I don't own Hellsing. I don't know who does, actually.
She is, he is, they are.
She is talking on the phone.
He is standing before her desk.
The caller is droning on about details and Integra taps her pencil impatiently against the notes she's been taking. The ashtray is full of cigarette ends, and the air is everlastingly impregnated with the scent of smoke. Tonight she'll be expecting no sleep, as the previous night, and the night before that one... Cases are complicated these days, and if she doesn't take matters into her own hands there's no one else who will do things right. She nods, then writes down key words, and leans again against the back of her chair, the phone apparently glued to her ear. The caller goes on and on.
She is looking at him.
They are not breaking the eye contact.
He is momentarily absorted in thoughts only he knows about. As he looks at her with indifference he can guess the same feeling in his current master's eyes. His pose is relaxed and his face remains blank, his arms are neatly folded over his chest in a bored demeanor. Just another routine night for him, and when she hungs she'll be still stoic and she'll bark a few orders, and like the good servant he is he will obey.
He is absorted in her concentration.
She isn't concentrated at all.
When the caller finally ends the conversation, a sigh escapes her lips and she looks down to her notes, ignoring him. Coordenates, targets... the item the victim the suspect the culprit the witness. The unit she'd rather call.
He is smiling an all-knowing smile.
It's all the nights the same. He awaits with dissimulated mirth as her forehead starts sporting wrinkles, and she is thinking. In any moment he knows she'll stop pretending she's alone in the room and call him to do what he must. He probably will leave after a sharp remark, but it's not that time yet.
He subtly lets slip that below her eyes he can see the purplish bags despite the make up. She retorts mechanically that even if he does he can't do a thing about it.
She is smiling sourly at the irony.
He probably is, too.
They are both smiling at the irony.
And none of them can do a thing about it.
Aw, I think it turned out cute. It's my first Hellsing fanfiction.
Pweease, review!