Ack, been a bit since I've written anything new, even longer since I've posted anything brand new as well - sorry!

Things have been a bit difficult since classes started at college, and although I've been putting more effort into trying to find some more free time to write, that goal is still proving rather difficult to reach.

We'll see what happens, and until then, enjoy!

Just one request - please no simply asking when lucyrocks73 and I are going to update "Wishing Only Wounds the Heart" - Just because we haven't updated it doesn't mean we've abandonded the story. Unfortunately, neither of us had much free time at all since school's begun again.

Also, for the usual disclaimer, this takes place in my Foster's series along with all of my other works where Mac now lives at Foster's living under Frankie's adoptive care, etc.

Disclaimer: I don't own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends

"…My name is Frankie, and I have a cookie problem."

"Hello, Frankie." Came the droned response from the small gathering. Shuffling her feet nervously, the lanky redhead paused for a moment, took a deep breath, then continued with her tale of woe.

"It's not all cookies, actually." She explained, looking slightly abashed. "It's just….well…it's only one kind, but I'm afraid it's a pretty serious addiction. See, my grandmother makes her special triple chocolate chip only once a year. The thing about that is though practically every time she makes them, I just get so excited and I…well, I binge, really badly. Honestly, I….well, I just can't help myself, I get in such a frenzy over them I can't think straight at all. It's only when the last batch is gone that I regain some self-control, but by the time that happens I'm always a complete mess, with a couple extra pounds to show. I always try to resolve not to make the same awful mistake next year, and….well, I really try, but….I can never….uh…."

Frankie stared at the ground ruefully and gnawed on her lower lip, clearly unwilling to go any further, at least according to her vibrant crimson blush. Fortunately, there was no need to embarrass her further, as the petite old woman apparently heading the tiny meeting suddenly gestured for the girl to take her seat.

"That's just fine, dear." Madame Foster chuckled encouragingly, flashing her a warm smile. "As long as you admit that you have a problem, you're on the right track."

"Uh…thanks…." Frankie mumbled softly, hastily sitting back down.

"Now then, would anyone like to go next?" Madame Foster inquired, glancing about earnestly. "Hmm? Anyone?"

A deafening silence enveloped the room, a massive indication that her offer was hardly a prize to be sought after. Finally however, just before the thick tension reached a record high, a large, silver gray imaginary rabbit got to his feet and took the floor.

"Hello, everyone." He greeted the others politely with a curt, though slightly nervous nod. "My name is Mr. Herriman."

"Hello, Mr. Herriman." The others murmured politely in unison.

"Thank you. Anyway, as I said before, I'm Mr. Herriman, and I….I….er, it's a bit of a…..no, I guess it's…..I….um…..and I….I….well, I guess you could call my case…uh….I have a bit of a…a….uh…"

The usually composed creature stuttered noticeably, atrociously uncomfortable with the subject at hand. Wringing his paws wildly, he struggled madly in vain to try complete the simple sentence. Sensing his blatant discomfort, his creator hobbled over from her seat and gave him an affectionate pat on his paw, urging silently for him to try and continue. Returning her gesture with a weak grin, he gulped nervously before attempting one last valiant effort.

"…and I….I…have a…a….a….c-carrot…..problem." Mr. Herriman finally managed to gasp out. Immediately he hastily removed a silk handkerchief from his jacket and quickly began to dab at the beads of nervous sweat that now began to trickle from his furry brow.

"I'll admit, it never started out as so irksome an issue." He began to babble apologetically. "But, in recent years, it seems that-"

Madame Foster laughed as she gleefully hugged her extremely uptight creation. "No, no, there'll be no need to go on. You've admitted there's something wrong, I think that'll be just fine for tonight."

He chuckled nervously, mumbled a hasty thanks, than quickly scrambled back to his seat, eliciting a heavy sigh of relief.

"Now…who's next?" The little old lady inquired encouragingly.

Again, a painfully awkward silence settled upon the gathering. Then, with a meek cough, a small, brown-haired eight-year-old clambered down from his seat and sheepishly stepped forward, averting eye contact with all those gathered.

"H-hi…my name is Mac." He whispered bashfully.

"Hello, Mac." The mumbled response came immediately.

"Well, I have kind of a….um….y'see, it's a bit of a….er….." Mac instantly began to stammer horribly, forcing him to resemble a busted record player. "I never thought it'd…..I just……I guess what I have is a big problem with sugar, see, and I….I think it started when….it started when…."

"GRANDMA, THIS IS STUPID!" Frankie suddenly bellowed, clearly unable to contain for what had been up until that point, an unimaginable amount of bottled torrid frustration. Now it spewed forth from her like scorching magma flowing from an erupting volcano, as she gritted her teeth so fiercely she resembled an attacking lioness, and her facial tone gained a noticeably crimson tint that practically matched her fiery red hair. Without even giving her so much as a passing glance, her grandmother casually waved her seething grandchild aside and motioned for her to sit back down.

"Frankie, please, if you want to speak again, you'll have time to go later, after the others." She replied quite calmly.

The caretaker's jaw dropped like a stone upon hearing this answer. Clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles became pale white, she instinctively erupted into another raging outburst.

"WHAT OTHERS?" she screeched, jabbing wildly at the overwhelming amount of folding chairs set in place, of which only four were occupied overall.

"Frankie, what did I just ask you to do?" Madame Foster chastised her blatantly frazzled granddaughter, speaking to her as if the twenty-two-year-old was a mere whiny toddler. "Will you just settle down, and-"

"No!" Frankie bellowed, stomping her foot furiously and blatantly at wits end. "This is dumb! Really, really, really, dumb! Of all the crazy things-"

"Frankie settled dow-"

"No, I will not "settle down!" No! I won't!" the lanky redhead argued ferociously. "Just look at us, Grandma! You have Herriman talking like some drug-addict, and I was talking like I need to be carted away to a loony bin once a year! And Mac! Oh for God's sake! You're making him act like he should be locked up at a rehab center when all he did is get a little hyperactive once or twice! For the love of everything holy, the little guy's only eight year's old, why did you drag him into-"

"Miss Frances!" Mr. Herriman barked sternly. "You will stop that his instant! All of us are here because we all specifically agreed to volunteer to help your grandmother set up Foster's first Twelve Step Program for Troubled Friends, and by "all" I mean that you're included, young lady!"

"I know! I know! I know! " Frankie lamented miserably. "But I thought she'd use us to help her out like this! I didn't actually think that she'd use us as human guinea pigs!"

"Miss Frances, however the crude idea that I am nothing less than a mere guinea pig is beyond me, but I will not stand by idly while you equate me to some mere house pet when it's blatantly obvious that I am a rabb-"

"YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT!" Frankie screamed as she tugged furiously at her hair in intense aggravation, ferociously cutting off Mr. Herriman in mid-scold. "We're not meant to be treated like a bunch of criminals, this is so wrong! Grandma, what on earth made you decide to just go ahead and-"

"…So dearie, when did your problems with sugar begin in the first place?" Madame Foster just continued with Mac, casually dropping the argument and a bit overeager to keep her bizarre experiment going.

"I…" Mac whimpered, unsure whether he should continue by the ghastly grimace now adorning his guardian's features. "I…um…"

"Oh no you don't!" Frankie announced resolutely, darting forward and hastily scooping up the child before he could get any further. Cradling the eight-year-old gently in her arms, she glared daggers at her grandmother and employer.

"We are done with this, you hear me? Mac and me, we're finished! No more of your freaky, over-the-top social experiments, got it?"

"Fra-"

"I said we're done!" The girl howled venomously, and with that she hefted Mac into the crook of her arm and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her with a terrific bang that reverberated loudly throughout the old Victorian mansion.

"…Well, so much for that." Madame Foster sighed, shaking her head pityingly.

"Oh come now, Madame." Mr. Herriman interjected reassuringly, instinctively hopping to her side. "Please, that was hardly your fault. If only Master Mac and Miss Frances showed a little more respect for you efforts, then-"

"C'mon, Bunny, can you really blame them?" the old woman suddenly laughed, although the erratic change in her mood was hardly a new occurrence for her imaginary friend, who continued to rest a paw gently upon her shoulder.

"I was simply stating that-"

"Knock it off, you old flatterer, you. And let those two be." She tittered. "Bless their hearts, they actually agreed to try this at first, didn't they? At least I didn't have to drag them here kicking and screaming."

Mr. Herriman shrugged. "If you say so, Madame."

"Besides, " the old woman chuckled, grinning gleefully. "It was awfully silly of me to try and drag it out as long as I did, especially considering who I was using. Frankie was right, why did I pick you for the first meeting, anyway? You three are hardly a bunch to be fussed about. I should've picked some friends with real issues instead, not ones who need to pretend like there's something seriously wrong with them. Ha! To think that I was treating you all like a bunch of common hooligans-"

"Don't worry, Madame." Mr. Herriman joked, flashing her a rare playful grin. "I doubt I'm constantly driven to act like a mere criminal behind your back."

"Well I certainly should hope so!" His creator whooped with a smile. "Honestly, treating you three like you all actually had some serious issues to work out? Heehee! I swear, sometimes I don't think I'll even be able to figure myself out…."

The winding hallway appeared to be utterly vacant, without a soul to be seen. Or at least, that's what he fiercely hoped was the situation. Moving with extreme caution, Mr. Herriman slowly craned his head around the corner and took a long, careful look. Much to his hidden joy, he didn't spot so much as a rogue Scribble here, and he had already scouted the other nearby hall thoroughly for any sign of occupation. All signs pointed to the assumption that there wasn't a single imaginary friend on this floor, excluding the large anthropomorphic rabbit himself. He leaned against the wall and heaved a deep sigh of relief.

However, he quickly remembered that this golden opportunity was not bound to last for long. Quickly before he could be spotted, he made a mad hopping dash towards a nearby closet, anxiously patting the precious bundle of carrots concealed safely underneath his jacket. Now was his chance, all he had to do was duck in, enjoy his forbidden treat for a few precious minutes, and later on no one would be the wiser about-"

"You're sure no one's up here?"

"I'm positive, pal, trust me. Barely anyone's up here this time of the day."

Mr. Herriman's paw had just barely brushed the doorknob when he heard the pair of hushed voices emitting from within the closet. Trying to stifle a gasp of horror, he promptly withdrew a few feet, ready to make a frantic bolt for safety, when,

"Hey, hey, hold on, will you?" One of the voices, high pitched and clearly feminine, reprimanded her companion sternly. "Settle down, I just opened the bag, for Pete's sake!"

"I'm sorry." The second one murmured ruefully. "It's just that…are you sure these were made with real sugar?"

The concealed female chuckled warmly. "Yup, these are made with the good stuff, none of that gross artificial sweetener junk. Now just gimme a sec, here's one for me…..one for you….two for me….two for you…."

"Thank you! Thank you!" the other squealed gratefully. "Ooooh, can I start now? I-"

"Just lemme know when you think you've feeling a little too hyper, okay? I'll start off with about five for you to be safe…"

With this, the conversation abruptly ended, and the sounds of ravenous chewing and swallowing made it blatantly obvious that frantic consumption was taking place within the unseen duo's lair. As they happily dined on their clearly taboo meal, blissfully unaware of anyone else's presence, Mr. Herriman just remained standing outside, staring dumbly at the door before finally inquiring gently to the all-too-familiar voices within.

"Er…Miss Frances? Master Mac?"

Instantaneously, the hallway became deathly quiet. After a few tense moments though, the doorknob slowly turned and the closest door cracked open, revealing a certain caretaker and her little brother. Both of them bore a brilliant shade of crimson marring their cheeks in their mortified embarrassment, which of course only made the cookie crumbs coating their faces ludicrously easily for the human eye to spot.

"I…" The rabbit tried to begin, but the words died upon his lips as his composure left him. Fortunately though, as she wiped away a smear of chocolate from her mouth, Frankie just took one glance at the familiar green stalks and the hint of orange peeking out from under Mr. Herriman's jacket and understood their rather peculiar predicament almost instantaneously.

"We won't tell anyone if you don't." she announced hastily.

"Deal?" Mac whimpered, hugging their contraband bag of cookies tightly.

"It's a deal." He instantly agreed, nodding curtly in affirmation.

With this, they all lapsed into an agonizingly long and awkward silence, none of them quite sure what to do next. Finally though, Mr. Herriman shattered the deathly quiet with a gentle cough as he glanced pleadingly into the duo's eyes.

"Er….there wouldn't happen to be enough room inside for three, would there?"

The End

Thanks for reading! All feedback is welcome!