As promised, here is chapter 1 early :)

xXx

"Sharona, are you sure you've got your brights on? You're driving in the dark in a strange city, you need to make sure your brights are on."

"Adrian, for the fifth time, my brights are on. I am not checking them again. You can see the dash yourself!"

"But—"

"No! No 'buts,' Adrian!" Frustration thickened the woman's already strong Jersey accent, and she shook her head. Most of her dirty blonde curls were pinned up into a bun, but the ones that hung free bounced with the motion. "I knew we should've stopped at a hotel. I can't believe I let you talk me into driving at night."

"I can't believe I let me talk you into it, either," the man whispered, earning himself a sharp glare from the woman behind the wheel. "Slow down more."

"I am already going five miles under the speed limit. There's nobody else around—I should be going five over!"

"No! No." The man shook his head, back stiff against his seat. His dark brown curls were far tighter than the woman's, remaining still despite his rapid motion. "No, don't do that. Ever. Just slow down… a little."

The woman shot him an irritated look. "Adrian, if I slow down anymore, we won't be back in San Francisco by tomorrow. In fact, we might not be back by next year."

"That's—That's not funny, Sharona. Don't say that."

"You're damn right it's not funny!" She eased up on the accelerator all the same, though not without shooting the man beside her another withering glare. "If I didn't know you'd crash my car, I'd make you drive. In fact, when we get back home—"

The man shushed her, ignoring her aggravated huff as he leaned forward and squinted at the dark road before them. "Speaking of car crashes… Pull over."

"What?"

"There." The man pointed to their left, and the woman gasped, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my God!"

"Pull over," the man repeated, and she did so without complaint.

The two had indeed stumbled upon a car crash, and a nasty one at that. A silver Toyota was flipped upside down on the side of the road, half buried in a ditch. Shattered glass and broken metal was scattered all around the wreckage. Once the woman had parked her golden station wagon, both she and the man climbed out and approached the destruction.

"What happened here?" the woman whispered in horror. One hand clutched the straps of a black purse hanging on her right shoulder. "You think they were speeding?"

The man glanced at the road behind them, shifting his shoulders before moving closer to the wreckage. "No skid marks. If nothing else, they weren't braking." He crouched near the back of the car, tilting his head. "There's still wet oil here." He pulled a silver pen out of his brown jacket, brushing aside a few dead leaves. "And the grass is still green… ish. The soil is healthy. For now."

"Okay," the woman said after a pause. "What does that mean?"

The man stood, tucking his pen back into the inner pocket of his jacket. "It means this happened recently. Probably less than an hour ago." He snapped his fingers. "Wipe."

The woman rolled her eyes but removed a plastic blue pack from her purse, pulling out a towelette.

The man accepted it, cleaning his hands before pointing at the front of the car. "Sharona, check the driver's seat. It doesn't look like they were ejected during the crash."

She snapped into action. "Right."

Within seconds, the woman had worked her way to the driver's side of the overturned vehicle, careful to avoid stepping on pieces of wreckage before she knelt down beside the window. She gasped. "Adrian, there's someone in here!" She quickly shrugged off her purse. "The poor girl looks banged up. I'm gonna check her pulse."

"What? No!" The man's nose wrinkled as he grimaced. "Sharona, don't touch a stranger's neck."

She rolled her eyes. "I was a nurse before I was your assistant, remember? I've touched more strangers' necks than you can count."

He shuddered. "That is not something you should be proud of."

The woman ignored his protest, twisting her body to lean through the car window and placing the index and middle fingers of her right hand against the injured driver's neck. After a pause, she released a muttered curse before extracting herself from the vehicle. "No pulse. I'm gonna call the police. Do you remember what road we're on?"

The man either didn't hear or chose to ignore her question, his attention glued to the left side of the silver car. The woman sighed.

"Okay, I'll get the map."

While the man stepped over a chunk of metal to get a closer look at the deep indents on the driver's side of the car, the woman retrieved a map from her station wagon and soon had the police department on the line. "Hi, I'm calling to report a car accident? Oh, no, I wasn't in it. I was driving with my boss and we found the wreckage." She paused. "Yeah, it looks like she was speeding, drove off the road, and—"

"No," the man interrupted.

The woman covered the mouth of her phone. "What do you mean, no? You said no skid marks meant she was speeding!"

He shook his head. "No, I meant she didn't drive off the road. The shape of these dents, Sharona, and the scratches"—he pointed at the side of the car with his silver pen—"there's flecks of red paint in them, but nowhere else has these types of miscellaneous marks. This car hasn't had a paint job in years."

"Okay? So what do you want me to tell the cops?"

The man let his gaze flicker over the car a final time before meeting the woman's eyes. "I don't think this woman accidentally drove off the road, Sharona. I think she was forced off."

She inhaled sharply. "You mean…"

He nodded. "This was no accident. It was murder."

This time, Allison awoke to the blaring jingle of her cell phone, and she fumbled around twice before grabbing hold of it.

"Hello?" she said, staring blearily at the clock on her nightstand. God, how was it only 3:30?

"Hey, Allison. It's Lee. Sorry to wake you, but I've been called to a nasty car accident. No ID on the victim. Thought you might want to come down, see if you can help us figure out who she is."

Allison rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "Wait, the victim is a woman?"

Lee chuckled. "Yes, Allison. You know women can get into car accidents, too, right?"

Allison would have glared at him had their conversation not been taking place through the phone. She settled on a cathartic eye roll. "Ha ha. Not my point." She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Joe grunted—whoops, she hadn't meant to wake him. "Sorry, go back to sleep," she whispered to her husband before returning her attention to the ongoing call. "Lee. The victim. Does she have dark hair? And was she driving a silver Toyota?"

A beat passed. "I'd ask how you know that, but at this point you don't really need to tell me."

Allison shoved down her covers, sliding off the bed to walk over to her and Joe's closet. No rest for a psychic. "I saw that crash, Lee, and it was no accident."

"Funny you should say that. There's a guy here who's been telling us the same thing since we pulled up."

Allison paused with a hand on the hanger of her gray blazer. "Dark hair, brown suit, fidgety, first name 'Adrian'?"

"Wow, you make introductions so easy." A mixture of voices clamored in the background of Lee's end of the call. "I've gotta go. I'll text you where the crime scene is and fill you in on everything when you get here."

"You mean I'll fill you in," Allison teased, shifting her hand to a white blouse. "I got a half-decent look at our killer."

"Be that as it may, you know Manny and I have to jump through these funny little hoops known as the law. See you soon."

Allison laughed. "See you."

She hung up, tucking her phone beneath her arm before continuing to flip through her clothes. Given that she'd probably be back in time to snag an extra hour of sleep, she needed something she could easily slip in and out of. That, or an outfit which doubled as pajamas.

"Go with the floral top and cute black pants," Joe recommended through a yawn, and Allison threw him an amused look over her shoulder.

"You're usually the one taking fashion advice from me."

When Joe only shrugged in response, Allison shook her head. "My 'cute' black pants, huh?" She retrieved the suggested attire from their hangers. "Aren't you worried the guys at the crime scene will like what they see?"

"One, I could hardly blame them if they did. Two"—Joe pushed himself into a sitting position—"I am the only guy with the privilege of watching you change into them." He flicked on the lamp atop the nightstand to his left. "So hop to it, darling."

It took all of Allison's self-control not to roll her eyes into the back of her head, flattered as she was. "You know what?" she mused, turning around with her clothes thrown over her left arm. "It is a privilege." She made sure to flick Joe on the nose before stepping into their attached bathroom. "And it's a privilege I'm choosing to deny you. Kisses!"

Ignoring Joe's squawk of protest, Allison laughed as she closed and locked the bathroom door behind her.

Within five minutes, Allison had changed out of her pajamas, brushed her hair, and put on a bit of concealer to hide the ever-present bags under her eyes. Normally she wouldn't have bothered with that last one, but she'd be meeting the mysterious 'Adrian' and 'Sharona' at the scene—the least she could do was not look like a ghost herself, no matter how many she saw daily.

When Allison stepped out of the bathroom, Joe had returned to lying on his side and was now facing squarely away from her. Allison laughed, moving to press a quick kiss to his temple. "I should be back before we have to wake the girls, okay?"

Joe grunted an affirmative, and Allison smoothed his hair from his forehead. She didn't thank the universe enough for blessing her with such a patient husband, though God knew she often tested the limits of said patience with her prophetic dreams and midnight crime calls.

Allison had one foot out the bedroom door when Joe called her back in.

"C'mere real quick."

Frowning, Allison returned to his side and instinctively patted her pockets for her keys. "Did I forget something?"

"No, nothing like that. You just"—Joe sat up, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of her neck to pull her into a lightning quick kiss—"had a little too much lipstick on, that's all." His voice had dropped to a murmur by the time his hand fell to his side.

Allison raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "And if I wasn't wearing any lipstick?"

Joe shrugged. "Then you've got the rosiest lips in the world, my dear."

"Ooh, good answer." Allison kissed him again. "Alright, I'll be back in a couple hours, hopefully less. Call my cell if you need anything, and if I don't pick up, call Lee."

"Will do."

In less than a minute, Allison slipped out of their bedroom, entered their garage, and began the drive in her gold station wagon to the street Scanlon had texted her after their call had ended. It was a short trip, all things considered, though it helped that traffic was ridiculously light so early in the morning.

Upon arriving, Allison found herself doing a double take, as there was a car nearly identical to hers already parked on the right side of the road. She shook off her shock, however, and parked behind it before getting out to track down a certain detective.

"Welcome to the party," Lee greeted as she joined him. "Don't worry, you're fashionably late."

"Ha ha," Allison said dryly, but she grinned all the same. Her smile faded as she took in their surroundings, and she gestured to the mess of silver wreckage before them. "What do we know so far?"

Near the stretcher that carried the victim's body, Allison noticed, was the tightly-wound man from her dream. The curly-haired woman stood beside him, her black purse once again hanging from her right shoulder.

The plastic covering the victim's body on the stretcher had been pulled back, clearly for this man's benefit, as his head was tilted to the side and his fingers were splayed out while he observed the dead girl. He leaned in to peer more closely at her left hand.

Allison made a mental note to ask Lee who, exactly, this guy was, after he'd finished recapping the scene for her.

"Well, we don't know much," Lee said, flipping to a previous page in his notebook. "The victim is a young woman, late twenties. There was no ID recovered on her body, but after I called you, one of the techs realized her car is a rental. We're expecting a call from the rental company in the next ten minutes about who took out this particular Toyota. Fingers crossed she won't be a Jane Doe much longer."

Allison nodded. "I think the killer took her wallet. She did in my dream, at least." Maybe the woman wanted to delay them identifying the body just long enough for her to make an escape.

Lee raised an eyebrow, clicking his pen on. "You saw who ran the victim off the road?"

Allison grimaced and made a so-so gesture with her hand. "Sort of. Probably not enough for a sketch artist. But she had long red hair, and very blue eyes. Oh, and she was driving a red Nissan."

Lee nodded, jotting down the information as she spoke. "We knew the attacking car was red because of the paint flecks on the Corolla, but knowing we're looking for a Nissan should help narrow the search." He glanced at Allison. "The killer was a woman?"

Allison shrugged. "She was in my dream." And more often than not, her visions were proven accurate in some fashion. Whoever she'd seen run that poor girl off the road was either guilty of the crime or somehow connected to it.

Allison snapped her fingers, another detail of her dream surfacing. "Oh! Our murderer definitely knew her victim, too. She called her 'Lou' and said something about 'her and Marcus' getting what they deserved."

"A revenge quest. How delightful." Lee finished recording the details she'd offered, flipping his notebook shut and tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I'll do some digging into what you told me once we know the victim's identity." He gave her a wry smile. "That is, once we know more than just 'Lou.'"

Allison laughed. "Understood." Before she could continue with an appropriately witty quip of her own, her attention was snagged by the man from her second dream speaking fervently to the blonde woman beside him.

"Sharona, I need you to move her hair. There's something I want to look at on her neck."

"What? You wanna see her neck, you move her hair."

"But I can't—I can't touch her, Sharona."

"Oh, stop whining. I'll give you a wipe afterwards."

The man paused. "Right."

He pulled the same silver pen Allison had seen him use in her dream from his jacket, pushing the girl's dark hair aside. He cringed as a lock brushed his hand, an action that earned an eye roll from the woman next to him.

"So… Who is that guy?" Allison asked as she watched the man vigorously wipe his hands with what she assumed was some kind of disinfecting towelette.

Lee noticed where her stare was directed and chuckled. "That, Allison, is Adrian Monk. He's a former homicide detective from San Francisco who now works as a consultant for the police when they're stumped. Rumor has it he's the best detective in the country."

Allison threw him an appraising look before a smirk tugged at her lips. "Oh, really? Better than you, Detective Scanlon?"

Lee laughed. "I know I'm good, Allison, but I'm not superhuman. This guy is on a higher level than all of us."

Allison snorted. "How humble of you." She watched the man—Adrian Monk, she reminded herself—hand his wipe back to the woman standing beside him, who rolled her eyes as she dropped it into her purse. "The way you talk, it sounds like you've met him before."

"Eh. Not quite." Lee shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've heard all the stories, of course. Every up-and-coming detective is subjected to hearing at least one guy gush about how 'Adrian Monk's powers of observation are unparalleled'"—Allison snorted at his choice of words, there was no way that wasn't straight out of some news article—"but I actually have a friend in 'Frisco that I keep in touch with. Randy Disher."

"Really?" Allison said. "How did two Phoenix and San Francisco detectives end up being buddy-buddy?" There were several hundred miles between their cities. In other words, little opportunity to cross paths at the grocery store.

"Well, a few years ago, a black widow named Darlene Coolidge kept crossing state lines between each rich guy she married and murdered," Lee explained, "so a federal higher-up put together a task force with operatives from at least four states. Unfortunately, we got disbanded after too many weeks without a lead, but Disher and I check in with each other about the case and life in general every so often. He's good friends with Monk. Worked with him several times."

Allison nodded. What a small world.

Lee shot her a wry smile. "You know, the running gag is that this guy notices details so small he might as well be psychic. Better watch out—you might have some competition."

Allison laughed. "Oh, I'm not worried. I got the impression he can't wait to get back to San Francisco." Of course, if she was being honest, it could be nice to have a break while this guy wrapped up their pending cases for them with a neat bow.

"Maybe. I'm actually thinking about giving Manny a call to see if he'd approve of Monk working as a consultant on this case."

Allison nudged him with her elbow. "What, you don't think you'll be able to crack it on your own?"

Lee chuckled. "It's not that I don't think I can crack it with my usual manpower"—he winked at her—"but I do think teaming up with Monk would considerably shave down the time spent on this investigation. Rumor has it he can solve a case in one day that would take any other detective three or five."

Allison whistled. "Well, I'm all for efficiency. Get Devalos on board."

Lee laughed again and started to reply, but before he could get more than a word out, the very subject of their conversation interrupted him.

"Detective Scanlon, come look at this."

Allison glanced at Lee, who met her eyes and tilted his head towards the body before heading over. She followed without complaint, though she did stop an additional foot back from the victim. All her years working for the DA's office didn't mean observing death up close and personal was any more pleasant now than when she'd started.

The man pushed the victim's hair fully off her neck with his pen. "Detective, these injuries were not sustained in the crash," he said, pointing at a couple red, circular marks on her neck with his pinky. "They look like"—he floundered—"ah, love bites. You know. Acquired during a… love fest."

The woman beside him rolled her eyes. "They're hickeys, Adrian."

He shot her a disgruntled look. "You would know."

She smacked him on the shoulder, and Allison bit her tongue to hold back a laugh at his dramatic yet feeble protests.

"Okay, so our victim had a lover," Lee said, taking his hands out of his pockets. "But she was a pretty young woman, so that's not unexpected."

"Except they aren't actually hi… neck kisses," the man—Monk—said. "They just resemble them. Look at this." He pinched the victim's left sleeve, carefully lifting her arm upwards. "She has calluses on the fingertips of her left hand, but not on the right one."

He lowered her arm back down, accepting the wipe that the woman next to him had at the ready. "Detective, I think our victim was a violinist. Calluses from the strings, the red marks on her neck—"

"Fiddler's neck," Lee concluded, nodding. "Right, a lot of violinists get it from their instruments."

Allison raised an eyebrow, shooting him a look that said, And you know this, how?

Lee shrugged at her unspoken question before winking. "I'm a man of many secrets, Allison."

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "So now we know a little more about our Jane Doe than we did five minutes ago. The DA will love that." He cleared his throat, raising a brow at Monk. "Mr. Monk, how would you feel about sticking around in Phoenix a few more days to consult on this case?"

Monk threw the woman beside him a nervous look, which she seemed to take as her cue to act.

"We're interested, detective," she said, "but we can't be expected to drop everything and stay. We just finished a case in Mexico and planned to be back in San Francisco by tomorrow." She began rooting through her purse. "Now, Captain Stottlemeyer hasn't given us any word of cases pending back home, but we don't exactly have hotel reservations at the ready here, either."

The woman pulled a thin plastic folder out her bag, offering it to Lee. "This is our contract. Read it over and make an informed decision."

Lee chuckled, tilting his head to her in a brief nod as he accepted the plastic-bound paperwork. "Will do, Ms. Fleming." He lifted his phone with his free hand. "If you'll excuse me, I need to call Manny." Lee then walked away, leaving Allison alone with Monk and his… partner, of sorts?

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," Allison said after a pause, offering her hand to the woman. "My name is Allison Dubois. I work for the district attorney's office."

"Sharona Fleming," the woman said, beaming as she shook Allison's hand. "This is my boss, Adrian Monk. It's nice to meet you."

"Very nice to meet you, too," Allison replied, returning Sharona's smile before offering her hand to Monk.

Monk hesitated, uncertainty and discomfort furrowing his brow, but he accepted Allison's handshake when Sharona shot him a sharp glare.

The second their hands met, Allison found herself drowning in open air. Her body was overwhelmed with sorrow, a grief that swirled in her chest like a churning ocean and threatened to drag her to her knees with the strength of a whirlpool. A billowing explosion flashed before her eyes, one with scorching fire and melted plastic and a beautiful, beautiful fair-haired woman—

"Mrs. Dubois? Mrs. Dubois, are you alright?"

Allison blinked, the debilitating grief dissipating as quickly as it came when Monk extracted his hand from hers. Though discomfort was still written across his face—probably from their extended contact, she realized with embarrassment—the predominant expression in his brown eyes was concern, even as he began fervently rubbing his hand on the side of his jacket.

"Mrs. Dubois, are you alright?" Monk repeated, and Allison somehow compelled her body to provide a weak nod in response.

"Yes. Yes, I'm okay," she murmured, pushing her hair out of her face. She straightened her posture—her knees had buckled a few degrees without her realizing.

What had she just seen?

"I'm just tired, I think," Allison continued after a pause, before the moment could grow even more awkward. She smoothed her blouse. "Sorry. Waking up in the middle of the night after a pretty long day has… thrown me for a loop."

Sharona nodded in understanding, though Allison could see clear as day that her excuse hadn't convinced Monk.

Who… Who was this man? What had he suffered that simply touching his palm placed all the world's grief atop Allison's shoulders?

Her heart ached for him, even if she didn't know why. She supposed she could ask Lee more about his past later on.

Monk frowned. "Your surname is Dubois," he mumbled, fingers twitching as he tilted his head. "Where have I heard that before?"

Sharona's eyes widened, and she hastily rifled through her purse until she found a crumpled five dollar bill. "Adrian, this is an emergency," she said, handing him the money. "I need you to straighten this. I mean, I can't use it when it's this wrinkled, can I?"

"Oh my God," Monk said, horrified. "Sharona, how long have you been keeping this from me?" He didn't wait for an answer before he took the bill and began smoothing it out against the hood of the nearest car.

Sharona took advantage of his distraction to pull Allison—who had watched Sharona's request with utter bafflement—a few feet aside. "Mrs. Dubois—"

"You can call me Allison," she reassured Sharona, giving her a warm smile that Sharona hesitantly returned.

"Right. Allison. So, uh—" Sharona pursed her lips. "Okay. I'm a big fan of your work. I mean, I appreciate your unique position with the district attorney's office. I think what you do is incredible! But…"

She glanced at Monk, whose attention was still glued to the bill he'd yet to successfully straighten. "My boss doesn't believe in it. He doesn't believe in psychics at all, really. And I know you're legit, you've got a million cases to prove it—"

"Don't worry," Allison interrupted with a chuckle and another warm smile. "We can keep the details of my involvement with the DA's office to a minimum. As far as Mr. Monk is concerned, I'm just an ordinary representative."

Sharona sighed, relieved. "Fantastic. Thank you so much, Mrs. Du—Allison."

"Not a problem." Allison paused, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. "Is there any chance he might stumble upon information about me online? I know there's at least a few articles out there that discuss my 'sensitivities.'" Especially following the initial DA debacle.

Sharona laughed, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, God no. Adrian doesn't even know how to turn on a computer."

Allison blinked. "Ah. That's… good."

She made a mental note to do some research of her own into Adrian Monk when she got home. If he was as renowned as Lee insisted, there had to be at least an article or two about his life and career online.

"Sharona, I'm going to need my iron to get the wrinkles out of this," Monk said as he walked back over to the two women, still frowning at the bill. "You can remind me when we get back home."

Sharona nodded as she accepted the dollar, clearly withholding an amused grin. "Okay, Adrian. I'll hold onto it for now."

After she'd dropped the bill back in her purse, ignoring Monk's exclamation about 'being careful not to re-wrinkle it,' Lee rejoined them.

"I have good news and great news," he said, waving the plastic folder—Monk's contract, Allison recalled. "Which do we want to hear first?"

Monk rolled his shoulders back. "Ah… the good news."

When Lee opened his mouth, Monk grimaced, shaking his head. "No! No, the great news."

He hesitated again, earning an eye roll from Sharona. "Actually, wait. The good news should be… should be first."

Lee stared at Monk, evidently waiting to see if his indecision would present itself a third time. Allison half-expected it to continue, too.

"Give us the good news first, detective," Sharona said, plastering on a fake smile. "Thank you."

"Well—"

Sharona silenced her boss with a glare, and Allison covered her mouth with her hand to hide an amused smile. She probably shouldn't have found their interactions quite so funny as she did, but… ah, well.

"The good news is that the rental place got back to us, and we now have an ID for our Jane Doe," Lee said. "Her name is Louise Boudreaux."

Allison's heart jumped—'Lou' could easily be a nickname for Louise. And given how Lee's gaze flickered over to meet hers for the briefest of seconds, it seemed he recognized the possibility, too. Point to Allison's dream.

"Ms. Boudreaux is also a violinist with the Phoenix Symphony," Lee continued, nodding at Monk, "so congratulations, you aced that assessment."

Monk simply shrugged, not even a modest smile hinting at his lips. It was strange, really, that a man so talented at what he did could simultaneously lack even a lick of confidence.

Strange from Allison's perspective, at least.

"What's the great news?" Sharona asked, and Lee grinned at her.

"The great news is that the district attorney and the chief of police are thrilled to take Mr. Monk on as a consultant for this case. Phoenix PD will put you up in a hotel for three days, cover all your expenses, and extend your stay up to a week if needed. We'll fulfill the terms of your contract with a 10% bonus if the case is solved in the initial three days or less. I assume that's acceptable?"

Sharona's eyes widened. "That is more than acceptable," she assured him before Monk had a chance to get a word in edgewise. "You won't regret taking us on, detective."

Lee chuckled. "If you keep up the good work you started tonight—this morning, sorry—I know I won't." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of the time, it's almost 5 AM. Allison, go home, get some rest. The earliest we'll need you probably won't be until noon. Mr. Monk, Ms. Fleming, same goes for you."

Lee waved his right hand, and a uniformed officer stepped forward, greeting them all with a curt nod. "Officer Zheng will lead you to your hotel and make sure there's no issues checking you in. That good for everybody?"

Allison nodded—"Thank you, Lee"—at the same time Sharona said, "That's perfect. We really appreciate this, detective."

Lee shrugged, nonchalant, but a smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes all the same. "Just doing my job." Another officer called his name, and he flashed everyone a thumbs up before taking his leave.

"It was nice meeting you both," Allison said, not wanting the lull in conversation to drag on for too long. "I look forward to working together."

Sharona laughed, grinning. "If everyone in Phoenix is as kind as you and as monetarily generous as your higher-ups, I might have to convince Adrian to move here." She pulled her keys out her purse, jingling them to get Monk's attention. "Come on. I want to get to the hotel before the sun rises."

"The sun doesn't rise here until almost 6:30," Monk mumbled, but he followed Sharona to their car without complaint. Allison made her way over to hers, too, only to find that—

Huh.

Her key didn't work.

"What the…?" she muttered. A frown creased her lips as she tried turning the key a second time to no avail. Of course something like this would happen to her at 5 in the morning.

"Sharona, unlock the car," Allison heard Monk urge, and she turned to see he and Sharona were having an identical struggle.

"I'm trying! The key won't turn."

"It has to turn. It's a key, that's what it does. It turns and unlocks things."

"Yeah, well, it's not unlocking anything now."

Allison blinked, her gaze travelling from their car to the one she stood beside, and—oh. Of course.

She and Sharona both owned gold station wagons.

"Hey, I think we mixed up our cars," Allison said with a laugh, walking over to the two. She gestured behind her. "It looks like we've got the same make and model."

Sharona covered her mouth with one hand while the other frantically removed her key from the driver's door. "Oh my God. I am so sorry, Mrs. Dubois, I didn't realize—"

Allison waved her hand dismissively. "No need to apologize. We're all tired, and our cars are identical. If my key had worked in your car, I would have driven off without a second thought."

Sharona hesitated but nodded, though guilt still lingered across her pretty features.

"Well," Allison continued after a beat, "I'm sure I'll see you two tomorrow. Or later today, I guess." She stepped past them, inserting her key into the lock and this time successfully opening her door. "Until then, we should all get some rest."

"Yes, of course," Sharona agreed, taking Monk by the sleeve and pulling him away towards her station wagon. "Have a good one, Mrs. Du—Allison!

"You too!" Allison called.

After a brief wave to the departing duo, she climbed into her car and began the drive home. Fortunately, the city still hadn't fully awoken, and it was only about 5:20 when she arrived at the house. As quietly as she could, she crept into her bedroom, changed into pajamas, and slipped into bed beside Joe. Just when she thought she'd succeeded in her stealth—

"How was the scene?" Joe mumbled, and Allison grimaced.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You never do." Joe rolled over so he was facing her, and she gave him a flat look. "S'okay, though. Tell me what happened."

Allison shook her head. "It can wait." She pushed his hair out of his face. "Go back to sleep."

"Gladly." Instead of rolling over, though, Joe extended his arm, and Allison recognized that as her cue to move closer and rest her head against his chest.

"I'll take the girls to school," he continued after a pause. Allison tried to protest, but— "Don't argue. You've brought them the past few weeks, it's time I picked up some slack. Today, you need the extra sleep."

Allison could concede he had a point there. Still. "I owe you one," she murmured into his shirt, a smile creeping onto her lips as Joe's low laughter vibrated through her.

"Yeah? I'll put it on your tab."

Allison drifted off soon after, still smiling.

xXx

Ah, Sharona my beloved xoxo

Chapter 2 will be up Sunday! I know we're still early in the story, but feel free to share any theories or thoughts you have about this fic as we go ;) As per usual, I'm on Tumblr thinkingisadangerouspastime