Disclaimer: I do not own the show Monk or any of the original characters.
A/N: This is my first Monk story. I have been watching the episodes recently, and loved the character of Ambrose. He has so much depth for his very short time on the show (two episodes, right?). I hope that I did the characters justice...especially Adrian. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to read my story :)
"Adrian! What happened to you?" Ambrose took two, measured steps back and stared, appalled, at his little brother.
9-year-old Adrian Monk was a disaster. Dried mud was matted in his black, curly hair. His face was brown with dust and dirt, streaked by fresh tears as the boy stood just inside the door, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His clothes were dirty too, and torn. His left sleeve was barely hanging on by an inch of still attached fabric.
"I got in a fight," Adrian said stoutly, glaring up at Ambrose. "And I'm not gonna tell you why."
"I didn't ask why," Ambrose stated reasonably. "I asked what."
"Well, now you know what," Adrian snapped. Then he sniffed. "Mom is going to be so mad at me."
Ambrose glanced nervously over his shoulder. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." Adrian sighed and hiccupped on a sob. "Mom's going to be so mad at me."
"Maybe," Ambrose said carefully, "I can help you clean up before…" he glanced over his shoulder again, "Mom gets home."
"Really?" Adrian squirmed. He hated being dirty. It literally almost hurt more than where he'd been punched in the stomach a couple times.
"Yeah." Ambrose reached out and barely brushed Adrian's arm with the tips of his fingers. "Come up stairs."
Even though they were the only ones home, the boys crept very quietly up the staircase and into the bathroom. Ambrose shut the door silently behind them, and turned the lock. "There." He turned to Adrian. "We have to throw away your shirt."
"I know," Adrian agreed miserably. His fingers shook as he tried to shove the buttons out of the holes.
Ambrose watched him. "It was because of me, wasn't it?"
"What?" Adrian didn't look up.
"You got in a fight because of me, didn't you?"
Adrian's eyes shot up and he glared at his older brother. "I said I wasn't gonna tell you why."
"I know, but you didn't say I couldn't guess." Ambrose offered Adrian an encouraging, almost smile.
"Well, you're wrong," Adrian informed him weakly. He looked back down at his buttons, and muttered very quietly, "It wasn't just about you."
Ambrose didn't say anything for a minute, watching as Adrian undid the last button and opened his shirt. Swollen bruises discolored his stomach. Ambrose winced. "I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"
"A little," Adrian lied unconvincingly. He struggled to pull his arms out of his sleeves. He turned his back on Ambrose. He didn't like him staring at his stomach.
To Adrian's surprise, he felt something tugging on his shirt, peeling the sleeves off of his arms. He turned his head to see Ambrose holding the ruined shirt at arm's length in front of him. "Thanks," Adrian muttered.
"Where should I put it?" Ambrose asked.
Adrian glanced around the gleaming bathroom. No matter where they put it, it would leave some dirt behind. He shuddered. "In the trash can, I guess. I'll take it out when we're done."
"Okay." Ambrose dropped the shirt in the trash.
Self consciously, Adrian bent over to take off his shoes. His stomach screamed with protest, and he gasped through his teeth.
"What did they say…about us?" Ambrose asked quietly.
Adrian pretended not to hear him. He really didn't want to repeat what that jerk had said. Some of the words were too horrible, and the others were too painful…and true. That was the worst part. Some of the bully's words were true.
"What did he say?" Ambrose pressed, changing the pronoun curiously.
"Nothing," Adrian hissed, setting his shoes on the toilet seat and lining the toes up perfectly before moving on with his disrobing.
"Yes, he did say something," Ambrose said reasonably, "otherwise, you wouldn't have hit him in the mouth."
Adrian looked up. "How did you know I hit him in the mouth?"
"One of your knuckles are bleeding. You must've scraped it on his teeth," Ambrose said sympathetically.
"Yeah, I guess." Adrian looked down at his fist, noticing for the first time that his second knuckle was cut. He didn't like blood.
Ambrose turned to the sink and wetted the corner of a towel and gave it to Adrian. "You'd better clean it."
Adrian did and gave Ambrose back the towel.
They didn't say another word until Adrian was out of the shower. Ambrose gave him a clean towel. "I'll clean up the bathroom," Ambrose said.
Adrian grinned softly. "Thanks."
He went to his room and got dressed. He was putting on his second sock when he remembered he'd forgotten his shoes in the bathroom. He padded down the hall to get them.
Ambrose met him half way, holding out the shoes. "Here. I cleaned them too."
"Oh," Adrian took them, "thanks."
He turned and walked back to his room. Ambrose followed him and sat on the floor. "You haven't told me yet."
"Told you what?" Adrian knew exactly what, but he wanted to throw off the question.
"What he said." Ambrose pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged his arms around them.
Adrian sat down on his bed and started to put on his shoes. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Ambrose insisted, "otherwise, you wouldn't have hit him."
"I don't want to tell you what he said," Adrian said, pulling on his right shoe first.
"Why?"
"I just don't."
"What did he say?"
Adrian didn't know why Ambrose was pestering him about it, but his patience snapped. "He said that our whole family was crazy!" he shouted.
Ambrose startled. "That's all he said? But lots of people say that."
"But he said that's why Dad left. He said that Dad couldn't stand us." Adrian wrinkled his nose to keep from crying again.
"He was lying," Ambrose said, standing up, "Dad will come home again."
"No he won't! He left a long, long time ago, and he's not coming back!" Adrian also stood up and crossed his arms. "He left because we're crazy."
Ambrose looked hurt. "He is coming home."
"Stop saying that!" Adrian shouted.
"No! Because it's true!" Ambrose countered in almost a shout. He ran out of the bedroom, and Adrian heard his footsteps stumble down the stairs.
Adrian laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. It swam in his tears, and he blinked to clear his vision. The tears rolled down both temples, and melted into his damp hair. He sniffed. "Dad, why'd you have to leave? We miss you."
He heard the front door open downstairs. Mom must be home, he thought. He listened for her voice, for her to say something to Ambrose.
He heard nothing.
Slowly, he sat up and went to the door. He poked his head out, listening. He heard distant, shaky breathing. He walked as quietly as he could to the stairs, and then stepped down them one at a time, taking care not to make a sound.
He peered around the banister and saw Ambrose sitting on the couch, a big box in front of him. In his lap was the mail and the newspaper Adrian had barely noticed in the mailbox when he came in.
Adrian watched as Ambrose gently laid the pile in the box.
"What's that?" Adrian asked, stepping out of his hiding place.
Ambrose looked up at him, and Adrian saw he'd been crying too. Ambrose frowned at him. "You don't care."
"Yeah, huh," Adrian protested weakly. He walked over and looked down in the box. It was almost completely filled with mail. "Wow. That's a lot of mail."
"It's all the mail Dad's gotten since he left. I'm saving it for him," Ambrose said in a soft whisper.
Adrian's heart ached when he thought about how much he'd hurt his brother. He sat down on the other side of the couch and sighed. "He'll like that."
Ambrose nodded.
"Thanks again, for helping me clean up," Adrian added.
"Yeah," Ambrose sighed.
Adrian touched the box. "When Dad gets home, he'll have a lot of mail to go through."
"I know." A faint smile fell on Ambrose's lips.
And together they sat, not saying a word, just enjoying each other's company.
A/N: So, what did you think? I may add more one-shots to this series in the future. Please let me know your thoughts :) Thanks for reading!