A/N: More than anything this is an experimental piece, both lore and style wise. Slight warning here though; Walter is a fucking asshole in this… there's also some… mutual dub-con (wait… what? xD) and some serious sensitive-topic study for Seras, if you can stomach it. As a side note, I just noticed that with the exception of Quid Pro, Quo, all my SxW thus far are (or aiming to be) smutty. Don't know how I feel about that tbh. Also, spot the references :D
snafu
(I)
past
IT HAPPENED ALMOST a little too fast. Slowly at first, agonizingly slow, then all at once. She wonders, looking back on it, if perhaps she'd subconsciously initiated it; all of it.
He was brought to them, miraculously alive; Alucard never finished the job. Something changed just before he could; Integra told him to stop, so he did. The reason? Because the chip was involved. So they held on to hope, to control, and kept him around; Walter C. Dornez. Even against his will, or his seeming lack of sympathy and even reluctance. Sir Integra had a good firm grip on him and she wasn't going to let him go; if only just to have another body in the masses of Hellsing. He knew too much and killing him would be an undeserving mercy. So like a dog, he was kept on a leash, and he made his distaste clear, much to Alucard's amusement. Everyone else avoided him like the black plague; rightly so, because anyone who dared to even look his way was met with murderous-intent filled eyes, and a promise of a slow death.
He wasn't the butler anymore, obviously, but he was around enough to make her believe in the beginning that he was at least still part of the staff. Despite not wearing the attire as a butler, merely slacks and a long sleeve button up, Seras pretended that he was just having a hard time adjusting, that maybe he feels guilt gnawing on him for what he did; he's redeemable, he was here and it was okay. And after her many stares and curious gazes thus far, she wanted to offer kindness where he's been lacking. She greeted him when they cross in the hallways, just once. 'Hi Walter!' she'd said, raising a hand to wave, tone genuine and hopeful, a sheepish smile.
That was her first mistake.
She was left frozen in place, nearly shaking; for the intensity of the loathe was unlike anything she'd ever seen possible on a mortal, let alone a bootleg-vampire and especially Walter. It only lasted a second, but he'd already been looking away and was across the hall when she came to. Alucard had been watching, and he manifested just to shake his head and laugh at her naivete. 'When will you learn, Police Girl, that not everything is so easily fixed with a smile?' They weren't close, not really; they shared teasing chatter, and sometimes the old butler would reminisce on something from his past, but nothing else. She tried to remember the soft look he gave her when she'd told him to take care of herself, tried to hang on to that image for just one more second… but then breaks it.
Because from that moment, Seras decided she hates Walter C. Dornez. She hated him and she doesn't give a flying damn if he hates her too, or who he used to be. He could wallow in his self-hate for what he brought on upon himself; serves him right. That's the one attribute that nearly everyone mistakes her with; she's not all smiles and kindness, because when she's wronged or treated piss-poorly, Seras Victoria can be quite nasty in turn.
After that, she held her chin just a little higher around him. Her jaw would clench but she didn't look away if she needed to look his particular way. She'd practice her stoic face in the mirror, and nod in satisfaction when she got better at controlling the muscles on her face. At that point, Seras was still Seras; just with the exception of a bloody goat in the manor. Whatever; she wasn't going to let that get her down. His misery didn't need to bleed to her. For the most part, she was able to cope just fine; missions went well, she still socialized with Hellsing's soldiers and staff, and she'd still drink her blood bags in the comfort of her own room.
The second mistake came not too long after; she had to bring her Harkonnen to Walter for maintenance after a shoddy performance during a rather messy mission. She had basic maintenance knowledge for her regular handguns as a police officer but not for a bloody anti-talk rifle. Wordlessly, she placed it on the table one night; whether he'd ignored her when she came in or just noticed, she didn't care. Curiously, he'd given a little jump and tensed, almost as if he were nervous; must have been because he'd been so focused on taking a firearm apart. She was a little rude, just placing it like that, but she couldn't find it within herself to spare sympathy.
He glared at her and she scooted the rifle closer. "It needs some cleaning, and some maintenance." she said, and she was already out the door for the last bit, "Or I could report to Sir Integra; I don't think she wants any sloppy work." She'd felt his eyes burning the back of her skull, but she smiled regardless, finding that she liked holding things over his head because he couldn't do jack shit otherwise. Her fine hearing indicated to her he'd thrown the gun he was working on right at the door as she closed it. She allowed herself to feel a little guilty, and so when she came to the weapon's lab back a few hours later, she apologized and murmured an honest 'thank you' as she starts to take her rifle.
He gripped her wrist and though he was weak in comparison to her, even she can acknowledge the strength behind such a hold; if she were mortal, he'd have shattered it. "You're beneath me. Do not address me as such..." It sounded like he'd say more and she anticipates it, but then his mouth thinned as if changing his mind.
A coldness crept up her spine, and despite the fact that it stung, it angered her more. He hadn't let go, and waited. There's a hundred and one things she could have said to him and rightly so. His hold had become tighter and her eyes were drawn to the light bruising of her skin. She wanted to break his hand, and she almost did, but stopped herself when she thought of Sir Integra; instead, she rammed her foot to his stomach. It was a swift and precise movement; it would have killed him if he were mere human, but instead he just slid a good distance, heels skidding.
"And you don't get to bark orders, traitor. Do not touch me. Next time I won't be so bloody nice." He said nothing amid the humiliation and hot anger, but the eyes burn in wretchedness; he didn't have the stomach to look at her. The violent heart of hers pounded into her skull; she pretended not to feel Alucard's smirk from beyond the shadows.
After that, there was more hostility in the air than ever; more than when Integra or even Alucard had faced off against their respective foes. Surprisingly, when you can't stand the sight of someone, you end up seeing them everywhere. They ran into each other more, somehow, despite both of their attempts not to; she would argue that he'd approached her on purpose, and he'd argue that she was just a pain in the ass. It was only funny if you were Alucard, and annoying if you were Integra; for anyone else, whenever the two were in a room, it was no different than a lion and a tiger just waiting for the other to go for the jugular. Now this time, whenever they had to cross paths, it was a death match; in retrospect, Seras thought it was the funniest thing to have ever happened between her, Alucard's former fledgling, former police girl and Draculina and him, Hellsing's former loyal butler, former master vampire hunter and treasonous traitor.
The old dog and the new girl; let the two of us make a perfect pair.
She only found it funny because it hurt. Weeks passed until Seras began to tire of the whole thing; she kept it up though, because seeing him was like a trigger. She couldn't stand it; before, perhaps, but after treating her like a nuisance and not even having the decency to just… not be so hostile, it left her bloodstream boiling.
One night, she'd been wandering the manor.
She had been wanting to restock her blood bag supply for her small pantry, and on her way back she'd wandered into one of Hellsing's various libraries; part of her new she wasn't supposed to, but as always, curiosity always got the better of her. She'd been fingering the spines and grabbed one at random; to her surprise, there were old photographs, black and white and everything. Making sure to take deliberate care, she only barely touched the pages. Her eyes had landed on a boy, around fifteen, looking haughty. Her eyes narrowed in slight interest, and kept flipping through the pages.
She'd see the boy again and again, smirking or even pouting, but almost always with the formal attire. He was growing older, more mature, until her breath nearly escaped her lungs at another photograph; the boy had grown into Walter. Still with same clothes, more or less, and near identical in face and expression as the butler she came to know… well, with the exception as he was now, to the one she's grown to hate. Her heart sank; so, this indeed is Walter. But there was a difference; his expression was more… youthful somehow. Probably because he was genuinely young and not artificially rejuvenated. He looked just a little bit thinner, and his eyes were darker; even his hair looked different somehow. Despite her own conscious thoughts, her thumb and pointer fingered the face of the image; she was struck with such bafflement and confusion and bewilderment.
At that point… did he know he was going to betray Hellsing? How long had he been planning this? She gulped, as if an invisible hand seizing her heart. She looked at the photo, as if Walter from the past would answer. Perhaps he'd always been this way, if he'd plan on betraying Hellsing for bloody sixty years. She scoffed, shook her head and slammed the photo album, suddenly feeling a wave of disgust for the audacity of this man; betraying everything just to… what? Prove something? She tiptoed to put the book back, suddenly very tired. She breathed out a laugh, a thought coming to her. "Huh, maybe he just had a hard on for Alucard this whole time. That would certainly put everything into perspective—"
"What are you doing?" A shadow loomed over her though, and because she'd been so distracted she had only realized it until it was far too late. Seras had all but flinched, body near spasming backwards and colliding with a sturdy chest; the album fell with a loud thunk! Hands firmly gripped her elbows, but she already knew who it was just from that voice alone. Her jaw slowly clenched, and they stood in silence.
"If you think that I'm going to allow you to lay so much as another finger on me—" the words didn't make much sense, and she meant to say that he'd better not get any further ideas. He only gripped tighter, but she stayed put just out of morbid curiosity.
"What were you doing?" he repeated, this time practically hissing at. No different than possibly a parent scolding their child; it grated on her nerves but what got her more pissed was the fact that he thought he was threatening.
"You see the bloody album, don't you? I was just looking," she jut her chin out, and then sucked her teeth, "Though, I have to say; based on the pictures, you've always been a real piece of work, eh, Walter? Just how long have you been pining over my master?" She let him spin her and shove her back until she hit the shelf, though surprisingly without much venom, but her hardened eyes glowed amused and her smirk was biting, trying not to laugh despite this wretched man. He was breathing fiercely through his nostrils and she could tell by his clenched fists he wanted to fight. And for some reason, Seras thought that served him bloody well; so she kept throwing wood at the fire. Maybe he would realize how stupid he truly acted. "Tell me something, Dornez; was it love at first sight, or was it a slow obsession?"
This was unlike her. She was being very rude and inconsiderate. She knew this; but she also knew that she was never truly the same after being bitten. In the back of her mind, she was absolutely confused to her sudden obsession with throwing Alucard into this. Part of it was morbid curiosity, and the other just really liked seeing Walter so frazzled like this; all because of a few words. She bent down to pick up the album, dusting it off and checking for any dents. Looking for the particular spot, she busied herself as if truly caring if the book was in the right place. "Perhaps you were mad you missed your chance? You got old, probably couldn't get it up anymore, eh?"
Despite it all, it became clear to her she was just trying to distract herself; her own hands clench, suddenly very upset and she suddenly dropped her charade. She pivoted to him, finger in the air, eyes crimson as her very blood. "What the bloody hell did you go and screw everything up for?! You were good and you did the right thing! You helped and you just threw it all away, and for what?! Because you were pining over a damn vampire? Because you were afraid of getting old? Because you didn't want to become obsolete?! What kind of logic is that, anyway? Pretty bloody contradictory to become a vampire for two seconds just so you can fight, only to die after!" She didn't push him and she didn't get any closer, but each sentence became louder and more confused than the last, her shadow arm responded in kind, growing in size and oozing sharp edges. It didn't take her long to realize that blood tears were running down her cheeks. She wiped them away harshly, no doubt staining the carpeted floors. "You're absolutely nasty and I regret ever having even fighting along your side Walter C. Dornez!"
She'd hoped it was enough to get him to think; that maybe, just maybe, it would make him apologize.
And then he had the audacity to smirk; it was twisted and full of spite and so wrong.
He licked his lips looked at her like she was an insect, like he could crush her under the heel of his boot at any moment and that is not what she wanted to happen. "That's a lot of talk, Seras Victoria. But you know," she couldn't point exactly when he'd started lighting a stupid cigar, or when he'd taken a couple of steps forward and why she'd let him, or even when he brought his face so near hers, "With all your talk on obsession, I'd say you're not far from the path yourself," she hadn't understood that in the least, and she only came to when she realized he'd started twirling a strand of blonde hair between nimble fingers. He blew smoke in her face, just lightly so; she wanted to flinch in disgust, but she didn't want to show any weakness, "Tell me something, Seras," he mocked her own words, "When did yours start? Was it when I showed all of you my new form in the streets of London? Or was it when I told you to take care of yourself? Perhaps it was even before my special surgery…?" he'd leaned closer to the shell of her ear to whisper directly, "Maybe you fancy old men who, as you said, can't get it up..."
He barely dodged out of the giant shadow hand as it slammed and utterly destroyed the shelves on the opposite side of the room. That wasn't just a random get off me gesture; that'd been a I'm going to murder you gesture. She'd penetrated the wall deeply, embedding herself; she turned to him, arm obscuring the lower half of her face. Her eyes were utter slits, glowing a bright and violent red amidst the darkness of the night within the manor. She bared her teeth, and Walter's smirk grew. Their eyes didn't waver, not when Seras adjusted herself, and not when Walter snubbed the cigar under his shoe. After a moment, she lunged, momentarily forgetting her person. His wires, though just regular thread as opposed to his usual regular ones, were already in position, interlacing between his fingers. He underestimated her a little though, because even though the wires had been maneuvered in a way to get her by the ankles, she'd already jumped high onto the air. The rest became a blur; they ended up out onto the hallways. She was covered in scratches from the wire, and his hair was near undone, face bleeding and bruised. But she hadn't wiped the smirk from his stupid face yet, and so she'd been all but determined to make the man cry.
The stood across each other, both having held pretty well despite everything. She lunged again, so intent with killing him; not even instantly, but wanting to mauling him. There were no words needed to be exchanged, she didn't want to exchange any words. So was it a surprise then, that he'd managed to get wires across her neck? Looking back, she decided it wasn't. Her eyes widened in surprise and she barely managed to see the quirk of his lips before she is pulled up along with her body. The near thinness of the wire made it seem like she was floating, and she realized he was doing it deliberately.
And then the bastard pulled his little finger.
Seras gasped and choked on a scream as the wire begun to dig further into her skin. Blood tears started to leak out in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't bothered to call for help or ask him to stop; she was not afraid of death, not after going through it once already. The only think keeping her alive and not choke her any further was the shadow tendril that served as her limb. It managed to seep through the loop of wire circling her neck just a moment before he pulled, and it held the thread from the neck just so she could breathe a little, even if she'd been sputtering.
She was scared.
But not of death, not of him, not of Walter himself; but scared that he was doing it to begin with. It was a strange thing to piece in her mind, because she wasn't scared of him, not the man himself. Hell, she gave him a run for his money. But just the fact that he would; that, apparently, she was just another stupid body to knock out, and it was stupid of her to think that she wasn't because she's only known the man for a year at most so why—? "W-Walter..." she finally sputtered and she hated herself right then because it looked like she was begging; she wasn't asking for help, she wanted to swear at him.
Abruptly, she was dropped to the ground, wires were dispersed everywhere, cut in half. It was Alucard who interfered.
"My, my; you two start a party like this, and don't invite me?" if her bleeding throat wasn't so sore, she would have told her former master to fuck off, but he turned to her, uncaring if she'd just collapsed and indifferent to her coughing, and although a smile was there, his eyes tell a different story. "I'm disappointed in your performance, Police girl," —oh, we're back to that? "Dignified Draculinas don't just lunge in battle with unbridled rage; you're supposed to have more tact than that, to be above such primitive impulses," and damnit she hated it when he did that because she would forget how much experience he has and— "On top of that, you actually let yourself be caught by such a foolish trap." She almost reminded him of his battle with Walter, but she thought about it and had a sharp tug in her chest that made her believe he wasn't referring to the threads.
Like a scolded student and without another word, she left to walk the path shame, tail between her legs. She didn't strain her hearing to decipher what he'd said to Walter; she wasn't interested in the words those two exchanged, and she wasn't exactly confident in Alucard vouching for her. Nevertheless, she picked up a few things: You damn old dog; preying on a fresh little Draculina now? and Who knew that's what it takes for you to get off. She spit blood in anger.
The consequences of her temper tantrum caught up to her when she arrived to her bedroom. Her heart wouldn't stop beating and she blamed it on the adrenaline of battle; her anxiousness about what Sir Integra would do when she found out about the destruction of the small library; the anger seeping through for him. She'd punched the mirror in her bathroom and was not in the mood to feed. She was frustrated and upset and so angry— and she also acknowledged that this was her fault. She'd goaded him, she could have just walked away. Even when she tried to comfort herself, telling herself that he started it by grabbing her in the first place, it did nothing to squelch her guilt. Her heart wouldn't stop thundering against her chest. She shakily fingered the sharp and fresh scratches against her throat, tears oozing in her eyes and—
—and she tried so desperately to ignore the welling heat growing between her thighs.
Her eyes had widened in realization, confusion and disgust; that night, she ended up destroying her coffin by throwing it against the wall, smashing into pieces, and so slept in the corner of her room, hunched over. The morning after, when Sir Integra summoned her about the incident, and the coffin, Seras only murmured Walter through clenched teeth and tightened fists, much to her curiosity and Alucard's entertainment.
Sir Integra didn't question her further on the matter, but she made is absolutely clear what she expected from her, from the both of them.
"I will not have another repeat of this incident; do I make myself clear? I don't damn well care who started it or who finished it; my house is not your battle ground and I shouldn't even talking to each of you two about this like children. You're a vampire and a capable one, but you are to stop antagonizing Walter," she hisses out, "Because whether you like it or not, he is still very much part of this organization; he's a traitorous bastard and a damn good one, but we have use for him. And we do not attack our own, am I understood?" Seras shakily swallowed her pride through ground teeth. Her eyebrows twitched and she remained silent, wanting to punch a window or a wall or something. Integra abruptly stood right then, slamming her hands against the desk and narrowing her eyes dangerously at Police Girl, "Seras Victoria, have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Sir Integra." She felt like she surrendered something in those words, but she wasn't sure what, "I understand your orders." Coincidentally, she ran into him once more just as she left the office, both coming from opposite paths, no doubt he too was summoned for questioning; she didn't bother looking at him and just barely angled herself so that she wouldn't even brush shoulders with him. Whether he noticed, or cared, was not in her interest.
A couple more weeks passed after that; the hostility was still there, but she made an active effort to subdue it, if only for her Master's sake and for herself, for her own sanity.
His words rang into mind, though; 'You as well.'
Did he truly mean that at the time? Why had he brought it up, thrown it back to her face?
'When did yours start?'
She would shake her head when those thoughts crept in, wanting nothing else than to banish them; so, trying to be an adult, she busied herself in any way she could and made an active effort to not run into him. Whenever she did see him, she would squelch the anger shooting up through her spine and avoid glaring. It took practice and much patience, but eventually, Seras would carry on as if she wasn't in presence of a former friend and traitor. She doubted he even cared; she was reluctant to admit, but he was right to some degree. She was being too personal with him; why the fixation? Once she asked herself that, everything else was easier to adjust. Out of sight, out of mind.
But then on another night, the fateful one, at an unholy hour, at an unholy place, everything changed. On the night of her birthday no less.
She'd been, for what seemed to be in a long time, absolutely happy that Saturday morning. Even as a human, she'd have a hard time to really enjoy herself; she'd always busy herself with her job, and if it wasn't that, it was just sitting at home watching the telly. That was all her life had amounted to, and when she was officially turned into part of the undead, it was missions left and right, blowing things up or killing ghouls. It was always intense and messy, but it was fine because it added excitement to her life. She'd woken up, however, feeling so refreshed and animated; perhaps it was because the weather was just beautiful, even though she couldn't fully appreciate it in the flesh it didn't mean she hated sunny days. After all, those were the ones she missed the most; perhaps it was because she'd been entrusted with the training of new recruits, and her efforts as supervisor and overseer were acknowledged; perhaps it was because a certain soldier, who was pretty cute, would give her gazes and looks. It made her feel normal, human, even, and she reminded herself that she indeed was still in her youth. Perhaps it was because Sir Integra may or may not have mostly given her birthday weekend off; still on call though.
And perhaps it was also because she stopped tainting herself with the poison that was The Angel of Death. But she didn't actively dwell on that fact; it was just there, and that was enough.
She awoke from her coffin with a smile, and she made her way down the hall to the kitchen dancing to a new single from a particular American boy band she fancied on her CD player; I never want to hear you say, she repeated the lyrics in her head, and hummed the tune out loud, I want it that way. She poured herself a cup of Earl Grey; her stomach flipped as the taste, but she likes tea so she adds drops of blood to make it less harmful. She may have had spotted Walter in the corner of her eye along with the other staff; she almost wanted to turn to look because she felt his stare, but she doesn't let her mood dampen, so she went on as if she didn't see a damn thing. She gave high fives to all the soldiers when she passed by the training grounds. She even greeted Sir Integra and Alucard with a sing song voice.
She'd begged for her birthday night off; nearly went on her knees to ask Sir Integra if she could go to a pub slash club merely fifteen minutes away. The woman was still as stone, but Seras could see in her eyes that she was conceding. After following her around for nearly a whole hour repeating please and 'it's my birthday, I'm going to be twenty' with her best pout and pair of puppy eyes, Integra snapped, fingers rubbing her temple.
"Enough Seras!"
"...please."
"Alright! Bloody hell. Just for tonight." Seras hadn't even jumped yet before her master pointed her finger, "But, there's going to be some rules, and I expect them to be followed thoroughly. Do not bring anyone here. Do not utterly smashed beyond repair. You will be back by a curfew; I want you resting here. Stay away from the pubs further along the edge of the city. Absolutely no drugs; your vampire body may be equipped for the worst, but I will not have so much as a wiff of any of that rubbish in this manor. Hellsing needs to stay in top condition; that includes you. You will report if paged. No casulties. Am I understood?" Seras was just happy and touched that for once in a very long time, someone was speaking to her almost like a real parental figure would. "I also will have you tracked in case you run into anything; but you're not a child, so I don't expect nor desire to be doting you." She considered it a miracle that Integra didn't stab her when she held her in an embrace for about two seconds. It was the small things.
Seras came out practically twirling from the office, and as consequence, she bumped into him again, genuinely by accident. She had stiffened for a second, but shrugged and continued on, uncaring if he was upset or not. As she walked away, she pretended not to feel his gaze burning into her skull, and focused on deciding what to wear for the night.
That was the prelude to the catalyst.
That night, the bar was crowded; it smelled of sweat, some sex and too many drinks. She loved it. Her body was now more equipped and stronger; getting drunk was not easy for her as it might have been, but it wasn't her intention to begin with. At most she got slightly buzzed, but she was a normal young woman tonight, so she danced with a little more sway and lolled her head to the side just to feel like part of the crowd, just for a little bit. She even met up with friends she hadn't seen since primary school; there were familiar faces, faces she didn't know, faces that annoyed her, and some that fancied her. She was idly sipping her margarita, twirling the minuscule umbrella and swaying softly to the music, and then would dance; rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. She kept checking her wrist watch and thanked heavens it was only 12 in the morning. The night, or rather morning, had just started.
Eventually, she became vaguely aware about a boy— no, a man. He was quite the looker; not too old, and definitely not too young. Eventually, they get chatty; one thing lead to another, a hand on her thigh, a giggle at a lame joke, a rub in the shoulder, a bite of the lips. Things began to get blurry, and before she knew it, they were outside just up in the alley; his hand was still on her thigh, and their pressed together. She wasn't as drunk as he thought she was, but she liked the motions of it; she liked being giggly and amorous, more so because she has the brawl to back it up if things became awry. She was invincible. He kissed her, sloppy and stinking like pure vodka and bloody mary. She was a virgin, but not a prude; she got handy too, enjoying it and pretending that, just for once, she was human again.
"You know," she says, between the light moans and the sloppy, buzzed necking, "I shouldn't say this, but I'm actually a vampire." The bloke was so utterly average and forgetful and normal that she couldn't even bother to really look at his face when it wasn't buried in her tits. He may as well have not existed, if only for the sake of her delusion. She meant that in a nice way, of course.
Michael McDoesn'tExist marginally tried to move his head, but Seras only gripped his hair and dug him to her chest again. "Are you really?" his speech was muffled, happily so, but it was very clear by the laugh that he didn't believe her.
She smirked, "Mmhmm, you bet," her mouth angled to his very delicious neck, licking the shell of his ear, feeling empowered and unstoppable, "Wanna see me bite? You look plenty tasty," she hoped that sounded sexy.
He laughed, and for just one second, she almost does, her fangs were ready and dripping with saliva. No casualties, Integra's voice rang loud and true in her mind, and she thought that perhaps, she wasn't as sober as she thought she was. She had enough sense to stop, blink, count to three, and slowly back her head away. Integra, she suddenly thought, and her pupils slit in panic. Oh bloody— what time is it?! She tried asking the guy, but he was busy doing other things, wonderful and funny things, to her neck and shoulders. When that hadn't worked, she tried to smack him half-heartedly, already getting lost in the bliss of first time dry sex against an alley wall. Ah, it probably isn't that late anyway. She closed her eyes, and was letting herself be ravished, even with the flimsy dress on. But no more than two seconds passed, and the comfortable and warm weight was torn off of her. She hadn't caught it in her bliss. When she turned in her bewilderment at the loss, her heart dropped in the pit of her stomach, and horrible, ugly reality was dumped on her like a bucket of ice.
Walter.
He had the man, —no, boy, she realized; especially when he was being held like that by him— "Leave. Now." Only two words, but they held such threatening promise that Michael immediately does so, stumbling away.
His gaze then snapped to her, and she felt a little exposed being caught like this, and just a little embarrassed and flustered. All this was replaced with sheathing white anger, and it threatened to breathe fire the moment she opened her mouth. "What the bloody—"
"You're passed curfew," he said, voice tight and peculiar. She didn't give a damn; she didn't even care about Sir Integra in that moment, because her trouble was no business of his. And as if he read her mind, "Sir Integra has asked me to look after you."
She was stilled, the familiar words that were exchanged when they were fist acquainted. "I don't believe you," she spat out while adjusting the stupid straps of her sparkly purple dress. She couldn't stand the look she was being given, like he was disappointed in her. Like he had any right to be, like he was the retainer of the Hellsing family all over again. His eyes raised skyward, just slight before her turned away. She didn't know why that bothered her.
"Believe or don't believe what you want. Regardless, you're coming to Hellsing. Sir Integra and Alucard are out on a special mission for tonight and tomorrow."
"I'm not going with you." He pulled out a cell phone, flipping it open in a beat; he was threatening to rat her out as if she was a child. "I don't care; call her. She knows me well, she wouldn't have dared to put me under your bloody care." Something in those words had bothered him because he looked up then, with that same peculiar, if slightly annoyed, gaze. She began walking away, finding her stilettos more annoying than ever. "Fuck this, I'd rather just have her yell at me."
Except, not really; they both knew this, and it was only a matter of minutes before she was walking behind him and into the car. The ride to the manor was silent. But there was tension too, and she felt like pouting. Wordlessly, she tried to slink back to her bedroom, stilettos in hand and her jacket over her shoulders. Right at the door of her daytime bedroom —because she definitely wanted a bed for tonight— he surprised her, albeit, unpleasantly. "So then, was that the goal for tonight?"
She knitted her brows in confusion, trying to piece together that question. "I… beg your pardon?"
"Sex," he said, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could appreciate this person; if had been anyone else at all, maybe… just maybe— he lit a cigarello, and leaned against the adjacent wall across her door in the small passage way. Curiously enough, she noticed he looked exhausted. Drained. "Was sex the main objective?"
His question was so out of place and awkward that he insulted her by at least not looking sheepish. She scrunched her nose and gave a shrug, "What's it to you? The goal was to enjoy myself on my bloody birthday." What business did he have asking her that, anyway? She would have to speak to Sir Integra in the morning; this was nonsense. She tried to turn away, but his incredulous scoff offended her, and feeling rather childish that night, she pivoted back to him. "Is there a problem?"
He took another drag, still smirking just ever so. "Nothing really; I just find it rather amusing. You're a vampire; it just made me think how you're trying to take advantage of the time you have left in genuine youth before experiencing true undead life."
The next bit came out almost automatically, "Yes, well, what with your wonderful example, I realized why not take advantage?" his slight scowl pleased her, "Besides, in my case especially, I am to remain in my true, unbridled youth for as long as I remain alive. It must be dreadful to only be a fraction of what you were then; even with the amazing Nazi science, you still manage to look so broken."
The conversation clearly hadn't gone to the direction he wanted; he nearly crushed the cigarello in his hold. "What is your problem?" he hissed, "What's the fixation? What's with the obsession you have?"
She was so baffled, so utterly in disbelief, that she couldn't help give him all her attention. "My problem? My problem? Obsession? What the—? You're bloody delusional, utterly incorrigible! How dare you even insinuate such nonsense!"
"You've been nothing but utterly expectant of me ever since I came here."
"I tried to be nice to you the first time we crossed paths, Walter; you looked like you wanted to bloody murder me on the spot for even saying 'hi' to you! You bloody choked me with your stupid wires!"
To her surprise, he agreed. "Yes, I did glare at you! You wouldn't exactly be on board with an organization taking you back against your bloody will in addition to everyone ostracizing you! Pardon my lack of fucking manners! And excuse me from defending myself!"
"Do not—! Are you—? You betrayed us! You betrayed Hellsing! Because of a stupid vendetta! Because of a child squabble that you couldn't let go of! And you started it!" she wanted to tear her hair out, "You cannot possibly stand by your decision. Surely you've realized that already!" When she saw a muscle in his jaw tick, she was done and rolled her eyes, "All right then, whatever; I don't really care much, not anymore. Good bloody ni—" she didn't get the chance to go inside because he was gripping her wrist, nearly hovering. "Let me go. Now. Before I break it."
"Then there was you," he spat, ignoring her demand and threat. "You tried to fool yourself into thinking you didn't care. But everyone knows you; even your damn master picked up on it. You were desperate for some justification for my actions, didn't you? You just refused to accept that this is who I am, who I really am. You became engrossed; you wanted… you thought you could fix," he hissed the word like it was poison, "...me."
She wanted to punch him for that; she hated the stigma of women that had to fix things, fix people. That wasn't her job. She hated that he was accusing her of it. And what she hated most of all was that he wasn't wrong; it was why she was so angry after their fight. Her heart beat in her chest in that moment; when he'd put up his defenses, when he'd resisted her attempt at kindness, she became bitter. Like a toy was taken away; she thought about that night. She thought about those taunts she'd given him; she'd wanted a reason for his betrayal, anything to go off of so she could compartmentalize him and figure something out, anything to bring back the old Walter. She wanted Hellsing's Walter back; not some shoddy copy.
She wondered, in that moment, if she'd always been this transparent.
"And then you ignored me," now he sounded like the child, and she realized that she wasn't the only transparent one. "You pretended I wasn't affecting you." He was annoyed at her, sure and it was most likely true he still hated Alucard and would betray Hellsing in a heartbeat if only to get another shot. But he was human too, mostly. He still had complex feelings and emotions; even if he did plan the organization for sixty years, he still made friendships and grew relationships. Sir Integra was like a daughter to him, and the responsibility of the house always befell on him. He still cared despite whatever front he put on and he never wanted to be cast aside. So to deal with that on a constant basis, treated like a dog; not even having the option to control his own life because it was held with a bloody remote, was torture for him.
She understood, but she had little sympathy, "Yes I did because you didn't deserve my attention." His mouth had set into a fine line, "You made your choice, and I wasn't going to be drained because of it. I wanted the old Walter… the real one. The one whom would teach me about classical music and tell me of his missions from his glory days and bloody scolded for me sass. The one who was loyal to Hellsing and wasn't damn stupid."
"This," he jerked her hand to his chest, and perhaps it was the buzz, but she saw something like hurt in his eyes, "...is the real Walter. Me. And yes, I want revenge from that bloody master of yours. I don't regret my choices; I would do it again a thousand times over if that's what it would take."
"So then what are you trying to argue Walter?!" she didn't understand. "What are you demanding from me, right now? What do you want?" And it was in that moment, from the unsure flicker of his and loosened grip, that he didn't exactly know. But then again, what did she want from him, anyway? Somewhat appalled that they had more in common than she realized —they wanted attention, familiarity, a semblance of what things used to be— she yanked her hand, "Then perhaps I never knew what I wanted, because obviously it doesn't exist; only the disappointment does..."
And that was the catalyst.
Because not even one breath after that, she found herself roughly pushed inside the room, and she punched him for even touching her; to her surprise, he didn't hit her back, but rather wrestled, almost like he wanted to just have a semblance of dominance over her and she wasn't in the mood. She kicked him, had hurled her stilettos and clutch and whatever she could find in the room and slammed him against the door; and then her hands were caught in wire, wrapped tight enough to draw blood, so she headbutted him. It was almost like they were young children, like two little boys just tumbling and wrestling; she didn't understand his objective, but she didn't want to, she just wanted him out. But the wires were the problem, she demanded to be released and fast because damn it if a similar incident like last time was going to happen, with him in here. But she quickly noticed he liked having that over her head, and soon fangs were out, so he tightened them. But refusing to be humiliated, she sacrificed the pain for escape; her shadow arm ripped the wires though he drew blood on her other arm. She managed to get a bat from under the mattress and promised she would have his brain matter decorating her walls; she tried, but he dodged. It was a stupid fight; not at all life threatening, but it burned off the energy, the anger, the frustration off somehow. She stood with wobbly knees and a ripped strap of her dress; she had murder in her eyes and so did he. They weren't normal, not anymore; they didn't scream in rage or curse, they were on a mission to subdue the other one.
They were equals.
That realization pushed her anger and desperation to the edge, and she aimed to literally push him out of her bedroom; he was no match for her strength, so she was confident in tackling him like a beast. That's where it transitioned, because the bastard somehow moved last minute, avoided the shadow tendril like the snake he was and had her in a hold that she showed him once. But she was tired and cranky and what is this fight anyway— and… then it became a different kind of fight. Because her dress was shot and flimsy, because her milky thighs were pressed near his crotch, because they were both flushed and frustrated and most of all because the aggressive, fight pawing became more desperate.
That's where they fell.
There was twisting and turning, gripping and shoving, clawing and scratching. Half of her mind had been on fight mode and the other was still in needy haze back in the alley. She told him to get off, but that meant so little when she moaned it and pushed his hips to hers. Their clothes didn't even come off all the way, just enough for the essentials, and there were no kisses; they were disheveled and askew and sweaty. She would have termed it 'rape' if not for the fact she was slamming her hips violently against his, clawing into his back and drawing blood from his shoulder with her teeth. She was trembling and so was he; both from desire and the raw violent fucking. When she gave him a bite large enough to literally chew off a piece of flesh, he pulled her hair from the roots. When he tried to keep her still with wires, she gripped his neck. They did it on the floor and then the wall. Their moans weren't sweet or signs of satisfaction; they were groans of frustrations and anger.
When it was all over, they pushed away from each other, still childishly upset, and didn't spare a glance. Walter left almost limping, his white button up stained with red, with bruises on his neck and face. Seras went to bed with tattered cloth that used to be a dress, wire scratches on her legs and arms, and bite marks. It was messy, it was violent and it was awful because both parties from such an activity were supposed to be sated and filled. When they parted ways, they were bruised and bleeding, horribly lacking and literally half dead.
First times are supposed to be magical, fulfilling and romantic. So when she woke up the morning after, body sore and aching, she cried.