It was supposed to be a check-up, nothing more. Standard procedure, as the Doktor regularly monitored all of his creations for defects. Winkle had submitted to examination countless times, long having grown used to it as one of his first major successes. Perhaps it was the familiarity that made her notice the tremor in his hands. Honestly, it was impossible to miss.

Seated on the gurney and draped in sagging scrubs, Winkle silently watched as Dok removed a tongue depressor from its wrapper only to accidentally drop it on the ground. Sighing, he reached for another, opened it, then dropped it too. Jaw rigid, Dok reached for yet another only to knock the jar over, depressors and all, where it shattered on the dirty tiled floor. Teeth gritting in fury, he slammed a fist onto the gurney. Jostled by the rattle, Winkle swayed and smiled at his quick temper.

"Something wrong~?" she asked.

"Nothing that concerns you!" he shot back, head snapping up to glare at her. Beneath strange lenses, dark circles rung his eyes like bruises. With a frown, he continued, "Now, hold your tongue."

"Yes, I will have to if this keeps up," she agreed, glancing at the broken jar with a nasty smile.

Face pinching at the remark, he ordered, "Stop being so wicked."

"But you made me this way," she reminded, feet swinging coyly.

"No, I improved you. And when no more could be done, I gave you teeth to match your abysmal personality," Dok corrected.

She flashed a wide grin at that, earning a scowl from the other. Bending down, he retrieved an opened depressor and held it expectantly before her. Lips curling back in disgust, Winkle glanced at the gross, blood-encrusted floor then back to the stern Doktor.

"Isn't that unsanitary?"

"It's not as if you will get an infection, nor does that sassy mouth of yours deserve any better," Dok chided, face grim.

"I was teasing before," she said with a pout.

"And see what that got you?" he pressed, waving the depressed. "Now, open."

Winkle frowned but let her jaw go slack, tongue lolling out.

"Ah~" he reminded.

"Ahhhhh," she droned.

He hummed once, then removed the stick. Jaw closing with a click, she waited for the next order, but it didn't come. Instead, magnified eyes stared down until Winkle started to fidget.

"Yes?" she began, giving another smile.

"Why haven't you been feeding properly?" he asked.

Not expecting the direct question, her mouth opened, but no words came. Caught off guard, Winkle launched into the first story that came to mind.

"I'll have you know I made a lovely meal of-"

"—No lies," he hissed.

She glanced at the floor and locked serrated teeth together. Perhaps starting with the truth would have been better, despite how embarrassing it was.

Winkle worried her toes and began, "Zorin won't let me into the mess hall."

"What did you do?" he pressed, arching an eyebrow.

She grimaced at the icy tone and answered, "Nothing!"

His eyebrow climbed skeptically higher.

Shoulders slumping, Winkle sighed and admitted, "I was singing in the shower stalls, and we got into an argument."

"And?"

She scuffed. Shooting him an incredulous look, Winkle lied, "That's all!"

Dok gave a doubtful hum, mouth set in a thin line. Behind lustrous lenses, Winkle knew his sharp eyes were scrutinizing her, so she gave a doleful glance in return. Pouting overtly, she tried to appear innocent. It didn't seem to work. Too excessive. The Doktor's jaw clenched and nostrils flared as he sucked air through clenched teeth.

"Get that sorry look off your face!" he snapped, stabbing the depressor in her direction. The outburst made Winkle drop the pitiful act with a start. Drawing a calmer breath, Dok added, "And yes, I've heard talk of your…performances. They take up hours. A waste of water."

"Don't tell me you're siding with her," she whined.

"Merely an observation," he said offering a shrug. "Your relationship with Obersturmführer Blitz is your's alone. Just play nicely. I can't promise I'd bother putting you back together—too many pieces."

"Tell that to her!" Winkle fumed.

"Watch your tone!" Dok snarled back. Deflated, Winkle bit the end of her tongue and tasted copper. When blood began to redden her lips, he continued, "And it is not my problem, be grateful I'm not expelling you from my infirmary for wasting my time with such a pitiful story!"

"You asked," Winkle muttered sourly. Crossing her arms tightly, she felt the inward curve of her starved stomach and asked, "How could you tell I haven't been feeding anyway?"

Mouth twisting into a frown, Dok replied, "For one, your complexion is deathly pale, and so are your gums and esophagus. Your veins appear almost translucent, indicating no new blood intake. You've also lost weight since your last physical, which shouldn't happen considering–"

"—But you didn't weigh—"

"—Don't interrupt!" he clipped and whacked her on the forehead with the depressor before finishing. "Considering the constant supply of nutrition that should be available. Just look at you! Your cheekbones are far too prominent and your abdomen," he paused and tutted at her. Suddenly his hands pulled at the strings knotting down the side of baggy scrubs, and she jumped as latex fingers prodded pasty skin. "I can count every rib!"

Winkle scowled and shrugged away from prying hands.

"It's not polite to talk about a woman's weight," she mumbled, pulling the scrubs closed.

"And it's one of your duties as Obersturmführer to remain in peak condition at all times," he reminded and gave her nose a sharp flick. "Quit sulking."

Face scrunching, Winkle huffed and clicked pointed teeth together as her eyes fell to stare at the floor once more. She had no reply. Dok was correct and cut right to the wick of the problem; she'd upset Zorin, and the pettiness between them had disrupted her ability to perform at optimal efficiency. Worst of all, it was embarrassingly easy for Zorin to keep the punishment going. None onboard, save perhaps Günsche on a moonlit evening, could overpower the monstrous woman physically, and the hellish illusions she dug up haunted her victims long after she'd finished toying with them.

"Get dressed," he ordered, turning from the gurney and walking away. "I have another examination scheduled. Considering what you've told me, it would be best if you left before she arrived."

With that said, Dok headed further into the gloomy clinic. The outline of two separate doors loomed in the dimness, and he headed toward the left: Cold Storage. He yanked the lever down, and the old iron bolted door swung open on rusty hinges. Entering the room swiftly, Dok closed it behind him with a clang.

Dismissed, Winkle began to dress: suit, tie, and bluchers all tucked away under the gunnery. When she'd nearly finished, the old door screeched open again, and footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to see the Doktor coming toward her with hands folded behind his back.

"Yes?" she asked, anticipating another scolding as he stopped before her.

Dok silently held out his hand. After looking at gesture uncertainty, Winkle did the same.

"Beggars can't be choosers," he criticized and dropped a blood pack on her palm.

Her eyes grew round in surprise having never expected a ration.

"Thank you!" she gasped.

Happily cuddling the cold bag against a cheek, she bounced on the balls of her feet until Dok cleared his throat.

"Do what's necessary to solve this, it's unbecoming," he continued, frown deepening as she kept swaying with the blood pack cradled to her face. Seemingly tired of her silliness, he folded hands behind his bloodstained back once more, turned on his heel, and began to walk away only to pause. Head tilting in thought, he added as though speaking to the empty room, "I'd advise against direct interaction, though, you weren't made for it. And knowing Obersturmführer Blitz, it would exacerbate the issue."

"…Okay," Winkle replied to the cryptic advice.

Not offering a glance back, Dok nodded stiffly once and walked away. Dismissed, Winkle left, not even out the door before she'd drained the pack.


Notes:

This is a silly drabble that became a full-fledged fic. The story follows Winkle's perspective aboard the zeppelin fleet before the events of Hellsing Ultimate, the creation of Schördiner, and the addition of the Valentine brothers-so like 1970's - 80's? Eh? The fic is mostly just character interaction, speculation about what life is like aboard the zeppelin fleet, and my bullshit interpretations. Also created a loose timeline for Millennium, though please don't take it–or anything else in this fic–seriously.

I used to feel bad about writing Hellsing smut, but after reading Dok's Story–PFFT–whatever I write pales in companion to what Hirano already published. However, the sexual and violent content in this fic is graphic and can be triggering, especially if you have a past of abuse, rape or assault. This fic should probably be rated MA for later chapters and is available on A03 in the event of deletion.