Alucard had little tolerance for alcohol, or any consumable other than blood. But occasionally a little sip of wine was the perfect remedy that could put him right to sleep. For that reason, he had a penchant for keeping a bottle close to his coffin.

When she was twelve, and she had only known Alucard for a short while, Integra misunderstood the constant presence of the bottle.

She thought, he drinks.

She made no judgment. Her beloved father had drank, had a passion for scotch. If anything, Integra thought positively about the occasional spirit; it was one of the few times she saw a smile on her father's sunken, haunted face.

Integra had no use for the scotch after he was dead.

She looked sadly at the half-empty bottle, sitting lonely in her father's abandoned study. She lifted it up gingerly. Under it, there was a ring of bare wood, surrounded by a film of dust.

The study was just as he left it; piles of paper stacked hap hazardously on every flat surface, books stacked on the floor, an ash tray on the desk, full of cigarette butts, and, of course, a bottle of scotch on the blotter. It was as if he had just gotten up from his chair, and would be back any moment. It was as if he had been uprooted suddenly and unexpectedly, like the a volcano erupted and he had dropped everything where it was. A moment frozen in time.

It was so tempting to leave just as it was. Close to door and never disturb this study-a time capsule, in memoriam.

Except that it was her office now. And she needed the space, and she needed it clean and neat, and that meant everything had to go; the old paperwork, the ash tray, the bottle. The paper work could be archived, the ash tray dumped, and Walter could have the cigarettes if he liked-he claimed to have quit smoking years ago, but the aroma of tobacco clung to his uniform and Integra imagined he must be sneaking smokes in the lavatory.

Integra rolled the bottle in her hands, watching the dark amber liquid swirl within the glass.

With resolve, she turned around and left the abandoned study and silently descended the grand staircase to the first floor, weaved down a narrow corridor and found her way to the sublevel stairs and climbed down into the moist, cool darkness. After some walking, she followed a sharp turn and found the hidden alcove the vampire had claimed as his own.

It was odd. Alucard had no sense of privacy-had no "room," just lived at the end of the corridor like a dragon at the back of a cave. That is where he had moved his coffin to, and that's where the girl knew she could find him.

On her way, Integra started to have second thoughts. On one hand, sobriety was a virtue. Regular drinking was a symptom of inner sickness that alcohol exacerbated, rather than cured, over time.

On the other hand, it was almost comforting to know Alucard took a drink now and again. It made it him seem more human.

It was that human side she longed to touch. She wanted to know him, know about him, and not from prying information out of a guarded, reluctant Walter. All Integra knew of the vampire was that he was great and terrible and unpleasant, and she was starting to suspect that, really, that's all there was to it.

She wanted to have a drink with him.

It was what men did. When guests came to the house, her father would invite them into his study or into the library, pry open the brandy or the scotch and pour a few drinks. Then they would talk.

It was daytime, and so she expected the vampire was tucked away in his coffin when she went down to the sublevels. The coffin was black, lacquered and narrow...too narrow, the girl felt, for a vampire that size. Whenever she saw Alucard, he seemed to fill the room. There was no clear distinction between his body and the nothing-he consumed the darkness, and the shadowy corners seethed with his angry, threatening essence. But during the day, his true form could fit neatly inside the small coffin. Integra knew he must not be at all the size she imagined. Nonetheless, he looked very tall.

She would not disturb him.

She had a present for him.

Near his coffin was a chair and an end table. Alucard had claimed the lonely dining room chair as his and somehow smuggled it down to his lair.

Integra had been surprised and somewhat irked at his theft, mostly because the dining room chairs were part of a set and now there was an irregular number. She politely offered him any other chair in the house instead. The vampire politely told her to go fuck herself. The chair was his territory now, had his smells, belonged to him.

"Chair-Gate" had been a serious thing for two days. Integra viewed his obstinacy as an insult and challenge to her budding authority-just days after he had so dramatically pledged his loyalty to her.

Walter carefully and speedily talked Integra out of making an issue out of it-reminding her that Hellsing's family fortune had been Dracula's before VanHelsing took it, and a great portion of that wealth stemmed from the pillage, then sale of, the vampire's various properties and belongings, including his castle in the Carpathian mountains.

Walter also suggested that Integra never, ever bring it up.

After that day, Integra looked upon that chair with a kind of guilt. When she saw Alucard possessively wrap a spindly, shadowy claw around it, eyeing her suspiciously, she felt sorry for him. What a petty thing to defend.

Integra approached the coffin. Next to it, there was a dusty bottle of wine. She placed the scotch beside it. In the empty air, it made a loud 'clank' noise, and Integra cringed, knowing how close that must be to the vampire's sensitive ears. She waited, however, and no sound came from the coffin. At that, she turned to leave.

"What is that?"

Integra kept her spine stiff, resisting the instinct to cringe. "Scotch," she croaked, her timid voice echoing in the sublevels. The cowardice in her own voice shamed her. She took a deep breath and turned and said firmly, with resolve; "I'd like to share this with you. My father would often give a drink with guests, as a way to welcome them to his home." She took a step forward and presented the bottle to the seated vampire. "It's…a hollow gesture to you, I'm sure but…I want to welcome you."

"I'm not a guest, and I'm not new to this house. I've lived here longer than you." Alucard eyed the unfamiliar bottle suspiciously, slinking from his coffin. Abraham VanHelsing had often drugged him by mixing chemicals into the blood he was fed, and the vampire would wake up hours later in pain, his body often naked and twisted cruelly in iron chains as the metaphysician and his assistants pried open his organs and examined his internal, undead workings. He would shriek and howl in terror and hate, only to be beaten savagely by the startled human assistants and ultimately force-fed the drug again and then choked until he lost consciousness.

Much of those first years were a blur.

Alucard unconsciously touched his ribs, feeling the ghost of scalpels tickling his diaphragm.

Integra's shoulder's sagged. She retracted the bottle and pressed it against her chest. "You won't accept my gift?"

Alucard frowned. He had never been given a "gift" before, not by a Hellsing. They had never considered his comfort or made sentimental gestures of any kind-save once when Abraham begrudgingly returned Alucard's coffin to him and even allowed him a small room where he could sleep in it, undisturbed. It had been forty years coming, and Alucard was near hysterical upon seeing it again-having believed his 'kingdom' had been chopped up for firewood decades ago.

Alucard squinted at the small girl, considering her offering carefully. "I will have a drink with you."

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

Integra poured generously.

Alucard placed his hand over his cup, nervously guarding it. "Not so much."

Integra blinked at the vampire. Then she looked at her own glass. She was a anxious wreck. She poured herself a full glass. She couldn't look weak next to him.

Alucard stared at her glass, then looked at his half filled one. He took his hand away. "A little more for me," he urged.

Integra smiled and filled up his glass the rest of the way. "To us," Integra saluted.

Her youthful enthusiasm both irritated and pleased Alucard. "To us, master," he agreed.

Integra tipped back her glass and downed the shot in one gulp. She placed her empty shooter on the table. "Ah. Burns," she said pleasantly. "Yikes."

Alucard snickered, then tipped back his own glass and immediately regretted it. The haze of scotch burned his eyes like rubbing alcohol. He paused in horror. What had he agreed to drink? But he could see Integra's curious face through the bottom of the glass, colored golden by the liquid.

"Savoring it?" Integra inquired.

"Yes," Alucard responded quickly. He couldn't take a conservative sip now. He sucked in the drink quickly, and despite the fire, pain and bitterness, he managed to swallow and keep tears from welling up in his eyes. His fist clenched around the glass and he trembled. "Uh," he grunted, placing the glass gingerly on the table. "That was…"

He heard Integra pouring another glass.

His eyes flew open. Integra's glass was full again, and she was pouring him a second.

Alucard was dumfounded. She couldn't be serious. She could not be serious. She didn't really expect him to sit and do shots with her? Was every member of this lowly family a horrible drunk?

But as the vampire watched in mortified dread as the little girl innocently and casually tossed back her second drink without so much as a flinch, Alucard felt his stomach sink and a warm blush rise to his cheeks. Yes, that's exactly what she intended.

Not to be outdone, Alucard took up his glass as well and nodded at her, tipping it back.

To be continued…