LAID TO REST

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And so, now that all is done with, it's time to wrap everything up. This story will formally bring my continuity that you've followed for the last five years to a close. There may be further Monk stories down the line from me--much like the show itself, one can never permanently rule anything out--although they would be either "lost" stories that took place at some point before this or part of a separate post-show continuity. If you are disappointed that a plot thread you wanted to see wrapped up on air wasn't, perhaps I could help here for one thing.

Adrian Monk and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. And now, one last time (for now anyway), here we go...

ONE MONTH LATER...

It was snowing again. A fine powdery snow, gently blanketing the cemetery under its cold accumulation. Adrian Monk walked briskly through it towards a very familiar place. His shoes were getting saturated, and he was making new prints in the snow, but he didn't mind. Indeed, he'd found, there were now an awful lot of things he didn't mind anymore.

"Wait up, Mr. Monk," Molly Evans's voice wafted through the air behind him. His surrogate daughter was huffing to keep up with him, "You may know the way by heart, but this is my first time, remember?"

"Oh absolutely," Adrian slowed to a walk. His heart started beating faster as he approached the now familiar tombstone. Ever since he had found everything out, this moment had loomed for him. "Hello, Trudy," he told the cold slab, choking up, "I'd...I'd like you to meet someone. If, if you were watching all along, you'll know...you'll know Rickover lied that the child died. Here she is," he waved Molly forward, "Your daughter."

Molly stared reverently at her mother's final resting place in silence. Adrian had been relieved she hadn't doubted his story and had in fact accepted the truth so willingly; he had been afraid when he'd first found his wife's child had lived that she would be bent on running away from him, being so used to such a sad development after years of the like. "As you can see, she practically IS you," he told the tombstone again, tearing up, "You would be so proud--I'm sure you are proud somewhere. But it's just..."

He sniffed back the tears. "I guess you've seen Rickover took the cowardly way out and all, and, of course, no punishment can be light enough for a subhuman slug like him. But, I have to ask...I'm sure you've know I've wanted to ask...I mean..."

"Why," came Trudy's voice unexpectedly behind him, taking him by surprise and making him jump. Behind him, Molly shrieked as well in surprise at the sudden intrusion, and Adrian, after noticing Trudy now standing by the large white granite tombstone behind him, saw his wife's child staring in shock at the apparition. "Hello Molly," Trudy was choking up as well as she slowly started forward, making her daughter take a number of large steps backwards, "Don't be afraid, it's only me...your mother."

She was breaking down in tears as well, Adrian noticed, and he couldn't blame her, given the magnitude of the situation. "So you're...you're...!?" Molly was stammering to find words.

"Yes," Trudy gently took her hand (sort of), openly sobbing now, "Yes, you've turned out so well. Oh what I would have given to be able to hold you, to hug you, if I'd only known..."

She bent forward, heartbroken. Adrian put an arm around her vapory form. "I know," he told her softly, "It's all right, Trudy; you're here now, even if it is too late. Nothing can change the fact she is yours, Trudy."

"I know," she smiled warmly at him, "I'm so glad you're getting better at empathizing, Adrian; I have noticed."

"I take it a little at a time," he looked her straight in the eye, "Now, as, as I was saying, if you're up to it right now, please, I need to know..."

"Why," she knew what was coming, a visible lump in her throat, he noticed, "Adrian, I've told you for years, I wasn't perfect. I shouldn't have been perfect; no one should be, hard as that may be to come to terms with sometimes. Look at the choices Ethan made; those were in pursuit of perfection, and as you now know, it wasn't worth it at all. I was young, Adrian," her face filled with terrible regret, "Ethan was charming, he pulled me in, and before I realized it..."

She glanced over at her daughter, watching the unusual conversation with rapt attention. "I wouldn't have gone ahead with it if I known what it would come to," she confessed, "If I'd known his reaction to it would be to take her away from me and blow me up...I didn't want to be a parent that way. And although I had no control over it," she hung her head, looking more miserable than Adrian had ever seen her in life, "I do feel like I've failed..."

"No you didn't," Molly was starting to overcome her fear now, and put her own arm around her mother (sort of), "You didn't fail at all, Trudy. Mr. Monk tells me what kind of person you were; you have nothing to be sorry about."

"Thank you," her mother smiled tearfully at her, "You can't begin to know how much that makes me feel better." She turned back to her husband, looking quite nervous, "How did Mom and Dad take it?"

"Well," Adrian started slowly, "Kind of as you might expect. Rickover should really count himself lucky he blew his brains out when we found Wendy's body; your father would have probably done the same thing to him at the trial if we'd brought him in alive. I think he and your mother kind of thought of you as a sort of saint too. But they're starting to come to terms with it a little bit now; I think knowing you had no control since Rickover lied to you about Molly's fate made it easier for them."

"I'll actually be getting to meet them for the first time once we leave here," Molly told her mother, excitement in her voice, "I've been wanting to, ever since I first learned..."

"We're holding a celebratory party at Ambrose's afterwards," Adrian explained to his wife, "Everyone's coming; even Harold, funny though that may seem," he chuckled loudly, "Who'd've ever thought I'd be glad to have him show up for a victory party? But I am, and ever since he finally saw the light, he's been actually pretty bearable to be around. You're welcome to come too, if you have the time."

"Oh, I think I can manage," she nodded with a wry smile, "Before I do, though, how's everyone else doing now that it's over?"

"Well," Adrian took a deep breath, "Of course, you probably already know they executed Dale after his plot to kill me at Breckman Lake failed, so he won't bother us again. Of course, that means I'll never know exactly how he knew about the plot, but I can take a preliminary guess that he had Rickover in his pocket at some point, and was able to put two and two together."

"Sounds fairly reasonable," she nodded, "I'm glad he finally got his due. But I wasn't asking about our enemies."

"Of course. Well, the captain's going..."

"Adrian," she held up a finger, "Show, don't tell. Take my hand."

She extended it forward, holding out the other one to Molly. Adrian hesitated for a brief second, then grabbed hold of it at the exact moment Molly seized the other one. Instantly, the cemetery dissolved around them, and Adrian found himself exactly where he'd been a few weeks ago, sitting in the exact middle of the row in the Shrine Auditorium next to Captain Stottlemeyer and his new bride. The captain was rubbing his hands nervously, watching the distinguished gentleman on stage reading out the names of the nominees for the Oscar for Best Documentary. "I was actually here too, sitting about over there," Molly pointed down to the front row on the right side of the auditorium, "At the time I didn't know that..."

"Shhh," Trudy gently raised a finger as the presenter on stage opened his envelope and announced, "And the Oscar goes to...Karen Landau for Obsessive Love: The Triumph of Adrian Monk."

The audience applauded loudly. "Karen changed the documentary's title after she changed her ways at the festival," Adrian told his wife, applauding himself as Karen, truly smiling for the first time in a good long time since he'd known her, walked on stage and accepted the Oscar, "She says she's going to edit a postscript into the film now that we know everything; I'm going to sit down for a formal interview and tell the world how it feels to finally have solved it, although I won't give away too much of the ending; don't want to spoil the show for all the viewers, right captain?" he asked his superior next to him, but Stottlemeyer paid him no heed, rising to his feet and giving his former wife a standing ovation, which his new wife joined in as well. "I said, right captain?" he repeated, louder.

"He can't hear you, Adrian," Trudy shook her head, "We're but shadows to them right now."

"Oh, I see," Adrian nodded softly, "Well, afterwards, they both went backstage," he gestured at the Stottlemeyers next to himself, "that was about an hour after this, but I didn't go with them, so I don't..."

"Nothing says we can't," Trudy said cryptically. She snapped her fingers, and the next thing Adrian knew, everything around him was rather disturbingly fast forwarding. In a matter of about forty seconds, the Oscars were completely over, and Stottlemeyer and T.K. were in fact heading for the aisle. "Come on," Trudy took her husband and her daughter's hands, "Let's actually see how it went ourselves."

"I did have a talk with her myself afterwards for an article," Molly told her mother, "She was actually quite forthcoming, which I found a little surprising, given how bitter her divorce with her second husband's supposed to be going; usually they crawl right into their shells when that happens."

"Well, like I said, Karen's changed for the better; I suppose when she overdosed in her hotel room, her darker side sort of died so her better one could live," Adrian reasoned. Although he secretly wondered if the darker Karen might sometime be provoked back, especially with her now ex-second husband, from what the detective had heard, trying to shift the blame for the divorce onto her in court, even though he'd started everything by cheating on Karen in the first place (worse, Adrian had heard that he was going to hire Harrison Powell to his legal team, which never boded well for anyone who wanted to win a case. Indeed, Karen had even called him asking for advice on how to circumvent the tricky and sleezy Powell on the stand, something he wouldn't have thought possible when she'd been cold with him for many years).

Another thing he'd've never thought possible again would have been the captain unconditionally happy to see the woman who walked out on him, but as he watched, a huge smile broke out on Stottlemeyer's face as he and his new wife entered the backstage area and saw Karen over by the back curtain, conversing with another formally dressed man. "Well, well, it looks like someone's not as bad a director as they said they were," he announced loudly, pride on his face.

"Leland, you made it," she was glad to see him in turn, and willingly walked over to let him shake her hand.

"I said I'd be here, didn't I?" he raised an eyebrow teasingly. "First off, I think there's someone you should meet at last. T.K., Karen; Karen, T.K.,"

"Trudy K. Jensen-Stottlemeyer," she shook the filmmaker's hand, "Congratulations; Leland got a copy of the documentary for free, and he screened it for us on our honeymoon."

"I see," Karen nodded, "Well, I want you to promise me one thing, T.K Jensen-Stottlemeyer," she stared the woman firmly in the eye, "Never, under any circumstances, walk away from this man; as I myself have come to see the hard way, it would be the biggest mistake of your life."

She let out a deep sigh. Adrian could tell from the deep dark circles under her eyes that the divorce hearing was going even worse than she had openly let on. "What did that rat Marshall say about you this time!?" Stottlemeyer growled, having picked up on it himself.

Karen sighed again, more sadly this time. "He's going to tell the judge I raided his account to finance the last few films," she confessed, "I never touched his money for what it's worth; it was him that went into mine, really, and..."

"Well you just tell me what day and what time, and I'll make sure he sinks faster than the Titanic," the captain offered firmly.

"My hero," his former wife was impressed, "Where was this Leland Stottlemeyer all those years ago?"

"Well admittedly it took a while for this Leland Stottlemeyer to come out," the captain admitted. His own expression collapsed. "Maybe if I had been there then, then..."

Both he and Karen went deathly silent. Adrian knew what they meant, however; both considered themselves responsible, whether rightly or wrongly, for allowing the situation to develop that led Jared to fall under the influence of Avery McNall, who'd corrupted him to act out Dale the Whale's evil scheme to kill the detective not long back. Even with a guilty plea after he'd seen the error of his ways, Jared had still ended up with a sixty year sentence, with no chance for parole for the next fifteen years, enough to make any parent feel horrible, the detective knew. "I do visit him when I get the chance," his superior continued.

"So do I," Karen admitted, "Just to let him know I still care, that I'm always there if he needs me. Better late than never, I guess."

"No, it's never too late," T.K. agreed. "Well," she continued to her predecessor in the captain's life, "We also came, now that Monk solved his wife's case, to invite you to our victory party at his brother's in a few weeks."

"You would invite me?" Karen was impressed, "Even though I..."

"You're as much family to Monk as the rest of us," Stottlemeyer nodded, "So why not give the invite, we thought?"

"Well, as long as there's nothing tying me down to court that day," she sighed again, "I would like to, a lot."

"Don't you worry, you're going to win that court case," the captain assured her. "Well," he glanced at his watch," We'd better get going; we're meeting with the Ellisons afterwards, but again, congratulations; you deserve that Oscar," he pointed at it, "and don't ever let anyone tell you any differently."

Thank you, Leland," she smiled again, although her face was also replete with regret over having chosen to walk away from the captain and set into motion the events that would send their oldest son down a dangerous path. For a moment the two stared at each other, before Karen walked back into the wings, still clutching the Oscar. "Yeah, she's not really that bad at all," T.K. admitted.

"Nope, not anymore. But there's someone who's a whole lot better," Stottlemeyer kissed his bride.

"Oh come on!" she teased him.

"Oh you know I mean it," he gave her a longer kiss as they walked away, "And, since I'll be retiring in about five months anyway, we'll have the whole world to ourselves to do whatever we want, so you won't have to worry about life as a cop's wife much longer."

"So who's Monk going to work with, then?"

"I know a guy, Ray Waterford, kind of similar to me, Monk knows him offhand; I'm going to recommend he be Monk's adjunct to the force from here on. Of course, it'll take some getting used to for Monk--probably eight to ten years knowing him--but I think it's..."

The rest of his conversation was lost as they went out of range. "Yeah, it's going to be tough watching the captain retire," Adrian confessed to his wife and surrogate daughter, "Oh, he's earned it, certainly, but you know me and change."

"You'll do just fine with Lieutenant Waterford," Trudy assured him, "After all, you've shown much better progress with change with me lately."

"I, I hope so. In the meantime, I'm, I'm so glad he and T.K. did work out in the end," Adrian confessed to her, "In a way, you can say they remind me of...of how we used to be, when we were just starting out. And at least unlike with Linda, the boys are willing to accept T.K. up front. So everything's OK for the captain. Now Ambrose, he got..."

"Adrian," she held up her finger again.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," he remembered. He and Molly took Trudy's hands again, and the stage dissolved into the detective's old street in Tewksbury, across the street from his old house. "Morning," Adrian noticed by the height of the sun, "Which means Ambrose should..."

Sure enough, his brother abruptly came huffing around the corner, jogging hard (although still wearing his trousers and sweater vest). "He's, he's really started making even more progress lately," the detective told the women, "True, I don't think he'll ever completely overcome the agoraphobia, but he's started jogging in the morning now every day. I'd've never thought it possible. I guess having Dad back in his life worked wonders for him. Speaking of which," he noticed a taxi turning onto the far end of the street, followed by a U-Haul, "...but we'll get to that in a minute. Why don't we go inside?"

The three of them walked into the house after Ambrose, who of course didn't notice them. The instruction manual writer walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and poured a bottle of water into mug #4. Taking a swig, he trotted into the den, filed away the day's mail in his overstuffed filing cabinets, and flicked on the TV. Adrian's attention was immediately caught by the news report on the screen. "...other news, the Davenport Toothpaste Company has been sold to Whitegums International," the CNN reporter was informing viewers, "Davenport company CEO Jonathan Davenport has told reporters he has no interest in running the company and would prefer to pursue a different course in his career. Although board members expressed some surprise that the long-held family company could be given up to a conglomerate so quickly following the death of Davenport's father, former CEO Robert Davenport, who was killed in a car bombing with his wife attending the celebratory festival of Detective Adrian Monk several months ago, they approved the sale by a 7-2 margin. Davenport Toothpaste has..."

"Hmm," Ambrose took note of the news, then sat down at his desk and began typing out the instructions to a home grill in Swahili. "Jonathan's heading to New York to be with Gail," Adrian told his wife and surrogate daughter, "He never really wanted to run the company anyway, he told Natalie that much some years ago. We'll have to look for the two of them on Broadway some day. I kind of think it's his way of finally establishing his independence from his parents, even if they're dead already. I approve; now I can go to Grandpa Neville's grave wherever it is and laugh..."

The doorbell rang before he could continue. Puzzled, Ambrose rose up and opened it. "Dad!?" he almost fell over in surprise.

"Ambrose my boy," Jack Monk threw his arms around his son.

"Dad, what are you doing here? Aren't you running your motel in...?"

"I sold it," Jack admitted. Adrian noticed his father's face was a bit sunken; clearly he was beginning his chemotherapy for the prostate cancer he'd told the detective he'd had at Breckman Lake. His heart hung to know his father didn't have that much longer. "I wanted to surprise you and Adrian," he told his oldest son now, "But, well, I've come to the decision that I really belong here. I bought a house over on Hopkins Street."

"Oh," Molly exclaimed, "I lived on Hopkins Street for in Tewksbury a couple of years. It was a pretty nice neighborhood all in all."

"You mean...?" Ambrose, meanwhile, looked ecstatic.

"Yes, son; I've come home," the old man nodded with a smile, "It's where I belong. So, before I forget," he reached into one of the bags he was holding, "Now that I'm here, let's have that Chinese dinner we never got forty-three years ago."

Ambrose gasped in delight. "I, I've got to call Adrian; he should be here too," he bustled for the phone. "I, I got the call later in the morning," Adrian told the women, "I'm...I'm proud of Dad, it may be a couple decades late, but he's finally learning to be a father for real. It'll be good to have him spend his last days here, because, for once in my life...I've really come to miss him when he's away. Well, anyway, it turns out..."

Trudy was already faster forwarding the scene past Ambrose's phone call, which Adrian had remembered going on and on for close to an hour anyway. She stopped at the point where Ambrose hung up. Nervous, the instruction manual writer rummaged through his desk and pulled out a small velvet case. "Uh, Dad?" he approached the kitchen nervously, where his father was unloading the Chinese cartons on the table, "Well, um, first, Adrian'll be right over, and...well...I could use your advice for something..."

"Ambrose, that's what I'm here for," Jack leaned against the table, "What's on your mind?"

"Um...Natalie," Ambrose fretted nervously, "I, uh, came to a sort of decision, and I, uh, ordered this online," he opened the case to reveal a fabulous diamond ring. "I want to ask her to marry me, but, it's just...she's in love with that Stephen Albright guy you met in Breckman Lake, at least I think she is, I'm about eighty percent sure, and I don't really know..."

"Ambrose, she would do wonderfully with you," Jack assured him, "And don't be afraid; all you have to do is walk right up to her, so go right ahead and propose. I'll vouch for you to her when the time comes. And moreover..."

"I thought Steve Albright had been killed in Breckman Lake during the festival?" Trudy inquired as the scene started dissolving again.

"I, I thought so too; as it turned out, he got some kind of call and left town that night and was unable to call us to let us know with our phone lines cut by the killers," Adrian explained to her, "They really killed a drifter that looked like him that was staying in the room down the hall; I don't know what kind of emergency might have preempted he to leave like that, but I guess it had no real bearing on us in the end. But anyway, Ambrose really wants Natalie to become Mrs. Ambrose Monk. And you know, even though I don't know how she'd be able to stand him on a 24/7 basis--half the time I can't stand him either in short bursts--I kind of hope she does choose to take his hand in marriage if he does get up the courage to ask her. Under the surface, he's a good man, and, well, it's time something goes his way in life. It's not going to make all those people online happy that I'm not the one proposing--if either of you've seen there, half of them will only be happy if the two of us are together as a married couple, which means they probably won't be too happy now that we know how the series has to end, and..."

"Well, it's your life, and if that's not what you want at this point, don't let anyone influence you," Molly encouraged him.

"That's, that's how I'm going to approach it," he nodded, "Maybe, several years from now, if it doesn't work out with her and Ambrose, or even with Steve, I'll consider it, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Anyway, moving on," he noticed they were now in a police station, "As you know, Randy moved back to Summit..."

Indeed, it was Disher in front of him now, reclining back in his chair in his spacious chief's office, holding up a crossword puzzle. Adrian noticed his former colleague was examining the #3 down word, the clue to which was, GEORGE _____, VICTOR AT GETTYSBURG. The former lieutenant scratched his head, deep in thought, then snapped his fingers and triumphantly scribbled BURNS in the puzzle. Adrian found himself slapping his hand to his face at the same time the women did. "Some things never change," he reasoned with them, "And he was there with us a few years ago and all, too; you'd think he'd know this."

The Felix the cat clock on the wall meowed out the hour: noon exactly. Disher smiled, laid the crossword puzzle on the desk, and reached for his coat. It was at that moment an officer came in. 'Hey Chief, we've got a call for you," he said.

"Tell them to hold it," Disher said impatiently, "I promised my bride lunch at Andy & Dave's this afternoon."

"You won't be missing anything, Chief; one of the cooks was found murdered," the officer said.

"Oh," Disher's eyes went up, "Well then, who says worked and play can't mix?"

He started for the door. The next thing Adrian knew, the three of them were standing inside Andy & Dave's where among several freaked out patrons was in fact Sharona, her arm still in a cast from the accident at the country club, very much at ease, as if she almost half expected foul play to be waiting for her that afternoon. She broke into a smile as her fiance entered with a number of other cops. "Well, I promised you an exciting afternoon," he told her, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"I would have never thought the two of them would ever so much as be in love for real," Adrian confided in his companions, "I think a lot of the show's viewers wanted it to be like this, though, so when the time comes, this might--MIGHT--make up for me and Natalie not being married yet for them. It's just too bad it had to be like this because Cathy didn't make it," he hung his head; Disher's previous fiance had only managed to make it three days after sustaining terrible injuries in the train wreck at Breckman Lake. Which had in turn brought still yet another murder charge against Jared at his trial, and perhaps predictably, Disher still hadn't fully forgiven the youth for helping to sabotage the train and probably never would even though he'd found love with Sharona in the end.

He took stock of the scene. The dead cook lay sprawled on a table, having been carried there by the rest of the kitchen staff, he'd guessed. So many things were out of order throughout the restaurant, and food was tossed everywhere as well, but again this didn't faze him as badly as it once would have. A large steak knife protruded from the cook's back. "Don't fall for that one, Randy," the detective warned the new police chief as he started walking around the dining area imitating Adrian's familiar hand gestures, "The knife's just a diversion; he was poisoned; bleach in his coffee," he choked up at the thought of such an unsavory concoction.

"Well!?" the manager asked him impatiently, "Who do you think did it!?"

"Give him a minute, OK!?" Sharona upbraided the man, "Let him do it his way--or at least something he wants to claim as his own way," she mumbled much softer under her breath.

"I've got it," Disher announced loudly, "This man...was poisoned."

Gasps rang out. "It was the maitre'd," Adrian gestured at the man, "He was sleeping with his wife."

"You did it, didn't you!?" Disher pointed accusingly at the man, "You knew he was having an affair with your wife, so you did him in."

The maitre'd tried to make a break for it, but Sharona ever so casually stuck out her foot and tripped him, sending him sprawling onto a table and sending a triple decker chocolate fudge cake flying high in the air before landing right on his head. A small bottle of bleach landed on the floor right next to Disher. "Aha, just as I thought," the former lieutenant held it up triumphantly, "Take him away, boys. And waiter, service at table four, please."

He plopped down at it as his men hauled the suspect off. "Not bad at all," Sharona was quite impressed as she sat down across from him, "You're starting to get a whole lot better these days."

"What can I say, I got my training from the best," Disher said proudly, handing her a menu.

"More like you copy off Adrian, that is," she mumbled, "But still pretty good nonetheless. So I know, you did pass along my wishes on how glad I was he finally solved it before you moved here?"

"Absolutely, and you'll be glad to know he's finally starting to really live again," Disher nodded.

"Yeah, I am glad," the nurse did look content, "For one thing, it means I'm free; not that that means anything bad," she noticed Disher's eyebrows go up, "What I mean is, he'll be able to fully take care of himself from here on, and I won't have to worry about any emergency phone calls in the middle of the night anymore. But yeah, I'm so proud of him, he deserves to go back into the world and enjoy life."

She set the menu down, apparently all set already. Have you decided on where we'll honeymoon yet?" she asked her husband to be.

"Well, I was thinking either Bucharest or Athens..." Disher began.

"Bucharest!?" she raised an eyebrow, "What, do you think I want to do a vampire castle tour after we get married!?"

"Well no, why would you think that?"

"I don't know, maybe because I'm going to be marrying the man who thinks those robberies on the East Side are being carried out by a guy in the sewers who sends up his pet rats to do the work for him," she retorted.

"Hey, that's a valid theory until we get a better one," he protested, "Nothing says it can't have been that with what we've got now."

"You're one amazing person, Randy Disher; one minute you're as brilliant as Adrian, the next your back in your own little special mode, like you were when you said that astronaut had taken the escape pod back to earth to commit the murder without NASA knowing."

"Well, just because it didn't happen like that...why are we arguing about that?" he switched gears, "OK, where would you like to go then?"

"Cancun would be nice," she warmed back up, "I've been hoping to go back to Mexico for pleasure rather than business--although knowing my luck we'll probably find a dead body there anyway..."

The scene was fading out again. "They'll, they'll be just fine together," Adrian was nodding, "And with the settlement from the country club and the show's royalties, at least Sharona'll be set for life for money. That's one major load off my mind for one thing; now there's no reason for her to keep pressing for severance pay. And, so now we're...ah."

He knew where they were now, for he had been there himself. He was sitting in the seat he had occupied last week at the University of California's theater building, and on stage Julie was in the middle of one of her final scenes as Hope Harcourt in Anything Goes, finally about to kiss Billy Crocker (Adrian had a sneaking suspicion she'd been the benefactor of nepotism in getting such a major role as a freshman; the head of Cal's theater department, he'd learned, was an avid fan of the show. As it had made both her and Natalie pleased that she had gotten so high in her first major tryout, however, there was nothing he could see to complain about). Although the scene still had a while to go, Trudy let the end of the play proceed as it had without fast forwarding. The detective took the last song in as he glanced around. He had for the first time gone to the theater separately from Natalie, which she had approved of as a sign of progress as long as he checked in with her in the lobby once he'd gotten there. He could make her out with Albright in their seats by the orchestra pit, merrily singing along to the song. Once the house lights went back up, he repeated his actions of the past week and gave the entire cast a standing ovation. "You, you may be reviewing her quite soon," he told an equally impressed Molly as the young actors quickly hustled offstage after their bows, "Outside, I was going to congratulate...well, you'll see in a minute."

He inched his way through the crowds, which had only caused him slight discomfort then even though it was a packed house, a sure sign a good part of him was getting better. Indeed, even now he saw the two other familiar figures in the building entering the aisle ahead of himself and walking towards the lobby, where the cast had been to greet the audience. "So is that...?" Molly had taken note of who he was following.

"Yes, that's Benjy, and he's got something important to tell her," Adrian said. At his first assistant's son's side, the lovely Becky Turcotte was clutching several papers. The two of them weaved their way through the crowds over to where Julie was in the midst of a conversation with a heavyset bearded man. She immediately stopped, though, upon seeing who was coming. "Hey!" she exclaimed, high fiving her friend, "You came!"

"Hey, I said I had something to talk about; why wouldn't I?" Benjy shrugged half-jokingly, "Not bad at all up there for a first time in college; I've seen a number of first timers back east get really nervous up there on stage when I've caught a varsity play."

"Well, I know my mom and Mr. Monk are out there, and that calms me down a bit," she reasoned, "Speaking of which, I guess you've heard now about what really happened?"

"Yeah, my mom told me. How's Mr. Monk taking it? I can guess it was hard for him to come to terms with Trudy not being perfect; I can understand where he's coming from."

"He almost did lose it for a while, yeah," Julie admitted, "But he's getting a lot better with it, especially since he's met her daughter. You've got to meet her some day, you know."

"I'd like to. But the reason why I'm here," Benjy gestured Becky forward, "Becky's got something to ask of you, if it won't interfere with what you're doing here on campus."

Becky took a deep nervous breath. "Thanks to Mr. Ellison's contacts, I sold that script I was working on," she told Julie, "I told him to add the provision that you get first crack at the lead role."

"Really!?" Julie's face lit up.

"Really," the New Jersey girl nodded, looking overwhelmed that her own initial foray into writing had proved as successful as her boyfriend's, "I just can't believe this is happening...but anyway, call this number," she handed Julie a business card, "They can arrange a screen test any time you're not in class."

"And if there's any problems, just give us a call back east," Benjy added, "You may want to know, I've handed over full creative control of the show to Mr. Ellison so I can help Becky polish this out."

"You actually gave up the show!?" Julie looked amazed.

"Well, now that it's over, and we know how it ends, no real need to stay on it. Besides, Becky needs me more," he put an arm around his girlfriend, "And I like working with her a lot."

"Hey Julie, we're heading out to Scharpling's for a celebratory dinner," another girl in costume called to her, heading for the door.

"Right, I'll be right there," she called back. "So, you guys want to come along too?" she asked Benjy and Becky, "You would be welcome."

"I guess we can accommodate that," Becky nodded in agreement, "In the meantime, take this," she handed her a script, "It's my own personal spare copy; just managed to print out the last page before the computer conked out for whatever reason; it's still in the shop getting an overhaul right now. The parts in pink marker are the ones you have to memorize for the read through."

"I'll do my best," Julie told her, "I'll see you there, then; just have to tell Mom where I'm going. Thanks again for coming."

"Anything for a friend," Benjy told her with a nod as she left. "Well, that's one key part of casting done," he told his girlfriend.

"You know, you didn't really have to give up working on Mr. Monk's show for this," Becky told him.

"I wanted to," he pulled her close, "You're more than worth it, after all."

"Oh, I love it when you say that," she grinned, giving him a big kiss. "Yeah, for Benjy to give up the show to be with Becky means a lot, he loved writing for the show," Adrian told the women, "So you know he's serious about the relationship. They'll be fine together too. And I think," he looked upwards, "If he does make it last, and they stay together till the day they die, he'll have redeemed his father in a certain way."

"Every generation does try and make up for the mistakes of the one that came before," Trudy knew what he meant, "Relationships may be harder to make work these days, Adrian, but there's always those that will work, and I hope this one works too."

"Well, I didn't expect to see you two here," Natalie was now coming over to where her daughter's friends were standing, a warm smile at the pleasant surprise.

"We're on spring break, Mrs. Teeger, and as Julie's going to tell you, we had business to go over with her," Benjy shook her hand, "Tell Mr. Monk I said congratulations on breaking the big one. I think he's going to be just fine from here on."

"Well, he's certainly not as bad as he was before, so I am hopeful," Natalie assured him.

"So what will you do from here on?" Becky asked her.

"Well," Natalie thought good and hard, "He's still going to be a consultant to the force, Becky. As you know, with the captain retiring not too long from now, we're going to have to get to know the replacement, but I think Mr. Monk'll get to like him in the end. I'll stay with him at least till the point, if it comes, that he'd be comfortable working on his own. Even if it comes, though, I'm going to stay a good solid part of his life."

"I think he would really appreciate that, Mrs. Teeger," Benjy agreed, "And speaking of which," he leaned close to her and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I know how you feel about Mr. Albright and all that, but you know, Mr. Monk actually wouldn't make a bad..."

"Not him too," Adrian slapped a hand to his face, covering over the rest of the conversation, "Don't tell me he sold out on me too!? Will the whole planet get no rest until Natalie and I exchange vows!!??"

"Well Adrian, she IS a good woman," Trudy looked him right in the face, "Don't push that possibility away."

"Didn't I just say earlier on this magical mystery tour that I am leaving it open in case nothing works for her in the near term?" Adrian reminded her as the scene around them finally dissolved back to the cemetery. "Well," he did concede, "I suppose, maybe, if neither Albright or Ambrose manages to succeed in their proposals, I COULD try and, um, formally take her, uh, to, eh, dinner or something like that, if I could remember how that works after all these years."

"It would come back to you if you tried," she assured him, "Well, that leaves only you, Adrian. Apart from being Molly's friend from now on, what do you do from here on?"

"I was waiting for you to say that," Adrian became unexpectedly giddy, "You and Molly are the first ones I'm telling this to, but I'm going to adopt Tommy. I can finally finish what I wanted to do five years ago; Mrs. Field upstairs would probably agree to take care of him when I'm out on a case; Molly, when you're in town, you could probably also handle him too, right?" he asked her.

"Oh I'd be glad to, Mr. Monk," Molly was delighted at the thought, "I think this is a great idea on your part."

"Yes, since he completes me in a way, I'll be able to have the family environment we both wanted," he told Trudy with a smile, "And of course I take it you'll be there all the time, so you can share it too. Besides that, I'll just keep on doing what I do best, working on the streets helping other Trudys out there find their justice too. I hope that's what you'd like to hear from me."

"What more could I ask for, Adrian?" she was quite pleased, in fact, "You're happy again, and that's all that matters for me."

For a moment, the three of them just stared silently at Trudy's tombstone, lost in thought over what could have been and what still could be. "Mr. Monk," Natalie's voice cut through the air, breaking her employer out of his train of thought. She was weaving her way through the cemetery toward he and Molly. "Adrian," his father was also there. He grew somber when he saw the tombstone. "So this is it, huh?" he asked his son.

"This is it," Adrian nodded, "You finally get to meet her, Dad."

"Well, better twelve years too late than not at all," the former trucker rationalized stoically. Trudy patted him gently on the shoulder sympathetically, making him perk up a little, although he apparently couldn't see her, Adrian noticed. "But at least it must feel good to finally lay it to rest, right Son?"

"Certainly does, Dad, certainly does."

"He insisted on coming to see it," Natalie informed her boss, gesturing at the tombstone, "So while you're here, Mr. Monk--Senior, this is Molly," she gestured Trudy's daughter forward, "Like I said on the phone, she's a movie critic, and a very nice lady."

"Hey, what else could any girl of my son's bride possibly be?" Jack got a lot brighter. "Honor to meet you, Miss Evans," he pulled her into a hug, "I'm Jack Monk, Sr.; I'm your grandpa...sort of."

"Pleasure to meet you too," Molly told him, looking slightly embarrassed to be treated so intimately by a man that was for the moment still a stranger to her, "So, will your other son be coming to the party too?"

"Don't get me started on him," Jack snorted, "Yeah, Jack Jr.'ll be there, but don't be surprised if the cops come for him halfway through. From what I hear these days, he's been catching pigeons, dipping them in red paint, and trying to pass them off to kids on the street as baby parrots. He never could turn down a quick buck no matter what the ethics involved."

"Still, he is your son too, might as well let him enjoy the moment while he's here," Natalie told him. She did look somewhat distant though, and Adrian thought he had an idea; while he'd gotten closure, she was still waiting for hers. And true, he had no idea if it would ever come. Still...

He sided up alongside her. "You still wonder about Mitch, don't you?" he inquired softly.

"Well, yes, of course," she seemed a little surprised by the questioning, "It doesn't eat me up like Trudy's death did to you, Mr. Monk, but yes, it would be nice to know someday, to know exactly what happened and to see him cleared for good."

"Well, here's, here's the thing," Adrian began slowly, "I, uh...you're a nice woman, Natalie, you really are..."

"Mr. Monk, you'd better not be planning to cut my salary," she frowned at him, "I know where these lead-ups tend to go."

"No, no, nothing of the sort this time," he assured her, "What, what I am saying is...I don't want to marry you at the moment, but...no, that doesn't come off right...what I meant...I want you and Julie to have closure too, Natalie, so I promise you, from this moment forth, I won't rest until we clear Mitch. It'll become the new big case in my life, and I'll work as hard as I can when we're not on other cases to make sure we know exactly what did happen."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Monk," she was quite impressed, "I would really, really appreciate that if you could. Please don't obsess over it, though; you've done enough of that to last a lifetime, after all."

"Consider, consider it my holiday gift for next year," he told her, "My way of saying thanks for everything you done for me over the last five years, Natalie, and hopefully for whatever else you may be able to do in the years ahead."

Natalie merely smiled and pulled him into a sideways embrace. Adrian appreciated it that she appreciated it. Even if they never were meant to be romantically connected, he couldn't imagine life without her, and wanted to never again know life without her. Giving every ounce of his time and energy to giving her closure now too was the least he could do to say thank you.

"Well," Jack proclaimed, checking his watch, "We'd better get going; Ambrose timed out the turkey exactly to two hours, so it'll be done in about fifteen minutes, so let's all go celebrate the end of twelve long years. You've earned it, Adrian."

He slapped his son on the back. "Yes, he certainly has," Natalie agreed, squeezing her employer's hands congratulatorily. Adrian heard Trudy applauding, but was surprised to hear far more hands joining in the ovation. He nearly doubled over to see dozens of ghosts behind his wife applauding. Then he recognized them all: the victims whose cases he'd brought to justice over the years while waiting to solve Trudy's case, all arrived to show their thanks for his assistance in giving their loved ones closure as well. All of them were smiling at him, some of them crying in delight; in the back, he could even make out Kevin doing what appeared to be jumping jacks of delight. "Thank you," he told them all softly, giving them a thumbs-up.

"Huh?" frowning, Natalie looked past him, unable to see them.

"Oh, nothing," he said quickly, "Just reminiscing on everything that's happened. It's been a great ride, really. So we can only hope whatever does happen next is just as good."

"That's all you can hope for, Mr. Monk," she assured him, "Even if it isn't, let's face it together and enjoy it nonetheless."

Adrian nodded in agreement. Clutching both her hand and Trudy's hand, he walked away from the grave site behind Molly and his father, now deep in conversation with each other, with his head held high. Somehow, he felt like his feet weren't really touching the ground, as if the murder victims he'd championed were carrying him in victory. But he didn't care. He'd earned the moment of triumph, and whatever did come next in his life, it was more than worth it. He'd won the battle--and the war--in the end.

THE END

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE CAST AND CREW OF MONK FOR EIGHT GREAT YEARS OF INSPIRING THIS AUTHOR; MAY YOU TAKE A WELL-DESERVED VICTORY LAP YOURSELVES, FOR YOU'VE EARNED IT TOO, AND BEST OF SUCCESS FOR WHATEVER THE FUTURE HOLDS FOR ALL OF YOU.

AND THANKS AGAIN TO THE READERS WHO HAVE FOLLOWED THIS SERIES OVER THE LAST FIVE YEARS; YOU ENJOYMENT OF IT HAS MORE THAN MADE IT WORTH WRITING.

TILL WE MEET AGAIN,

"BOB WRIGHT"