|Mr Monk and the Very Strange Light
Author: silvercatlunatic PM
Mr. Monk gets in way over his head after being kidnapped. Some of his closest friends aren't what they seem...Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Parody - Adrian M. - Chapters: 5 - Words: 2,085 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 10-20-12 - Published: 06-21-10 - id: 6072382
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The hospital doors burst open. A team of nurses frantically pushed a gurney through the white-washed halls, and into one of the open rooms. Stottlemeyer ran closely behind pushing air molecules aside with his sexy hands as he fought to catch up to Monk's gurney. Natalie and Randy walked behind slowly, almost as if Stottlemeyer was putting too much effort into it (which he totally wasn't).
Monk, lying on the gurney, could only manage to mutter nonsensical phrases between periods of consciousness.
Mr. Monk was pushed into a private room, while Stottlemeyer, Randy, and Natalie were forced to wait outside.
"Captain, what was Mr. Monk saying?", asked Randy.
"It seemed like he was saying…" Stottlemeyer paused.
"What's wrong?" Natalie questioned.
"Well, it just doesn't add up. It sounded like he was saying… 'Azlan-"
Then, they were interrupted by the cries of "WIIIIIIIPE" from the next room, and unanimously, they all knew Monk was finally awake.
With the nurses permission, they all entered the room.
The trio approached Mr. Monk, laying exhausted on the hospital bed.
He was in a complete state of disarray, which was a shockrise (surprise & shocking) to everyone. His hair was messy, his clothes were torn, and there was huge bags underneath his eyes.
"Mr. Monk, are you alright?" Natalie asked. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Mr. Monk whined pitifully. "Natalie, my- my stomach huuuurts."
Natalie nodded, and turned to one of the nurses to ask for some tests for stomach pain.
"Also, some- some wipes. Natalie, don't forget the wipes. Natalie. Natalie. The wipes, Natalie. Don't forget the wipes."
Stottlemeyer muttered to Randy, "At least he's still in his usual state of mind", and they both chortled together.
Writer A would like to say that she feel Stottlemeyers sexy hands while wearing a kilt.
Writer B would like to say that the image of Stottlemeyer bolting after a gurney in a hospital, desperately slapping air molecules out of the way with his sexy hands is a fabulous thang.