A/N: I'm sorry it took me a while to post this chapter! I had written up about half this chapter a couple of days ago, but my word processor didn't save it and I lost everything! It definitely got me down, because I had been so happy with that draft! In my other chapters, I had some idea before I posted the previous chapter what my next chapter would be about! This one I began writing only after the last chapter was posted. Some of your ideas have been incorporated, so I hope you'll enjoy that! Anyway, please let me know what you think about this chapter! I do already have some ideas for where the next chapter will go, so hopefully it won't take as long to post as this very long chapter did! Thank you all (ALEX, SpaceCadet47, MonkNat08, Monkfan, Monkwriter, Frenho) for your kind reviews and your very encouraging feedback!

Natalie took in the view in front of her: Adrian Monk standing very close to her, his hairy hands on the wall on either side of her. His top button was undone, affording her the smallest peek of the chest hair between his collarbones, his full lips curled into a smile she had perhaps only seen on him once or twice before. And to think that ten minutes ago she was unbelievably angry with this man in front of her, this man who seemed more than willing to work for her forgiveness. At that time, she had not believed he could hurt her so badly with his words, but now she was in a different yet similar situation. Adrian Monk, the once-called 'defective detective', had ignited fire within her—and dare she think it, passion. If it were up to her she'd have promptly ripped his shirt right off of him and had him right there, but then, he'd probably be fixated on locating and re-affixing the buttons that would've flown off during the encounter.

All the while Adrian couldn't help but think of how this image of Natalie standing before him would forever be ingrained in his memory. Her back was up against the wall, palms flat against the wall, legs side by side, very symmetrically standing in front of him. She had no shoes on, but rather a flowy semi-sheer jacket over a tight, short-sleeved green top made of some kind of lightweight material. Though Trudy had more of a—well, a décolletage than Natalie, the angle of Natalie's shoulders narrowing down to a tiny waist and back into a pair of symmetrical hips was all woman. Her legs were bare below the knee, a black skirt made of some kind of synthetic material covering her from waist to knee level, outlining the curve of her hip then moving downward and inward to follow the shape of her long slender legs. God, how had he not noticed that before—that womanly symmetry, that hourglass figure? His eyes wandered upward, a kind of strange hot pressure stirring in his entire body, a sensation so unfamiliar to him it was downright terrifying. His eyes moved furtively to her neck, her jaw line, and finally settled on her face. Her mouth was drawn up into a naughty little smile, her eyes sparkling at him, almost daring him to try something, anything.

"Natalie, I—" he began haltingly, his eyes dropping for an instant then returning as if ashamed.

"You don't need to say anything," she murmured, her little grin returning immediately thereafter.

It was all so much pressure! His brain was utterly throbbing. Could this be the time that things would go further? He wasn't prepared at all! He wanted her; God, he wanted just to be completely normal and do completely normal things for once! Life was so difficult! What, if suddenly in the midst of things, he was reminded of why he had avoided these kinds of acts for so many years? The sweat, the smell, the… fluids. No! He couldn't think about this now! For God's sake, he hadn't even so much as kissed her yet! To be so presumptuous as to suppose it could go any further was not his M.O. No, it won't go any further, he told himself. But then—how had I let go before? Did I have to chant some kind of mantra? I don't remember!

His mind was for the moment being trumped by the subconscious response of his body to this woman who wanted him, this woman willingly allowing herself to be trapped between his hands. His bodily response to her was alarming to say the least and he dared not look below Natalie's shoulder level. Rather, he concentrated on breathing normally between the rapid thuds of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. His eyes were immediately drawn to the sight of the very tip of Natalie's tongue moistening her lower lip and soon his body was no longer under his conscious control.

As Natalie gazed deeply and intensely into his eyes, she saw him approaching her, eyes locked on hers as if refusing to let her out of his sight. Her smile widened as it became apparent that he was going to do it. Kiss me, dammit! her brain yelled and then she felt Adrian's lips unite with her own. His hands, which had been on the wall, now moved to her hips and she found herself wrapping her arms around his back, pulling him closely against her body. Wait a second….

A piercing alarm cut through the thick silence of the moment, startling the pair so much that they staggered sideways, their blossoming kiss breaking in the process.

"What's that?" Adrian said with a slur, his body language indicating definite disappointment. That entire argument had escalated into a rather wonderful opportunity for them to make up and more. And now that damn chicken pot pie….

"The chicken pot pies," she murmured, self-consciously straightening her shirt. "In the oven."

"They're ruined," he mumbled glumly, throwing his hands up in despair. "And it's all my fault."

"What makes you say that?" she replied quickly. "Believe me; what was going on the meantime just now was—"

"Ruined as well," he cut in, looking crestfallen.

"Not necessarily," she corrected, holding up a finger and moving towards the door. "Let me just take it out of the oven and I'll be back."

"I can just come with you," he offered. "You may need some help."

"Don't worry about it, Adrian," she said soothingly. "I'll be fine. I've burned plenty of food over the years."

She had to use all her will power to move away from him towards the kitchen. As she headed down the hallway, Monk spoke up.

"Do you have a fire extinguisher?" he suddenly asked her, his face earnest.

"Of course," she replied, confused. A fire extinguisher would be an overreaction. More than likely a bit of the pie had spilled out of the pie pan and fallen on the heating elements. Electric stoves had their disadvantages….

"Where is it?"

"In the hall closet there," she indicated, pointing at a door near the bathroom.

"You mean, you don't have one in the kitchen?"

"No, I keep it up here. Just in case there's a fire in the bedrooms." Just then she blushed crimson. Her words had quite the double meaning and it amused her. If it wasn't for those damn pot pies, who knows what kind of fire may have erupted?

"You need at least two, Natalie, though I'd prefer one in every room," he responded, the double entendre clearly going over his head. "At least with two it's even."

"Remind me next time we go shopping and I'll pick up one," she replied, continuing on her way.

"You never can be too careful," he said, his voice trailing off. She turned around fully and gave him a mischievous little smile. At her intense stare, he looked at himself and shrugged, painfully self-aware.

"Okay; I guess it's possible."

A bevy of cleaning supplies met Monk as he opened the closet door, with mops and brooms of all heights leaning towards him. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and deftly shut the door before they all fell, reminding himself to clean it out sometime soon. What was he kidding? The hard part was trying to forget to do it.

As he descended the stairs, he noticed Natalie opening the stove without oven mitts on. Just as he was about to call out for her to be more careful, a giant fireball erupted from the oven, causing Natalie to backpedal too quickly and fall on her backside in front of the stove. The flames burped out from the oven, causing her to make a sound of surprise as she scrambled away from the intense heat.

His mind reeled. Without thinking, he pulled the pin on the extinguisher and ran towards the stove at full speed, dousing the fire and the oven with the stream from the extinguisher. Immediately afterwards he used his fingers to deftly turn off the oven. Natalie was still lying on the floor, stunned from what had just occurred.

Immediately Monk closed the oven door, put down the extinguisher and squatted down beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," she said, straightening her arms so that she was now in a seated position with her arms supporting her.

"You need another fire extinguisher—"

"I know. I'll get one," she replied, readying herself for a lecture on safety. She waited for the "here's the thing" that would begin a buzz-blowing conversation.

"Let me help you get up," he said warmly, standing up and offering her his hand. So he was going to let it slide! She took his hand without another word.

Once Natalie was standing, they surveyed the damage. Pieces of the white foamy stream from the extinguisher were splattered all over the stove and the chicken pot pies probably looked like coconut cream pies inside the oven. It was a complete disaster.

"You know, Adrian," she said, squeezing his hand as she spoke. "When I met you, you couldn't put out a trashcan fire. Now look at you!"

"I wasn't thinking," he admitted, realizing that they were still holding hands and yet not wanting to let go. "I didn't even stand 8 feet away—I was probably only 4 feet away. I just saw you fall and I didn't think about reading the directions…."

"My hero," she murmured, turning herself so that she was now facing him. Her face lingered close to his own, her breath light and warm on his face. He felt her free hand snake its way between his shoulder blades, resting firmly in the center of his back. She spoke, her voice a bit deeper than usual. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, we were about to—"

"To clean the oven," he replied, interrupting her. The look he received in reply was that of disappointment. When he continued, his discomfort was obvious. He threw up his free hand in frustration. "It's just… we can't let it just sit here like this…."

"It can wait," she responded. "It's not going anywhere."

"Here's the thing—that extinguisher residue… it's going to get hard and stick to the metal of your stove. We need to get it off before it does that."

"Silly Adrian," she teased, appearance positively naughty, "you can't get it off before it gets hard."

"What?" he asked, completely naïve to any kind of dirty talk. Okay, so that most certainly was never going to be effective. She wrote that off in her mind. "Yes, you can. It's actually really—"

"You're my hero, running down here and putting out that fire," she blurted. "Now I want to repay you."

Now she was using the hand entwined with his own to move his hand behind her back. Once his hand was around her waist, she released the handhold and wrapped her arms around Adrian's back. With a sly little smile on her face, she walked them both back into the living room.

"It was nothing…" he muttered.

"It was everything," she replied, her face moving towards his.

Their lips united once more, and the hot pressure in Adrian's system was back again as if it had never left. He could feel the warm breath exiting Natalie's nostrils as they kissed, the feeling of her warm body against his, her hands shifting around on his back, making strange motions upwards as they grasped his clothing. It seemed that she was trying to untuck his shirt from his trousers, but why would she be doing that? She was making little sounds that were clouding his rational thoughts and the only reminder of his physical body was the feeling of his shirt being untucked from around his waist.

Adrian couldn't help but shiver as Natalie untucked the back part of his shirt, her fingers contacting bare flesh. But what was the reason for the shiver? Was it because of anticipation or simply because he wasn't used to that portion of skin being exposed in any way?

It was then that Natalie broke the kiss for a moment and removed her hands from his back, giving him a grin that only meant one thing. Her hands now moved to her shoulders, and she shrugged off the jacket she'd been wearing. He was instantly alarmed, and looked around the room.

The window treatments in Natalie's house were not opaque enough to block out all light and movement. They were simple venetian blinds and were there more for style than for function! It would be as if they were in public, and that he couldn't abide. The kitchen's stained glass window somewhere behind them had no window treatments of any kind, for God's sake! Reason had taken over and his mind was working in overdrive, slowing down his heartbeat, his breathing; no, this wasn't going to work….

"What's wrong?" Natalie's voice cut through his thoughts, sensing his discomfort.

"It's just—this room. It's so… big and open—and visible from the road. It's like… being in public…."

"Well then, let's go upstairs!" she quickly suggested. "Problem solved!" She took his hand in her own and took a step towards the hallway. He didn't budge.

"Wait! Here's the thing—" he began, feeling overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. "It's just—I haven't—"

"Haven't what?"

"Uhm, it's just…I, uhm… I don't know how to say this…"

"You haven't done this before?" she stated boldly. He froze for a moment, taken aback by her brazenness.

"No, it's not that," he began haltingly, his face turning red with embarrassment. This was not a subject he liked to discuss. "I have, but it's been so long and—"

"Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'll go slowly. Everything will be—"

"It's this… this side of you," he admitted. "It's just—very new to me, and as you know I'm not very good with change."

"You don't like this change?" she asked him, a pout on her face. His eyes went wide and mouth fell open.

"Oh, I—I do. I just—it just takes some getting used to, that's all…."

"It's not that, Adrian; you need to get used to this side of you. You have such highly-developed instincts; you can read people, understand motives, know where people hide things…. You also have a natural instinct—maybe it's been neglected for awhile… but you have the capacity to do it all; to kiss, to touch, to—"

"Alright," he interrupted, shutting his eyes. "But Natalie, your house is so… open and un-private. Julie lives here!"

"She's not here right now…."

"But if something happened… here, and she then stands here in this… spot, it's like she was—is here."

"Well, Julie doesn't hang out in my bedroom," Natalie replied curtly. She had to get things going if she was to remain feeling as hot and bothered as she was about ten minutes ago. Eventually Monk's reasoning would wear her down and she'd lose the feeling. Adrian was her fiancé and it was about time they began enjoying the kinds of things that fiancés did.

Monk could only stare at her, his face paling considerably. It was likely that he'd never been hit on so aggressively. How could she get through to him? Was this a self-esteem issue or a germ issue? She didn't get a chance to ask.

Her cell phone rang loud and clear on the kitchen counter. She let it ring twice without making a move to answer it, but the look of insistence from Monk made her change her mind.

It was Captain Stottlemeyer.

"Hey Natalie," he said. She replied with a half-hearted hello.

"Did I catch you at a bad time? I can call back later," he replied.

"No, it's not that," she said. "What's up?"

"Well, it's the oddest thing. The Golden Bay Bank—"

Natalie inadvertently gasped. That was the name of her bank.

"It's the one on First and Harbor—I think that's your bank, Natalie."

"Yes," she muttered. "What happened?"

" It was held up a half hour ago. The thing is, though the robber entered the vault, they can't figure out what he or she took."

"Hold on for a second; let me put you on speaker," she told the captain. Monk walked towards her, and the captain repeated what he'd just said.

"How did the robber get there?" Monk asked.

"We don't know. They haven't started reviewing the tapes, but if you want to head down to the bank, it'd be a big help."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No. No one saw a gun, either."

"Why are you calling me then? No one was hurt and nothing was taken. It sounds like a failed bank robbery."

"Well, I realize that you haven't had a case in a couple of weeks. This is a good way to make some money again. And it wasn't a failed bank robbery—the robber was let into the vault, took out the cameras there, and got away well before the cops arrived."

Monk looked a bit disappointed at the captain's reasoning.

"Captain, I don't want you giving me cases because you feel sorry for—"

"We'll take the case!" Natalie blurted. No way was Monk going to pass up on a chance to make money on a case that didn't involve rotting bodies or some horribly violent intentions. Monk's reluctance to follow through with her romantic inclinations had embarrassed her and she was going to try a new method to perhaps get his interest: she was going to cool off and see how he reacted.

"Great. So they're still combing the scene down at the bank. Come on down and take a look."

After the call had ended, Monk couldn't help but watch Natalie with confusion. One minute she was ready to run upstairs and the next she was putting him on a case.

"Well, guess we better get going then!" Natalie exclaimed, walking over to her sloughed-off jacket and slipping it back on. Monk's mouth was slightly ajar as he stood staring at her, his shirt completely untucked. It was so very different seeing him in this light, but she would let him do his thing now and try to get her mind off being rejected by him.

Within twenty minutes Monk and Natalie were standing in the rotunda of the Golden Bay Bank. The SFPD was currently in the process of interviewing the tellers and an electrician had arrived to fix the camera wires that had been snipped. Captain Stottlemeyer spotted Monk and Natalie and strode over to them, noticing that Monk's shirt looked a bit wrinkled and disheveled, though it had been tucked back in well before they'd left Natalie's house. The captain smiled at the implications of that.

"Hey Monk—Natalie," he said with a nod. "So we've been talkin' to the tellers. There are six bags chock full of money sitting inside the vault and though the guy was in there, he didn't bother taking one of those bags. What do you think?"

"I'm… not sure yet," Monk murmured, feeling a strange sense of incompetence today. "I need to know more about what happened." That whole encounter earlier had thrown him off-kilter and his mind was fuzzy. Even more confusing was the fact that Natalie hadn't slipped her hand around his elbow as they walked in.

It was then that the new lieutenant Joe Christie approached Monk and Natalie, extending a hand and then smiling and lowering the hand as he remembered.

"Good to see you again, buddy," he said with a big grin. "Heard you two are engaged. Congrats, guys!"

Monk and Natalie replied simultaneously with thank yous.

"I was hoping I'd see you sooner, but it's been so odd lately. Now that I'm a lieutenant, it's like pulling teeth getting some really meaty cases."

"But isn't that a good thing?" Natalie said.

"Well, yeah, open-and-shut cases are great—but then again, Monk isn't called to work on them. I wanted to congratulate you two sooner." He turned to Monk, beaming. "I'll never forget what you did for me, buddy."

"Don't mention it," Monk replied, embarrassed by the compliment.

"There is one open-but-not-totally-shut case the captain was telling me you kind of stumbled upon—the Maggie Grimmalter disappearance," he said. "This was the place she was last seen."

Monk glanced over at Natalie, keeping his eyes low. He had promised her he wouldn't discuss this case further and curiosity be damned, he wanted to keep his promise.

"What—did you already know that?" Lt. Christie said, giving Monk's shoulder a good-natured pat. Monk could only nod, keeping his eyes low. Christie was a bit perturbed by Monk's lack of opinion on what he had so fervently declared was a murder.

"I should have figured," Lt. Christie continued, filling the awkward silence. "Well, we're pretty confident this robbery isn't connected to that case. This branch is hit at least once a month with some kind of drama—whether a failed robbery attempt or some kind of customer meltdown. This was the first successful robbery—well, I don't know if I'd call it successful, being as we can't figure out what was taken…. It's the first robbery in a good while in which the robber's gotten away."

"Have you figured out how he got away?" Monk asked.

"No, but we figure the robber may have had a driver waiting. We still haven't reviewed the security footage, but we'll be getting to that after we've interviewed all the witnesses and let them get on with their day."

"Ah," Monk replied. He gave Joe Christie a nod with a grim smile and moved towards the teller counter. Christie could only blink at Monk's lack of enthusiasm for this case. Granted, it was boring but he'd never known his former partner to be so… avoidant of a subject.

After an officer had finished interviewing the teller closest to the vault, Monk approached the teller's counter.

"Hello, my name is Adrian Monk and I'm a consultant working with the police department," he began self-consciously. "...So you were working here when the robbery happened?"

"Yes, right at this counter. I was waiting on an older gentleman when the robber came in from that door." She pointed towards the side door of the bank, still clearly shook up.

"So—when the robber came in, what did he do?"

"Well, I don't know if it was a man or a woman—the robber was wearing a ski mask and a big black hooded sweatshirt."

Monk subtly rolled his eyes at the argument of semantics.

"Okay, so what did the robber do?"

"The robber came over to Betty—the teller working beside me—and slipped her a note."

"Did you read the note?"

"N-no, not until after, when the robber went into the vault."

"So after the robber slipped the teller a note, what happened?"

"Well, Betty stayed calm and fetched the vault key from the bank manager, who was sitting in a back office. I hit the alarm button to alert the police when I saw her go back there."

"Oh, so the police were alerted right away? And yet he still had the chance to go into the vault?"

"He? Oh, right, you mean the robber. Yeah, so the robber grabbed the keys off of Betty, unlocked the gate behind the vault door—which was already open—and went inside. The police arrived in less than ten minutes but the robber was already gone by then."

Monk was stuck on something she had said earlier in her explanation. He blinked indignantly.

"Let me understand—the vault door was already open?"

"During the day we keep it open when we're going in and out of it. You know, people bringing in valuables, us transferring them to safety deposit boxes…."

"Ha, safety," Monk scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

"They're hardly safe, if the vault is left open all day."

"Well, we learned our lesson," she replied. "I'm sure after this we won't get into that habit again. Whoever started that habit will probably get fired, I bet."

Fire. Oh God—the oven! It was still covered in fire extinguisher gunk! The chicken pot pie was surely rotting inside the oven as he spoke, its putrid contents likely dripping all over the bottom of the oven! Natalie had hurried him so quickly out the door that he had neglected to finish the job he had started by putting out the fire in such a sloppy manner. Now she'd have to buy a new oven. That foamy stuff would never come off and even if it did, any food cooking inside would never be safe to eat….

"Are you alright, Sir?" the woman asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

The oven—had he turned it off? Was it continuing to burn though the chicken pot pie? Was Natalie's kitchen currently on fire? Would she come home to nothing but charred ruins?

"Do you have any other questions for me?" the teller asked. Monk scanned his mind for something other than thoughts about the oven, the fire, the chicken pot pie… and Natalie's about-face.

"Uhm…. so after the robber was finished up in the vault, did he come back out of the vault?"

"Of course," she replied. "There's no other way out."

"Natalie, did I turn off the oven?" he muttered to his assistant/fiancée, who stood quietly next to him.

"Yes, you did," she replied under her breath.

"We need to clean it—no, you need to buy a new one," he said, turning to her. "Nothing you make with that oven can be trusted now."

"Why don't you ask the teller your questions and then we can talk about the oven," she said as soothingly as possible.

"Uhm…." He stood in place for at least a minute, obviously conflicted. Rather than continue questioning the teller, he turned to fully face Natalie.

"Are you sure it's off now? Because if not, it's going to catch on fire again and your whole kitchen might—"

Just then she grabbed him by the arm and walked him several steps away.

"You have to focus, Adrian. Focus on the case. I'm one hundred percent sure you turned off the oven. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Yeah, but here's the thing—the chicken pot pies are rotting right now and all the… rotting fumes in that small space are going to build up and cause a fire to spontaneously erupt…."

"Adrian, the fire happened less than an hour ago," she reminded him. "They won't be rotting yet. They have all that extinguisher stuff on them anyway to block any germs from…." Suddenly a thought occurred to her. "Wait—you know what? Those pies are sitting in an oven that was burning hot and then the door was shut while it was still hot. Nothing could survive in there."

"Yellowstone Park, Natalie," he blurted.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed.

"There are germs there… germs that can live in boiling water. In fact, they prefer to live in—"

"Please, Adrian, it's your first case in a long time," she murmured. "I know you're nervous about being on the job again, but you're so good at what you do and they need you."

"It's not that; it's the fact that your oven is now a breeding ground for decay. You're going to have to get rid of that oven."

"I'll make you a deal," she explained, crossing her arms and briefly glancing towards the teller, who was unabashedly staring at Monk. "If you take this case and do your magic here, we can use some of the money you make to buy a new oven. I don't have enough money right now to buy something like that. So—is it a deal?"

With a big toothy grin on her face, she extended her hand. Monk hesitated, but then a small smile flickered across his face and he shook her hand, apparently satisfied with the agreement.

A/N: So, what do you think? I think this story may have the best mystery yet of my past stories and I hope that Monk and Natalie are Monkish and Natalie-ish, respectively! Also, if you notice any spelling/grammar errors be sure to point them out as well! I wanted to post this as quickly as I could and so I may not have read it over as carefully as I have done in the past.