[NOTE: I only watched the last episode of Monk after this was written, so I know Monk wasn't at home at the same time as his wife was in the parking lot, but I kind of like it as it is, so consider this non-canon or whatever and forgive me. :) In case you're wondering, the other details I got from online research, and all the rest is just speculation and made-up stuff.
Also, since I'm new to this, I'm not sure if I'll be able to change the name later or exactly how this works... we'll see.]
Title: By Any Other Name [working title; might also be referred to as Bread and Butter]
Genre(s): Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Rating: T, for some coarse language. Possible mature themes in later chapters; as of yet undecided.
Summary: Working title. First publication; I have yet to get the hang of this, so this is kind of a test.
Prologue
December 14, 1997. He'd had a lot of time – two years, a week, four days – to think since then. He still remembered exactly where he was, what he was doing; when he closed his eyes he saw it, he felt it, and he wondered how could he not have known. He should have known. It could have been different.
.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
He'd just finished centering the Christmas tree - fake, of course, so as not to shed - in the living room.
Footsteps - loud, so many echoes that she couldn't tell where they were from.
Now he was putting up the ornaments. The wise men, and the infant Jesus - she loved that one.
Was that - ? a black silhouette, hidden by the cars...
The glass Christmas balls they'd painted over together.
Rising in her throat is fearpanicrun. Don't let him catch me don't let him catch me don't let him catch me.
Square photo booth prints, twenty-nine cents each. Making funny faces, smiling, kissing.
Fumbling with the door, slamming it shut. Please don't let him catch me please please please.
Some rose-scented candles, a 1984 Allacco Cabernet - her favorite wine.
Keys keys where are the damn keys hurry hurry, jamming them into the ignition –
Turning on a Willie Nelson song, closing the blinds.
- light and sound and so much pain.
He raised his phone to call her. 'Leave a message after the beep...'
Noise, like crying. Was it her or the ambulance sirens? Too late, too late...
"Come home early..."
She heard his voice and felt no more pain.
As he clicked the phone shut, there was a pang of - what? Fear? Loss? Love?
A hand - she grasped at it. Where had the air gone?
By the time he got there she was goinggoinggone.
"Bread and butter..."
He tried to follow. She was running and he was, too, and he reached for her hand but they pulled him away and why did they pull him away and it was too late.
Bread and butter, Adrian...
.
.
.
Why didn't they let him go?