Disclaimer: This is a fan work. All rights belong to the creators and affiliates.

Note: This is a story I wrote long ago and decided to pick back up. I've edited it a bit and moved categories. This was in the Miscellaneous Cartoons category, before Fillmore! got its own label. Enjoy!

The Case of the "What Now?"s

Act I : Fillmore Takes "Note"-tice

Officer Cornelius Fillmore strolled into the safety patrol office as he peered through the hustle and bustle of his fellow officers. There didn't seem to be any major trouble today. He could hear O'Farrell trying his newest pick-up line whereas Tahama was barely visible behind a tall stack of paperwork. Fillmore peeked into Vallejo's office and saw his junior chief commissioner playing around with a new fly-fishing pole.

Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Fillmore reached his desk in the far back and slumped into the familiarity of an old office chair. He glanced to his right. There was his partner, hastily shoving a small square of lavender paper into her top desk drawer. Fillmore decided not to say anything about it. If Ingrid wanted to share something with him, she would. At least, that's what he told himself.

"So, what have we got?" Fillmore asked Ingrid in the laid-back, easy-going voice that she had gotten to know so well.

"Not much. Today's a slow day," Ingrid answered quietly.

"It's been a slow week. I can't believe we haven't had a big case lately," Fillmore laughed. "It always feels like we're bogged down with work, y'know?"

"Um, yeah. Can you excuse me, Fillmore?" Ingrid said as she stood up. "There's something I have to take care of."

Before Fillmore could answer, she was gone.

Something was going on with Ingrid. After working together for the past six months, he thought they had become close friends. Real close. Then two weeks ago his partner/friend started treating him like a stranger. It was worse than when they first met. Ingrid wasn't edgy or particularly unfriendly to Fillmore. She had just become . . . distant.

Ingrid now had a list of tardies to both class and safety patrol duties. Her mind always seemed to be wandering. Ingrid wasn't as reliable as she used to be. Fillmore didn't know if he could still trust her to be there when he needed back-up. Her excuses were piling up and they were unimaginative too.

Yeah, things have gotten that bad. Genius Ingrid, losing her touch.

And not just in her work, but also her relationships.

'This isn't right,' Fillmore thought, eyebrows furrowed. 'We've come too far to stop talking like this.' He found himself still staring at the door Ingrid had left swinging open from five minutes earlier. Fillmore shook his head and began looking through his backlog of paperwork. Then he remembered the note.

Fillmore slowly raised his head and stared at that top drawer. It would probably tell him where Ingrid was going and what she was doing. And who she was possibly meeting. His heart started beating faster. If he hurried, he could still catch up with Ingrid and see what was really going on . . .

Find out it's something he should report to Vallejo . . .

See if she was hooking up with someone . . .

Was she?

"No!" Fillmore whispered vehemently to himself and turned away. Just because he thought Ingrid was acting strange didn't mean he could just go through her personal things. The note could be anything. Perhaps a scribble from Ingrid's father about errands, or an old pass from a teacher. Yet, those weren't the reasons that Fillmore was thinking about.

Fillmore sighed, "Dog."

Ingrid should know better than anyone not to leave evidence behind. Especially in front of him, of all people. If she had something to hide from Fillmore, Ingrid would have swept her tracks clean. Not unless she wanted Fillmore to follow her . . .

'There you go, trying to justify something you know is not right,' Fillmore told himself.

'At least I would have the guts to follow her,' said another, smaller voice.

'It's not like she's doing anything against the rules or-' Fillmore tried to reason.

'But that isn't what you're worried about, is it? Or maybe-'

Fillmore mentally slapped himself.

This was going to drive him insane.

He had to make a choice.

"That tears it!" he hissed and marched over to Ingrid's desk.