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"A cleaner?" Benjy asked curiously.

"Mr Monk has OCD, too, right?" Jennifer asked, more for the sake of asking than for an answer, Benjy nodded anyway, "Well, with OCD the obsessions vary, as do the resulting compulsions that are forced upon the person with the disorder. There are cleaners, like Mr Monk, counters, like myself, hoarders, defilers, checkers, repeaters, arrangers, aggressors, and some others that are a little harder to define."

"Oh, I think I get it," Benjy said, "how do you know so much about OCD?"

"Benjamin," Jennifer laughed, "I have it."

"I know, but you don't have all those problems too, do you?"

"No, my therapist taught me some stuff. I'm just a counter, well and I have a thing for symmetry," she smiled at the perfect placement of pictures on the mantle.


Jennifer Teague woke up at the same time every morning. It wasn't by an alarm clock, or even because she had to. She woke up at the same time because some pesky little demons inside her head counted every second of every day. They told her what time to eat and what time to wake. When she was in perfect consciousness she didn't notice it at all, but she always knew what time it was anyway. She was like a human clock, every second ticking away in her head.

Yes, Jennifer Teague woke up every morning at the same time, well every morning except this particular morning. On this particular morning something was making her sweat profusely and making her unable to take a breath. She opened her eyes experimentally, wondering what could break her of her routine. It was then she saw the smoke filling her room and the flames bombarding the hallway outside her door. She shot up, gathered her essentials (school bag, sheet music, iPod, and the like), and pulled her young 'roommate' out of her bed.

The young girl that she shared the room with as of late was named Melissa Down, and she was ten years old. Ten years, seven months, and eight days; Jennifer had counted. She pulled the young girl down the hallway, along wither school bag stuffed full of 'essentials' and the girl's smaller, less stuffed bag. The girl finally awoke enough to walk for herself, but she was confused. She didn't know where she was going or what was happening, but she had sense enough to trust Jennifer in this situation.

They reached the front doorway after careful avoidance of the scorching heat and flames. They shoved out of the rubble at the front of the building and through the half-burning front doorway. They stumbled onto the grass in the front lawn of the building, next to another group of kids who had found their way out of the disaster area.

"Teague and Down. Good! I think that's almost everybody," Jonathan had said, looking preoccupied. It was like he was worried about something; not about someone not surviving, but the opposite. Like he wanted someone to be stuck in there. Why were they only almost everybody? Who was left?

It was then that Jennifer heard the phrase that made everything click inside her head, "Where's Zechariah?"

Before she knew it she was running full-speed into the building taking the twenty-seven steps it took to reach his room. She saw him lying, unconscious, on his floor at his door and she did the unthinkable. She stopped counting. She stopped counting and scooped him up into her arms and ran, full-speed, toward the exit. They literally tumbled out of the doorway in front of the burning inferno that was their home.

She stopped thinking for about an hour. She didn't move on her own until Jonathan tapped her on the shoulders, gave her a blanket, and informed her she had to go to school anyway because he had no place for her. He also informed her, but without pain in his eyes, that despite her noble attempt to save young Zechariah he still passed.


Dinner was a quiet and quick affair. The day was Tuesday, so of course they had Chicken Pot Pie, which Jennifer found pleasing.

"So, you have a food schedule?" questioned Jennifer as Sharona prepared the meal.

"Yes we do," Sharona answered, smiling. Jennifer didn't miss the telling 'we' that almost confirmed her theory about Mr Monk and Sharona.

"I used to eat food in a schedule like that, but my therapist kind of got me away from that," she smiled back at Sharona.

"Really? How'd he go about doing that?"

"She, and it was a part of behaviour therapy. I had to intentionally eat different foods at different times and other such things."

Sharona considered for a second, "Wow, and did it work?"

"Yea," Jennifer knew where Sharona was going with this and decided to phrase carefully, "but it was the single hardest thing I've ever done and will ever do, and I'm not even done with it yet."

"Oh."

At that moment Monk walked in, "Sharona, are you sure you had your car seats washed? I feel like there is something germ-like crawling on me."

"Adrian," Sharona sighed, "go take a shower then, dinner will be ready by the time you finish."

Monk paused, nodded, and walked out of the kitchen in an orderly and symmetric fashion. Jennifer smiled as she watched him go. It was like watching herself walk a few years back. She once had the perfect strides, evenly distributed and always accounted for, like he did, but she got out of it. She was never so grateful for anything in her life. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sharona watching him leave as well.

So," Jennifer said smugly after Monk had completely left the kitchen, "how long have you two been…together?"

Sharona's eyes widened in shock, but it wasn't a how-could-you-suggest-that shock, it was a how-did-you-know-that shock. She quickly switched the tells of her eyes, but it was too late, Jennifer had noticed, "I don't know what you're talking about," Sharona murmured.

"Sure you do. I've seen the looks you give each other and the way he lets you touch him. And just now, you watched him walk out of the room with longing," Jennifer smirked in a way that reminded Sharona of Monk's I-just-solved-the-case smirk, "You can't get much past me."

Sharona blushed, "Well, it's only been a day. We kind of…sort of had…our first date last night. It went differently than either of us expected…"

Jennifer laughed at Sharona's embarrassment, "Great, just make sure I'm there to see how you handle telling Benjamin."

They both shared a laugh at that and finished preparing dinner and the dinner table. They sat down and began to eat when Jennifer paused and stared at Sharona's hands.

"You're left handed!" she says excitedly.

Sharona and Monk share a confused glance, but Benjamin understands almost immediately, "Oh! It'll be symmetrical. Mom, you and Jennifer are left handed and Mr Monk and I are right handed. It makes it even. Jennifer likes even."

Jennifer smiles at Benjy, "Yea, I like even."


The next morning Sharona and Benjy arrived at exactly 7:30am to pick up Monk and Jennifer and take the kids to school. On the way Benjy and Jennifer talked about school and their teachers while Monk and Sharona quietly and secretly held hands across the front seat. This, of course, wasn't missed by Jennifer, but she didn't say anything.

"So where are you from?" Benjy asked, asking the question that they had all been wondering at least a little bit.

"I was born in England. Lived there too, until I was eight, then we moved here to San Francisco and we lived in a house in a nice neighbourhood until…well, they passed."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Can I ask how they passed?" Benjy said quietly.

"Benjy!" Sharona scolded.

"No, it's okay. My therapist says it's good to talk about it with other people anyway," Jennifer assured, "They were in a…traffic collision. Someone ran a red light."

"I'm so sorry," Sharona comforted.

"Really, don't worry about it. It was a long time ago. I still miss them, but I've gotten past it."

They arrived at the school within ten minutes, Benjy and Jennifer hopped out and waved goodbye, and Monk and Sharona drove off towards the station. After a few hours of brainstorming and idea-passing with the Captain and Randy they decided to go visit the burnt-down orphanage again. They pulled up at the remains of the building, got out, and Monk started to look around more carefully.

"So they said the fire was purposely set in Zechariah's room, but who would want him dead, and why?" Monk said mostly to himself.

"Could it have been any of the other kids?" Sharona ran the idea by Monk.

"No," Monk said, using a cloth to move a piece of rubble by where they believed the fire to have been started, "they wouldn't have had anything to gain from it."

"What would someone gain by killing an orphan? What could he have possibly had that anyone would have wanted; it's not like he had access to any money, even if he had any."

Monk looked up quickly, his eyes widened in excitement. He pulled Sharona closer and kissed her passionately.

"What-what was that for?" Sharona asked dazedly as they pulled away.

"That's it! He had an inheritance, he must have, and someone who worked there or for the government would get it if he were killed!" Monk smiled widely, a real smile, "Thank you, Sharona!"