fic: (Home) I Can't Say Where It Is
Title: (Home) I Can't Say Where It Is
Author: ripptyd
Fandom: Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends
Genre: Future, slight Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: The front lawn used to be full of Friends playing, but children don’t use their imagination like they used to.
Note: Mega thanks go out there to modernlove_89 for being the only person to bite on beta-ing an out there fic about a silly cartoon. :)
The car gives a shudder as Mac turns off the ignition and leans back into his seat. He hasn’t been back here in years, and his heart feels like it’s being squeezed by an invisible hand. The mansion always seemed out of place, even being on the outskirts of town. A patchwork of colors and shapes pieces together Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends as if it were a living and breathing quilt.
Mac stares at the sign next to the gate and frowns at its faded letters. Paint peels off the corners, and he remembers the hardware store that he passed only moments before. He'll have to make a stop before he leaves again. It’s the least he can do.
Before he realizes it, he’s out of the car and approaching the tall gate. His hand reaches out to the same spot it has reached for thousands of times before. Muscle memory, he vaguely thinks as his fingers wrap around a thin iron bar before he gives it a nudge. It swings open just as easily as it always had.
The front lawn used to be full of Friends playing, but children don’t use their imagination like they used to. Mac scoffs at himself; aware of how he sounds like “Old Man Rivers,” and with that thought he tosses a look over his shoulder to the house across the street.
For Sale.
Mac’s brow furrows and he’s at the front door. His fingers twitch when he reaches for the door knob. It hovers for a moment before moving to ring the doorbell. It's only a beat or two before the door opens.
“Master Mac!”
Mac is blushing for a reason he can only call shame for his long absence, and he just smiles as best as he can manage, “Hey, Funny Bunny.”
The eye behind the monocle narrows and Mac raises his hands in defense, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
The rabbit’s eyes soften but his mouth stays tightly pursed. Mac has never known it to do much else, except preach on rules and propriety.
The door closes behind him and he’s standing in the middle of the foyer, and suddenly he’s feeling exactly like he did when he was eight years old. Overwhelmed. Only now he doesn’t have his best friend beside him.
He hasn’t seen Bloo since he was eighteen. College meant the end of a lot of things in his life. What freshmen brought their imaginary friend with them to school? He left Bloo at Foster’s to brighten another child’s life. Mr. Herriman had been bitter, telling Bloo that he knew it would happen from the first day they made their agreement for Bloo’s boarding. He would be abandoned just like every other Friend who walked through these doors.
Mac didn’t bother to, and honestly couldn’t, explain, because Mr. Herriman was right. He was leaving Bloo to move on to more mature pastimes. It was a long time coming with Mac's time divided between Foster’s, friends, and a new found interest in girls that he was rapidly becoming familiar with.
He had even kissed Frankie on his 18th birthday in the kitchen while she spelled his name out in frosting on a double layer cake. She remembered to make it sugar-free and he was as touched as an 18 year old boy could be. It was clumsy and impulsive, and she accidentally got blue frosting on his cheek. She had blushed bright red, mumbling against his lips about how he shouldn’t kiss women who basically babysat him as a kid, and glared when he implied being 27 years old made her an “older woman.”
The cake didn’t reach the dining room for another five minutes.
Mac shakes his head sharply, and he clears his mind of the past. Everything is different, but nothing has changed here. The bust of Madame Foster still stands by the staircase. The floors are still immaculate. Mac can still hear the sounds of Friend’s voices drifting down the stairs. It’s not as loud as it used to be, but it’s still there. And so is she. She’s scolding Scissors again about running somewhere in the next room. He can’t help but smile to himself.
Mac finds himself smoothing his hair, and straightening his shirt. Old habits and all. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and they ball into slightly moist fists.
She doesn’t see him at first when she walks into the foyer. Her head is down, scribbling something onto a pad of post-its.
“Frankie,” it comes out more like an exhale than a real statement.
“Hey there! Welcome to Foster’s Home For-,“ she finally meets his gaze and stares at him, as if grasping desperately to remember a dream she once had.
“M-Mac?”
He nods, and he feels the shame bubbling up again, his cheeks and neck beginning to flush.
“Oh my god, Mac!”
The post-its are forgotten on the floor, and Frankie closes the distance between them, hugging him tightly. Her red hair is in his face, and he can’t see, but he hears Mr. Herriman ‘harrumph’ and hop out of the room. Mac just smiles and squeezes Frankie tighter, and they stand there until the intercom buzzes.
“Ms. Frances, post-it disaster in the foyer!”
Mac can’t help but snort, turning his face into Frankie’s hair while she grumbles.
“You’d think with me running the place, he could relax now. He wouldn’t even let me hire new help for the cleaning.”
They pull apart, and Mac frowns. He remembers the phone call from a tearful Frankie a few months after he left for school. Madame Foster was gone. Such a brilliant and energetic light was gone from the house and the world. It was yet another reason he couldn't bring himself to come back for the rest of those four years, but here he was. Finally.
They walk to the kitchen where Frankie pulls out a plate of cookies and some milk. Mac’s eyebrow arches slowly while he settles onto a stool.
“Are we twelve?”
She just grins at Mac and shrugs, “It wasn’t that long ago, really.”
“Yeah, for me. You’re old, remember?”
He dodges a soggy cookie, laughing genuinely for the first time since he came back into town.
Mac’s laugh fades and turns into a small smile, “You look great Frankie.”
“So do you, for someone who’s barely old enough to drink.”
They sit in silence, Frankie chewing on a cookie, while Mac just plays with his. He clears his throat, uncomfortably shifting in his stool. When he speaks, it’s soft, and barely even.
“How is everyone?”
“Adopted,” Frankie watches at him closely.
Mac is nodding, mumbling, and repeating himself, “Good, good.”
Frankie doesn’t push, and he’s grateful when she lets them sit in silence for a few minutes. The cookies are almost gone when he finally speaks.
“Do-Do you think they would, you know… mind if I gave them all a visit?”
She looks relieved when she reaches out and puts her hand on top of his, “I think they’d love it, Mac.”
He’s staring at a spot on the counter, his free thumb rubbing over the tile slowly, but he turns his hand over, gratefully holding onto the lifeline Frankie has offered. He finally meets her gaze, squeezing her fingers.
“Thank you.”
Author: ripptyd
Fandom: Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends
Genre: Future, slight Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: The front lawn used to be full of Friends playing, but children don’t use their imagination like they used to.
Note: Mega thanks go out there to modernlove_89 for being the only person to bite on beta-ing an out there fic about a silly cartoon. :)
The car gives a shudder as Mac turns off the ignition and leans back into his seat. He hasn’t been back here in years, and his heart feels like it’s being squeezed by an invisible hand. The mansion always seemed out of place, even being on the outskirts of town. A patchwork of colors and shapes pieces together Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends as if it were a living and breathing quilt.
Mac stares at the sign next to the gate and frowns at its faded letters. Paint peels off the corners, and he remembers the hardware store that he passed only moments before. He'll have to make a stop before he leaves again. It’s the least he can do.
Before he realizes it, he’s out of the car and approaching the tall gate. His hand reaches out to the same spot it has reached for thousands of times before. Muscle memory, he vaguely thinks as his fingers wrap around a thin iron bar before he gives it a nudge. It swings open just as easily as it always had.
The front lawn used to be full of Friends playing, but children don’t use their imagination like they used to. Mac scoffs at himself; aware of how he sounds like “Old Man Rivers,” and with that thought he tosses a look over his shoulder to the house across the street.
For Sale.
Mac’s brow furrows and he’s at the front door. His fingers twitch when he reaches for the door knob. It hovers for a moment before moving to ring the doorbell. It's only a beat or two before the door opens.
“Master Mac!”
Mac is blushing for a reason he can only call shame for his long absence, and he just smiles as best as he can manage, “Hey, Funny Bunny.”
The eye behind the monocle narrows and Mac raises his hands in defense, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
The rabbit’s eyes soften but his mouth stays tightly pursed. Mac has never known it to do much else, except preach on rules and propriety.
The door closes behind him and he’s standing in the middle of the foyer, and suddenly he’s feeling exactly like he did when he was eight years old. Overwhelmed. Only now he doesn’t have his best friend beside him.
He hasn’t seen Bloo since he was eighteen. College meant the end of a lot of things in his life. What freshmen brought their imaginary friend with them to school? He left Bloo at Foster’s to brighten another child’s life. Mr. Herriman had been bitter, telling Bloo that he knew it would happen from the first day they made their agreement for Bloo’s boarding. He would be abandoned just like every other Friend who walked through these doors.
Mac didn’t bother to, and honestly couldn’t, explain, because Mr. Herriman was right. He was leaving Bloo to move on to more mature pastimes. It was a long time coming with Mac's time divided between Foster’s, friends, and a new found interest in girls that he was rapidly becoming familiar with.
He had even kissed Frankie on his 18th birthday in the kitchen while she spelled his name out in frosting on a double layer cake. She remembered to make it sugar-free and he was as touched as an 18 year old boy could be. It was clumsy and impulsive, and she accidentally got blue frosting on his cheek. She had blushed bright red, mumbling against his lips about how he shouldn’t kiss women who basically babysat him as a kid, and glared when he implied being 27 years old made her an “older woman.”
The cake didn’t reach the dining room for another five minutes.
Mac shakes his head sharply, and he clears his mind of the past. Everything is different, but nothing has changed here. The bust of Madame Foster still stands by the staircase. The floors are still immaculate. Mac can still hear the sounds of Friend’s voices drifting down the stairs. It’s not as loud as it used to be, but it’s still there. And so is she. She’s scolding Scissors again about running somewhere in the next room. He can’t help but smile to himself.
Mac finds himself smoothing his hair, and straightening his shirt. Old habits and all. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and they ball into slightly moist fists.
She doesn’t see him at first when she walks into the foyer. Her head is down, scribbling something onto a pad of post-its.
“Frankie,” it comes out more like an exhale than a real statement.
“Hey there! Welcome to Foster’s Home For-,“ she finally meets his gaze and stares at him, as if grasping desperately to remember a dream she once had.
“M-Mac?”
He nods, and he feels the shame bubbling up again, his cheeks and neck beginning to flush.
“Oh my god, Mac!”
The post-its are forgotten on the floor, and Frankie closes the distance between them, hugging him tightly. Her red hair is in his face, and he can’t see, but he hears Mr. Herriman ‘harrumph’ and hop out of the room. Mac just smiles and squeezes Frankie tighter, and they stand there until the intercom buzzes.
“Ms. Frances, post-it disaster in the foyer!”
Mac can’t help but snort, turning his face into Frankie’s hair while she grumbles.
“You’d think with me running the place, he could relax now. He wouldn’t even let me hire new help for the cleaning.”
They pull apart, and Mac frowns. He remembers the phone call from a tearful Frankie a few months after he left for school. Madame Foster was gone. Such a brilliant and energetic light was gone from the house and the world. It was yet another reason he couldn't bring himself to come back for the rest of those four years, but here he was. Finally.
They walk to the kitchen where Frankie pulls out a plate of cookies and some milk. Mac’s eyebrow arches slowly while he settles onto a stool.
“Are we twelve?”
She just grins at Mac and shrugs, “It wasn’t that long ago, really.”
“Yeah, for me. You’re old, remember?”
He dodges a soggy cookie, laughing genuinely for the first time since he came back into town.
Mac’s laugh fades and turns into a small smile, “You look great Frankie.”
“So do you, for someone who’s barely old enough to drink.”
They sit in silence, Frankie chewing on a cookie, while Mac just plays with his. He clears his throat, uncomfortably shifting in his stool. When he speaks, it’s soft, and barely even.
“How is everyone?”
“Adopted,” Frankie watches at him closely.
Mac is nodding, mumbling, and repeating himself, “Good, good.”
Frankie doesn’t push, and he’s grateful when she lets them sit in silence for a few minutes. The cookies are almost gone when he finally speaks.
“Do-Do you think they would, you know… mind if I gave them all a visit?”
She looks relieved when she reaches out and puts her hand on top of his, “I think they’d love it, Mac.”
He’s staring at a spot on the counter, his free thumb rubbing over the tile slowly, but he turns his hand over, gratefully holding onto the lifeline Frankie has offered. He finally meets her gaze, squeezing her fingers.
“Thank you.”