Disclaimer: No ownership, only story.

A/n: This story is a T rated continuation of "Your Heart is in My Lunch Box".

More Darkness

7

Director of S.H.U.S.H.

Drake woke to daylight streaming onto his face. He sat up, gathering his strength. There was a white folded page sitting on the bedside table. He picked it up and read the brief scribbling on it.

"Braille lessons when you're up for it."

He rubbed his head. "Yeah, I'm more worried about what my health chart has to say right now." Maybe it was at the end of his bed like in the movies. He clambered down and looked over the bed end. Upside down he read the chart. "Guess I'm fine..." He straightened up, looking around him at the empty beds. With the morning light shining in, this had to be the most pleasant room in the whole building. He spied his fedora on the back of the chair that was poking out behind the side table. He stood up and placed it on his head.

The room was so silent, warm and bright after his last memories of the fluoro-lit, mechanical world of the lab.

"This is surreal..." He couldn't shake the weird feeling as he stepped toward the door.

He opened the door and stepped out. "Oh, no!" He groaned, his feet feeling the familiar double-woven brown carpet and his eyes meeting the uncomfortable closeness of the familiar faded white blank wall.

"Not the corridor again." He rubbed his face, fighting off the anxiety that had been building up over the weeks. "Get me out of here." He got his feet to start moving him in a direction. "I hate this place. I'm starting to hate this place. What did she do to me? What 'did' she do to me?"

Drake found himself at the central staircase of the building.

"Ah, Darkwing Duck." Called the heavily accented, deep voice of the tall agent that had been with Director Hooter that other time. The one from his dad's army photograph.

"Excellent!" The agent appreciated, walking up to him. "I am Assistant Director Vladimir Goodenov Grizlykoff."
"Sir?" Before Drake could find any more words, Grizlykoff spoke again.
"Come, please follow me."

Drake stepped after him down the stairs. Grizlykoff led him back towards the labs.

"Sir, can I... ask for some, well, anything really. About Doctor Sara Bellum?"
"She is a genius, she is also very high in rank compared to you, and I suggest you remember that fact."
Drake frowned. "More rank stuff, right. I realise I'm being a bit slow at all this."

"Is difficult to tell of cookie by looking at crumb."
"Oo! I'd love to do one of those. A real unidentified biscuit. I mean, I see your point, sir."
Grizlykoff opened the next door and Drake stepped into a corridor with entirely windowed walls.

"Wh-huh?" He looked at the greenery on either side. "Well, this was definitely not here in 1880."
"It is merely a secure access point to our training facilities." Grizlykoff gestured ahead of them.

"Training facilities?!" Free of corridors? Yes please! Physical activity? Yes please!

"You are interested?" Grizlykoff chuckled, as he considered Drake's expression. "If you were not jumping out of feathers by now you would not be father's son."

"Thank you, sir." Drake smiled gratefully, looking in amazement at Grizlykoff. What a wonderful, blessed savior. "You fought in Ducklehoff?"
"Ya." Grizlykoff smiled back, "You have learned filing and mission protocol, now you do training for real world problem." They walked to the far end of the corridor.

Grizlykoff opened the door.

"Alright!" Drake dashed in excitedly after Grizlykoff. The obstacle course was decorated to match differing landmarks, streets, intersections and roofing situations of St Canard. It was massive! "Now we're talking!"
"No, now you are running. I will time you and then we shall see how good you really are, Darkwing Duck." Grizlykoff waved him over to what was heavily marked as the starting line.

Drake ran the course, feeling flushed with Grizlykoff's much needed encouragement. Since he'd been doing that filing, he'd missed the excitement, the peaceful quiet, the open space, the tight corners. The obstacle course made him remember St Canard; and how much he really loved it.

When Drake finished and returned to Grizlykoff, however, the assistant director had been joined by Director Hooter. Goodness only knew how long he'd been standing there. The presence of Hooter left Drake wordless. There was a feeling in the air like the aftermath of a storm. He mutely saluted the pair.

Hooter sighed. "You have the makings of a good field agent, Darkwing. You... have shown tenacity and an inquiring mind."

Drake breathed, fighting off the fear rising up inside him. That was it? That was all the positive things this guy could say about him? Was he that terrible? No dedication, no initiative, no organisational skills, no points in attention to detail? Not even a fitness point for completing an obstacle course tougher than the army's? He took a calming breath.
"Excuse me, sir," Drake absolutely needed to assert himself now, "but national employment regulations clearly state that you can't fire me without giving me a fair chance to fix whatever it is I'm short on, sir."

"We're not firing you, Darkwing." Hooter sighed. "We'd simply like you to take a week off from Darkwing Duck. And S.H.U.S.H.. You've racked up a lot of time in lieu in the short space of your employment."

Drake breathed in sharply, staring at Hooter in absolute horror: That was counter-intuitive! No 'holiday' would get him the grades needed for Hooter's approval. Breathe, slowly, Drake.

"Sir," Grizlykoff interceded in a calm pleasant tone that made Drake wish there was only Grizlykoff to deal with. "He is not squad. More explanation is needed."

Hooter cringed. "It's not a hard order, Darkwing; it's a mental health recommendation." Hooter sighed, "Drake Mallard happens to be a very worthwhile person and we don't want to see anything untoward happen to him."

Drake was struck by the realisation that this guy couldn't act. He felt uneasy hearing a line with such hollow delivery. "So is that why you're holding onto the Green Ganderino file? You're using it as a reference case?"

Hooter blinked at him. "Goodness, why do you continually seek to dramatise such a simple thing?"

Drake frowned. 'Because it's Protocol 1?' Too condescending. 'Because shared knowledge is vital to the integrity of S.H.U.S.H. and the continued safety of its agents?' Too arrogant. Stay polite, stay polite. 'Because you're withholding information that could be useful for other investigations?' No, that was an accusatory...

"Perhaps-."

"That's..." Drake interrupted, forcing Hooter to give him another moment.

"...It's not the best thing you can do, sir. Someone else could use that information. Maybe not today. Maybe it was yesterday. Maybe it'll be tomorrow. Whatever happened to the Green Ganderino? It shouldn't remain a secret."

Hooter watched him for a few moments as though expectant. "You are quite the parochial sort."

Yes, new personality point! He'd successfully demonstrated his dedication to the S.H.U.S.H. value system. He'd have to look up the word.

"Well, since you've been doing such a good job, perhaps I can lend them to you for scanning. I do want the hard copies back, mind you, I've spent thirty years knowing exactly where to look for what." He looked to Grizlykoff, "You wanted to do a combat training exercise, Assistant Director?"

"There is no urgency, sir; since we are not giving him case till return."
Hooter immediately turned to leave, taking a rapid step.
Grizlykoff nodded at Drake, "Have good holiday, Darkwing Duck."
"Thanks, sir." Drake smiled. "You too, with... whatever you're doing." He blushed and hurried after Director Hooter.

The trip through the corridors following behind Hooter was suspenseful. "I'm so keen to get these files in." He said to himself, clearing the grim feeling from his insides so he could think better.

"You do have a lot of curiosity."

By now, Drake already had a fair idea of what he was going to find in the files. The real issue here was Hooter's disrespect for Protocol 1. And the fact that Drake had needed to fight Hooter so hard only opened up the floor for other issues.

Hooter showed him through his cabinets.

With great alacrity, Drake made off with the first one to the filing room.

When Drake came back, Hooter looked up to him over his computer screen.

"I'm sorry that your employment experience with us has proven less than you expected. 'Boring' tends to be the norm, rather than the exception around here."

"Bored? I'm not bored..."

"Oh, well, I am glad then. How do you intend to manage your holiday?"

Drake flinched, "I don't know? Read some eh... crime fiction, hang out with my-washing! Heh, really falling apart. My apartment. Is falling apart. Need to clean out my... fridge; I spent a few too many nights here, You know how it is with bananas! Heh. Not like I haven't seen you here after hours. What's up with us, huh? All... not having a life and... stuff."

Hooter nodded, "Erm... It... sounds... pleasant. A peaceful break, I suppose."

Drake shrugged the tension off and took away the next file.

When he came back he tried being a little less intrusive and quietly got the next folder. He wondered if he'd survive another question; if he'd toughen up or break.

Another two files and the last of the loose ends were tied: The SplasherQuack, The Green Ganderino; their lives' work and their last dismal and fated ends returned to the distant history they belonged. Drake quietly returned to Hooter's office with the last file. "Sir, that's the last of them, and safely back in the places you like to find them, too."

"Well, thank you."

"Yep." Drake added with particularity, "our field agents will be a whole lot safer now." He smiled at Hooter.

Hooter gazed at him for a split second too long. "You said you enjoy reading crime fiction."

Drake hesitated, "Uh, well I always like the bit about bringing the state of injustice back to lawful order."

Hooter blinked.

"Since it's what you're interested in, I'd like to hear your opinion of the decision I made."

Drake paused, "On...?" The Green Ganderino, right? Because Darkwing Duck was like him and more stuff on corruptibility?

"SplasherQuack."

Wrong.

Hooter frowned. "I had two merciless options to choose from. Would you have chosen differently?"

"No." Drake shook his head. "You took the option that could get you another option. It just came with a very low chance for success. I'm sorry you..." He caught himself. "You really cared for her, I see that."

"I'm not sure how much of her came through in her files." Hooter sighed, looking over at the cabinet with the file.

"She saved thousands of lives." Drake offered.

Hooter's voice grew small and peculiar, "SplasherQuack never even considered the possibility of failure. That. Is how good she was." Hooter sighed, collecting himself. "And now here you are." He smiled wanly at Drake. "Doctor Bellum, I think, wanted to see you?"

"Doctor Bellum wants to teach me some Braille."
"That's good. We can't have one of our agents going around unarmed."

Another scripted line delivered with hollow unfeeling. Drake closed the door behind him, a great pit of fear growing in his stomach.