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If Leland ever had the time, he may just write out all the things that have gone wrong in his life. If he had even more time, he’d also write down everything that will go wrong in his life. Or maybe he should just throw out the whole idea because most likely Monk had both of those lists already written for him, in perfect print, sitting in an organised drawer somewhere.
It’s stupid; everything is stupid , Leland thinks, standing outside Monk’s apartment complex, beside his own car. The rain adds a chill to the air that makes him shake lightly, ankles cold from where he’d stepped in a puddle making his hasty escape from the building moments ago.
Ignoring his wet sock, Leland tugs at the handle to his car door again, dismayed, agitated, and unsurprised when it doesn’t budge. This leaves two, equally preferable options: One, go back inside, ask Monk for his keys, and walk-of-shame back to his car, or Two, stand her in the rain until he’s wet through.
He rests his forearm on the roof of the car and rubs his eyes, exhausted. “Not a better day for it.” Leland grumbles to himself. But maybe he really should consider writing those lists because maybe it would help him sort it all out. Maybe having one of those lists would have informed Leland in advance that kissing Adrain Monk after a long night solving a high-profile case, wasn’t such a great idea. A classic Stottlemeyer fuckup.
He thinks about calling Randy –he’d never hear the end of it. Maybe Sharona? No, Monk was probably doing that already. Karen? No, that wouldn’t go well. He could always walk to a bar, then again, Monk would still have his keys.
Leland can feel the cold water as it’s begun to soak through his suit and wet his back. He’s about to go back in when a familiar hesitant voice causes him to lift his head. There, under the edge of the awning, holding out Leland’s keys, in a wipe, between two fingers, stood Monk. “I think you forgot these.” He squeaks and Leland recognises that he’s more concerned about the key’s possible germs than anything else. The captain scolds himself for thinking there was some sentimental reason for Monk returning the keys; some excuse for why he is not wearing his suit coat.
“Thanks,” Leland says, trying not to sound ingenuine, “You can just toss ‘em.” It’s a simple compromise to limit their interaction, a way to make it less awkward, he tells himself.
Monk’s face wrinkles with distaste. “What if you don’t catch it.”
“Then I’ll pick it up.”
“Off the ground?” Monk’s eyes widen and he looks concerned.
Leland tries to sound irritated or exasperated but he can’t help a half-smile at Monk’s absurdity. It makes no sense that he’d love the man, but even now he can’t fight the feeling. “Yes, Monk, off the ground .”
With all the dramatics of a teenage girl, Monk tossed the keys which didn't go far, landing in the same offending puddle Leland previously had wet a good pant leg to. Monk hesitates under the awning, opting to stay dry over getting rained on and Leland quickly grabs the keys, managing to not soak a shirt sleeve, with the hopes of quickly getting out of here, tail between his legs.
Of course, he never gets what he wants in life… “ You– You don’t have to feel bad about… that.” Monk ventures, stiffly but vaguely motioning, going against every fibre of Leland’s being. The captain briefly wets his lips.
“No Monk, it’s– I didn’t– Iya…” He skitters to find the words. “Look Adrain, I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t’ve kissed you. I’ll be more professional. I didn’t mean to—”
In a quiet word, “I know…" Under the light of the awning his eyes are a deep, warm brown and Leland thinks he really needs to get out of here.
Monk is the one who breaks the thick, uncomfortable silence. "I hadn't," He motions vaguely between the pair of them, "yaknow, with anyone since Trudy."
Leland isn't sure what to say to that, "I figured." He eyes his wet shoes, turning his keys in his hand.
He can feel Monk's eyes on him, picking him apart. This must be what crime scenes feel like. It's always caught Leland off guard that Monk understood him better than he understood himself.
"It's raining." Monk comments lamely, like complaining.
"Yes," He chuckles, looking up, wet hair clinging to his forehead, "It is raining, Monk."
"Are you leaving?"
A glance back to the car, "Yeah I probably should."
For another minute no one moves.
"Okay."
"Yep."
Monk lets out a long sigh, rolls his shoulders, and apologises, “I’m sorry.”
Before Leland can question him, Monk is striding out from under the awning, rain forming dark spots on his shirt. He hesitates for only a moment and kisses Leland. It’s better than the first time – actually it’s perfect. Monk is shaking and Leland’s hands come up to hold his jaw steady, the keys dropping back to the ground. Monk’s lips are soft and Leland’s own are rough but damp from the rain, a contradiction you’d think Monk could never stand.
When they pull apart for air, Monk is still shivering and his mouth moves numbly. Leland can’t help but chuckle.
“I’m wet.” Monk mutters.
“Yes, Adrian, you are.”
“Can we go inside?” He sounds pained, “I need a new shirt.”
Leland nods and bends down to pick up his keys. Surprisingly, Monk stands rigidly still, waiting for him rather than hurrying inside. It touches Leland and as they head inside, together, he takes Adrian’s hand.