A/N: Just you all know, I had a full chapter written up a couple of nights ago, but I wasn't sure of it, so I sent it via e-mail to a friend of mine, but before she even e-mailed me back, I changed my mind and wrote a completely different chapter! Personally, this one is so much better than the other one I wrote. Anyway, I hope everyone's vacation (or whatever) is going well. Know what I noticed? This is my first T (or PG-13, as it used to be in the old days) fic on this site. Or ever, quite frankly. Since I already replied to the reviews I received for the last chapter, I will now proceed to the third chapter!
Chapter Three: Monk's Offer
As Monk was contemplating turning around and making a hasty retreat, Natalie appeared behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, at which, Monk cringed and side-stepped.
Natalie raised an eyebrow in confusion. He never did that to me before, Natalie thought, wondering what would have happened to cause this sudden regression. "Mr. Monk, is something wrong?" she asked. She only left him alone for five minutes, for crying out loud! What on earth was wrong with that man? It was then she noticed Ivette sitting in the chair, crying. Disher was in a squatting position next to the chair, note pad in his hand, trying to pry any helpful information from the poor woman. With each passing question Ivette's eyes would produce more tears and her sobs would begin again. Randy couldn't take it anymore. He put down his notepad and pen and turned into a "big brother" and patted Ivette's hand comfortingly, saying, "It's okay. We'll find him. I promise."
The wheels in Natalie's mind started turning. Who was this woman? Was she the daughter of the victim? Niece, employee, even? Her mind itched to know the answer. She slid past Monk carefully, so as not to touch him again and perhaps make him regress even further. She then sat on her knees in front of Ivette and her chair. Disher saw this and stopped comforting Ivette long enough to whisper in Natalie's ear about the woman's situation.
Natalie's eyes welled up with tears and she placed a hand over her mouth. She pushed herself up on her knees, flinging her arms around Ivette and pulling her into a tight hug. Ivette cried into Natalie's shoulder, grateful that this strange woman cared enough to let her do just that.
Monk was feeling uncomfortable. He was fine when he himself cried, but when others cried, he felt like running away. Except for Trudy. He remembered those few times when his beloved late wife would cry. He remembered when an aunt of her's he had never even heard of died. As soon as the phone call from her mother came, she had fallen into his strong arms, crying into his chest. He had wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if to block out anything else that would cause his precious Trudy to feel more pain. He would have given the world to prevent her from ever being that upset again. That same feeling was creeping up on him - fast. I don't even know this woman! he told himself. But his sweet, gentleman instincts when it came to those in need that he had thought died along with Trudy reminded him that she may be a stranger, but she needed help. Trudy would want me to help her. . .Wouldn't she? He softly nodded in response to his own, silent question.
When he stopped thinking and asking himself questions, he noticed Natalie was sitting back on her legs, wiping away her tears and Ivette was wiping away her own. Monk rolled his shoulders, as he usually did when he was uncomfortable. Natalie grabbed his attention again unintentionally by speaking up. "I don't think you should stay here," she told Ivette firmly. "You need to go somewhere, like a friend's or a family member's?"
Ivette shook her head. "I don't have any friends," she said. "I don't have any living family, either."
That voice in his head that told Monk Ivette needed protecting was getting louder. It was almost unbearable. This time, though, Monk listened, because Monk had to face it - that voice was not going to shut up anytime soon. Monk raised a hand in the air, index finger pointing to the ceiling as if he was back in school. "Uh. . .Natalie?" he timidly ventured. Natalie looked up at her boss and waited for him to finish. "Sh-she could. . .you know. . .stay with me?" He had meant it to be a strong statement, but his timid nature turned his strong intentions into a weak question. "I-I could use a maid," he added. He didn't really; his friends knew that. Adrian Monk didn't need a maid, he was one himself!
Natalie stared at Monk as if he had just grown three more heads and four more arms. Ivette jumped up out of her chair and threw her arms around Monk. "Gracias, Senor!" Ivette shouted gleefully.
Natalie saw the horrified look on her boss's face and stood up to help him. She gently pulled Ivette off of Monk and ushered her back to her chair. She looked at Monk sternly. "What are you thinking!" she harshly whispered. "You can't take her in! I bet you wouldn't let me temporarily stay with you!"
"That's not true," he told her. "I'm not so 'self-involved' that I can't help others."
After a long day of investigations, helping Ivette cope with the doctors at the hospital and the questioning from Stottlemeyer and Disher, Natalie pulled her car up to the curb by Monk's apartment building. For the first time since Natalie worked for him, she saw Monk do something extraordinary - he took out Ivette's lone suitcase from the back of the car (with a wipe, of course) and carried it inside. Natalie was in awe at her employer's actions.
As Monk lugged the suitcase up to his apartment, Natalie escorted Ivette in the same direction, right behind Monk. When he reached the door, he placed the suitcase down beside him and fished out his keys from his coat pocket. He flung the door open and walked through it, suitcase in hand. He walked into the living room and placed the suitcase beside the couch. He walked to his hall closet and pulled out a blanket, a sheet and a pillow (all of which were in individual air-tight bags) and placed them on the living room couch. He did all this without a single word to any of the two women, who stood in the living room watching him set things up.
Monk was making Ivette a bed on the couch when Natalie walked over and whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I was wrong." Monk didn't turn around or even stop ridding the wrinkle that was in the middle of the blanket. He just nodded his head in acknowledgment. That was enough for Natalie. She walked to the door waving. "Good night, guys." she said, as she went out the door.
Ivette walked towards Monk. "Senor Monk," she said.
Monk stopped and turned around to face her, but he didn't look her in the eyes. He seemed uncomfortable being alone with her. What I've I gotten myself into? He pondered.
"I can handle it from here. You look tired, senor. Go to bed, get some rest." She waved her hands at him, like she was gently shooing away a cat. Monk left and retreated to his bedroom. There, he considered taking a shower, but something stopped him. I can't take a shower with Ivette here! Maybe. . .I'll wait until she falls asleep. Yeah! Then, I don't have to worry about her. . .I should probably get her some towels of her own and get mine out of the bathroom before she uses them, though. He stood up and rushed to bathroom and opened the door. Unfortunately for both parties, Ivette was in the process of stripping to take a shower. Monk's eyes widened in embarrassment for intruding on Ivette's shower preparations, and quickly closed the door and went back to his bedroom, face crimson red.
Maybe this wasn't one of my best ideas. . .
