"In Keeping With Tradition"
By Allison Lindsay
Disclaimer: I would own Monk if I could, but, alas, I can't, so I don't. If I did, Bitty would still be on the show.
"You've been in crowded places before, Adrian," Sharona Fleming reasoned with her boss, "A carnival, the circus . . ."
Adrian Monk, renowned detective of San Francisco, shook his head in disagreement. "Not by choice. Those were crime scenes, Sharona," he protested. "What would I do at an ice skating rink?"
"Ice skate," his assistant stated matter-of-factly.
"Answer the question, Sharona. What would I do at an ice skating rink?"
"I don't know, uh . . . sit in the bleachers and count how many times people fall down?" she suggested, laughing. "Oh, come on, it's New Year's Eve. You really wanna spend it all by yourself? What are you gonna do? Vacuum? Wash windows?"
"And dust."
"That's what you're doing on New Year's Eve - cleaning?"
"I clean every holiday."
"You clean every day!" clarified his companion. "You're hopeless, Adrian."
"Well, that's-that's not all I'm going to do. I . . . When I'm done cleaning, I'll, uh, I'll stay up and watch the date change on the clock. And then, I'll, you know, put up a new calendar and . . . go to bed," Monk told her, trying to make his plans sound exciting.
"You sure know how to have a good time, Adrian," the blond quipped.
"Thank you," he replied, the sarcasm going right over his head - as usual.
Rolling her eyes, Sharona decided to take a cunning yet honest approach. "Benjy really wants you to come."
A pause.
"What?"
"Yeah, he said so himself. He said: 'Mom, I really want Mr. Monk to come.'"
Monk's face fell. Sharona's scheme was working already. She knew how much her boss cared about Benjy and how terrible he would feel if he let the kid down. "He-He said it just like that?"
"Yep," she answered, nodding for emphasis. "So, what do you say? Will you come with us?"
One minute passed. Then another. Then another. Then, finally: "Ah, sure. Why not?"
Sharona practically squealed with delight. "Hey, Benjy!" she called.
"What's up?" her son asked, entering the room.
"Mr. Monk is coming with us tonight," she informed him, thoroughly satisfied with herself. "You know what that means, don't you?"
"It means I owe you five dollars," the twelve-year-old answered, though he didn't seem at all upset.
In response to her boss's flummoxed expression, Sharona explained, "Benjy bet me five bucks that I couldn't persuade you to come with us."
Mr. Monk looked up at the boy, a smug smile on the detective's face. "Oh ye of little faith."
"That lamppost - the light is flickering."
Adrian's gripe was met by yet another exasperated groan from Sharona. If it weren't one thing, it was another - 'There's smudges all over the door. Wipe, Sharona.' 'There's too many scratches on those blades, Benjy. Let's get you a different pair.' 'This bench is dirty, Sharona. We can't sit here.' 'God, those skates are filthy. Do you know how many sweaty, fungus-infected feet have been in there?'
Understandably, his assistant's patience was hanging by a thread. Sensing that she would explode at any moment, Benjy decided it was time for him to intervene.
"Come on, Mom!" he urged, tugging hard on his mother's hand.
"Adrian, forget about the lamppost, all right? The lamppost is fine."
"But-"
"It's fine, Adrian," Sharona reiterated through gritted teeth.
Monk swallowed hard and put on a brave face. "Okay."
"Good. Now, can I trust you to sit here and behave yourself?"
"I'm not a child, Sharona," Adrian replied, offended.
"Mom, will you come on already?" whined Benjy. "The ice is melting!"
"What? Oh, my God!" cried the panic-stricken detective. "Sharona, d-did you hear what-"
"Adrian! Adrian, would you calm down? He was joking."
Monk considered this possibility. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am sure," responded Sharona, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You have nothing to worry about."
The harried man nodded stiffly then watched as Benjy dragged her away. "Stay out of trouble!" she hollered over her shoulder.
Shortly thereafter, the two disappeared into the crowd, and Mr. Monk suddenly felt more alone than he had in years. This was certainly one of those times when he wished he could just 'suck it up' and be like everyone else - out on the ice, having fun, wearing used skates and not worrying what kind of germs lurked inside of them.
At last, Sharona and Benjy came back into view, and Adrian's face brightened a little. But the smile faded in an instant when he saw that the duo had become a trio. On either side of Sharona were two individuals, one whom Adrian knew well, and the other who was a complete stranger.
The detective scrutinized the unidentified individual. The man stood around six feet tall, with sandy blond hair peeking out from beneath his red hat. Adrian noticed their joined hands. Even though both Sharona and the man were wearing gloves, the sight still repulsed him.
Monk had had a premonition that this would happen - he had feared that at some point during their outing, a young, single, child-adoring man would approach Sharona and . . . hit on her. "I don't know why I'm so surprised," the detective grumbled aloud. "Sharona's very attractive . . . And it only took me six years to figure that out," he chastised himself.
Adrian shifted uncomfortably. It turned his stomach to see his assistant in the company of another man. "She looks like she's . . . having fun," Monk concluded upon further observation. "And Benjy seems to like the guy . . . Ugh. This can't be good. This can't be good at all . . ."
The man moved closer to Sharona. Too close, in Adrian's opinion. "He's breathing on her," the disgusted detective mumbled. "Getting his germs all over her . . ." Monk glanced down at his assistant's purse, which she had plopped down on his lap before changing into her skates. "I should give her a wipe," he decided, slinging the bag over his shoulder and rising to his feet.
Stepping down from the bleachers, he watched as Sharona lost her footing and started to wobble. Monk rushed towards the rink to break her fall. But Sharona didn't need Adrian to save her - she had found a substitute 'hero' in her new companion.
"She probably thinks he's Superman," scoffed Adrian, lowering himself back onto the hard metal bench. "Or maybe Batman. He's Batman, and I'm . . . the opposite of Batman. How am I supposed to compete with Batman?" Monk demanded loudly, resent and jealousy brewing within him.
He was jealous because . . .
"Why am I jealous?" pondered the distraught detective.
And suddenly, like an avalanche of Windex bottles, it hit him: Adrian felt jealous because he had a crush on his assistant.
"Oh, my God," he murmured, marveling at the epiphany. "Oh, my God . . ."
Monk now had some very serious thinking to do, and analyzing his emotions would be a heck of lot tougher than analyzing evidence from the scene of a crime.
"You okay, Adrian?"
The female voice jolted Monk out of his reverie. "Oh, uh . . . Sharona . . . how nice to see you again."
Sharona's eyes narrowed in response to his odd greeting. "It's nice to see you again, too . . ." Seating herself beside him, she offered Monk one of two white paper cups with steam rising from their contents. "You cold? You want some hot chocolate?"
"Did you make it?"
"No. I bought it at the concession stand."
"Oh. Then no thank you," Adrian declined.
"Come on," she urged, nudging him playfully. "There's eight marshmallows."
"I-"
"You can count 'em if you want."
With a shrug of resignation, her friend accepted the paper cup. "So . . . who was that . . . guy you were skating with?"
"Nobody," Sharona muttered, staring down at the hot brown liquid. "He was interested 'til I told him that Benjy was my son and not just some kid that I was babysitting."
"I-I'm sorry," Monk apologized, barely able to conceal his immense relief. It was then that he noticed the boy's absence. "Where is Benjy?"
"Still on the ice. He bumped into some friends from school and ditched me," his assistant answered, forcing a weak laugh.
"Oh."
Sharona then focused her attention back to the ice, observing the scene with mild amusement. Adrian, however, was not the least bit interested in the activity going on in front of him. The only thing he was concerned about was the woman at his side. The detective watched her discreetly out of the corner of his eye, admiring her delicate features.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed.
Sharona turned to him slowly. Brows scrunched together. Nose crinkled in confusion. As her bewildered expression registered in his mind, Adrian realized that he had vocalized the observation.
"What did you say?"
She reacted as though Monk had insulted her. "Uh, well, I . . . um . . ." the man sputtered, terrified to repeat the compliment. Standing, Adrian prepared to flee.
His companion stood as well, gripping Monk's arm to thwart his escape. "Adrian?" she addressed him, her tone softer this time. She watched as a small smile formed on Monk's lips, and very slowly, he raised his head and looked at her.
Their eyes locked. Neither said a word.
As his soulful brown orbs penetrated the stunning blue of her irises, Sharona had the strange feeling that when - or if - they broke their gaze, things would be different between them.
"Don't people usually, uh . . . kiss at midnight?" Adrian asked suddenly, "You know, to-to ring in the New Year?"
"Um . . . yeah. Yeah, i-it's a tradition."
"Well, uh, then, in keeping with tradition . . ."
As the crowd began counting down the final ten seconds of the present year, Sharona watched in stunned silence as Adrian's face inched towards hers. With each passing second, he came closer.
Sharona could feel his breath caressing her skin. Lowering her lids, she inhaled sharply. She could not believe what was about to happen. Even more disconcerting, she realized, was that she actually wanted it to happen. Don't back out, Adrian, she implored silently. Please don't back out.
And he didn't.
Their lips met the instant the fireworks went off.
Sharona felt dizzy. Her knees wobbled, and this time Monk was the 'hero,' the one to prevent her from falling.
Shortly after it began, the kiss ended, and Sharona began preparing for the inevitable. He's gonna ask for a wipe. I know it. I just know it.
Desperate to distract him from the germs that lingered on his lips, she said the first thing that came to mind: "I guess you had to kiss me. Either that, or-or we bump heads."
But as it turned out, the only one worried about germs at the moment was the verminophobe's assistant.
"You-You ruined the moment, Sharona."
"What? Oh. I-I-I-I'm sorry," she stammered.
"No, it's okay," Monk assured her. "It's just . . . well, now we have to do it again, you know, to-to make sure it's . . . perfect."
His assistant certainly had no qualms with that. Taking his cup from him, Sharona carefully set it down on the bench, next to hers. With both hands free, Monk stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. The glowing blond smiled, reaching up to hug his neck. This time, it was she who initiated the kiss.
When they parted a second time, the ice was nearly deserted.
"Finally!" someone shouted.
The pair turned to see a smiling, dark-haired twelve-year-old standing in the center of the rink. "I saw tongue!" the boy informed them, making a disgusted face.
His mother didn't know what to say to that. She glanced over at her kissing partner, who was now staring at the ground, covering his eyes in shame.
Sharona giggled. "God, I'll never hear the end of that," she remarked as the two sat back down. "Um, just out of curiosity, how long was that kiss?"
The detective consulted his watch. "Well, not counting the twenty-two times we, uh, came up for air, I'd say about fourteen minutes, eight seconds."
"Oh, wow. That-That's a really long time."
"No, actually, it's not," Adrian disputed. "The longest kiss lasted thirty hours, fifty-nine minutes, and twenty-seven seconds."
Sharona's jaw nearly collided with the ice.
"What?"
"How did you know that?"
"Oh, I was just . . . perusing the Guinness Book of World Records," he stated casually.
"Adrian, you never cease to amuse me," the pretty blond replied, shaking her head in astonishment.
"You mean amaze."
"Yeah, that, too," she conceded, jabbing him playfully in the ribs with her elbow.
A few moments of silence followed while both tried to collect their thoughts.
"You know," Sharona finally spoke up, "You're the best I've ever had."
"Uh, the best . . . what?"
"The best kisser!"
Monk's face lit up. "Nah . . . Really?"
"Yeah, really," she insisted. "So . . . So, what does it mean? What's going on between us?"
Her companion shrugged, still unsure himself. "I don't know. I . . . I guess it'll take some time to figure everything out."
Sharona nodded then grinned mischievously as an idea popped into her head. "But in the meantime . . . maybe we can try and break that record . . .?"
At her suggestion, the detective's grin widened. "Do you think we can do it?"
"Yeah. But it's gonna take a lot of practice."
"That's true," Adrian concurred, "It will."
"Well, we've had two . . . practice sessions already, right?"
"Right."
"So, um, when do you think we should start the next one?"
Adrian reached for her hands. He gingerly pulled one glove off, then the other - to make things even. Closing his fingers around her warm, soft skin, Monk answered, "As soon as possible."
For a man whose greatest weakness was his indecisiveness, that was one of the easiest decisions Adrian Monk had ever made.
End