Author's Note: This is the last 30Kisses chapter. As of yesterday, I finished my remaining challenges and am done writing F/H except in "Even in Death" (I'm contemplating deleting "Mind Games", too). I don't hate F/H...I've just moved on in terms of fic writing and obsessions.

You might find it amusing that I almost missed the new Foster's because I was busy putting these drabbles together. Lol.

Foster's ain't mine.

Ramshackle

Ramshackle. Derelict. Not broken, but deficient. Insufficient to satisfy her. Yet he strives anyway because while he might be the house on the end of the block visitors avert their eyes to miss, he holds an inner beauty like she possesses stalwart truth and compassion. He reaches for her hand and she does not turn away. Instead, she raises his paw to her lips and kisses it.

Others might see a weeded garden, but she sees the single rose growing in the thorns.

"The Various Blood Types…"

Type O negative, the universal donor. Type AB, the universal recipient. The Japanese believe that certain blood types impact personality and in anime, artists often give their characters' blood types as well as their horoscope and birth date. In America, while blood type might not be read that literally, it's important as far as donations and receiving blood during a crisis. Ironically, however, imaginary friends can neither donate nor receive blood. Since their internal composition may not include much beyond the essentials (creators can leave this up to nature or explain it in great detail), a situation where blood must be from another source can prove fatal.

In a crisis, Frankie knows beyond standing there and holding his paw, she won't be able to give any part of her body to save Mr. Herriman. Normally, that doesn't concern her, but whenever she sees an ambulance rush past and him speaking to a particularly dangerous friend…well, accidents happen.

It's another one of those- 'if only he were human' deals. Love is never perfect. She accepts it, but she can't help but worry. Nothing lasts forever.

Naprapathy

Mr. Herriman was 'never one' for holistic medicine. Of course, he was 'never one' for a great many things, but he drew the line at practices science condemned as inept. Therefore, when news reached him Madame Foster's grandniece intended to heal her cancer simply by wishing it away, he scoffed, inwardly pitying her. Belief did little to foster any actual healing, despite what others accepted. However, it was precisely this attitude that led to an interesting conversation between Frankie Foster and Mr. Herriman on a balmy, starry night in late June. The moon shone transcendently in the cloudless sky and Frankie exhaled happily, leaning back in his arms.

Other couples had opted to relish the mild late spring night by relaxing together. Bloo and Mac (now thirteen and sixteen respectively) nuzzled each other affectionately and she swore they stole a kiss. Bloo's stubby arm coursed through Mac's hair and, in response, his creator cradled him closer. The two had spent the first month of their relationship in relative secrecy, but she supposed either something had significantly altered, or they stopped caring who knew. Besides, this was Foster's. No one would castigate them for their choices.

Concealed in the semi darkness, Wilt and Eduardo enjoyed each other's company as well. It was amazing how many pairings you'd find in one house if you simply took the time to look. The half touches, the double entendres, the mysterious winks; she understood because she lived in that same world. Clandestine romance was its own dance, leading and following, snaking in and out. Frankie wouldn't trade it for the world, though.

Yet she had to admit that Herriman's attitude baffled her. Squeezing his paw in her hand, she shut her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. He kissed her cheek and she felt complete. There was no other world for this full sensation. Nagging in the back of her mind, however, arrived that question she had not spoken.

"You only believe in the tangible?" she said quizzically, cocking an eyebrow. Tonight, they expected a meteor show, another excuse to lure the couples out of hiding. The more outward ones huddled further out, fully illuminated. Mac and Bloo, she and Herriman, and Wilt and Eduardo, in contrast, were barely visible. Speaking of which, that little blue blob seemed to be stealing a lot of kisses from his creator. Not that Mac minded, but it brought a half smile to her face.

"Yes, I do. The tangible can be expressed mathematically, poked and prodded, and examined at length," he stated eloquently, his furry arm hugging her tighter. They had precious few moments like this and he relished every moment. He wanted to cradle her to him forever and she empathized because she shared that sentiment.

"Then how do you explain love?" she replied, swiveling around to kiss him passionately on the lips. She drew back, preparing to continue her thought, but his paw on the back of her neck implored her to forget their conversation momentarily. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and permitted him to deepen their contact. Their tongues battled playfully and she sighed, contented.

"Mr. H," she said when they broke apart, "how do you explain that if you only believe in the tangible?"

"A chemical attraction-"

"That's lust," she corrected. "Love does alter the brain's chemistry, but why with a certain person or creature? And you can't touch love. You can't 'poke' or 'prod' it. You're saying you don't believe in love."

"Miss Frances," he replied, affronted, "if I disbelieved in love, why would I be openly embracing and kissing you?"

"According to your credence, you don't believe in love. And you yourself are a corporeal manifestation of an intangible concept- the human imagination. You can't deny that," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Yes, but the imagination itself is obviously tangible, if I am a manifestation of it," he replied. "Certain aspects can be inspected in the form of imaginary friends."

"But those aspects are based off their children's wishes and desires," she pointed out. "Those are metaphysical."

"Yet when the imaginary friend is 'born' into this world, they assimilate into a physical form. Therefore, while they may not have been tangible beforehand, they are now."

"Yet you said essentially that the intangible doesn't exist. If it doesn't exist, how can an imaginary friend? How can love?" she argued.

Sighing heavily, he realized he had to concede at least partial credit to her debate. Nuzzling her cheek, he rocked her back and forth. Though they argued their points ardently, they both sat, relaxed and satiated. Mac and Bloo could never do that- though she rather doubted they were doing much talking at all. Unless you counted when their mouths encompassed each other's.

Maybe if I get a satisfactory answer out of Cottontail, we'll join them, she thought, grinning. He brushed back a few hair strands off her forehead and stroked her cheek. The stars overhead dazzled the few creatures watching and the moon was a beacon of hope to anyone caring to glance its way.

"Everything intangible has its roots in a physical embodiment. Master Blooregard, for instance, who appears rather 'involved' with his creator…" he halted, squinting to distinguish what exactly they were doing. He shirked and she smirked, suppressing a laugh. Staring too long had procured exactly the wrong answers.

She nudged him in the ribs to continue, because he frowned admonishingly. While he had no valid reason to chastise them, she knew he'd jump at the chance. Why deprive them of their happiness?

"Ah, yes, I was saying…everything intangible has physical roots. Master Blooregard is the embodiment of mischief and blatant rule breaking-"

She rolled her eyes. "Leave him alone for one night, Mr. H. Let him be with Mac. It's not every night they can be this open."

Sighing, reluctantly attributing another mental 'point' to his lover, he continued. "And you, Miss Frances, are the embodiment of love."

The statement surprised her and she answered in a rather uncivilized manner. "Huh?"

"You represent everything I love. Your beautiful, silken, flaming red hair; your sparkling jade eyes, patience, fortitude, perseverance, bravery, intellect…" he trailed off upon spotting her deep blush.

"Wow, Mr. H. You really know how to compliment a girl," she murmured, embarrassed. Nonetheless, she grinned. "But do go on."

"You are kind, forthright, attractive…"

"Okay, enough already. Save some adjectives for yourself," she teased, pecking him on the lips. "Don't run your whole vocabulary by me, either, or we'll be here until next winter."

Grinning, he replied, "Duly noted."

Silence descended and the only sounds they heard were the other's heartbeat and breaths. Tenderly, he kissed her brow and she pushed him back onto the soft earth. The two laid side by side, arms wrapped firmly about each other, and utterly oblivious to the rest. It was a nice feeling, not to be responsible for anything and to be together.

"I love you," Frankie whispered. "And I always will."

"I love you too, Frankie," he replied, shutting his own eyes.

Suddenly, she sprang up with an abrupt exclamation. Directing her finger skyward, she shook her head at him. He blinked, taken by surprise. However, sitting up for him was not quite as easy as her and he attempted several times before succeeding.

"We're going to miss the shower!" she cried.

"Oh. Was that why we came out here?" he teased. "I'd forgotten, amidst our debates and kisses."

"Oh, just shut up and watch."

"Now, is that the proper way to speak to your employer?" he replied mockingly, grinning despite himself. "Miss Frances, show some respect."

"Uh, huh, sure, Funny Bunny."

"That is not fair!"

"No, but it was easy." She smirked.

"To use your words, 'just shut up and watch'," he replied and she rolled her eyes. They did as she suggested, though, the natural phenomenon paled in comparison to the thrill of spending eternity in each other's arms.

"How do you spell that again?"

"L-O-V-E…"

"Great," Frankie muttered. "If I hear that song one more time, I will s-h-o-o-t myself."

"What song?" Mr. Herriman inquired, hopping beside her.

"L-O-L-O-V-E…"

"K-I-L-L Ashlee…" she muttered.

"I suppose to her, love is a four letter word," Mr. Herriman quipped and she pivoted, surprised by the humor in his eyes. Grinning, he grabbed her hands and proceeded to whirl her about. Mouth agape, she stared at him.

"There is no way I'm dancing to such a crappy, badly sung song-" she protested.

"Oh, but you m-u-s-t," he said, beaming.

"I'm going to hurt you," she muttered and he laughed, twirling her like a ballerina.

"But, Frankie, that is m-e-a-n," he replied and she growled in frustration. Guffawing, he cradled her, his paw on her waist. They were lucky no one was around, but if looks could kill, Mr. Herriman would have been served for dinner.

"Aargh! Why do you keep doing that?" she cried, irritated. "Stop spelling out words everyone knows already!"

"But isn't that how this Ashlee Simpson b-a-n-k-s? On other's stupidity?" he replied, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Yes, but you don't have to capitalize on it too!" she groaned, his heartbeat pounding beneath her hand. He brushed his other paw against her hand and intertwined them. Anyone passing would have thought them insane.

"Why not? I a-d-o-r-e your tempestuous rages," he said and she gritted her teeth, jade eyes flashing dangerously.

"What will it take to shut you up!" she snarled and he chuckled.

"A kiss would suffice."

"Fine," she huffed.

"F-i-n-e," he said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Aargh! I'm going to kiss you so hard, you won't be able to talk for a week!"

"Is that a t-h-r-e-a-t?"

Frankie growled inhumanly, snatched him by the ears, and planted one on him. It indeed was rather ferocious and he stumbled backwards, stunned.

"There." She beamed at her handiwork.

"What a k-i-s-s."

"Aargh!"

"Ah, the wonders of…"

Sex. Well, love was a 'many splendor thing' too, but sex beat all. At least, that's what Frankie thought as she hummed to herself and dusted the flowers. Wilt tapped her on the shoulder, she danced and rocked her hips when she turned around, and beamed at him. He stopped, completely at a loss for words.

"Um, Frankie? You're supposed to be dusting the porcelain vases," he said blankly, uncertain how to proceed in the wake of her bizarre, uncanny good mood. Thursday entailed the longest list of chores than any other day of the week and yet, here she was, euphoric and enraptured. Needless to say, it left him a little bewildered.

"Am I? Oh, thanks!" she said, still grinning. "You're the best."

"Um…'k…" he said, slowly backing away. "I'm sorry to bother you…"

Bloo, popping bubblegum loudly and sliding on a cooking pan, waved merrily at Frankie on his way down the stairs.

"Hey, Frankie. What's shakin'?"

"Nothing much," she called back, accidentally washing the begonias. Bloo stared.

"Frankie, are you okay? You haven't yelled at me yet."

"I'm fine. Everything is fine. I love the world," she replied and he fell promptly off his pan. Staring at her like she'd recently had a lobotomy, he scrutinized her and paced about her as if a glance over would inform him unequivocally what had transpired to Foster's resident caretaker.

Aliens took her brain. That's it, he deduced, slowly backing away like Wilt, and fleeing the scene. He didn't want any part of said aliens.

"Hey, Ed," she cried, waving the same hand with her sponge. It went flying and whacked Duchess in the face. Soapy water dripped, destroying her makeup. Duchess looked murderous. Or, rather, as murderous as one with limited facial expressions can appear.

"Um, hello, Frankie," he said, having heard from Wilt Frankie's odd behavior but braving it anyway.

"Why es you so happy today?"

"Well, I could tell you," she replied, grinning and rapping him gently on the nose, "but it's a secret."

"I promise not to tell," he swore.

Leaning over, she whispered in his ear and he jumped up, staring at her in disbelief. She nodded, smirking, and he promptly spurted as fast as a hellhound away from her. The sound of his hooves echoed in the hall.

"Miss Frances, you didn't!" Herriman called and she laughed, leaning on a nearby broom. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

"What do you think?" she replied, rocking her hips. He reddened beneath his silver grey fur.

"You…you…" he stammered.

"Our secret's safe," she confirmed, grinning devilishly. Dancing suggestively around him, she surveyed the scene and pecked him on the cheek. If it was possible, he turned still redder.

"Hey- when you're good to mama, mama's good to you."

Mesozoic

Love predates history. Actually, that's a rather presumptuous claim to make, considering history can be interpreted various ways; the Gregorian calendar, the Hebrew one, and etc. Not to mention time itself could be measured in scientific periods (i.e., the Mesozoic) and whatnot. Regardless, it can overcome various obstacles, in any time period. Age, race, sex; you name it and love has beaten the odds.

So why not an imaginary rabbit and a human girl? Of course, it's never happened before, but who's to say it shouldn't? Who's to say it's so wrong?

No one has a perfect relationship with another human being. Secrets can be kept, others may snub them; the whole relationship may be a façade. One should judge on how pure the love is, not between whom.

Because love conquers all.