"We do not belong anyplace, do we?" The woman, Integra Wingates Hellsing, sighed. Cigar to her lips, she couldn't help but feel melancholy. She did her best, and she was the best at what she did, and yet the Knights of the Round Table couldn't seem to realize that. They had saved all of England, and perhaps the world at large, and yet, the only thing the knights could come up with was anger at their not having acted sooner. It was infuriating, that should imprison her when she had saved them all.
"We are simply mismatched to society." She mused half to her self, half to her companion.
Alucard was sitting in her barred window, watching the cars drive by. Living their little lives, unaware and weak kneed about everything occult. Humans. They were disgusting. Except, he thought as he turned his eyes to his Master, weakness was not a trait common to every human. There were a handful that had superior hold over themselves and those around them. The moonlight falling in through the window lit up her blue eyes, making them seem so to glow in the darkness.
"Only the truly great do not fit in, if that is what you mean. And don't I belong to you, as if I were nothing but a handgun?"
Her eyes turned to him as he continued to stare, glaring though the puffs of cigar smoke. "No," she intoned. "Not quite like a handgun."
His eyebrows rose. "Really? What then? Am I simply a servant?"
She was silent. He pressed harder, suddenly intent on hearing for himself what she viewed him as. She had her lips pressed together, refusing to answer.
"If not a servant, then what? A dog?"
She spoke almost too quickly. "Yes. A dog. One that must be kept on a short chain."
He laughed aloud. "I don't think so. I don't think you want to realize what I've become to you." She was beautiful, he mused, when she glared at him, when she let her fast bound anger rise and create those spots of red on her cheeks, below each eye. But then she sighed, and the tenseness went out of her muscles and she relaxed into the chair.
"You know, Alucard," she paused, watching as his eyebrows furrowed at the casual mention of his name. Continuing, "Stockholm syndrome is quite common among those who have been entrapped by another. Understand that I find it hard to believe you." She tossed her cigar down. It wasn't the brand she liked anyway. At least that guard had been nice enough to offer one. But he was gone now.
"Then my respect for you is your fault?"
She paused en route to the small wardrobe they had given her, containing only a pair of pajamas and fresh underclothes.. Her hair shone brilliantly as she whirled around, mouth open, ready to ream him out, but paused. He had let his coat drop to the floor, along with his hat and goggles. Now he was simply clad in a dark suit, the lace frills around his neck pure white, almost the same hue as his skin. Without the orange tinted goggles covering his eyes, they were far more intense than Integra had remembered. And they held more feeling than she had noticed before. So, with a snort of derision, she turned and opened her wardrobe drawers, pulling out what they had allowed her, men's button down shirt, and long sweatpants. She didn't want him to see her ruffled.
His laugh echoed around the room. "Are you going to change in front of me?" He swung his legs from the ledge to let them hang, fully facing her. The dark amusement in his eyes was quickly arrested at her next words.
"It doesn't matter to me. You have known me my entire life. And I have a feeling you don't plan on leaving for a while."
The casual brush off that she gave him… he would have killed anyone else if they had done so. No one swept him to the side as if he was a mere fledgling. No one. Not even her. With preternatural speed he was standing a foot behind her, watching her spine flex as she pulled her shirt up. She was a study in femininity. Slim, with long, lithe muscles lining her back, curling around her torso, resting along her ribs, with the veins –pulsing with that sweet, sweet, Hellsing blood-weaving in and out of the muscles… yes, a study in human femininity. She pulled the shirt over her head, and her white blonde hair fell against her back, sending a wave of human fragrance towards him. As if he couldn't already smell her, smell her nervousness at him watching, though she tried to hide it, the acrid scent of cigars permeating her skin, the smell that was Integra Wingates Hellsing and no one else.
As she bent to retrieve her pajama shirt, he wrapped his arms around her waist, effectively halting her. He heart skipped a beat; he felt it against his chest, hear it echo a wet bloody sound in the silence.
Then, "Alucard. Release me." Her voice tinged with ice, and with a yawning nervousness.
He let his cheek rest against her soft, soft, hair, and pulled her body flush against his, leaving no space between them. His chest was icy cold through his dress shirts against her bare back, and under his wandering hands her muscles tensed and eased. She swallowed heavily.
"Alucard…" This time it was a warning.
"My master, you forget. I may be a monster, but I am still a man, and you are still a woman, though you are a knight." She let out a soft breath as he pressed his tongue against the side of her neck. She was nervous, sweat creating a salty sheen on her skin. Fangs scraped along her skin, but before she could order him away he drew back, sighing.
"Misfits belong to each other, Countess, and we are misfit to everything. I, the chained beast living through the centuries, you the iron maiden, in a time where virginity is relative." He laughed again, and turned her around in his arms. "But iron does not hurt vampires, does it? Too bad you aren't the silver maiden."
She refused to look at him, even when his face loomed within inches of her own. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't stand it. Being embraced like this, like they were lovers! She froze as his icy cold lips pressed softly against one eyelid, then the other, his hair brushing her face, tickling as he pulled away.
Eyes unreadable, he looked down his nose at her, the human woman that so enthralled him.
"You know what I want, Integra. Think about it."
He moved away from her, gathered his jacket to himself, and sunk through a shadow, eyes never leaving her, mouth twisted in a thoughtful frown.
When she could no longer sense him, she sunk to the ground, clutching her shirt to her chest, panting for air, as if she had been under water for years.
