Author's Warning: Like everything else, this takes place in my series, set up by the events in my first story "More Than My Friend" where the big event is that Frankie adopts Mac as her "little brother". If you haven't read that story yet, I strongly suggest you do so now, or else you might get confused.

Knock knock!

"Frankie?"

Knock knock!

"Frankie? You in there?"

Knock knock knock!

"Frankie?"

Despite his repeated inquiries, the child still didn't receive so much as a distracted grunt in reply. The bedroom door continued to remain tightly shut, with nothing to be heard except the deafening clamor of rock music blasting within, blaring so loudly the entire hallway seemed to rock with the massive reverberations.

As much as common sense demanded that he flat out ignore courtesy and simply enter the room unannounced, it simply wasn't in Mac's gentle nature to turn a blind eye to the benefits that simple civility offered, mainly making sure no one was interrupted at a more "awkward" moment. After all, he had more than enough experience with that to teach him to never underestimate the true value of good manners. The boy balled his fingers into a tight little fist as once more he took the polite option of inquiring gently for permission to enter.

"Frankie?" he called again, nearly yelling in order to make himself heard over the his adoptive "big sister's" music as he rapped soundly upon the door. "Frankie! Frankie, are you-"

Fortunately, this extra bit of effort did just the trick. Within an instant, the din was hastily lowered into a barely-audible racket as a voice, shrill and feminine, rang out from within.

"Mac?" Frances "Frankie" Foster inquired curiously. "Hey pal, everything okay?"

"Well, sorta…Frankie, is it okay for me to come in, actually?" Mac continued courteously with a light sigh of relief. "I'm doing my math homework right now, and I-"

"Oooh, need some help? Sure, c'mon in!" she immediately encouraged him warmly. "Just lemme turn of my stereo okay? Oh, I'm sorry! Come right on in, I shouldn't have-"

Mac grinned as he reached for the doorknob. "It's okay! It's not much, really, I'm just having trouble with-"

The very instant he entered, the poor boy was immediately struck mute in his dumb shock. His vocal cords became paralyzed, his tiny body froze dead in place, and his eyeballs nearly bulged clear out of their sockets as they rapidly grew to the size of saucers. In less than a moment his abrupt transformation was complete, and now the eight-year-old seemed to be reduced to little more than some wax statue carelessly left unattended in the doorway.

Despite the sheer heart-wrenching piteousness of the veritable miniature drama occurring right behind her back, Frankie just hummed casually to herself as she turned off her music, as if there wasn't a thing amiss in the entire world.

At least, nothing wrong at all except for the brazen fact that all she wore over her underwear was her favorite Powerpuff Girls T-shirt and absolutely nothing else.

"Okay, all set!" she announced while gracefully pivoting about on her feet. "Now, what's wrong? Whatcha having trouble with, kiddo?"

Unfortunately, Mac was unable to utter so much as a hoarse whimper in his gut-churning disgust as he continued to remain absolutely stone petrified in his revulsion. Even worse, rather than provide a blatant clue to his enormous discomfort, it only prevented him from uttering a single word of protest. Thus, Frankie didn't even do so much as bat an eyelid as she calmly plodded over to her dumbstruck adopted little brother and scooped him up into her arms with careless ease.

"Ooooh, can't even describe what you're having trouble with, huh? Is it that confusing?" she murmured, frowning sympathetically at her deathly still charge. "Yuck, that's the worst, isn't it? Here, why don't we just…"

Still chatting as amiably as could be, the caretaker strode over to her computer desk and quickly removed a few sheets of loose-leaf and a pencil as she plopped herself down into her swivel chair, still utterly ignorant of the petrified eight-year-old's heinous dismay.

"…There we go…now just try and show me what you're doing in class, and then I'll see if-"

"NOOOOO!"

The moment he realized she was actually about to deposit him atop her nearly bare lap, Mac's vocal abilities returned to him within a split second. Wailing like a wounded animal, and nearly spooking the redhead clear out of her skin, the boy immediately began to try and frantically scramble free from her hold.

"No! No! No! I don't wanna, I don't! Gross, Frankie, pleasepleaseplease don't!" Mac begged shamelessly as he tried to unsuccessfully grasp onto the badly startled caretaker's shoulders in an attempt to avoid unnecessary contact, avoiding her bare legs as if they were a pit full of venom-spewing cobras.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the bewildered young woman only yelped in surprise as she struggled to hold the tremendously squirmy little boy in place. "Mac, what's wrong? What's wrong, pal? WHOA! Hey, what's with-"

"Please, no, I don't-"

"What? Oh knock it off! It's just math, it's nothing to freak out over-" she scolded.

"Mmmpf! Argh! You can't make-"

"Hey, hey! What's your deal? You're the one who asked for help, why're you suddenly so-"

"AUGH!" Mac squealed in unfathomable revulsion as she quickly claimed victory in the atrociously one-sided conflict, forcefully bringing him down onto her lap and wrapping one arm tightly around his waist so as to make sure he didn't escape, no matter how viciously he thrashed about.

"Hey, stoppit!" Frankie scolded him with an ugly scowl. "I mean it, Mac, I don't care how much you don't like math, we're not going anywhere until you…you…what the…."

Her fierce incentive to reprimand the seemingly severely uncooperative eight-year-old down rapidly petered out to make room for the overwhelming wave of colossal befuddlement that flooded over her with all the force of a mighty tsunami. For a few moments, all the caretaker could manage to do was gawk at him blankly as she desperately tried to understand why he had suddenly clamped his hands tightly over his eyes.

"…Mac?" she inquired curiously. "What're you-"

"N-no…" Mac suddenly blurted out in a barely audible whimper.

"Huh?"

"No! Frankie, the answer is no!" he reiterated fiercely, never once uncovering his vision. The very knowledge alone of what he was touching was difficult to stomach enough as it was, and the little boy fidgeted about wildly in his discomfort.

"Wait, what?" Frankie answered dumbly, looking horribly bewildered by his rather cryptic remarks. "So now you don't want me to help you with your homework-"

"No! When I ask if I can come into your room or not, next time you tell me no! The answer you're supposed to give is no, Frankie! It's supposed to be 'No Mac, you can't come into my room right now because I'm not decent!' The last thing you're supposed to say is-" he ranted fiercely.

"What? Not decent?" she just repeated stupidly, clearly not getting the message. "Mac, what're you talking ab-"

"Frankie, puh-LEEZE!" Mac squealed loudly, making no secret of his colossal repulsion. "Put a skirt on, or SOMETHING!"

Despite his overly lurid display of tremendous displeasure, Frankie unfortunately didn't treat her current status with so much as hint of surprise or embarrassment as she quickly examined herself, clearly finding not a single issue with her appearance to be mortified about.

"…Wait, wait, Mac…you're honestly telling me that you're freaking out about this?" she asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows in total disbelief.

"Yes!" Mac wailed unhappily, still not daring to risk so much as a glance, shaking like mad in his horrendous disgust. Rather than be swayed by his pitiful reaction however, the young woman only rolled her eyes as she tousled his hair reassuringly.

"Mac...so what?" she replied without a hint of worry in her tone. "So I'm a bit underdressed, I don't see the problem-"

"That's exactly the problem!" The child moaned. "You're not wearing a skirt, or…or…or...blech!"

"Yeah……your point?" she asked all-too-calmly.

"I can see…you're just in your...I-I can see your…yuck! It's DISGUSTING!" Mac lamented unhappily.

"Disgusting? Oh, quit the drama, Mister Shakespeare." Frankie just reprimanded him gently and brushed off his frantic fretting with ease. "So you can see my bare legs, big deal-"

"It is a big deal because I see your underwear too! Gross, gross, gross!" he whined.

"But we're family." She struggled to explain her lack of concern on the matter. "So what if you see me in my underwear?"

"That's exactly the point! I don't want to walk in on my big sister when she's wearing nothing but-"

"Oh c'mon, you've seen me in less by accident, and you know it!" she tried to counter unsuccessfully.

"Oh yeah, like we really need to go down that road again!" Mac grumbled sarcastically, again shuddering violently in revulsion. Frankie emitted a loud groan of utter exasperation as she struggled to try and argue her point.

"Buck up, pal, it's nothing to freak out about. I honestly don't care that-"

"I care! I care! Show some decency, please!" he begged shamelessly.

"Oh come on!" she snapped exasperatedly. "What, am I prancing about out back like some tree-hugging nudist? Am I strutting around the house buck-naked? No, I'm completely covered!"

"Just some underwear and a shirt doesn't count! It doesn't! Oh cripes, I think my eyes are starting to sting!" he wailed.

"Oh, knock it off!" she snapped. Mac's, it's nothing to freak out about it! It's just me, you're big sister!"

"It's everything to freak out about exactly because you're my big sister! Gross!"

"But I told you, we're family! It's okay! There's no need for you to get all riled up, we're-"

"Why? Why does that suddenly make everything okay?"

"I don't know how, all I know is that being part of a family just does, all right?"

"Oh yeah, like that really makes it all better!" he whined, writhing about in repulsion.

"For Pete's sake, Mac get a grip! Honestly, you've even see me in my bathing suit and a T-shirt out by the pool, or just my bathing suit, and-"

"But-"

"-The very same bathing suit that's a two-piece! Now how can that possibly be any different from what's going on here, huh? Why is it that on a hot summer day everything's fine and dandy, but now I'm suddenly committing a heinous atrocity? Clue me in, how on earth is it that I'm bothering you now when-"

"Because that's when you're out by the pool in you bathing suit! The last thing I expect to see inside the house is you walking around n your und…Frankie I don't…I don't want to see you in…in….in your under…y-your…"

As his entire body was wracked by violent shudders in his unspeakable repugnance, the child elicited a barely audible whimper before going completely silent, praying desperately that the unbearable torture would end soon.

"Mac, does it really bother you that much?" Frankie inquired incredulously.

The child didn't even emit so much as a peep in response, replying with nothing more than a weak nod of his head as he continued to keep his little hands clamped tightly over his eyes, while his body continued to quiver uncontrollably in revulsion.

The pitiful sight alone was far too heartbreaking for Frankie to even say a single word more in her defense. Sighing heavily, the young woman planted a quick peck on his forehead before hurriedly lifting him up off her lap and depositing him safely upon the floor.

"Okay...okay...you win, pal." She kindly acquiesced. "No more letting you in here when I'm underdressed, okay?"

"P-promise?" Mac whimpered, instinctively edging towards the door.

"I prom-"

WHAM!

"OW!" the eight-year-old yelped in pain as he staggered backwards a bit, clutching his aching skull. As he stumbled about drunkenly in a slight daze, his guardian groaned wearily in exasperation as she instinctively arose from her seat to tend to the poor child. Clucking disapprovingly like a mother hen, she swiftly scooped up the little boy back into her arms and began to stroke his throbbing head gently, reprimanding lightly as she did so.

"Kiddo, either open those eyes back up or else you will run into the wall again…"

"….Frankie?" Mac inquired curiously as he tapped gently upon the bedroom door. "Frankie, can you-"

"Huh? Mac, what are y-oh! Oh, oh jeez! Your science project, right? The one you were telling me about this morning at breakfast?"

"Yeah, can you-"

"Oh of course, no problem!" came the cheery response. "Sure thing, pal, just come right on in and show me what-"

"Wait, wait, wait! Frankie, are you…well…." the eight-year-old blurted out, eyeing the door warily as he instinctively backed off a step or two for the sake of caution. Immediately a flurry of tingling laughter rang out from within the concealed bedroom.

"Yes, Mac." he could hear her chuckle. "It's okay, I'm actually wearing shorts. Trust me, it's all right to come in."

Immediately Mac broke into a weak grin as he instinctively trotted inside, his shaky confidence heightened by her warm encouragement.

"Okay, see what the teacher wants us to do is-"

The poor child never got one word further with his hasty explanation, or even so much as one step further in the room for that matter. With only one glance, all his previous thoughts were scattered like a flock of geese at the sound of a gunshot, and he was almost paralyzed by crippling pangs of horror.

For a few moments, the boy remained absolutely petrified and deathly silent, much to the blatant surprise of his guardian.

"Mac?" Frankie asked curiously, glancing up from where she was folding some laundry on her bed. "Hey pal, what's wr-"

The words had barely rolled off her tongue before in less than a split-second, the boy had seemed to vanish into thin air. Not a single trace of the eight-year-old left except the faint pit-pat of footsteps of someone dashing off down the hallway like an Olympic sprinter, supplemented by what sounded suspiciously like pitiful squeals of utter revulsion.

Within moments, the pathetic display was over. Puzzled, at first Frankie paused to mull confusedly over what on earth had just happened, all the while clad in nothing but a pair of shorts and a bra.

"Oh, come on…" she finally groaned exasperatedly as she hurled a half-folded shirt down and scampered off in pursuit. "Now what's his problem?"

The End

Hey, c'mon, don't give me that look…who honestly has never had to deal with this in their own family? Y'know, the relative/parent/sibling that's way too at ease with their appearance or what they wear sometimes around the household? The dad who walks around in his underwear? Maybe it's an older sibling who does this from time to time? C'mon, be honest…..

This is so definitely a family issue we all deal with at some point, so don't lie. Honest, everyone I know at least has someone in their family who does something like this.

If not though...then consider yourself a lucky, lucky human being.