Author's Note: I've had this idea running around in my head for a good long while but never really knew what to do with it, and since I'd more or less written myself into a corner with Wings and Fire a few years ago I figure the best way to get around that is to start writing something else and hope it just comes to me. Any mistakes are mine as I don't have a beta and I can't guarantee a solid update time frame, but I really hope to update again before Friday. Comments are always appreciated, so leave Kudos if you like this and let's see how this goes, shall we?

They were all calling to her as she slept, all of them at once. Cries of agony and supplicating screams begging to be heard. Distant shouts, fervent whispers, prayers of the fallen and the doomed alike. Ghosts of possibility wrapping around her mind like a veil without the focus to direct them to her, give her the power to answer. It was beyond aggravating, waiting for him to make up his damned mind about what they were going to do; stay and wait or pursue what was so rightfully hers. Every night pushing her mind just a bit further to the sheer cliff edge of madness that lingered just beyond the event horizon.

Emerald green eyes snapped open as the dark silhouette abed shot upright. She needed noise, music, something to drown them out, anything to have a moment of blessed silence. They were dragging nails across the chalkboard of her skull, reverberating throughout her mind as a never-ending echo screaming throughout her consciousness. Latent images of war and death and wanton destructions played in a kaleidoscope of color.

"Alexa, I need the madness playlist on the full coverage system," she called to the smart speaker on her bedside table.

"Okay," came the artificial voice from the Echo before a deafening heartbeat of double bass and screaming guitar played throughout her loft.

"Josh Rand, bless the hands of that man. Thanks," she murmured, palms rubbing at tired eyes, no doubt darkened at the edges from lack of proper sleep. "What's my day look like?"

"It is currently 67 degrees outside, with expected highs of 92 degrees. Traffic should be light at this time of day with an expected rush hour beginning at 5:47 AM. You have a call scheduled at six to discuss-"

"What time is it now?"

"It is 12:13 AM"

"Fuuuuuuuck," she groaned, falling back onto the bed. Well over five hours until any real work could begin, "Any prolonged suffering on the agenda or can we just skip that today?"

"I do not see 'prolonged suffering' on your calendar, would you like me to add it?" came the application's voice once more.

"Rhetorical, Alexa, thank you." It was going to be a long day if she couldn't get him to fall in line with making a move out of the Americas. What she was looking for wasn't in the U.S. anymore, from the rumors that had been circulating for over two years that much could be taken as absolute truth. But then there were the conflicting whispers that it was either in London proper, or somewhere in Ireland, which would put it squarely inside Catholic borders. That possibility could only end in certain disaster if they got their heretic fingers on it.

"Crank it up, Alexa, we're getting an early start."

One Month Later

"Their operative is rather impressive, ma'am. She worked as a mercenary with Blackwater from '05 until the American government took an interest in her in '09. She was selected for F.B.I. special operations training, graduated at the top of her class, broke several of their academy records and stepped on the toes of more than a few of her instructors it seems. The Bureau assigned her to V.T.C., gave her to their most seasoned handler, and she's worked there ever since. She's been on more successful operations in those eight years than nearly all of our men here have been in nearly two decades."

Integra sifted through the American operative's "official" service record once more, thoroughly impressed but skeptical. She flipped the jacket closed, brushed a strand of long platinum blonde hair over her shoulder, and inhaled a long drag from the thin cigar, exhaling her reservations with a thick puff of fragrant smoke. The Americans reaching out with their offer of cooperation was long overdue, but neither Integra nor Walter could find any event that would have perpetuated such an offer. The call they had received from the F.B.I. handler mere days ago was both worrisome and relieving, thus suspicion had cropped up and Walter had done a thorough job of digging up any information that could be found on both the handler and his operative. But anything of note to be found was recorded meticulously in the service record they had picked through for the past two days.

"We'll need to keep a watchful eye out, Walter," she finally affirmed. "I've already told the Bureau's handler that we would accept their offer, I can't afford not to have another seasoned operative, especially with that damned vampire bringing home his little, starving stray."

"Of course, sir," the butler nodded with a knowing glance. "Though I wonder, Alucard never did give a reason for bringing home the Police Girl. It's quite out of character for him, if I do say so myself."

The woman took another long drag from her cigar before crushing it into the ever-present ash tray on her desk and sitting back in her chair. "We're far too off balance for another surprise, Walter." She adjusted her spectacles with a sigh, "All these artificial vampires popping up, causing more trouble than they're worth. Then there's the matter of the Paladin and the Iscariot Organization; spitting in the face of our treaties, going to far as to blatantly disregard years of fragile peace. Something is coming, something I fear we won't see until it happens and the American may be just the beginning. We need to prepare everyone."

"As you say, Sir Integra." Walter collected the American operative's service record from his mistress' desk, "Will you require anything further, Sir?"

"Ensure the American's room is prepared, her handler said he would not be staying and was due to head back after our meeting." Integra stood and turned to the wall of windows situated just behind her desk, "When are they scheduled to arrive again?"

Walter chuckled, "Perhaps, Sir Integra, it would be best if you headed to bed. They shall be here late tomorrow afternoon." The butler looked on as the head of the Hellsing organization simply gathered her cigar case from her pocket and lit another cigar in quick succession. "As you say, Sir," knowing his mistress was likely to remain awake until dawn, reading over after-action reports and planning reconnaissance missions.

"I don't need Alucard causing a scene, Walter," she called as he reached the doors. "Do make sure he doesn't find out until after we've spoken with the Americans. And I need the confirmation for the Round Table Conference next week, I certainly don't need anything to add fuel to the fire they're looking for."

"Of course, Sir," the aged butler affirmed with a shallow bow.

"Ma'am, your American guests are driving through the front gate now," came the gate guard's notice over the phone on Integra's desk.

"Thank you, Stevens," she acknowledged dismissively.

The late summer sun cast long shadows over the property in the last hour of daylight, a subtle warning that as autumn drew ever near the days would grow ever shorter. She watched as a standard black, nondescript sedan drove to the main doors of the mansion; they were exactly fifteen minutes early for the meeting. She turned from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows to take her place once more behind the long desk, lighting a cigar, and looking over the operative's service record. She was an amazing fighter, zero failed missions, no target had ever evaded or escaped her; a truly impressive resource the Americans were sending Hellsing.

A knock drew her attention and Walter deigned to open the door and announce that her guests had arrived. She waved him in as she pushed aside the record jacket and puffed away on her slim cigar, feigning disinterest as a smartly dressed man near her butler's age strode in confidently with his operative following a mere two paces behind.

"Good evening, ma'am," the handler greeted with a firm handshake. "David Wilson, we spoke on the phone Wednesday."

The F.B.I. handler, David, wore the same age lines as Walter, telling tales of combat and laughter, he seemed to carry his years just as well; silver-grey streaked through his neatly slicked back blonde hair and laugh lines edged in around his pale blue eyes. His sharp three-piece suit was smartly tailored, hiding all evidence of the years now likely spent more often behind a desk rather than out in the field.

"Yes, you're earlier than expected," Integra acknowledged, returning the offered handshake.

"A holdover from my military days I'm afraid," David offered, turning to allow his operative to pass. "And this is Irina McWilliams."

His operative, Irina, seemed far more as ease than her handler, her dark auburn hair pulled back in twisting coils, vibrant eyes assessing Integra's office with an air of complete confidence. She had also apparently set aside the same need as her handler for his professional attire, though wearing properly tailored charcoal slacks, they were tucked into black combat boots just under her knees, and the black dress shirt sleeves were folded neatly up to her elbows, showing off brightly colored sleeves of tattoos. The operative pulled her right hand from the back pocket of her pants and offered it to Integra with a blinding smile.

"Hi, Eir, very nice to make your acquaintance."

Irina, or Eir as she had introduced herself, somewhat reminded Integra of Alucard's pet Police Girl, not the young girl's clumsy, flighty manner but her endearing expressions and how Integra didn't immediately consider her to be a possible threat. She rather had the impression that Eir was simply up front and honest, smiling and personable because she wanted to be and entirely uninterested in putting on a show; the woman was an operator, not an administrator as her handler, she understood the necessity of appearing non-threatening. For the blonde woman certainly had some difficulty meshing the operator before her with the service record she had spent the past two days pouring over.

Integra met her hand with a firm grasp, "Pleasure. McWilliams, is that Irish?"

Eir gave a light, breathy laugh, "Irish and Scottish, I'm afraid my ancestry tended to roam."

"Catholic?" the director inquired, digging as subtly as possible to assuage the suspicions that had rioted through her head since David had first reached out with his department's offer.

At this both Eir and David huffed a chuckle; there was obviously a story there. "No. Definitely not."

"Very good then. Take a seat if you will," Integra gestured to the chairs before her desk. "I must say, the F.B.I.'s offer of cooperation is exceptionally overdue, what brought about the change of heart may I ask?"

David, sitting upright in his chair, shoulders squared and attentive was a direct contrast to his operative whom sat with one leg beneath her with the other crossed at the knee, leaning back with her arms draped upon the arm rests. The differences between the handler and his operative were completely laughable, and Integra found she rather enjoyed Eir's lack of propriety, the need to pretend to be something she was not. She caught Walter smirking, obviously recalling her own distaste for decorum when she had been a child.

"To be completely honest, the Bureau was not initially fond of this effort, but as the V.T.C. falls under my supervision and judgement, this was more my call and less that of the Director's," David recounted. "Please don't misunderstand, the Director of course came 'round to see the benefits of this endeavor, but we were met with quite the amount of skepticism throughout the Bureau. Most of the vampires in the U.S. come over from western Europe however, and I thought it only prudent to send my best operative to assist in mitigating the ever-evolving issue here."

The handler obviously held a fondness for Eir, his eyes straying to where she sat beside him. That fondness didn't appear in any way romantic, though Integra knew there certainly were men of his age that had a proclivity for women in their late 20's. No, this was more akin to a mentor whom had simply grown close to his protégé, watched her grow, listened over a headset as she fought time and again, and one who waited safely behind for her return.

"I appreciate your understanding of the situation here and certainly cannot afford to turn away such a skilled operator," Integra admitted with a nod to Eir. "If you agree, Eir's position here will be determined on a trial-basis; we have lone operatives ourselves and I am aware that's how she has conducted missions in the past, but I cannot condone these terms until I have seen her in the field myself."

David clasped his hands together between his knees, leaning forward slightly, "Yes, of course, that was something Eir and I had discussed on our way out. Please do understand, Eir tends to not become close to anyone who operates out in the field and has taken a tendency to not operate well within a team. It's simply too-"

"Unnecessary, David. Very Captain America of you but no, thank you," Eir interjected. "I will work with your people, I'll show them what I know and learn whatever I can from them, but I won't be treated like the F.N.G. just because I came over from the States. This may not be my house but it is my fire, I'm here to help as I can during my time here because I've fought this kind of fire, vampire and otherwise, for over a decade."

"Yes, I've seen as much throughout the early years in your service record," Integra pressed her fingertips against the record jacket. "You've been running combat operations for twelve years, I would not have thought Blackwater took on sixteen-year-olds."

Eir smirked, green eyes gleaming as she ran the fingers of her left hand under the cuff of her right sleeve, "I had a knack with for fighting and a peculiar talent with a rifle."

Despite herself, a smile crept to Integra's face, "That will do. I'll leave you to unpack your things, Walter will show you to your room. If you have a need for anything he will have it taken care of."

David stood stiffly, hand extended once more, "Thank you, Ms. Hellsing. I'll look for Irina's reports throughout the month. If for any reason this doesn't work out though, Irina can find her way home and I'm certain she'll be sure to let me know if this venture has gone amiss. It was a pleasure."

As Integra stood and shook the man's hand for the last time Eir soundlessly unfolded from her seat, standing in a manner so strangely effortless it was very near to unnatural. She tucked her hands into her back pockets and gave a nod to the Hellsing director and exited the office after David following at the same two paces. Walter escorted the two back to the sedan parked before the entrance of the manor, waiting patiently just inside the double doors, allowing Hellsing's newest operative to gather two black sea bags and ruck sack from the back seat and say her goodbye's in peace.

David pulled a large manila envelope from a suitcase stowed away in the trunk and handed it over to Eir. She looked briefly at it and hugged her handler tightly about the neck, rocking up on her tip-toes to reach him. "This is everything we know about it," he spoke softly into her ear. "Everything the Bureau knows and a few things I've found that they don't know. Be careful around these people and remember, they are not our friends, they believe in… something else."

Eir released him and took a step back, hefting one sea bag over her shoulder. "Do take care of yourself, David, and keep a weather eye out for what we spoke of. You will notify me if I should expect any repercussions for this," she encouraged with a cold glint in her eyes before turning to Walter and smiling.

Walter nodded to the young woman who did not turn to so much as offer a last glance back as her handler instead watched as she walked away, a strangely reverent look about him. The butler closed the door behind her with his own nod to David, "Shall I take one of your bags, Ms. McWilliams?"

"Thank you, Mr. Dornes, but no. And I will insist that you simply call me Eir or I'll go out of my way to drive you mad calling you 'Mr. Dornes'," she taunted with a grin. "Now, where do you want me?"

Walter sputtered, attempting to hold back a laugh but failed as a chuckle escaped. "Very well Ms. Eir, you're up this way," he gestured for her to follow.

"Well alrighty then, that'll just have to do," Eir conceded with a winning smile.

Walter lead her down the winding halls, all of them confusingly similar; potted plants, sculptures, marble busts, and paintings breaking up the monotony but only just. The domed, blue under-lit ceilings caught her eye; a nice touch to give the mansion a touch of uniqueness. Finally, they stopped before an oak door that looked the same as all the others, though the very English suit of knight's armor across from the room made for a handy hallmark.

"Quite the labyrinth you have here, Walter," Eir remarked with a light laugh. "I take it you keep the minotaur in the dungeons?"

As he opened the door into a rather sizeable room the old butler found himself unable to hold in the chuckle at her quip once more, "Quite right, Ms. Eir, you'll be meeting him shortly in fact so do be sure to come prepared. Most of our personnel do not live on the grounds, but given your particular circumstance Sir Integra thought it best. The laundry bins are collected by the staff daily, meals are taken care of by the staff as well so if you have any preferences please let me know-"

"I prefer to cook for myself," Eir insisted, making her way around the room after having set her bags on the chest at the foot of the queen-sized bed. "I don't mean to offend, it's just an obscure habit picked up over the years. If you could show me to the kitchen that would be great."

The sunset shone behind her through the two unnecessarily large floor-to-ceiling windows, turning her dark auburn hair an ethereal, glowing copper. Walter smiled and nodded, "Of course, Ms. Eir. I'm afraid it will have to wait though; it's time to meet the minotaur."

"And here I left the sword of Aegeus in my closet back in the States," Eir shook her head, digging through one of the sea bags she'd brought. "Damn, you always forget something when you travel."

"Ah, you know your mythology," the butler said in an attempt to mask the surprise in his voice, waiting for Eir to find what she was looking for.

A slight twitch ticked a steady rhythm at her jaw. "It's history," Eir insisted, finding what Walter could only assume was a holster, "sung in songs and set in stones, observed with the passing of the ages before the recording of time." She fastened the tactical black holster onto her right upper thigh then delved back into her bag. "The names may not be right, the characters misplaced or distorted, but the stories of a dozen separated nations can't be wrong. Where in the great wide fucking world -oh, there it is." Then she retrieved a single pistol from the bag, pulled back the slide to ensure a round was chambered, and holstered it.

"Sig Saur .45 caliber Combat Edition, only 300 were ever made for the American Navy SEALs. That is a notoriously difficult pistol to come across, Ms. Eir," Walter noted. "Might I ask how one came to be in your possession?"

Eir clutched at her chest, feigning an indignant gasp, "Sir, don't you know not to ask a woman her secrets? If I had pearls I would clutch them!" She gave him a tilted smile before tucking her hands into her back pockets, a strange habit but certainly not the worst, Walter noted.

The old butler chuckled and motioned for Eir to follow him, down the winding hallways and up a case of stairs until they saw a short blonde woman waiting outside the doors of Integra's office.

"Hi, Walter!" came the jubilant blonde's greeting.

"Hello, Ms. Police Girl. Is Alucard in with Sir Integra?"

"Master's trying to make her mad, he said someone smells tasty," the young woman shivered. "It's creepy, Walter, eating people."

Walter gave her an understanding smile, "One of his less appreciated qualities, I assure you. This is Irina McWilliams, she's an F.B.I. special operative joining us from the United States."

Eir stepped out from behind Walter, pulled her right hand out of her pocket and offered it to the Police Girl in greeting. "Just Eir is fine. I'm assuming your name isn't actually Police Girl."

"No, Master's just mean," the blonde exclaimed, taking Eir's hand and shaking it happily. "I'm Seras, Seras Victoria! I'm a vampire but please don't be afraid."

As they broke apart Eir gave Seras a grin and crossed her brightly tattooed arms over her chest, "Oh, you're new. No worries, just don't lose your head or come after me in a fight and we're solid."

"I see you two will get along just fine," Walter stated, bringing their attention back to him. "Ladies, if you will, please wait here, Sir Integra will call you in once she's finished with Alucard," he directed. "I've tasks to complete, but you shouldn't have to wait long."

Upon waking Alucard felt his master's call, the tug of compulsion that resonated in his bones and lead him straight to her ostentatious office. As he shifted through a bookshelf something new met his nose, something he'd never caught the scent of before. It smelt of earth and iron and mountain air, something beyond ancient, born in the fury of battle. In all his many years upon the earth he had found that there was a kind pattern to different scent; a single note that distinguished humans from other creatures while everything else gave him hints to their lives, but there was always the same tone to their scent. Whatever this was, it was certainly not just human; it was something decidedly more. His master had invited something exciting into her home and he needed to find out who it was, open a vein and learn them down to their soul.

"Something tasty walked into your office today, Master. Why didn't you invite me for a bite?"

Integra, startled, threw the book she was holding, hitting him squarely in the face. "Damn you, if you destroy those volumes I swear I shall have you staked with silver and leave you to starve for a year."

"You may destroy them yourself throwing them like that, Master," the vampire offered with a salacious grin, retrieving the book from where it fell at his feet. "Now, what delectable drink came to see you today?"

"That's why I've called you," the Hellsing director told him very matter-of-factly. "This past Wednesday the Americans finally reached out; the F.B.I.'s V.T.C. department head has brought an operative to help here as many of their own vampires came from western Europe." Integra retrieved a slim cigar from the case in her pocket, lighting it and inhaling the rich smoke.

Alucard gave his master a toothy grin, "Another to guard me in the day, I'm honored, my master."

"On the contrary, servant. The American is not here to guard your coffin, she's going to operate in the field and assist in training our troops in any way she can."

"She?" inquired the vampire. "All these years you've wanted the cooperation of these silly Americans and they send you a woman." He taunted and laughed, "I do hope she's not as disappointing as the Police Girl."

Integra returned her servant's mocking grin, "I think you'll find Eir is more qualified by far than your starving little stray. If your pet can ever get it through her head to start eating then she may perhaps prove her usefulness, but until that time I must make do with what resources I have."

"The Police Girl will learn or she will die," Alucard snarked. "It's as simple as that, my master."

"I'm sure it isn't, Alucard," his master rebutted, "nothing ever is." The blonde adjusted her spectacles and crushed her cigar into the ash tray before making her way to the doors of her office. "Ladies, if you would," she called, letting in Alucard's own servant and the other.

"Good evening, master, Sir Integra," Seras offered weakly with a smile.

Integra gave a short nod to the fledgling vampire before gesturing to the American, "Alucard, this is Irina McWilliams. Eir, I'm certain you're aware of Alucard, the top agent of the Hellsing organization."

Eir pulled her hands from her back pockets, the riot of color upon her forearms flashing as she crossed them over her chest, squaring her shoulders back and Integra saw a glimpse of the operator she'd read so much about. "The minotaur, yes. Walter told me about your monster in the dungeons. All dark magic and teeth, I'm sure."

The scent of mountain forests, iron, and gunpowder met his nose as Alucard took a deep, unnecessary breath; subtly different, but the base scent was still there. It was she that he had smelt, this unassuming woman with a singular flair for indifference, or so she seemed. This woman was short, perhaps 1.6 meters, but absolutely proportionate; from a distance, he imagined many would think her to be much taller than she actually was. Piercing green eyes, deep red and dark brown hair, tanned skin, black and grey clothes to make her appear slight; she was a study in making oneself appear to be unthreatening. But he could hear the flow of blood throughout her body, see her muscle and read them like the map of her life; this woman was much more than she seemed. Even now her balance was shifting, muscles flexing and relaxing, and joints adjusting; she was prepared for him to test her.

"The minotaur? I hope you've brought a sword if you're going to slay me," he taunted with a laugh, fangs glinting in the light of his master's office as he sauntered toward Eir, stopping once the toes of his boots were mere centimeters from her own. "If you Americans didn't have such a predilection for rudeness I might take have taken that personally," he laughed, looking down at her upturned face through his red-tinted wire frame glasses and breathing her in.

"I'm pretty handy with a sword, if you want to try me there's one in my bag," Eir rebutted with an expression that was an impressive cross between a sneer and her own salacious grin, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Your 'horns' are smaller than I've heard. It could be the fedora or maybe you're just not the Big Bad you've been hyped up to be. Though good on you for playing to the 'typical vampire' motif, I can't say I've never seen a vampire all decked out in red before," she said mockingly, gesturing to his charcoal suit and dark red fedora, cravat, and duster with her brightly tattooed left arm.

Alucard sneered back at her, his red duster flowing about him as he bent toward her, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

Eir barked out a laugh, "Punning is the lowest form of wit and always will be; sarcasm, on the other hand, is the highest form of intelligence. Any other dick measuring you'd like to get out of your system or can we get started?"

The vampire let out a loud laugh, fangs glinting as he stood up straight once more. "Oh, I like you, little girl. You may even last a week with that fire running through your veins."

Integra stepped forward, Seras all but quaking where she stood just a few meters from her master and Eir, sapphire eyes shifting quickly from one to the other. "That's quite enough, you two," Integra ordered. "Eir, the shooting course is prepared, if you'll gather what you need we'll meet you down there."

Eir tucked her hands into her back pockets once more, with a less antagonistic smile. "Certainly," she acquiesced. "I've still a bit to go until I'm familiar with the layout of this place, could Seras show me the way?"

Alucard's signature grin fell a bit, as the woman turned away from him; though he knew she was still entirely aware of him, she had effectively dismissed him. It struck a nerve, but there was something else to her, something just beneath the façade of her skin and sharp wit; she was something else, this Eir from America. Blood usually called to him from within a person, the chorus of a life within the veins, but hers didn't simply sing; it beckoned a siren's song of irresistible power if he should drink from her. This woman wasn't just a simple human, he noted again as he watched her leave his master's office with his fledgling, and he couldn't wait to tear the truth of what she was out of her flesh.