Disclaimers: Joss owns BtVS, USA television owns Monk
Characters: Monk, Sharona, Giles, Vi
Timeline: Post S7 for BtVS, general for Monk
Rating: mild as Ivory soap
Summary: Monk bites off a bit more than he can chew and finds him faced with the bane of all slaying activities- vampire dust.
Dedication: For Tara Keezer on her birthday.
~~~ Dusty ~~~
“Adrian, I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”
The detective in question looked back over his shoulder and frowned. His assistant- or keeper if he was being honest with himself, which he usually wasn’t- was still tottering along behind him on her high heels despite her trepidation.
Monk was busy trying to pretend the walls weren’t there infecting him with invisible cooties as he scooted along. “Maybe, but if we want to know what really happened, we have to follow where the evidence leads us. It led us here.”
The here in question was an old warehouse, down in the Waterfront section of San Francisco. It was grim in the dark, all shuttered windows and gloomy lighting. It was also locked, but that had never stopped Monk when he was on a case. And on a case he was. Randolf Litterman died on Thursday and most people thought it was accidental death.
Not Adrian Monk. He knew better. He knew that people just didn’t fall over dead for no reason, not without some physical reason. The medical examiner said she’d never seen anything like it and Captain Stottlemeyer was inclined to believe her.
But that didn’t mean it was an innocent death.
Oh, no, not at all.
Because Monk had found a clue in the dead man’s fingernails, which led them here, carefully avoiding spider webs and carefully pretending there were no spiders on them. Spiders were definitely on the list of things that Monk just didn’t deal with. So they tiptoed as quietly as a neurotic detective and his nurse assistant could tiptoe, looking into windows as they went.
“There, there! That’s where he was.”
Sharona just looked at Monk. “It’s a chair.”
“Yes, but it’s a particular kind of chair.” Monk blinked. “And it’s glowing.”
He turned puzzled eyes back to the woman at his side. “Sharona, why is the chair glowing?”
Her mouth agape, she had no response.
That is, until three figures melted out from the shadows, looking more than a little demented, with ridged brows and sharp teeth and –
“Aiieeee!” Sharona was picked up by her entirely inappropriately short skirt and slung over the shoulder of the first of the attackers.
“Adrian, help me!”
“Shut it, Snacky, I don’t like my food to talk.”
By this time, Monk had revived himself from the shock of seeing fanged, deformed thugs drooling in his direction- he wasn’t used to drooling in his direction in any form, food related or otherwise- and was attempting to scuttle away- without touching anything- as the menacing monsters menaced him thoroughly.
It was becoming more and more difficult to refrain from brushing up against the grimy wall, and Sharona was being dragged further and further away. He was just about to do something drastic- he hadn’t decided what, as most options involved picking up the dirty old boards lying around- when the creatures jumped him. He went down with a thud and fully expected to lose a finger or two when he tried to pry the certainly germ-filled mouth from his arm.
But the strangest thing happened. The cretin pinning him down suddenly evaporated into a pile of dust.
A pile of dust that was all over Adrian Monk.
He was so mortified he didn’t even hear the young woman asking if he needed any help. He did notice an older gentleman crouching down and handing him a clean and pressed hankie, which Monk grabbed like it was salvation itself.
He looked up, face distraught, and said. “There’s dust on me.”
The man frowned and pulled Monk to his feet by his elbow. “I’m sure you’ve had quite a shock, Mr.-“
“Monk, his name’s Adrian Monk, and I’m Sharona Fleming, his assistant.” Sharona came wobbling his way, limping on one broken high heel, helped by the young woman with short reddish hair.
“Mr. Monk, my name is Rupert Giles, and this is Vi Roberts.”
Monk just stared at his dust covered shirt, hands, legs, feet, skin, nails, hair and said, “There’s dust on me.”
“That happens sometimes.” Vi gave a lopsided grin. “But at least you aren’t dead.”
Sharona rolled her eyes. “You’d think. What were those things?”
Mr. Giles frowned. “Nothing, but it’s not safe here. What were you doing down here this time of night?”
Monk grabbed the babywipe Sharona held out and began scrubbing. She sighed and said, “A case. This guy, Randolf whatsisface got whacked the other day, but no one believed us. They thought he just died of bizarre natural causes. So we came to prove them wrong.”
Giles and Vi exchanged glances. “Just died you say? Interesting. Well, I shouldn’t worry about it now, Ms. Fleming-“
Sharona batted her eyelashes. “Oh, call me Sharona. You have a lovely accent.”
“Er, quite. As I was saying, this has all been taken care of, and you can rest assured no-one else is going to drop dead of unnatural causes.” He removed his glasses and began to polish them furiously. Sharona leaned a little closer and smiled. Giles polished faster.
Monk finally decided to notice the world around him again and gave a little shriek. The other three gave small jumps.
“What, Adrian? What’s wrong?”
He stared at her. “There’s slime on them, on their coats. Green slime! It glows! You touched slime. Now you have to walk home.”
Sharona put her hands on her hips. “Oh no you don’t, buddy. You nearly leave me to get munched on by mister less-than-perfect-hygiene, and now I have to walk home?”
Monk gave her pitiful eyes and clutched his babywipe. “Slime, Sharona, slime. And dust.”
Vi gave Giles a look. “Okay, that’s weird. Usually they’re all ‘oooo, we almost died, and ahhh, we have to run away now.’”
Giles shook his head. “Somehow, I don’t think we rescued the average victims, Vi.”
But the detective and his assistant had already forgotten the strange pair in their haste to leave the dreaded, dirty alley. Right now, Monk was more than happy to go with unnatural natural causes for death. Anything, really, if it meant Sharona would wipe some more dust from Monk’s face.
She smiled at him fondly. “Come on, Adrian, let’s get you home and cleaned off.”
The smile that spread across Monk’s face could rival the sun. He gave a contented sigh, “No more dust.”
~~~ The End ~~~