A/n: Eh, what's the point of a watch if it isn't like Penny's?

Call of Cthulu five second parody:
"Alone, in uncharted corridors, all you can hear is:"
"Stuck... Jammed."
"Oh, no, the sea sickness is back! Abandon ship!"
"But we're not on a ship!"
"Then get a sock puppet!"
"Cool, it's a 100 foot tentacle thing!"
"Oh, no, the sea sickness is back!"
"Quick; get the sock puppet!"
(Warning: Sock puppets not included)
"Noo!"

Your Heart is in My Lunch Box

The Great S.H.U.S.H. Mystery

The file stacks slowly disappeared from the left side of the room. Progress made Drake's determination grow stronger.

During one of his regularly scheduled breaks, Drake managed to track down the janitor.

"Hi there."
The guy looked up from the mop. "Who're you supposed to be?"
"Darkwing Duck."
The janitor froze, growing wide-eyed. "You're not... say that again!"
"Darkwing Duck." Drake flourished his cape.
"You played Edgar in Rise of the Boorsteins! Drake Mallard." The janitor smiled giddily, "I reviewed that movie on my channel."

"Well, someone had to have watched that movie." Drake shrugged off the nervous tension. "I've changed career now. This is more comfortable for me."
"Maybe a bit 'too comfortable'?"
Drake laughed. "Didn't get your name?"
"John Beakris." John extended his hand out.

Drake shook it, noticing a tattoo over John's wrist. "Ah, a Ducky Moore fan."
"A 'Die-Hard, Ducky Moore' fan."
Drake chuckled again. "I was wondering if you could help me."

John pushed the mop back into the bucket and faced him. "Well, I 'am' the janitor. What seems to be the problem?"
"I've been having nightmares..." Drake hesitated, "Being lost in a maze of unending squirreling corridors, plain blank wooden doors, no windows, endless corridors..." He swallowed. "Did I mention the uncharted corridors?"
John gazed at him for a long moment. "I don't know how to help you with that, other than 'get out' for what that's worth."
"Not really viable just at the moment, no."

Drake tried again. "This building is shaped in a basic rectangle, built circa 1880." Drake made a box shape with his hands, "But the passageways don't conform to the original floor plan. Most of these internal walls have been built at a later point in the building's history."
"I heard that too. Don't know when, or who they got to do it."
Drake sighed. " 'I' don't even know the basic layout."

"Management-in-the-middle, agency-at-the-front, labs-at-the-back." John answered immediately. "Anytime you get off a flight of stairs, that's how you know to go left, right or straight ahead. Apart from the basement, that is. It's just for storage."
"Wow... thanks!" Drake breathed, "That's hugely helpful. I feel my headache clearing up already!"

"Hey, you're welcome." John smiled. "I should get back to cleaning now."
"Of course, me too. Thanks again!"

Another day passed and Drake still hadn't cracked the code of crime yet, but he felt like he was going to. Nearly halfway and he already had two hot-spots pinned for patrol. Although timing himself was still questionable.

All the shelving units were of an identical age but one on the back wall. At the beginning he didn't see any significance to it until today when he started clearing the folders off it.

Completely obscured by case files was a door. Had they actually shelved off an entire room in a desperate grab for square footage storage space? It was true that this seemingly ordinary room was tiny. And if tiny was ordinary, it was fair to see how this had happened. A sacrifice of a door for more filing space. Pity it wasn't a mechanical secret bookcase door. He'd always wanted to see a gadget like that in real life.

The question of what was behind the door burned as he cleared the shelves in front of it.

More files, for sure. But how old, and were they standard and clean; or would they be tainted, twisted, grim and horrifying?

Either way, he'd be the first to lay eyes on their contents in years.

Shelf after shelf, Drake worked through, reviewing, scanning, checking, packing. One thing was for certain; these people were right up his alleyway. S.H.U.S.H. dealt with the weirdest, oddest, and downright bizarre-st of cases that St Canard had ever seen. Darkwing was on the verge of skilling up to the next level of crime solving. Drake could feel it in his bones.

Another day and he'd cleared the interrupting bookcase.

Now he had to. Just... get it open. It was late but he had to have a look-see. He moved the empty shelving unit across to the now empty half of the room then came back to eyeing the door in excitement.

Ancient history?

Dangerous history?

Something mundane?

He tried the handle. It was stuck.

"Locked?"

Something extraordinarily top secret?

He considered the handle carefully. "No, it's just jammed." He decided. "Good job this isn't a computer game... Look out, you devious doorknob!" He grinned at it, pointing gamely. "You have absolutely no idea who you're messing with! For I am the terror who befriends the janitor!" He turned around, flourishing his cape. He paused a moment as he reached for the outer door handle. "Huh." He pressed his thumb to his wristwatch. "Mental note, add WD40 to utility belt."

Drake stepped out of the room, discovering the afternoon had once again turned night. His watch hadn't gone off for dinnertime yet.

He opened the janitor closet and climbed up after the WD40. Only a few more days left of crime data collecting... Unless there was a huge warehouse of records needing to be scanned beyond the door.

He felt a slight panic in his chest. Filing forever?

"No, no way that's ridiculous. All the evidence of this building's architecture runs contrary to that idea." He calmed himself and jumped down. "Oh, well, I'll find out in-."

"Goodness, that's dangerous. Please don't do that again."

Drake looked up in confusion at the elder owl agent, he was standing by a bear agent who was practically a giant in comparison. He'd been aware of them, but he'd never considered them stopping to pay attention to what he was doing.

"The shelf has a solid construction, sir. It can take my weight. I've stood on ice thinner than that. Also I'm not particularly tall or..." He stopped, the guy he was talking to was a lot shorter than him and the other one was built like a rocket. "That is to say my body mass index isn't particularly overwhelming all things considered."

"And what if you were to slip?"
Drake raised an eyebrow. "That would depend on how far I'm falling, sir. There are a few different moves to choose from."

"Well, no harm no foul." The elder agent said, "But please do be more careful in the future. It may look like only one foot to you, but to us, it's an OH and S nightmare should you sprain your ankle or some such thing."
"I..." Drake hesitated, "Well, if you insist, sir. But that really isn't much of a bother to me. Now I need to go fix that thing. These files need saving! If you'll excuse me, sir." He turned his eyes up to the other agent, "Sir."
"Of course. Carry on."

Dazed by the unexpected telling off, Drake shut the filing room door behind him and took a calming breath. Then something flashed in his memory about the bear agent. "Was that... the guy in dad's army picture?" He tried to recall the names listed on the back of the picture. "Koff?" That was pretty scary, did he recognise Drake under his Darkwing Duck costume? He supposed it didn't really matter inside the walls of S.H.U.S.H..

He gazed at the door opposing him and smiled. "So we meet again, door. But this time, I'm ready for you. Now; let's find out what you're really hiding."

Drake advanced and sprayed the WD40 into the jammed mechanism. He dashed the can on the other shelf and wrestled with the handle.

It came open. "Y'ah ha!" He exclaimed, pulling open the door to reveal...

Another, smaller cache of overstuffed shelves and archive boxes stacked up high in the centre of the room. He pulled out the topmost file and looked inside it. "1956. Just as I suspected!" He smiled, "We're getting into the real old time crimes now."

The Suspect

Agent Smith hadn't been kidding about cases taking a turn for the 'unusually' bizarre. This entire room was weird, it was always the same agents signing off on the cases, the last file was a wereduck rampage dealt with by SplasherQuack in 1991, and J Gander Hooter had apparently transferred to St Canard offices somewhere around 1965 making him the second oldest person Drake had ever met. The first being Scrooge McDuck.

Drake had finally emptied the anterior closet room.

He dusted himself off, looking wearily at the last of the shelves. More recent records. "Another decent night's work." He yawned and gave a tired stretch. "I'm sure they're interesting, but... this is a good place to stop for tonight." He headed out of the room, shutting it closed behind him. He noticed the elder agent from the other night passing at the top of the corridor.

"Hello again, young man."
He smiled. "How are you tonight, sir?"
"I'm quite fine, but I feel a little concerned that Agent Smith has given you an exorbitant task that makes you be here at all hours."
"Oh, I'm nearly done. Just two more shelves left to go!" He enthused with self encouragement, "I'm Darkwing Duck, sir."

"Now I did think you looked familiar."
Drake smiled.
"Are you sure you shouldn't try to develop your own persona?"
"Darkwing Duck is everything I believe in." Drake responded firmly, sweeping his hand in front of him.

"I didn't catch your name, sir."
The agent paused, "Forgive me. I'm Director J Gander Hooter."
Drake's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, it's an honour to meet you, sir!"
"Uh, well, it is... one of those jobs, but-."
"You single-handedly defeated the terrorist lock down at Putoktah!" Drake felt a buzz with excitement. "Solved the mystery of the ice beast at Terranialia. Helped negotiate the peace treaty between the Belottomans and Serinians. You're a real life hero!"

"Good heavens, nobody knows about those events!"

"They have the opportunity now because 'I've' scanned them in." Drake thumbed to himself. "Everyone should know about the way you talked the Quackotails into a ceasefire: that was truly inspiring." He stopped, Hooter didn't look particularly enthralled. "Uh, anyway. You know what you did." He blushed. "I was just..."

"You went into the other room." Hooter paused, a distinctly disapproving tone, "What made you think you needed to do that?"

Drake felt a tremor of concern, "If it was locked I would have stopped to ask, sir."
"There was a shelf unit in front of it." Hooter retorted dryly. "That wasn't enough of a deterrence?"
"Agent Smith said to be thorough... she said to 'me' to be thorough." He thumbed to himself. "So she obviously meant that room too." Drake shrugged.

"What was to say that room was 'obviously' any business of yours?" Hooter used Drake's word.

"Um, inner city space economy? The records in those boxes were archived because they didn't happen in St Canard. They were all chosen for being the least relevant to the most amount of people. A fair compromise." He nodded. "Though the reversely stacked dates had me fooled for a while. The only reason for that is if the files were originally located somewhere else-."

"Yes; they were in my office." Hooter cut him off with a frown, "I'm very sorry to disappoint you, Darkwing, but there really is nothing inadvertent about the matter of archiving in this particular S.H.U.S.H. office."

Drake flinched at the reprimand. "I'm aware that I'm going on about a trivial topic, sir, but right now it's all I've got to go on. You don't want to talk about the cases; you don't want to talk about why you don't want to talk about them. Do you like chess?"

Hooter blinked at him. "Chess?"

"Oh, not, chess." Drake flinched, "I meant poker. It's poker right?"
"Given the two choices it would be poker, yes."
"Aha! So there is something behind archiving those files! I knew it. If they were in your office, then you've been restricting employee access to them all along!"

Hooter narrowed his eyes.

"Young man, according to the time stamps you've been here far too long today already. I won't be responsible for keeping you here any longer."
"Thank you, sir." Drake flinched, feeling troubled, "er, sorry if that came off a bit strong. Have a nice night."
"Uh, you... too, agent..." Hooter's voice was stilted as he left.

In the wake of the director of S.H.U.S.H., seasoned veteran at crime fighting and diplomat to the bizarre, Drake felt uncomfortably childish.

By the time Drake had gotten home to his apartment he was properly perplexed. Hooter did not appreciate being given compliments, even though he was a living hero. For once calisthenics were hard. He couldn't focus.

Was Hooter so battle scarred? Had Drake really acted that much of a child in front of him? What was the real reason Hooter had been hiding those files?

Giving up on exercise, Drake started writing out from his notes, going over the most outstanding of files particular to that room and what he'd learned. There had to be an answer.

J Gander Hooter: Diplomacy, Infiltration and Elimination (boxed)
Defining cases:
Terranialian Ice Beast 1956
Terrorists at Putoktah 1961

Green Ganderino: Deductive Reasoning (LHS Shelf)
Significant cases:
Hogsquatch Manor Mystery 1977
St Canard Electric Works Tragedy 1975

Ragnos Featherstone: Deductive Reasoning (Back Shelf)
Major case:
The St Canard Rail-road Incident 1889

Lex Borgini: Science and Elimination (Back Shelf)
Supernatural case:
St Canard museum mystery 1911

Condoris: Counter Infiltration, Science and Diplomacy (Back Shelf)
Significant cases:
St Canard Insectian Invasion 1938
St Canard-Audubon Sea Shelf Mermaid Treaty 1949

SplasherQuack: Elimination (Right Hand Side Shelf)
Supernatural cases:
Audubon Reserve Camp-ground Haunting 1984
South side Cemetery Rising 1987

Having reiterated the stuff from his earlier notes and memory, Drake considered that a public opinion would help. He picked up his phone.

"Son?"
Drake smiled, "Hi dad..."
"Oh, So that's why you're calling while your mother's at work."
"Actually," Drake blushed, rubbing the back of his neck, "I just thought you'd still be awake?"

"Ri-ight. Just ask me, son." His father chuckled.

"Do you remember someone called 'The Green Ganderino' back in the 70s?"
There was a momentary pause. "...That's not a good bedtime story, son."
Drake stared at his notes. "He's still got them. I thought I was just being thick!"

"Who's got what?"
"The case files. 'The' case files, the ones that actually matter! He's still got them in his room!" He clenched his fist. "S.H.U.S.H. doesn't want its employees knowing that working for them is sending them crazy!"

"Drake, everybody knows that The Green Ganderino went crazy... At least everyone in St Canard old enough to read the newspaper back in the early 80s."
"They wouldn't have released the full details to the press, dad." Drake discounted, "do you know how it happened? Does anybody but J Gander Hooter really know?"
"Son, I..."

Drake silenced himself but his father didn't finish his sentence. "What, dad?"
"Well, I 'don't' think you're making too much of this, but..." His father hesitated again, then sighed. "Your mum's the one with all the words. Look. I know this guy is rubbing your feathers up the wrong way, but you don't get to be the director of a super hero organisation for forty years-."
"Uh-forty-seven."
"-By being crooked."

Drake flinched. "I didn't mean that."
"That's what it sounds like you mean. You know it's all to do with how you come off."
Drake swallowed the bitter lump in his throat. "You mean my 'delivery', dad."
"That's what I meant. Make friends with him, Darkwing Duck."
Drake widened his eyes. "Of course..."
"Try to get some sleep, son."
"Thanks, dad. You too."

Drake ended the call and looked over his notes. If Hooter trusted him enough, Darkwing would only need to ask the right leading question and he'd get handed all the answers!