"Hggumph!" Seras grunted as she lifted the heavy chest of drawers high above her head and slid the broom under it. The high ceiling was one aspect she liked about her basement bedroom; it made it so much easier to clean! Of course, she didn't really have to clean if she didn't want to. She was sure that if she asked, Walter would have gladly added her room to his list of chores. But she was used to keeping her own space neat and tidy, and Walter had enough on his plate as it was.
She sat the clothes cupboard back down and stared at it for a moment before running her finger along the top. The tip of her glove came back brown and she snarled her nose in disgust. "I need to ask Walter for some furniture polish." After reflecting for a moment how shameful it was that she'd lived in Hellsing so long already and had no idea where the supply closet was, she set out to remedy the dusty situation.
Finding the butler wasn't the easiest task in the world. After all, there were three main floors of Hellsing manor, not counting the main basement and its sublevels. Walter could be in any room in any part of the house at any one time, not mentioning the many times during the day and night that he ventured outside of the house to take care of a problem on the grounds. He was a busy, busy man.
Seras walked over to the phone on her bedside table, which was hooked to the Hellsing inside private phone network. She called Walter's office, but it rang without a reply. She then dialed his personal number, which made a certain beeping pattern that rang through every phone in the house's speakers. That was the easiest way of letting him know that he was needed by someone.
Seras sat on the bed, singing the pattern in time with the beeps as she waited. She heard it often enough every night that she had his memorized, as well as the one for Sir Integra. The phone intermittedly beeped and rang, and she waited on the line for three minutes before hanging up with a huff and crossing her arms.
That was perplexing—usually Walter was in earshot of at least one phone in the house. He must be outside on the grounds, or he wasn't in a position to answer. Either way, she had to resort to option three: go and find him herself.
She looked in the basement first, starting with the laboratories and the sublevel library, which held the technical manuals the lab techs needed to work the machinery. She peered down the hall towards her master's bedchambers, listening for footsteps or voices in the murky gloom. But all was silent, except for the sound of a mouse gnawing something in the woodwork.
She then checked the foyer, the lower offices, the guestrooms, the library, the indoor shooting range, and the gym to no avail. On top of that, no one she'd come across during her search had seen Walter all afternoon. The night crew hadn't heard a peep from him, and the evening watch had assured her he'd not left the manor at any time after noon.
How strange! Usually, she'd have run into Walter at least once by now. He had a certain way about him where he could be simultaneously in three or four places at once (or so it seemed). Now she was becoming concerned. Looking around some more, Seras finally found him in the kitchen and the anxious feeling in her gut tripled when she saw the position he was in.
Walter was lying in one of the chairs that stood around the prep table, his form bent over the table and his cheek against the smooth marble surface. A polishing rag was clutched in the hand that supported his head; the other hand dangled at his side, the knife he had been working on lying on the floor at his feet.
Seras started forward silently, peering at him warily as she stepped around the kitchen to stand at his back. He wasn't dead—she could hear his soft, even breathing and his back moved ever so slightly with each inhale. For all purposes, he seemed to have fallen asleep where he'd sat.
Seras gulped. She may have only been at Hellsing for a few months, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that falling asleep on the job was not something that Walter did habitually. Not only that, but something about him seemed… off. It wasn't anything in his looks or his form, but Seras felt it on some instinctual level nonetheless.
She placed a hand between the old man's shoulder blades and for a moment, she closed her eyes and sighed. Ever since she'd been turned into a vampire, she missed human warmth. Not that she was uncomfortable in her own body, that wasn't it. But she hadn't realized how cold she'd become until Pip Bernadotte had grabbed her arm one night to steady her after she tripped.
She had thought he'd been feverish, but then quickly realized it was her. She no longer produced body heat. "Cold as a corpse," Pip had joked. But to her, it had been a heart-crushing feeling. She knew that she wasn't a human anymore. But the confirmation that her body no longer worked like a human's, and produced heat, had been like a knife in her chest.
Walter had the same warmth that all humans had, although the elderly usually had a bit less. She concentrated and could feel his pulse beneath her fingers, and her fangs ached for a brief moment as she thought about the hot, thick blood pumping through his veins. Varicose veins, she joked mentally as she fought the urge to touch his neck.
"Walter?" she asked, gently shaking his shoulders. "Walter, are you alright?" She thought she'd have to say it louder when all of a sudden he sat straight up with a gasp. She jumped back in surprise, but immediately rushed forward as the retainer swayed on his chair, his face a pasty green-tinged pallor. "Walter, what's the matter?" she cried in alarm as she watched the sweat bead on his forehead.
"M-Miss Seras?" he said, looking at her in confusion before looking around at the kitchen. "Oh my, I seem to have fallen asleep. That's not like me at all, now is it?" he said to himself, looking around for the knife still at his feet. Seras picked it up and set it on the table, her face solemn as she stared at the pink splotches on his cheeks.
"Walter, you're sick," she accused. "You should be in bed." He looked at her and then looked away quickly, shaking his head and unable to meet her eyes.
"Rubbish," he argued. "I haven't fallen ill in over twenty-five years. I don't get sick." Seras firmly grabbed his shoulder and turned him towards her before placing her lips on his forehead. He shivered from her chilled lips when they met his skin and Seras frowned even more deeply as she felt the burning heat beneath her mouth.
"Walter, you have a fever," she proclaimed. He didn't argue, but picked up the knife and continued to polish it. "Your skin is clammy, and you're breaking into a cold sweat, aren't you?"
"Perhaps I've caught a little bug, but I have tasks to finish and besides, I'll be fine in the morning. It's nothing to concern yourself over." Seras groaned internally and pulled her best puppy-dog eyes, using the tactics she used on the senile old men that managed to escape from the nursing home and she had to chase down in the police car and bring back.
"Walter, you're ill. And you're not as young as you used to be. What if you die?" she said in a horrified tone. "I'd never forgive myself, knowing that I could have just tried harder to get you into bed. I don't want you to die yet, Walter. You've got to rest and get well!"
"I'm not going to die, Miss Victoria!" he countered. "You're being overly dramatic." But she saw the hesitation in his eyes, and she kneeled before him and carefully pulled the knife and rag from his hands. He allowed her to and his shoulders sagged.
"Walter, let me get you to bed." He didn't answer and she pulled his arm around her shoulders and lifted him up. "Show me the way to your room. I'll take care of your chores, okay?" she said sweetly, like a teacher convincing a student to do something they didn't want to.
"Perhaps just one early night won't put me too far behind," he muttered before allowing her to half-drag, half-carry him to his room.
Seras had never seen the inside of Walter's bedroom before, although now that she knew where it was she realized she'd walked by the closed door at least a thousand times. The inside was homey enough, with a large bed and a bureau, with a door that stood open to show a private bathroom. She sat Walter on the bed and found his pajamas folded neatly on the pillow. She handed them to him and then helped him into the bathroom, leaving him to change.
She waited in the room, keeping and ear out for any signs of distress. She walked over to the bedside table, looking at the small collection of picture frames on the surface next to the phone. There was an old black-and-white photograph of a small boy she supposed was Walter, who couldn't have been more than three or four. He was standing next to a seated woman with her black hair in a bun.
"I wonder if that's Walter's mother?" she whispered as she moved to the next one. It was another black and white photograph of a young Walter standing beside a World War II tank. He had his arm around a girl, who wore a fluffy hat and was smiling at the camera with a mischievous and, oddly enough, recognizable expression. Seras picked up the frame and stared closer, her mouth falling open. Was that….?
"I see you've found my pictures," a weak voice said. Seras turned to see Walter standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She put the picture down and ran across the room to help him into the bed. When he was lying against the white sheets, she pulled the downy comforter up and tucked it around his shoulders. He smiled gratefully at her and she showed him the picture.
"Is this Master?" she asked incredulously. He nodded with a soft chuckle.
"Yes, you're right. It's Alucard. He thought it amusing to take the form of a young woman for a while." Seras stared at the girl, imagining the red eyes glaring up at her from the black-and-white photo. "The Nazis were looking for a crimson-clad man. Being a girl made it easier for her—well, him—to slip under their radars."
"I see." She put the photograph back into its proper place and looked at the next one, which was a color photograph of an adult Walter standing next to a blonde man with piercing blue eyes. The blonde man had his hand on the shoulder of a young girl who was smiling widely and holding a plaque of some sort. "And this is you, and Sir Integra, and her… father?"
"That's right." He said, looking at the photograph with a wistful affection. "She'd won a prize for a composition that she'd written. That was a copy of the picture that went into the newspaper." He closed his eyes and relaxed, and Seras put the photo back and tucked the comforter up tighter around him.
"You lie here and rest, and I'll get Chef to make you some soup to drink later, alright?" He nodded and she smiled before tiptoeing out of the room and shutting the door. She was halfway down the hall before she realized that she had no idea what Walter's chores were. And she was supposed to have them all done by sunrise!
"Oh, no…" she murmured, turning back towards the door. If she went back to Walter, she'd disturb him, although she doubted he'd fallen asleep immediately. And that would only solidify his concern that she wasn't able to handle doing his chores for one night. She wanted to prove that she was more than a tiny Draculina that refused to drink blood; she was an independent woman, and she was more than able to handle a few paltry chores!
Suddenly, the answer came to her and she imagined a light bulb blinking to life above her head.
"I can ask Sir Integra! She'd be sure to know the sort of things I'd need to do for Walter, and she's got to know that he's sick so she won't be bothering him. I'll go ask her!"