Author's Note – Ah, of course. Here again. Back to my original guilty pleasure; writing Hellsing fics. I had a feeling it wouldn't take long to be re-inspired, considering that OVA 9 will be released in just a few days. I'm so freaking excited! With that in mind, and after reading a few Hellsing fics lately, I decided to try my hand at a series of oneshots inspired by songs from my MP3 player. Right now the goal is just 10 songs/themes, but may go up depending on the amount of interest it gets. I know I should be working on Odd Trainee, but I realized I had several plot holes that need working on. In the meantime…Hellsing!

I own nothing but the idea. I'm making no profit from this. So don't freaking sue me.

Bad Company

(Five Finger Death Punch)

"…tegra? Sir Integra?"

The young Hellsing snapped out of her little reverie by locking cerulean eyes on the retainer. Walter stood to her right just arms length away, that small courteous trademark smile of his directed at her patiently. Since the beginning of her time as leader of her family legacy, the butler had been a prime witness to Integra's keen sense of focus. It was rare that he caught her so distracted, but he made no comment on it as he awaited an answer.

"Yes, Walter?"

"I was simply wondering if the gun was to your liking, Ma'am."

Integra's mind quickly registered again. They were standing in the shooting range, located in the west wing of the massive armory, which was bluntly empty of anyone living except for her and Walter. It was extremely late, as was the common occurrence of Sir Integra's sleeping patterns for the last ten years, and most of the staff were either sleeping in bed or in the break room in their bunker playing cards, talking, having "man time" as their French captain so fondly called it. Walter had brought in the firearm she had ordered little less than a week ago, as happy to show it off like he did with all of the weapons and gadgets he "adopted" into Hellsing. His term really, not hers.

"Yes," she responded with a small quirk at the corner of her mouth. She glanced at the small pistol in her hand, the grip fitting cozily in her gloved palm. She already had half a dozen much like it in her personal collection but she had an odd fondness for this particular model. "Delivered perfectly, just as you always do."

"I'm pleased to hear it, Ma'am. With that taken care of, I'll leave you to give a little test run. I'll leave a case of rounds for you, and should someone call your office I shall inform them that you are enjoyably preoccupied – unless it's the Queen herself, or something of course." They both smiled at the little inside joke and he bowed at the waist. "Good evening, Sir Integra."

"Good evening, Walter. Thank you again." She watched him leave until she heard the click of the door, then turned back to the gun in her hand. She felt a residual wave that had caused her lack of focus only a moment ago, and quickly ordered her nerves to suppress it. Ignoring the feeling as best as she could, she turned to the shooting station where the gun case and hefty box of ammunition sat on the counter. The thin cardboard stock had been flipped off the top, the rounds glinting in their silver sheen under the electric lights of the room. They called her, and she happily obliged.

She flipped open the chamber of the revolver, pleased by the sharp mechanical clicks as she tested the spin. With quick certain glances about to make certain that she was alone, she allowed the tips of her fingers to softly dance across the tops of the rounds, almost gliding. Nimbly she plucked out six rounds, sliding them smoothly into their places in the chamber, as the guitar chords of a persistent song began to hum from her lips. Seras had begun to infect the Hellsing manor with her definition of music, which was often heard on her nights off streaming out of the stereo Walter had obtained for whatever reason. And while Integra shared very little in common with Seras's taste in music, there were always one or two songs that would stick with her. Like tonight, right now…

"A company always on the run…" It came softly, faintly from her lips, low and almost breathy. "A destiny, oh it's the rising sun..." She flipped the chamber back in and felt the familiar goose bumps rise on her forearms when she heard the stark click of it locking in place. Even after all these years, and in a job like hers, that sound always did that. She pressed the button under the counter to bring up a standard "bad guy' target, her singing rising slightly.

"I was born a shotgun in my hands…" Integra flipped the safety off and took the stance that was so easy to her. "Behind the gun I'll make my final stand, yeah…" She took aim, breathing normal, controlled. Her sights lined up just right. Then… "And that's why they call me…" Exhale…

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Six shots in quick succession.

"BAD company! I can't deny," she now sang at a level voice, a small grin beginning to form on her face as she quickly reloaded with the ease and efficiency that came with countless amount of practice. "Bad bad company, till the day I die!" Again the bullets loaded, the chamber locking in. "Until the day I die…" She took aim, sights leveled. "Until the day I die…" And again, six shots fired, joining the first half dozen in between or close to the inside of the eyes of the target.

"Until the day I die~…"

She reloaded, the grin now full on her face. It would usually be expected that after having the constant necessity of firing a gun, that firing it from then on would not be a source of pleasure, especially in Integra's case. She had first used a gun on something living when she was only thirteen, which had happened to be her murderous bastard uncle. But she had never tired of it, especially on the occasion where she could slip away from her office and just shoot off a few rounds by herself. It was a guilty pleasure…A lot more guilty then she may have been willing to give on.

She aimed, suppressing an odd chuckle rising in the back of her throat. And…

"Aren't we in a surprising mood?"

Integra cursed in her mind just as her grin simply vanished, and the shot went off. It was just a hair too far from the rest of the groupings than her liking. Of course, one could never be alone for long. And who better to crush such short lived moments than-?

"Alucard. Back from your mission I see." Integra fired off the rest of the shots before lowering the gun and turning to the tall figure behind her.

"What's this? I thought only a moment ago I saw the Iron Maiden smiling," the ancient vampire drawled, fangs glinting sharply as he spoke. As usual his coal black hair was unruly and wild, hanging in intriguing angles over and across his burning eyes. The red depths were glowing with amusement, a bit more than she would have liked to see, if at all. "No? Perhaps my eyes deceive me," he rumbled slyly from his leaning against the wall behind her.

"Your report?" she asked dryly, reloading in a more formal manner.

"The usual. Some punk spouting heretical babble, making ghouls and some fuss. All targets have been silenced, as ordered." He sounded bored, but she was use to that. Keeping a five hundred year old, sadomasochistic, near invincible vampire entertained was not the easiest thing to do.

"Very well. You are dismissed for the evening. I'm sure the Police Girl will be waiting for you with her usual curiosity." She turned away, trying to brush off the vampire none too politely. But even as she snapped the chamber back in she could feel the barely harnessed power that he emanated seep through the room. She didn't have to turn around to know that he was wearing that damn smirk again.

When she fired off two rounds and still he lingered, she finally turned to him. She stared at him, practically glaring for awhile, as he stared back with an especially amused look on his face. He hadn't shifted a centimeter from his place propped against the wall. "Was there something you wanted, Alucard, or were thinking of staring at me for the rest of the night with that look on your face?" she asked snippily.

"Just musing, my master," he smiled.

"On what, exactly? You could muse on it somewhere else."

With a cutting chuckle, he shrugged away from the wall and slowly approached Integra. Once within a foot or so of her he stopped. With spidery fingers splayed over the counter to brace himself he turned his gaze from her face to the pistol in her hand. "A new addition to your collection of weapons I see. If I may?" She presumed he wanted to inspect it with his own eyes and hands, and made a move to hand it to him. She knew that he wouldn't damage the piece, even he did not have audacity to sabotage a perfectly good firearm…especially one of hers. He surprised her however by wrapping his free arm around her shoulders to grip both her hand and the pistol, his smile turning coy as he spoke.

"A .357 Magnum Smith and Wesson. Model 65 K frame…A customized MP revolver. I would expect no less."

Integra felt that sense of guilty pleasure begin to rise in her again. What was he playing at? He couldn't know…

Or could he?

"Double action," he began to drawl slowly, getting closer to the shell of her ear. "Evident by the ground off hammer. Wouldn't want that to catch on something would we? Cuts down time as well…Chrome finish, nothing too flashy…Classic molded polymer black grip. And you've even had your initials engraved on the side, my my…"

Integra felt an edginess develop in her as he shifted slowly to her back, his fingers molding over hers on the grip of the gun. He was getting a little too…comfy for her tastes. She needed to reprimand him. She was getting uncomfortable by more than just the proximity. But his words oddly had her in enthralled. He couldn't possibly know…!

"Holds six, .357 Magnum rounds…Also compatible with the .38 Special rounds…" He was now just inches from her other ear. "…You've ordered a case of both, I see. Hellsing's trademark ammunition…" A round glided up out of the box almost of its own will, rotating slowly before their eyes. "Pure Macedonian silver casings…And blessed explosive tips, how interesting…How generous for the church to donate their crosses for it too…" It floated back down into the box.

Integra felt the muscles of her back stiffen as he leaned just a little closer, not quite touching. She could feel a few strands of his hair brushing close to the collar of her suit. Only his hand and arm connected where he guided her and the pistol to aim at the waiting target. Something wasn't right, he was up to something. He was always up to something, the bastard. She tried to concentrate on her breathing instead of…of…

Damn him!

"Standard, minimal sights…Considerably light for a gun of its caliber…Very durable, long lasting…" She wouldn't have been surprised to find him drooling at this point with his voice like that. Her teeth were gritting as his hot breath glided over her ear, her jaw. His finger wrapped around hers over the trigger. "And a sturdy four inch barrel, far better than the snub nose on the J frame model… We wouldn't want something so short, now would we, Integra?"

If she had not years of training of steeling her nerves, she would have jumped when he suddenly had her pull the trigger three times. The report seemed to be louder than the last rounds she had shot, echoing in her ears where his words still lingered. She tried to let out the breath she had been holding as calmly as possible. If she hadn't been distracted before, she certainly was now. He didn't know and she wouldn't let him.

"I always liked that."

She blinked, shifting to look at him over her shoulder, faces just inches apart. Why hadn't she reprimanded him by now? Where was her head? "Liked what?"

At her questioning look he grinned, eyes glinting darkly, wildly. He chuckled, seeming to be suppressing a fuller, evil laugh in his throat. "A woman aroused by guns." She started, dumbstruck. He knew the son of a bitch!

"Perhaps that's why you allow me to handle two massive ones of my own, Massterrr?," he purred, leaning towards her -.

And was promptly shot in the groin with the last round. He gave a hoarse laugh at her enraged expression…and slumped heavily to the floor. "I'll be…evermore damned. That…actually hurt."

"Not so arousing NOW, is it? You bloody, gutter-brained bastard! Damn the kind of company I'm forced to keep!"