Disclaimer: I do not own Monk or any of its character, plotlines, etc.

Happy Thanksgiving, readers ! In this chapter, Monk has a…conversation…with Drew, and Trudy meets Monk's mother. Many thanks to Akari for beta-ing.

Chapter Three: Rivalries

Russian? Nope. Greek? Maybe if…no. Catalan? No, that's not it. Well, Trudy, you sure know how to pick 'em. "Euska-something." Ah, well. Let's try this other book.

As soon as the library opened on Monday, Monk had started ransacking the shelves for books that might reveal the stalker's origin. To be fair, he could have gotten in earlier than that, if he'd wanted to make judicious use of the favor he'd built up with the head librarian. Monk had been preoccupied with other important matters, namely wandering around campus whistling, daydreaming, having one-way conversations with Bernard, and gift shopping. True, he might not be up to his usual exacting standards, but that was all right. He was sure of it now.

Monk hadn't questioned the authority of his own negativity for a very long time. Now, all it did was anger him.

Why shouldn't he be happy? Why should he play it safe? Where had that ever gotten him, really? Playing it safe had never made him immune from harm, when he really thought about it, and in all honesty, it hadn't done him all that much good. Monk figured that if the universe was out to get him, it would find a way no matter what he did, so until any irony gods worked their dark magic, he would just do what he wanted.

Maybe, Monk pondered, maybe this is how normal people think! He looked himself up and down. Normal. It could happen. It's not completely against the laws of the universe. Well, not against all the laws…

There was that warning voice again.

To you-know-where with you, Monk fumed.

He was going to be a rebel.

A student handed him a book to stamp, and Monk very deliberately placed the due date off center.

Hah! It worked!

Monk did some more searching in the Foreign Languages section. Fortunately, there were enough books in English on the European languages that he didn't have to rely on a hunch to pull one book after another off the shelves. Not that it was helping all that much. He had looked at books on Germanic and Romance languages, and even went as far back as Indo-European, without the slightest hint of success.

The desk phone rang. In his surprise, Monk slammed a drawer shut, then looked hastily around to see if anyone had noticed.

No one called the library this early on Monday morning. Maybe…it could be…Has she found a lead in the case? Monk wondered. Or, he blushed, maybe she's just calling to talk to me. That would just about be the top of the world.

Monk eagerly answered the phone.

It's rebel time!

"There's chicks… just ripe for some kissin'," he sang into the mouthpiece. "And I mean...to kiss me a few!"

There was silence.

Monk tapped the phone, making sure it was working.

"You there, cutie pie?"

The voice that responded was male.

"Mom, you were right. College is having a negative psychological impact on Adrian's health!"

Monk's mood deflated. "Hello, Ambrose."

"It's all right, Adrian," said his brother. "I'm just glad I knew this was your shift at the library. Don't worry. 911 responds very quickly in this area."

Monk sighed. "Ambrose, I am breakdown-free, thank you. I was just enjoying life. That's not grounds for being institutionalized, at least not outside ourfamily."

Ambrose thought it over. "You don't sound like you're on the verge of nervous collapse," he ventured.

"Exactly," Monk encouraged him.

"So there can only be one conclusion. Adrian, I know you despise controlled

substances, but my research indicates that cannabis sativa is used recreationally among students your age. I hypothesize that in the interests of 'fitting in'—"

"Ambrose, I am not high!"

"You were singing."

"I am happy."

Pause. "You were singing."

Monk sat down in defeat. This was going to be a long and pain-riddled conversation.

He decided to take the initiative. "Tell me, Ambrose. How are things inside?"

"Wonderful: they're exactly the same. Except that the night you left we were having couscous, and now," sadly, "I think it's baked salmon."

"That's certainly a…shocker. Listen, Ambrose, you gotta hang up. Trudy Ellison might call." He couldn't resist bragging a bit. "We're an item."

He heard his older brother drop the receiver.

"Hello? Oh, good, you're still there. I know it's a lot to take in. I've changed since I left, and I feel so much better. Trudy's the real thing, Ambrose. I mean, she exists. She's completely un-imaginary! Who'd have thought? Anyway…yes, I PROMISE she's real, Ambrose. She's on Clark Kerr Campus, Room 106. Journalism major. "

"Is that Adrian?" said his mother's voice from a distance. "Tell him I hope he still washes behind his ears four times a day!"

Monk felt a tremor up his spine. "Ambrose, um, I have to go. Really, really have to. Say hi to Mom for me."

"Adrian, Mom says she wants to talk."

"Tell her I'm busy, or sick, or hallucinating. Take your pick. Just make sure she doesn't find out about Trudy, okay?"

"Adrian, she says if you don't talk, she'll go berserk!"

"Well, don't let her hold it in on my account. Good-bye!"

Humming, he started to straighten the desk. Two pencils were not put away, and a stack of papers was crooked.

On the other hand…he paused.

Come to think of it, the desk was fine. It was not perfect, but maybe it didn't need to be. The rest of the world was in order, for now. The desk would take care of itself.

Gotta move, cause time is a-wastin',

There's such a lot of livin' to do!

Trudy paced up and down her bedroom, the acceptance letter clutched in her hand. She looked up at the ceiling she had papered with La Alhambra, and wondered; she looked at the Adrian framed on her nightstand table, and was wretched. She slumped down on her bed, head aching and heart quickly going numb.

She had filled the application at the end of the summer, before he had come into her life. It meant a chance at freedom. She could be tried against life's anvil and see what she was made of. The job she could snap up—just like that!—at El país electrified her in the very best, deepest way. If her words flourished there, it could make her career.

Here it all was, tight in her grasp. Hope and challenge. Fear and separation. It was not a matter of turning down the offer; to do that would be an act of self-betrayal. It would make her something less than the woman Adrian had fallen for. No, the updraft of change was already there. She had to ride the current as best she could.

She glanced up. Iberia beckoned.

She glanced down.

Oh, Lord.

It became too much. Trudy rummaged through a drawer stuffed with old cassettes and found the loudest rock music she owned. She put in the tape, cranked the volume, and listened until she couldn't hear the din the world was making as it hammered on her door.

Trudy somehow fell asleep, mid-afternoon though it was, and the next sound she heard was someone switching off the noise.

"Hey," she groaned into her pillow. "Allow me some consolation, alright? I'm too young to buy a drink, so this is all I have."

"You need not fear," a deep voice boomed. "Drink all you want in Spain."

Trudy's eyes flicked open.

She knew that voice.

Language barrier be damned. She knew it.

The image of that stare of contempt swam before her eyes.

Trudy jerked her head up and reached for the lamp. Maybe, if she could just get in one good hit—

"Sorry, Ellison, didn't mean to interrupt your cat nap," added Janice's voice. "I just wanted you to meet an Associate Editor at El país."

Janice? Here? With him?

Somehow, Trudy's thoughts coalesced in spite of her half-sleep and terror.

Ever so slowly, Trudy adjusted her posture, moved her hand up the neck of the lamp, and casually switched it on.

She smoothly sat up, brushing her hair out of her eyes and trying her best to look bleary. "Associate Editor?" she said, pretending not to recognize him. "For a moment, Janice, I thought you'd brought a professor over for the evening!"

A smile hovered about the man's lips. "Didn't I tell you, Miss Ellinghouse? Easier to have two."

Janice went through the introductions and explanations, which gave Trudy enough time to get a grip on what was transpiring. Fortunately, Janice seemed to dance rather delicately around the matter of Trudy following around…Gregorio Mendez…if that's what his name truly was. Trudy voiced no objections to her friend's white lies, and Janice got more and more relieved as her story was allowed to unfold intact. Trudy for one didn't have the slightest motivation for calling attention to herself. She just hoped that this Gregorio hadn't recognized her from—

"I met you once, at a restaurant, no, Miss Ellison?"

Terrific.

Trudy scratched her head. "It, uh, wasn't by the bathrooms, by any chance?"

"Yes. I'm glad you did not fully fall."

Trudy gave him her blandest smile.

He gave her a measuring look, but not a piercing one. This was important; Trudy had the feeling he gave everyone the once-over that she now underwent. There was no undercurrent of malice in his eyes, nothing personal about his scrutiny. In fact, there was no real interest whatsoever.

So, this is Janice's partner in crime, Trudy thought grimly. Should have known. I wonder why he wanted me to have the internship, too? She went over Janice's story in her mind again. Oh, yeah. Janice felt guilty for sidelining me on the stalker scoop. You go right ahead and curry his favor, Janice. I really don't like the way he's looking at you.

Indeed, as Gregorio offered to take them both to the cafeteria for a quick meal, Trudy realized that Gregorio slid past her as if she were an afterthought. His behavior towards Janice was genial, attentive, and gloating. Janice was flattered by the attention, Trudy could see, and she didn't know how she was going to talk Janice out of trusting this man.

The perplexing thing was, Gregorio's credentials seemed to be genuine. He knew much of politics, people, and the constant crush of time in the newsroom. They talked a long time; Trudy couldn't figure him out. Of course, she wasn't trying her hardest: she'd have to be dumber than a brick to ask him about the language she had heard over the phone.

Trudy excused herself early and left the other two chatting, oblivious. She didn't even need the excuse that she was supposed to meet Adrian at eight.

Trudy thought hard as she walked toward his and Bernard's room. There was still no real reason not to go along with the job. Whatever Gregorio was after, it sure wasn't Trudy, and she wasn't going to let his presence or the mystery ruffle her chance at a wonderful semester in Spain.

She put a hand across her face. Two intensely bright eyes peered out at her from her memory.

A wonderful, wretched semester.

He was straightening his roommate's film strips when she walked in. She had heard that he was organizing Bernard's project for him; maybe if she struck up a conversation about that, the inevitable could be delayed for a minute or two.

His face brightened as he heard her step in the doorway. The words she would say died on her lips.

That smile will be the death of me.

"Trudy!" His eyes lit up. "You know, you shine even on a gloomy day. Here."

He retrieved something from his pocket and tipped it into her hand.

Guiltily avoiding his eyes, she mumbled her thanks.

The gift was wrapped in silver paper; it was about half the size of her palm. Trudy unfolded the paper carefully so that she wouldn't drop whatever was…

"Adrian! Is that a camera?"

"Buttonhole camera," he said proudly. "Bernard helped me find one, well, once I got him to listen to me. I figured you could use it in some sort of journalistic endeavor. Besides, I don't think you will use it in the locker rooms."

She hugged him tightly. "If you're in there, Adrian, all bets are off."

"Ahh," he said uncomfortably, "I'd never go in there. Not with out a, you know."

"Blindfold?" she teased.

"Straightjacket."

She laughed and held her gift up between thumb and forefinger.

"Smile, Mr. Monk!"

"W-what? No, no, don't—"

Click.

"It's not very loud, either," said Trudy thoughtfully. "I wonder if I 'accidentally' left it in your closet…"

"Trudy!" he exclaimed.

"Or maybe that briefcase I've seen you tote to class…where is that thing?"

Over his protests, she bent down and looked under his bed. "Aha!" She reached out for it. She wouldn't really open it without Adrian's permission, but he got cuter the more he blushed.

Hey, what's this? thought Trudy as she spied an object on top of the briefcase.

It was another present!

She reached her hand out.

"DON'T!" he yelled, and then tried not to look as upset as he was. "Please, it's not for now. Not yet. Not unless…" He looked down at his hands. "Please, Trudy, not yet."

She stood up and comfortingly rubbed his arms. "All right. It's all right, I won't touch it. It did have my name on it, though."

She smiled her sweetest at him, hoping he wouldn't look so distressed. At least, not until she told him where she would be that October.

I could always let him know about Spain later. Much later.

"Are you planning ahead, darling? Is that it?" she asked him. "My birthday isn't for a while yet."

His smile wavered. "Yes, you could call it planning for all contingencies."

Something warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. She didn't know why.

Then her inner reporter kicked in. She had to ask.

"Adrian, what is it?"

He looked steadily at his desk. "It's good-bye."

She inhaled sharply. He knows, she thought desperately. Of course,

I should have realized he would figure out I was going away! Trudy, what were you thinking?

Then he pointed to the card that matched the box.

"I bought it after our first date," he said. "I'll sign it at the end. I edit it every time we date, so you'll know how much each one meant to me, afterwards."

"Huh?" said Trudy, wrinkling her forehead. "Adrian, I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you mean." Whatever this is, it's not about my going to Madrid.

"I told you," said Monk, as if it were obvious. "It's my good-bye card. For when you…" he faltered for an instant "…break up with me. A woman like you would never stay with me, I know that." His smile was pained but not bitter. "I just want you to know how much joy you have brought to my life. When you're ready, it will be there for you."

Trudy rocked back on her heels. She trembled so hard she almost dropped her purse. Her love and her guilt thudded painfully in her chest.

How. How can I possibly tell him I'm going away?

He turned back to her. "I hope you'll like it…" Adrian's words faded as his gaze swept her face.

Too late, Trudy realized she looked every inch as guilty as she felt.

Oops.

He fell back like he'd been steamrolled.

"Oh, no," he whispered. "No! Oh, God, no!"

"Adrian, Adrian, wait," she tried.

His sharp eyes went dull, blank. His hands moved to his shirt. He straightened his collar, twisted the buttons until the holes were parallel.

He wasn't helping her sense of regret. Trudy tried vainly to hide her feelings, knowing he had misread the situation, but her own love for him made her helpless. He knew the truth in her eyes, if not the reason behind it; any attempt at a denial would make her look like a liar.

"Adrian, I said wait! You don't understand!"

He turned away from her. Without a word, he sat down at the desk, hands limp at his sides.

Not knowing what else she could do, she planted a kiss in his hair.

He jerked away like she'd slapped him.

"Don't do that," he said weakly, "Not—not now. Not—oh, will you look at that. This desk is a mess. What was I thinking?"

He started straightening out the pencils.

Trudy cursed her inner reporter like she never had before.

"I don't want to leave, all right? I don't want to, but I must. It just fell into my lap. I need to do this." She fumbled for his hand and squeezed it. "And as much as I want you all to myself, it's…well, it's not fair to expect you to wait for me for an entire semester."

Before he could ask what she meant, she slipped the acceptance letter onto his desk.

"Trudy," he said with feeling as he unfolded it. "I would always wait. I would al…ways…Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, Universidad de Madrid?" He sounded the words out tentatively.

Trudy remembered that he didn't speak Spanish.

"It says—"

But it had taken him only a heartbeat to figure it out.

"Study abroad? That's what this is all about?"

"Yes. And an internship; here, I'll explain, it's the least I can do." To get a handle on herself, Trudy went at the issue full-tilt, including Janice, Gregorio, her worries about her fish allergy versus Spanish cuisine, and her (rather late) realization that even though she had fallen for him head over heels, it would be unfair to expect him to maintain a long-distance relationship.

At this, he eyed her dead-on.

It was the most eloquent Oh, really? that she'd ever seen.

Trudy went red. "Yeah, well," she stuttered, "four months is a long time, sweetheart. Longer than you think!"

He stared harder.

She wondered if it were possible to turn purple from embarrassment.

"Look, someday you might change your mi—"

Ever so slightly, he raised his eyebrows.

Sure that the egg on her face was about to fry, Trudy broke the stare and instead fixed her eyes on…on…

Rats.

The wall on his side of the room was totally blank.

"On the up side," she said to a particularly interesting plaster crack, "I can get more information on Gregorio. Before you tell me to be careful, may I remind you that he seems to be oblivious to the fact that I followed him? He only has eyes for Janice, poor thing." On the spur of the moment, she turned around. "By the way, Adrian, I advise you to throw away that other gift."

Adrian shrugged lightly. "We'll see."

"Meaning…?"

"Four months is a long time, Trudy. There are men out there handsomer and more charismatic than me."

She rounded on him. "So, you don't think I'll stay true to you, as sure as you are of yourself?"

"Trudy, look at me. Then look at you."

"Oh, thank goodness you think that I'm shallow, instead!"

"You don't have to be shallow to dump me," he argued. "People are attracted to people who are attractive. I've had women respect my intelligence before; even more women have pitied me. But love's different, Trudy. It's just how things are."

"Adrian? Right now, I am completely devoid of pity. Throw. that. gift. out."

"We'll see."

She made a dive for the bed; he caught her around the waist. There was a struggle, spectacularly ineffective on both sides, but over soon enough when Trudy's left shoe came off and Adrian slipped on a fallen film strip. A few seconds later, she was reaching for him instead of the gift, and he had ceased to hold her back and just held her.

"Give up?" she said breathlessly.

"We'll s—ouch! Did you just pinch me?"

"Right at the ribs. And every time you say 'We'll see,' I'll go two inches lower."

Now, here's where any other man would wiggle his eyebrows and spout innuendo, turning playful fun all awkward. Three…two…one…

"I give up! I give up I give up I give up!"

I have the best boyfriend in the universe.

He didn't dare look at her, but she could tell he was happy again.

"Have a great time, Trudy. And…write me?"

She nodded against his chin.

Guess this means I have you to myself, come hell or high water, she thought. You're my man, you hear?

To her chagrin, she realized she'd said those last words out loud.

He didn't seem to mind. "I'm yours, Trudy…whatever I am."

The shadows lengthened on Monk's blank wall, and the campus settled down for the night. It was almost nine, now. They were still hugging. Trudy lifted her head away from his shoulder long enough to ask if he would mind helping her make a packing list, since he was so good at organizing.

He agreed right away, and they headed over to her room across campus.

Unfortunately, they had hardly started on toothpaste when there was a polite knock at the door.

Monk rolled his eyes. I'm practically invisible to everyone here, except when I actually want to be alone.

Two seconds later, a less polite knock followed. By the time Monk arrived at the door, the knock had become decidedly bad-tempered.

Whoever that is, he thought irritably, you better not have made a single campus infraction.

"Please," begged Trudy, "not Janice. Tell me it's not more 'breaking news.'"

Monk opened the door a crack. He gave a violent start and heaved it shut.

"Not," he croaked out.

His head sank into his hands.

"It's my mother!"

Trudy made a delighted sound—little does she know, Monk thought—and tugged him away from the door.

"Come on," she said. "She can't be that bad. Everyone exaggerates when they talk about their parents."

"Did you stretch the truth when you told me your parents were wonderful?"

"Well, no, I guess not…"

"She is the bane of my life, full stop. No, don't, don't open the door!"

Too late.

Monk watched in despair as Trudy gave his mother her hundred-watt smile.

"Hello, I'm Trudy Ellison. Mrs. Monk?"

She held out her hand.

Monk's mother narrowed her eyes and gave Trudy's hand two shakes, then wiped her own on her handkerchief.

"I am the mother of Adrian Monk. I have come to call out of concern for my son."

Monk propelled himself forward by sheer force of will. "Hello, Mother. It's very…to see you again."

"Adrian," Mrs. Monk rapped out, "your sentence is incomplete."

"That's okay, I'm sure you'll take the liberty of filling it in."

He winced under her glare.

"Wait," he said. "How did you know Trudy lived here?"

His mother merely tapped her foot irately.

"Of course. Ambrose," Monk translated that look. "I'll kill him."

He turned to Trudy. "Didn't we have an appointment someplace?" he fibbed. "You know, the, um, testing for mono! That's it, I forgot. Well, we'll just be going—"

He clasped Trudy's shoulders gently.

"Get your hands off her!" cried Mrs. Monk.

Startled, he let go.

"Adrian," said his mother, hands on her hips. "College is corrupting you. Look at you, carousing with this sort of woman!"

"Mom!"

Trudy smiled against her hand. "Mrs. Monk, I assure you I won't be corrupting him tonight. We just stopped by my dorm for…a drink."

"I know my son," was the cold reply. "He doesn't drink."

"I'm fine, Mom," said Adrian through gritted teeth. "You don't have to check up on me." He held up a finger. "Wait. I'll rephrase that. Don't you check up on me. Ever."

"Adrian, don't be obstinate. You know I'm only looking out for your wellbeing. Now, go back to your room, and I'll bring you some dinner. It's getting late." Her voice grew louder. "Don't forget to plug in your night-light. I know you don't sleep without it."

She cast a defiant look at Trudy, as if daring her to stay with Monk now.

Monk's mouth opened. A garbled denial emerged; then he froze up. He simply turned around and stared at one of Trudy's framed exposés, waiting for his love life to finish imploding.

[Berkeley senior literally dies of shame.

Berkeley, CA—Adrienne Monk, 23, lately of his mother's house, was letting himself think he'd found happiness when his mother, aiming for his cradle, missed and sent him flying into the grave instead. Adrienne's best friend, the hall closet dust mop, was unavailable for comment.]

"They misspelled my name," he said thickly before a second tug jerked him away from the wall.

Had Trudy gone? Had she helped herself to his parting gift yet?

But it was she who turned him around; her eyes said, Wait. It's all right.

She walked toward him and put his hands back on her shoulders. Head held high, she faced the irate mother hen.

"Adrian Monk has never needed a nightlight since I've known him."

Trudy, what're you doing? If you say that, she'll think that we—

"You can't know how he sleeps!" blared his mother.

Trudy gave her a Cheshire smile. "Oh, Mrs. Monk, of course I can." And she capped off her statement with a salacious wink.

The breath left Monk's lungs.

Oh, my God. Oh my God oh my God she is lying. She is lying for me. Just like that. And a lie like that!

Trudy plowed ahead into the appalled silence. "He's told me that these last few weeks, he's never slept better in his life."

His mother put a hand to her heart. "You—you scarlet woman!"

This only seemed to encourage Trudy. "Well, it's not like we'd need a nightlight anyway…sometimes we just leave the lights on…"

His mother let out a sound reminiscent of a hiccupping bullfrog.

When the sheer shock of what had happened began to subside, Monk steadied his shaking hands. Two things had been made abundantly clear. One, he in no way deserved Trudy Ellison. Two, if she hadn't run away from his mother, how could he?

Adrian straightened his collar resolutely. "Excuse me, Trudy. I'll handle this."

He faced up to his mother for the first time that day.

"Mom, this is Trudy's room. As long as she says I am welcome, then I stay. And you don't."

"Adrian, you can't know what you're getting into!"

"No, I can't, since you never helped me prepare for it." He felt burning and glowing all at once. His hands held steady on Trudy's shoulders.

His mother made a sound of disgust. "Let me guess: you did her homework for her and now she's all over you. She tells you you're wonderful, just to get something from you. Well, it's about time for me to tell you about the facts of life. We'll start with—"

"Mother dearest," he matched Trudy's smile with a mischievous one of his own, "Don't you know what time it is? Nine o'clock. I'm sorry, but you have to go. You're keeping me up past my bedtime! I know how strict you are about that."

Trudy's shoulders shook with repressed giggles.

"Don't worry," she added helpfully, "I can tuck him in."

"Trudy's good at that," Monk affirmed.

"BUT—!"

"Nighty-night, Mom."

He showed his nearly catatonic mother out the door, and slammed it shut.

They laughed together, and held each other, and life was so much better.

Monk looked back to the framed article. It now read: The charmed life of Adrienne Lamont.

"Do you like it?" she asked shyly. "She was a famous jewel thief. I thought some of the phrasing was a little cliché, but it was an early start…"

Monk pulled her close and kissed her forehead from temple to temple.

"Early starts are good," he said. "They leave you more room to correct your missteps. Some things just need to take their time."

"Why is this taking so long?!"

Monk had been digging for information again, this time for three hours straight. Time was running out; she'd be leaving that day. There were some faint clues about the language, but nothing probative. Frustrated and knowing his head wasn't at its best, Monk decided to take a brief break before plunging headlong into the mass of volumes once more.

He was pensively seated at the circulation desk, doing his criminal law homework, when a shadow fell over his book.

"Hello, Drew," he greeted Trudy's ex without looking up.

Drew made a satisfied sound. "I thought you'd be expecting me."

"N-no, actually. I just knew it was you from the shape of your shadow. Your ears…" Some latent self-preservation instinct kicked in and he refrained from saying that they were an odd shape. "Uh, never mind. Could you…maybe…move just a little to the right? No, your right. I can't read the last paragraph of—"

Drew slammed a hand down onto his page. "Better?" he demanded.

Monk turned away from the other man's breath, but there wasn't anyplace to go. A cart of reference books barred his path of retreat.

"To tell you the truth, Drew, it's not a whole lot better, no," Monk managed. He gingerly started to peel Drew's pinky away from the book. Ugh, now that page will be sweaty…

"Hey!" Drew tapped him none too gently on the chin. "Up here. My face is up here, Captain Cool. I'm talking to you."

Yes, sir, was what Monk had in mind. He tried to say it. He wanted to say it.

What came out of his mouth, unaccountably, was, "I think you're talking at me."

As if he hadn't dug his grave deep enough, he added, "If you really wanted to win Trudy back, she's the one you should speak to."

Uh-oh.

Drew grabbed Monk's shoulder and shoved him around in the swivel chair until Monk was facing away from his book. Then he vaulted over the desk and loomed over Monk.

Any other time, this would have worked. Now…

"Listen up, buddy," said Drew. "I already know what she'll say. 'Oh, Drew, it's not you, it's me,'" he mimicked in a falsetto. He balled his fists. "Girls always give bull excuses like that. No, no, I came to talk to you. I want to know what you got on her."

Monk shook his head, now more baffled than afraid.

"What I what? Got on her? I, I don't under—"

"Come off it, Monk! I asked around about you. You're a legend, right up there with the Loch Ness monster. You never forget anything. That so?"

Monk met his eye at last. "I never forget. Anything."

"It must have been easy," Drew said bitterly. "What'd you see her do? Was she walking on the grass? Cheating on a test? Let me guess: you caught her doing something she wanted to keep quiet. You said that for a little time alone with her it would all go away. Boom, she's yours. How clever."

Monk's fear fell away in a trice. He pushed his chair back and stood up. He was shaking.

"Yeah, now you're afraid," sneered Drew.

Monk wasn't afraid. He was mad.

"Detective Drew," he said hotly, "If that spiel is supposed to sum up my crime, stick with your Pre-med major. Trudy doesn't cheat on tests. And she wears white shoes around campus, so she'd never walk on the grass. Of course, I'm sure you don't really care. You'll pull any excuse out of your…you know. Posterior." His knuckles whitened on the barcode scanner. "Interesting, isn't it."

"What?" snapped Drew.

"That you would rather imagine Trudy being coerced than her being happy with someone else. If it was me being rejected," his eyes narrowed, "I would never even wish that she was being hurt so I could feel better about myself. Not even deep down. Not even for the tiniest, tiniest second."

Now Drew looked like he would burst. Still, Monk's demeanor made him reconsider.

Monk cocked his head and scrutinized his rival.

"My turn, now. Here's what I think: you'll make up a story about Trudy and me that suits your ego and feed it to all of your friends. I'm unpopular, that's no secret, and everyone will hear your 'truth' and ignore mine. I'll keep Trudy, and you'll keep whatever pride you think you have." He resolutely went back to his chair and opened his book. "So, why wait? She'll only be here one more day."

Resentfully, Drew said, "I want your word you aren't blackmailing her."

"Drew. If you valued my word, you'd believe it." Monk turned a page. "And that goes for Trudy's word, too."

"Hey!"

Monk cringed. He gripped the scanner in self-defense, sure he was about to be pummeled.

His rival was not violent, though, merely a frustrated young man. Drew gave him the finger and stomped away. He elbowed the cart of books as he passed.

Monk sighed as the unavoidable avalanche of books began. Still, it was better than what could have transpired. He slowly began to shuffle the books back into order, a small flare of triumph growing in the pit of his stomach. For the first time in his life, he'd had something worth defending, and he'd done it. It was a feeling unlike any other.

A dark green book caught his eye. It appeared to be nothing special, but the sight of it tugged at some buried memory.

The Pyrenees, Then and Now.

He'd glanced at it before, and something nagged at him about it. A word was there, perhaps a phrase, that he tried to remember and just couldn't reach. His brain told him it was very important.

Slowly, he drew out the napkin he kept with him from the restaurant date. He looked from the paper to the book and back again.

Monk eagerly began rifling through the leaves, a theory coming into ever-clearer focus as he found the page he was looking for.

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