Title: "Nurse for a Day"
Author: Allison Lindsay
Disclaimer: As you may have already suspected, Monk isn't mine. There. Now it's official.
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The phone rang just as he had stepped out of the shower. "Adrian," she had said, "Remember when I told you that I touch everything that you're afraid to touch, and I never get sick? Well, I lied. I got sick. Very sick. I have the flu."
"I'll be there as soon as I can," he had replied, without even thinking.
So, now, half an hour later, here Adrian Monk was, standing at the door of Sharona Fleming's apartment. As he reached for his key, realization finally hit him: on the opposite side of that door lurked a plethora of germs. And not the usual amount of germs that he was able to tolerate. This was worse, much worse. His eyes began to water, and he contemplated turning around and going back home. But he couldn't do that to her. It wouldn't be fair, not after everything that she had done for him.
Taking a deep breath, Adrian pulled out Trudy's keychain and unlocked the front door. He then made his way into the kitchen, set a heavy canvas bag onto the countertop, and began to unload its contents.
"Latex gloves, check. Facial masks, check. Cough medicine, check. Electric blanket, check. Chicken soup, check. That's everything."
Monk opened the box of latex gloves and slipped on a pair, then removed a facial mask from its package and covered his mouth and nose. As he approached his assistant's bedroom, he could hear the TV playing softly. But it was another sound that made him stop dead in his tracks: the sound of coughing. Cocking his head to the side, Adrian shrugged his right shoulder in a nervous, agitated gesture. When the hacking intensified, the detective rushed back into the kitchen and snatched the bottle of cough medicine from the counter. Then, ever so cautiously, he made his way back to her room.
Sharona lay on her back, wearing a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, her head propped up against a couple of pillows. She smiled when she saw Monk standing apprehensively in the doorway. "Adrian!" she called, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"H-Hi, Sharona," he greeted her, hesitantly pulling the mask down. He tried to return her smile, but the muscles in his face betrayed him, forcing him to grimace instead.
She frowned slightly, then coughed again. Adrian quickly replaced the mask.
"See ya, Adrian. It was nice of you to stop by," Sharona sniped.
Adrian took yet another deep breath before making his way over to her, being careful not to step on the crumpled tissues that littered the carpet. He stopped when he reached the foot of the bed.
"Um . . . how-how do you feel?"
"I feel exactly how I look," she grumbled. "Like crap."
"You don't look like crap, Sharona." Monk shifted the mask again and this time managed a small but sincere smile.
His companion returned it. "Thanks."
Adrian walked to the right side of the bed and stood beside her. Removing the plastic wrapping from the neck of the cough syrup bottle, he dropped it into the wastebasket and proceeded to study the directions on the label. When he had filled the tiny measuring cup to the two-teaspoon line, Monk extended his hand, indicating that the blonde should consume the concoction.
Sharona raised her eyebrows. "What do you want me to do with that?" she demanded.
"I want you to drink it, Sharona. It's cough medicine."
"I don't want it."
"Just drink it, Sharona," Monk pleaded.
But the stubborn Sharona shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand. Adrian didn't know what to do. He began to wonder if his assistant were going to be a bigger hurdle than her germs. Seeing that he was practically on the brink of tears, Sharona sighed heavily and removed her hand. She yanked the little plastic cup from him and drank the colored substance. "That stuff is nauseating," she grumbled, shoving the empty cup back into his hands.
"I'll get you some water."
"No, thank you." She rubbed her red nose.
"But you're supposed to have water when you take medicine, Sharona," he protested.
"I'm not thirsty."
"Well, how about some juice then?"
"Juice?" she repeated, as though she had never heard of such a thing.
"Yeah, juice. Have some juice."
"Fine," she relented. "Orange."
"Got it." Adrian made a fast exit. Once outside the room, he breathed a grateful sigh of relief that she hadn't given him another argument. However, his relief soon turned to distress when he saw that there was not one drop of orange juice in the icebox. He returned to her bedroom empty-handed.
"There's no orange juice," he lamented.
"That's okay, Adrian. I'll have something else."
"But you wanted orange."
"Adrian, I can have something else. It's no big deal."
"But you specifically requested orange juice, Sharona."
"Adrian," she said gently, "It's not the end of the world."
"Are you sure? Because, you know, I can run to the store and get some. I don't mind."
A smile materialized on the blonde's freckled face. "I don't want you to do that, Adrian. I want you to stay right here. Okay? Just stay right here."
"All right." Monk nodded in compliance. "So, what should I bring you?"
Sharona took a moment to mull it over. She had to choose something that she was positive she had on hand. "Grape juice," she answered at last.
Adrian left the room, leaving Sharona to silent, earnest prayers that she had at least a quarter bottle of fresh grape juice somewhere in her messy refrigerator.
Not longer after his departure, the detective returned, holding a full bottle and an empty glass.
"Thank goodness," Sharona muttered under her breath.
"I didn't know how much you wanted," he said, striding to the nightstand and setting the glass down.
"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'll drink as much you give me."
Adrian was clearly not pleased with this answer. "No, see, you have to tell me how much you want, Sharona, because, if you don't, then I won't know how much to give you."
"Fine. Half a glass."
"That's all?"
Sharona scoffed in response. "Adrian, you asked me . . . Ugh. You know what? Just fill it as high as you want, all right? And I'll drink it all."
"Okay." Monk unscrewed the cap and poured the juice into the glass, stopping about an inch from the brim.
"Thank you," Sharona said, taking it from him. "Look, um, I'm sorry for giving you a hard time. I know you're only trying to help." She gave him a small smile.
Adrian smiled back and then replaced the cap and headed out to the kitchen for the third time. When he got back, he saw that Sharona had finished the juice and was fast asleep. Unsure of what to do with himself, he picked up the wastebasket next to the nightstand and began disposing of the used tissues, cringing each time his latex-covered fingers came in contact with one. His assistant awoke just as he was finishing.
"Adrian," she grumbled.
Adrian replaced the wastebasket and returned to her side. "What's wrong?"
"It's hot in here."
"It is?"
"Well, I'm hot."
"What should I do?"
"Help me take this off," the nurse instructed, sitting up and tugging at her sweatshirt.
"Huh?"
"Help me take this off," she repeated.
"Sharona, I can't . . . undress you."
"Adrian, I'm wearing a T-shirt underneath, okay?"
Her boss swallowed hard. He knew he had better listen to her, or things would get very unpleasant. Replacing the facial mask, he took a step closer. Then, cautiously, he reached his gloved hands out and picked up the bottom of her sweatshirt. He hesitated a second, then started tugging the sweatshirt up. When he made it past her midriff, Monk stopped, letting go of the fabric.
"What's the matter?" Sharona demanded, her arms above her head.
"Sharona, I don't . . . Well, what if I . . . you know . . . touch . . . your, um, your-?"
"My breasts?"
Adrian turned tomato-red.
Sharona couldn't help but giggle. "Look, in the unlikely event that you do touch 'em, I promise not to enjoy it. Okay?"
To her delight, the detective smiled. "Fair enough," he responded, picking up where he left off.
But right when he was about to start pulling, Sharona sneezed. Right in his face.
Adrian's eyes began to water. He released the article of clothing.
"Sorry about that," his companion apologized. But Monk had already made a mad dash for the bathroom.
With a chuckle, Sharona finished pulling her sweatshirt off. Her smile soon faded, though, when she realized that once he finished washing up, Adrian would be long gone. She wished she hadn't done that. Her sneezing in his face was even more horrific for him than that man at the funeral coughing on the back of his neck. True, she couldn't help it, and he knew that, but nevertheless, it would be the reason for his departure. "See ya for real this time, Adrian," she muttered when she heard the faucet handles squeak ten minutes later.
The patient was visibly shocked when Adrian reappeared in her doorway. Clicking off the TV, she studied her visitor. "You gonna come any closer?"
When Monk shrugged in response, conveying his apprehension, Sharona gestured to the chair on the other side of the bed. "You can sit there," she suggested.
Adrian made no attempt to move.
"Please? I promise I won't spray my germs all over you again," the blonde vowed.
"Well . . . okay. I'll come closer." Slowly, he made his way over to the chair, moved it about an inch back, and sat down. "Is there anything I can do for you? Are you-"
"You wanna play a game?" Sharona interrupted.
His eyes widened slightly. "Really? I thought you hated playing games with me. I mean, remember the Clue incident? And Charades?"
"Yeah, I remember, but this isn't like that." So saying, the flu-stricken female held both hands up, her palms facing him. "Put up your hands," she instructed.
Adrian held up two gloved hands. "What are we doing?"
"The game is called Never Have I Ever," she explained. "Normally, alcohol is involved, so I'm gonna do a little variation. Each of us has to say something that we've never done. If the other person has done what one of us has said we've never done, then they have to put one finger down. And so on and so on. The person who puts all their fingers down first loses, and the person with fingers still up wins. Does that make sense?"
Monk went over her instructions in his head. "Yeah, I think I've got it."
"Okay, good. I'll start. Let's see . . . Never have I ever . . . attended a Willie Nelson concert," she stated triumphantly, knowing that that would put her one ahead.
"Nice one, Sharona."
"Thanks."
Her consort put a finger down. "Okay, um, Never . . . Never have I ever . . . ah, I don't know. Never have I ever gone skydiving."
Sharona rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Adrian. You can do better than that."
"All right, all right. Let me think . . . um . . . Oh, you're not gonna like this one," he quipped. "Never have I ever been a nurse."
"You're being one now," the blonde rationalized.
"Oh, come on, Sharona."
"Well, it's true!" she argued. "Nurses take care of people, and you're taking care of me. Therefore, you're a nurse."
The detective shook his head in mock frustration and sighed. "I've never been a licensed nurse, then. How's that?"
"Okay, okay. You win," Sharona acquiesced. "Now we're even. And it's my turn again. Hmm . . . . Never have I ever . . . run track. Ha!"
"This game won't last very long," Adrian commented with a laugh, bending down his thumb. "My turn again. Okay . . . Never have I . . . Never. . . Never have I ever . . ."
"Come on, Adrian. Today!"
"I'm thinking! I'm thinking! All right. Never . . . I got one. Not that you don't already know this, but, um, never have I ever liked any of the guys you've dated."
The room was suddenly enveloped in silence. Adrian gulped. "Why not?" Sharona probed, lowering her hands to her lap. "Some of them were okay. Not many, but some." The woma was well-aware of her consistently lousy taste in the opposite sex, but she really wanted to hear what Monk had to say.
Adrian once again turned bright red. He put his own hands down and stared at her, unsure of how to answer. He hadn't expected her to pursue the issue.
"Well?" she prodded. "How come you've never liked any of 'em?"
"I-I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
Part of Monk was eager to answer, but another part was afraid to. He knew that his response might change things between them.
"Adrian. Are you . . . jealous of them?"
The detective raised his eyes to meet her gaze. "Uh . . . Um . . . I . . . Yes," he whispered finally.
Sharona had hoped that he would say that. She had always suspected her boss's jealousy but had hesitated to ask him about it. "You know that time that you were gonna have that 'sleepover' at Monica's house, and-and you told me that I was jealous . . . and I denied it?" Her voice was soft, and she sounded nervous. Adrian nodded in the affirmative. "Well, I was . . . jealous. I know that she reminded you of Trudy and all, but still . . . . And, uh, I gotta admit, I was happy when she left. I was afraid you two might, you know . . . hook up or something."
"Nah. I don't think she was all that interested in me. And, besides, you were right. She did remind me of Trudy. Too much."
The room fell silent again, and both stared down at their laps. After a few minutes, the silence was broken by Sharona's yawning. The medicine was starting to make her drowsy. "Um, if you don't mind, I'd kinda like to take a nap for a little while."
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"Thanks." Sharona leaned back and shut her eyes. She was soon fast asleep.
Adrian observed her for a moment, thinking about their conversation. It was hard to believe that some silly game had led to these secrets - no, more than secrets, feelings - being revealed. Sighing, he pushed the chair back, stood up, and walked out of the room.
Fifteen minutes later, just as Sharona was waking up, Adrian returned. Between his hands he held a steaming bowl of soup; a clean white towel was slung over his arm. "Perfect timing," he remarked as he carefully made his way over to the chair again and sat down. "I made this for you. I thought you might be hungry."
Sharona smiled and rubbed her eyes. "That was nice of you, Adrian. Thank you," she said, sitting up.
"You're welcome."
But when she reached out to take the bowl of soup into her own hands, Adrian gave her the towel instead.
"I'll take care of it. Just tuck this in." The blonde shot her boss an inquisitive look but took the towel anyway and tucked it into her shirt. Adrian picked up the spoon handle and brought the utensil to her lips. "Blow."
"You're gonna feed me?"
"Yes. Come on, blow." When she had obeyed, Monk fed her the first spoonful. "How is it?" he asked, gently removing the utensil from her mouth.
"Good," his companion responded, smacking her lips.
Five minutes later, Adrian scooped up the last piece of chicken and remaining liquid. He fed her the final spoonful and was about to get up when she stopped him.
"Here. Just give it to me," she insisted, holding out her hands. Adrian gave her the empty bowl and spoon, and she placed them next to the box of tissues on the nightstand. She then removed the towel from her shirt, wiped her mouth, and set it down on the bed beside her.
Adrian seized the wrinkled cloth between his thumb and forefinger and folded it perfectly. "Uh, you must have been pretty hungry," he commented, unsure of what else to say.
"Yeah." Silence descended once more, then Sharona cleared her throat and spoke. "You know, I thought about telling you this on Tuesday, the day that it happened, but, um, I wasn't sure if I should . . . But I guess I should tell you now."
"Tell me what?"
Taking a deep breath, Sharona explained, "When I was waiting for you to finish your appointment with Dr. Kroger, this guy came over to where I was sitting outside on the bench, and he, um, he struck up a conversation. And after a while, he asked me to have dinner with him that night, and I . . . I gave him this look like he was crazy or something. And I said-I said: 'Are you kidding? It's chicken potpie night!'"
A snicker passed through Adrian's lips. "I thought that was my line," he joked.
Sharona felt a bit more relaxed. "So, he asked: 'What does that mean?' And I told him: 'That means I'm having dinner with my best friend tonight'."
"You said I was your best friend?"
"You are."
"You're my best friend, too," Monk replied.
Sharona blushed a little and began fiddling with the drawstring on her pants. Adrian waited a few seconds before saying something else. "So, um, when are you gonna see the guy?"
The nurse lifted her head to study him. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you made a date with him for another night, didn't you?"
No sooner had their eyes met than Sharona averted her gaze. "Well, he asked me out for another night, but I, um, I turned him down."
Adrian could barely hear the last few words. "You turned him down? Is that what you said?" he asked, almost pleading.
"Yeah."
"So, you weren't interested in him?"
"Kind of . . . I don't know . . . Not really."
"Well, which is it, Sharona?" he asked gently. "I mean, do you . . . regret turning him down?"
"No, Adrian," his assistant admitted. "I don't regret. If I had really wanted to go out with him, I would have."
"What was, um, what was wrong with him?" Adrian wondered.
"Honestly? I don't know," his consort shrugged. "There was nothing obviously wrong. He was good-looking, had a steady job - well, that's what he claimed, anyway - and he seemed nice enough."
Adrian just had to ask: "Sharona, what was his name?"
The blonde blinked, surprised by the question. She searched her brain for at least two minutes but had absolutely no recollection of the guy's name. All she was certain of was that he had mentioned it when he had introduced himself. "I'm drawing a complete blank, Adrian. I have no idea."
A small smile crept onto Adrian's face. "Then you really weren't interested."
"No, I guess I wasn't," she conceded.
"I'm glad that you weren't interested. And I'm also glad that you turned him down. He wasn't-He wasn't good enough for you." Monk paused, anticipating the how do you know inquiry, but it never came. "No one is good enough for you. No matter how nice, or how good-looking, or how smart, or how honest . . . In my mind . . . In my mind, Sharona, nobody will ever be good enough for you." Having made such a bold confession, Adrian turned his head to the side, afraid to make eye contact.
"So, what exactly are you saying, Adrian?"
The detective hesitated before replying. "I'm saying that I . . . that I have feelings for you, Sharona."
"Well, it's a good thing I have feelings for you, too, then. 'Cause unrequited love really blows." The accompanying chuckle segued into a cough, except this time, Adrian didn't even flinch. Sharona detected the absence of disgust immediately. It was also at that moment that she noticed that Monk was no longer wearing gloves or a mask. "You're not protected, Adrian."
"What?"
She motioned to his hands and face.
"Oh. Yeah, I know."
"My germs don't scare you any more?" she teased. "Are they special or something?"
"In a way."
"You know, things are kinda different between us now," the blonde observed.
"That's true. Chicken potpie night will never be the same again."
Sharona giggled, nodding in agreement. "You're right. It'll be better."
End.