Whisps of silver, patches of scaly auburn, with a yellow circle that was omnipresent but weakened greatly by a heavy pale hue; all of them conspiring to form a symphony of bleak might. These words matched with the outside window's curtain-covered view provided by Room B-12, located in the sixth level of McCracken General Hospital. They also described the very patient that currently occupied it: a young woman with bright but diluted crimson hair, clad in a grey patient's suit with sunshine-esque dots, covering skin whose former colorful self was now as wintry and as motionless as her current unconscious state.

The hospital bed in which she lay was so perfectly lined up with the window that they briefly but flawlessly blended with each other as a hare-like anthropomorphic imaginary being hopped quietly inside. Most pairs of normal eyes would've been fooled by this, but in Mr. Herriman's case, it didn't help that the last twenty-four felt like over six months and counting in his woozy state of mind. It took a firm blink of his eyes - actually one eye, as the other was wounded and bandaged - for the illusion to clear and for him to behold the bittersweet sight of his creator's granddaughter.

So beautiful. Whether it was kept intact or one of the nurses changed it for no apparent reason, her face's expression was just as snarky as it was sad, her eyelines bristling and lips curled into somewhat of a scowl. The visitor couldn't help but chuckle a little, feeling his jaded mind plunged into different times. More innocent times; times when that adorably grumpy face was one of the many trademarks you could only see at Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. Not like--

Even as Mr. Herriman reached his paws for the nearest empty chair, straightened it to the bed's side and settled himself onto it, his gaze with the lady did not break.

For a very long time, it wouldn't break.

Miss Frances.

Her name. The hare spoke it so softly that he barely realized it actually escaped it's lips, so soft that they were quickly dissintigrated by the air conditioner's thick chill--much less actually reach her earlobes. Noting this, Herriman inched himself even closer to the lady, to the point that the strands on unkempt fur on his face softly grazed her's... and for perhaps the very first time, spoke to her with sincerity and sympathy.

"You hate me. That much is clear. I know that, many times, you've wished for me to have never been such an unrequitedly large part of your life... in fact, you've longed for a different life; one that is far more productive and pleasant than maid of some silly shelter for imaginary friends. I think I finally see the irony: a cause that set out to make the world a more optimistic place has turned one of it's chief proponents very bitter."

"If it makes you feel better--we're in disarray. ALL of us. No doubt, the house will soon start to fall apart as result of our prolonged absence. Many of the residents are confused and disillusioned. The media has even caught word of this, and there's a more-than-normal possibility that this could blow into a hugely publicized scandal. Martha is waiting just outside, still having a hard time recovering from all this. YOU... well, at least you're resting, for the time being."

"I don't hate you. YOU feel free to hate ME all you want, missy; but I'll never hate you. I can't see how anybody could hate somebody whom is so beautiful, so hardworking, so strong and yet compassionate. I take back everything bad I've ever said about you. I was wrong. I--"

"I don't know, quite frankly. I just don't know what to say... except..."

To the contrary--the words were there. His mouth was still agape and all of it's features were locked and loaded, ready to speak them at will.

But he couldn't speak them. He couldn't. If he did, his ego--

Mr. Herriman's mind plunged into a fit of fierce denial, trying to suppress all the snakes of guilt, the wrinkles of remorse--but as much as he wanted otherwise, the fact of the matter prevailed. Those two words loomed internally overhead like giant twin saucers, consuming him in their proverbial shadow.

"MY ego."

He sighed. It was useless. His so-called mighty stature was wounded greatly as it was. If anything, he was only being even more of an arrogant jackass by holding back. He...

Suddenly, a solitary line of wetness streamed gently through the strands of his good eye. Fresh, pure... and sad.

The latter of these three harked back a beat too late, as the index of his left paw instinctively reached to wipe away the wetness. Because instead of yanking them back out as intended, the other fingers landed on his face as well to cover the open eye; and then felt his right paw covering the bandaged eye.

He was crying.

The imaginary friend did not know for how long he did such, nor did he really care. The intense sensation that blistered across the covered area of his wounded eye was a meaningless numb compared to the emotional pain in which his splintered soul currently writhe.

And right now, there could be no more denying.

"Frances," Herriman choked with a sob. "I'M SORRY!"

In reality, the words didn't come anywhere near close to scraping past the entrance door; but it was different from the hare's perspective. At last, his many years of hubris crumpled down like giant structures, mighty-looking but rotting on the inside. At last, he realized that those words had come too late now. At last, he was revealed for just how pathetic and insipid he really was.

At last, he was coming undone.

After what seemed like an excruciating(Though at this point, somewhat expected) eternity, Mr. Herriman felt a human hand land on the cusp of his shoulder. Through embarassed instinct, he slapped his paws back down and cocked his head right behind. "Martha...?"

But Martha Foster was not there.

Instead, realizing as he returned his attention to the bed, it was the hand of Frances Foster. She had finally woken up.

She flashed a kind but somewhat triumphant smile. "Sowwy's not good enough, Bugs."

- - -

A/N - I'm just going to say something that will disappoint some of you: although it is multi-chapter, it will not be very long, and it will NOT delve too deeply into Frankie's past(Or my view of it anyway). In fact, this is meant to be more of a short companion piece than a full-fledged story, since I felt like keeping the original one from Goo's perspective.

Again, I'm certain this will be finished a lot faster than AMoU will be. And of course, things are going to get very interesting from next chapter onwards...