Farewell
She was never one for sentimentalities, not since the day her very own uncle had held a loaded gun to her face. The acrid stench of gun powder had mixed with her uncle's flowery cologne, burning the hair lining her nostrils. Her own hot, wet blood had clung to her clothes and light brown skin like sick war paint. Any semblance of being a child, of ever sustaining her innocence had been bled out of her like a stuck pig. After such events, she never felt that recalling her childhood would be necessarily productive.
Yet she kept the monocle.
She even took it a step further and sent Seras out to collect any remains of a momento concerning the turncoat butler and her master vampire before the Queen's Knights of the Round Table could confiscate evidence. The vampire girl did not disappoint and had scoured the ruins of brick, dirt, and bone, returning victorious. A testament to her name. Now with the cold item in hand, Integra did not understand why she had gone through the trouble.
The woman sat at her decimated grand office, still in complete disarray. Above her hand clutching the offending eye-ware she noted the sleek, mahogany table split evenly down its middle. The clear as crystal floor to ceiling windows all shattered and cracked with varying jagged pieces littered in odd piles upon the dark carpet. Papers, business and pleasure of the like, had been crumpled and strewn to lazily blow in the temped breeze drifting in from outside. And there was the ever present heady scent of smoke. Of death. Integra had specifically instructed her crewmen, the ones meant to repair her manor, to leave her office until last. She chuckled and then sobered. Was the reminder of the destruction kept in her very study a way to punish herself, perhaps?
Integra observed the thin, spider web lines in the monocle and saw her the tips of her long fingers tremble. She tasted ashes on her tongue.
When had Walter begun his betrayal? Were all of his previous gestures only done to cover his ultimate motive, to kill Alucard? Had that meant the man who taught her how to read Latin, to brandish her sword with lethal accuracy, and when all went wrong, bandaged her cuts and bruises with soft yet sweet reprimands, that all of it had been a lie? How could the butler betray the good will of her father, the very man who saved a starved and destitute boy from the streets, giving him a home and education, molding the urchin into a lethal yet beautiful weapon? Integra tamed a strand of her pale gold hair behind the shell of her ear. Was Arthur even naturally sick ten years ago, or did the butler go as far as to help the process? Then why would he be so kind, so careful of her upbringing afterwards?
"I did not want your pity nor your kindness." Integra's grip on the paned glass constricted. "I only wanted a father, but you took him away. The one thing a needed." With a pang, Integra knew that she did not mean Sir Arthur Hellsing.
The woman conjured her last memory of the Hellsing butler. Jet black hair as dark as tar, silver blue eyes flashing like a beacon to cut through night, skin as pale as the sand along the Salt Sea. Young, strong, and mad. This young man was not who she knew. Who she thought she knew. He was counting on her to command Alucard to battle him. Walter goaded, pushed, and prodded. He knew that she would not be strong enough to dirty her own hands with his cursed blood. That she would push her fear and loneliness and confusion upon the shoulders of the No Life King as she always done time and time again. Alucard was a drug and Walter dealt his cards, knowing that Integra would relapse. Integra's chest squeezed as she forced herself to take calm, even breathes. A soft wind carrying the sweet smell of maple syrup curled around her like the comfort of a well known pet. She closed her sharp, ice blue eyes.
Yes. Yes Walter knew that Integra would give the final command to Alucard. But then he also knew that her hands would still remain clean. That her last memory of her butler would not be of a gun to his skull, a trigger pulled. Perhaps, even in a warped sense, he did care. He always insisted upon her budding strong will. Nurturing the blossom for her entire life until she bloomed. Until her will was iron clad.
"Always trust your intuition," he had told her, "because you are the only judge and jury that will be present the day you die. You must be comfortable with your decisions and you alone, for when you die you will only have yourself for company. You make your own bed." He said this in his lilting English tenor, a voice so smooth and comforting like wrapping oneself in a warm, fuzzy blanket, when she had fallen from a step stool stealing cookies from the cabinet. When she refused to learn the politics of Helling's inner machinations. When school yard bullies almost drove her to a terrible decision. The butler bent to one knee, clasped a large gloved hand upon her shoulder, met her watery eyes with his steely stare, and said this phrase over and over and over again. He would do this until something within Integra would click. She'd gasp as her entire body shuddered, and a liquid energy rushed through her veins. The beginnings of her stubborn determination to never again be the one underfoot.
And there were the other times. If she so much as coughed, there would always be a steaming teacup of camomile tea on her nightstand waiting for her when she awoke. He'd slip her favorite peppermints in the pockets of her trousers, always so pristinely ironed. On particularly rough days, there'd be chocolate chip muffins with melted butter for breakfast instead of the steel cut oatmeal she always told him would make her old before her time. A flash of him holding her up, her toddler legs dangling, as they laughed and enjoyed each other's presence. Him dressed in black from head to toe, grasping her tiny fingers and telling her she was strong as the priest set her father into the muddy gravesite.
Walter, her friend. Her father. The man who let her go and watched her stand on her own two feet.
In the end, the urge to best Alucard, to end the suffering Alucard's existence had represented, that in itself was a drug. And Walter, no matter how much he did or did not care, could not resist that pull. After all, he was only human.
Integra's attention drifted up to the busted doors of her office before Seras Victoria even knocked. "Come in," came her deep, insistent command. The vampire girl shouldered her way past the debris and halted just before the destroyed desk.
"Ma'am, the Queen and the remainder of the Round Table have requested your attendance immediately. I think Sir Irons needs your help in rooting out any leftover members of Millennium." The vampire girl cocked her head to one side, unaware of her new, disturbing appearance. A red iris peered intently from beside a length of blonde bangs, and if the girl still had both arms, she would have nonchalantly held her hands together at her stomach, pushing up her bust in doing so. Instead, the vampire girl rested her right arm behind the back of her brick red uniform, her left side buzzing with fiery, physical energy.
Integra let an unintentional sigh pass her parched lips, gently letting her fingernail skim over the cracks of the glass monocle. Seras immediately took note of the gesture and padded over to where the older woman sat. The situations were now reversed as the vampire girl stared keenly down at her employer. Her friend.
"I'm no Walter, Miss. I'm not much of an Alucard, either. I'm a police girl. The best I can be is Seras. I'll protect you. Handle your death dealings. Remain loyal. And I can be your friend. We both have to work through what happened. Talk with the press. Off any leftover henchmen with no good intentions. If it's the two of us, I know we can do it. Now, get out of your slump, Miss Hellsing." Sera smiled, showing her white fangs, and held out her small hand.
Integra hazily looked at the offering. One, two, three…five fingers. An arm. A body. The girl who chose to be a vampire and live. A woman who took the blood of the one she loved and was doomed to have his soul within her for an eternity yet never to touch him again. A Hell and Heaven competing inside of that tiny body of hers. How brave. How fierce. Integra's mouth twitched, making a choice.
Whether any of it meant anything or not to Walter (the well placed bandages, his tutelage, encouragement, reprimands, friendship) it didn't matter. Everything that had occurred made her who she was today. Strong, stubborn, and independent. She liked who she was and wouldn't have traded the woman she became with all the gold and diamonds of the world. If that meant questioning Walter's motives every now and then until her own departure of this world, then so be it.
"You have one thing wrong, Police Girl," Integra said as she swiftly stood. She carefully pulled a metal cigar case from her breast pocket, selected a particularly fat cigar, and stuck the nub into the side of her mouth. "You are more like Alucard and Walter than you know." The Hellsing Head returned the case to her pocket and retrieved her lighter. She flicked the lever a few times until a healthy fire sputtered at the end, and held the orange flame to eat the end of her cigar. She drew a breath and then exhaled, letting a plume of dusty gray smoke rise to the ceiling to collect and then disperse. "Let's go clean up their mess. Together."
"Yes, Ma'am!" Seras took back her hand and saluted. That was as close to a handshake Integra would give, and Seras would take that crust of vampire girl turned and jogged out of the office, confidant that the Hellsing Head would soon follow. The girl's footsteps echoed through the newly renovated halls until they disappeared altogether.
"Good-bye, Angel of Death. I hope you found what you were looking for," Integra said.
And with that, Integra brushed the monocle into a trash bin lined with plastic and left the broken room with long, confident strides. She had never been one to be sentimental. Not since her uncle.