Disclaimer: I don't own Monk or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Monkophiles like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T+

Spoilers: Intense and series-long. This takes place shortly after the series finale, but most has gone back to near-usual with regards to Monk's life.

Chapter One: Mr. Monk Goes Headbangin'

"Mr. Monk! Mr. Monk! I've got a big proposition for you!" Natalie Teager said, bouncing into Adrian Monk's painfully tidy second-floor apartment with more than her characteristic enthusiasm. "Steven - you know, my Steven - bought tickets for the… what the smack are you doing?"

Adrian put down the can of Lysol he had just sprayed from another can of Lysol he held in his other hand. "Cleaning," he said, with a simple shrug of one shoulder.

"You're cleaning cleaning products," Natalie said, and watched as he picked up a gleaming bottle of Windex and gave it the same antibacterial treatment.

"Everything gets dirty," Adrian said. "Now, what was it you were saying, Natalie?"

She looked down at the pair of concert tickets held in her hand. "You know what? I got too excited. I forgot that this really isn't your thing. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Steven was unexpectedly deployed, then? That's why he couldn't go with you to the music concert you want me to go to? Why don't you take Julie? She likes concerts," Adrian said, as he carefully began placing his cleaning supplies back in the cabinet, sorted alphabetically by type of cleanser, height and color.

"The concert is held at a nightclub. You have to be twenty-one or older to go. I just thought… well, never mind what I thought. I'll get one of my other friends to come with me."

"It's not a concert," Adrian said, looking around for something.

"It's not?"

"No, it's not. A concert is a performance given in a hall, an auditorium, an arena, or an open-air venue. A performance at so small a location as a nightclub qualifies only as a recital or a 'gig' in common musical parlance."

"I stand corrected," Natalie said. "Nevertheless, it's a one night only acoustic 'gig' by the Dragon, and I mistakenly thought I'd ask you first. I don't know what I was thinking.

He found his Swiffer stick and held it up in triumph, then paused and looked at Natalie. "The Dragon?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me you're actually a fan," Natalie said.

"I've never heard anything by her, that I know of. But isn't she the one they're constantly trying to bring up on charges of fraud?" Monk said. He turned and put his Swiffer down on the counter, showing true interest in the conversation for the first time.

"Yes, they've been trying to do that for all thirty years of her illustrious career, Mr. Monk, and they've never succeeded. Why?" Natalie said, throwing out a hip and crossing her arms over her chest.

Mr. Monk smiled that shit-eating "I've found the last piece of the puzzle" smile she loved and hated at the same time. "I've never tried to find out whether or not she's a fraud," he said.

"Aren't you a homicide detective?" Natalie pointed out.

"My talents suit me to many things, Natalie, you know that. Finding missing persons. Finding stolen goods. Finding lost pets. Didn't you make me track down your seven year-old neighbor's runaway puppy last month?"

"That's different, that's…"

"That's what, Natalie?"

"That's… for the greater good."

"And this isn't? If she's a fraud, she should pay. If she isn't, people should get off her back about it. And Natalie, if she is a fraud, and I prove it, there would be a lot of money in that information. A lot of money. Aren't you always on me about money? 'Mr. Monk, it's payday again!' 'Mr. Monk, this check bounced again!' 'Mr. Monk, do I have to get a lawyer?'"

"Pardon me, Mr. Monk, but you've never given a damn about money before," Natalie said.

"And you've always pushed me to give a d* about money before, Natalie. Why are you trying to protect this woman?"

"I'm not, I'm trying to protect you," Natalie said. She threw up her arms and sighed. "Look, I got two tickets with no one to go along with me, I got excited, my first thought was you. My first thought is always you. But even though the Dragon does stuff that even you would probably like - "

"What stuff?" Adrian asked. You could almost see his ears perk.

"Well, you know. Your kind of stuff. Willie Nelson-style stuff. Old-style stuff. 'Georgia on my Mind,' that kind of thing. She actually does a great cover. She doesn't usually do covers, she all about original work."

"That's not what everybody thinks. They think she's a cheater," Monk said.

"Yes. Yes, Mr. Monk, some people do. And now you're going to insist on coming with me, and you're going to turn my nice night out into a big case. Great. But Mr. Monk - she's not all about the old stuff. She's a metal musician, first and foremost. A head-banger. They actually created a special genre just for her music."

"Oh? What's that?"

"'Metal Noire.' She's really dark most of the time. Deep. Depressing. And she curses. Even drops the F-Bomb sometimes."

"Metal Noire? Dark Metal? Isn't all metal music dark?"

"This is darker than dark. Darker than Death Metal. She is famous and infamous for being the only metal musician whose lyrics are sung completely comprehensibly to all and everyone. And sometimes she sings lyrics that are… sexually explicit."

Monk's head twitched while his hands fidgeted with the Swiffer. "I… I can handle it. I'm a grown man."

"Oh, really? You once had a near meltdown at the mere suggestion that a cage full of white rabbits might be breeding in the same room with you, which they were not, by the way, at that point in time," Natalie said.

"And I also helped a dog give birth to a litter of pups, don't forget. I've grown," Monk said.

"You were well more than an arm's length away at all times, but okay, I'll give you that one," Natalie said. She looked at him and sighed again. "You really want to do this? What do you think you can find out at a concert?"

"Gig, Natalie. It's just a gig."

"Okay - what do you think you can find out at a 'gig?'" Natalie amended. "You're not going to get to talk to her unless something freaking amazing happens."

He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture that looked very much like his head twitch. "I could potentially find out a lot. Enough, maybe."

"And you really think you can handle the music?" Natalie said in her best warning tones.

Monk smiled that cat's smile again and reached out for one of the tickets. "Natalie. How much 'metal' can she be planning to play at a solo acoustic recital? This gig will be tame. No problem. No problemo."

Natalie sighed once more for good measure and shook her head. "With you, Mr. Monk? There's always a problem."