A/N: Written over the course of the winter holidays when I spent my evenings listening to Badfinger, knitting furiously and watching The Contender. Yes, this is a bizarre concept. And yes, I love it.

Apple of my Eye

Chapter One: House of Cards

The lights almost blinded her.

This is the ring. There is only the ring.

It was a dream. It had to be. Integral Hellsing listened with rapt attention as her father ushered her through the green, metal doors and into the pitch black dark of the arena. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she made out the faint silhouettes of the spectator's seats, row after row, as they walked down the aisle to the ring.

Two fighters. One championship belt.

Integral had never been in a real, high-profile arena before. Not the Las Vegas luxury hotel-variety type. She had only been to the local ones, the ones that smelled like well-used rope and old, brick walls. The ones that had wooden cabinets pressed up to the walls, a pane of glass protecting the trophies, belts, and photos of former boxing personalities of years past.

Somehow, within the expanse of a year, those photos always seemed so much older than they actually were. As if once put up on the wall, they immediately took on a heavy coat of dust and the colours faded out into sepia tones. A brown world. A newspaper world.

But here it was different. Arthur Hellsing closed his eyes. The arena held the essence of the adult world, and he could imagine the anticipation and the adrenaline as the seats were filled and the fighters and their entourage entered the stage.

Look, Integra. Look at the fighters.

She looked. She saw the white ropes, the clean canvas flooring, the microphone and the light boards that hung above the ring. There were cheap, metal chairs propped up in odd places just outside the ring, on the same level as the spectators, where Integral guessed a boxer's medical staff waited for the one minute break between rounds.

She saw the judges table. Three chairs.

Do you see them?

'Father, there is nobody there.' She answered, feeling quite confident that either her father was doing some wishful thinking, or she should wake up from this dream soon.

And then Integral looked up at her father, and saw that he had aged. No longer did his hair look as if someone had rubbed a balloon across it, it was smooth and flat and gray. His mischievous eyes had sad, puffy bags under them and his wrinkled forehead creased further into his brow.

'Father, you're old!'

He chuckled. Then he spoke. And Integral woke up suddenly in bed; the sheets rumpled around her body, and remembered that he was dead. He had been dead for a long time.

'Am I?'

The boxing world was rarely cruel to its fighters. It was a hard, tough and gritty life, but it was worth it. If you made it as a professional fighter, money, fame, and women came your way. You had the high life; you had the pay per view channels, you had contracts and challengers, you had Don King promote your fights. You had everything.

Then one day, you simply got old. You lost the lust to fight.

Alucard gazed at the trophy case, smiled, and walked away.

It was just the way of the world. A fighter can't compete all his life. Younger, fresher greenhorns who spoke foreign languages publicly challenged you on national sport networks, and you answered them with your own. You fought, and you trained. You hardly had a day of rest. One year off usually meant retirement. It was impossible to come back after three years. Only the best of the best did it.

And he used to be the best.

"You're leaving." Was all she said when she caught him staring at the far wall, plastered with newspaper clippings and shiny belts, and knew he had something important to say to her.

Integral Hellsing, fifteen and still in high school, smoothed out her skirt but didn't approach any further. Instead, she hung back near the door of the training room and waited while her father's best fighter reminisced about the past.

"When are you leaving?" She leaned on the wooden frame and watched him turned around to face her.

"Tomorrow." His voice was deadpan. "Flight leaves at 6:50 in the morning."

"You'll have to leave before sunrise."

"I know."

It was now that Integral stepped forward into the training room and looked at everything except him. The place smelled clean, newly washed, and the nose was left wanting. As if all traces of an athlete's sweat had disappeared.

She walked up to the wall of fame and her eyes fell upon a framed photograph of her father, grinning, with one arm around each of his champion fighters. Walter was old, Alucard looked much like he did now, and her father, Arthur Hellsing, was young. He died young.

She remembered that night as a little lonelier, the London rain a bit harder and but the feeling would remain the same. She remembered getting on the plane, Walter right behind her, and felt nothing but fear she flew over the Atlantic Ocean for the first time.

He remembered that evening as more sinister; the air smelled of excitement, anticipation, and blood. It was his championship fight, the last of the three major belts would have been his, and he would be the reigning heavyweight champion of the world. He would have won his seat on the hall of fame. He would have become immortal.

They met under a full moon that night, and she was beautiful. It was the first time they touched. In the privacy of her suite, he spoke with her. She hugged him and he cried. He promised a great many things. He promised to never fail her. He would remember. She would return to England the following day with a heavy heart. He planned to leave her within a month. That month went by so quickly.

He stepped up beside her. At six feet and seven inches, he towered over her.

"You still haven't told me why you're leaving." It wasn't a question, but a statement. He didn't reply immediately, just stood still and silent, deep in his own thoughts. His melancholy was depressing her.

"How was school today, Integra?" He inquired, lifting his voice a bit to obviously change the subject. She snorted, rolled her eyes and replied, "Fine." He let out a bark of laughter.

"Get good grades, finish school, continue the business." He recited.

"Stop sounding like my father, Alucard."

He became silent again.

"Where will you go?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Europe. Across the ocean. Anywhere."

"Will you go back home?" And there it was – a genuine smile on his face. She sighed to herself. The house felt lonely already.

"I left Wallachia in 1968. I haven't been back since then." He turned his head slightly to look down at her; Arthur's daughter was so short compared to him.

"There's so much I don't know about you."

Apparently, fifteen years and a month wasn't enough to know a person. Alucard was already a professional fighter with Hellsing's support when she was born. She had grown up with her father constantly flying off to different countries with his fighters. Then her mother died. She was still a child then.

Alucard left his country with his grandfather at the age of fourteen. She knew that from her father. He was thirty-eight now. She knew that herself. Not the oldest fighter to retire, but definitely one who was no longer in his prime. Perhaps it was time to back to his roots. Find a reason to fight again.

"I think I'll go home."

It would be seven years until they saw each other again.

August 15, 1992. 11:34 pm.

Integral Hellsing sat on the cream carpet in front of the television, the lights dimmed low with the glare of the screen reflected off her round glasses. In a ruffled summer dress she loved to wear, she hugged her knees and watched as her father yelled along with the entire spectators' crowd at the WBO's heavyweight championship fight.

She hugged her knees tighter, feeling a little cold as she watched her father shout advice while the fight progressed. He was in Las Vegas, at Caesar's Palace, and thousands of miles away from the family mansion. She watched silently as Arthur Hellsing slipped in through the ropes between rounds, said something to Alucard then squirted water all over his face before handing him a towel to dry himself off. The cameraman zoomed in close to the boxer, there was a cut around his lip and one of his eyes squinted, but he was grinning.

Grabbing the water bottle, he sloshed some water around his mouth and spat it out into the bucket, moving his jaw sideways where he had been recently hit. Arthur was still talking.

The bell rang again and Alucard popped in his mouth guard before getting onhis feet, hopping on one foot then the other. The referee beckoned for both fighters to come to the middle of the ring to start the next round.

Integral smiled at the television. She couldn't hear everything they said through the surrounding noise, but she knew that Hellsing was winning. Her father's and her grandfather's boxing school had churned out some amazing prizefighters, and there was no doubt that Alucard was one of them. She smiled even wider when the referee gave points to Alucard for landing an uppercut that made his opponent stumble backward.

His name hadn't always been Alucard. That had become his stage name after he won his first title belt as a professional. That was in England. He was just eighteen.

Born Vlad Tepes, the grandson of the legendary J.H. Brenner had taken on his family's fighting mantle and was makes waves in boxing history. With seventy-one bouts under his belt, one recorded loss, and no ties, the Wallachian fighter had the doors open to stand in with the greats such as Sugar Ray Robinson and Muhammad Ali. He needed to win this title, needed it see it in his trophy case next to the other two major title belts.

One cameraman moved outside the ring and Integra saw her father cross his arms with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He looked slightly ridiculous dressed in a crisp white suit, representing both his position as Alucard's manager, coach, and trainer, while everyone else around him wore track uniforms. His black coat hung over his chair, but like everyone who had the privilege of entering the ring, he stood. His wild, blonde hair was an strange phenomenon. It spiked up at odd angles in a natural manner and gave him what he liked to call 'a demonic and perverted aura.'

Of course, she wasn't supposed to know that.

Arthur tightened his gloved hands, brought them to his mouth, and shouted for Alucard to finish off his opponent already. There was alcohol waiting upstairs.

The cameraman switched, and the screen flickered. Integra blinked. Tenth round, one minute and nine seconds left.

Alucard's body was in a half-crouch, his hands positioned low along his belt line than to his chin, leaving his body open for attacks. He was waiting.

As expected, his opponent swung forwards, thinking Alucard had finally tired and lowered his defenses.

Integra watched. Stupid man.

And the crowd yelled when Hellsing's fighter ducked to the right, his upper body twisting to avoid the blow to his liver, and punched with his left glove.

Bam.

It connected straight with his jaw. The crowd exploded with excitement.

One of the commentators swore aloud on public television. Integral laughed when the censors failed to catch his indiscretion in time and bleeped out something else entirely.

Then the lights flickered.

Then they went out completely.

There were gunshots. Someone screamed.

The emergency lights came on, bathing the arena in a dark red glow.

And Arthur Hellsing was dead.

Integral Hellsing remembered blinking in surprise and lunged towards the television, furiously pressing buttons to raise the volume to a deafening loudness that hurt her ears. The ring announcer was saying something. The cameras were going wild, her eyes sought out her father.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fight has been stopped. The referee has signaled for both fighters to discontinue. Not a minute ago, several shots were heard."

The camera fell upon the fighters, the referee stood between them with his hands spread apart, indicating they were to remain in place. One man was down, his staff and crew hovered around him. She remembered the look on Alucard's face, his hands to his side, his focus no longer on his challenger, but on his trainer.

There was another crowd gathering just outside Alucard's corner.

The referee might have been small, but he was quick. He jumped down from the ring to assess the situation. The camera followed him.

Integral's pressed her small hands against the television, her eyes wide as the camera jiggled unsteadily with the strides of the cameraman and saw her father lying down on the floor, blood splattered over his white shirt.

"Hellsing has been shot. Alucard's longtime manager and trainer, Arthur Hellsing, has been shot!"

Pale hands trembled as she pressed her forehead against the screen, her throat tightening, as she stared at her father who needed her right now.

She ran barefoot across the hall and into the nearest kitchen where she knew there was a phone. She shouted for the only other person she knew to be in the house.

"WALTER! WALTER!"

Skidding across the tile floor, she gasped when she saw that he was already on the phone, the small television in the corner replaying the same scene she just watched seconds ago in the living room. Of course he had been watching - he was Alucard's predecessor to the Hellsing name.

"Walter." She whispered.

He held up a finger towards her to be silent as he spoke sharply and none too kindly to the operator on the other line, something about speaking with the man's superiors if he didn't get a line to Alucard immediately. To hell with boxing match, to hell with security, Arthur Hellsing had been shot, and it was the casino's fault for not providing enough security.

The next morning, the national newspapers, which often had a history of overlooking the world of boxing for other sports such as soccer or football, or for god's sakes, hockey, had a splash colour page of the bout and a two page cover story to go with it. For the next week, Walter would buy all the major influential newspapers, and give them to her to read. She looked at every one of them.

They would not show Arthur Hellsing's bleeding body. They would not show his face.

Arthur Hellsing had been shot several times in the chest. It only took the first one to claim his life.

Integral Hellsing and Walter C. Dornez used a private plane to fly to Las Vegas. Walter kept constant watch over the media and the phone lines as Integral Hellsing waited for news of her father. He was going to be safe, he was going to be fine; he would not leave his only daughter alone. He had a duty to protect her, he promised to teach her everything about boxing and when she was old enough, take her around the world to see the different places that he had traveled to with his prizefighters. He promised.

She could not lose another parent now.

"Miss Integra, Alucard wants to speak with you." Walter held out the phone to her. She snatched it up eagerly and cradled the receiver as if she were holding a small kitten. Taking a deep breath, she spoke. The fighter was more than just her father's moneymaker. He was a family friend. Bile rose in her throat.

"Alucard?"

"Integra." His voice was flat, unemotional. Almost in shock. Her mind raced. Please don't tell me. Please don't tell me.

"My father-" she started to say.

"I'm sorry, Integral." His voice issued the words she dreaded to hear, "but your father's dead."

She would remember that night as one of the most awful plane rides in her life. The flight from England to Las Vegas stretched out forever, and the heavy London rain didn't help to raise her spirits. They couldn't get out of England fast enough, and if Walter wasn't there to comfort her, young Integral was certain that she would surely die from heartbreak.

He would remember waiting for her outside on the casino grounds. He was still wearing his red and black shorts, with only his red fighter's robe to protect him from the bright glow of the evening moon. Under different circumstances, it would have been such a lovely night.

She would arrive by helicopter, her face deathly pale and her eyes bloodshot from crying, jumping from the vehicle before Walter was able to give her a hand down. She wobbled a little unsteadily on the cement, a heavy coat around her shoulders despite the warm desert air, her yellow summer dress peeking out from the folds, and their eyes met.

And then she was swarmed by people: friends of her fathers in the boxing organization, the men who served as Alucard's seconds, the cameramen, casino security, they all crowded around her and threatened to drown her with questions until Walter placed one hand on the small of her back and the other in front of them, shielding her from further interrogation. But it was Alucard who whispered to her when nobody was looking.

"Stay close to me," he said.

"I will." She answered.

Those in charge of the bout and the hotel emptied out the arena as soon as possible before panic and confusion got out of hand. They had done a fair job, Walter would credit them with that, but he would never forgive them. It could have been prevented. It should have been.

The match had been cancelled; others said it had been postponed indefinitely. It was not wise to continue, the spectators and the officials feared for their safety, and either way, the hotel would lose money. The issues was to get them all out and into protection. The entire floor where the bout took place was closed off – no one was allowed to enter or leave without the accompaniment of two security personnel. They stopped the casinos. The whole building was placed under lock.

Richard Hellsing was arrested within the hour.

They met Hugh Islands inside, another family friend. He gave his deepest condolences to young Integra and was sorry he could not prevent this tragedy from happening. They shook hands, and then he was led off for questioning.

Integral Hellsing walked into the arena, flanked on her right and left by both Walter and Alucard, surrounded by the casino's security personnel as well as the police. As young as she felt, she did not reach for anyone's hand, she did not want anyone's sympathetic looks; she just wanted to look upon the body of her father. There would be time to look upon the face of his murderer later on.

It was her first time to enter a high-profile boxing ring while it was in session, so to speak. She had only visited the ones in London, the places that Alucard frequented for his sparring sessions when he was outside of the manor's training grounds. Her father gladly allowed his daughter permission to watch after school, and only when she was finished with her studies.

This place was much bigger. There was dirt between the rows and the spectator's seats, and the occasional coat was left on the floor. As the entourage walked down the aisle, she saw the white towels on the floor, the water bottles for the fighters, the stools that they sat on during breaks. The judges' table was cluttered with scorecards and water.

Integral knew why the ring was left this way. They still had to take pictures and samples of the crime scene.

"Integra." Her face turned towards Alucard's. "You don't have to do this." His face gazed down at her and she knew that he was sorry for her loss. Walter watched this small exchange. Who would protect Arthur's daughter now? Who would raise her and see her grow into a young woman? What would happen to the school? What would happen to Alucard now? Walter looked away.

But young girl smiled at Alucard, blinking several times to prevent her vision from getting misty. He didn't have to worry. Everything would be all right.