Some Build Walls, Others Windmills

[ficofandalasia]

Title: Some Build Walls, Others Windmills
Fandom: Monsters Inc., Monsters University
Pairings: Randall Boggs/James P. "Sulley" Sullivan
Rating: General
Word Count: 8,600
Summary: Through an unfortunate accident, Randall lets Sulley see some of his long-buried sweet nature. He furiously tries to hide it, but Sulley is too stubborn to let that get in the way for too long.

From this prompt on disney_kink

Spending the winter stuck inside had been bad enough. Randall was not claustrophobic - no Scarer could be and cope with the hiding in cupboards and under beds that came with the job - but it rankled, as if he needed to shed old scales. So he was damned if he was going to spend the summer stuck inside as well, when there was no law, not even a rule, that would stop it.

It didn’t mean that he was going to be sauntering down the road to grab lunch with the other Sca- Laugh Collectors, was that what they were called now? Sullivan had at least the sense to realise that Randall didn’t want to hear too much about them. It didn’t matter. Randall wasn’t exactly going to walk into their midst and make himself into a target.

No, there were small patches of green around the Monsters Inc. site, trying to pass themselves off as gardens, and one of them could do. It would just be pleasant to sit in the sunshine once again, even if it was filtered through the leaves of rather unenthusiastic trees.

Besides, today was important.

He settled himself onto the bench in the small ‘quiet area’, as this place was supposed to be called. Though he supposed it was fairly quiet when no monsters came out here to eat. Not bad at all.

A rustle in the bushes to his left made him suppress a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a very faint flicker of orange, but pretended not to see anything and cleaned an imaginary speck of dust off one of his fingers. There was another little sound, then the young monster pounced out of the bushes and onto his side.

“Argh!” It wasn’t fully affected; the kid had grown since he’d last pulled that. “Rex! You scared me!”

The orange monster giggled, ran across Randall’s lap and perched on the bench beside him. “We’re not supposed to Scare anymore, Uncle Randall,” he said. He didn’t really sound like he meant it, though. “It’s Laughter now.”

“Oh, really?” Randall poked him in the side. Rex squirmed, but managed to suppress too much of a squeak. “Like this?” Another poke, and a yelp escaped. “Or this?”

“Yargh-” Rex fell over sideways to avoid his uncle’s tickling fingers, and Randall chuckled. He couldn’t help seeing, as well, the flickers of red at the edges of Rex’s fronds, which faded away again as the boy regained control over his giggles. He was young to be starting to change colour, which probably meant that he would be good at it one day. “Uncle Raaaandall...”

“All right, all right.” Still chuckling, Randall grabbed his work case from the ground, flipped it open, and pulled out a brown paper bag. He held it above Rex’s head for a moment, but relented almost immediately and passed it down to the young monster. “Happy birthday, Rex.”

Rex opened the top of the bag to glance inside, and gave a huge grin. “Swirly cookies! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” He launched himself at Randall again, throwing his arms around his uncle’s neck, and Randall accepted the hug for a moment before gently pulling away again.

“Bloodberries and shocolate. I know your favourites, kiddo. Just make sure your Mom doesn’t catch you with them, or she’ll have my hide.”

That was the part where he expected Rex to say something about eating the evidence. Instead, though, he dropped back to the bench, smile fading. “Why is Mom so angry with you, Uncle Randall? I’ve missed seeing you.”

It felt like a very long time ago that Randall had made sure to drop in monthly to catch up with Rowan and Kole, and to see how Rex was doing. Family had been important, once. But it was a year, give or take, since he had last made a social visit; having his sister vent her anger at him down the phone, after the trial, definitely did not count.

But he couldn’t exactly explain that to a six-year-old. “I did some things that I shouldn’t have, Rex. And your Mom’s angry with me for them. I don’t blame her.”

Rex frowned at him like he was being an idiot. “Haven’t you said sorry?”

“Yeah, I tried that.” Randall managed not to chuckle. If only things were that simple. “But sometimes when people make mistakes - big mistakes, especially - they need to show that they’re sorry, and not just say it. Sometimes it takes a while.”

Like how explaining things to Rowan had turned into this sort-of exile. Like how admitting his guilt for his crimes had turned into working at Monsters Inc. to get the infrastructure ready for Laugh energy. Like how apologising to Sullivan had turned into... well, it hadn’t changed too much, really, save to make things more awkward than ever over the last month or so.

“We’ll get there,” he added, ruffling Rex’s fronds and giving the kid a smile which he hoped might spark one in return. It just about did. “Now go on, get back to the daycare before they realise that you’ve gone.”

That was more successful. Rex stuck his tongue out as he dropped to the ground again. “They never know that I’m gone. See you later, Uncle Randall!”

He dropped out of clarity again, an orange smudge as he made his way back to the wall. A pause, to wave, and then he flitted up the side with a reddish tinge shadowing him just slightly, and vanished over the top. Still smiling, Randall paused to make sure that he was gone, then shook his head and stood up. It wouldn’t do to sit here with a head full of thoughts. Better to find somewhere else to grab some lunch.

Randall turned to go, and walked into something.

“Argh!” A rather undignified yelp left him and he jumped back, taking on the sort-of green of the grass but turning a venomous glare on his blockade nevertheless. Even before the other monster talked, Randall knew who it was - it would be hard not to recognise that particular shade of pale blue fur.

“Cute kid. Rex, right? Your nephew?”

With a hiss, Randall reappeared. “Eavesdropping, Sullivan? Would have thought you’d have better things to do with your time.”

“Woah,” said Sullivan, taking a step back and raising his hands defensively. “I only just got here. I noticed you weren’t in your office for lunch and figured you’d be out in one of the quiet areas.” Folding his arms, he added; “Is everything okay?”

“Well, my boss appears to be stalking me,” Randall replied. He pretended not to see the slump that Sullivan gave at the words. “Other than that, I’m good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be, and I’m sure that you have actual work to be doing.”

He wasn’t sure whether or not he even expected Sullivan to try to respond to that, but did feel a twinge of disappointment when the larger monster just stepped aside to let him pass. It was one thing for the other employees of Monsters Inc. to step aside, and if Randall didn’t linger on it for too long it could feel a little like the respect he used to earn as a Scarer. But Sullivan stepping down was another.

Once again, he ended up eating his lunch in his office, watching figures move around in the car park below. At least he managed to get the window open, with a little help from a screwdriver. Better than nothing, after all.

It looked like it was going to be another of those incidents which were just going to be filed under the list of never happened. Along with apologising to Sullivan. Or that incident of bumping into Sullivan and taking on his colours, for that matter. He had thought, at the time, that was the most mortifying thing that could happen.

So Randall tried to get on with things.

“What is this?”

He brandished the offending condenser at the technician who had offered it to him. At least this monster had the good sense to flinch when Randall turned on him.

“Really? This is the third draft, you take it all the way to prototype, and it’s only got twenty per cent more compression than the Scream cans? Don’t be ridiculous.” He thrust it back into the monster’s hands, more than aware that various others from the engineering department were currently looking at him worriedly. “Even with fast-snap changes we need at least fifty per cent better compression to be going forwards with, for the love of...”

He might have continued on, had it not become rather obvious that a good portion of the monsters were no longer looking at him but at someone behind him. With a final glower that sent the monster hurrying back, he turned to see who it was.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised. “Sullivan, what are you even doing down here?”

“Stopping you from terrifying the interns, apparently,” replied Sullivan glibly. “Hey, Shriekson, how’s it going?” He shook the hand of one of the workers in passing, hi-fived a second. “Nice to see you guys.” Finally turning his attention back to Randall. “Professor Rompleston wanted to meet some of our engineers. I didn’t realise you were down here as well.”

Oh, well that was just fantastic. Now that Randall was paying complete attention, he could see that there were four or five other monsters behind Sullivan, also not wearing the white coats and hardhats of the permanent engineers, which meant they had to be visitors. More than that, one of them was wearing the jackets common among University staff.

Randall forced himself not to shrink down. “Professor Rompleston. It’s been some years.”

“Boggs!” Rompleston was just as Randall remembered her - tall, four-armed, with deep burnt-orange skin and half a dozen eyes. Physically, she probably could have made it as a Scarer, but she just didn’t have the temperament. “It has. Come here-”

She went as if she was about to hug him, and that was just too much of Randy Boggs, whom she had met when he was a sophomore. By the time that Randall was doing his Master’s, she was well in to her Doctorate and they rarely crossed paths. Randall backed away a few steps.

“It’s Randall, now. Good to see you again.”

Rompleston hesitated for a moment at the extended hand, then reached out and shook it again. “So, Mr. Sullivan said that you were working with the engineering department to handle the shift to Laughter. I must say, it makes a change for the emphasis to have shifted to condensing and holding the higher energy levels, compared to the efficiency push before.”

“True,” Randall replied. “Though the seals on the doors proved to be in good shape from that.” It had been a case, even when Randall had been at university, that the engineering department had been about wringing every last drop of energy from the children’s screams. More efficient collection, better speakers, and of course a completely scream-tight seal around the doors to make sure that nothing could leak through.

“True. Mr. Sullivan mentioned your name, but I wasn’t sure to what extent you were involved with the overhaul.”

“Jesse’s been leading the team on the floor,” said Sullivan, indicating the engineer standing closest to him, a legless, sea-green plush-furred guy with slender glasses. Jesse gave a half-wave hello. “But Randall’s been producing a lot of the ideas and going over most of the designs before they got developed.” Sullivan clapped Randall on the back, which nearly knocked him forwards a step again. Idiot still didn’t know his own strength.

Rompleston chuckled, and nodded to them. “Well, I remember B- Randall being the ideas monster when I ran seminars for his class. Stands to reason he’d be doing the same for you now.”

“Heh, yeah.” The tone in Sullivan’s voice meant that he was doing that stupid nice smiling thing, and Randall didn’t even have to look round or put on his glasses to know it. Instead he gritted his teeth and shot Sullivan a sideways glance, before stepping out of reach. He wasn’t sure whether Sullivan noticed as he continued; “It’s going really well, actually. Though having the extra investment money is really helping.”

Randall had heard something about that, though it was all overhearing and rumours. Some new accountant was managing to work magic with the books, a feat not hindered by the sudden jump in the amount of energy that Monsters Inc. was able to produce.

“Oh, that was something that I wanted to ask while I had all of the brains together.” Sulley made a gesture that took in Rompleston, Jesse and - to Randall’s own surprise - Randall. “I had one of the theory guys from the university say something about using the doors to create a... what was the word? A sub-dimensional storage area?” He was careful about the words. “To store the doors in.”

It took Randall a moment to place the phrase, but when he did he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “That was a theory back when I was at MU. Instead of making a door to the human world, you make it to a sub- or parallel dimension, or even just to an empty space somewhere on or under the human world. A solution to how much space the doors take up.”

“It was bandied around for a few years,” Rompleston confirmed, “but we didn’t take it very seriously. It was more of a thought experiment to challenge students to think about where the doors were connected and how the technology worked.”

Sullivan raised his hands. “I don’t pretend to know a damn thing, but I’ve seen the amount of space in this factory that’s taken up by doors. You guys want to put some serious brain work into it, go ahead. The theory guy sounded excited about it, which normally means a good thing. Now, Professor-“

“Call me Foula.”

“Foula,” Sullivan assented, and Randall wasn’t quite sure why that rankled, “I know you wanted to have a chat with Jesse about the University’s involvement, so how about you guys get an idea hashed out and then get back to me. I just wanted to talk to Randall for a second.”

Rompleston nodded, and turned to talk to Jesse and the monsters who were alongside him. That definitely rankled, and Randall was about to tell Sullivan that he was damn well going to be part of that conversation as well when a firm paw steered him away from the floor and into one of the small cubicles that surrounded it.

“What do you think you are doing?” Randall seethed, even as Sullivan closed the door behind them. “You don’t tell me Professor Rompleston is coming, and then you exclude me from that damn conversation. This was not what we agreed.”

The old, shadowed anger was rising in him again as he rounded on Sullivan, two right hands gesturing viciously.

“I was going to visit you in your office after the tour here. You’re reviewing the work, coming up with new ideas. You’re not...” Sullivan made a circle with his hand, searching for a word.

Randall bristled, feeling his scales darkening and the tip of his tail lashing. “Not what, Sullivan? Not invited to this conversation? You’d rather have me tucked nicely out of the way where no-one has to work with me?”

Sullivan tilted his head, probably rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that. This is...” a wave of one hand; “this is the mass-production end. They churn out a dozen ideas, and you put together the best of them. I... I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

Randall really wasn’t sure how to take that one.

“I mean, when they reverse-engineered that extractor you made, Jesse tried to explain it to me.” Sullivan made a broad gesture outside, and Randall glanced to see a vague mass of figures and a vague hum of conversation. “I didn’t understand a thing! But you, Randall...” His voice softened, and Randall drew back a touch as Sullivan stepped forwards towards him. “I don’t know how you do it, but you do it, and you put together these little bits and pieces of everyone else’s ideas, and you see something completely different in them.”

It made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t entirely why. There was something in Sullivan’s voice, perhaps, or in the way that he was reaching out one hand towards Randall. Randall took another step back and realised that he was right up against a desk, one of his hands reaching back to press against it. “Are you finished?” He said, folding one pair of arms. “I think we’re late for the group hug.”

“Fine. So, do you want to talk to Professor Rompleston or not? Because you can talk to her now, you can talk to her later once she’s filtered through the thousand and one ideas which Jesse is doubtless coming up with in between talking about how well the department is doing, or you can keep scowling at me like that.” Sullivan folded his arms, and Randall was actually glad that he couldn’t see the expression on the other monster’s face. “It’s up to you.”

“I’ll talk to her later,” Randall grumbled. He pushed past Sullivan and out of the cubicle, stalking across the room beyond. He didn’t have time for this. Plenty of time, but not for this nonsense. It didn’t help that one of the techs was stupid enough to get in his way; Randall gave the monster a shove and glared after them. “Out of the way, damn it.”

Not enough time for any of this.

The meeting with Rompleston went surprisingly well after that, aside from... that one comment.

”And you and Sullivan... I’m so glad you found someone, Randall.”

If he hadn’t gotten over the disappearing thing years ago, he probably would have done it there and then, rather than snarling his way through a rebuttal that left her looking shocked and sputtering something that might have been an apology. Neither of them were too sure by that point, and neither of them particularly wanted to continue the conversation afterwards.

They said their stilted farewells, and it was just as Rompleston was going to leave that the door banged open and Sullivan almost careened through, grabbing the doorframe to stop himself.

Mr. Sull-” Rompleston started, but Sullivan’s gaze was not turned in her direction.

“Randall, there’s a problem on Laughter Floor Two. Broken seal on a door. We need all hands on deck to get it fixed.”

Randall could picture, just from the urgency in Sullivan’s voice, what that actually entailed. Broken lights, broken scoreboard, probably computers and possibly even doors short-circuiting. Even within the factory, monsters were still wary of Laughter Energy - and understandably so, as far as Randall could see, when one small problem like this could knock out a whole floor. Thirteen doors out, twenty-six monsters caught up in the chaos...

Some of them probably trapped in the human world. Randall felt a clench in his chest, and gestured flatly with two sets of hands. “No way. Not in my job description.”

Like hell he was going out there and getting caught up in that. Sullivan was still looking at him, but Randall couldn’t see his expression and didn’t want to care. Didn’t care. That was what it was.

“This isn’t the time to... you know what? Fine.” Sullivan’s voice hardened as he spoke, and he swung round fully as he looked to Rompleston. The hair on his shoulders seemed to be standing out more, body wound with stress. “Would you mind lending a hand? Everything’s blown up there. Hey, at least it gives you the chance to see things not at work...”

“Of course I’m coming,” she said. Grabbing her briefcase from the side, she slipped out of the room under Sullivan’s arm, the CEO moving out of the way for her. Sullivan himself paused just for a moment to give Randall a look which managed to have an air of reproachful about it, then vanished off as well, leaving the door to swing closed behind them.

“What do I look like?” Randall muttered to himself. “Maintenance? Hah. Started changing over before they were ready, that’s the damn problem.”

But he realised that he was talking to an empty room, and held his tongue again.

The only time that Randall could be relied upon to wear his glasses was when he was driving. Doubtless that would have been the subject of some bemused looks - or maybe some outright amused ones - from his colleagues way back when, but considering it was difficult to even see what gear he was in without them, he didn’t fancy the game of chance that would be driving.

The rest of the shift had been both without incident and without interruption, and Randall had stayed a little longer after hours, tidying his office, to make sure that he missed the waves of workers that came with shift changes. It had helped to ensure him quiet exits from the factory most of the times so far. He was digging in his work bag for his glasses when dry words cut across his thoughts.

“Thanks for your help today.”

“Gah!” Randall startled, managing not to change colour and still not even having to squint to see who it was leaning against his car. “Geez, Sullivan, could you put a little more effort into the stalking? I was hoping for at least a decapitated pig or something.”

Sullivan had seen Randall in his glasses exactly once, and it was not something that either of them had mentioned since. Not intending on repeating the incident, Randall left his glasses where they were and crossed two pairs of arms.

“Do you want to explain why you freaked out at the thought of going on to one of the Laughter Floors?”

“Freak...” Randall spluttered indignantly, eyes going wide for just a moment before he glared at Sullivan again. One side of his lip lifted towards a snarl. “I did not ’freak out’, damn it, Sullivan. I just had no intention of running around like a maintenance monster.” There was just a moment’s uncomfortable pause. Randall stepped round to the driver’s side of the car, relieved that Sullivan had chosen to lean against the passenger’s.

“Professor Rompleston was very kind to come and help with resetting the doors,” said Sullivan finally. “Apparently when she was doing her doctorate, she studied under the monster who designed the generation that’s still in use now. So she was able to get them back into place, and we hooked up the emergency generator to get Ralph - Terrell - and Lane Picca back through. Ralph hadn’t noticed, actually, he was still midway through his act, but Lane’s still struggling on the improv so it was starting to get a bit tense for her. Luckily there were a few seconds warning when the seal started to go, so most of the coaches managed to get their Laugh Collectors back through. Just not those two.”

He let the conversation fall into silence again, and damn it all, thought Randall, he was not going to fall for this one again. He managed to fish out his car keys and jammed them in the vague direction of the lock, refusing to look at Sullivan as he squinted at the car door and finally managed to catch sight of the black keyhole against the dark blue paint work. Should’ve told that salesmonster to go to hell and take his sophisticated car colours with him.

Randall yanked open the car door and climbed in, slamming it closed behind him. For once, central locking was not his friend, as the passenger door opened as well.

“Oh no you don’t,” he hissed, launching himself across to block the doorway. “You are not getting in this car.”

“Then I’m going to stand here with the door open until you explain yourself, because I was fully capable of seeing your expression earlier;” this close, Randall could just about make out Sulley’s expression as well, and it had the raised-eyebrows look of someone who knew that they were in the right. Smug bastard. “And I saw the fear that went across your face when I spoke about going onto that floor. So.”

He left the word in the air for two long for it to be a pause between sentences, but Randall just showed a little more of his teeth.

“Are you going to give me a reason for that?”

The words were there, of course, right on the tip of his tongue, and Randall almost wanted to speak them. Despite Sulley’s expression, his tone of voice was gentler, almost soft, and he leant forward to keep the conversation from having to be too loud.

Just because the words were there, though, didn’t mean that they needed to be said aloud. “Screw you, Sullivan,” Randall opted for, and thrust the car door the rest of the way outwards instead. Sullivan stumbled back with his usual lack of grace, losing his grip on the top of the door, and before he could regain himself Randall had slammed it shut and flicked down the locks.

“Randall. Randall!”

Sullivan’s exasperated words were muted by the windows and framework of the car, and Randall ignored him as he fished out his glasses, rammed them on, and winced as they scratched against the side of his head from doing so. He was shaking with anger and grateful that he was always careful to reverse-park in the mornings so that he could drive straight out now, without having to try to reverse and probably running over the great oaf in the process.

That would have gone down so well. Former Felon Kills CEO In Car Lot Hit-and-Run. Hell, they probably would have dropped the Former. Muttering curses beneath his breath, Randall threw the car into gear and drove away. It started to rain not long before he got home.

To his surprise, not to mention his relief, Sullivan was waiting in Randall’s office the next morning when he clocked in. To judge by the lack of the usual Tarbucks waiting on the desk, he hadn’t been in earlier that morning, either.

There were about thirty new emails in his inbox, the majority of them panicking about the previous day’s events and how long it had taken to reset everything. One of the techs had seriously suggested shutting down the factory until all of the seals were replaced, but Randall was pleased to see that someone had beaten him to a scathing reply. The smirk stayed on his face until he got far enough through the emails to see that someone had posted a list of the top twenty Laugh Collectors as top priorities to have their doors refitted, and Wazowski was among them. Then it flipped to a scowl again, not just because of how exasperating Wazowski could be in his own right, but because it bought Sullivan to mind as well.

The delivery of paperwork - honestly, if they could turn paperwork into energy the damn crisis would never have happened in the first place - blueprints and prototypes from the Engineering Department was a little later that day. Not only that, but it turned up in the hands of Needleman, who wasn’t as enthused about becoming a Laugh Collector as he had been about being a Scarer.

Sullivan usually found an excuse to bring that stuff down.

Lunchtime rolled around, and it didn’t surprise Randall by this time that there was still no sign of Sullivan. Despite himself, though, he was starting to actually get concerned about that.

“Definitely going soft,” he muttered to himself. Then, laying a curse upon all Sullivans to the thirteenth generation, left his office to go find the big blue idiot.

Even just walking to the elevators was not fun. In the middle of the day, the corridors of the factory had enough monsters in them to actually be classed as busy, even if it wasn’t the rush of shift changes. Randall did his damnedest to move through them like he owned them still, but that was difficult when he was listening so hard for the responses of people around him that he almost started holding his breath.

Still, there was only a comment or two, and he doubted that was due to some vast turnover in staffing in the eight months since everything of which he had not been previously aware. Oh, he knew that there had been changes here and there, some of them on quiet a large scale - Sullivan had commented, sadly, on how many Scarers had chosen to take redundancy packages or early retirement, or even move to other companies, rather than change their jobs - but it was nothing like total replacement. Which could only mean that the sight of Randall Boggs in the halls of Monsters Inc. didn’t generate the sort of interest and concern that it once had.

He was just about okay with that.

The room which was now Sullivan’s office had once been Waternoose’s, though it had been redecorated and the antique furniture updated somewhat. Randall knew more than well enough how to find it, and knew Sullivan more than well enough to know that it wasn’t going to be locked. He let himself in despite the protests of the secretary waiting outside.

“Sullivan-” he started, but Sullivan was making flapping gestures with one hand, phone glued to the other ear. Randall pressed his mouth more tightly together and folded a pair of arms, waiting, when the door opened from behind and slammed into him. He whirled around, feeling himself flash black with anger, as the secretary came in behind him with wide eyes and restless tentacles.

“Mr. S-” she, at least, caught herself before getting too far into her words.

Sullivan tilted back his head to look at the ceiling for a moment, then said: “Hang on, Johnny,” and put his hand over the phone as he turned to them. “Please, guys. Sonja, it’s fine, Randall can come in. Randall, can you give me a moment?” He didn’t wait for a reply before turning back to the phone. “Sorry, Johnny, something came up. No, it’s not too urgent. Yeah. Uh-huh. But seriously, let Montgomery know that the offer still stands with regards to the scaring recon, and the relocation packages for any Scarers who want to move over. Yes.” He laughed. “We’re doing all right, yeah. Hey, it was great hearing from you, Johnny. Thanks for your time.”

“Johnny? As in Worthington?” Randall wasn’t even sure why that was the question that managed to be first out of his mouth as Sullivan put the phone down on his desk.

“One and the same,” Sullivan replied. “Mr. Montgomery is going through another period where he doesn’t particularly want to communicate for us, but Johnny managed to find me through Javier, from when he used to work here. So he’s sort of acting as go-between now.”

“Huh.”

“He’s on the board of directors,” added Sullivan. “Enjoys it, from what I can gather.”

His words seemed to fall slightly into the room, and Randall was pretty sure that he wasn’t the only one that was feeling uncomfortable this time. He crossed over to where Sullivan was still sitting, and saw the other monster’s body language change: he leant forwards in his chair, elbows coming down to his knees and eyes going towards the ground. Randall stood in front of him, tilted his head to the side, and let the silence do the work for him.

He had to admit, this was sort of fun.

“We could have used your help yesterday, Randall,” Sullivan finally said. “It was pretty chaotic down there. But I should have understood that you might not want to go down again. I’m sorry.”

Randall gave a surprised hiss, rearing up slightly, and Sullivan’s head snapped upwards at the sound. “You’re-” he eyed Sullivan with astonishment. “You’re sorry? I’d tell you to stop apologising for every little damn thing, but I get the feeling you’d apologise for that as well.”

Sullivan gave a half-hearted chuckle.

“Whatever.” Now that he had seen that the CEO was alive and well, he wasn’t so sure that he actually wanted to wade his way into a full conversation again. “Just wanted to check that you hadn’t finally snapped and run away into the wilderness or something. I should go.”

He turned to leave, and would have gone through with it had it not been for the fact that Sullivan started talking again, in a low voice which still didn’t manage to have that talking-to-myself tone about it. Randall knew that it was meant for him, and somehow that made it easier for him to stop just a few yards away.

“I should stop doing it, really, thinking that I know people better than I do. I suppose I always overestimate that.”

Please, let this not turn into some whole comforting thing. Randall was not fool enough to think that he was actually good at that. Risking it, he snuck a peek over his shoulder, only to find Sullivan giving him a look. Possibly an intense one, though he wasn’t close enough to tell.

“I mean, I’ve only ever had one... well, two big setbacks in my life. I suppose college and my-” the next word caught on Sullivan’s lips, and Randall got the impression that he was having to force it out. “My father, well, they were far enough apart to be two separate things. For most of my life, I know that I haven’t had it too bad. Even when the factory went down, I was able to get it back up again. I’m still not sure that I’m not going to wake up one morning and have one hell of a story to write in Art’s Dream Journal.”

“Lucky you,” muttered Randall drily. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t jealous of those words, but couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“But I can still see that walking out into a floor full of Laugh Collectors and coaches and techs, all of them pretty spooked by the first major shut-down we’ve had, and possibly angry, and possibly looking for someone to turn that anger on...” Sullivan’s gaze was still levelled at Randall. “I ought to have seen why that could have been a concern.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Randall snapped, turning around to gesture with one clenched fist.

“I was terrified,” said Sullivan, and it took the wind right out of Randall’s sails. “Professor Rompleston was there, all the techs were looking at me like I knew what was going on...” He waved a hand, and slumped back again in his chair. Randall still had his glasses in one hand, and squeezed them thoughtfully, but did not put them on. “Last time I tried to change a lightbulb, I broke it.”

What the hell was he even supposed to say? Of anyone else, Randall would have been suspicious; well, even with Sullivan there might have been a touch of suspicion lurking still, but it was far fainter. Sullivan wouldn’t know guile if it bit him in the ass. “You’ll make someone a terrible wife some day, I’m sure.”

Not one of his better ones. In fact, probably one which he would have rather not said; Randall supressed the urge to wince, but Sullivan gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah, probably.”

“What were you expecting anyway?” The words came out more demanding than even Randall had expected, and Sullivan actually started slightly as they burst out. “A little heart-to-heart? I spill all my deep dark secrets, cry at your knee, some sort of crap like that?”

Sullivan took a moment to collect himself, but shrugged. “I was thinking more of some honesty between friends, but there you go.”

“Hone-” Somehow, the word wouldn’t come out. There was that tightness around Randall’s ribs again, and his head was starting to hurt even more than just because he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “Honesty, sure. Like that’s a big thing around here.”

“I never lied to you, Randall.”

A good part of him wanted to slap that ridiculous sincerity out of Sullivan’s voice. Randall rubbed his eyes. “And somehow that makes it worse. Because it gets that much harder to hate you when you’re so damn honest, that this idiot jock who got himself kicked out of college twice over really is a good scarer, really does get those numbers, really is CEO without blackmailing or bribing or any of the crap which Waternoose was probably doing.

“And you know what, Sullivan? I was honest as well.” The words felt like they were punching out, and Randall pointed at Sullivan as he said them. His heart was actually beating faster in his chest, that surge of energy which felt almost as if he was on the scare floor again. “This? This is not cheating.” He let a band of red run across his grey scales, from his fingertips up and fading away just past his elbow. “Any more than it’s cheating for you to roar. But no, it doesn’t matter what I do, I’m second place to you.”

“I never-“ Sullivan began to protest, but Randall made a flat gesture with two of his arms and cut him off.

“Of course you didn’t. I thought that you did because I thought that you would, but no. You’re still-” he made a vaguely indignant gesture towards the phone “-friends with Johnny Worthington, you employ me in your damn factory when half your staff probably wanted to see me rot in jail or worse. And I do not understand how it is that you can be like that and...

“And I wish that I did.”

It escaped him before he could think too much. Sullivan did that to you as well, caught you off-guard by talking so honestly that you started finding yourself talking without even thinking about it. Randall wanted to dislike him for that, and couldn’t do that either.

“Because I really wish that I could say that I was sick and tired of being jerked around by some asshole with a big ego, and that your... whatever it is you do feels different. But I’m still waiting for the other damn shoe to drop, instead. So tell me, Sullivan, is it going to, or are you going to keep this up?”

Sullivan shook his head and gestured to Randall’s hand. “Put your glasses on, Randall.”

“I don’t recall that being in my job description,” he responded. “And you know what? If that whole Laughter thing hadn’t worked out, and it you hadn’t started spreading around this thing that children aren’t toxic, then would you really have thought that the Scream Extractor was such a bad idea?”

“Randall,” breathed Sullivan, and he could hear the shock in the other monster’s voice. This had been his defence to the court, but most of the Monsters Inc. employees who had given evidence against him had been long gone by then.

Randall stepped closer, still pointing one finger. Accusing. “I thought there was finally something that I could do that other monsters couldn’t: being in contact with children. Not just the closet, not just the room. Actual skin-to-scales contact. Fungus tried to hide behind the console. Even Waternoose wouldn’t dare. And then you...”

He paused for breath, and Sullivan did not push in with some defence. That surprised him as well.

“And then you come along talking about how children aren’t toxic and the whole damn world has been convinced of something wrong for all of these years?” It even sounded ridiculous now that he was saying it aloud again. Ridiculous and true. And didn’t that somehow sum up Sullivan’s life. “If someone had said that to you before, would you really have believed them?”

It seemed to take a long time for Sullivan to reply, and before he did he looked towards the floor. “No, I suppose not.”

“So you stole a dangerous creature, which should have been under careful control-”

“She was a kid!” Sullivan’s hand tightened around the arm of his chair so hard that Randall heard the crunching of wood and flinched. He tried not to remember what it had been like to be on the receiving end of that strength.

“A human. No, don’t give me that look-” he didn’t even have to see it to imagine it; “-it’s not like we thought; so you’ve said. But I was never cheating.” Everything else had been humiliating to be accused of, but even he had to admit that it was true. It was worse, somehow, to be greeted with lies. “And it may have benefited me as well, but I was damn well trying to do something for Monsterkind.”

The words just flew out before he could stop them, and by the time that Randall had a hold on himself they were spoken. There, then. Let Sullivan hear it all. A none-too-small part of him wanted to take on his surroundings and make an exit without listening to Sullivan’s response, because those were not the sort of things that Randall said - that he admitted - to anyone, least of all Sullivan.

Or maybe most of all Sullivan. Apparently he was the only one foolish enough to put up with Randall on a regular basis nowadays. Randall might have called that an improvement had it not been for the fact that it meant he had to put up with Sullivan, which was offensive just on principle.

“Would you like to put your glasses on?” Sullivan repeated. “And do that thing,” he gestured vaguely, “where you actually believe what I’m saying?”

Muttering something about needing to be put off his lunch anyway, Randall gave up and put on his glasses again. The world snapped back into sharp lines and distinct colours, all crisp edges. Sullivan had released the arm of the chair and gave it an almost apologetic glance before looking up at Randall again. Yes, it was still difficult to concentrate on being angry when he could see Sullivan in high-definition after all. Randall tried to forget he’d ever had that thought, but it wasn’t really working.

“There,” said Sullivan. “And Randall... I believe you.”

“That’s it?” Randall quirked his head to the side, looking at Sullivan disbelievingly. “That’s your big declaration.”

Sullivan looked slightly offended. “I thought that was important.”

“No,” said Randall flatly. “What’s important is that I know. The rest of you can go to hell.”

Mercifully, he remembered which way the door opened. It might have rather spoiled his sweeping exit otherwise.

When he got to work the following morning, managing not to feel too guilty about his most recent argument with Sullivan, the last thing that he really expected was for Sullivan himself to be waiting in his office. Randall opened the door, glanced in, and with a mutter of, “Oh, for pity’s sake...” turned to go again.

The door was pulled open again while he was still holding on to the handle, and he turned to find himself face to... well, face to chest with Sullivan. Setting his glare to full, Randall backed away a couple of paces. “Would it be not easier for you to just get one of those electronic bracelets or something?”

“Cute,” said Sullivan. “Now, are you done snarking or shall we carry on like this for a while longer?”

He leant in the doorway, arms folded, with no apparent inclination to get out of the way. Randall wasn’t going to embarrass himself by squeezing past, either; if Sullivan wanted to stop his own employees from working, then so be it. “I don’t know,” Randall went for. “Are you done being an insufferable ass, or shall we carry on a while longer?”

Sullivan sighed, unfolding his arms, and went on in a rather gentler voice. “I don’t know why you choose to act like this, Randall. But I do know that it is a choice.”

“Any more platitudes to share?” It was just too close to be comfortable, and this time when Randall folded his arms he knew full well that it was a defensive gesture.

“If you’re interested, then I’m sure that I can come up with some.” Randall refused to crack a smile at Sullivan’s off-hand comment. “But no, not really. Look, Randall... I wasn’t eavesdropping. But I did see you being nice to Rex. I know you’ve got it in you.”

“Rex is family.” It came out vicious, but with an edge of desperation that Randall hadn’t meant to be there. “That’s different.”

“I’m just saying-“ Sullivan started talking again, but with a muttered hiss Randall decided that he’d had enough of this and pushed the taller monster out of the way. He stumbled back, and Randall walked into the room, gritting his teeth and refusing to turn around. “Randall, you don’t have to act like this. You can give it up.”

Give up, the words become, and somehow they cut deeper. Randall growled deep in his throat, slammed his case onto the floor, and whirled around. “Now listen here, Sullivan. You have taken my scaring, you have taken my work, you have taken my respect. But I will be damned before you take this away from me, do you hear me?”

“I’m not trying to take.” Once again, Sullivan held up his hands, but this time the movement was not so defensive. It had an air of surrender about it, even as Sullivan stepped forwards. “Like I said, I don’t know everything about... this, and I didn’t mean it to sound like I was trying to stop you doing something. It was more... trying to let you do something.”

“I thought you said you were done with the platitudes.”

Sullivan groaned, a sound heavy with exasperation. “You’re not the only one who’s screwed up, Randall. Not even the only one who’s screwed up and had to start over. The difference is that I did it at eighteen.”

Randall just glared at him.

“All right, fine. I would’ve thought you of all people would’ve got what I was getting at. The whole ‘winds of change’ thing you liked to go on about. The whole world is changing, Randall, starting with the Scream industry. I figured you might care.”

Winds of change. Those words went back a long way. Randall had thrown out the poster long ago, ripped it from the wall and shredded it to pieces so small that they had fluttered through the air. He’d meant for college to be a new start, and it had just turned into more of the same crap. That time, Randall had decided that the only change that would work was refusing to bow down to the world, turning back against it as it seemed to be so desperately against him.

Sometimes - ever more frequently - he’d wondered if he’d done the wrong thing by fighting against the wind rather than going with it.

He clenched his eyes tightly closed for a second as the thoughts hit him again, made worse this time by the knowledge that he was not the only one who’d had them. If Sullivan was able to see it, it had to be pretty damned obvious. By the time that he opened them again, Sullivan was turning to go, and before he could regret it Randall spoke.

“Stop.”

Mercifully, Sullivan did. It would have just been too humiliating for him to keep on walking.

“I...” Randall began, then stopped and dug into his bag. He was probably going to regret this. Scratch that - he was almost certainly going to regret this. But he produced his glasses and put them on anyway, letting the sharp edges of the world snap back. He could finally see the expression on Sullivan’s face: wary, concerned, but possibly just a little bit interested. “I’m an asshole, okay?”

The words snapped out, and Sullivan’s eyebrows shot up. Good to know he could still manage a few surprises.

“Better an asshole than a wimp,” Randall continued. Because, when it had come down to it, it had seemed that was the choice. Just being scary wasn’t enough; he had to use that scariness against people. “Because I’d rather be feared than pitied, rather be hated than pitied for that matter. So you can quit the condescension, the consolation, just because Randall Boggs went and screwed up his life again.”

“I’m not-“

“You feel sorry for me, right? That’s the James P. Sullivan way, after all. Well, you can cram it.” He wasn’t sure how much was anger and how much was embarrassment, but it felt almost cleansing to be letting it pour out. Like venom from a wound. “I don’t need your pity, your sympathetic looks. Let me get on with my life and quit trying to do... whatever it is that you’re trying to do.”

Waving a hand sharply, he turned back towards his desk and almost slammed his case down onto it. Shifting footsteps behind him meant that Sullivan was staying, which... to be honest, Randall had fully expected to happen. He sighed.

“It’s not pity, Randall,” Sullivan said. Randall tried to hold off from looking round, but now that he had his glasses on he couldn’t help it. He looked over his shoulder to see Sullivan shifting from foot to foot, like a youth all over again. “You’re smart. You’re dedicated. I thought for a while that there might be someone nice under there, and now I’ve seen it. If you’re ready to stop sniping at me, I’d like to see more of it.”

Randall opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Probably somewhere other than here,” continued Sullivan, gesturing in the general direction of the window. “Because... well, this is work. I’d like to see you... away from work.”

There was another of those moments while they looked at each other, neither quite sure what to say, and Sullivan cleared his throat uncomfortably. Randall was trying studiously not to think the word date, which proved to be an absolute exercise in futility, and he was glad that he wasn’t a mammal and therefore wasn’t blushing furiously. His tail curled, but he kept control of his colours, having long since learnt not to show his emotions on his skin.

“Friday?” It was half-way to being a flub from Sullivan, and Randall was still just looking at him without a clue what to say. “You know, just grab lunch somewhere. Somewhere quiet.”

No. Definitely not. That was far too much like a date, and damn it all. “Yes,” said Randall aloud. He didn’t think that he’d been intending to. But there was a tug beneath Sullivan’s words, not just the idea of change but the idea of having somewhere other than work to interact. Oh, there were still a few people where he lived that would still talk to him, but they were few and far between. “No Scarer hangouts.”

“I promise.” The expression on Sullivan’s face absolutely said that he meant it, and Randall wasn’t sure whether that was reassuring or infuriating. “I’ll, ah...” He went to step backwards and bumped into the doorway, almost knocking over the can that was standing behind it. Muttering apologies, he caught it and stood it upright again. “I should get going.”

“That would be an idea,” said Randall. “I need to get to work, as well. Always... things to do.”

The next morning, there was a Tarbucks waiting on his desk again. He was relieved, considering he’d just left a plate of cupcakes on Sullivan’s desk. It was probably going to be questioned enough already.

At least it would be something to talk about, he supposed. There were worse things in the world to end up discussing.