HOMECOMING

By Light Rises

Author's Note: BOO-YA, I'M BACK! After far, far too long a hiatus, I have emerged from the soul-sucking manure of A.P. Exams to bring you the next chapter! To all of my readers I owe my deepest apologies for making you wait so long for an update. I still have some schoolwork left, yes, but barring the next about three weeks, I should be back on the saddle from this point onward.

Disclaimer: Mr. Gromkee and CDA agent Number 00626 are my creations. Almost everything else—and here's where I'll make a correction from previous "Disclaimers"—was created by Pixar, and now owned by Disney. Now that I've got that cleared up…

On with the story!

Time: Late afternoon of Monday, April 14, 2003 in Monstropolis.

Chapter 4 – Déjà Vu, Part I

"…So you're sure you haven't heard anything from him? Not even a call or, or an e-mail…? 'No'…oh…what? No no, there's nothing urgent or anything, it's just that I'm starting to—"

Sulley paused, feeling prying eyes on his back. He turned a little to see two employees standing just outside the short, dead-end hallway their boss had hunched down in to take the private call. With a stern, slightly annoyed look, the CEO brought a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. The taller of the curious monsters let out a startled "Oh!" and urged his friend onward, pushing a bit roughly as they continued down the main hallway, back to their original business.

Turning again to the wall, Sulley sighed. "Sorry about that," he spoke into his cell. "I was just…yeah…yeah, I know. I've been checking around all day, but I haven't come up with anything, and now…uh-huh." He sighed again, more deeply this time. "Well, just give me a ring if you hear anything from him, okay? Thanks…yeah, you take care too. 'Bye."

He terminated the call and let out a soft "Huh", furrowing his brows. Where IS that guy? he thought, a tad worriedly. He's never been secretive about what he's doing, so why now?

Sulley stood there a moment, rolling his blue eyes heavenward as though an answer could be found in the ceiling tiles. Then with a shake of his head he trudged into the main hallway, clipping the phone onto a simple, ebony belt he'd grown accustomed to wearing. A missing board member or not, he had work to finish off and an umpteen amount of things to do afterwards, so there was simply no time for worrying. But that luxury would come later—and then Sulley could pull out all the stops to find his other, newer good buddy…

Comforted a little by this, he managed to wave and smile at passing employees, a clipboard in the crook of one arm as he ambled toward Laughfloor F. Perhaps Mike could give him a pick-me-up before Sulley had to return to the wonderful world of "Paperwork" that awaited him at his office.

But that familiar, high-strung voice would reach him first.

"…She did it! She actually went and did it!" Mike's loud fuming echoed through the hallway.

Sulley turned his head to look back. "Who did what?" he questioned calmly, the green monster coming up to his side from behind.

"Celia!" Mike held out his hands, his eye lidded and glaring at the floor as he walked with his friend. "She'd threatened to leave for Mother's, and did I believe her then? Of course not—she knows I know she's got more sense than that. Which is precisely why she's actually gone up and DONE IT!"

Sulley, quite used to Mike's muttered speed-talking, was quick to reply. "How do you know she's really gone?"

Mike looked up at the furry CEO. "Oh, I don't know, Sulley," he said in mock coyness. "Maybe I got a clue when I found out she'd changed all the locks to her townhouse!"

Sulley winced in sympathy. "Ouch. That is pretty cold," he commented. "But didn't she do that last spring when you destroyed the family heirloom?"

"Hey, hey!" Mike said, scowling in defensiveness. "I was tryin' to do flamb—not melt some stupid, eighteenth century earwax statue!"

Sulley gave him a scolding look. "Mikey…"

"Okay, okay, sheesh!" he relented, waving it off. "But Celia was just mad then, and folks at least knew where the heck she was. Now I've sat at her doorstep for three nights straight—"

"So that's where you disappeared to," Sulley said, feigning enlightenment.

"—and I've been leaving messages on her answering machine like crazy!" Mike continued. "Fifty calls to her house, and what do I get? Nada. Zilch. Not even a lousy hang-up!"

Sulley closed his eyes, thinking. "Sixty-three calls, actually," he stated. "And another eight from telemarketers."

The small monster blinked up at his buddy. "You've listened to her answering machine," he breathed in indignant wonder.

Sulley shrugged. "Well, she needed someone to feed Mr. Gruples this weekend," he reasoned. "And preferably someone with the new keys."

Tight-lipped with fury, Mike stepped into Sulley's path. "You," he started, walking backwards and pointing an accusing finger, "you were in on this crazy 'I'm-leaving-for-Mother's' business all along, weren't you?"

"It just kinda fell into my lap," he answered honestly. "Considering she had to call me about taking her three weeks' vacation to fly to Milstalkee, and since the housesitter wasn't coming over till late last night."

Mike's expression lost its edge as he fell back into step alongside his friend. "I used to be the housesitter," he murmured with a wide-eyed, pitiable look.

Sulley bent down to give him a gentle pat on the back. "I think you really teed Celia off this time, Mikey. And she isn't gonna forget it soon."

With a glare, Mike pushed away Sulley's arm. "Whoa, whoa, I wouldn't be going on like that, Mr. Big Shot!" he exclaimed. "You played your own little part in what she's mad at ME for, remember?"

At the mention of this topic, Sulley averted his face to hide a grimace. "I really don't think this is a good place to bring that up, Mikey," he said, uncomfortably shifting the clipboard from one arm to the other. "Besides, I've got a lot on my plate as it is, and way too much on mind to worry about somebody who I know is perfectly fine." As he said it, he inwardly cringed at the unintentional irony of his words.

But Mike didn't pick up on it. A different kind of illumination dawning, Mike's features softened. "Ooohh," he cooed meaningfully. With a sudden, sly smile, he nudged his friend's lower left side. "So, pal…would there be among all those feverish thoughts engaging our beloved CEO some regarding a certain, oh, I don't know"—he paused in his smooth patter—"female?"

Sully blushed furiously, but hid this fact with a dismissive chuckle. "C'mon, Mike," he said, shaking his head. "Don't get any ideas; I mean, I've only known the gal for a couple days." He finished in a blunt, singsong tone: "She's just a friend."

"Ah, and so she is now, my bosom chum," said Mike, switching into his "genteel" mode as he pulled Sulley aside. "But I can see it coming a mile away: the wistful sighs; the hickeys; the long, romantical nights spent in vigil underneath her balcony, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of her exquisite form." He sighed indulgently.

A bit sadly, Sulley shook his head. "I doubt Janis even has a balcony," he muttered.

Mike didn't notice the comment. "Yes, Sul," he went on in the same, dreamy voice. "Soon enough, you too shall set sail and begin exploring the bittersweet depths that is l'amour."

After a short pause, Sulley raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh…well until that happens, I don't wanna hear the words 'Sulley' and 'girlfriend' in the same sentence, okay?" He gave Mike a little, good-natured smile before starting down the hallway again.

The green monster stood where he was, saluting. "Right-o, Capitan!" He then sprinted to catch up, half-skipping as he tried to keep in step with Sulley.

"So, when do I get to meet this 'mystery woman' of yours?" he asked.

Sulley kept his gaze fixed straight ahead. "Oh, you'll run into her eventually," he replied. Ugh. He knew that sounded WAY too evasive, so he decided to change the subject to cover it up.

"Say Mikey…have you seen Conrad around the past couple days? Anywhere?"

"You mean that Mr. Davies fella?" At Sulley's nod, Mike tapped the area under his mouth in thought. "No, can't say that I have," he answered after a moment. "Why do ya ask?"

"Because no one else seems to know where he's gone, either," Sulley said, anxious all over again. "I missed him and the Chavezes last Friday when I went downtown for lunch, so I wanted to call everyone and apologize. I got a hold of Laura and Carl all right, but Conrad…well, it's almost like he's dropped off the planet. Not a word to anyone—not even Beverly, since I gave her a ring just a few minutes ago, too."

Mike's emotional response amounted to a blank expression. "His own secretary's clueless, huh?" he mused softly. "That is weird…"

Sulley nodded. "Yeah. So now I'm starting to get a bit, well, you know…worried about him." Giving in to what had become a common, nervous habit of his, he started tugging at his necktie. "I wanna make sure he's okay, after all."

Mike only nodded, and Sulley dropped his arm back to his side. He knew he'd stated the obvious by admitting he was "worried", but actually saying it aloud made him feel better, even if just a little. Besides, Mike understood well enough that Mr. Davies was more than just a board member with whom it was wise to curry favor. No—this guy was actually a friend, and a good one at that.

Even if only to Sulley, as the case turned out to be…

"Looks like your Davies fella isn't the only one gone AWOL," Mike said suddenly, slowing to a stop.

Sulley halted too and followed his friend's gaze. Not only had they made it to Laughfloor F, but there was quite a scene going on at its main entrance: a long line of employees stood outside the dispatch office, loudly grumbling amongst each other. They were all frayed nerves, each monster hefting a sizeable pile of paper and shooting dirty looks.

Sulley gawked at this sight with a mixture of bewilderment and frustration. To him, it translated to a mountain of extra paperwork that would be sent his way if things didn't change. And quick.

After a brief scanning of the area, he spotted Jerry standing nearby, just a little away from the commotion. The red monster's lidded, weary eyes kept mostly to his own clipboard as Sulley came up behind him.

"Jer, what's going on here?"

"End-of-the-day rush," the floor manager explained gruffly, not bothering to turn his head. "A lotta laugh assistants were looking to file their paperwork last minute-wise, but Shirley's nowhere to be found. So now we've got this." He waved toward the crowd with a jaded air.

"You mean she's really not in there?" Mike piped up. He had caught up to Sulley's left leg and now peeked his head from behind it, squinting at the darkened dispatch office.

"Nope, never even showed," Jerry answered. "And all the custodian found in the office this morning was some open file drawers and a general messiness to things—real un-Shirley-like, if ya ask me." He paused, turning toward the two as he lowered the clipboard to look away and up, his brows drawn together in thought. "Come to think of it," he resumed, "I'd heard on Saturday that she was stayin' late Sunday night to finish up some business. Fungus joined her to help out, I think."

Mike stepped into the open with a puzzled look. "Geez. And all this time, I'd thought she was just taking an extra long coffee break…"

"Wait a minute," Sulley interrupted. "Are you saying that Fungus didn't come to work, either?"

Jerry shook his head. "He never clocked in today."

Sulley couldn't help raising an eyebrow at this, a furry hand at his chin. A very peculiar thing, it was, to have two of his most dedicated employees out sick or otherwise—and on a Monday, which certainly wasn't their style. Last time Sulley checked, Fungus loved his job to pieces and wouldn't miss a day of work for the world. And Shirley…well, to say her work ethic (not to mention her charming personality) took after Roz was explanation enough. So what sense could be made out of this development, Sulley wasn't clear on.

Mentally filing away this information for later, he pressed Jerry with a new question. "So…why are you sticking around here?"

"To monitor things," Jerry stated simply. "First off, I don't trust the janitors to keep this bunch in line after I clock out. Second, the Comedians didn't want a thing to do with this mess—they whipped out the usual 'It's my night to cook,' yadda, yadda, yadda, and all those other lame excuses on me and their assistants. RIGHT, Mike?"

Jerry's eyes snapped toward Mike, whom Sulley now noticed had been trying to sneak off until this pointed comment was directed at him. Halting in mid-tiptoe, Mike turned a little and grinned out of one side of his mouth, chuckling nervously. "Eh, heh heh heh…wouldn't know what you're talking about, Jer. 'Kay, 'bye now!"

Unconvinced, Sulley blocked the small monster's route of escape. "Mikey," he said warningly, "unless something's changed in the last few minutes, you have no excuse to run off just yet, now do you?"

After an indecisive moment, Mike seemed to rediscover some of his vestigial backbone—or at least the part that fed off his sarcasm. "What? Do you think I get PAID to baby-sit a buncha whiny laugh assistants? No no no no no." He let out a short cough before continuing. "Sul, there's a reason why I work alone out on the floor, and it's all about a little thing called 'self-accountability'. I am responsible for my own actions, and with these goofballs running the show for everyone else,"—he jabbed a thumb at the crowd of assistants—"I'd rather like to leave it as such."

Jerry suddenly smirked. "So then you only have yourself to blame for being backlogged on paperwork through last December, eh Wazowski?"

Mike's mouth fell open slightly as he turned to face Jerry. "Was I speaking to you?" he bristled, his eye glaring under the drooped lid.

The floor manager's smirk only broadened at this. "Nope. But you were askin' for it."

The looks on their faces—of sly coolness on Jerry's, and of seething crossness on Mike's—proved simply priceless to Sulley. But his amusement sobered up quick enough, once he realized just how much a certain, other monster would've dearly relished witnessing this scene—to see the tables turned on "poor old" Mike, for once.

Hastily, Sulley let out a somewhat nervous chuckle at his friend's expense. "Looks like you're stuck here anyway, buddy," he said, folding his arms with the clipboard draped over his left forearm. "Not while you've got paperwork to take care of."

His sourness falling away, Mike raised a finger in defiant triumph. "Ah-HA! That's where you're wrong, my friend!" He grew poised, a smug grin on his face. "I've got it all covered."

Sulley's face screwed up in wary curiosity. "How?"

Just as he asked this, a high-pitched "Oh, Mr. Wazoooowwwskiiiii!" resounded. The trio turned to see none other than Needleman, who carried a ridiculously tall stack of paperwork as he approached them at a wobbly sprint. The pile swayed and relinquished some fluttering sheets with Needleman's every step, then made a threatening shudder as he stopped in front of Mike, causing the green monster to flinch.

"Mr. Wazowski!" Needleman repeated, breathless. "I've got the puce and the goldenrod down—all sorted an' alphabetized, like you said—everything, all of it, actually. But the fuchsia, I can't remember—please tell me—what do I do with the FUCHSIA?!" He paused, noticing Sulley for the first time. "Oh, hello Mr. Sullivan," he greeted, suddenly calm and cheerful.

His free hand on one hip, Sulley directed a stern glare at Mike. "No, Mike," he enunciated. "He can't do your paperwork; it's not his job, and I'm not gonna let you force extra stuff on him on my time."

"'Force'?" Mike exclaimed incredulously. "What're you talking about, Sul? The kid loves doing my paperwork! Don't ya, Needleman?" The yellow monster nodded vigorously. "There, you see?" Mike went on. "Now how can I deprive him of the joy? Trust me, Sulley, he'll be fine—we'll both be very well off, in fact. So let's just leave it alone, eh pal?" He gave a wink (or at least the cyclopean equivalent of one) and nudged Sulley's right leg, in much the same conspiratorial way he'd done earlier.

The furry monster shook his head. "Why do I feel like we've had this conversation before…?" he mumbled.

Taking this as an affirmative, Mike grinned at Needleman. "What did I tell ya, kid? It's all well and good." He then spun Needleman around, giving him a pat just above the base of his tail. "Now get back in line," he ordered flatly.

The nerdy monster obliged and started to head off with a merry, nasally hum. But he didn't get very far before Smitty appeared around the corner, steering an empty canister cart toward Laughfloor F's main entrance. The moment he spotted Needleman, the task at hand was all but forgotten.

"Thou traitorous fiend!" Smitty shouted. "How durst you showeth thy face around these parts!"

Sighing, Needleman rolled his eyes in exasperation. "C'mon, man, you know I'm not into that 'Mudhuts & Monsters' junk anymore. It's all just so…immature!"

"It is not thou that speakest," insisted Smitty as he clicked the cart's bar into place, "but that wretched paperwork! It has devoured thy essence and transformed thee into a vacuous, servile vessel!" He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, then dramatically putting a hand on his chest, he finished with: "The treacherous words it hast spoken through thee hath piercèd my very heart!"

Needleman turned away, starting off toward the line again. "Oh, go playeth on a freeway," he spat.

Upon hearing this, Smitty gasped and then shook with outrage. "THAT DOES IT!" he bellowed. "Thou hast left me no other choice but to useth—this!" With an awkward flourish, he pulled out a gaudy (though hardly lethal) sword, encrusted with simulated gemstones and 14-karat gold plating.

Needleman backed away with a slight stumble. "No!" he wheezed. "Not our genuine replica of a Xeerax tribe scimitar with Flooropean influence!"

"The very article," Smitty replied, "and a fitting challenge for a Third Level Grand Wizard such as thyself." He was quite oblivious to the audience of monsters he was attracting. "Now come, knave, and meet thy destiny!"

"Not if you can't catch me first!" Needleman said. He then turned tail and ran, spilling scores of papers from his tottering pile as he bolted past Mike, Sulley, and Jerry into the main hallway.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stop it!" Mike yelled after him. "You're messing up the papers, you id—ufff!" He toppled to the floor as Smitty pushed him aside, the slug monster speeding by at a surprisingly fast pace.

"Come back, dude!" he cried after Needleman, dropping the "M&M" role-playing talk. "Stop before the paperwork totally sucks you into its evil vortex…!"

Sulley continued to watch after them as he helped Mike onto his feet. Jerry watched too, sighing. "That's my cue," he said. "Here's to hopin' I see you on the other side, Sul." He saluted the CEO before starting his pursuit of Smitty and Needleman.

"Yeah, see ya, Jer," Sulley answered, a bit wearily. The casual spectators decided this was a good time to take their leave, and the lined-up laugh assistants resumed their grousing.

Brushing himself off, Mike grumbled some things along the lines of, "No good, rotten little…" before straightening completely. Sulley glanced down at his friend as Mike looked up, the latter placing his hands on his nonexistent hips. "You see what I have to deal with every day?" he said, glowering.

Sulley turned his head away, shaking it—which was something he noticed he'd been doing a lot in the past ten minutes. He only half-listened as Mike went on about how this was why he ALWAYS worked alone on the Laughfloor, etc., etc.; Sulley just didn't want to hear any of it. This afternoon at work was just not shaping up very well for him. Not very well for him at all…

"Eh, pardon me, Mr. Sullivan," spoke an aged voice, accompanied by some gentle tugs at the fur along Sulley's upper left leg. "If you don't mind giving me a moment…"

Sulley looked toward the voice's source to see a rather squat, wizened monster blinking up through coke bottle spectacles from below. He was hardly taller than Mike and had an unusual, somewhat theropodan look about him with his tiny arms and thick, stiff tail. His complexion read best as the consistency of Human World oatmeal—mottled, bumpy, and with a subtle gloss that suggested warmth.

"Oh, Mr. Gromkee!" Sulley exclaimed upon recognition. "No, no, I don't mind at all. What do you need?"

Mr. Gromkee's small mouth curled in a smile. "Well, seeing as it is the end of the work day and all, it seems to me a good time to conduct our bit of business downstairs, don't you think?"

Sulley mumbled, "'Our bit of busin…'" in thought before it struck him. "Oh! You mean the Sector H Refinery inspection! Is that it?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" he bubbled with a cheery lisp. "So shall we then, eh, 'go to'?"

"Sure, just give me a sec," the CEO replied, holding up a finger. Mr. Gromkee gave a curt nod and began knitting his petite hands in eagerness, while Sulley turned to Mike and kneeled to get at the green monster's level.

"Listen, Mike," he started, "I'm gonna be down in the Refinery with Mr. Gromkee for awhile. So how's 'bout while I'm gone, you go see if Tish from the dispatch office at Laughfloor C is still around to help straighten things out over here?"

Mike had been brushing off his left arm—still very much absorbed in his own indignant thoughts—until Sulley had reached the second part of his little speech. "Oooohhh no…oh no, you don't!" he said, taking a step backward and waving his hands. "After all this junk, there's no way I'm—!"

"Mikey," said Sulley, gently placing his hands on Mike's shoulders and looking him straight in the eye, "it's only a little favor; could you at least do that much for me?" Sulley looked away a moment, sighing through his nose. "We used to be a team not too long ago," he went on. "Why don't we act like one again for a little while? Just for today's sake?"

This seemed to strike a cord in Mike, for the little monster only stared back, his eye wide and mouth slightly agape. Sulley took this speechlessness as a cue to get up and leave, Mr. Gromkee leading the way with an excited, thick-legged shuffle.

A blink and headshake later, Mike regained his senses…and was hardly better for it.

"Oh…now I KNOW where I've seen this before!" he shouted after the two. "Think you can say, 'Tough noogies!' and abandon me like last Friday, huh Mr. Big Shot? Well then we'll just see what happens to big throw rugs who ditch their BEST FRIENDS to take leisurely strolls with old geezers…!"

"What is that young Michael's saying?" asked Mr. Gromkee politely. "I can't quite make it out."

Sulley clenched his teeth. "Uh…he's just mad about having to take polls to find some cold tweezers," he lied. "It's one of those things he's rather …sensitive about discussing."

"Oooohh," Mr. Gromkee replied, with an understanding nod. Sulley exhaled silently as they continued down the hallway. For once, he was actually glad the elderly monster was a tad hard-of-hearing.

"…It's been quite a ride, my lad, but it seems my number's finally up."

The Refinery-bound duo had made a stopover at the hardhat bin when Mr. Gromkee blurted this out. It'd caught Sulley off guard at a bad moment: hefting and studying a couple hardhats to see which one had the more suitable horn holes, the CEO suddenly fumbled with both and dropped one to the floor with a noisy clatter.

"Wha?" he asked, utterly at a loss. He clutched the hardhat he still had with both hands.

Mr. Gromkee let out a good-natured chortle. "Blast my poor manners! So sorry 'bout that, Mr. Sullivan," he apologized as he stretched to reach into the bin. "Didn't mean for you to take it that way. Oh, no, not at all." With a muffled "umph" he pulled out a hardhat, flashing that little, gentle smile of his. "It's just that…" he trailed off. Suddenly thoughtful, he turned the hardhat over in his hands, his two bespectacled eyes lingering on the company logo a moment. "Well, I've been thinking it's just 'bout time for this old coot to hang up his tool belt. For keeps."

Sulley donned his hardhat as Mr. Gromkee did the same. "Gee, I…had no idea you've been considering this for so long."

The older monster shrugged, motioning for Sulley to follow him. "Eh…when your best friends are the mechanical innards of a turbine, you tend to have a lot of time to yourself," he explained. "You see, very few monsters understand the kind of…passion I have for what I do here—my interest in all this 'engineering gibberish', as they've called it. It takes a select few to see, to feel the warmth I find in these cold, mindless machines, and those I've known who did are all long gone, Lord rest their souls."

"But I don't get it," said Sulley. "If you love what you do so much, why retire now?"

Mr. Gromkee's bittersweet laugh seemed out of place with his personality. "Ah, Mr. Sullivan…I've seen so much in my years here. All the changes—the switch from steam to electricity for scream conversion, the baby boom glory days, the stoppage of factory expansion in the 60s and 70s—I've experienced them, worked with them, changed along with them. Adaptability is essential in this industry, and I think in this last year, I've finally met my match…"

Sulley's eyes widened. "Laugh power?" he ventured.

"Oh, yes, yes," lisped Mr. Gromkee, opening a door into a hallway of the factory's office sector and walking in, his companion close behind. "And that's the funny part, really. Laughter and screams are a lot alike in theory, and yet—confound it!—when it comes to actually working with one or the other, they're both so…different." He sighed and shook his head, looking somewhat defeated. "It takes a big monster to admit he's taken his knowledge to its limit. At least I can bow out knowing I've fought the good fight and enjoyed every bit of it along the way. Enjoyed it very much, indeed."

In the following silence, Sulley cast his eyes downward. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gromkee," he spoke up, quietly. "I didn't think…"

Mr. Gromkee waved away the apology. "Pish-posh! Change is change, and this is a very good one, I can feel it. So who am I to stand in the way of progress? Why, the very idea goes against my grain." He turned left, his mood bouncy again. "Besides," he continued, "it's high time we brought some new blood into the field—some younguns perhaps, though no flashy hot-shots. You'd be surprised at the number of little engineering prodigies there are running around out there, just waiting to be discovered…ah, here we are."

The two halted and Sulley looked around, suddenly quite perplexed. Mr. Gromkee had led him through a door-lined hallway and had turned into this narrow alcove, where a couple carts loaded with empty laugh canisters were parked. This space ended at a tool rack, which was set up against a vertical-running network of pipes that acted as the alcove's far wall.

Sulley eyed the area doubtfully. "Uh, Mr. Gromkee…" he said, a bit hesitant, "I don't think this is an entrance to Sector H."

The head mechanical engineer chuckled, a smirk forming. "Yes, it looks that way. But—if you will pardon the cliché—not all is as it appears. Watch."

He hobbled to the tool rack, eyeing a clamp-like device that hanged near the rack's lower, left-hand corner. Grasping its handle with a tiny, clawed hand, Mr. Gromkee jerked it—up and to the left, like a lever. The wall of pipes groaned and vibrated, and then separated from floor and ceiling as it swung outward, tool rack and all. The two monsters stepped back to let it open the rest of the way, and Sulley looked on in awe as the secret door unveiled a dark, metallic tunnel. But it was a tempered awe, since—for some reason—this seemed somehow familiar…

Then it hit him: of course he'd seen it before! Boo had opened this door when Sulley was searching for the accidentally kidnapped Mike, and they'd gone down together through it to find Randall's lab in the Refinery.

"How…" Sulley questioned, turning to Mr. Gromkee, "how did you know—?"

"About this door?" he finished. He grinned and laughed heartily, his magnified eyes beaming. "Because I built it!"

Sulley blinked, truly and honestly taken aback. "You?"

"Oh, yes." Mr. Gromkee gave the door a small, proud pat. "This thing dates back to the second Mr. Waternoose, for use as a quick segue to Sector H for certain 'authorized personnel' or something like that." He snorted softly as he passed through the door. "A peculiar bunch, those Waternooses," he remarked, brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Always made the oddest requests…"

Sulley ducked his head as he entered the passageway. "Wow, and I'd always thought—" He stopped himself; had stopped moving, even.

Mr. Gromkee about-faced, his gaze warm and inquisitive. "Hmmm? You'd always thought what?"

For a self-conscious moment, Sulley only stared back with a slackened jaw. He was about to say he'd always thought Randall had rigged up the door, not Mr. Gromkee. But…no…no, it didn't make sense to bring it up. Why had that even MATTERED enough to come to mind? Something about this question had a subduing effect on Sulley, and even made him feel a bit…inexplicably…sad.

The furry monster averted his eyes. "Nothing," he muttered in reply, shaking his head. "It's nothing."

This seemed good enough for Mr. Gromkee. "Well then, let's get a move on!" he urged excitedly, starting off again. "C'mon, c'mon! We're not getting any younger here, you know."

He just had to use THAT phrase, didn't he? Sulley thought. With a quiet sigh, he followed Mr. Gromkee into the tunnel, hearing that same, eerie clang of the door sealing shut he'd heard almost a year and a half ago.

For the first few minutes after they'd emerged from the passageway into the Refinery, things went along quite normally. Mr. Gromkee pointed out various things and expounded on a few (usually quite unnecessarily), and Sulley blackened in certain little boxes on several sheets attached to his clipboard, writing appropriate comments on the blank lines provided. If nothing else, he understood the general gist of why they were here and what needed to be done: Sector H hadn't been fully operational for decades, and now that Monsters, Inc. was finally expanding again, this area (along with other disused sectors of the Refinery) would need to be primed for handling laugh energy on a daily basis. And from what Sulley could discern from Mr. Gromkee's ramblings, the transition would require a LOT more than just "bigger pipes"…

All this business would've been rather boring, actually, if not for Sulley's growing sense of tension. Mr. Gromkee—no, no one was supposed to come down here again. Ever. Which he realized (all too late) was a silly assumption, and he should've seen a red flag months ago when that blasted, all-encompassing Refinery revamp was first proposed. There were just some…things in this sector that were never meant to be known about (much less seen) outside of a very small, very exclusive circle of monsters; certain sights that, once discovered by an ordinary monster, might very well prompt Sulley to own up to some things which, for more than merely the sake of the company, should NEVER see the light of day. It was all Sulley could do to keep a neutral face in light of being down here with Mr. Gromkee, and having been EXTREMELY lucky so far in terms of not coming across anything particularly, well…"suspicious".

Everything'll be okay, he assured himself. Just so long as he doesn't find—

"Oooo…now what do we have here?" queried Mr. Gromkee. The old monster was pointing at a cobwebbed bulk of machinery, the bright yellow of its old scream canisters peeking through a layer of dust.

The Scream Extractor.

Rats!

"That?" Sulley said, pulling at his necktie. "I…can't say that I really know. It's been so long since I've been down here." This wasn't a complete lie; it was true he hadn't ventured into this part of the Refinery for a long time. In fact—and as he'd made sure of until today—no one else had either. Certainly not since those fateful two days of early November, 2001.

With a little hum of curiosity, Mr. Gromkee approached the Scream Extractor and bent over it, his hands hovering and touching the apparatus in various places while he inspected. "Well, whenever and however this showed up, it's no recent creation," he said at length. "This machine was built to collect screams."

Sulley only nodded, since now he was distracted by something else he'd noticed: the big skylight where the Scream Extractor had been stored was boarded up with metal sheets. Funny; how could this have happened without his prior approval? It couldn't was the simple answer, and with this came the chilling implication that something—small though it may be—was going on behind his back.

Geez…and I thought getting all paranoid was MIKE'S job…

Meanwhile, Mr. Gromkee continued his inspection with a broadening smile. "The technology may be old school now, but, my—what a little machine this was!" he enthused. "Sound, sleek, precisely designed…a very impressive prototype, I must say."

Sulley whipped his head toward Mr. Gromkee. "How could you tell that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. "About it being a prototype?"

The engineer shrugged. "Been around in the industry long enough to tell these kinds of things," he responded without turning around. "But for what it is, this machine's probable efficiency is astounding. It was clearly made to run, and to run well the first go-around." He started rubbing his chin. "The talent behind it's a little raw, I'll admit, but still…this was no slipshod job!" Specs faintly glinting, he turned to face Sulley. "Quite a find here, Mr. Sullivan," he said, giving the Scream Extractor a small pat. "It's just too bad it came to such a violent end, eh?"

Sulley rubbed the side of his neck. "'Violent'?"

"Oh dear, yes!" said Mr. Gromkee, as if the very idea were scandalous. "Ripped from its mechanical arm and tossed, just tossed to the side, right here! A perfectly good machine…" He tsked sharply. "A shame, really, but what can you do? The lack of appreciation these days—frightening. Simply frightening."

Sulley took a moment to answer. "…Yeah, pretty scary," he replied absently. Was it just him, or did that shadow behind the Scream Extractor actually…move?

Abruptly, and flashing a triumphant smile, Mr. Gromkee snapped his fingers. "By gum, I'm not such an old fool after all!" he said. "I knew this prototype reminded me of someone else's work—a veritable genius, that fellow, and lost to us before his time. A sad story, really. But his name…now, what was it…?"

A clink sounded (soft enough to be out of Mr. Gromkee's limited range), drawing Sulley's attention to the floor. He caught a glimpse of something gleaming just beyond the Scream Extractor's right end—next to three detached (and more recently placed) scream canisters—before it was scooped up by a thin, dark mass and pulled out of sight.

Okay, he thought. That's DEFINITELY not right.

"Um…Mr. Gromkee…" he started.

The old monster put up a hand. "Hold on, don't stop me yet," he said, eyes squinting at the floor in concentration. "It's on the tips of my tongues…"

As he spoke, part of what looked like a clump of matted, unstyled fur peeked above the freestanding canisters. It rustled slightly, then—with a sharp intake of breath—it jerked to hide behind the machine again.

Sulley's mouth went dry. It saw me looking back.

"We don't have time for this, sir," he persisted. He'd tried to put this politely, but his anxiety made it come across as rather annoyed.

"Nonsense, there's plenty of time!" Mr. Gromkee retorted, still completely oblivious to the intruder behind the Scream Extractor—which was, therefore, behind him. "His name, his name…it's coming to me, I can feel it…"

The canister nearest to the machine wobbled, followed by a reappearance of the fuzzball head and part of a shoulder. The meaning of this hit Sulley in a flash: the intruder was trying to get away from them, and the how of it was a risky coin toss. If ever there was a time to make a move, it was now.

"…Almost got it…" said Mr. Gromkee.

The figure suddenly bolted to the right and Sulley lunged with a strangled yell, his arms stretching to seize the intruder. But its clumsy attempt at flight tipped over the canisters, one in particular rolling straight into the CEO's path—too quick for him to do anything to prevent a bad step. All Sulley could get out was a gasp of surprise before slipping and earning a solid smack! on the back against cold concrete, the wind quite thoroughly knocked out of his furry bulk.

Glancing behind as the tumult subsided, Mr. Gromkee turned around with a befuddled look. He tilted his head toward the felled Sulley, then at the knocked-over canisters. A hand began rubbing the small bump that was his chin.

"Now however did those fall over?" he mused softly.

With a groan, Sulley propped himself up on one elbow and looked into the darkness ahead, just as the intruder's retreating footsteps faded out of earshot. Shoot! And he hadn't even gotten a good look at the guy…

Unsteady, Sulley scrambled onto his feet. "Uh, i-it's my profession opinion that you leave now, sir!" he stammered quickly, thrusting Mr. Gromkee away from the Scream Extractor toward the way they'd come. "Nice tour down here—always a pleasure—I'll get back to you ASAP!"

Mr. Gromkee's eyes swam with thorough confusion. "But the inspection isn't finished yet!" he protested.

"I'll take a rain check on it," Sulley answered, still shoving. "Something's come up."

"But whatever could it be?"

Sulley's neck muscles tensed as he mentally groped for something, anything plausible. "Um… you remember about those cold tweezers I mentioned earlier?"

Pulling out of his grasp, Mr. Gromkee turned to face Sulley with an enlightened, sly expression. "Oh, riiiight," he said, pointing a finger and winking. "Well then in THAT case, I really must be going, eh?"

"Yes, yes, that'd be great," Sulley replied. "Now would you please…?"

"Oh, of course, yes," said Mr. Gromkee, scuttling away. "Off I go!"

Sulley accompanied him to the tunnel exit, almost as much out of courtesy as to make sure Mr. Gromkee actually left Sector H—or that nothing would happen to him while obediently doing so. After setting a stubby foot into the passageway, the engineer turned his head to look back at Sulley. "You're certain you'll be all right down here?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," he said emphatically, though still polite. "Now go."

"Right, right." He stepped inside and disappeared into the tunnel's gloom. "So long, Mr. Sullivan…!"

"Goodbye, sir." Sulley peered in a few seconds, as though for a last confirmation, and then placed his upper back against the recessed wall next to the tunnel's opening with a strained expression. He eyed the diffused floor and slick, shadowed pipes until a moaning and a sharp clang announced Mr. Gromkee's departure. Good…now it was only one monster's problem.

He inhaled deeply, trying to soothe his nerves. After a moment, and with some regained steadiness, he brought out his cell and dialed—not Emergency, but a number almost as familiar to him by now.

One ring, and then the other side picked up. "Mr. Sullivan's office. To whom—?"

"Rosemary, it's me," Sulley rushed. He didn't dare to go much above a whisper. "Please don't say anything, I need you to listen for a minute, okay? Look: when I hang up, you go and call someone from Security to the office—just one monster—and direct them to Sector H of the Refinery." He slowed at the last part, making sure the exact location was communicated. "Just tell 'em I'll meet with them down there. You've got that?"

A moment of stunned silence. "…W-well, yes," she stammered. "Though I'll admit it's a bit unorthodox—"

"Thanks." Promptly, he hanged up and reclipped the cell onto his belt, his gaze fixed upon the dark scenery before him. It was rather rude and he hated ending their exchange like that, but what else could he do? If the circumstances were different, he would've done the smart thing and hightailed it out of Sector H, calling in Security to take care of the intruder themselves. But that course of action risked too much visibility, and Sulley wasn't about to incite panic among his employees—particularly since, as of late, they were demonstrating a serious lack of grace under fire. No; he'd rather take his chances down here to ensure this thing stayed "below the radar", though not alone. He may have been very, very desperate to save the company from more bad press, but he wasn't stupid.

Several deathly quiet moments passed, with the exception of occasional drip, drips of water and groans of settlement. From where he stood, Sulley grew fidgety as his awareness of doing nothing became rather bothersome. Staying put was probably best, he figured, but as he was now he felt woefully under-equipped to be of any help—to himself or any coming aid. Perhaps he should arm himself somehow…yes; he'd go ahead and grab something, but without wandering too far from his current spot. As Sulley thought it, his eyes settled upon some clustered stacks of boxes to his immediate left—not quite against the wall, but with a few scream canisters set on the topmost boxes. Well, one of those would have to do; insufficient, perhaps, but at least it was SOMETHING.

Stepping away from the recessed wall, he crept toward the boxes and cast glances over his shoulder, at the pipe work…just about everywhere. He was so caught up in his wariness that he came upon the stacks with a hushed start. The topmost boxes came up to just below his chin, and the entire cluster creaked and moaned faintly with rotting wood and their incased canisters. Eyes wide, he reached for one of the unpacked canisters on top and gripped it. He turned his head for another brief, backward glance as he lifted it, then, satisfied that nothing was there, he turned back again as he started removing the canister completely—

And stopped in mid-motion. Dumbstruck, Sulley peered into the space revealed behind the canister and felt his lower jaw grow heavy. No, it couldn't—

Gasp, clang—WAM!

"ARRRGH!" He reeled back and let the offending canister fall with a ringing clatter onto the floor. The pain solid and throbbing, he brought up both hands to nurse his left cheek, brow, and the whole of his nose. Some new noise, however, distracted Sulley enough to lower them and look through fluttering eyes. Several more scream canisters had fallen as something scrambled through them on the topmost boxes, and the wood underneath that something had given a dangerous moan. A moment of tense near-silence passed, and then he watched half-dazedly as the boxes—the whole lot—collapsed onto themselves, a girlish, high-pitched scream sent up among the crashes of shattering wood and suddenly released canisters. When the commotion died away and the risen dust began to settle, he gulped heavily, then dared to step forward for a look. In the crumbled mass lied a small four-limbed figure, its legs and arms splayed before they moved, bending to brace against the pile of debris the figure found itself entangled in. Starkly bare, pinkish flesh shown beneath the dust patches where clothing didn't cover, and under that frizzy, mousy brown head of hair he'd originally seen was a distinctively unremarkable face: two eyes, one nose, one mouth.

A girl…and human. Unmistakably, undeniably human.

A horrible, sinking, sick feeling formed at the pit of Sulley's stomach as he recognized his worst fear as confirmed. Not again, he thought despairingly. This isn't happening…

After a brief coughing fit, the girl lifted her head to him groggily. She let out a little gasp of realization and began to scramble backward. "You…y-you stay back…" she said, eyes shining with alarm.

Initially uncertain, Sulley bent toward her. "It's okay, I'm—" he started gently, stretching an arm.

"Stay away!"

He winced at her vehemence, withdrawing slightly. "But I just wanna help…" he persisted.

"Leave me alone!" She tried to scoot rearward to get up and out, but instead kept slipping down to where she'd started in the mess. The frustration of it all showed in her voice. "I'm just a kid, can't you guys see that?" she charged, panting. "I only want out of this place. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"I don't want to hurt you, you've gotta understand that," he pleaded, starting to wring his hands. Suddenly feeling something wet trickle from his nose, he stopped to touch a hand to the sensation. He pulled it away to see a smear of red on his index finger. The surprise wearing off quickly, he continued with his supplication. "Please. I can help—"

"Well I don't want any of it, okay?" Her words were more stubborn than defiant. "I'm not taking it. So just go away." The girl rolled onto her left side and tried righting herself to sit on her knees. But her left arm gave way under her pushing, so that she could only prop herself up with it in an awkward lounging position. She coughed and squinted, starting to claw at the debris. "This'd be a lot easier with my glasses…" she muttered through gritted teeth.

In his frantic thoughts, her last words struck a cord. Her glasses…yes, that's it! If he could find them for her, she might actually calm down enough to trust him! Stepping back, he said, "Don't move, I'll be right back," then turned without waiting for an answer. Sulley immediately got down on hands and knees and patted the cold floor, his movements shaky and somewhat frenzied. He'd gotten near the tunnel exit before catching a glint out of the corner of his eye, then twisted his neck to the left and crawled quickly in that direction. He stopped before a thick, vertical-running pipe, where a pair of small, unfolded glasses lied at its base. With sudden delicacy, Sulley refolded them and took them up between the claws of his right fingertips. He slipped them onto his belt beside the cell phone as his clipboard suddenly dropped into his line of sight, held several inches from his face.

"You dropped this too, sir."

"Oh, thank you." Sulley took it unthinkingly then froze, blinking. Slowly, he craned his neck upward to see a yellow-suited figure hanging onto the pipe with its right arm and leg while the other two limbs dangled free, simian-like. It looked down at Sulley through a red-tinted visor behind an elongated snout, and the CEO silently gulped at his distorted reflection in the glass. From bad to worse…

The CDA agent tilted its head. "James P. Sullivan, I presume," it stated, with no hint of wanting confirmation.

Briefly hesitating, Sulley rose onto his feet. "What're you doing down here?"

"Did you not call for one-monster assistance to report to Sector H of the Refinery?" the agent asked in return. Despite the matter-of-factness of its familiar, speaker-relayed monotone, its voice was distinguished by youth and a slight, masculine rawness of tone.

Sulley looked away, mentally kicking himself for having forgotten about his call to Rosemary. "Well, yeah, except this wasn't exactly what I expected…" he replied meekly.

The male agent's thin body leaned back as he partially wrapped his tail around the pipe. "Then it looks like your lucky day!" he said with a thick, obvious undertone of sarcasm. He then dropped from the pipe, landed with a nimble plop in front of Sulley, and straightened his faintly bowed, longish legs. "Ran into a bit of trouble, huh?"

Sulley realized he was referring to the trail of now-dried blood under his nose. "O-oh, yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "I had a little, um, run-in with an old scream canister."

"Mmm," he commented pointedly. Sulley couldn't help but notice the disdain his tone suggested, and so was at a loss as the CDA agent (whose number he noted as "00626") bypassed him and began looking around.

"So what was the nature of your encounter with the 'intruder'?" the agent asked, suddenly quite businesslike again.

Sulley rushed to intercept him. "Wait!" he said, standing in the agent's way with his hands (one clutching the clipboard) held up. The CEO then paused as a thought occurred to him, and his expression exchanged its veiled panic for suspicion. "How did you know there was an intruder?" he said, faintly raising a brow.

Number 00626 stiffened and balled his hands into loose fists. "Because, Mr. Sullivan," he enunciated, seeming annoyed and self-satisfied at the same time, "we received information on this hours before you even had an inkling of what was going on down here."

Sulley blinked. "Wha…?"

"One of your employees," he elaborated, "a Mr. Grisham McLeod—a.k.a. 'Gruesome'—tipped off our Monstropolis HQ last night around twenty-one hundred hours. Said he saw a human on Laughfloor F during his security watch, but lost track of it when he went for help." He paused significantly, folding his arms. "Interesting stuff, isn't it?"

"Yes…" Sulley said, also folding his arms but out of a twinge of irritation. "Except what's more interesting is that I wasn't informed about any of this first thing."

"And why should you've been?" the agent replied, almost nastily. "That's what we're around for, and the last thing we need is guys like Gruesome running to Mr. Big, Strong CEO for help whenever there's a problem."

Sulley's brows furrowed. "Hey, that's not what I—!"

"Shhh!" Number 00626 had lifted a silencing finger, and Sulley could imagine the expression behind the visor to be rather no-nonsense. "Do you want this taken care of or not?" he asked in a hushed voice.

The furry monster averted his eyes and noiselessly ground his teeth. "Well…"

"Look, I'm not here to make a fuss," he said in a more civil tone. "My job is to go about this stuff quietly, so I'll be economical with my time for everyone's sake. I get the human, get out, and nobody gets hurt." He turned and started to walk off, his tapered tail swaying rhythmically. "I'd say that's assurance enough, Mr. Sullivan."

Sulley hastened to catch up. "But humans aren't toxic, I've proved that," he objected as he came alongside the agent. "Even if there's been a security breach, there's no danger—"

"Correction," he interrupted, stopping to face the CEO. "Human children aren't toxic. Whereas what we think we're dealing with right now is quite a bit more…mature."

"…'Mature'?"

"Oh yeah. And a little out of even your league, Slugger." He paused, his visor tracing downward to something on Sulley's belt. "Well, I didn't know you needed corrective lenses," he commented in mock offhandedness.

As Number 00626 lifted the girl's glasses with a finger, Sulley jerked out of his reach. "W-well, um, actually…yeah—yeah! I do!" He slid them off the belt and perched them awkwardly on his nose, then held the clipboard to his face. "For reading," he said, tapping the clipped-on papers and grinning lopsidedly.

The agent rubbed his chin. "You don't say," he replied softly. Both hands then dropped to one side, hefting into view an all-too-familiar-looking piece of equipment. "So then, after adjusting the frequency for age…" he said, twisting a couple knobs on the child scanner before pointing its satellite dish-like end toward Sulley, "you wouldn't mind me performing a little scan on 'em…"

His nerves almost getting the better of him, Sulley pushed the scanner aside. "Look, I'm sorry, but I really think you're wasting your time here," he said hurriedly, taking off and putting away the glasses. "There's no human in this factory, I can assure you that, and…well, I think you're a bit late on the uptake in terms of the intruder. He's been gone for awhile, I'm afraid."

Stiffly this time, Number 00626 tilted his head. "You're telling me this now?" He seemed hard put to it to keep his cool.

"Well…he probably escaped through the skylight, if that helps any."

The agent shook his head irritably. "That skylight's been sealed for months. Not even a gelatinous monster could find a way through without taking explosives to it. Now if you'd kindly let me continue…"

But Sulley wouldn't let him, as the meaning of what the agent had just said sunk in and struck him with a cold realization. The CDA…they're still messing with things around here! The thought of this was enough to melt away Sulley's nerves and let an indignant fury rise up in their place.

"Get out," he hissed.

Slowly, the agent looked up. "What?"

"You have no right to be here," he continued, at first deliberate with his words then letting them rush with his anger. "I wasn't informed of an investigation, I did not authorize one, and you've barged into the privacy of my factory without so much as a word to anyone. Government agency or not, I'm not letting your guys off for this kind of deception—"

"And if you think we'd believe you're any better, then you're VERY sadly mistaken!"

The forcefulness of this was so contempt-laden, so accusatory, that Sulley gave way to chagrined calm. The agent had also subdued, and he presently turned his tail to the CEO and ambled to a nearby vertical-running pipe.

"Of course, we understand how much you value this company," Number 00626 spoke, placing a hand on the pipe and pensively tapping it with a fingertip. "We know you'd be the last monster who'd want to see its reputation soiled a second time. Besides," he added, and his tone was suddenly edged with disgust, "we have no problem cleaning up after you, should things go wrong again. No one ever has to know that the great James P. Sullivan goofed while at the helm." Turning, he strode back to Sulley and crawled up an adjacent pipe to get at eyelevel with the furry monster. "So I'd hate to think that, with all we're willing to do on your behalf," he said, leaning into Sulley's face, "you'd have the gall to hide anything from us, Mr. Sullivan."

Their gazes remained locked into each other for an instant, the agent's expression invisible and Sulley's decidedly on edge. The abrupt fizzling of a radio shattered the tension.

"Number Thirty-Five to Number Six-Two-Six, do you copy me? Over."

Wordlessly, the agent pressed a button on a small device attached to the side of his head. "Number Six-Two-Six to Number Thirty-Five, I copy you. Over."

"Number Six-Two-Six, we're in need of your assistance on Laughfloor J," the tinny voice reported. "There's a series of possible 23-19s in progress and we're a little short-handed here. Over."

Number 00626 sighed exasperatedly before switching on his end of the signal. "Copy that, I'll be right there," he answered. "Roger, over and out."

'Possible 23-19s'…? But those are obsolete now, aren't they? Sulley didn't wonder for long, since he snapped back to attention the moment he realized the agent had gone. He soon spotted the yellow suit sauntering along some fifteen yards ahead, then steadily watched after him until the agent stopped just shy of disappearing around a corner. With a supreme air of coolness, Number 00626 twisted his head partway to glance at the furry monster.

"Just so you know," he spoke smoothly, "this isn't over." He turned the corner and was gone.

As though he were an over-inflated balloon, Sulley heaved an immense sigh of relief. He then straightened in realization and took off, weaving through the grounded pipe work while he sought out the pile of broken boxes. In less than a minute, the crumbled mess came into view and he slackened his pace.

"Everything's all right now!" he called out gently. "He's—"

The monster halted in his tracks, seeing only an empty hollow where the girl had once lain in the pile. "Gone," he finished. Turning, Sulley searched with his eyes before taking a step.

"Hello?" he called. "Kid? Where are you?"

A grunt and a whistling of air sounded, and he turned to see something narrow and solid heading straight for his head. Not a moment too soon, he caught the object by its end with his right hand, and—realizing who the attacker was—mentally acknowledged the fact that his reflexes had been quicker this time around.

The human girl dangled at the pipe's other end, struggling fiercely and grunting between outbursts of "Put me down!" while Sulley watched on with a bored look. Several seconds passed and, seeming to grasp that her efforts were useless, she calmed enough to stop kicking and simply hang there. Her expression, however, was still set in a resentful scowl.

"I will put you down," he told her, stern yet still kindly. "But you've gotta promise me you won't run away once I do it. All right?"

She didn't say anything, but nodded "yes".

"Okay…" Carefully, he lowered the pipe until the girl's feet touched the floor. She kept a steady eye on him and slipped her hands off her end, then abruptly turned and made a break for it.

"Hey, hold it!" Sulley reached and caught her by the right shoulder. She struggled a second time as he spun her around, trying mightily to loose herself from his grip.

"Let me go! Let me go!" she protested, before turning to a vicious, desperate shout. "Help me! Somebody help—!"

He cut off the girl with a clamped hand over her mouth. "Please, please calm down," he pleaded, simultaneously remembering as he held her in place to be gentle, lest he should inadvertently hurt her. "I don't wanna hurt you, and I never did. But if anyone like the guy who was just down here ever finds out about you, we'll both be as good as dead!"

Upon hearing this, she stopped moving and looked up at him. "Mmph-mph?" Sulley translated this muffled query as, "Really?"

"Yeah," he answered, suddenly not feeling so rigid. "…So, are you gonna stay put now?"

The girl nodded, and this time he knew that she meant it. Sulley released her completely, then, noticing the way she squinted up at him, remembered he still had her glasses.

"Oh! I found these for you," he said, taking the glasses from his belt and handing them to her. "Sorry about the one ear thing. It's kinda bent."

She held them in her hands a moment before putting them on. "It's okay, they'll probably fit better this way," she told him with understated, self-deprecating sarcasm. Settling the glasses on her face, she looked up and blinked, her eyes fleetingly wide as she clearly took in Sulley's form for the first time.

The girl raised her brows, eyes now lidded. "Heh. So you were what freaked me out all this time…" Her shoulders slack, she turned from him and walked to a nearby pipe, against which she slumped until she sat with bent legs on the floor.

Sulley arched a brow, sensing something was troubling her. Concerned, and somehow feeling partly responsible for her present mood, he strode to the girl and stooped down on her right side. "Kid—"

"Devon," she said, looking him square in the face. "Devon Vega."

"Devon…" he corrected himself. "What is it that you want?"

She turned her head, shrugging. "To go home, I guess," she answered, sounding weary. "It's the only thing that makes sense now."

As peculiar as that last sentence struck him, Sulley shook it off to possibly deal with later. "Well, that's what I want for you, too," he said. "And I'm gonna find a way to get you back. For both our sakes." He'd almost held out on those last words, but was relieved to find that the instant he said them, he knew he meant it.

She looked at him again, this time her gaze tinged with pessimism. "That's nice of you, it really is," she told him. "But just how are we gonna go about doing that?"

This gave Sulley pause: she had a good point. It was too risky to attempt sneaking her into the Door Vault, and even IF he could manage that, it would take hours to find an appropriate door—time which, with the CDA swarming and snooping about, he did not have. And hiding her down here was out of the question; the Refinery was no place for someone like her to stay for prolonged periods of time. And what if that "00626" guy came back? No—she'd have to come with him to the apartment and hide there until he could find a door. He was quite sure, of course, that Mike would NOT be the most eager to take her in to their "humble abode". But even that was secondary to the fact that Sulley still had to work out a way to get Devon out of the factory.

Yet another thing for my "To Do" list… he mused resignedly; then stopped as this line of thinking gave him an idea. Yes…perhaps his "To Do" list could save the day after all!

"You know what," he said aloud, "I just may've figured out 'step one' of the plan."

Devon raised a brow at him as the furry monster's face grew sly.

Whew! A long one, but very important, I promise. And for those of you who're wondering what's happened to Randall—don't worry, I certainly haven't forgotten about him. This story is just taking longer to develop than I'd expected…

VOICE TALENT REPORT:…and it's Mel Gibson by a landslide! Many, many thanks for all your votes! You'll start seeing the fruits of your labors after the next couple of chapters, when I start posting those mini-profiles of my original characters in my Author Profile thingy. Meanwhile, have fun thinking up talents for the new contestants, and perhaps help troubleshoot with some older ones while you're at it.

Hope you enjoyed this chappie! And don't forget to drop off a review on your way out!