Title: Our Father
A/N: Just a simple bit of Father Anderson fluff. This shows the softer side of our favourite killer paladin. XD
Disclaim: I really don't own.

Maxwell glanced over at his paladin. Anderson was hovering on the edges of the normal museum traffic, consisting of old people and bored high school students. It wasn't all that hard to spot the tall blonde, especially in his flowing cassock. Small children were milling about him, tugging on the paladin's gloved hands and cassock, talking excitedly. Anderson's eyes just crinkled behind his glasses with a great grin.

Anderson really was a great father, Maxwell would have to give the priest that.

In such a serene setting, Anderson was completely different. Maxwell knew the paladin could kill without a notion, seeing the deaths necessary to complete his divine mission from the Lord, Jesus Christ. He had seen Anderson crept back into Rome splattered in blood, clutching the long, wicked bayonets, and grinning manically.

But this Anderson was simply a loving father figure of small Catholic orphans.

A pair of boys chased each other just behind the paladin on silent feet; Anderson simply reached behind himself, grabbing the boys as they passed him. He held onto their shirts and bent down to look at them with a loving, yet stern expression. "Now boys, this is ah reward fer being good. Do ye want tah ruin it fer everyone?" The boys looked up at him with bashful expressions, shaking their heads. Anderson's hands ruffled the children's hair before waving them off.

One dark haired little girl crept up beside Anderson, leaning against his thigh in a tired way. Without any hesitation, the paladin swept the small girl up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Her head slumped back against his shoulder as Anderson held her softly.

Motion stirred Maxwell's attention from the heart-rendering scene of Anderson and the newest orphan, Bly, just in time to see Sir Integral Hellsing sneak into the museum followed by her dog.

The look on the blonde's face was priceless, and Maxwell chuckled softly. Hellsing snuck over to him, still casting glances toward Anderson. Alucard, on the other hand, seemed unafraid as he sidled right up next to the paladin to look at the same piece of artwork, his long coat touching the paladin's cassock.

He motioned to the seat across the table from himself, which Hellsing took slowly. "Is this how your killer priest is at home?" Maxwell let his attention vary back to where the two monsters were talking civilly; Anderson's cheeks had bunched, his eyes crinkled in a large smile. The paladin looked truly happy. "Yes. The orphans are his life, his heart. The punishment of the damned and those who oppose God is just his divine mission."

Anderson turned to regard him and Hellsing, still smiling amiably, as if to check on the whole situation. Maxwell knew if he were to snap his fingers, the whole civil setting would soon disappear into vicious traditions. He decided to let the sense of serenity continue unbroken. He smiled back at the paladin, who nodded and turned his attention back to the painting.

Hellsing gave him a look. "You're not going to sic him on us?" Maxwell smiled, shrugging lightly. "What's the point? He would be loathe to do so anyway; the children rarely get to go anywhere, let alone leave the city of Rome. Getting into a fight would end the field-trip, and then Father Anderson would be a bitter wolf rather than a loyal dog."

Maxwell flinched sharply as the words left his lips, as his gaze drew over to where the paladin was still holding the small girl to his chest, now surrounded by all the young boys and girls. To all of those orphans, Anderson was the mainstay in their life, aside from God. "I understand," Hellsing said softly, her hand tentatively touching Maxwell's where it lay on the table. "It is best to keep our pets happy lest they decide to bite."

Anderson's eyes slitted in a smile as his head cocked to the side as if all was right with the world, surrounded by small children and holding a conversation with a vampire. As if Millennium wasn't making half-assed monsters in an attempt to create a never-ending war. As if the Protestants weren't slowly, but surely wiping the Catholic religion from the fore of the religious front. As if Anderson wasn't the Vatican's pet monster. Perhaps, in this museum, in this one place in all the world, it is safe. Perhaps, the war can not reach into us here, Maxwell thought softly as he stared at his pet. It had been so long since Anderson had lost his humanity, so long since the paladin had glowed with life and happiness. Perhaps, we can linger here just a little while longer...

A/N: Okay, so there at the end, italics are Maxwell's thoughts...in case you didnae catch that! XD I like it...the humanity of it all. Purely fluff.