A/N: Thank you THANK YOU so much for your reviews! You have been so encouraging and your excitement for the next chapter got me finishing this up much sooner than I had originally intended—along with the addition of some scenes! This is a rather long chapter, I must warn you! Please let me know if you'd like to see more!

Two hours later and Monk and Natalie were sitting in the SFPD office speaking to the responding officer about the wreck.

"They seemed like decent enough guys," the cop admitted. "Cooper—the guy who was in the SUV—was totally apologetic."

"Did you find out anything on him?"

"Apparently he filed bankruptcy several months ago…. Must've gotten out of it since then, because he didn't seem to be upset that he'd be forking over the insurance deductible."

"What about the other guy?" Monk asked, his tone insistent, touching the man's desk lamp with a tentative finger as he spoke. "Pete Grimmalter. Did he say anything?"

The officer gave Monk a weird look but didn't say anything about the lamp, confirming his newness in the department. "Grimmalter asked me if exchanging info in the guy's car was illegal, and I said no."

"Did he say anything about his wife?"

"Why's that, Mr. Monk?" Of course this young rookie cop wasn't familiar with the disappearance case. He was part of a different branch of the force, one that involved writing out speeding tickets and citing people for moving violations. He wouldn't have been informed about Grimmalter's wife.

"She disappeared a week ago," Monk replied, his face in a kind of squint. "Did he mention her?"

"Really? Didn't know that. Well, he didn't say anything about her directly—" –Monk's face fell at what seemed to be a dead end, then the man continued. "—but I do recall him mentioning that he was wearing her jacket."

Monk scrunched up his face with confusion. Right. The ill-fitting bright blue jacket that Grimmalter was wearing. It clearly wasn't his jacket and could certainly be a woman's.

"What made him say that? Did you ask him about it?"

"No," the man replied. "He just said he got into the guy's car because he didn't want the jacket he was wearing—his wife's jacket—to shrink any more from the rain."

"Why would he have chosen to wear his wife's clothes?" Monk asked aloud, to no one in particular. It was odd, considering she had taken most of their life savings and possibly been cheating on him. Therein followed a silence in which he considered the implications. Finally he turned back to the officer.

"Is there anything else you remember about Grimmalter?"

The cop scratched his head and shrugged.

"Not really, just a run-of-the-mill filing of an accident report."

"I do recall him not getting into your car so that you could take down the information," Monk noted. "You all just stood next to the SUV."

"That's true. What are you getting at, Mr. Monk? I'm not sure what you're implying…."

"Oh, nothing yet," Monk added hastily. "It just doesn't all add up…."

"I don't understand how you can notice something not happening," Natalie commented, as they left their impromptu interview of the officer.

"What do you mean?"

"Like Grimmalter not getting into the cop's car. How do you notice things like that?"

"He was more than willing to get into the SUV of the guy that hit him. For someone to be so concerned about rain one minute and the next not to care, it's very strange."

Natalie couldn't help but roll her eyes. Monk was actually looking for things that didn't happen in an attempt to strengthen his case against Grimmalter.

"I'd like to get copies of the case folder on Maggie Grimmalter," he muttered. "While we're here, we can kill two birds."

Natalie listened for him to finish his sentence, but that was it.

"You didn't finish the saying," Natalie pointed out. "It's 'kill two birds with one—"

"See, you just noticed me not saying something," Monk interrupted, looking satisfied. "It's not so strange."

"Alright; you got me," she admitted, putting her hands up in surrender.

"You do realize this is officially a missing persons case," Captain Stottlemeyer told Monk as he handed him the copy of the file on Maggie Grimmalter.

"I realize that."

"But if you do think of somethin', be sure to let me know. We already questioned Grimmalter and the guy seems blameless enough…."

"Do you have any cases you'd like to officially hire Adrian for?" Natalie piped up. It had been more than two weeks since Monk had made any money and so help her, this pseudo-case wasn't going to be the sole focus of the next several weeks, a case with no benefit to him. She had to look out for Monk, being as he was rather timid in demanding pay raises and the like. She had to be his champion.

"We really got nothin' at the moment, being as the economy sucks so bad right now. Interestingly enough, San Francisco violent crime has plummeted since the whole financial crisis-slash-housing collapse. It's a good thing, but also kinda bad for us in a way."

"A blessing… and a curse," Monk added.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," the captain replied, sitting back down in his desk chair with a smile. "Wanna stick around for awhile? I think we're gonna have a pizza delivered to the station in about a half hour."

"No thanks, Captain. I'm going to read this case file over," he said, indicating the folder. He flashed a big excited smile at Natalie. "Besides, it's chicken pot pie night!"

Natalie and Adrian went back to her house for the evening, Adrian settling onto her couch with the folder as she headed into the kitchen to begin preparation of the chicken pot pies. He remained largely silent as he scanned through the information in the file. Eventually he grew tired of what he was reading and stood up.

"Find anything interesting?" Natalie inquired, glad to see him moving around again. Monk's expression was that of disappointment.

"They searched the house, the cars—and didn't find anything. No blood, no sign of a struggle, no notes or anything. But here's the thing: she didn't take either of their cars the day of her disappearance. The neighbors said both cars sat in the driveway all day. The police are writing it off as her keeping a low profile by taking the bus, but I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean? That makes perfect sense. I've taken the bus to the airport before."

"Does the bus stop near your bank?" Monk asked her. "That's the bank where she withdrew the money that morning."

She thought for a moment as she put the pot pies in the oven. There was indeed a bus stop outside of the bank—she recalled that it had been vandalized a few years back with baseball bats. The shards of glass had been littered all over the road and had given her a flat tire when she pulled into the bank parking lot, which sat right next to the bus stop. Monk had insisted on getting out of the car and individually picking up every glass shard before they could leave. Needless to say, he had not helped in changing her flat tire.

"How could you forget—you don't remember the flat tire I had—and the glass everywhere? Unfortunately there is a bus stop there. It makes perfect sense now; don't you see?" Natalie said, throwing up her hands. "She took the bus."

"Here's the thing," he began haltingly. "The bus stop she would have walked to from her house is a couple blocks up the street from their house, which means that she'd be seen by her neighbors. And if she had any luggage she'd had to have dragged it into the bank with her—which she didn't. The tellers would have mentioned that in their police interviews, but they didn't."

"I thought you were done with noticing things not being said," Natalie cut in. "Guess I was wrong."

"Half of what makes up a case is what isn't done and what isn't said. There's a kind of balance—a symmetry. Now, what I'd like to do are see the tapes from the bank's video recordings—and talk to Grimmalter about that day."

Natalie's eyebrows rose.

"How are you going to do that? He already talked to the police, right?"

"He did, but he was prepared for that. We need to catch him off-guard and just ask him a couple of questions. He'll be unsuspecting."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

He cleared his throat, looking immensely uncomfortable with what he was going to say next.

"I was thinking… you could meet with him—in a public place."

"You want me to talk alone with a possible murderer?!" she replied, her voice harsh but low.

"Now you think he's a murderer? I thought you said—"

"I don't know what to think!" she spat. "You want to put my life at risk because you want to learn more about some guy that isn't involved with your life at all!"

"Your life wouldn't be at risk, Natalie. I'd be there."

Really though, it wasn't just the issue of her safety that pitted Natalie against this idea. She had been hoping deep within her psyche that her fiancé's obsession with her ex was merely a case of jealousy. The fact that he wanted her to meet with this man one-on-one quelled that, hurting her feelings rather unexpectedly in the process.

"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "He's not going to talk to you! Remember what I told him? You're a famous detective!"

"Ahh," Monk said with a throaty sound. "And that explains why he excused himself right after you told him about me. He's hiding something, Natalie."

"If that's true, why should I be the one to discover it? I don't care either way about what he did or didn't do. There's no benefit to your pursuing this case—you're not going to get some kind of award for risking my life, no less!"

His expression became glum as he strode toward the kitchen. When he spoke again, his voice was light and timid.

"Don't you think that if he's responsible for his wife's disappearance that he should pay?"

Natalie spun around, feeling her rage building stronger and stronger. How dare he ask this of her!

"You would be risking my safety—and there's the possibility that you'd find out nothing. If he killed her, don't you think he's capable of killing me? I'm not just your pushover assistant anymore. I'm your fiancée."

His face fell, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically as he took a slow breath. Even so, he didn't seem completely convinced.

"I know, I know," Adrian replied impatiently. "I just have one—one thing. He's an addiction counselor, right?" Monk asked.

"Uh, yeah?" Natalie replied, her arms crossed protectively in front of her.

"Why don't you schedule an appointment at his office, talk to him at work. You were a gambling addict at one point, right? I'd go with you—though obviously not into his office. He wouldn't dare do—"

"That's how I met him in the first place," Natalie replied with a sneer.

"What—you mean, you saw him as a counselor?"

"Yes—and then I started seeing him." She felt completely violated at this… this thing Monk wanted her to do. Not only did he not feel even a bit protective of her, but also he was pushing her into the mouth of the beast—someone she'd hoped he'd want her to steer clear of!

"Doesn't that violate doctor-patient—"

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. Monk wrinkled his brow distastefully.

"I thought you were with Mitch when you were addicted to gambling."

"I'd been addicted to gambling since my early twenties, before I met Mitch. I started going to Pete's office to get over the addiction and as you can guess, it didn't work."

"So it's already been established with him that you have a gambling problem—and he didn't fix it. So he won't suspect you at all if you go see him."

Instead of replying, Natalie turned around and stormed upstairs, her eyes suddenly feeling hot. Adrian's nonchalance about this whole task he wanted her to perform hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn't an even relationship—she didn't expect him to change his quirks, habits, or fears, but he expected her to meet up with a past lover who'd possibly murdered his wife! Did Adrian not have one ounce of regard for her safety? He had been insensitive to her in the past, but she figured those days were behind her now that they were to be married. Adrian Monk had hurt her more than she ever imagined he could.

Adrian Monk was extremely confused by Natalie's reaction. What he had proposed to her he figured would be the simplest way to extract information from Pete Grimmalter without raising his suspicion. He never dreamed she'd respond in such a way. Yes, the two of them had a past, but he trusted Natalie—and he trusted that she'd keep any of Grimmalter's advances at bay. He'd be right there in the waiting room, for God's sake! Was there something he was missing?

Sighing audibly, he began the long trudge up the stairs to where she was presumably locked in her bathroom, the only door of the house that locked. His footfalls over the carpeted hardwood floor were louder than his liking, and he stopped in front of the bathroom at the end of the hall, the sniffling from inside confirming his intuition.

Then it hit him: Natalie was crying! Oh God, what had he done?

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Adrian leaned his head against the bathroom door, unsure of what to say first. Before he could utter a word he cleared his throat.

"Natalie?" he mumbled. "Natalie, what's wrong?"

"Just go away," she replied, the acoustics of the bathroom making her voice seem louder. It was a good thing Julie was over at a friend's house for the evening. Though she hadn't allowed herself to actually cry, her nose was trying desperately to run.

"Wh-what happened downstairs?" he muttered. "I—I don't know what happened, because one minute you were fine and the next—you're up here."

"If you can't figure it out, I feel sorry for you."

"Join the club," Monk muttered, scoffing silently. Even so, now was not the time to attempt to evoke pity from her. Something he had said or done had hurt her and she was now angry with him. This was about her, not about him.

"I'm not good at this kind of thing," he muttered with his head down, jiggling the locked doorknob. He noticed a nick in the door and thumbed it idly, trying to remember if Natalie had any varnish to fix it.

"What kind of thing?" she retorted quickly.

"Uhm," he murmured, having been interrupted from his goal of getting varnish. "This—emotional, kind of… thing. I haven't lived with a woman for—"

"You wouldn't ask this of Trudy," Natalie interrupted. She hated to bring up the name, but it was perhaps the only thing he'd understand.

"Wait—what are you talking about?" He was instantly alarmed. Why had she mentioned Trudy in all of this? What did his late wife have to do with Pete Grimmalter and Natalie's current state of mind?

"You wouldn't ask Trudy to meet with a possible murderer," Natalie shot.

"She was a journalist, Natalie," he replied, his voice earnest. The nick in the door had to be at least half a centimeter long. How had he not noticed it before? "She did that on her own," he added. "Several times a week she'd go to the prisons…"

"That's different," Natalie cut in. "Those people were behind bars. There's a real threat here. Something bad could happen. Don't you think about that?"

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," he said, leaning more heavily on the door. "Why don't you come out of the bathroom?"

"Ha!" she replied, her tone dripping with bitterness. "I'd rather stay in here; thank you very much."

"Natalie, I—I just—have a feeling that there's more to Grimmalter than meets the eye," Monk explained, unable to stop staring at the nick. "He wasn't the least bit mad at the guy who hit his car. His wife just left him and took almost all of their life savings. He should be a basket case. You saw him. He seemed just fine."

"Maybe the end of his marriage was a long time in the making. Maybe he knew it was coming." Her tone was as cold as ice.

"Even if that's true, I'm sure he didn't expect her to clean out most of their savings. That alone should've enraged him. He's hiding something."

There was about ten seconds in which a thick expectant silence hung in the air. Natalie spoke next, her voice now closer to the bathroom door. Perhaps she was feeling better!

"What about the SUV?" she asked. "Why are you focusing on Pete and not the other guy? It was he who barreled through the intersection and caused the wreck."

"Because as far as I know, the other guy doesn't have a missing wife."

"You just don't get it, do you?" she spat, her voice further from the door now. "I'm really upset that you're asking me to do this even though you know how I feel about it." Monk sighed silently as he stared at the door, running his finger along the lines of the wood grain. This was so new to him and yet he had experienced it years before, with Trudy: someone's moods being affected by him. It was a strange feeling to realize that what he said and didn't say and did and didn't do could drive Natalie to be angry or upset and not just in an unappreciated assistant kind of way as had been customary. This was a more personal kind of pain, something that hit closer to him than before. As he stood by the door feeling drained of all energy, he realized that it was hurting him to hurt her feelings.

With her completely silent behind the locked door, Adrian felt fear creep into his mind, an overwhelming cloud that suppressed any other thought—the cooking chicken pot pie, the nick on the bathroom door, the wine stain on the third stair. Thinking of Natalie in that bathroom, her face red, chest heaving with anger and her vision shaking with adrenaline, made him afraid. And not for his own personal health or safety; he was afraid that she didn't love him anymore.

It was then that something hit him: he was asking the woman who loved him to meet with a man he believed to have murdered his wife just because Natalie had personal ties with him in the past. Trudy had been killed under a similar situation, in the investigation of a cold murder case. Ethan Rickover had been the murderer then, and he had certainly not been behind bars. Monk immediately felt cold all over, like he had just been dunked into a vat of ice water. Guilt and shame flooded him. He had been stupid and had it not been for Natalie's common sense, she might have ended up just like Trudy. And it would have been all his fault. The thought was almost too much to bear.

"Natalie," he called out, his voice catching in his throat. His face was now hot with shame.

"Forget it, Adrian."

"I'm sorry—Natalie," he blurted into the door. It was certainly easier to apologize to a door than it was right to her face but he had done it. He did not have the gift of easy speech, and explaining all that he had just thought in his head was next to impossible. What would she say now?

He was met with silence. Had an apology not been good enough? What was he supposed to say? He pondered it as Natalie remained stubbornly silent behind the locked bathroom door.

"You don't have to see Grimmalter," he said, feeling smaller and smaller. "I shouldn't have asked you to do that. Can you come out of there now?"

It had been too soon, he realized with a sigh. He should have given her another minute or two and then asked her to come out of the bathroom.

"Natalie, please forget that I ever asked. I was stupid," he said, gesturing with his hand as well even though she couldn't see it. "I won't mention the guy again."

"Are you just saying that?" she said quietly, after a beat. He hesitated. Was he simply making up a lie to get her out of the bathroom and back to smiling and making chicken pot pie?

No. It wasn't worth the risk to Natalie's own safety to find out about a guy that Natalie was obviously extremely uncomfortable talking about. Natalie had never forced him to rehash the day his father left or the countless torrents of bullying all through his school years or the day that Trudy died or his wealth of regrets on things he had and hadn't done in his marriage—and he was thankful for that. And now was not the time to begin doing things he'd regret.

"No; I'm not just saying that. I wasn't thinking, Natalie…. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

He waited for what seemed like an eternity as silence answered him. He felt utterly ashamed and had it not been for the door, he would have fallen to his knees.

"Okay," Natalie finally replied, her voice low. He heard her footfalls headed for the door, and stared downwards in an attempt to see her shadow under the door.

As she opened the door, Adrian hadn't yet taken his weight off of it and he stumbled towards her, his body colliding with hers in front of the claw foot tub.

Just before she could run into the tub with the back of her calves, he wrapped his arms around her and halted the momentum of the movement. They were pressed flush against each other, his face leaning on her shoulder, head down and face buried in her shirt. She felt him clutch her tightly to him, the movement of his chest muscles as he held her silently, and she wrapped her arms around him in kind.

"I'm in no danger of falling now," Natalie said to break the silence, her statement half in jest regarding just how tightly he was clinging to her now, like he couldn't let her go.

"I can't lose you," he mumbled, his hot breath on her shoulder, disregarding what she had said. "Can you forgive me?"

"It's okay, Adrian. You're not going to lose me," she replied as she soothingly rubbed his back, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotion from Monk. It wasn't often that Adrian Monk unabashedly hugged anyone; well, come to think of it—the reversal of the Earth's magnetic poles probably happened more often.

It was then that Monk pulled his head back so that he was now looking into Natalie's eyes, his face mere inches from her own. Her breath caught in her throat at this proximity. It was as if his blush of shame was emanating heat. At the sight of Natalie's tear-free and faintly smiling visage, a big toothy smile instantaneously spread across Monk's face.

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that," he murmured, his smile remaining. He leaned towards her and her heart caught in her throat. His lips parted as if to speak. She could only smile and anticipate what he would say. She noticed that the top button of his collar was open, exposing curls of dark hair. It was amazing how something so seemingly innocuous could get her so hot and bothered.

"I was wondering… if you have something I can use…." he began haltingly.

"Yes?" she replied quickly, pulling him closer against her body as she spoke. Oh my God. Is he asking for a—

"—do you have any varnish?"

Natalie's face instantly twisted into one of confusion. At the sight of her mood change, Monk's smile disappeared.

"Why?" she managed to ask, crestfallen.

"Because there's a—there's a nick on the bathroom... door," he sputtered, now looking embarrassed. Her look of confusion never left her face and he knew that he had interrupted a rare moment. "Uhm, never mind," he corrected, shaking his head and shutting his eyes. "It can wait."

"Are you sure?" she asked in an innocent tone of voice. Was he seriously going to ignore one of his compulsions to continue this intimate moment?

"Definitely," he replied, his eyes playful, mouth drawn up like a bow. "It can definitely wait." His bear-like hug became looser around her waist but now his hands were clutching her back with need as his naughty smile continued, his eyes boring into hers.

Adrian Monk's gaze was so intense she could have swooned. Natalie glanced again at the curls of dark hair exposed at the junction of his collarbones, and watched his Adam's apple rise and fall. When her eyes again locked on his, a brazen come-hither look now on her face, Adrian Monk could only grunt as he promptly pushed her up against the wall, planting his hands on the wall on either side of her with that mischievous grin still on his face. This was one side of Adrian Monk she had not yet seen, a side she wanted to see more of… right now. She found herself praying an odd prayer as she anticipated his next move: please, chicken pot pies; bake slowly and don't set off the smoke alarm!

A/N: Cliffhanger! So, do you want to see more? Do you want to see less? Are Adrian and Natalie in character? Any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated!