Title: Life goes on…

By Jo Jo lee

Feedback: Joeyleenaz@aol.com

Pairing: Monk/OMC

Rating: Slash PG

Summary: Monk gets a helping hand at a friend’s wake

Life goes on…
By Jo Jo lee

Monk could feel his anxiety rising. His chest was tightening and his arm was starting to hurt. It wasn't right. He needed it to be right. He closed his eyes, Breathe, one, two, three, breathe. He was not going to do this. He was not going to do this. Breathe, one, two, three, breathe.

Monk balled his fists and looked around the room. The curtains were drawn unevenly, there was a water spill on the table. There were cracks on the south wall. Evidently the foundation had unfortunately shifted. Seven glasses laid on various surfaces. Once he started cataloging the details of the room, he couldn't stop. Breathe, one, two, three, breathe. He closed his eyes again.

He should have not come, but how could he not come. Brian had been his friend. Brian had been one of the first faces he had seen after coming out of a catatonic state that had lasted two and a half years. It was Brian who talked to him even when he couldn't separate the words enough to understand them. Now Brian was gone. Useless! Useless! Gone for no reason other than a stupid car accident.

Monk's anger pushed him closer to a panic attack. He folded his arms around himself. Better if it had been a murder, at least then Monk would be able to do something! Breathe, one, two, three, Breathe. The noise, the noise was getting too much. He closed his eyes again. Just breathe.

A child had run through the room, six jellybeans were scattered across the carpet. The kid's nose was running. God! Don't think. Cobweb in the ceiling light. Not important. The curtains were not even. Not important. Breathe, one, two, three, Breathe. Damn, Damn, Damn. He wasn't going to be able to stand this much longer. He needed to get out of here, but he was frozen. Where was she? She was thirty-six minutes late.

Her right hand front tire had been low. She was probably waiting for AAA on Hemlet Highway.

The room was closing in and in his mind's eye he could see every detail that was not right. He didn't realize that he had started rocking himself. He was desperately trying to make the details of chaos go away. He was trying not to jump up and attempt to fix the room in which he found himself. He was trying to breathe. Breathe, one, two, three, breathe.

****************

Michael had been watching Adrian Monk for the last twenty minutes and was debating what to do. Everyone seemed to be ignoring the man who clearly was having some difficulties. Brian's letters were full of Adrian Monk, his brilliance and the tragedy that had befallen him. Brian had been so in love with him. And Monk, of course demonstrated how in love he had been with his wife that he flipped out for a couple of years and then eased back into life in this state of…weirdness.

Brian had gone into great detail about Monk's struggles and marveled at the fact that in only three short conscious months Monk had improved so much and had been able to solve a complicated murder case as a consultant.

Well, for Brian, he had to do something. He couldn't let Monk fall apart at Brian's wake. Michael stood up and grabbed a napkin, not as good as a wet one, but it would have to do. He walked over to the man and knelt before him and grabbed one hand gently, making sure that his own hand was encased in the napkin.

"Hello Mr. Monk, remember me? I'm Michael O'Malley, Brian's cousin. Ah, the gay bookseller. I just bought the Treasure Trap a few months back. Remember, Brain brought you to visit once."

Monk stopped rocking, having something to distract him. He sighed with relief at the napkin covered hand and was grateful enough to try to focus enough to respond.

"Three thousand and forty-two books the time I was there. Seventeen hundred paperbacks. Four hundred and two gay novels. You didn't have any Michael Nava. Did you sell out? Did someone buy them all at once? You had a seven and a quarter empty space there. Two hundred and nineteen self-help books. Five hundred and thirty-four children's books. No order there, the children don't put them back."

Michael leaned back on his heels. Was this guy for real? His numbers sounded right and he did remember a guy came in and did buy his Nava. Michael leaned back in and interrupted softly, "How about you and I getting out of here and go out to the side yard. There is a table and a couple of chairs there. It's quiet."

Monk nodded, "OK, Ok."

*****************

The side yard was cool and there was the soft sound of a near by, but out of site water fall. The small yard had lots of flowers whose colorful blooms were in wild disarray. Michael looked apprehensively looked around.

Monk looked at Michael's boyish face and picked up on his concern. Michael was one and a half inches taller than Monk. He was thin with wavy brown hair that cascaded down to his collar and fell over his left eye. His eyes were hazel and he wore wire rim glasses. He had wonderful lips and slightly crooked but very white teeth. He was dressed in exactly the same outfit Monk had seen him in before. He wore brown cords and a power blue knit shirt worn loose and one his feet were Birkenstocks with brown socks.

Monk hurried to reply, "Don't worry, this doesn't bother me. For some reason the irregularity of nature is smoothing. This is where Brian would bring me when he collected me for a visit."

Michael relaxed, "I'm going to miss Brian. I can't believe that I just moved out here so I could spend more time with him and now he's gone."

Monk looked at the geraniums that Brian had planted because he said Michael liked them. "I'm sorry. Brian was excited to have you here. It's lonely when you're the only gay O'Malley around. Brian wasn't comfortable with his gayness. I was hoping you would change that. He admired how you were able to be yourself."

Michael looked at Monk closely, he wasn't at first sight handsome, but he had a …he grew on you and did it quickly. He had beautiful eyes and he was…endearing? Ah, Michael what the hell are you doing?

"Thank you. Would you like to come to the book shop some time soon? I'll let you put all the books in order. Dust them too, if you like. What the hell do you do for sex? All I can think of is that scene from that stupid movie where Priscilla Presley and whatever his name is, make love in full-length condoms. Must be a bummer."

Monk was shocked at first. No one had yet approached him on that topic, not even his doctor. No, it was way too soon, if ever, but he had seen that movie and it was funny. He laughed. "Ah, maybe pictures, but you had only one hundred and three books that concerned sex."

Michael smiled, "Well, would you be offended if maybe I made my own picture book for you? I could whisper a running dialog in your ear as you turn the page."

Monk grinned, "Would the pictures be of you?"

Before Michael could answer a strident voice called from the doorway, "Monk, Monk, you would not believe what happened. There I was…"

Monk quietly interrupted, "Your right front tire blew on Hemlet Highway and you had to wait for AAA."

"How did you know? You won't tell me, will you? Well, we have to go."

Noticing the young man at the table she smiled and said "Hi,.."

Monk interrupted her again, "He's Michael O'Malley, Brian's cousin, remember, from the book store."

She nodded her head, "Oh yea, glad to see you again. Are you ready Monk?"

Monk turned towards the door a little uncertainly, and looked back when he heard Michael voice.

"How about Tuesday, I'll pick you up at nine. Plan to stay the day."

Monk gave Michael a quick smile and marched to the door, careful to avoid the branches of a fern that partially blocked the portal.

"I need to pack," muttered Monk.

Clarissa clicked her tongue, "Monk, its only Saturday."

Monk quickened his pace, Michael's grinning face in his mind's eye and the sound of his voice echoing in his head, "I know, I know, but I want to be ready."

(2)

Michael sloughed back in his chair and stared at the doorway Monk and his nurse had exited through a while back. What the hell was he doing? Taking over Monk's care for Brian? Maybe. Michael's mind flashed again to that ridiculous scene in, what was the name of that…Oh yeah, The Naked Gun, while the gun may have gotten naked at some point in the movie, Michael didn't remember, Leslie Nelson and Priscilla didn't. He remembered each of them being shoved head first
into a giant condom and blindly and pathetically tottering toward each other with intentions of having sex. Fat chance.

That was also about the only future possible with Monk. Poor bastard. Brian had known Monk for five or six years and had said that Monk had always been bi-sexual and unfortunately, monogamous. Michael had scoffed, the myth of the bi-sexual was one he had never bought. However, Monk had responded to his flirting with humor and interest.

Brian and Monk had been friends and Brian had become even a better friend when his Monk had crashed and burned with the violent death of his wife. Blown up in their car. A bomb that had been met for Monk.

Brian had said that Monk believed in fidelity and loved his wife to distraction. A man of character, Brian had said. A brilliant man whose little quirks had grown into a full-blown compulsive disorder,
making a shambles of his life. Well, at least now he had a life.

Brian had visited consistently over the two and a half years that Monk was unresponsive and had stared at nothing. After the first month the doctors had declared Monk in a permanent comatose state. Brian had talked to him about everything. Monk's family and the family of his wife had given up on him, but not Brian. And Brian, with his incredible nurturing streak had fallen in love with his damaged friend.

Michael had no doubt that it was because of Brian that Monk had started talking back to him three months before.

Six months ago, Brian had talked Michael into moving back home and Michael had been grateful. Brian had been taking care of him too. Michael was still shaky, still had bad times, but Brian had walked him through most of it. Late night telephone calls that lasted for hours. Somehow, Brian understood when no one else did. Not his ex-lover Paul who got tired of the nightmares and left, not his friends and certainly not any of the rest of the family.

It was so pointless, three years ago he'd simply gone to the post office to mail Christmas gifts to a few friends when Donald Westman, unhappy employee, came in and shot fourteen people dead and wounded seven more. Michael had not been hurt, but everyone around him was dead.

He knew what is was like to be afraid, he knew what it was like to feel guilty even when your brain told you that you had no cause. He knew what it was like to have your current life momentary and suddenly replaced by a nightmare. Nothing made it completely go away. But like Brian had said, time and distance were the most potent of medicines, and Brian, Michael silently added.

Many times Michael though it would be easier to deal with if he and those people had been targeted because they were gay. An issue to fight for, die for. An issue to get angry for and let that anger burn away some of the hate. But, gayness had nothing to do with it. It was just a random act of violence that had changed and damaged him forever.

Michael got up and walked over to his geraniums. He wanted to take them with him. Brian had planted them for him. Now, he was the lone gay O'Malley.

The family had not come down too hard on Brian. Michael thought that the family wisdom was that Brian was salvageable. After all, he didn't actually date and he volunteered his time watching over that crazy man. Brian was a mild mannered man who earned his living fixing PC's.

But for him, Michael, everyone had something to say. He came out in high school and caused the family all sorts of embarrassment and hassles. His parents didn't actually disown him, but had distanced themselves quite effectively. It was easy when he was the youngest of six kids. His five older sibs had married and produced tons of grandchildren. His aunts and uncles had always been polite and formal, his cousins occasionally rude and dismissive. He had fled.

His cousin Brian was the only one who kept in touch with him, cared for him and now he was gone. Michael had toyed with leaving again, but he had bought the bookstore and he liked it. It was a homey little nook in Old Town and it felt right. He was able to live in a small studio apartment over the store. He never had to leave unless he wanted to. He felt safe. No one in the family would probably ever see it.

Only Brian had come down and once he had brought Monk. So happy and proud to have this shuffling man at his side. That was almost two months ago. Michael had not been too impressed with Monk. He had come in with Brian, dressed formally in a suit. He had held his head down the entire time and wandered through the stacks mumbling to himself like a street person. Evidently he had been counting books. He had improved a lot in a few weeks.

Michael sat back down and grabbed his now iceless and diluted ice tea. What was he doing? He guessed he was going to be Monk's friend for Brian and he admitted for himself too.

He liked the Monk he saw today. Liked the courage and loyalty that had brought him to Brian's wake. It could not have been easy. He liked the fight in him and the sparkle he detected as he flirted with him. Liked his compassion, making sure he communicated to him that Brian had admired him. Brian. How could Brian be gone? It seemed incomprehensible that Brian would not walk through the door. Michael got up, impatient to be gone. Instead of going through the house,
Michael slipped out the side gate.

*

Monk was packing, well sort of. He had spent the last hour arranging things. It seemed that one part of him had to keep busy arranging, correcting…ah controlling his environment were the words his doctor used. It was the only way he could think. He was going back to the bookstore and he was going to spend the day with Michael.

This was going to be so hard! Could he do it? If he brought his food, his cookware, his plastic tableware, extra clothes, cleaning materials-he would need to clean the bathroom and the kitchen. So much! But he knew that if he didn't he'd be screaming and in a lock down ward before lunch. Maybe he couldn't do it. No he had to do it. He just had to figure what he needed to do to make it work. He had to do it for Brian. Brian wasn't here to take care of Michael anymore.

He had to take care of Michael for Brian, he would do it as well as he was able. Brian had told him about the massacre in the post office and the subsequent problems. A break up of a long-term relationship and friends pulling away when Michael couldn't just put it behind him. Brian had told him about the lack of family support and his concerns for him.

Brian had been so happy when Michael agreed to move back to be near Brian. He had said that Michael was a sweet and gentleman who had become incredibility lonely and no longer seemed to have the energy to socialize anymore, let alone meet new people. Brain had said Michael had always needed people, had always needed affection. Michael had been tucking himself away with his books, cataloging.

Brain was afraid that in Michael's lonely isolation, Michael would end up killing himself. It had been a real fear for Brian.

Michael had bought and collected enough stock to open his dream of a new and used bookstore, but showed no interest in finding a place. He kept saying he didn't have enough money, so when Michael had agreed to move, Brian had bought the Treasure Trap and set up payments for Michael. As it turned out, Michael had saved plenty of money and had been able to pay Brian back in one payment.

Brian had picked well and had been delighted that Michael seemed to love the store, studio and its location. Brain said that Michael had perked up and that the quirky side of his personality was starting to peak out at times. Things had been going so well…Oh Brian, what are we going to do without you?

Monk got up, going over his packing list as he dusted once again. If he had to pack everything he owned he was going and he was not going to fall apart. He liked books. He liked Michael. Monk paused, yes, he really did like him. Michael seemed to tolerate his strangeness without getting upset or impatient or rude. When he had approached Monk he had known what to do and how to do it. Brian may have coached him a bit, but it took kindness and a good sense of humor.

Michael was a nice man, just looking at him had made Monk feel good. Yes, he was going to do this. He was going to visit Michael. Thank God, he was going to be able to organize those books. The science fiction section had been a mess. Two hundred and eleven books, one hundred and sixty-seven paperbacks. No complete David Eddings set. Michael had been missing volume two of the first set and volume three of the second.

Monk kept working and kept thinking, I will do this, I can do this, I want to do this.

(3)

Sharona shook her head in dismay. Monk was being a crazy man even by his standards. She sat down wearily, determined to step out of it all for a few minutes. She clutched her coffee cup and tried to ignore the fanatic sounds of stuff being thrown around.

"Where are the toothbrushes and paste? There are only two left in the bathroom." Monk's voice had taken on a peevish edge and Sharona gritted her teeth. He was worst than a toddler at times.

"Monk, I'm taking my break."

"Please Sharona, I need to know, I need to pack them now. I think ten should do. That leaves a few in case…in case…"

Monk's voice had risen in to a high tenor. Sharona was ready to gag him. "Monk, I bagged fifty of them this morning. Top left drawer in the linen nook."

Good thing those toothbrushes were free. Because of Monk's disorder, cheap toothbrushes and small vials of toothpaste were provided as part of his treatment. His job was to cut down on the number he used a day.

At the beginning he was using over thirty of them a day. He would stand and brush his teeth until he couldn't taste the toothpaste any more, than throw out the brush and vial of toothpaste and open a new one and start over again.

They had given him the softest brushes and finally paste made out of a mild cream and peppermint. He was destroying the enamel on his teeth by over brushing. Now there were days when he only used four or five packs. He was back on real toothpaste. Sharona had emergency packs of the mild stuff when Monk was having a bad day.

Sharona sighed, she had to relax. She was lucky she had fell into this job. It gave her a lot more flexibility to spend time with her son. She actually liked Monk. It had been an extra bonus and very exciting following him around on the murder case. He had amazed her. She had seen a hint of the man he had been before. But on days like this he could be tedious and exasperating. She needed a break.

Monk's visit with Michael O'Malley would be a nice break, if he could last the day. Visits with Brian O'Malley had lasted three or four hours and had gone fine. Ah, she had to remember Monk was grieving for his friend. She needed to be a bit more patient, a bit more kind, but for the last two days, Monk was driving her crazy! Tomorrow could not come too soon!

***********************

Tuesday Morning 8:23 AM

Michael scrubbed his bathroom until it shinned. He would tell Monk to use his studio bathroom where there would only be the two of them using it. He had bought a package of ten washcloths and encased each one neatly in a baggie. He lined up ten little soaps from a variety of hotels and set out ten individually wrapped plastic cups.

He had bought the brightly colored plastic cups and then wrapped each one in plastic wrap. He remembered Brain talking about some of the preparations he made for Monk's visits. He had cleaned the coffee carafe and lined the inside and outside with plastic wrap. He also had bought five hundred count packages of latex gloves. The counter man at the medical supply store had suspiciously looked at him like he knew the criminal acts these gloves would be engaged in. Michael had uneasy. He didn't like being the focus of attention of a stranger.

He was nervous and not sure he would be able to cope if things went wrong. He should have planned for a short visit, but he had remembered Brian saying that Monk had a lot of preparation to do to be able to go out and enter into an environment that somebody else controlled, so you might as well make the visit count, time wise. Michael had been invited to come over during one of Monk's visits, he wished he would have gone. Maybe he should close the store, no. He never really had too much business. Monk just needed a safe place to go if things got too busy.

Up here in the studio should be fine. It was about 200 square feet so Michael didn't have much furniture. He kept it uncluttered with just a bed, table and two chairs and another table where a small TV stood. A small CD player rested on the small kitchen counter. It was simple, and he shoved his small clutter of books and magazines in the closet.

He ran downstairs and put on light jazz station on the storewide music system and turned it low. Nothing he could do about most of store. He was truly out of him mind, but this felt good. Sanity was overrated.

Well, time to go get Monk. He grabbed his car keys and the plastic drop cloth he had bought to cover the seat and headed out the door.

*****************

Monk stood outside his doorway watching the street, waiting for Michael. Beside him stood three suitcases and a plastic sack. He would be fine. He would be fine. Sharona had promised to bring him anything he needed, this being his first independent visit to the bookstore.

Sharona had managed to talk him out of his suit. He stood uncertainly in a pair of black slacks and a gray knit shirt. He looked down at his shoes. Laced black hushpuppies. He felt like his mother had just dressed him for his first day at kindergarten.

Sharona was a firm believer in Hushpuppies for him. Rubber soles and a shoe that was kind of fuzzy and impossible to polish. He sighed, he couldn't blame her. He had spent a day polishing all his police shoes and boots. All had gone well until he had gotten some polish on his hands. It didn't wash off.

He had screamed and cried for hours as Sharona and him had tried to get the polish off. He shuddered, he hated it when he got like that, but he was powerless to stop his panic once he fixated on some…problem. He wasn't able to focus on anything but the one threat until it didn't exist anymore.

Sharona had a good heart and put up with more than she had too. Monk was grateful. He really didn't know how he would make it day by day without her. However, when she went all maternal on him, he hated it. Of course, unfortunately, occasionally, he needed a mother to put up with his rants and raves and hysteria. They were getting use to each other and sometimes she was more sister than mother, he liked those times best.

Since he had caught Matthew Barrows, murderer, Sharona had started to treat him more like an adult who had child moments or sometime, hours. He closed his eyes, once in a while he could see himself as others must see him and he cringed.

He felt a spike of anxiety and quickly opened his eyes and started his breathing exercises. He was walking on a tightrope, balancing one foot after the other to stay sane. His worst fear was that he would just fade away again and never come back, or come back as a ninety year old man in a strange world peopled with nothing but strangers. He had to hang on every minute.

His personal world had become so small. Small and mundane things took on an importance and bizarre power over his sense of well being. Dirt, dust, germs, the order of things were enough to smash to smithereens any portion of peace he grasped at. He would feel like he was about to implode and the tiny pieces that would be left would be still there floating, but would be inanimate. Maybe still working like a computer, but he wouldn't be there anymore.

He was sweating, he needed to relax and breathe. He had to remember why he was doing this, for Brian, for Michael, for himself. Monk's world of friends was small, and he selfishly wanted Michael for a friend. Michael had talked to him like an adult, like he expected Monk to be able to respond, God the man had even flirted with him.

It was the first time since he woke up that he had felt like a normal person in those few minutes. Brian was wonderful, but such a mother hen. Monk had loved that, had needed that, but Michael had just treated him like a fellow mourner, not a piece of glass ready to break. Someone to comfort, but also someone to be comforted by.

Monk felt himself relaxing. He could do this, he would do this.

(4)

The trip to the bookstore had taken twenty minutes. Monk didn't like to ride in cars, but he could handle it. Michael had the seat prepared for him, Brian had evidently told him a lot about the care and handling of one, Adrian Monk. Monk was glad, it made everything easier. Michael had not even blinked at the sight of three fully loaded suitcases, he had just whipped out a Kleenex and grabbed the handles and loaded them on board.

On the drive over, Monk had closed his eyes and leaned back and listened to Michael. Michael was prattling on about baseball of all things. Monk had forgotten about baseball or any kind of sports. He was so far out of touch. It was hard to generate enough interest to care but Michael was catching him up on the last two seasons and Monk was enjoying the sound of Michael's voice.

Michael's voice was unique in a very ordinary way. A very pleasant voice that he decided he could listen to for a long time. Who did Michael say won the World Series? He was complaining about Barney and someone named Bob. Who was Bob?

Monk decided he needed to focus on the words a little closer, but that voice was so nice. The voice stopped and so did the car. Monk opened his eyes and saw they were parked in a stall in an alley. It was just beside the store's back door.

Michael smiled and got out. "Let's get your things upstairs first and then you can do whatever it takes to make yourself comfortable."

Monk grinned and nodded, "Thanks, upstairs is where you live?"

Michael wrapped a Kleenex around the handles of two of the suitcases and heaved them out of the car and waited while Monk collected the other suitcase and plastic sack. Michael led them up a small staircase and into his studio.

Monk looked around and sighed with relief as he saw the simplicity of the place. He noted the clean bathroom with the plastic covered plastic cups, the wrapped soaps and the new washcloths stuffed into baggies. He looked at the kitchen and its plastic encased coffeepot and smiled.

"Thanks, Michael. This is very nice, Brian must have given you lessons. I'm sorry, I'm such a…so…"

Michael walked over to Monk quickly and made eye contact with him. "Yes, you are a bother, but Brian thought the world of you and I like you. We'll figure out how to make our visits pleasant and we'll adapt. I've got a lot of work for you downstairs. I'm far too lazy to keep the store in the order it should be. I expect you to inspire me."

Michael went to a hook by the side of the door and grabbed two smocks. "I got these for the dust. Are you OK about the dust?"

Monk nodded, "OK, as long as I'm cleaning."

Michael handed Monk his smock and said, "OK, let's get going. I have bottled water down stairs and soda."

Monk hesitated and was looking at the smock. Michael looked at Monk and asked, "What?"

"These are kind of cutesy aren't they. What is those?"

Michael examined the smocks, they were cute. "Don't you think the browns and blues are nice. Those are books and those little things floating here and there are pens and pencils and such. You know the things of writing. Those other things there, you might recognize as glasses. A reader's tool. They seemed right for a book store, of course they did have some with dust mops and pails."

Monk laughed and put his on. If only Captain Leland Stottlemeyer could see him now. He looked down at himself and his gaze ended with his Hushpuppies, oh God.

Michael interrupted him out of his reverie, "Oh you look too cute. Here, I bought lots of these. Consider these your own private box of latex gloves, here's our tub of Clorox disinfecting wipes and a box of paper dusting cloths and we're off!"

Monk chuckled, Michael had a way about him that you just had fun ridding on his wit and personality. This was going to be fun. Feeling fully armed to fight dust mites and disorder he followed Michael down the stairs to his shop.

Michael walked to the front door and unlocked it and turned the closed sign around. "Well Monk, where should we start?"

Monk was already headed to the section, "Science Fiction, it was a mess. Did you ever order more David Eddings? You could have used some more Phillip Dick, too."

Remembering Monk's facility for cataloging stock, Michael seized a small notebook and followed behind Monk. "Who did you say I need?" asked Michael.

By lunchtime they had worked their way through the entire Science Fiction section and had begun working on the mystery section. They had had a great time. Monk had found as long as his hands were busy creating order and cleanliness, that his mind was free and he felt at ease chatting with Michael. They had talked about anything that the
books inspired and occasionally veered off into silliness. Both had laughed and giggled.

Michael was amazed at Monk's knowledge of Books and authors. Monk was quick and appeared to like word games as much as he did. He was anxious to set up a game of scrabble some time. Monk had seemed at ease and his eyes had sparkled when he was able to best him at some test of wit.

He looked down at the waste basket, he was glad he had bought five boxes of those latex gloves, Monk had gone through almost an entire box in three and a half hours. Now to lunch.

Lunch was not quite as easy, but they managed. Michael just stepped back and let Monk take over. Monk had brought food and every thing else needed. While Monk was making lunch, Michael decided to toss the smocks into the wash and get two fresh ones. If Monk thought the brown and blue smocks were cute, wait till he saw the children's literature ones.

They were blue, pink, green and yellow pastels with a hint of brown. Depicted on them were various characters from famous children's literature. There was Alice in Wonderland, Peter Rabbit, all the characters from The Wind in the Willows, and assorted fairies and a hobbit or two.

Michael had a lot of child in him. He acknowledged he would much rather live in Disneyland than in any adult reality that he knew. He loved bright happy primary colors and soft muted colored that suggested fairies and magic. He only liked happy endings and had always avoided any extra drama in his life. A lot of good that did him.

Michael liked to play, and enjoy his little part of the world. He enjoyed the cute smocks and had gone shopping and bought four sets of two a piece for him and Monk. He had six others that he would wear when Monk was with him.

Lunch was made of Monk's home made soup, (he said he didn't trust cans), homemade bread from Datter's Bakery, (Monk did trust Simon Datter), salad and apples. Monk had made coffee and Michael could not remember when he had enjoyed lunch more.

After lunch was over and the clean up complete Monk had come down in the colorful smock that glorified children's literature. Michael had wondered if he would actually put it on after the face Monk had made when he first saw it.

Michael had had to come down early because of a spattering of customers that had found their way to his door. Sales had been moderate and Monk had seemed comfortable with Michael's occasional disappearances to wait on customers.

The afternoon went quickly and was interrupted by a shipment of books. Michael showed Monk how to check in books and then they stocked them. It was after four when they finished.

Sharona was picking Monk up at five thirty because the store didn't close until 9 PM.

Monk decided to leave two of suitcases with Michael, and packed the third one up. The food in the plastic sack was gone. It had gone well and he had really enjoyed himself. Michael had said they might as well make Tuesdays a regular thing. It was day the book shipments came in and Michael was grateful for the help.

Monk was fussing with the latches on the suitcase when Michael came up to tell him Sharona had arrived. Monk nodded and turned towards Michael and for the first time that day felt awkward. "Thank you. Ah…the shop closes early on Sunday, doesn't it? Your open 10 is to 9 PM six days a week and noon to five on Sunday. I read the sign."

Michael looked at Monk who had started to babble and hold his head down. Michael knew he had to make eye contact or Monk would never say what he was trying to say. Michael came over and stood in front of Monk and with a latex gloved finger tilted Monk's head slightly up until Michael could look into his eyes. "What is it Monk?"

Monk took a second to focus and then plowed in before he could change his mind. "Come Sunday night. I have a scrabble board. Come for dinner and scrabble."

A smile broke out on Michael's face. "I'll come! It'll be fun! Do you like chips or pretzels for munching purposes?"

Monk shyly smiled back, "I like Fritos."

Michael chuckled, "Then Fritos it will be."

Monk nodded, "And don't forget the pictures."

"Pictures?"

Monk bent over to pick up the suitcase, "Ah, you know, you said you were going to make me a book."

Michael laughed, "Oh, I've been picking some out. Why don't I bring a supply and we'll pick out the best ones together."

Monk started for the door, Carlson's Sex Guide for Gays and Morison's Gay Photo Album are both damaged. You won't be able to sell them. Why don't you bring those and if there are any interesting photos in them, we might use them.

Why don't you carry any magazines?"

Michael was following Monk down the stairs, "No profit in it, they get ripped off too often. I might have a few personal copies of this and that tucked away in my closet."

Monk nodded, "Yes, the Aug 98' copy of…"

Michael could feel a blush starting, "Did you look in my closet? You know everything that's in there?"

Monk nodded, "It needed cleaning up. I never saw that movie Trick. It looked good, you could bring it Sunday. But I haven't been able to sit through a whole movie yet."

"I'll bring it maybe we can watch it in parts."

Monk was about to answer when Sharona' voice called from the door, "Monk, you ready? Do you need help? I'm double parked here!"

Monk started moving faster, Michael caught up with him and whispered in his ear, "Sunday, around 6."

Monk nodded and glanced back and grinned, the tickle of Michael breath vibrating through him. Monk had just experienced the first stirring of his genitals since his waking up fourteen weeks ago. A gentle reminder that he was still a man. His grin widened into a smile.

(5)

Monk didn't want to go. He had better things to do. He dawdled as long as possible. Sharona was getting impatient. She hated to be under time pressure. If he timed it right, she would not be able to get to Dr. Kroger's office in time for his appointment.

Dr. Kroger was a firm believer in punctuality. Monk wanted to be told to go home and come back for his next appointment. Sharona would not be pleased. So what!, Monk thought rebelliously. He heard her thumping up the stairs and raced to his bathroom and closed and locked the door.

"Monk! Come on, we're going to be late! You'll get me in trouble with Dr. Kroger!"

Monk tripped the toilet and turned on the water in the sink. He took as much time as possible. Finally, having no more alternatives, he unlocked the door and ambled through.

"I'm ready."

Sharona sniffed and turned on her heel.

*******************************

Dr. Sam Kroger was not a patient man and Adrian Monk was not the kind of client he should probably have. Thank God, he only had one compulsive. They were tiring to be around.

They usually were way too smart and way too childish. Monk had dreams about reentering the police department. Probably would never happen. Compulsives never really got well, they just got better. It was all a relative standard.

Sharona had called, Monk was showing his first rebellious attitude which was good. His sneaky little performance was not going to benefit him, not today. There were too many issues, Brian O'Malley's death for one.

Sharona had said he did well at the wake. This was very hopeful. If Adrian Monk had a purpose, he could deal with outings. Sharona had really surprised him when she told him about the successful outing at Michael O'Malley's bookstore. This was more than Kroger would have thought possible at this time. He was eager to hear Monk, but it was apparent that Monk was less than enthusiastic to share.

Fifteen minutes later, Monk shuffled in. He sat in the `guest chair' and lowered his head. Kroger sighed, here was the preverbal brick wall. Ah, it was going to be a long session.

******************************

Michael had just settled in for his second cup of coffee and a glance through the newspaper when he heard banging on the front door. Shit. It was only 8:45 am, couldn't the idiot read the sign? Store hours 10 am to 9 PM. All of Old Town was on the same schedule. Michael thought about ignoring it but the pounding didn't let up.

Finally, Michael threw his newspaper down in frustration and headed downstairs. When he saw who was at the door, he groaned. He wished he had been right about his assessment that none of his family would find their way to his store.

One of his older brothers, Matthew, was at the door. Matthew saw him heading toward the door and gave him a scowl of impatience. Michael opened the door and let Matthew in. Michael closed and locked the door and without a word headed to the back of the store and up the stairs. If Matthew wanted to talk he could come up to his studio so he could finish his coffee.

Matthew hesitatingly entered the small studio and looked around. Michael clenched his jaw and then relaxed, "What the hell did you expect? Dildos hanging from the ceiling?"

Matthew didn't answer. He walked over to the table where Michael was sitting and sat in the other chair. He didn't ask for coffee and Michael didn't offer.

"It's about Brian's will. It will be read Thursday at three PM." Matthew withdrew a business card from his pocket and tossed it on the table. You're listed on the will, so is that mental case, Adrian Monk.

I think he left you the house. If he did, Mary Jo and I want it. We'll pay you what Brian paid for it. Now that the kids are gone, we'd like a little three bedroom. It's a good location.

Matthew was almost sixteen years older than Michael and he realized he really didn't know this person and really didn't want to. He also knew that Brian had left the house to Adrian. Brian had said that Monk needed to get out of the house he had shared with his wife. He was even thinking of `trading' because Monk's finances were meager. Insurance paid the house payments and disability paid expenses, but there wasn't a lot of fluid cash.

Michael shook his head. "I don't know that Brian left the house to me, but if he did, I'm not selling."

Brian thought of his geraniums. Thought of all the little projects that Brian had enjoyed doing around the place. That house had little touches of Brian all over.

"What the fuck do you need that house for? Don't you think you can take advantage of me because you happen to be my brother. Don't think I'll tolerate you jacking up the price."

Michael got up to rinse out his mug, his coffee had gone cold. "I don't think Brian left it to me, but if he did, I will not sell,
period."

"Bullshit! Don't think about moving there and don't think about renting it to any of your faggot friends. The neighborhood will toss you on your faggot ass."

Michael tensed, "Matthew, the people on that block got along fine with Brian. If you can't clean up your language and stop insulting me in my own home then leave."

"You call this a `home'? This hole? You've got nothing Mickey, you're just too dumb to know it. I've got money and I can stick a few lawyers on you until you see reason."

"Try it Matty! I can stick a few lawyers on you and for free. The Gay Lawyer's Association would love to sharpen their claws on you. They don't like you, Matty. You're a breeder. They won't let you irritate a gay boy for the fun of it. You got a big head Matty for a man who married his money instead of earning it. Mary Jo can find another house."

"You bastard, how the fuck do you think you're talking to? Don't think that after eight years you're going to waltz back into this family like you belong here."

"Oh, shut up Matty. I haven't belonged since I came out in high school. Leave, or do I have to get some of my leather buddies to take you out in pieces?"

Matthew got up and marched to the door. "Go to hell."

Michael stood still for a few minutes after Matthew left. He hated confrontations. He hated the nastiness. He brushed off the tears that were streaming down his cheeks and went to the bathroom to wash. He'd pop next door for a huge muffin. Double chocolate with coconut. Good old-fashioned comfort food. That thought brought his mind to Monk and that brought a grin.

*****************************

Dr. Kroger had capitulated. Monk had been a mute statue, even when Kroger had threatened to give a friendly call to Captain Stottlemeyer to inform him of Monk's progress.

That had been Kroger's big gun. Monk's only goal had been to get better so he could be reinstated in the Police Dept. Evidently, he was not going to be swayed by Kroger's blackmail, that was a positive sign, but frustrating.

But the session had been fine. It had even been profitable. Monk had started talking when Kroger had finally shut up and said to talk about anything he wanted to. Monk had talked about Brian. About the time they spent together during the three months that Monk had been `back'. Monk had talked about the wake and a new friend, Brian's cousin, Michael.

Monk had hardly taken a breath, his speech had flowed in a way that Kroger had never heard before.

Kroger was a police psychologist and had just transferred into the precinct seven months back. He had never known Monk before. Even though he had done a lot of interviews with officers, friends and family that had known him, it was hard to get a picture of him. He had been a wee bit strange even before the `accident'.

This was the first time Monk had been taken out of his strange little world and was flying on his own words. He was eloquently grieving for his friend. For the first time Kroger saw a glimmer of hope in the future.

**********************************

Thursday afternoon was rainy. Monk was uncomfortable in the rain. He didn't like getting hit with the unpredictable raindrops. Not even an umbrella helped, the rain was coming at an angle. His arm was soaked. He had to touch the parking meters, one by one. Good grief! They were still two blocks from the lawyer's building. He should have let
Sharona drop him off like she wanted to, but no. He was getting sick of being treated like an infant, but he had been stupid to insist on getting rained on. Thirty-eight…Thirty nine…Forty…Forty-one…

They finally arrived at the front of the building that held the offices of Currey and Colman. Monk looked up at the twenty-story building. He didn't like heights. He quickly looked down.

"Oh, it's not so bad, especially if you go up in an elevator." said a familiar voice. Monk turned and smiled, "Hi Michael, I thought I would see you here. I don't like elevators either."

Michael laughed, "Good mood, are we. Well, you won't have to ride one. Donald Coleman is on the second floor, just up the stairs. Brian said he was a `neat' and `righteous' guy."

Monk looked over at Sharona who had found another lady to talk to inside the door, trusting that Monk would follow in from under the awning.

"I should have let Sharona drop me off at the door. I don't like getting rained on."

Michael clicked his tongue. "Now that we've learned our wisdom for the day, shall we go in?"

Monk nodded and started for the door, Michael reached across and opened it. Monk looked at Michael questionly, "Just saving an innocent napkin or whatever, you don't have your latex gloves on."

Monk grinned, "I'm sure the napkin is grateful, as well as the tree or whatever it came from. Of course, you've hindered the pace of capitalism and consumerism with your conservative efforts."

Michael chuckled, "One can't be popular with everyone. Oh, just a word of warning. If a nasty piece of business approaches you, who looks a tad like me, older, lots older and big…the nasty bit is most likely my brother Matthew. He's a bit rude and thinks it makes him forceful. Just ignore him or be nasty right back at him.

He came yesterday morning, long before opening, making all sorts of demands and using a potty mouth to insult me. It was unpleasant. He threatened lawyers, I threatened the Gay Lawyer Association. Not a enjoyable scene. I hate it when other people can bring out the mean and petty person lurking inside."

Monk had listened intently and had heard Michael's pain. He pulled Michael's sleeve to stop his stride down the hall. Monk turned to him and waited until Michael looked at him. As soon as Michael made eye contact, he looked away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped that on you."

Monk tugged on his sleeve again, "Michael…" Monk waited again until Michael made eye contact and then said in a soft voice, "Michael, there is nothing mean or petty about you. You're one of the nicest people I have ever met. Brian loved you, he knew what a marvelous person you are. He wouldn't waste his time on a mean and petty person."

Michael leaned backed into the wall and looked up, Brian, damn. Michael looked back down and grinned at Monk, "I guess this means you think you're marvelous too."

Monk grinned and nodded, "Now, you're catching on. Let's go before Sharona comes back with a lasso."

(6)

Monk stood up, he could no longer listen. He had started sweating and was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. The room was too crowded and things were too chaotic. He mumbled `Excuse me.' and stumbled to the door. Sharona was right behind him. He found a bench in the corridor and sat down and then leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes and started his breathing exercises.

Donald Coleman stopped when Adrian Monk made his exit. He knew that there might be a problem. Brian O'Malley had discussed Adrian Monk when he had rewritten his will three months ago, when Adrian Monk had rejoined the living.

Up until that time Brian had left a trust for Monk, but three months ago he had decided to leave him his house and a trust to pay it off, plus taxes for the next ten years. He had left Michael O'Malley as the trustee.

Adrian Monk was not a blood relative and the will might be broken so he had suggested that Brian ask Monk if he could have Adrian Monk's Power of Attorney. Monk had not known why Brian had asked, but quickly gave permission.

Adrian Monk had no money. He rented his house and didn't own a car. The ploy of having Brain as Power of Attorney was to make the inheritance unbreakable. It would help if Michael O'Malley could step in and take over. He intended to speak to him today.

Matthew O'Malley didn't look happy and if there was one O'Malley who would cause trouble if he could, it would be him. Coleman got up, excusing himself and headed towards the door.

When he opened the reception room, he saw Monk sitting on the bench across the way in rather a stiff fashion with his eyes closed.

He approached Sharona, "Is he OK?"

Sharona nodded and crossed her arms in front of her. "He's fine. This is how he copes with places that upset him. There were too many people in there and too much clutter. Is it OK if he stays out here? He knows Brian O'Malley left him the house."

Donald Coleman looked over at Monk, and then back at Sharona, "Here, this is like a little walkie-talkie. I'm going to start again in five minutes. Turn it on and you can witness that he heard the full proceedings. Don't go afterward. I'd like to talk to Michael O'Malley and Mr. Monk afterwards for a minute."

Sharona nodded, "OK, and thanks Mr. Coleman."

Donald Coleman braced himself then returned to finish reading the will. Brian O'Malley was not a rich man and had left small gifts for his nieces and nephews and a few charities, but had left the O'Malley's to fend for themselves, except for Michael and Monk.

Matthew O'Malley was glowering and the rest of the O'Malley had impatient expressions.

"Sorry for the interruption. Let me continue."

The next bombshell was that while Adrian Monk got the house, Michael O'Malley got the house's contents and the portable plants.

Michael smiled; Brian had left him the geraniums.

When the last of the will was read and Matthew had been left with nothing, He angrily asked why he had been asked to come. Coleman explained to him and the rest of the adults that each of them had minor children who had been given a trust and that each parent was a trustee. Papers had to be signed. Those nephews and nieces who were of legal age could sign for themselves.

Matthew shifted in his seat angrily, a few hundred dollars had hardly been enough to miss work for.

********************

Matthew exited the office quickly. When saw Monk on the bench he quickly walked over and pushed Monk on the shoulder to wake him up. Sharona ran over and told Matthew O'Malley not to touch Monk. Matthew O'Malley turned to her and told her to shut up.

Adrian had been startled and a painful spike of panic shot through him when he had been shoved. He had flown to his feet and became aware of a large man shouting at Sharona. Dormant police training came to the forefront and Monk had the man face down on the ground in a flash. He was strangling the man and had looked pleadingly at Sharona as she produced a few anti-bacterial wipes.

Michael thought he had never seen anything so funny in his whole life. There was Monk, a modestly sized man, sitting on a huge man and frantically wiping his hands with cloths while wearing a grimace of distaste. Matthew had always been the bully of the family and it was so satisfying to see him like this.

Matthew was occasionally trying to get up, but Monk absently dug his heel into Matthew's side and that seemed to stop him quite effectively. Soon two policemen appeared and requested that Monk remove himself from Matthew's back. He got up and quietly made his way back to the bench where he had been sitting.

Matthew O'Malley was screaming for Adrian Monk's arrest for assault and Sharona was matching him scream for scream. Various O'Malleys were standing about and adding a comment here or there. Matthew's wife stood by silently, seemingly uninterested. Michael came and sat by Monk.

After about ten minutes, Captain Stottemeyer appeared on the scene. He had a quick conference with the two responding policemen. Did a quick interview with Sharona and Donald Coleman and then walked over to Monk.

Captain Stottemeyer sighed, it hurt to see one of his men brought to this, but it was a big improvement from the zombie he was a few months back. The man was a bent genius with an eidetic memory which gave him a very peculiar way of looking at things and reasoning them out. He had been brilliant and strange before the tragedy, and now it seemed that that brilliance was honed sharper, but with aggravating codicils. If the man cleaned off his desk one more time?!

Stottemeyer shook his head, no one but Monk could have unraveled the Stonewill murder. The complexities were mind boggling. He respected this man and he liked him, but he couldn't go around jumping people.

"Monk? Come on Monk, it's me."

Monk looked up with a bit of irritation in his face, "I know it's you. Why are you here?"

Stottelmeyer looked away to find a bit of patience, he didn't find it. "I just thought I'd try to keep your ass from getting arrested. Never know when I might need you as a consultant again."

Monk grinned and looked down, "Sorry, I thought he might hurt Sharona. She was just watching out for me. He shoved my shoulder when my eyes were shut while I was sitting here. I panicked. Sharona was only trying to get him to move away and not touch me again. He started shouting at her and I reacted."

Stottlemeyer nodded, "Sounds like the asshole could use a few manners. I'll go scare him a bit and then calm him down. Just try to be careful, Monk."

Monk looked up and grinned, "Thank you, Captain."

Monk looked down again, "I want to go."

Michael spoke softly, "Monk, Mr. Coleman wants to see the both of us for a minute. Maybe he wants us to sign papers or something. He said we could just meet him in the reception room. It will just be for a minute."

**************************

It was apparent that Coleman had cleared the reception room up a bit and the receptionist was holed up in his office. Monk and Michael sat and waited for Coleman to start.

"Mr. Monk, as you remember, Brian asked to have your Power of Attorney a few weeks after you…uh…woke up." Monk nodded his head.

"Well, Brian wanted me to request that you allow Michael to take his place in the event that something happened to him. I have the papers. This is not a matter of competence. You are on disability and so no one would question this, but the real reason is to put a layer of protection for the inheritance since you are not a blood relative.

If any one wants to try to break the will, it would be directed at Michael, which would be thrown out."

Monk smiled, "That was very clever Mr. Coleman."

Coleman smiled at the compliment and turned towards Michael, "Are you willing, Michael?"

Michael nodded his head, "Of course."

Coleman pulled out the papers to sign, "I'll be glad to keep you both as clients. I doubt if anything will come of the fussing Matthew O'Malley was making once he talks to his own lawyer."

Michael put the pen down, "He seemed quite determined to get a hold of Brain's house. He said he wanted a smaller one since his last child is headed off to college next year."

Coleman shook his head, "Na, I don't think so. Probably wanted to sell it. Look, it's only a five minute drive to the Castro. Much too close for the likes of him."

Monk interjected, "I don't think he knows how close it is. Just that Brian had made it nice and he wants it, or at least his wife did, but not after today."

Michael turned towards Monk, "So when are you moving in?"

Monk looked down, "I don't know, the lease is valid for another seven months. I don't have any furniture. It all goes with the house."

Michael spoke very softly, "I'm leaving the furniture in the house. Brian made most of it. I'm leaving the flowers. Somebody needs to be living in that house. It's closer to your doctors and closer to that police station of yours.

If I can find a friend to sub-let the place will you move?"

Monk looked at him, "I don't think I can handle the disruption. I, I…"

Michael looked directly into Monk's eyes, trying to reassure him, "It can be done in just one morning. You have no furniture to move. I'll put it all away in Brian's house and then you can spend the rest of the day putting it to rights. I'll close the shop and let you give me orders on where to put things. I'll bring the gloves."

Monk smiled, "OK"

Coleman gently interrupted, "Uh, did I forget to mention that Brian wanted Mr. Monk to move in as soon as possible in case of his death? Wanted Mr. Monk to maintain the place with care as he knew he would and not let the plants die. He arranged the estate to pay the rent on Mr. Monk's house until it could be sub-let or the lease runs out."

"Where does the money come from?"

"The grant to the ASPCA. It's paid only after Mr. Monk is permanently in the house and free of obligations of his rented house. The amount of the grant is equal to eleven months rent and estimated utilities costs."

Michael smiled and leaned close to Monk, "Why don't we change that dinner into a moving party?"

Monk nodded his head, liking the idea of living in the home that Brian had made. Monk closed his eyes and pictured the simplicity that had marked Brian's home. It was a place where he could feel comfortable. Thank you, Brian.

(7)

Sharona sighed as she stood up to finish packing the kitchen things. Change was hard for anybody, but for Monk, it was traumatic. He was currently in bed, sedated. He had tried to pack the kitchen things into box to give to Good Will and had started shaking, soon he was moaning and incoherent.

It had been frightening, Sharona, even with her nurse's training, had forgotten how really ill Monk was. She had thought that it was possible that he would slide back into a catatonic state. Until today she had not considered that risk. She had called Dr. Kroger and he had told her to sedate him. The doctor would come over after Monk woke up.

She had also called Michael, who had been upset and wanted to close the store and rush over. Sharona had calmed him down and told him she would call when he was awake. She had also called Leland Stottenmeyer.

Monk's old boss was very supportive when Monk needed help. She had called because she couldn't handle the move alone. Michael was preparing Brian's house, taking care of and clearing out all the private papers, clothes, and personal items, to make it ready for Monk.

The rented house was furnished, so all Monk had to move was clothes, linens, his music, his books, his special supplies. Everything was very portable. He had decided to give away his kitchen stuff and use Brian's.

Seeing his things in boxes rather than their designated places finally became too much for him. It was hard, but Sharona really thought the move would be good. The idea that he had been renting the house that he'd lived in with his wife had been a mistake.

Dr. Kroger had thought the familiarity of his own place would be comforting and healing. Sharona didn't think that it had that effect. It was all too obvious that it brought back too many memories. The change would be good, plus he would own Brian’s place.

A knock on the door brought Sharona back to the present. She shook her head, fluffing her hair and headed to the door. It was Leland.

Sharona opened the door, "Aren't you on duty?"

Stottlemeyer smiled, "Yeah, but I can go where I want to. I'm the boss. I just have to be beepable. How is he? What can I do?"

"He's sleeping. He won't be up for another two or three hours. All these boxes were too much for him. I'd like these cleared out and taken to Brian's and those over there to Good Will.

Dr. Kroger's coming when he wakes up. After the doctor sees him, I'd like to take him over to Brian's and let him start organizing. I think he'll be OK with that."

Leland scanned the boxes. Not a whole hell of a lot. Maybe two trips in his unmarked car. Leland felt a kind of sadness; it would be good for Monk to get out of this house. This had been Monk and Trudy Ann's first house and they had lost it and all their savings because Trudy Ann had written an article calling a local millionaire, the Genghis Khan of finance and for that the bastard made it his personal hobby to make life miserable for them.

Leland had to stand by and helplessly watch. There was nothing he could do except watch the strain and pain that one man caused this couple. Yes, best to get out of here. When Dr. Kroger had made arrangements to rent the place, he hadn't known about Gayle the Whale and what the man had done to Monk and his wife. Gayle had probably laughed himself silly. He owned the house; he was the one collecting the rent.

Monk had been surprisingly unconcerned. Gayle couldn't touch his wife anymore and Monk, for the first couple of months, had been so disconnected that Gayle couldn't bother him. But Monk was getting better and much more aware. A very good time to get him out of here. Leland started to load boxes.

************************

Michael closed the cash register. Business had been good so far today. He turned to a customer who wanted to sale some books and started looking through them. Monk would be great at this. Monk was able to keep the entire stock in his head. He knew when there were gaps in popular series, knew what was selling and what wasn't. Michael just looked to see if the books were in selling condition.

He could keep track of his Star Trek books. It was always glut or famine with those. Sometime he had them coming out of his ears and refused to buy more. His approach was pretty haphazard.

He gratefully consulted the list he had made when Monk had spent the day helping him in the store.

He was concerned about Monk, but Sharona had convinced him that there was nothing he could do. She had told him that Monk's old boss was clearing all the boxes out and deposited all of Monk's stuff at Brian's. She said Monk would be ready to take possession of the house after Dr. Kroger cleared him.

Michael planned to go over to Brian's to see Monk after he closed the store. He decided he'd close at the regular time so Monk wouldn't feel stifled. He was glad about the move, they both loved Brian and this was a small way to keep him in their lives. He had been happy that Donald Coleman had been able to rush probate and get special dispensations to let Monk move so quickly.

Michael smiled at the customer as she left and turned to his wall clock to check the time. It was crawling by. For maybe the thousandth time, Michael asked himself what he thought he was doing? Incredible to think Brian's wake was only one week ago. In that week, Monk had become implausibly important to him.

He thought of the time he had spent with Monk and became conscious that he hadn't enjoyed someone's company so much in a long time. They had so much to say to each other. Tuesday had flown by.

Monk was no handsome buff boy, but Michael acknowledged he was powerfully drawn to him. Michael grimaced. Was he allowing himself to be drawn close because he and Monk had little chance of actually landing in bed? Did he really want it to go that way?

Michael closed his eyes; it had been so long since he had been touched. Yes, if Monk reached out to him, if Monk was able, he would take him as a lover, gladly.

Michael thought back to Paul. God, how he had loved that man, and he had finally come through the pain of the break up to understand that Paul had loved him, but not enough. Paul could not love the man he had become.

Monk understood him. Brian had shared his problems with Monk and because of that knowledge, Monk was gentle and careful with him. Last Tuesday he'd actually been able to comfort him, not with common platitudes, but with empathy. Monk understood, because Monk struggled too.

What a pair. Monk seemed attracted and ready for at least friendship with some flirtation mixed in. It was nice. Best to let time take them where it would. Michael glanced up at the clock again. Damn.

***************************

Monk woke up crying. He had no idea why he was crying, but his throat was raw and his eyes were gritty. He concentrated on his breathing exercises. Eventually, he sat up and went to the bathroom. It didn't look right, shit! He was starting to get anxious but then he saw that there was everything he needed, but all the extras were packed away in boxes. Boxes! Now he remembered, shit. This was just too hard.

He finished and came back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. It didn't have sheets, just a couple of blankets and a pillow. He didn't want to go to the front room and see all the boxes.

The door opened and Sharona came in and sat on the bed and started talking, very softly for her. He couldn't tune in at first and interrupted to ask her to repeat herself. She didn't exhibit her usual frustration at his spaced out moments and just started over.

"Dr. Kroger is on the way, just wants to check you out. Leland came over and took care of all the boxes. After Dr. Kroger clears you, all we have to do is walk out. All the stuff is over at Brian's. Michael has gotten it all ready for you. He said he'd be over after he closes the store. He said he's bring Fritos and beer."

Monk smiled, leave it to Michael to know exactly what to do. He was glad Michael hadn't seen him in such a state that it was necessary to sedate him.

"You packed my scrabble game!?"

Sharona, a bit off balance by the non sequitur, just nodded.

That was enough for Monk, "Good."

************************

Dr. Kroger had cleared him and accompanied Sharona and Monk to his new home. It was a good house for Monk, simply furnished with wide-open spaces. He sat watching Monk empty the boxes until he was satisfied that Monk was able to do this without any strain. Monk actually seemed to enjoy it.

Monk had actually grinned when he retrieved his scrabble board and the tiles and placed them carefully on the coffee table. Kroger figured it was safe to go.

Sharona decided that she would wait until Michael arrived. Monk was happily organizing his world and Sharona leaned back in a recliner and enjoyed a bit of peace.

(8)

Michael arrived with a grocery sack of Fritos, a six pack of beer and a big smile. Sharona gratefully gathered her bag and waved good-by and was gone.

Monk had dressed in his brown suit, without a tie or the hushpuppies. He wore socks and crocheted house slippers. The crocheted house slippers were a mixture of colors that were created for him by Leland's nine year old daughter, Peggy.

Leland was a widower, too. He had lost his wife to breast cancer six years ago. It had been during this time when their friendship had been forged.

Two weeks after Monk had woke up, Leland had brought Peggy to see him. It was disconcerting to see this young girl he had last seen graduating kindergarten.

Leland and she had made a little photograph book that had pictures of her during the missing years, along with her cat, Fluffy, and her parakeets, Blackjack and Angel. Monk had smiled at the names, knowing Leland had named one in some desperate male attempt to save himself from a household of 'cute' pet names.

Leland had evidently instructed her to make him Christmas cards and birthday cards during the years he had been lost. Monk had been overwhelmed by Leland's thoughtfulness and his faith that Monk would return to the living. The scrapbook also contained various artwork and craftwork she had done over the years.

He hung her pictures in frames like they were great works of art. To him, they were. He had her misshapen pottery attempts proudly displayed on the mantel and her crocheted slippers on his feet. He smiled happily at Michael.

Michael grinned at the slippers, "There's a story to tell about those, no doubt."

Monk nodded, "Yes, you'll like it."

Michael smiled and they both made their way out to the kitchen. Michael let Monk fuss with the snacks and looked around. Monk had not changed much. It was a bit strange to say the least, but Michael felt a peace. This was what Brian had wanted, Monk seemed at home here.

Monk finished and smiled at Michael. "Did you bring the movie? We could watch now or after we play scrabble."

Michael headed for the front room, "Yeah, I brought the movie but let's play scrabble first."

They settled down to play. They were both very competitive and laughed a lot. Monk enjoyed scrabble because it was one game he could not control. His memory was perfect for pictures or what he saw around him, which he remembered in minute detail, almost perfect in remembering heard language, but for some reason, he was only a good speller, but not a perfect one.

Monk had won, but only by a few points. They picked up the game and went into the kitchen to gather up some more snacks and get some more beer.

Michael came and stood close to Monk, "I would love to cuddle with you while we watch the movie, any chance of that happening?"

Monk stood and looked at Michael, well it was time to fish or cut bait, empty flirting could only go on for so long, but could he do this? He was gratified that the suggestion had not caused him to panic. Monk nodded numbly, "I think so."

Michael grinned, "We'll figure it out."

Monk and Michael wandered into the front room and switched on the TV and then Michael switched it off again and sat beside Monk. Monk looked at him expectantly. Michael was looking away, at the mantle, at the floor, at the ceiling, finally he turned and looked at Monk.

"Adrian, I'm realizing that I care for you a lot and I need guidelines. You're important to me and I don't want to ruin our…
whatever we're starting… pushing you too hard or by doing something dumb. I want to hold you, touch you, even kiss you. Will that ever be possible? Is it even what you want?"

Adrian looked into Michael's eyes and knew he wanted to be with him. They had hit it off from the beginning. They already understood some important things about each other. They enjoyed each other. It would be good, but Monk honestly didn't know how much he could handle.

"Michael, I want what you want, I just don't know my own…my own limits. You have to promise me that if we do something and I freak, you just call Dr. Kroger and please don't take it personally. I like being with you. I…I wish…"

Michael smiled and gently pulled down Monk's jacket sleeve and covered Monk's hand before he held it.

"Shush, we'll go inch by inch and if you lose it, we'll just call it a small set back. I'm falling in love with you. I think about you all the time. I like working with you. Do you know how much help you've been already."

"Are you going to buy more of those smocks?"

"You bet ya. They are so cute!"

At Monk's slightly horrified look, Michael laughed. Monk broke into a grin. It was a very good to see and hear Michael laugh.

"Now that we are officially, what? A couple? How about the movie?"

Michael stood up and switched the TV on and slid in the movie.

"First order of business is to figure out how we're going to cuddle. Would you be all right with getting your PJ's on? It would be nicer cuddling cotton than, well, whatever that jacket is made of."

Monk stood up and nodded, "Yes, I can do that. I get upset if my little routines are messed up, but this is a new one. Movies, snacks and you, with my PJ's on. Yes, I can do it. Uh, I have another pair of PJ's. How about both of us in PJ's."

Michael laughed, "You're certainly inventive. Sounds great!"

Soon they were both standing somewhat awkwardly in matching PJ's. Both blue, both plain, and each with wildly colorful crocheted booties.

Michael looked down at his feet. "How many pairs of these do you have?"

"Four pairs. When Peggy made these she didn't know how to make anything else yet. Now she's making pot holders and she said she was working on an afghan for me."

"Who’s Peggy?"

"Leland's nine year old daughter."

"Oh, she does fine work for such a little one."

"Yeah, let's sit down and start the movie."

"How do we do this, Adrian?"

Monk walked up to Michael and stood close to him. Michael was slightly taller so Monk tilted his head up and looked into Michael's apprehensive eyes.

"We sit down and you wrap an arm around me somewhere, I wrap an arm around you and we get comfortable. I decided that you are going to be my own personal human bit of nature."

Michael had been following fine until Monk drifted off into the ozone with…."I'm going to be your own personal bit of what?"

Monk looked away, trying to find the words to express himself. Michael waited him out. Finally, Monk looked back into Michael's eyes.

"For some reason, the chaos of nature has never bothered me. Trees, flowers and rivers, all wild and unkempt, chaotic and untended. These are beautiful. But if I see a shrub that is uneven, when it has apparently been shaped regularly, I get agitated.

I have decided to put you with the trees and the flowers, a beautiful creation that is not controlled by human hands. My beautiful geranium in human form, if you will. The exception to all my rules. It may take some time, but I want to hold you, to touch you, make love with you. Touch your lips to mine, just your lips, I want to feel them."

Michael was staggered at his strong reaction to Monk's words, what courage it must have taken Monk to say them. He shakily pulled a sleeve of his PJ's over his hand and placed it at the back of Adrian's neck to steady him and then slowly lowered his head in position and gently, very gently pressed his lips against Adrian's.

It wasn't really a kiss, just contact, but it was electrifying. It was also reassuring. They would be OK.

They finally parted and grinned at each other and moved to the couch. They repositioned themselves several times and finally found a position that was comfortable.

Michael was laying on his side with his back to the sofa upright back and his head lying against the slanted armrest. Adrian was laying, wedged in front of him, resting his head on Michael's outstretched arm. No skin was touching, but the cotton barriers were thin and they periodically wiggled against each other, testing the waters.

The movie was fun, but before it ended, Adrian drifted off to sleep with Michael soft snores in his ears and his arms wrapped around him. Adrian forgot all his nightly routines and slept.

End of part 8