Thanks for all your kind reviews, everyone! And please continue telling me what you think:)
"Captain Stottlemeyer? How'd you get th—how are you?" she corrected herself, in her nasally New Jersey accent.
"I'm doing good; how have you been?" he asked her as politely as possible. He knew that Monk was hard to deal with, but the way in which she had left was just harsh.
"Ehhh, I've been better. What's up, Captain?" She knew there was some reason that the police captain of San Francisco was calling her, and was a bit worried and irritated at the same time.
"It's Monk…" he blurted. "He—has a pretty bad case of pneumonia and is in the hospital; he wanted you to know that."
"Oh, God!" she cried. "Is he getting any better?"
Stottlemeyer paused. He hated to worry Sharona, with her being on the other side of the country, and all.
"No, he's not," he muttered, swallowing hard.
"How did it happen?"
"I'm not totally sure yet. He's been cooped up in his apartment since you left, depressed as hell. Why did you have to go and do that to him?"
He had always felt sympathy for the detective, and understood some of what he had been going through for all those years when his wife Karen was badly injured in a car accident some time ago.
Sharona paused. She had felt absolutely awful about her sudden departure, and thought about Adrian all the time, as she tried to deal with Trevor's old ways reappearing. If the captain didn't hang up soon, she was going to start crying….
"I feel terrible about doing that to him, the whole time I've been here. I really have, and—" she sighed sadly—"God, I'm so sorry that I did it the way I did. I just thought that Trev—"
"So what are you gonna do about it then? Are you gonna come and see him? That would mean the world to him, if you did. He might even get better."
Her eyes were starting to water. "—But, if I did that, it'd be too hard t—"
"Sharona, I'd hate to make you feel any worse, but I think your leaving is partly to blame for this. You know that Monk never gets sick."
"I know," she said, between the sobs that threatened to emerge. "I think I—made a mistake!" the nurse blurted, as she blew her nose into a napkin she had managed to grab just in time.
"Then won't you come see him? I'm really scared for him, Sharona. If he doesn't improve—"
"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."
After finding out that he was staying at the very hospital she had worked in, and hanging up with Stottlemeyer, she called off work for the next two days and booked plane tickets to San Francisco that very night….
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Sharona cried as she packed her bags, regretting her fateful decision to leave. Not only was she unhappy, but her former employer was unhappy and sick as well. Trevor had begun to gamble again, and would return early in the morning from the bar, smelling of liquor, cigarettes, and perfume. He had actually gone on one of his little splurges tonight. Why was she so terrible at judging men?
Finishing up with the last clothes and toiletries, the nurse looked up to find her son Benjy watching her intently. "Going back to visit Mr. Monk?" he said inquisitively. Now, he could really read people. It was disturbing how well he could do it.
"Benjy," she stammered. "were you eavesdropping on my phone conversation?"
"Uh, no," he replied, confused. "I just figured—you're crying, and you packed some of his wipes."
She glanced down at her bag and noticed the unopened box of Lever 2000 wipes she had happened to throw in her luggage. Chuckling and wiping her eyes, she looked back at Benjy. "You're good, kid, ya know that?" She rubbed his head as she said this, feeling a bit better.
"I guess I'm not going, am I?" he asked.
"No, because then your father would be upset," she responded. "We have to keep him happy, since he's not gonna return the favor."
"Well, could you tell him I said hi, and that I really miss him?" Benjy added hopefully.
This made Sharona feel even worse. "Okay, Benjy. I'll do that," she mumbled, trying to hide her face as new tears welled up in her eyes.
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
After a five-hour red-eye flight, Sharona hailed a taxi from the SFO and found herself already giving directions to UCSF hospital, even though visiting hours were long over. It was almost four o'clock in the morning and she felt dizzy from exhaustion and all those pent-up emotions coming out so blatantly, so before the driver reached Parnassus Ave. she had him direct her towards Adrian's house. Her sister Gail, as well as Lt. Disher and Captain Stottlemeyer, would be deep in sleep and she really didn't want to bother them at this hour. Besides, the captain was already miffed at her for leaving San Francisco in the first place.
Adrian wouldn't be home, however, so she checked her keyring to see that she did indeed still have his house key. She had used it a couple of times, but it was mostly for emergencies, in case he should have some kind of dissociative disorder like during the earthquake. He had never asked for the key back… She should have realized then that leaving him was stupid.
After paying the driver, she walked up to the familiar place, hoping she wouldn't have some sort of nervous breakdown from all that had happened in the past eight hours or so. She didn't want Trevor to know exactly where she went, so she left a voice mail on the phone to give her husband an excuse dealing with her mother, or something of that nature.
She slept on Adrian's couch that night, feeling a renewed amount of guilt for her hasty decision to return to her ex-husband, and her neglect of her now-ill former boss. "I'm gonna make it up to Adrian; I have to!" she said to herself, trying to picture how hard it must have been for him during these past five months. She could feel the thick veil of depression he had created throughout the entire apartment, blanketing the air and making it hard to breathe.
The next morning, she awoke very early, preparing to visit the hospital at 11 am, the start of its visiting hours, and noticed the house was sloppier than it had ever been—well, except after the earthquake, of course. Tea bags and three newspapers lie on the kitchen island with cough syrup nearby, having been drank lately. The measurement cup still had the dried remnants of the red substance in it, so she cleaned it and rinsed it out. The throw pillows on his bed were awry, mashed up against the headboard, so she fixed them precisely, noticing the filled laundry basket during that time. "He must be really sick," she stated solemnly, "to have left everything in such a mess."
She did his laundry as well, making sure to do it exactly the way he always had, and even put the clothes away afterwards. It was still not time for visiting hours to start, so she took a quick shower, cleaned out the shower stall, and put on her nicest outfit to see him in.
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Adrian awoke early in the morning with the usual chills and an uncontrollable urge to use the restroom. He scooted himself to the side of the bed feebly, and let his legs dangle over the open side to rest upon the floor for the first time he'd attempted to do this sort of this on his own.
He lowered himself onto his feet carefully, gripping the headboard and the side of the bed in white-knuckled terror as his socked feet touched the cool tile of the floor. The bathroom looked far away.
"How the hell am I going to do this?" he mumbled, shuffling towards the end of the bed. "As soon as I let go of this thing I'm going to slip and fall."
How had he suddenly become so old, so decrepit? He had to try, though, because his bladder felt at the verge of bursting. The plastic urinal affixed to the end of his bed would not hold it all, and was extremely unsanitary anyway. Having nurses there to help him the past couple of days was… uncomfortable, to say the least. He had come to miss the simple pleasure of washing his hands, and walking.
An unexpected burst of strength came over him, allowing him to make it to the bathroom in time. He glanced at the mirror before turning towards the toilet. He really had to make himself look better, and the shower stall was right there….
After relieving himself, he stepped into the shower, where two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner were waiting, along with a brand new bar of soap and the whitest rag he had ever seen. Undressing wasn't too difficult, for he only had the flimsy gown on, along with his socks and a pair of underwear he had managed to sneak on.
"Maybe I'm finally starting to get over this," he said to himself, as he lathered himself up. The shower felt good; it was the first time he had felt decently happy in a while. The water was a perfect temperature, removing the chilled feeling he had had upon awakening, and of course he had relieved himself of his other problem successfully, and felt pretty good at the moment.
He finished up in about an hour, having to hear the incessant pounding of worried nurses on the bathroom door for the last five minutes of it. "I'm fine!" he had shouted. "Can't a man take a shower?" "No, I haven't fallen!"
He was already settled back in his bed, feeling much cozier than before, when visiting hours began. At the time he was attempting to watch a football game on television, but soon became bored with the incessant commercials. Breakfast had come about a half an hour before, and it didn't make him quite as nauseated as it had the first two days of his hospital stay.
"Why do I have such a good feeling about today?" he wondered aloud. "Maybe I'll get to go home." Soon, however, he hacked up a smaller yet still greenish mucous glob, and settled for Dr. Phil on the television.
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
After applying the last touches of makeup, Sharona went through the apartment in one last sweep, ensuring that nothing was out of place and everything was orderly. She turned out the lights, locked the door, and walked a block or so down the road where taxis were available for hailing.
Sharona arrived at the hospital at 10:58 am, and stood in the main lobby as she glared down the secretary for information on where her former employer was staying.
"Excuse me; I'm wondering where an 'Adrian Monk' is staying here?" she questioned the woman, leaning over the tall desk.
"Hello," the woman cordially responded. She glanced up nervously at the clock, then around the large lobby. "You'll have to wait a little while for visiting hours."
"What are you talkin' about? It's eleven o' clock!" the feisty nurse replied. "I know that's when they start; I worked here!"
"Do you work here now?"
"No."
"Then you'll have to wait until eleven."
"But it is eleven, see?" She pointed at the face clock, with the minute hand half of a millimeter away from the 12.
The secretary began typing into her computer, bringing up Adrian's file. She unsteadily glanced up at the clock again, and then looked at Sharona.
"Your name please?" she asked.
"Sharona –Sharona Fleming."
The woman typed the information into her computer. "Well, he's in room 309, on the third floor."
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Sharona stepped out of the elevator, preparing for the reunion. Why had she waited this long to come back to him, returning only when he became ill? He'd probably be extremely weak, lying in a bed all pale and exhausted, most likely having lost a good deal of weight. Uneasiness crept across the nurse, as she made her way to Adrian's room…
The police consultant had fallen in and out of a light sleep from watching Dr. Phil. This kind of thing wasn't his forte; paying attention to a television program for a half hour at a time. He thought of his apartment, and the condition in which he had left it. Oh God, he had forgotten to do the laundry! It was still sitting by his bed! He had left the cough syrup in the kitchen, and hadn't even cleaned out the measurement cup. Well, one more thing to throw out…. Did Dr. Kroger remember to lock his door? There were probably hoards of thieves in his apartment, carrying his possessions away…. He sat up, as something dawned on him. This was the first time that he had actually thought of the disorder in which he had left his apartment, so he must be getting better.
He heard the clicking of heels approaching, and knew automatically that it was not a nurse, for they had to wear flat shoes. The nurses' shift changed in the evening, so no one would arrive in her street clothes at this hour. He glanced up at the clock. It was 11:02 am, the beginning of visiting hours. Must be a female visitor for someone on this ward. The clicks discontinued shortly afterwards.
Sharona stopped abruptly before reaching the doorway. This was it. She'd be seeing Adrian again, for the first time in almost five months. She straightened her skirt and took a deep yet quiet breath, preparing for the reunion.
Turning off the television, Adrian fixed the sheets around him, glancing apprehensively towards the open door. A woman stepped into the doorway, looking ashamed, frightened, and anxious simultaneously. Sharona. Sharona was back.