If you've read this before, I should point out that this version is drastically different from the original. You'll recognize most of it, certainly, but I've made a lot of changes. I'm an obsessive rewriter. I originally wrote this as a one-shot vignette, but my early reviewers saw (or wanted to see) more to the story. So I had to go back and recreate the atmosphere.
Enjoy the story! And please review!
STRESS ON THE JOB
Prologue
Another night, another year sucked out of her life. At least, that's the way Sharona felt after a particularly aggravating day with Adrian Monk.
He was a brilliant man, that Monk. The smartest person Sharona had ever met. She felt honored to be accepted as his trusted assistant. What qualities did she possess, she wondered, that allowed her to peek inside that amazing mind? She couldn't figure it out.
But there was a price to pay. Her time, for one. He ate up hours of her day, just as the cleaning compulsions ate up his. Whenever she hoped to spend a normal evening out, Monk would call with some ridiculously over-dramatized problem that she had to, personally, fix. Monk wouldn't accept any substitutes.
God, she wasn't even sure she knew what normal was anymore.
It was like some kind of reverse of the "knight in shining armor" story. Except Monk was the disturbed in distress, battling off his personal demons. And Monk never quite expressed his appreciation for her help as clearly as Sharona felt she deserved. He had this love-hate relationship with her—just like the one he had with himself. There was a polarity in his personality. At his worst, he couldn't disguise or hold back his most pathetic actions. But after Sharona's assistance grounded him, he was too proud to thank her for pulling him through again. He had to keep his dignity somehow, whatever remained of it. Sharona understood the shame and disgust he felt after one of his episodes, so she rarely brought the issue up.
That was the burden she had to carry alone.
After all, he was a sick man. And she was a nurse. That was what she did: took care of people's psychological, physical, and emotional needs.
So who was going to take care of hers?
It was exhausting, coming home after one of Monk's bad days. No, it was exhausting just after an average day. The bad days, well, those were the ones that left her about as empty as the gas tank in her car; as empty as her checking account.
Her sanity was the other price she paid. She couldn't mention that to Monk, of course. With his germ phobia, he'd likely think he had somehow spread his disease.
But hadn't he, in some way? After all, what kind of life would Sharona lead if she'd never met Adrian Monk? A lot less stressful, that's for sure.
But . . . also, a lot less satisfying.
And that was what kept bringing her back.
It's a gift. . .and a curse. That's what Monk always said. He was right.
She didn't get home until almost nine that night. Monk had spent the afternoon cleaning—her house, inexplicably—and refused to leave until the place was spotless. She tried to run errands in the meantime, but Monk was too restless. He'd been that way all week: distracted, secretive, excessively nervous.
Sharona figured it must have something to do with the appointment. Monk was doing what he did best, worrying on her behalf. She was convinced that he was more concerned than she was. It was just a check-up, she'd told him.
"That's what's bad about check-ups. You always think there's nothing wrong with you, until you actually go and find out what that pain means," Monk had said with authority.
"Yeah, I know what that pain means," she'd answered dryly, shooting him a pointed look.
That certainly made her feel better about her appointment.
"Mom?" Benjy said meekly, startling Sharona from her reverie. She blinked several times, trying to focus on her son. Her eyes weren't cooperating. He was wearing pajamas and holding a sheet of paper. It was late, probably past his bedtime; she didn't even know.
"What is it, hon?" she asked tiredly.
"Um, I've got a thing from school you're supposed to fill out. I need it by tomorrow."
"Great. How long have you had it?"
Benjy shrugged. "I dunno. A couple days."
Sharona bit back an angry response because, of course, it wasn't his fault. She'd barely had a moment to herself for the past few days, let alone for him. She felt like a horrible mother.
Now, Monk, on the other hand, he was getting the best parental care available. For all the good it did him. He was more anxious than a teenage shoplifter locked in an interrogation room with Captain Stottlemeyer. Sharona didn't know what his problem was, but she hoped he'd get over it fast. It wasn't helping matters.
"All right," she sighed. "Leave it out for me to take a look at in the morning."
Benjy grinned. "Thanks, Mom! G'night!"
"I love you!" Sharona said, then got ready for bed herself. If only it could be a good night, she thought. Just as she was sinking into bed, as if on cue, the phone rang.
"What do you want, Monk?" Sharona answered.
"How did you know it was me?" came the surprised response.
"You're not the only detective around. What's wrong now?" she asked with resignation.
"W-when do you plan on getting up tomorrow?"
Sharona hesitated, confused. "God, I don't know! What difference does it make? I'm telling you, I'm not coming over there, I don't care what your problem is!"
"Uh-huh," Monk replied, apparently oblivious to her anger. "And when do you plan on leaving?"
Sharona prepared a biting response, decided it was easier in the long run to go along with him, and said, "Probably about 8:30."
"Okay," Monk said.
There was a short silence in which Sharona waited for Monk to explain himself.
"Adrian?" she finally asked.
Monk answered by changing the subject. "Do you know how to make tea? I mean, the way you make it."
Sharona shook her head to herself. "Stick a bag in hot water," she sneered.
Monk was unfazed by her sarcasm. "Okay, thanks. Um, have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"
"As long as I don't die at the doctor's office," she answered dryly and hung up over Monk's protesting.
Once again, here was Monk acting strangely—even for him. He was calm when he spoke to her, so it was obvious he wasn't having one of his panic attacks. And yet, he sounded uneasy. Distracted. She shrugged it off. He always sounded distracted.
Sharona swallowed uncomfortably, holding a hand to her chest. There it was again. That tickle of pain, just to the left of her sternum. She didn't want to think about what it meant.
Oh, well, that's why she was going to the doctor, right?
She sighed, brushed a hand through her hair. Took a deep breath, popped a couple Tylenols into her mouth, and turned out the light.
But, despite her exhaustion, she didn't fall asleep for a long time.