Author's Note: Since now frowns upon author's comments to reviews, I'll send you replies through the email. Please continue to review, even if I haven't yet gotten to replying to your reviews! I will get to them, because I love them all and love getting them. Thank you, everyone! Hopefully the chapter after this will be more quickly put up.

After the reunion in the terminal, the group headed to the baggage claim, with Natalie wondering how in the world they would make it out of the airport in one trip. Just as she was about to ask her employer how they were to go about carrying his slew of bags, as well as her modest supply of luggage, Sharona spoke up.

"Adrian, how many suitcases did you bring?"

He immediately cringed out of embarrassment. "Six," he mumbled.

"Still the same old Adrian," the nurse commented, half-laughing. She patted the detective cordially on the back with her good arm, only inciting a slight jerk from the initial contact.

Natalie watched in wonderment. Why not take advantage of the opportunity to watch Monk interact with others: best of all, a person that had been in a similar position to the one she was in now? Maybe she could derive from the interaction where everything went wrong between them to make her leave. By how Monk described Sharona's husband Trevor, she really didn't have a good reason to leave in the first place. There had to be some irreconcilable difference here, and she was going to find it….

The trio stood at the baggage claim for what seemed an eternity, and Adrian was well on the way to having an anxiety attack.

"Where are the bags, Natalie? Did you not put the tags on them?" He paused momentarily, and a blanched look of horror came across his face. "Oh, God. Someone stole them. Just like in Mexico; remember, Sharona?"

He turned to his former nurse, and Natalie realized that she no longer had to figure on a good excuse for the absence of his bags; Adrian was in memory lane mode and there was no turning back, at least not at the moment.

"Oh, I remember that like it was yesterday. You didn't drink anything for like, three days!"

"Yes. They didn't carry Sierra Springs in Mexico."

"Do you still drink Sierra Springs?"

"Yes, but some ignorant fool claiming to be a Sierra Springs employee wrote an article in the newspaper saying that Sierra Springs doesn't triple-filter their water before they bottle it—they only double-filter it. I'm going to start my own investigation very soon, because it's been a whole 36-hour period and Sierra Springs hasn't refuted the claim. Now if there was a number on the bottle to call, they would have heard from me already—"

"What are you going to drink until then?"

"Well, I—I—don't—"

He was at a complete loss for words and stood completely still, torn as to what he should do. Natalie's loud groan of irritation made him look over at her.

"You mean to tell me I carried a whole suitcase full of that stuff, only for you not to drink it?" Natalie fumed.

Monk's face took on a sour expression as he attempted to picture the slow, painful dehydration he would most likely soon endure, yet the word suitcase jolted him back to reality.

"Natalie," he moaned pitifully, throwing his arms up in despair. "—my bags…."

"Our bags, Adrian," she corrected him. "Mine aren't here either. But then again, no luggage has arrived yet. Be patient."

He wrung his hands as the chute at the top of the conveyer belt opened and the luggage began to descend the chute. Fabric and hard-sided suitcases, large purses, leather briefcases, pet crates, and trash bags filled the carousel, as passengers sought their luggage. Natalie soon saw her two hard-sided suitcases and grabbed them.

"Natalie… I don't see them," the detective commented, leaning in his close with his arms crossed tightly to his chest. The chute at the top closed with a bang.

"Oh, God, Natalie, they're not here," he moaned nervously, beginning to pace back and forth. Sharona watched him in amazement.

"How it possible that you always have the worst luck, Adrian?" she remarked.

"Well—actually, you do," he replied, still horrified at her unmatched shoes and her neck brace.

The two women watched the curly-haired man pace back and forth, glaring at people who had successfully found their luggage. Suddenly he stopped in place, supposedly seeing something on the carousel that disturbed him, and turned to his group.

"That's just sick. How can that possibly be allowed?" he commented, watching the belt with a disgusted stare as he signaled to the luggage.

"What's sick?" the nurse asked.

"Someone put their garbage on our flight," Monk groaned, covering his mouth with his sleeve. "Rotting, stinking garbage, which had to have touched your suitcases, Natalie. Oh, I can taste the particles that were circulating in the plane; they're still in my throat."

"I'm sure that's not the case," she replied hastily. "Some people just don't want their luggage to get beat up or dir—"

Natalie suddenly remembered what she had done. "Adrian!" she shouted joyously, causing him to jolt his gaze over to her.

"Remember, at the desk? You didn't want your luggage to get dirty, so I put it in the bags? That's your luggage, Adrian!"

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" he responded, dead serious.

"No, I bought some brand new bags for you. At the desk, you wouldn't let your luggage go on the plane unless they were kept clean!"

Before he could make another disbelieving remark, she went over to the bag circulating closest to her and pulled it off of the belt. As Adrian watched in horror, she ripped it open to reveal—his suitcase!

Once all six suitcases were loaded onto a clean new dolly, by Adrian's request, the group walked out to the parking lot.

Upon reaching the Taurus, Sharona clicked the keyless locking device and opened the trunk.

"A black Taurus, Sharona? Are you a cop… or are you a hitman?"

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Black never keeps clean! You know better than that, Sharona! What happened to the Volvo?"

"I had to sell it before I moved out here. Did you really think I'd make it across the country with that clunker?"

"Well—I don't know, but this is—" He shifted his stance back and forth, eyeing the Taurus like an adversary.

"Actually, this is a rental," Sharona said, breaking the nervous silence. Monk's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"I own a red Cavalier, but it was practically tota—"

"Red! Even worse!"

"What are you talkin' about? Remember your red Mustang days?"

His face turned a shade of crimson as Natalie's jaw dropped. The widowed assistant approached him, her mouth agape but still smiling.

"A red Mustang? You owned a red Mustang?"

His shoulder twitched as he shot a look at Sharona. "Leased—and only for a day."

"Why's that; was it a lemon?"

He looked confused. "No, it was a Mustang. A red Ford Mustang."

"Okay, never mind," she said, realizing the mistake of her words. He didn't know cars; she had never even seen him driving one. "Wait—did you even drive it?"

The crimson that had begun to fade from his cheeks returned.

"Yes—"

"When did this all occur? You don't tell me enough of these stories, Adrian…."

Suddenly Monk was more interested in loading the luggage into the trunk than he was in talking about that period of his life. Within moments of his joining in to help, the car was packed and he wordlessly raced for the passenger's seat door.

Sharona soon made her way for the driver's seat, and Natalie couldn't

help but feel a bit left out. She needed to bring up some memories that only she and Monk had experienced. This past life of his, what with him purchasing and driving a red Mustang, was only alienating her more.

"Are you okay with driving, Sharona?" Natalie offered, watching Sharona awkwardly pulling the seatbelt across her chest.

"Yeah, but thanks for askin'," she replied.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The trio arrived back at the house shortly after 1 am. Sharona quietly unlocked the front door, praying that Benjy wouldn't wake up. He was taking his grandma's death really hard, what with his mother believing it was actually murder and all.

To Sharona's dismay, the shaggy-haired boy pulled the door open for her.

"Benjy—you should be in bed—" she scolded him gently.

The boy let his mother slip past him as he watched the two shadowy figures around the Taurus. "Is Mr. Monk out there, Mom?" he asked.

"Yes, Benjy. He's gonna help us figure this thing out." She didn't want to mention the words "murder," "crime," or "death" again, both for her and her son's sake.

"Who's that with him?"

"That's his new assistant, sweetheart. They'll be staying with us until they can find out something one way or another."

"What's her name?"

Wait, how did he know that Adrian's new assistant is female? Well, it is funny to try to picture Adrian walking with a male assistant having to hand him wipes and be a victim, so it makes sense, I guess….

After Adrian entered the house with the last suitcase and most conveniently, the smallest one, Benjy ran up to him and threw his arms around him.

"Well, hello, Benjy," Monk responded, still clutching the suitcases and at a loss for words. It had been quite a while since he had seen Sharona's son. "You've really grown," he added quietly, insecurely, as Benjy released his grip from around his waist.

"Actually, he hasn't gotten much bigger since you last saw him…" Sharona commented. "—But, maybe since you haven't seen him in so long, it probably started to look like he did."

Monk was immediately embarrassed and Natalie felt sorry for him. Why did she have to point that out anyway? Maybe he does look bigger to Monk.

"I—well, I thought that—well, that it was a standard way to greet a child after a long absence. My aunts and uncles—that's just about all they said to me—ever," the detective muttered.

"Ever?" Natalie piped up. She had to work him out of this situation and steer him onto another subject, because it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. Benjy had since left the room, probably embarrassed himself. A boy that age should be having a growth spurt…. maybe he's a late bloomer…

Monk spoke up, more assuredly this time.

"Yep—hello, and that I'd grown. They'd come for Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Columbus Day… and they'd say the same thing to me every time—even though it had only been a month, or a couple of months since they had last seen me. I hadn't grown much either, if any, but they still said it, so I thought that—"

There he goes again, directing himself back towards embarrassment. Come on; reminisce, Adrian.

"Columbus Day?" Natalie asked, incredulous.

"Yes, we'd sit around the dinner table and make paper ships—the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria—my mother made the best Nina. I could never fold it quite the way she did—"

"So basically, your mother made the best paper ship?" Natalie commented, goading him on but honestly fascinated with his dull little story.

"No, the Nina. I made the best Pinta. The Nina was special, because there was an extra fold that had to be formed around the stern." He began to form an invisible paper ship in his hands, as he continued to speak. "No one could ever do the Santa Maria right, though, not even my mother. The bow had to be folded at a 75º angle to the deck, and on the starboard side—"

"Adrian, what time do you want to start tomorrow?" Sharona cut in.

The detective was interrupted from his reverie and jolted his face to his former assistant.

"Well, whenever you'd like to get started. We need to visit the hospital first tomorrow. Where's Trevor?"

"I kinda blew up at him earlier, so I dunno. He probably went to bed early, or maybe he's out screwing around again, although he'd be in really hot sh—" She saw Natalie standing before her and decided not to totally ruin her image yet, so she calmed herself down a bit and went on. "—water if he did that now." She finished her sentence with a satisfied little smile.

Monk and Natalie proceeded upstairs to perform their bedtime rituals and go to sleep. Sharona had Benjy's bed set aside for Monk, and the couch in the den for Natalie. Arrangements might have to change throughout the week, because that couch was notoriously lumpy….

The next morning Monk awoke to find himself looking at a model airplane suspended dangerously close to his face. Well, actually, it was three feet above his head, but to Monk, that was dangerous.

He slid cautiously out of bed, afterwards taking a shower and doing all his usual morning activity. Once he was clean and done, he headed downstairs where Sharona sans neck brace was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.

"Coffee, Adrian?"

"No thanks. Did you sleep well?"

"A bit better than before, now that I know we're gonna win this thing."

"Win? I thought we were just going to determine what exactly happened to your mother…"

Sharona abruptly put her head down on the table, inciting Adrian to jump a little. "Wh-what's wrong, Sharona? What did I—"

She looked back up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Adrian, if I think of this as happening to my mother, it hurts too much to bear. I can't even say the words. It just… hurts so so much and it's just killing me inside to feel so completely helpless. Benjy too."

A wave of pity surged over Adrian. He was in this situation before—with Trudy. He had felt—he still felt—completely helpless to do anything for Trudy—least of all, figure out who did it—or why. He had never solved his wife's murder—and Sharona still believed that he could help her. Sharona still had faith in him, even though he had failed his own poor deceased wife, in his one unsolvable murder case. Sharona was depending completely on him—a failure in his own mind.

He opened his eyes to find himself standing in the tear-blurred kitchen embracing Sharona fully, the cast on her arm pressing his jacket against his back and her tears soaking through his shirt and wetting his skin. He had been in this situation before—he had done this before and had made a bad decision then—he had kissed her. Not a romantic kiss, not even a kiss on the lips, but a kiss, nonetheless. After that fateful kiss, neither could look at the other in the eyes for those last fleeting few moments before she was gone for good.

Now the situation was uncomfortable. Had he actually cried, or were his eyes just watering? He hadn't remembered standing up, or her approaching him, or any request for a hug from either party. Who hugged who first? Did she know that his eyes were watering? Truly though, it was a good feeling, to just hug someone in a situation extremely similar to one's own.

Suddenly he felt the presence of Sharona's arms—rising—up his back, rising until her hands were between his shoulders, and her arms, pinning his own in place. This was no longer the stance of a hug, and he knew it. This was the stance of a k—

He shut his eyes tightly and tried to think of nothingness, feeling the water from his eyes rolling down his cheeks, too terrified to look at Sharona's face or imagine how she must be looking at him. He himself might break down completely if he saw tears in her eyes again, standing so very close against him and hugging him and wetting his skin with her tears. A shower was in order again, because there was no way in hell that he was going to walk around in public with tears all over his chest, eye juice rubbing off and infecting his next shirt, since it was obvious he'd have to change the one he had on now even though his jacket didn't match the shirt he had in mi—

With her lips pressed firmly to his mouth, she kissed him. No tongue, just solid lip-to-lip contact. In her own home. Not knowing where Trevor was. A cast on her arm and cuts on her face. With Natalie upstairs, and Benjy wandering around somewhere. Sharona kissed Adrian Monk in her kitchen unabashedly, clasping his body tightly against her own, feeling Monk's shoulder blades moving as his arms moved lower on her body, settling in the small of her back.

Natalie had crept quietly downstairs to get shower supplies, believing that Sharona was still sleeping in the nearby bedroom. The coffee brewer was bubbling, the scent of coffee emanating from the kitchen, so she snuck a glance at the kitchen activity—and what she saw startled her to almost yell out. Adrian Monk and Sharona—Sharona, his old assistant, his former nurse—were kissing.

Author's Note: By the way, I promise you that Captain Stottlemeyer and Randy will be in the next chapter! I just have to get a thing built up here before they can enter, and I didn't get it done for this chapter! ("If you build it, they will come" matches this well heee) Please don't abandon me, Captain/Disher lovers! I promise they will be part of the next chapter!

Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me. I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy