Author: Allison L.F
Disclaimer: MONK belongs to the lucky people at USA Network and Mandeville Films. I only own the story itself.
Summary: Adrian takes care of a flu-stricken Sharona.
Spoilers: A few small ones from "Mr. Monk and the Other Woman."
Rating: PG
Nurse for a Day
The phone rang just as he had stepped out of the shower. 'Adrian,' she had said, 'Remember when I told you that I touch everything that you're afraid to touch, and I never get sick? Well, I lied. I got sick. VERY sick. I have the flu. So, don't come over.'
'I'll be there as soon as I can,' he had replied, without even thinking.
So, now, half an hour later, here he was, standing at the door of Sharona's apartment. As he reached for his key, realization finally hit him: on the opposite side of that door lurked a plethora of germs. And not the usual amount of germs that he was able to tolerate. This was worse, much worse. His eyes began to water, and he contemplated turning around and going back home. But, he couldn't do that to her. It wouldn't be fair, not after everything that she had done for him.
Taking a deep breath, Adrian pulled out Trudy's keychain and unlocked the front door. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He made his way into the kitchen, set a heavy canvas bag onto the countertop, and began to unload its contents.
"Latex gloves, check. Facial masks, check. Cough medicine, check. Electric blanket, check. Chicken soup, check. That's everything."
He opened the box of latex gloves and slipped on a pair. Then, he removed a facial mask from its package and covered his mouth and nose.
Taking another deep breath, he started for Sharona's bedroom. As he approached, he could hear the TV playing softly. But it was another sound that made him stop dead in his tracks: the sound of coughing. Cocking his head to the side, he shrugged his right shoulder nervously. He rushed back into the kitchen and snatched the bottle of cough medicine from the counter. He then cautiously made his way back to her room.
Sharona was lying on her back, her head propped up with a couple of pillows. She was wearing a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. She smiled when she saw him, standing apprehensively in the doorway. "Adrian!" she called, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"H-Hi, Sharona," he said, hesitantly pulling the mask down. He tried to return her smile, but the muscles in his face betrayed him, forcing him instead to grimace.
She frowned slightly, then coughed again. Adrian quickly replaced the mask.
"See ya, Adrian. It was nice of you to stop by," she muttered sarcastically.
Adrian took yet another deep breath. He slowly made his way over to her, being careful not to step on the crumpled tissues that littered the carpeting. He stopped when he reached the foot of the bed.
"Um . . . . how-how do you feel?"
"I feel exactly how I look," she grumbled. "Like crap."
"You don't look like 'crap,' Sharona." He pulled the mask down again and this time managed a small but sincere smile.
She smiled back. "Thanks."
He held the spoon and the bottle of thick red liquid out to her. "T-Take this."
"Yech," she said with a disgusted face.
Adrian walked to the right side of the bed and stood next to her. He removed the plastic wrapping from the top of the bottle and dropped it into the wastebasket. Next, he read the directions on the label and then filled the tiny measuring cup to the two-teaspoon line. He held it out to her.
Sharona raised her eyebrows. "What do you want me to do with THAT?"
"I-I want you to drink it, Sharona. It's cough medicine."
"I don't like medicine," she informed him.
"Just drink it, Sharona," he pleaded.
She stubbornly shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand. Adrian didn't know what to do. He began to wonder if Sharona were going to be a bigger hurdle than her germs. Seeing that he was practically on the brink of tears, Sharona sighed heavily and removed her hand. She yanked the little plastic cup from him and drank the colored substance. "That stuff is nauseating," she grumbled, shoving the empty cup back into his hands.
"I-I'll get you some water."
"No." She rubbed her red nose.
"But-But you're supposed to have water when you take medicine, Sharona," he protested.
"I don't want any water."
"Well, how-how about some juice then?"
"Juice?" she asked, as if she had never heard of such a thing.
He nodded. "Yeah, juice. Have some juice."
"Well . . . . okay," she finally agreed. "Orange."
"Got it." Adrian made a fast exit. Once outside the room, he breathed a grateful sigh of relief that she hadn't given him another argument. However, his relief soon turned to distress when he saw that there was not one drop of orange juice in the icebox. He returned to her bedroom empty-handed.
"There's no orange juice," he told her dejectedly.
"That's okay, Adrian. I'll have something else."
"But you wanted orange."
"Adrian, I can have something else. It's no big deal."
"But you specifically requested orange juice, Sharona," he continued to argue.
"Adrian," she said gently, "It's not the end of the world."
"Are-Are you sure? Because, you know, I can run to the store and get some. I don't mind."
Sharona couldn't help but smile. "I don't want you to do that, Adrian. I want you to stay right here. Okay? Just stay right here."
He nodded slowly. "A-All right. So, what-what should I bring you?"
She thought for a minute. She had to choose something that she was positive she wasn't out of. "Grape juice," she answered at last.
Adrian left the room. Sharona prayed silently that she had at least a quarter bottle of fresh grape juice somewhere in her messy refrigerator.
Several seconds later, he returned, holding a full bottle and an empty glass.
"Thank goodness," Sharona muttered under her breath.
"I didn't know how much you wanted," he said, as he walked over to the nightstand and set the glass down.
"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'll drink as much you give me."
Adrian was clearly not pleased with this answer. "No, see . . . . you have-you have to tell me how much you want . . . . Sharona, because, if you don't, then I won't know how much to give you."
"Fine. Half a glass."
"That's all?" he asked, disappointed.
Sharona scoffed. "Adrian, you asked me . . . . Ugh. You know what? Just-Just fill it as high as you want, all right? And-And I'll drink it all."
"Okay." He unscrewed the cap and poured the juice into the glass, stopping about an inch from the brim. He handed it to her.
"Thank you," she said, taking it from him. "And, um . . . . I'm sorry for giving you a hard time. I-I know you're only trying to help." She gave him a small smile.
Adrian smiled back and then replaced the cap and headed out to the kitchen for the third time. When he got back, he saw that Sharona had finished the juice and was fast asleep. Unsure of what to do with himself, he picked up the wastebasket next to the nightstand and began disposing of the used tissues, cringing each time his latex-covered fingers touched one. She awoke just as he was finishing.
"Adrian," she grumbled.
Adrian replaced the wastebasket and returned to her side. "What's wrong?"
"It's hot in here."
"It is?"
"Well, I'M hot."
"Wh-What should I do?"
"Help me take this off," she said, sitting up and tugging at her sweatshirt.
"Huh?"
"Help me take this off," she repeated.
"Sharona, I can't . . . . undress you."
She groaned and gave him a 'look.' "Adrian, I'm wearing a T-shirt underneath, okay?"
He swallowed hard. He knew he had better listen to her, or things would get very unpleasant. He replaced the facial mask and took a step closer. Cautiously, he reached his gloved hands out and picked up the bottom of her sweatshirt. He hesitated a second, then started pulling the sweatshirt up. When he made it past her midriff, he stopped, letting go of the fabric.
"What's the matter?" Sharona asked, her arms above her head.
"Sharona, I can't . . . . Well, what if I . . . . you know . . . . touch . . . . your, um, your-?"
"My breasts?"
Adrian turned bright red.
She laughed. "So what if you touch 'em, Adrian? It's not like you'd be doing it on purpose."
"I-I know, but . . . ."
"Adrian," she said softly, "I can't hold my arms like this forever. C'mon."
He sighed, then reached his hands out. Right when he was about to start pulling, Sharona sneezed. Right in his face.
Adrian's eyes began to water again. He let go of the sweatshirt.
"S-Sorry about that," she apologized, but he had already made a mad dash for the bathroom.
Sharona smiled to herself and finished pulling her sweatshirt off. Her smile soon faded, though, when she realized that, once he finished washing up, he would be out of here. She wished she hadn't done that. Her sneezing in his face was even more horrible for him than that man at the funeral coughing on the back of his neck. True, she couldn't help it, and he knew that, but, nevertheless, it would be the reason for his departure. "See ya for real this time, Adrian," she muttered when she heard the faucet handles squeak ten minutes later.
She was shocked when Adrian reappeared in her doorway. She had expected him to walk right past her and out the front door. Adrian leaned against the wall opposite the bed.
Sharona clicked off the TV and watched him for a few seconds. "So, uh, you gonna come any closer?"
He shrugged.
She pointed to the chair on the other side of the bed. "You can sit there," she suggested.
Adrian made no attempt to move.
"Please? I promise I won't spray my germs all over you again," she said with a smile.
He chuckled softly. "Um . . . . yeah. I-I'll come closer." Slowly, he made his way over to the chair, moved it about an inch back, and sat down. "Um . . . . I-Is there anything I can do for you? Are you-"
"You wanna play a game?" she asked, interrupting him.
His eyes widened slightly. "R-Really? I thought you hated playing games with me.
I mean, remember the 'Clue' incident? A-And 'Charades'?"
She smiled again and shook her head. "Yeah, I remember, but this isn't like that." She held both hands up, her palms facing him. "Put up your hands," she instructed.
Adrian held up two gloved hands. "What are we doing?"
"It's called 'Ten Fingers,'" she explained. "See, each of us has to say something that we've never done. If the other person HAS done what one of us has said we've never done, then they have to put one finger down. And so on and so on. The person who puts all their fingers down first loses, and the person with fingers still up wins. Does that make sense?"
He went over her instructions in his head. "Yeah, I think I've got it."
"Okay, good. I'll start. Let's see . . . . I've never . . . . I've never been to a Willie Nelson concert," she stated triumphantly, knowing that that would put her one ahead.
Adrian laughed. "Nice one, Sharona."
She giggled. "I know."
He put a finger down. "Okay, um, I've never . . . . I've never . . . . ah, I don't know. I've never been skydiving."
Sharona rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Adrian. You can do better than that."
"All right, all right. Let me think . . . . um . . . . Oh, you're not gonna like this one," he said smiling. "I've never been a nurse."
"You're being one now."
Adrian scoffed. "Oh, come on, Sharona."
"Well, it's true!" she argued. "Nurses take care of people, and you're taking care of me. Therefore, you're a nurse."
Adrian shook his head. "Fine, fine, fine. I've never been a LICENSED nurse. How about that?"
Sharona giggled. "Okay, okay. You win," she said, putting down one finger. "Now, we're even. And, it's my turn again. Hmm . . . . I've never . . . . I've never run track. Ha!"
"This game won't last very long," he commented with a laugh, bending down his thumb.
The two continued laughing.
"My turn again. Okay . . . . I've never . . . . never . . . . never . . . ."
"Come on, Adrian. Today!"
"I'm thinking! I'm thinking! All right. I've never . . . . . I got one. Not that you don't already know this, but, um, I've never-I've never liked any of the guys you've dated."
The room was suddenly enveloped in silence. Adrian gulped. "Why not?" she asked quietly. "I mean, some-some of them were nice . . . . Not many, but some." She brought her hands to her lap. Of course, Sharona was well-aware of her consistently lousy taste in the opposite sex, but she really wanted to hear what he had to say.
Adrian once again turned bright red. He put his own hands down and stared at her, unsure of how to answer. He hadn't expected her to pursue the issue.
"Well?" she prodded. "How come you've never liked any of 'em?"
He looked down and shrugged. "I-I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
Part of him was eager to answer, but another part was afraid to. He knew that his response might change things between them.
"Adrian? Are you . . . . jealous of them?"
He looked up at her. "Uh . . . . Um . . . . I . . . . Yes," he whispered finally.
Sharona gave him a small smile. She was hoping he would say that. She had always suspected that he was jealous, but she had been afraid to ask him about it. "You-You know that time, um . . . . that time that you were gonna have that 'sleepover' at Monica's house, and-and you told me that I was jealous . . . . and I denied it?" Her voice was soft, and she sounded nervous.
He nodded.
"Well, I WAS . . . . jealous. I know that she reminded you of Trudy and all, but still . . . . And, uh, I gotta admit, I was-I was happy when she left. I was afraid you two might, um, you know . . . . 'hook up' or something."
Adrian shook his head, smiling. "Nah. I don't think she was all that interested in me. And, besides, you were right. She did remind me of Trudy. Too much."
The room fell silent again, and both stared down at their laps. After a few minutes, the silence was broken by Sharona's yawning. The medicine was starting to make her drowsy. "Um . . . . I-If you don't mind, I'd kinda like to, um, take a nap . . . . for a little while."
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Adrian said understandingly.
"Thanks." Sharona leaned back and shut her eyes. She was soon fast asleep.
Adrian watched her for a moment, thinking about their conversation. It was hard to believe that some silly game had led to these secrets - no, more than secrets, feelings - being revealed. Sighing, he pushed the chair back, stood up, and walked out of the room.
Fifteen minutes later, just as Sharona was waking up, Adrian came back. He was holding a steaming bowl of soup between both hands. A towel was slung over his arm. "Perfect timing," he remarked as he carefully made his way over to the chair again and sat down. "I made this for you. I thought you should have something to eat."
She smiled and rubbed her eyes. "That was nice of you, Adrian. Thank you," she said, sitting up.
"You're welcome."
She reached out to take the bowl of soup from him, but he handed her the towel instead.
"I'll take care of it. Just tuck this in." She looked at him questioningly but took the towel anyway and tucked it into her shirt. Adrian picked up the spoon handle and brought the utensil to her lips. "Blow."
Sharona laughed. "You're gonna feed me?"
He nodded. "Come on, blow."
She laughed again and followed his orders. Then, she opened her mouth, and he fed her the first spoonful.
"How is it?" he asked, gently removing the spoon from her mouth.
She smacked her lips. "Good."
Five minutes later, Adrian scooped up the last piece of chicken and remaining liquid. He fed her the final spoonful and was about to get up when she stopped him.
"Here. Just give it to me," she said, holding out her hands. Adrian gave her the empty bowl and spoon, and she placed them next to the box of tissues on the nightstand. She then removed the towel from her shirt, wiped her lips with it, and set it down on the bed beside her.
Adrian picked up the wrinkled cloth between his thumb and forefinger and folded it perfectly. "You-You sure ate pretty fast," he commented, not knowing what else to say.
"Yeah." Sharona gave him a small smile and then cleared her throat. "You know, um, I-I thought about telling you this on-on Tuesday, the day that it happened, but, um, I wasn't sure if I should. Um . . . . but-but I think I should tell you now."
"What-What is it?" he asked.
She took a deep breath. "Um . . . . when-when I was waiting for you, you know to-to finish your appointment with Dr. Kroger, this guy came over to where I was sitting . . . . um, outside on the bench, and, uh, he started to talking to me. And then-And then he asked me to have dinner with him that night, and-and I . . . . I gave him this 'look' like he was crazy or something. A-And I said-I said: 'Are you kidding? It's chicken potpie night.'
Adrian couldn't help but laugh. "I thought that was my line," he joked.
Sharona giggled, feeling a bit more relaxed. "So, he-he asked: 'What does that mean?' And I told him: 'That means I'm having dinner with my best friend tonight.'"
"You-You said I was your best friend?"
"You ARE," she told him, smiling.
Adrian returned the smile. "You're my best friend, too," he replied.
Sharona blushed a little and began fiddling with the drawstring on her pants. Adrian waited a few seconds before saying something else. "So, um, when-when are you gonna see the guy?"
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you made a date with him for another night . . . . didn't you?"
She blushed again and looked away from him. "Uh . . . . Well, he-he asked me out for another night, but, I, um . . . . I turned him down."
Adrian could barely hear the last few words. "You turned him down? Is that what you said?" he asked hopefully.
She nodded. "Yeah."
"So, you weren't . . . . you weren't interested in him?"
She shrugged. "Kind of . . . . I don't know . . . . Not really."
"Well, which is it, Sharona?" he asked gently. "I mean, do you-do you . . . . regret turning him down?"
She sighed and looked at him again. "No, Adrian. I don't regret. If I had really wanted to go out with him, I would have."
"What was, um, what was wrong with him?" Adrian wondered.
She shrugged once more. "Honestly? I don't know. I mean, I couldn't find anything wrong with him when we were talking. He was good-looking, had a steady job - well, that's what he claimed, anyway - and he seemed nice enough."
Adrian thought about something. He had to ask. "Sharona . . . . what-what was his name?"
Sharona blinked, surprised by the question. She racked her brain for at least two minutes but had absolutely no recollection of the guy's name. All she was certain of was that he had mentioned it when he had introduced himself. "I-I'm drawing a complete blank, Adrian. I have no idea."
A small smile crept onto Adrian's face. "Then you really weren't interested."
She shook her head. "Guess I wasn't."
"I'm, uh, I'm glad . . . . that you weren't interested. A-And, I'm also glad that you turned him down. He wasn't-He wasn't good enough for you." He paused for a second. Sharona smiled at him, so he continued. "No one is. No-No matter how nice, or-or how good-looking, or how smart, or how honest . . . . In my mind . . . . In my mind, Sharona, nobody will ever be good enough for you." He turned his head to the side, afraid to make eye contact.
"So, what-what exactly are you saying, Adrian?" she asked gently.
Adrian slowly turned back to her. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "I-I'm saying that I . . . . that I have feelings for you, Sharona."
She smiled again. "So do I."
Sharona coughed, but Adrian didn't even flinch. She picked up on it right away. It was also at that moment that she noticed that he was no longer wearing gloves or a mask. "You're not protected, Adrian."
"What?"
She motioned to his hands and face.
"Oh. Yeah, I-I know."
"My germs don't scare you any more?" she teased. "Are they 'special' or something?"
"In a way."
She laughed, then her voice turned more serious. "You know, um, things are kinda different between us now."
"Yeah . . . . but that's a good thing," he added, smiling. "And you know what else?"
"What else?"
"Chicken potpie night will never be the same again," he told her with a laugh.
Sharona giggled. "You're right . . . . It'll be better."
******
END