There is only us…there is only now. No day but today." Only, there is no us. There's now, certainly, but the now does not involve an 'us'. He knows it, he's acknowledged it time after time, but the fact grows more poignant with time, not less. There is only him and his world. He reaches out to touch hers, but it all returns to him. There is only him.

Bronze Medal'

Frankie folded her arms across her chest and glared at this year's house photo, which, once again, featured only her and her grandmother. Mr. Herriman scoffed, his paw brushing the hand holding the picture. He had promised to punish Bloo for ruining the shot, but she noticed an indiscernible emotion flickering in his luminescent black eyes. Standing in the basement, he reluctantly extracted the failure and stuck in the book next to the others.

"All that preparation, the classification, and all for naught," he sighed heavily and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He blinked, startled, and that odd look returned.

"Miss Frances, there are no pictures of us alone in those books," he commenced shyly and her heart skipped a beat. Hastily, she extracted her arm from his shoulders, but he clutched her hand in his paw. Her knees weakened, yet she had no idea why he induced such reactions. Weren't they talking about a picture? How did her body react like this around him, of all creatures?

"I…I know," she answered, voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. His left paw, currently free, cautiously eased a stray red hair strand behind her ear and, in addition to her heart skipping another beat, she temporarily forgot to breath. Truthfully, these reactions had occurred more and more often of late, particularly when they were in a situation when it was unlikely anyone would intercede.

"Would you like there to be?" he whispered and she heard all the implications, the implicit meanings of 'us'. Reddening, she disentangled herself from him, replaced the tome on the shelf, and swayed on her feet. Hopping deftly, he caught her and the heat intensified. An awkward silence filled the room.

"I…" she trailed off. "I would like you to…"

"To what?" he replied, whispering too. Her heart rate tripled and her knees threatened to crumple beneath her. Protectively, possessively, he tightened his grip. In that moment, she realized the next few words out of her mouth were pivotal. They could create a completely different destiny than her arranged course or align themselves to a preordained fate. Its weight impressed upon her.

Kiss me.

"Funny Bunny, are you finished with that picture yet? You complain when I'm not a regimented schedule, yet you and Frankie dilly-dally. Honestly," she reprimanded, tapping her cane on the first step. The sound jolted the two would be lovers and they jumped, Frankie springing out of Herriman's arms. Glancing at each other guiltily, she pawed the floor and, desperate to flee the scene, dashed up the stairs. Herriman, in a dignified hop, joined her momentarily.

"Sometimes I wonder about you two," she murmured cryptically, shaking her head ruefully. "Get on with it already."

Frankie and Herriman exchanged a puzzled look.

"Next year, you two had better not ruin the picture," she finished, smirking.

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Herriman stated, bewildered.

"No making out on my watch!" Madame Foster chastised, waggling a finger admonishingly. Laughing at their thunderstruck expressions, she hobbled innocently to the living room and left them to consider her words.

"Argentine"

Not friend, not foe, nor lover, no. Confused arguments, a bittersweet aftertaste. Mistaken touches, blushes, and haunting dream of what might be. Suppressed feelings, unexplained actions, and the lingering desire for more. A paw across her arm strokes it gently, but, no. Nothing is wrong and nothing is right.

Self loathing, unsatisfying conversations. Isn't something missing? Fleeting glances, whiskery soft kisses in sleep, the hint of more. Are humans selfish for wanting what they can't have? If so, then what are imaginary friends but a reflection of that selfishness? How can something so earnestly desired be considered wrong by any standard? Who are they to judge?

Is that what it comes down to? Judgment? Sure, he deems impressions important, but what's more important? Happiness or sorrow? 'Perfection' or her lips brushing across his cheek? Appearances or love? How can one be weighed over the other? Why should one be forsaken for the other?

A child no longer, but a woman capable of making decisions and forming relationships. He knows this, but he finds himself inexplicably shy. 'Who could ever love a Beast?' Unlike that fictional character, he will not change into a prince by her love. He will remain himself and is that enough? Can he win her over simply by being him? Is that asking for the moon?

She certainly is no Disney Princess. Unless he constitutes as the ugly Stepmother in her Cinderella tale and he has made a grave error. In that case, he ought to flee this particular tale before she leaves him. in silvery glass slippers her fairy godmother gives her after finding him. Her and her Prince Charming shall leave in the pumpkin couch, her shoe in his hand, because don't they all have Prince Charmings? Don't they all have something better than home? Home is simply where the story begins.

How can he protect himself from hurt when all he wants, all he's ever wanted, is a smile from her? It burns warm in his chest, like a moth attracted to its lethal mate, the flame. Yet she hardly ever smiles at him. Is it because she's afraid or because she would never consider such an option? Are all the incidents mere conjectures in his mind? Does the imaginary friend possess a great imagination than the humans surrounding him?

"Frankie…" he whimpers, gazing at her afar. She's spending her time tending to his chores and a pang of guilt strikes him. Of course, being the caretaker is her job, but maybe he ought to give her a day off just once. Would it be so terribly suspicious and out of character for him to wish her relaxation and (oh, but the way her red bangs fall over her sparkling emerald eyes…)

I love you.

She senses his eyes and halts, blushing (a figment? hallucination? trick of the light?). No one watches them; the lobby is blissfully empty this morning. Far too early for any interlopers and his heart beats wildly in his chest. So close, yet so far. Untouchable (only to you…)

Will you be mine?

"Yes, Mr. H?" she answers like she has a million times before. (Longing? Desire? A mixture of the two? Or nothing at all?)

He loses his nerve. Shaking his head sadly, he hops towards his office, but rushing footfalls stop him. Her warm arms embrace him and, in the early sunlight, create warmth unheard of before. He wants her, all of her. Body, mind, and soul. A terrific ache supercedes the warmth and he yearns to turn and kiss her soundly, pressing her body against his. (Mine.)

Perhaps she realizes there is no reason for such an act, because she pulls away hastily, but he catches her arm. A look passes between them (understanding? acceptance?). Gently, like she is a porcelain figure prone to breaking, he hugs her tightly to him (adrift in a sea of emotions…hold my hand, Frankie…). A smile breaks across her face and she rests her head on his shoulder. In his arms, he feels her heart race like his and smiles, stroking her hair with his right paw. As soft as he'd imagined it.

"Frankie…" he murmurs, clasping her soundly. (Are you my imaginary friend? I've dreamt about you so much, I feel like I've dreamed you into life.)

"You called me by my nickname," she replies, smiling radiantly. (Radiant Garden. A beauty within. Oh, to belong to you and you to me. Is possession everything? Frankie…)

Daring himself, dangerously aware of what will happen if he fails, he brushes his lips against hers. There's a moment of shock (rejection? Please don't tell me rejection…), but she remains in his arms. He grips her wrist and his mouth falls agape at her racing heart. Something changes then, but something that has always been, yet has never been realized. She feels it too. There is no escape; past the point of no return.

A devilish gleam enters her beautiful eyes and it is his return to be shocked. Jabbing her tongue into his mouth, she wraps her arms around his neck and cradles what is precious to her. Stunned but pleasantly surprised (how long has she hidden this?), he kisses her back passionately. His arms wrap around her waist and her delicate body brushes against his. She is his.

It lasts forever and yet, takes no time at all. Grinning, she breaks the kiss and opens her mouth to say something, yet thinks better of it. (What now?) Instead, her fingers grace his cheek and she pulls him closer, yet simultaneously pushes him away. (What?)

She pushes him into his office, where they end up on his desk. Papers fly, but he finds he cannot object. In fact, he cannot open his mouth to complain, because hers covers it completely. Her arms are still around him and she ends up on top; they take breaks to breathe, but nothing more.

"I love you," she says finally, burrowing her face into his furry chest. (And she means it)