Title: "An Afternoon of Adventure"
Author: Allison Lindsay
Disclaimer: Monk belongs to the lucky people over at USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. I only own the story itself.
This story was inspired by DragonLady4's first official Monk fanfiction challenge. The following must be incorporated into the story:
1. Sharona considers shaving her head bald.
2. Stottlemeyer buys a curling iron and mascara.
3. Someone says "In a coon's age" when referring to a span of time.
4. Monk is caught holding a pair of lacy, black underpants.
5. Sharona says: "I will if you will"; "you want the top or the bottom?"; and "I can't wait to hear you scream."
Thanks to Blynneda for her very helpful suggestion.
The T rating is for verbal smut.
Chapter One
The female driver of the clunky, cranky tan station wagon steers the vehicle into the parking lot of the local shopping mall.
"Over there is good," her passenger comments, pointing to a spot near the main entrance.
The woman beside him complies and pulls her car into the empty space.
"You still haven't told me why we're here," Adrian Monk reminds her as he unbuckles his seatbelt.
Cutting off the engine, Sharona turns and faces him. "I just need to pick something up. That's all," she replies, trying her best to appear innocent.
But Monk is on to her. "What 'something' are you referring to, Sharona?"
"Just . . . something," she shrugs.Taking the keys from the ignition, she drops them into her purse and zips it up.
Mr. Monk is starting to get agitated. "Sharona," he begins, looking her straight in the eyes, "Why are we here?"
His companion simply giggles in responseas she swingsopen the door. "You tell me, detective," Sharona quips, exiting the vehicle.
With a groan, Adrian emerges as well, joining her in the fresh air. His level of annoyance has escalated a notch or two. "Would you just tell me, Sharona?"Monk pleads anxiously.
The secretive female makes her way around the car to stand beside him. "We've been married for what? Three months now?" she queries, holding out her left hand to admire the small stone as it glistens in the afternoonsunlight.
"Well, actually, three months, two days . . ." He glances at his watch. "Four hours, seven minutes. Never mind the seconds. And don't change the subject. Let's get back to the issue at hand. What are we doing here?"
The pretty blond rolls her cerulean-colored eyes. "All right, I'll give you one clue, but that's it. Okay, um . . . we're here to pick up something for our bedroom."
Adrian's eyes narrow. "What? You mean, like furniture?"
"You know, the sooner we get inside, the sooner you'll find out the purpose of our little excursion,"his wifeadvises, kissing him on the cheek.
Her husband's disgruntled expression softens, a smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips. But when he attempes to return the gesture, Sharona's golden blonde locks flap in his face. "It won't let me kiss you," he complains.
"What won't?"
"This," Monk answers, running his fingers through her curls. "It's in my way."
"I'll shave it off, then. That'll take care of the problem."
The detective's face registersabject horror at the suggestion.
"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"
"I-I knew that."
"Liar," she accuses, lightly punching his arm. "Come on. Let's go."
"It's on the second floor, Adrian," his wife informs him, pointing to a small yellow star on a bright red background.
Mr. Monk frowns at the map. "That's a lingerie shop, Sharona."
"I don't know what you're so upset about, Adrian. You wanted to know what we were doing here, and now you do. We're buying lingerie," she replies, a smug smile on her face.
"Why didn't I stay home and vacuum?" the detective grumbles as Sharona seizes his germ-free hand.
Getting her spouse onto the elevator proves a difficult task, but getting him into the store is a remarkable feat in itself.
"Adrian, would you come on!" she prods, tugging on his hand as hard as she can.
After several more yanks, they reach the dreaded establishment, and she releases the appendage.
"Here it is!" Sharona announces upon entering.
Her fearful husband remains outside the doorway, rubbing his sore palm.
"Don't think you're gonna stay out there!" she calls over her shoulder.
With a heavy sigh, Adrian cautiously steps onto the faded black carpeting. Once inside, however, he feelsunsure of what to do with himself, so he simply stands there, staring at his shoes.
"What did you say your last name was?" the salesgirl at the counter inquires of Sharona.
"Fle- uh, haha. Monk. Sharona Monk. We-We've only been married for three months. I'm still adjusting,"the flustered blonde explains, slightly embarrassed by her slip.
The woman nods her understanding. "Well, I'll go and get it for you. It's in the back room. Excuse me for a moment."
When she is gone, Mr. Monk approaches his wife, tapping her on the shoulder to attract her attention. "Um, I saw a bench right outside. I'm gonna . . . go wait there, and you can come get me when you're done."
Sharona giggles, apparently finding his discomfort amusing. "Five minutes, Adrian. Just stay for five minutes, and then we'll leave."
Before he can respond, the salesgirl reappears. "Here you go," she says cheerfully, handing the white box over to her customer.
"Thanks!" Sharona takes the cardboard carton from her, lifting one corner of the lid and peeking inside. "This is great! Adrian, I'll be right back. I just need to try it on." With that, she turns and dashes to the back of the store, where the dressing rooms are located.
Once again, Mr. Monk is left to his own devices. His shoes being uninteresting to look at, he allows his eyes to wander. The first thing that comes into his line of vision is a rack of underpants.
Tenderly, he begins to rifle through them, being careful to touch only the hangers.
"They're out of order,"Monk mutters, noticing that the sizes are not in the correct numerical sequence. Naturally, he begins to rearrange the unmentionables.
He is nearly through when he hears Sharona's footsteps rushing towards him. His wife looks ecstatic.
"Adrian, it's perfect! Perfect color, perfect fit! And . . . it shows just the right amount of cleavage," she adds in a husky tone of voice.
Her husband suddenly feels a bit hot under the collar. "S-Sharona, please! Behave yourself!"
"I will if you will."
"What?"
"Hey, I'm not the one with lacy, black underwear wrapped around my fingers," she retorts, motioning to the cotton fabric in the detective's hands.
Hastily,Monk disentangles the garment and hangs it back up. "Wipe, Sharona. Someone could've-"
But his wife remains one step ahead of him, already having retrieved a moist towelette from her purse. "Tried 'em on, I know," she completes his sentence as she hands over the wipe. Sharona then leaves his side once more in order to make her purchase.
"What's with him?" the salesgirl wonders, eyeing the distraught man with suspicion.
"Oh, he just doesn't like it here. Underwear makes him nervous."
Mrs. Monk slows the car to a stop at the red light. "Was that really so bad?"
"I've been in worse situations."
"You make it sound like you were in danger."
Adrianrefrains fromresponding.
"Oh, come on, lighten up. The torture will be well worth it, I promise. Okay?"
Still no reply.
With a dramatic scoff, the curly-headed blonde presses her foot to the gas pedal, propelling the vehicle onward."Oh, I get it. You're giving me the silent treatment. Is that it?"
Turning his headaside, Adrian stifles a chuckle. She has had her fun; now it is his opportunity.
"Adrian?"
The silent man purses his lips together.
"All right, fine. Don't talk to me. See if I care."
She's actually takingme seriously.There's a first. The detective is starting to find this game rather exciting.
After several moments of silence, Sharona speaks. "Well, in case you're wondering, we're going to the supermarket."
"What for?" Adrian questions, refocusing on his wife.
"You're bored with the silent treatment already?" she teases.
"What? No. Uh, no, I'm still not speaking to you." But it is too little, too late.
A smile creeps onto Sharona's face. "Adrian, let me explain something to you, okay? The whole point of the silent treatment is to keep silent!"
"Now you tell me," he jokes, chuckling softly.
Out of nowhere, Sharona blurts, "Bread and condoms."
"What?"
"Bread and condoms. That's what we're going there for."
Her husband blushes, but at the same time, he is unable to supress the snicker.
"Why is that funny?"
"It's not. It's just the way you said it. Like they go together somehow."
"Well, yeah. Haven't you ever heard of rubbers-on-rye?"
The detective beside her bursts out laughing.
"I made that up just now. Pretty clever, huh?"
"Um . . . y-yeah, sure."
"You didn't think that was funny?" Sharona cries, offended. "Oh, my God! I can't believe you! You know what? You have no sense of humor."
"Hey, I laughed, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but for the wrong reasons!"
Adrianmassages his temple. Maybe it would be in my best interest to revert back to the silent treatment.
Sharona swings the empty shopping basket back and forth. She is standing in aisle five of the pharmacy section, while her husband is all the way on the other side of the store, picking out a loaf of white bread.
Damn. They don't carry them here, Adrian's wife realizes as she examines the variety of small, square boxes in front of her. I'll ask. Just for the hell of it.
"Excuse me, can you can come here for a second?"
The young man shelving items a few feet away dutifully abandons his task and saunters over. "What do you need help with, Miss?"
"Do you have the kind that glow in the dark?" the potential buyer inquires, gesturing toward the display.
In an instant, the employee loses his cool. "Um, uh, w-well . . . we-we have them in black . . ."
"But that's not-"
"Sharona! There you are!" Adrian interrupts. He heard the conversation as he was coming around the corner and empathized with the poor boy that his wife was pestering.
As her husband approaches, the young man gratefully retreats. "Sharona, what are you doing?" her spouse whispers.
"What are you doing?" a puzzled Mrs. Monk counters. Had the decisively challenged Adrian Monk spent only five minutes choosing a loaf of bread?
The detective ignores her inquiry. "Just get the same ones as always, Sharona."
"Okay, okay," she relents, grabbing a package from the top shelf and plopping it into the basket. "I was just trying to liven things up a bit."
Taking hold of her arm, Adrian leads her away. "Well, don't. Please. Things are lively enough."
"Heh. Well, I guess I should cancel the order on those toys then."
"Toys? What? Why are we bringing Benjy into this?"
His wife smiles cunningly. "Oh, these aren't the kind of toys that Benjy plays with . . ."
It takes a moment for it to click. "Sharona! Th-Those things aren't . . . clean!"
"What? Of course they're clean, Adrian. They're not second hand or anything," Mrs. Monk reasons. "It says right in the catalogue: 'direct from the factory to you.' And, you know, some of them look pretty exciting . . . in particular, the ones that vibrate."
Adrianis mortified, as evidenced by his fire engine red complexion. Whatis wrong with her today? "Sharona! Keep your voice down! People can hear you!"
"So? We're married. What's the big deal if we talk about sex?"
Her husband clamps a hand over her mouth. "We're in public, Sharona! It's inappropriate!" he hisses through clenched teeth.
"Prude," she mutters teasingly, getting on line at lane four.
After only ten seconds of waiting, Sharona begins to feel restless. Setting the basket onto the edge of the conveyer belt, she grabs Adrian by the waist. "You owe me a kiss," the blond informs him as she yanks her startled husband towards her.
But if Adrian thinks he is going to get away with a simple peck on the lips, he has another thing coming.
"S-Sharona! People are watching!" Mr. Monk protests as he tries to free himself from his wife's grasp. After several failed attempts, however, he has no choice but to surrender. And it isn't long before their G-rated display of affection turns into a very intense and passionate kiss.
Soon, customers begin complaining. Will you two give it up already, they gripe. They still haven't come up for air, whine a few others.And then there's the ever-popular Get a room!
But Sharona does not let up until she hears someone say: "If the two of you move just a little to the left, I can get around you and cut in front."
At the sound of that all-too-familiar voice, the newlyweds break apart.
"C-Captain-Captain Stottlemeyer," Adrian sputters,struggling to catch his breath. "We were just-"
Stottlemeyer chuckles. "I know what you were doing."
"Mascara and a curling iron? Interesting . . ."
The two men turn to see Sharona and her raised eyebrows inspecting the contents of Leland's shopping cart.
"It's for my wife," the captain advises her with some defense. "This morning, she says: 'When was the last time you did the shopping?' I say: 'I don't know. In a coon's age.' So, then, she shoves a list in my hands, pushes me out the door, and-"
"Um, excuse me! Excuse me!" Mrs. Monk interjects, sounding rather irritated. "As much as we'd love to stay here and chat, we really have to get home. We have a lot to do." So saying, sheseizes Adrian's coat sleeve and drags him over to the cashier.
Leland half smiles as he watches the pair retreat. "Good to see you back in action, Monk."