They'd shaved her hair. Her beautiful, long blonde hair.
It was kind of Biblical, really, like a female Samson. Her hair was shaven and so her strength had vanished. It was a soft yellow fuzz all over her head, except where it grew in strange white tufts over the suture scars.
("Your hand," he says. "May I take it?")
Her skin, never meant to be pale, had turned an unhealthy sallow colour. Her eyes, blue as glaciers and half as merciful, were dull and empty. Her mouth was slack. Sometimes she drooled. She never spoke. Poor Integra.
(He checks the catheters, one in each wrist, before he takes a pair of clippers and begins to cut her fingernails. Carefully, so as not to hurt her.)
The new head of Hellsing was an ignorant whelp, never saw a vampire in his life before he took- or tried to take- Integra's place. He'd learned everything he knew from books and secret reports. He thought that the business of monster killing was barbaric and unnecessarily brutal. He called Integra 'that dribbling madwoman' whenever he thought Walter was out of earshot. Alucard took great pleasure in scaring the boy witless at every possible opportunity.
(He files the edges down and dips her fingertips in a bowl of warm water to clean away the residue. A thin thread of saliva trickles down her chin and he wipes it off with the bib that the nurses always insist on tying around her neck.)
His Integra.His commander.His little girl. He'd failed to protect her and so her skull was cracked and so was her mind. The new Hellsing spared no expense when it came to care and nurses, but Walter knew he could do a much better job himself. He preformed his duties as a member of the organisation, but he wasn't a butler any more. The little shit could get his own damn tea and besides, someone had to look after Integra. The hired carers were always in a flap, muttering about bats and centipedes and disembodied eyeballs appearing in unexpected places. When they were there, caring for Integra as they should they spoke to her like she was an idiot, all cooing baby talk. Alucard ground his formidable teeth at the mere sight of them.
(He untied the bib. "Your pardon, Sir Integra," as he began to unbutton her shirt.)
So hard to get good help these days. It was all he could do not to wrap them in his wires and leave the remains for the house staff to clean up.
(No bra, not point in putting one on her if she isn't moving around. He runs the washcloth over her torso and beneath her arms, pausing from time to time to rinse the cloth in the water. She's lost muscle tone, she's softer than she should be but that can't be helped.)
Integra.Integral WingatesFairbrook Hellsing. What a mouthful!
(Alucard is standing behind him.)
Poor Integra.Poor little girl.His little girl. Why, she was practically his daughter when you thought about it.
(The vampire tugs the cloth out of Walter's hand, nudging him aside. Walter checks the catheters again, and the little soft tubes filled with fluid. Alucard tilts Integra's head back so he can wash her throat. His hand drags the washcloth down, over her collarbone and down her sternum. He drops the soaking material when he reaches her breast. Walter clucks and retrieves it quickly before it can stain her trousers.)
Without a doubt it would not be long before she was her old self again. She'd send that brainless whelp packing in no time at all.
(Alucard strokes the underside of her breast with thumb and forefinger, gently, meditatively. He leans forward and begins to mouth her neck.)
Two lines of fluid, one in each wrist.One going in, the other going out.
(He grabs Alucard by the hair and pulls him away from Integra. "No biting!")
Two lines of fluid.
(Alucard snarls, but acquiesces. He strokes Integra one last time before setting her shirt to rights.)
One going in.
(There must be no bite marks on her flesh.)
One going out.
(Just a little, and all will be set to rights. Just enough to give a nudge. Just a little, and no one need ever know. Not even Integra herself.)