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Here we go, yet another chapter comin' right at ya!

Disclaimer: I do not own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.

"Hello?"

No response.

"Frankie, you in there?"

Silence.

"Will you please open the door?"

Still no reply. With a groan, Wilt ceased knocking on Frankie's door and leaned heavily against the wall. Where was she? He hadn't seen her around the house, and according to the other friends, no one had really spotted her in the last two hours or so. Well, if she wasn't doing her chores, then she just had to be in her room, didn't she?

"Ugh…so not okay." Wilt murmured to himself. He thought he had seen the worst of it the day Mac had been taken from her, and she spent the rest of her waking hours that fateful day completely consumed by tears. But the way Frankie was acting lately, like she was a double in some cheap, low-budget zombie movie, Wilt just didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

What had become of the Frankie he knew and loved? Had the loss of Mac really set her back emotionally nineteen years? Did all those memories he had, all those wonderful times, did they mean nothing now? All those bedtime stories when she was little? The endless games of hoops out back on the basketball court? The long hours he put in helping her with her house duties? As much as Wilt hated to think it, the answer seemed to come back as a resounding yes. Frankie seemed to be nothing more than a traumatized wreck with the tragic loss of her beloved "little brother."

But if she had been reduced to nothing, then what of his other friend? What about Bloo? At least Wilt was still able to spot Frankie on a normal basis around Foster's, and she would still even allow him to help her out from time to time with her chores. But, besides rare appearances at mealtime once or twice a day, Bloo seemed to have vanished from their lives completely. It was as if without the presence of his best friend and creator, he simply couldn't exist on his own.

Poor little guy, Wilt thought sympathetically. The kind-hearted friend wanted nothing more than to at lease give the heartbroken little creature a couple of reassuring words, or a comforting pat on the back. But heck, if he couldn't even find him to start out…

Before he had time to finish his thought, a mysterious passerby rushing down the hallway ran smack into his long, skinny legs.

"Whoa!" the middle-aged woman cried in surprise as she bounced back and lost her balance. Before she could topple over completely however, the fast thinking Wilt quickly grabbed her by the arm and set her back on her feet.

"Oh no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He apologized profusely as he steadied the stranger back on solid footing. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" he asked concernedly.

The woman just smiled gratefully and chuckled at his over-polite mannerisms. "Oh, I think I'll be alright."

"Are you sure? Oh I'm sorry! I shouldn't have been standing right-"

"Stop, enough already!" the woman said, her shoulders shaking in laughter. "No please, I'm the one to blame, I didn't see where I was going, um, Mr…"

"Wilt. My name's Wilt." He said, giving her a warm smile.

"Please to meet you Wilt, my name is Alicia Brown." The woman replied as she shook his hand. "Sorry, I'm just here with my husband today, and I was just trying to find him after I accidentally wandered off on my own. Such a massive place, I never thought I'd find my way out! Anyhow though, we have a five-year-old son, see, and-"

"Oh! You're here to adopt an imaginary friend!" Wilt cried enthusiastically. "Good for you! Don't worry, Foster's is the best, we have some awesome friends here! C'mon, I think some of the guys are just down the hallway. We've got Shaky, Rosco, Crackers, Cockamamie Amie…"

However, as Wilt tried to lead Mrs. Brown off, the mother just stood rooted where she stood, still gripping tightly to Wilt's hand, smiling broadly.

Maybe a little too much for Wilt's comfort.

"Um, Mrs. Brown? Sorry, but if you'll just come with me, we can go look-"

"To be honest; I don't think that'll be necessary." She interrupted while still grinning eerily.

Wilt swallowed hard as she began to lead him downstairs.

"…and he's so polite, and kind, and friendly, and oh so helpful…" Mrs. Brown babbled on to her husband, a skinny, balding man who grinned in delight at everything that she said. As the woman went on and on, Mr. Herriman nodded sagely from his chair behind his desk.

"Yes, yes, Master Wilt here possesses many admirable qualities. Truly a model friend! Why just last week…"

In the midst of all the excitement that was going on in the office, Wilt just stood in the background, mouth open, eyes as wide as dinner plates, completely stunned by it all. He groaned a bit while he rubbed his temples. He suddenly seemed to have grown extremely light-headed in the last few minutes.

What's wrong with me? He thought worriedly. I'm getting adopted. I'm going to finally have a family, and a kid, after all these years! I'm going to get a home! This is every abandoned imaginary friend's dream! I'm getting it all! I'm…I'm…

Wilt stopped and rubbed his head while a brief dizzy spell overtook him. No, wait, what was he thinking? Finally getting a new family? Finally getting a new home? Finally getting a new child?

No, that was wrong. That was all wrong.

He had had all of that the moment he came to Foster's.

Wilt sat down on the floor, trying to make a sense out of it all, completely oblivious to the people chatting busily around him. An incredible feeling of panic began to rise up from deep within as Wilt realized the awful truth. He didn't want to be adopted. He wanted to stay here, at Foster's. At his home, with his friends. With his family.

He couldn't do this. Wilt was finally getting adopted, and it all just felt so wrong.

No, I can't! I just can't! What am I doing? I shouldn't be here! I need to tell them! I need to tell them the truth! I already have a home! I already have friends! I already have a child, I have Fra-

"Master Wilt?" Mr. Herriman's thick British accent cut in, immediately scattering his thoughts. Wilt looked up wearily at the large rabbit and the happy couple.

"Well, Master Wilt, this is certainly been quite a day! It seems your record-breaking time here at the house is finally coming to a well-deserved end, wouldn't you say? I've discussed the matter with the Browns…"

"Tell them. Tell them now." A voice in Wilt's head whispered.

"…and they think you to be quite the specimen that they're looking for in a suitable friend…"

"What are you doing? Say it. No. That's all. No. Just do it". The subconscious voice spoke up a little louder.

"…however, after clearly going over the whole matter…" Mr. Herriman droned on.

"NO! NO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! SAY IT! YOU DON"T WANT TO GO! NO! the voice shrieked. Wilt took a deep breath as he tried to get the words out. Just one little word, that's all it was. If he could just…say…that…word…

"…they've decided for now that they wish to discuss the whole situation a bit further among themselves and with their son tonight in the comfort of their own home. They will then return here by late tomorrow afternoon, and give us their final answer. Of course, I don't think there's too much need to worry. Would that be all right?"

"N-n…n-n-n…" Wilt struggled in vain. Just one word! Just that one…

"Okay." He finally said, lowering his head in defeat.

"You coward…" the voice whimpered sadly as it faded away.

"Excellent!" Mr. Herriman cheered.

"Oh I'm sure Brendan will be thrilled, I'm sure of it!" Mrs. Brown laughed.

Mr. Brown nodded his head silently in agreement.

Wilt just groaned.

"We'll be looking forward to your return! Goodbye, we shall be seeing you tomorrow!" Mr. Herriman shouted as he waved merrily to the car that pulled away. Wilt stood next to him, head and shoulders slumped in anguish. Oh God, what just happened?

"What's all the fuss, Bunny?" someone asked from behind. Mr. Herriman turned and nodded respectfully with a grin to the tiny old woman who hobbled into the foyer.

"Wonderful news, Madame Foster! Simply wonderful news! You'll never believe who's finally going to be adopted!"

"Really? Who?" Madame Foster replied curiously as she cocked an eyebrow.

"Why, our own Master Wilt, after all these years!" Mr. Herriman laughed delightedly, not noticing the shock that appeared on her face. "To think, after all this time, he's finally being adopted by-"

"WHAT?"

The three looked up in shock in the direction of the sudden shriek of outrage and horror. Frankie stood silently in the doorway, staring aghast at Mr. Herriman and the unthinkable words she had just come from his mouth.

"Miss Frances!" Mr. Herriman cried in surprise. Quickly he noticed the massive tear now adorning her ragged right sweater sleeve. "Good heavens, child! What on earth…"

"W-Wilt." Frankie jerked her head shakily in the direction of the lanky imaginary friend. "Did…d-did Mr. Herriman just say…"

"I..I-I…" The gangly imaginary friend muttered dumbly, burning with shame as he watched her face contort with incredible horror.

"No…n-no, please…don't…don't tell me that-" she begged shamelessly.

Wilt just shook his head sadly. "Frankie…I'm…I-I'm sorry."

Stunned beyond belief, for a few moments she just stood speechless and still as a statue as the unthinkable truth slowly began to set in, whiles the others just stood by, unsure of what to say or do as they read the unmistakable pained shock in her expression.

Frankie suddenly moaned as the color rapidly began to drain from her face. Suddenly, she felt extremely dizzy with intense shock and quickly latched onto the door for support. She couldn't believe what happened, just seconds before she returned home. Not Wilt, not after losing Mac, they just couldn't. Not to her, not after all that she had been through.

"Oh my goodness!" Madame Foster cried as she noticed that her ashen-faced granddaughter began to shiver violently. "Frankie, are you-"

"No…this can't…this just can't…" Frankie murmured incredulously. What was happening? The room seemed to be spinning before her very eyes.

Wilt gasped. "Frankie-"

"This isn't…happening." Frankie managed to mutter to herself.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Herriman asked as her panic skyrocketed.

"This isn't happening…this isn't happening…oh God, this isn't happening…" Frankie began to chant to herself repeatedly as she clung on tightly to the door, her body trembling violently and her legs wobbling dangerously beneath her.

"Dear, please." Madame Foster said softly as she tried to approach her granddaughter slowly, quickly realizing that the poor thing was on the verge of a breakdown. "Just calm down-"

"DAMMIT, THIS ISN'T HAPPENING!" Frankie screeched in a tone that would've made a banshee's wail sound like a chorus of angels. With another heartbroken shriek she let go of the door and shot out into the rapidly waning sunlight, tearing off to no particular destination in her hysteria. She just had to get away from it all; she just couldn't take any more of the pain, the anguish, and the loss of everything that she loved.

Breathing in ragged gasps, she sprinted madly onto Foster's extensive property out back.

"No, wait, please!" Wilt cried, running out after her. "Frankie, come back!"

"Miss Frances, contain yourself!" Mr. Herriman yelled as he speedily hopped out behind the lanky imaginary friend.

An incredibly stunned Madame Foster incredulously watched them race off for a few moments, and once they vanished form sight she simply bowed her head with a heavy sigh.

Tears pouring down her face, Frankie ducked behind the unicorn stables and threw herself on top of a pile of hay with a bitter sob. Curling up in a little ball, she buried her face in her hands and wept unashamedly as she was completely overwhelmed by crippling grief.

Was her life nothing more than a living nightmare? She just couldn't believe it. Hadn't the heavens had enough tormenting her? Would the higher powers not be satisfied until they robbed her of everyone she loved?

"It's n-not fair. He's mine. He's m-m-my imaginary friend. He's mine." Frankie whispered repeatedly to herself between the sobs that wracked her body, as if that would somehow make it all better. Not Wilt, her Wilt. It just wasn't fair, he was her imaginary friend, he had looked after her for as long as she could possibly remember. For God's sake, he was the only reason she was even alive today. Did it not mean anything that he saved her life? Were no bonds sacred?

Frankie howled in unspeakable anguish. It was all just too much to bear. She just couldn't handle any more losses; she simply couldn't take any more pain. Frankie didn't know whether she wanted to cry some more, faint, be sick to her stomach, or just crawl into a hole and-

Suddenly she felt her belly do a violent flip-flop. As she began to gag uncontrollably, it quickly became obviously what her next course of action was. Without thinking twice, Frankie turned her head and threw up into the hay, puking up more half-digested food then she thought her stomach was capable of holding. After she finally emptied her burning gut of all its contents, she simply collapsed helplessly in a heap back into the hay pile, regardless of the fact she was now lying in a pool of her own vomit.

It just didn't matter anymore. In just a matter of weeks, she had lost Mac, and now she was loosing Wilt. Two of her best friends…no, two of her family were being taken away, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Shivering uncontrollably, Frankie shut her eyes tightly and she let her grief-wracked body go limp as the pure shock overwhelmed her. Never in her entire life had she felt so utterly helpless, and just so completely-

Frankie suddenly squeaked in surprise when she sensed what felt like cold metal being gently placed against her lips.

"Here, drink this." Someone told her softly, as she felt a tiny arm wrap around her head and push it up slightly so as to put her in a better position to swallow. Frankie quickly allowed the mysterious Good Samaritan to take charge, and before she knew it an unmistakable stream of cool, sweet life-giving water was flowing down freely her throat. Sure it, it was probably just a metal cup filled with trough water from inside the unicorn stable. But Frankie didn't care, she was desperately thirsty, and it did wonders in cooling her badly burning throat. After gulping down the sweet sustenance in heavy gulps, the old tin cup was fully emptied and tossed aside.

Frankie finally opened her eyes to get a good look at her savior. However, weak as she was, she was only able to do so at an arduously slow process, and the fact that the sun had pretty much set did not help her now badly blurred vision, momentarily incapacitated by crippling emotional weakness and the tears that flooded her eyes. However, she managed to at least make out the basic shape of the compassionate soul. Who was that? Wilt? No, this guy was way too short for that, and was oddly shaped like a door of some sort…

"Bloo?" Frankie asked incredulously in a soft whisper as comprehension dawned upon her.

The small, blue imaginary friend frowned sadly as her gently rocked the grief-stricken girl's head in his tiny arms. He had clearly gotten no better since he despair had driven him into complete seclusion a few days before, and was so pale he was barely the shade of his namesake anymore. Despite this, he dutifully stayed by her side and attempted tot end to her.

"I…I was, um…hangin' around in one of the empty stalls…and I heard you outside. I only watched saw you for a moment before you collapsed so thought maybe that…you kinda needed some…y'know…" the embarrassed little creature tried to stammer out in a hoarse whisper.

Frankie still shivered uncontrollably. "B-Bloo." She stuttered out softly, a badly shaking arm reaching up to his shoulder. "I-I-I…they're g-gonna…"

"What?" Bloo asked concernedly, cradling her like a mother would an infant.

"It's all over." The girl managed to whimper. With that her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she fainted away in a heap.

"H-how is she?" Wilt stammered as Madame Foster hobbled out of her granddaughter's bedroom. The old woman sighed painfully.

"She's still not looking too well, but at least she's resting." She said wearily. "There's not much we can do except let her sleep and hope she's feeling better in the morning."

"C-can I…can I…I'm s-sorry, but c-c-can…" the over-polite imaginary friend stuttered uncontrollably in his deep worry. Madame Foster gave him a wan smile.

"If it makes you feel better, dear." She said with a weak chuckle.

"Th-thank you." Wilt murmured as he quickly stepped around her and slipped into Frankie's room. Bloo wordlessly followed at his heels, but Madame Foster made no objection to the little blue imaginary friend's unauthorized entrance. She simply closed her eyes and bowed her head, sighing heavily again as the door was shut behind her.

All the while, Mr. Herriman anxiously stood nearby, wringing his hands nervously as he frowned concernedly at his creator.

"Madame, is there anything I can-"

"How could you?"

"What?"

"Herriman, how could you do such a thing?" Madame Foster demanded, almost accusingly. Mr. Herriman gave a hard gulp. She almost never called him by his proper name. She was definitely not pleased with something.

"What? What are you taking about? Madame, I simply-" he tried to respond as Madame Foster lifted her head and stared him straight in the eyes. Mr. Herriman flinched under the weight of her piercing glare and immediately stopped himself in mid-sentence.

"Now don't start giving me any of that infernal claptrap!" she said sternly, waving her cane at him. "You know very well that Wilt's like family to Frankie! How could you just adopt him off like that and not even think twice about it? Why-"

"Madame Foster, please!" Mr. Herriman snapped angrily. "If you haven't forgotten, that is the exact mission of our establishment! You are in no position to simply blame me for doing my job! If we simply kept every friend we took a fancy to and never let a single one be adopted, then the entire system-"

"Enough!" Madame Foster shouted angrily in reply. "When did I say that? When did I say that?"

"I knew exactly what you were thinking!" her imaginary friend barked furiously. "Don't lie, I know precisely how your mind works! As soon as a particular friend catches your eye, you go off and wave rules left and right, the very principles that keep Foster's afloat!" he growled, clenching his gloved hands. "I know exactly what you're going to say! You-"

"Catches my eye? Catches my eye?" the old woman bubbled in rage. "Does "saved Frankie's life" mean anything to you? Does "helped raise her since she was three" have any significance? Hmm? He's not nothing but look after her since they've started living here, and it's all either of them have ever wanted! Maybe if you weren't so busy going about "business as usual" and actually stopped to think about what you were doing, or at least notice for once that-"

"Madame, you can not sway me by merely appealing to my emotions!" Mr. Herriman growled and jabbed a finger at her angrily. "It's my sworn duty! This is our duty! This is our purpose! This is-"

"Those are the rules and regulations that you blindly live your life by!" Madame Foster yelled. "If you'd just get your nose out of all your rulebooks and look around once in a while…"

"This is our mission! Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends was founded to shelter all abandoned imaginary friends that come to our door until they are all adopted! WE CAN'T JUST PICK AND CHOOSE WHO GOES AND WHO STAYS! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST FOLLOW THE RULES OF YOUR OWN HOUSE?" Mr. Herriman shut his eyes and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He was so overcome a rage, it took the enrage rabbit a while to realize that there had been no reply to his last ferocious outburst. Cautiously opening one eye, he quickly beheld a small, elderly lady who was a far cry from the furious gray-haired little bundle of fury that had been shrieking at him not two minutes earlier. Madame Foster's bottom lip quivered as a tear welled up in her eye.

"Rules…it's always about the rules, isn't it?" she murmured softly. Without so much as a second glance she simply turned about and began to slowly hobble off down the hallway, sadly muttering to herself.

"It's a rule that Wilt has to go…it's a rule that a twenty-two-year old can't adopt…just more rules…rules, rules, rules…" she whispered softly to herself.

Mr. Herriman only looked on in utter confusion. What was this? He had been expecting another snappy reply, or even an announcement of another exception she was going to make to her own establishment's rules, whether he liked it or not (as in the case of Bloo.) What he had not been expecting was this sudden complete and total surrender.

This wasn't like her at all. Where was the fiery-spirited Foster he had looked after since she was five? What happened to the little old woman with vitality and energy of most women a third of her age? What was going on?

"Madame?" he asked her gently. "Madame, what-"

The old woman stopped her retreat long enough to turn her head and give him a look eerily reminiscent of a condemned criminal being lead off for execution.

"There's a difference between what's "proper" and what's right you know." She said with a sniffle. With that she immediately went off her way, shoulders sagged and head bowed.

Her imaginary friend stood petrified in place, eyes wide open as the simple words hit home.

"What's "proper"…and what's "right."

Well yes, I suppose maybe I…no, no I can't! Wait…why not? No, no! I can't keep making these such wild exceptions whenever the Madame says so! I have to be firm! It would be anarchy if we never followed the proper rules and precautions! It would never work out! It wouldn't be...it wouldn't…

…it wouldn't be proper.

Usually as neat and orderly as his office, Mr. Herriman's mind was suddenly now a mad whirl, an utter mass of chaos as a plethora of convictions, notions, opinion, and a thousand other different thoughts raced freely about his brain.

The old rabbit groaned as he slapped his forehead irritably. Grumbling to himself, he hopped off in the direction of the nearest staircase. With all the serious contemplation he had ahead, he might as well make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.

Something told him it was going to be a long night.

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