Tacit
Disclaimer: Hellsing is property of Kouta Hirano; I don't profit from fanfiction.
A/N: Many thanks to Thess for her insight!
Tacit (adj.) 1. not spoken.
2. implied by or inferred from actions or statements.
3. not speaking; silent.
"Summer breeze, makes me feel fine! Blowing through the jasmine of my miiiind . . ."
"Police Girl, if you must sing, I suggest you do it where fewer people can hear you."
"Ahh!" Stopping dead in her springy step, Seras Victoria did a double-take, the barrel of her Halconnen swinging every which way as she automatically swiveled around to scan her surroundings. She saw only the grounds . . . she was on her way back to Hellsing Mansion after a session in the training facility unconnected to the main building. Then she realized belatedly that her master had been mocking her through telepathy, as he usually did. She scowled. Even now, she wasn't used to the way he would unexpectedly intrude into her thoughts.
"Master!" she yelled indignantly. "It doesn't even matter where I sing because you have no respect for the privacy of other people's heads!"
"True," said a deep, amused voice which seemed to come from immediately behind her. Seras spun around.
Alucard stood in front of her, his wide-brimmed hat tilted jauntily at an angle so that its shadow fell over his face. His tinted glasses reflected the dying sun and his white teeth flashed; these were the only parts of his face Seras could see.
"And I think I sing pretty well!" she added, her wounded pride showing.
He chuckled darkly. "I'm beginning to think you're quite hopeless as a vampire."
"Hey!" She glared at him. "Don't you have anything better to do than stand around and insult me?"
They began walking towards the mansion.
"No," he answered flippantly. "I'm bored."
"Hmph."
Alucard flashed one of his winsome, toothy grins. "So, how was training?"
"Not bad." Seras beamed. "I'm making a lot of progress."
"I'll be the judge of that," Alucard said amusedly.
Seras sniffed.
"Oh, and Master . . ." Her voice trailed off. Alucard turned to her when she did not continue.
"Yes?"
"Since you have more influence with Sir Integra," she said slowly, "could you tell her to stop working so hard and take a break? She won't listen to any of us!"
"I don't have any influence over Miss Hellsing," Alucard demurred, puzzled. "I'm only her servant. And why should I tell her to stop training? We need to at least have a fit leader or Hellsing is over," Alucard said pointedly.
Flushing, Seras responded, "Well, Sir Integra caught a cold after last night's mission, and now she has a fever. We were waiting to ambush those vampires in Liverpool for over three hours outside, and the sea breeze was really strong. And she wasn't wearing enough; she never wears a coat."
That would explain her wan complexion when he'd seen her in passing after breakfast. The previous night Alucard hadn't been with them, because he had been out late disposing of a small problem in Bath.
"A fever? That might indeed be troublesome," Alucard mused.
"And you know Dr. Trevellian is on leave right now. He might have been able to convince her, but now that he's gone, there's only you."
They entered the front doors of the mansion.
"Trevellian will be returning this evening," Alucard said dismissively. "I'm sure Miss Hellsing's condition does not require immediate attention."
"But Master . . . since you have nothing to do . . ."
Alucard looked down at her. "Very well. I will try to exercise whatever . . . influence I have over Miss Hellsing. Thank you for telling me—Seras."
Seras flushed again, this time with pleasure at her master's use of her given name. "Of course, Master! And now, I need to go take a bath, because, uh . . ." Her voice trailed off again, and she scratched her neck embarrassedly. The fact that she sweated like a human was just another of the things Alucard had pointed out to her as one of her failings.
"Run along, then," Alucard said indulgently. He smirked as he watched her dash off with her typical energy. The police girl had a strange crush on him, he knew: it was a blend of reverent adoration for a father figure, and attraction to his danger and power. It amused him more than anything else. She was not pressing about it, and he was sure she would grow out of it. In fact, he felt slightly flattered.
Emotions were odd things, inherently foreign to his nature. Although, it seemed of late that . . . no, Alucard shook his head and started up the winding staircase to Integra's study.
He entered and stood in the middle of the room.
If he paused and held very still, with a bit of focus, he could hear the echoing gunshots all the way on the other side of Hellsing mansion; even through the soundproofed walls of the artillery range.
It was late. He walked over to mullioned window of Integra's study and looked at the position of the moon. He recalled with a laugh her greenish countenance that morning. For such determination, at least, he had to allow a grudging respect.
Alucard sent forth a questioning tendril of thought, and found her just as he had imagined: sweating and weak-kneed before a target, but steadily firing round after round at the bull's-eye.
"Feeling the burn, Miss Hellsing?"
She scowled at the sudden intrusion of his voice in her concentration. She managed to keep count, however, as she fired the last of a round with her right hand. Then she reloaded and began shooting with her left.
"Invalids should take care."
She ignored this jibe and thought, Wait for me in my study. We have business to discuss.
"As you wish."
Oh, and, she added hastily, tell Walter to brew some tea.
"Chamomile," Alucard anticipated, laughing. "It shall be done."
Sir Integra Hellsing blew a strand of platinum hair out of her face, muttering, "That bloody vampire knows me too well."
Alucard leaned back in Integra's handsome leather-backed chair, legs propped up on her desk. He transferred his efforts toward locating Walter, and once he had him in his sights, he placed Integra's order for a pot of tea and requested a serving of transfusion blood for himself.
Fifteen minutes later, Walter entered bearing a silver tray.
"Good evening, Alucard," he greeted him, setting the tray on the desk. "Where is Miss Hellsing?"
Alucard reached for the pouch of blood. "Finishing her shooting practice. She should be here soon."
"She works too hard."
"So I've told her."
Walter chuckled. "Take care of her, friend. I am busy tonight."
Alucard waved his hand. "You know I exist solely to serve my master," he said dryly.
Walter gave him one last grin and departed, closing the door with a snap.
Alone, Alucard drained the pouch of medical blood and waited. Five minutes later, the lady in question appeared.
Alucard surveyed her critically. She had taken a quick shower and wore blue-striped pajamas under a loosely draped bathrobe fastened haphazardly at the waist. He wasn't accustomed to seeing her in such casual attire. She looked exhausted and ill.
"Alucard."
As she approached, she brought a faint smell of almond-scented soap—a fragrance he approved of because it wasn't overtly floral, and it replaced the stink of the sweat from her workout.
His keen nose twitched, and he would have contracted his nostrils if he could, in order to block out the scent which followed on the heels of the almond-smelling soap.
But he couldn't, and it overwhelmed his olfactory nerves like the tide breaking upon a sand castle. Ageless vampire though he was, he was infinitely grateful for the chair beneath him, because if he had been standing, his knees would have buckled.
He smelled blood.
Alucard closed his eyes briefly, trying to master himself.
Only a very extraordinary sort of blood could provoke such a reaction from Alucard.
He was bound to the blood of the Hellsings, and the power it held over him lent a richness and potency to its flavor that he could not find anywhere else.
Furthermore, the blood of virgins always excites monsters tremendously.
Alucard pressed his knuckles to his forehead, and he was transported in time, across a decade . . .
He had been utterly devoid of sensation and thought for twenty years. When he dimly sensed the disturbances in his sealed chamber, his mind began to stir. There were voices . . . screams . . .
Blood.
His eyes snapped open, and he gained full lucidity in an instant. Several men were waving guns around, and light, painful to his long-closed eyes, streamed in through the warded door that hadn't opened in years. A girl lay crying in front of him, but most importantly of all, she was bleeding!
His latent hunger woke with full force, and using his withered limbs to strain at his bonds, he leaned forward to a burgundy pool gleaming in front of him. His hair fell about his face. Extending his tongue its full six inches, he lapped at the abundance of his uppermost desire. He reveled in its glorious color, its sensual warmth, and the exceptional flavor which told him this was no ordinary blood. It sent a jolt of energy flooding through his body.
The blood stimulated his brain, and the pieces fell together. This blood—virgin and sweet—was the blood of a Hellsing!
He looked at the defiant, desperate girl in front of him and recognized his master.
That was the only time he had ever tasted Integra's blood. Alucard knew that if he dwelled on it, it would drive him mad. He was unlikely to drink it ever again. The servant had never been meant to feed on the master.
But he was made painfully aware of his longing again, three years later.
He had dropped down from the ceiling of her office one morning to find her in a wretched mood.
"Walter!" she yelled. "You call this tea? This is swill for pigs!" And she had dashed the offending liquid on the floor. The poor butler apologized repeatedly, kneeling to clean the spill.
Such a temper, even at sixteen.
But there had been a reason behind her foul disposition.
"Alucard!" she growled, upon seeing him. "Unnatural thing! Can't you sleep in your coffin during the hours of daylight and save all the grief you cause me for the night?"
"A devoted servant is at his lady's beck and call every minute of the day," he replied facetiously, grinning. It was going to be so much fun to needle at her when she was already this mad.
Then his eyes widened behind his glasses. Blood!
And quite a lot of it.
As his senses roared to life like a bonfire, he scrutinized Walter and Integra for wounds. Walter looked fine, and besides, he recognized this scent . . . it was definitely virginal Hellsing blood. Perhaps an injury would explain Integra's aggravation. Alucard opened his mouth to ask about it, when he realized exactly what was happening.
Sir Integral Wingates Hellsing was now a woman in the fullest sense of the word.
Though it had been a long time since he'd needed to be familiar with human biological systems, he remembered that sixteen was a rather late age to begin menstruation. He smirked. Integra's ill humor was nothing more than commonplace PMS.
Then Alucard realized that he'd have to deal with this enticement for at least four days every month. He would have groaned internally if he hadn't been looking forward to it.
He inhaled deeply and trembled imperceptibly with hunger, or lust. Mixed in with the blood was more solid, substantial material . . . thick maroon endometrium. Flesh is to vampires what brandy is to drinkers who can't hold their liquor: tempting, but entirely too overwhelming. Blood alone was sufficient for Alucard's needs, so the richness of the scent of the tissue also flowing from Integra drove him wild.
He couldn't tell whether he wanted to bite her or fuck her. Possibly both.
He changed his mind. He was not looking forward to practicing abstinence from temptation on a monthly basis—especially as he had so little experience with the virtue.
Life had gone on, and Alucard had so far refrained from acting on impulse. But instead of fading, the attraction grew. He had thought that the lure of her monthlies would diminish as he grew accustomed to it, but it had increased to the point where he now had to be seated whenever she entered a room with blood pooling between her legs. Like now.
"Master," he said, returning to the present and reciprocating her cool greeting. "You're very weak at this time, and you know it. Stop putting yourself at risk."
"I'm touched that you care," Integra retorted, standing in front of her desk. Her voice was hoarse from her illness.
"I wouldn't want the head of Hellsing incapacitated, would I? It would mean an end to being sent on delightfully bloody missions involving the slaughter of my kindred."
"About that," she said distastefully, muffling a cough, "there's been a spate of child abductions in Northern Ireland lately. It's causing an uproar. Vampires may be involved. It's just like them to prey on the young and helpless. Go and investigate, will you?" She was leaning on the table, eyes trained on him.
"Very well," he acceded, affecting a tone of weary boredom.
She raised her eyebrows. "And get out of my chair."
"Whatever the lady wishes." He rose with alacrity. "Shall I pour you a cup of tea also?" His tone was mockingly eager.
"Yes," Integra said, without missing a beat. She sank into the chair with a groan.
Alucard watched her amusedly out of the corner of his eye as he poured the steaming tea. He wouldn't ever have admitted it, but he enjoyed her presence and their banter immensely. He'd argue that perhaps he had just grown accustomed to her—to her filthy cigars, her explosive temper, and her blue eyes behind round glasses. The other half of him would point out smugly that in a hundred or so years of service, he'd never grown accustomed to any of his Hellsing masters.
After all, he was a vampire. He didn't need anybody.
Well, he certainly didn't need Integra Hellsing. But he couldn't deny that he took pleasure in her company. She was intelligent (she had been quite a precocious child, as he knew firsthand), tenacious as hell, and if you swallowed her—as Alucard had oft been tempted to— she'd go down like steel wool and scratch your throat raw. He admired that.
Leaning in the chair, she massaged her temples. Her glasses slipped down to the end of her nose.
Alucard wordlessly handed her the tea (two sugar cubes and a single dash of cream, just the way she liked it), and she took it in both hands.
He surveyed her as she drank. Integra wasn't a paragon of femininity by any definition, but the sharp lines of her face and the pale sheen of her loose, long hair held a certain appeal. You could see a fighter in every angle of her square shoulders, he noted. She was a survivor, and she survived like she waged war.
Unexpectedly, she lowered her cup and met his eyes over the rim of her glasses. He averted his glance, feeling even as he did so that he was incriminating himself.
"Why are you staring at me?"
"I was wondering whether you had any more orders for me, my master." A touch of annoyance that she had caught him staring entered his voice and roughened it.
He coughed slightly to clear his throat.
"No, I haven't." Alucard looked away, feigning disinterest. "Why don't you read this?" She tossed him a booklet. "It's quite interesting. It involves vampire sex." Her tone was mocking, challenging, even amused.
At the word "sex," he snapped to attention. Sex was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her right now. Except maybe for eating. His eyes were uncharacteristically round behind his glasses. Integra nodded pointedly at the booklet. Swallowing hard, Alucard picked it up.
" 'A Study of Vampire Sexuality in Literature,'" he read aloud. "Sounds fascinating. Where did you get this?"
She grinned, a sight some found intimidating. "One comes across these things in our line of work. You'll find it amusing, I hope. It has the usual 'biting as metaphor for intercourse' rot, though the writer also has several original ideas." She sneezed. Alucard ducked.
"Amusing," he repeated, recovering and arching an eyebrow.
"Draw up a chair and read."
He sighed melodramatically. "If you insist."
"If you don't like it, you ought to drop the author a line." She smiled and picked up a book of her own.
Resigning himself, Alucard got a chair and began to read.
" 'Driving a stake through the heart equals penetration'? Bullshit!" he muttered to himself. Bram Stoker was a pathetic, misguided man.
He noticed Integra glaring at him halfway through the pamphlet.
"What is it?"
"Don't turn the pages so loudly!"
He'd nearly forgotten she was having her period. Oh, he was going to have great fun with her mercurial moods. One corner of his mouth twisted upwards, and he began to flip the pages with greater enthusiasm. He even took to interjecting "hm" and "ah" frequently during his reading, delighted with the scowl on Integra's face.
A particularly interesting passage seized him again, however, and he forgot to annoy Integra. When he read another, ridiculous paragraph, he looked over at her, ready to make a derogatory comment about it. She had fallen asleep.
What was he to do? He couldn't leave her here; he could call Walter, but really . . . it would be easiest for him to carry her himself.
Alucard thrust the booklet into his pocket; he wanted to finish reading it. Telling himself he wasn't indulging himself, merely helping his master, Alucard stooped and lifted her easily from the chair. Cradling her in his arms, he made his way to the door. He had a little trouble there. He needed to open the door with one hand, and he was strong enough to hold her in the other, but she simply wouldn't fit in the curve of only one arm. Only after a bit of wrestling did he get her in a feasible position and open the door.
Apparently the jostling had disturbed her, because she cracked an eye open.
"All right there, big boy?"
"I'm just fine, Master," he replied crossly.
Integra closed her eyes, smiling. "Alucard," she said. "Don't think I haven't noticed you get all testy when I'm menstruating."
Alucard's left eye twitched. Damn the woman.
As he walked up the stairs, Integra's head dropped to the side, and the veil of white blonde hair that had covered her face fell back. This resulted in the complete exposure of her throat, which was not helped by the fact that she had left the top button of her pajamas undone. Usually covered as it was by that ascot and the hateful crucifix, the rare sight of her bare neck undid him. He paused in his tracks, baffled by this new development. Alucard tried to tell himself that the fragile beating of her pulse in the hollow of that slender throat meant nothing to him. It resembled nothing so much as the beating of a butterfly's wings. His grip on Integra tightened automatically, and she shifted, groaning.
Shaking his head, Alucard loosened his hold and continued walking. He couldn't let this wretched slip of a girl wreak such havoc on his composure.
He refused to think of her as a woman.
"It's just an animalistic response," he told himself. "Purely physical."
But what sort of justification was that? How could he, who prided himself on his physical strength and endurance, cave in so easily to such a very simple lure?
Damn it, his canines were twitching.
He'd hit closer to the truth than he'd thought when he had told Anderson "only men can defeat monsters." Yet he had not been wholly accurate.
Sir Integral Hellsing was a rather perverse member of the female species, remarkable only for the difficulty one had in dealing with her . . . and she brought the mighty Alucard to his knees.
Scowling at his burden, Alucard stalked through the dimly lit corridor to her bedroom. He wrested the door open with much of his former struggle, and entered, depositing Integra on the bed.
A fire was burning merrily in the hearth, no doubt the work of the reliable Walter. A pitcher, a cup, and a cloth lay on the table in front of the fireplace, probably left by Walter as well.
Alucard turned back to Integra, whom he had set down rather carelessly, with the result that her legs were doubled up underneath her and her shoulders were awkwardly inclined. Snarling a little, he strode back to her, scooped her up, and pulled the sheets back. This time, mindful of all her limbs, he laid her down again and covered her up. He bent over and plucked off her glasses, which flashed once, reflecting the firelight, before he set them down on the bedside stand.
He settled in a plush green armchair by the fire and continued reading the bizarre treatise. Shortly after, however, he was interrupted by faint moaning sounds emitting from the bed. Clenching his teeth in exasperation, he glanced over at Integra, who was sweating profusely and tossing her head fitfully.
Oh. Of course. How stupid of him; she had a fever! Alucard wet the towel with cool water from the pitcher and poured some into the glass as well. He mopped up Integra's forehead and the cold cloth seemed to comfort her. He left the glass on her bedstead without bothering to help her drink it: she could perfectly well drink it herself, and even if he was taking unusual pains over her wellbeing, he certainly wasn't going to be reduced to some anxious mother hen.
Then he realized that she was still wearing the terrycloth bathrobe. Humans didn't normally sleep in so many layers, did they? He had yet another jaw-clenching moment as he decided he would have to remove it.
Flinging her blankets back, he raised her upper body as gently as he could. Integra didn't like to be touched, and he didn't want silver bullets embedded in his skull tomorrow because, even though they were essentially harmless to him, they hurt.
He lifted a leg to sit on the side of her bed so he could lean her against his chest as he untied the belt at her waist. His hands went to her neck to open her collar and slide the sleeves off her shoulders, and he accidentally brushed the tender, feverish skin there. Oh, but she was warm. He could feel her even through his gloves. Her natural contrast to his non-existent body heat was accentuated by her fever.
From her lack of response, Alucard was sure Integra hadn't felt anything, but as he was removing her left arm from its sleeve, she opened an eye.
"Alucard," she muttered. "I'll break your fingers if you're clumsy enough to wake me again."
Despite himself, Alucard smirked. "Yes, Master."
He tossed the bathrobe over to a hat stand near the door, and it landed neatly on a hook. Finally satisfied with his master's condition, he returned to the booklet and resumed.
Alucard's preternatural senses, which were always alert, detected a door opening somewhere in the mansion, and a gust of cold wind blowing inside. Someone had entered by the front door, and when he concentrated, that someone turned out to be the good doctor he was expecting.
"Dr. Trevellian," Alucard said to the doctor through telepathy. The doctor started a bit, then realized who it had to be talking to him. "Come to Miss Hellsing's room immediately. She is ill."
"I'm coming," said the doctor, face clouding with concern. "Please wait."
Alucard snorted and turned back to the booklet once again. Once he had finished, he looked over at Integra, who appeared to be slumbering peacefully.
The sight raised a storm within him which went down rather painfully. Alucard bit down on his lip fiercely to quell his raging desire to consume his master, and lurid drops of blood sprang to the surface of his skin. Licking his lip, he turned his gaze to the window. A full moon presided high in the sky, and its attendant stars beckoned to him. Inky clouds floated by, obscuring each of the constellations Orion, Virgo, and Ara in turn. He knew the night sky intimately, even as a lover knows his mistress' body.
Hunter. Virgin. Altar. But who would ultimately be the sacrifice at the altar, the hunter or the virgin?
No, he refused to think about it.
The night seemed to be calling him.
"It's a beautiful night," he murmured, staring outside.
He cast one last glance at Integra's sleeping form and whispered, "Get well, my master," before disappearing from the room. He was not sure if his tone was mocking or sincere. He wasn't sure what he wanted it to be.
Alucard didn't see the smile Integra directed at his back, nor the look of wistful desire contained in her sleepy, half-opened eyes.
A/N: This is my first Hellsing fanfiction, so constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged!