Pushing Daisies, a hellsing fanfic

Disclaimer.

It was a small, private wedding, held in the backyard of the manor where there was a gazebo that was rarely used. It had been cleaned up for this occasion, decorated with vases brimming with white daisies, her favorite flower. "Daisies are weeds, Police Girl," Integra said, holding a bouquet of them. "Are you sure you don't want to swap them out? It's not too late." She handed it to Seras when the girl was done fussing with her gloves.

"You have to stop teasing me." Seras took the bouquet, blushing faintly. "First of all, quit calling me that, I haven't been in the force for over a decade! And second, it's only ten minutes till I have to go."

Integra looked down at her wristwatch unconcernedly. "Nothing a few more hundred pounds can't fix."

"And third, daisies are not weeds, Master Integra!"

"Tell that to Mr. Thistlethwaite," Integra said, pointing her thumb out the window toward the general direction of their gardener, who was seated with the other guests, who could indeed be seen eying the daisies with a slightly disgruntled expression.

Seras pouted. "They aren't just weeds. I love them all the same." She fingered the white and yellow flowers and smiled softly. "They mean innocence and purity and new beginnings—"

"Standard meanings for every white object—"

"—and true love!" Seras exclaimed. To Integra's horror, the girl's red eyes were glistening. "True love, Master Integra!" She started to sniffle. "Thank you for this. It means so much to me. I don't know what to say—"

Integra sighed, produced a handkerchief from her suit pocket and dabbed at the corners of Seras' eyes before the bloody tears could overflow. "Now, now. None of that. You'll ruin your dress." She paused, and then said, "You look beautiful."

Seras did look beautiful. Her sunny blonde hair had been curled and swept to the side, pinned in place with a golden comb, and a crown of daisies and a yard of silk gauze made up her veil. Her dress was simple strapless floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline, and with a smattering of embroidered—what else—daisies. But she was beautiful, and Integra felt something akin to pride filling her heart.

Their very own Seras Victoria was getting married today.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm being so emotional." The draculina took deep, unnecessary breaths to subdue her tears.

"Well, it's not everyday that a draculina gets married," Integra remarked dryly. "In broad daylight."

Seras laughed. Integra allowed a small, genuine smile to grace her lips before checking her watch. "Now, is the groom ready?"

From somewhere in the manor a disembodied voice said, with a tinge of nervousness, "Yes."

"Then it's time."

The lady knight and the lady vampire left the dressing room, walked out the back door of the manor and made their way toward the gazebo. "I just wish..." Seras trailed off. She would have slapped a hand to her mouth if she could. She glanced at Integra tentatively.

The woman did not bat an eyelash. "You'll have to make do with me."

Seras squeezed her arm. "I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"You're a terrible liar," Integra said, "but I appreciate the sentiment." She turned and smiled reassuringly at Seras, who for a moment halted, searching the depths of that one blue eye.

"He'll come back," the vampire said. They resumed walking. "Like I've told you a thousand times before."

"A hundred and fifty-two, actually."

"And when he does," Seras went on, without missing a beat, "I am never going let him hear the end of it. Skipping out on his own fledgling's wedding." She stopped again. She plucked a daisy from her bouquet, turned and tucked it behind Integra's ear before she could protest. "True love, my Master," she whispered.

Integra scowled. "You're being ridiculous. Why are you fretting over me? This is supposed to be your day. Come along, they're all waiting." She tugged. Seras merely giggled.

For her mistress had not removed the daisy.

They reached the archway. There were very few guests, consisting of a handful of the staff, certain members of the Round Table, and the two surviving members of the Wild Geese. They had all gathered for this strange, unconventional, possibly unholy matrimony, and Integra could feel Seras' hand trembling on her arm. She patted it. "Just as we rehearsed, Seras."

The bride smiled tremulously.

Integra left her side and went to her seat at the front row.

There was another empty seat there, but no one commented on it.

"Okay," Seras breathed. "Ready, Pip?"

"Always, Mignonette."

She stretched out her left arm.

The shadows there undulated and expanded into a mass of black and red and orange, until it gained a humanoid shape. A figure in a tuxedo emerged. His green eye was fixed on the lovely woman beside him. His auburn hair was neatly plaited, and at the end of the braid there was a single daisy.

They had practiced this for ages, testing the limits of Seras' control over her shadows. If the black hound of Baskerville could exist outside of its master, then surely Pip Bernadotte could as well. The draculina was still very young, and could only release him for a limited amount of time until she grew tired. But for a wedding ceremony, it was enough. The guests murmured amongst themselves, and the Wild Geese duo seemed incapable of deciding whether to laugh or cry at the sight of their old captain. When the piano started playing, they all quieted, and the bride and groom proceeded down the aisle together.

Integra watched, her face expressionless.

"A beautiful couple..." some of the guests whispered.

Her fingers brushed lightly against the daisy behind her ear. They really were.

They reached the gazebo, where the officiant—a secular judge instead of a holy man, of course—was waiting. Seras and Pip stood side by side, as equals.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate..."

Integra clasped her tan, bare hands together.

Simply beautiful.

"We'll be off, then," Seras said. She hesitated. "You'll be fine without me, right?"

Integra narrowed her eye at her as she took a sip of wine. "Police Girl, I'll have you know that I lived past the age of twenty without you and, during the war, I withstood the entire Section Thirteen before you arrived. I can handle a week."

"Alright, alright, you don't have to be snarky about it," Seras grumbled. "And you really didn't have to sidestep the bouquet. Seriously? That was so obvious!"

She had practically hurled her bouquet at Integra and still she had missed. And it was not her fault, either. She was a vampire! She did not miss, period. Her stubborn mistress just had to sidestep it, and it had landed instead in the arms of a very bewildered Sir Penwood the younger.

"What on earth were you thinking anyway, throwing that thing at me?" Integra demanded. "Who in bloody hell am I supposed to marry?"

Seras squinted incredulously at her. "You have to ask?"

They stared at each other.

Finally, Integra let out a laugh. She shook her head. "You're delusional. Absolutely delusional." But she said it fondly, in an almost resigned way. She loved Seras like a best friend and a sister and sometimes even a daughter. After spending a decade together, she knew the girl meant well.

But she could be bloody tactless.

Seras laughed as well, scratching her cheek sheepishly. When her laughter faded her red eyes grew thoughtful and, reaching out, she embraced the older woman.

Integra stiffened. She was not used to this much bodily contact. With anyone. Seras waited for her to relax. When at length a hand awkwardly placed itself on her back, the draculina whispered, "I just want you to be happy."

"I'm happy for you," Integra answered automatically.

"Oh, you know what I mean," Seras huffed. "You can be so obstinate."

Sometimes Integra glimpsed great weight in Seras' blood red eyes. It reminded her that the girl might look nineteen, yet was in truth an immortal creature of twenty-nine. She, like all true vampires, held in her gaze the same questionable brand of blood born wisdom.

"I love you, Integra. Both of us do."

Once upon a time Integra would have scoffed at the notion that vampires could love.

She knew better now.

"I l-love you, too, you silly girl," Integra said, stumbling on the rarely used word.

Seras beamed. "Pip, did you hear that?"

"Clear as crystal," the Frenchman's voice said. "Got it recorded, too."

"What?"

"Ah, gotta go." Seras quickly leapt backwards. "See you in a week, Master Integra!"

"SERAS!"

Seras, however, was already on the driveway, ducking into the open door of a white limousine that had daisies strewn over its hood. It would take her to the airport, where she would take a private plane to her honeymoon destination. If anyone asked, there was a coffin in the back seat. The door slid shut. Seras stuck her head out the window and waved, and at the carefree, happy look on the girl's face, Integra felt her annoyance ebb.

"Insolent girl..."

The limousine glided out the grounds of Hellsing Manor.

The bride and groom had left. The guests had left.

Integra downed the rest of her wine in one gulp.

The daisy was still in her hair.

It had been ten years.

A decade of nothing. A decade of cleaning up. A decade of waiting, though she would never admit it. A decade of Seras parroting the same words. "He'll be back, Master Integra. Just be patient a little while longer." Until the words seemed to hold no meaning. A little while longer...a little while longer...a little while longer...really, what constituted "a little while"? A whole fucking century could be "a little while" to a child of endless night. So she had decided to not think about it at all. If he returned, he returned, if he did not, he did not. It was that simple.

Sometimes, though, she would walk down a hallway, and pause at a shadowy corner.

Sometimes, she would wake up in the middle of the night, and listen quietly.

Sometimes, she would have a nightmare, and it would be about a pair of crimson eyes that closed and said, "Farewell."

Integra grimaced. She was in her study, reviewing papers, but she could not concentrate.

The thing was—and she was being factual about this, not sentimental or similar shite—this was the loneliest she had ever been in her life. It was the same as saying this was the emptiest the manor had ever been in its existence. Without Seras and Pip, the house was virtually deserted. They employed minimum staff now, and they had all retired for the day after the ceremony. She was the only one awake.

She was alone.

Integra leaned back in her chair. "Preposterous. I can deal with this. It's peaceful. No nosy little vampire and her equally nosy familiar of a husband..."

She was talking to herself. She was not dealing with this.

Integra pinched the bridge of her nose. She was so fucking pathetic.

She gave up on reviewing papers and took a stroll around the house. She did not know when or how she had done it but she soon found herself going up to the attic, where they stored antiques and outgrown possessions. If she cared to look, maybe she would have found a few remnants of her long lost childhood, such as dolls, dresses and jewelry. Yet she was not looking for those things. She was searching for one specific item, and she blamed it on Seras.

There it was, inside a dusty wardrobe.

Her mother's wedding gown.

Integra had no memory of her mother. She had been too young when she died, and her father had neither kept pictures nor told stories about her. Perhaps they had never been in love in the first place, or perhaps he had been like her, choosing to bury old, painful memories deep, deep down. Regardless, her mother's belongings were in the manor, and she was now digging them out.

Again, she blamed it on Seras.

It was out of fashion but lovely on its own. A delicately constructed gown, long-sleeved and high-necked, of white lace and pearls. She envisioned a faceless, dark-skinned woman, arm in arm with her father. Without thinking Integra held it up against her body. She was a bit muscular for it, but if she tried it would be a close fit...

She stopped her train of thought right there. Fit her? Why would she be contemplating on how it would fit her? She dropped the dress and it landed on the dusty floor.

Fuck, she blamed Seras.

But after a while, Integra decided that she had no need to be so harsh on herself. After all, she was alone in the manor. Who would care if she lost her mind and tried on a dress of a long forgotten woman? Not like there was anyone around to witness her. So against her better judgment, she shook out the dust, took the gown from the attic, and locked herself in her bedroom.

Her boots, socks, suit jacket, pants, and blouse were tossed to the floor, in that order.

It had been so long since she had worn a dress of any kind, let alone one this intricate, that she struggled with the zipper and the sleeves and whatnot. Finally, after a lot of tugging and huffing and cursing Seras and Pip, she had it on. It was a tight fit, as expected.

She felt like a stranger.

She practiced walking in it. The skirt swished gently around her legs. Her feet were bare, which meant the skirt trailed a few inches on the floor. She lifted it up, maneuvering her steps, and in her experiment she opened the door and padded out into the deserted hallway. She caught her reflection in the window.

Integra laughed. She had forgotten to remove the daisy.

She placed the flower on the windowsill and then stepped away again to survey her reflection more carefully.

She could almost hear Seras say, "Oh, Master, you look so lovely."

"I look ridiculous," she said out loud.

Her hair was long and luminous, and curled at the end like hooks. Her posture was perfect. Her skin was glowing. She had only one eye, but it was as pristine as a blue diamond. Integra was beautiful, yet she was unused to describing herself as such. So she settled on "ridiculous" and then, after some thought, she smirked. "Not bad for a thirty-two-year-old spinster."

She also thought she looked rather like a ghost.

"The ghost bride of Hellsing Manor, indeed..."

Well, the manor had seen worse things.

She went into the kitchen for tea and took the steaming cup to the dining room, where she reclined on one of the high back chairs. Once upon a time, she had had a doting old butler who carried out these tasks for her. He had been like a surrogate father and she had trusted him with her life. That was before he had betrayed her for a few minutes of artificial youth, for a last, futile battle against his sworn enemy who also happened to be his comrade in arms. She did most things herself, now. The people she hired worked under her indirectly. She only trusted Seras, as sometimes, she did not trust even herself.

The irony that she chose to trust a vampire above all humans was not lost on her.

Her throat chafed against the lace as she drank her tea.

"Too hot..."

Integra set the cup down on its saucer and waited for it to cool. The moon had risen, its pale light illuminating the table upon which a candle in a glass holder was valiantly fighting back total darkness. She liked the little candlelights. They were very intimate, and made the world appear small, and more sensible. She had preferred the darkness even as a child.

At a certain age darkness had for her ceased to mean emptiness or the mere absence of light. It instead foretold the presence of a tangible mass of shadows with many red eyes, which followed her every movement surreptitiously, with a lewd remark or two. They had had their ups and downs but Integra had trusted that monster, too.

One rainy day she had woken up early and decided to take a walk. She had raised her head to the murky skies and let the droplets pepper her face. And then she had seen him, that monster. He was at the edge of the grounds, near the trees.

She had said his name and normally that would have been enough to summon him. But for some reason he had not looked back. He was simply staring at the trees. And for some reason, in that inexplicable moment, she had been afraid he would disappear.

She had called out his name louder, and he had turned. His crimson eyes had crinkled. He took precious time lumbering back to her, and when he had been a few steps away she had said, "Promise me something?"

He had tilted his head. "Promise? Do you expect a vampire to keep promises, my Master?" He had sounded amused.

"An order, then," she had said. "Don't ever leave me."

His face had taken on a strange quality then. He had looked so...lost. His eyes had met hers and his entire being seemed to reach out from those bloody depths, yearning for the clear pools in front of them. Then she, the human, had blinked, and the spell was broken.

"As my Master wishes," he had said. "Let us go inside, now. You'll catch a cold."

Integra picked up her cup again and this time it was too cold.

"You disobeyed me. You broke your promise," she whispered. "One little thing I asked of you and you broke it. I don't know if I can forgive you. Sometimes I hate you more than I hate Walter."

She set the cup down with a thud and the tea slopped over the rim.

"All this," she laughed bitterly, "because you were a big fucking glutton who never knew when to stop."

She closed her eye.

"But I can't blame it all on you. I was your master. I should have used you better. I should have been smarter. In the end I was a naive little fool."

She rested her head on the chair.

"This is what remains, Count. A woman full of regrets, talking to herself, alone in a house too big, dressed in a wedding gown long past its prime, nursing a cup of cold tea. Hellsing's very own Miss Havisham. Dear, dear. I should have a transcript of my life sent to Dickens' line."

God, she was being so bloody sentimental. And she could not even blame Seras anymore.

"How droll..."

She had a dream where she was a beldam living in solitude surrounded by stale cakes and cobwebby decors. Her ward was a young girl who was not named Estella, whose love interest was a boy who indeed was named Pip. The beldam could shoot with deadly accuracy and behead a man with a single slash of her sword. Yet peculiarly, her life had been one rife with failures. She waited for a man whom she would probably never see again.

She only wished him out of her thoughts.

Out of my thoughts!

You are part of my existence, part of myself.

The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be.

Integra woke up with the sensation of having had cold air pass by her left ear.

When she opened her eye, nothing had changed. She had taken a brief nap, fifteen minutes at the most. The candle was flickering, the tea cooling. The moon rising. Everything was in place.

Yet it felt wholly different.

She raised her hand to her ear and...

There was a daisy in her hair.

But I had...

"You look magnificent in that dress."

She stilled.

"I always knew you would make a beautiful bride."

She could not move.

She could not breathe.

Her hand fell to her lap. She turned sideways and looked down.

He took the hand and kissed it.

"I heard there was a wedding. Was it yours? I don't smell a male on you. Have you divorced him at the altar?" His red, red eyes crinkled. "Or is this your way of welcoming me back, my Countess?"

She snatched her hand back. She felt shocked and lightheaded and maybe a tad hysterical.

"Well," she said, "now I know I am dreaming."

Integra got up from her chair. She stumbled on her gown as she started to pinch herself. "Wake up, you fool," she mumbled. "Wake up, wake up."

It hurt. Why was she not waking up? She pinched hard enough to draw blood.

He grabbed her hands with a growl. "Stop that!"

She pulled away and slapped him.

"How dare you," Integra hissed.

His hair fell to his face, framing his cheeks—he simply stared at her. Stared at her as a starving man in a wasteland would his last drop of water. She could not bear that look. She slapped him again. And again.

"How dare you. How dare you." Her breath came out strangled. "How—"

He caught her wrists. "Enough."

She seethed and tried to wrench away. He held on tight. He guided her to her chair and forcibly seated her. She glared at him, trembling with anger or joy or grief she did not know. He knelt at feet, still holding onto her wrists as if, it suddenly occurred to her, he was holding a lifeline.

"I am here now," Alucard said.

"Took you bloody well long enough," Integra spat. "What did you do, take the scenic route?"

"I," Alucard said, drawing her hands closer and closer, "have not dallied. On the contrary, I came here as soon as I could." He nosed her hands, breathing in the tiny amount of blood she had caused with her nails. "I killed them all, my Master. Every single soul inside of me."

"Except yours."

"Except mine," Alucard agreed. He smiled wryly. "Turns out I do have a soul after all."

Integra let out a sigh that seemed determined to do away with her own soul. With it, her rage dissipated. She was half-convinced she was dreaming, and the other half thought she was delusional.

Okay. She would humor this. "You missed Seras' wedding."

"Don't tell me she married the mercenary."

"She did. They were lovely together."

His nose wrinkled in disgust. "She has the lowest standards."

"The girl has daisies as her favorite flower. It's not that surprising," Integra quipped.

Alucard laughed, loud and deep and achingly familiar. "Daisies...are weeds. They will grow anywhere, as long as there is rich soil. Hence the phrase 'pushing up daisies'...I wonder if Police Girl was onto something." With one hand he removed the flower from her hair and twirled it. "An innocent white blossom with a connection to death. Quite a specific reference, don't you think?"

"Seras is poetic, go figure," she deadpanned.

He laughed again and her heart fluttered at the sound. His lips touched the back of her hand. "I must ask, Countess..." They moved against her skin. "Why are you in that dress?"

She could feel his teeth, cold and sharp.

This was not a dream.

"I was drunk...on moonlight," she finally said, using his once-spoken words.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses on her fingers, her palms, the veins of her wrists. He worshipped her. The lifeline he had clung onto as he destroyed the lives within him. The drop of blood he conjured the taste of over and over again as his mind fractured into a million pieces. The woman who would wake him up from the deepest sleep. Integra, Integra, Integra. His Master, his Countess, his Queen.

"A bride must become a wife to complete the metamorphosis, Integra," Alucard murmured.

She plucked her hands from his grasp with a smirk. "Now, you don't believe I'll let you off easy, do you?"

"Ah," he lamented, "and to think I entertained the possibility that you might have mellowed after all these years."

"I know you well enough to know you've entertained no such thing." Integra crossed her arms. "You prefer a challenge."

"My chosen Countess always challenges me, in any shape or form," Alucard replied.

Integra gazed at the man, her vampire, admiring his composition of red and white and black. Such carnal colors. He looked perfect as ever, but perhaps, with cheeks more sunken than she remembered. She trailed a finger on her lips. "Are you hungry, Alucard?"

"Yes." He salivated. "For you, eternally."

She smiled.

Her teeth bit carefully down on her ring finger.

When the perfume of her blood spiked the air the corners of his lips curled up in the most anticipant way. The liquid dripped slowly down her digit, painfully so, yet he could have waited forever so long as it meant having a mere drop of it on his tongue.

She was a vision in white and red and it was more than he deserved.

"You're home, my dear Count."

"Back forevermore, my Countess."

The wedding gown was left draped neatly over the back of the chair. A daisy rested upon it.

NOTES

July 7, 2016 TricksterKat209 drew a lovely piece of art for this one-shot. The background is beautiful, Integra looks fantastic and the dress is exactly how I imagined it to be. Please go and see it in my tumblr!

lesmismignon dot tumblr dot com /post/146985111998/thank-you-thank-you-to-tricksterkat209-who-drew

...No one tell Integra she had to wait thirty years in canon. *Runs away*

Great Expectations references!

Oh my stars, it's four in the morning, what am I doing? Coffee, thou art the bane of my life. Okay, this is a product of another caffeine-induced whim, which means it's barely edited. Someday when I feel less insane I will return and trim it up. Maybe.

This is also meant to be an apology of sorts to my readers because the next chapter of Snow White is going to go up a bit later than I expected. I'm terribly sorry. There's another thing coming up soon, but you'll just have to wait and see what that is. In retrospect it's kind of but not really but sort of related to this fic.

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this. This...kind of wrote itself but it was very cathartic to write. Sometimes in the middle of writing an AU you need to return to good old canon (or as much as my imagination allows it to be canon) for a spell. I hope this brought you at least a spoonful of joy. Merry May, everyone.