Did you end your life in peace?
Did you die in pain? Were you afraid?
Your palms have gone cold in a tightly clenched fist.
Your red lips and hair that blew in the wind, made me wonder if this might have been a dream.
Kill me with the pain you felt; with your final goodbye.
Take me with you.
-'Angel Sanctuary' V1 by Kaori Yuki (VIZ)
That was then:
The day was hot; the sun burned white in a sky that was the same shade of startling blue as her eyes.
Integra yawned and stretched, wiggling a little on the leather seat.
"I'm so tired," she said, taking off her glasses and polishing them with the bottom of her jacket.
"Don't do that," Walter chided gently. He pulled a soft lens cloth from his pocket and held his hand out for her glasses. She smiled and gave them to him.
"A place for everything and everything in its place?" she said, blinking at him myopically.
"Indeed, Sir Integra."
She yawned again, covering her mouth with her hand. "I don't believe this. We've spent the last three weeks running that operation and the council still expects us to be there!"
"I never thought I'd see the day when you didn't want to see a large munitions demonstration."
"Honestly," said Integra, putting her glasses back on, "neither did I. You seem very awake for a man who has slept maybe eight hours in the past seventy-two."
"It's a knack one picks up in service."
She wrinkled her nose and toggled the intercom. "How much longer until we're there?"
"Five minutes if that, marm," came the reply of the chauffer.
"Ah well, it could be worse," said Integra impishly, "You could be driving."
Walter raised an eyebrow. "There is nothing wrong with my driving."
"You drive this limo like you would a tank."
"With the amount of bullet-proof glass in this thing it might as well be," he said, and she grinned.
The limousine slowed and came to a halt. The location was, strictly speaking, so top secret as to be nonexistent. Somewhere in Ireland, perhaps. Somewhere in the country, surrounded by rolling hills and incessant, unceasing, blinding green. The all-clear from the security team crackled over the intercom. Walter got out first and looked around. He could see nothing amiss and there was no reason why it should be. He extended his hand to Integra and she took it. The sunshine hit her hair like a halo and she smiled. She was still smiling as he heard the soft pop that turned her bright hair into a vivid, viscous red.
He had seen more people die than he could count, had slaughtered so many human and inhuman monsters in the name of Queen and country. He had cleaned away a hundred thousand corpses and lied to a hundred thousand people when they asked where their friends and family and lovers had gone. He had always prided himself in being able to take absolutely anything in his stride but for the first time in his life he found he could do nothing but hold her in his arms and weep as the blood flowed out from between the shattered plates of her skull, covered them both.
This is now:
"Warlter!"
She loved bath time.
"Warlter!"
She laughed, naked and slick as a seal, slipping out of his hands and out of reach of the washcloth.
"Warlter!" she laughed again, and scooped up a handful of suds and water, dumping it over his head. He sighed as a great glob of froth landed squarely on his nose. She burst into giggles as he crossed his eyes trying to blow it off.
"You are a pain, child," he told her mildly. He pulled a towel from the pile on the floor and used it to wipe away the water and foam running down his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an expression of low cunning cross her face as she swept more bubbles up into a wobbly tower. Pretending not to notice, pretending that he was more interested in getting the last droplets of water out of his ear he didn't look up as she slithered closer. She scooped up her bubbles, obviously planning to repeat the same trick, and then he struck. He threw down the towel and grabbed the washcloth again, seizing her chin and holding it firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He washed her face thoroughly as she squirmed impatiently. "There now," he said tenderly, "doesn't that feel better?"
Never one to waste a resource, she replied by dumping her bubble mountain into his lap. She was delighted at her success, and crowed exuberantly as he stood and pulled her out of the bathtub and began to dry her. "Wretched child," he said.
She laughed. "Warlter!" she said. "Love you!" Wet and soapy and naked she threw her arms around him and hugged tight. At this he felt the constant pain in his chest ease, just a little.
"'A'," said Walter. "'A is for Apple.' Say it with me: 'A is for…'"
Integra blinked at him. "Ay?" she said. "Ay?"
"'A is for apple.' Apple."
"Apple!" she said, and picked up his hands, turning them over and touching his palms. "Apple?" she looked at him expectantly.
"No, Integra," said Walter. He held out the book to her, page open to show a drawing of an impossibly perfect fruit. "Look. 'A is for apple.'" He took her hand and traced her forefinger along the along the letter A.
Integra looked at the picture, coloured a vibrant, glossy red. "Ay," she said slowly.
"That's right."
"Ay is for apple."
"Yes! Good girl. Now: B is for…"
"Apple!" She jumped up and ran into the kitchenette where one of the professional carers was preparing morning tea for her. "Ay is for apple!" she said firmly, tugging on the woman's sleave.
"That's nice, dear," the nurse replied, placidly spooning tinned salmon onto a piece of bread.
"Apple! Ay is for apple!"
"Yes, dear."
"Apple!" demanded Integra, stomping her foot.
The nurse shrugged. She took an apple from the fruit bowl and handed it to her charge, who took it and wandered off, happily gnawing. Walter glowered at her, and then at the nurse.
"Don't you give me that look," said the nurse calmly. "The doctors keep telling you that reading is beyond her skill level."
"Nothing is beyond her," snapped Walter.
"In the future, maybe. But for now-"
There was a knock on the door, interrupting the argument before it could start. One of Sir Hellsing's pet lackeys, wearing the charcoal grey suit and black silk tie that seemed to be the uniform of his brethren, cleared his throat politely.
"Walter, are you busy? Sir wants to see you."
Walter nodded curtly, and with a final glare at the nurse he set the Child's First Alphabet book aside and rose to go.
"Bye-bye Walter!" sang Integra.
"Goodbye, Integra," he sighed, and followed the lackey. Halfway down the hallway there was a crash and a yelp.
"Centipedes!" yelled the nurse. Walter wasn't entirely above smirking.
He was Sir Hellsing, always Sir Hellsing. He was Integra's replacement and none of the staff would ever call him by his first name, never ever, no matter how often he told them to. He was a second or third cousin, English aristocracy, lacking a chin and the knowledge that he was just a cheap imitation of the real thing.
Walter hated him.
He was not the rightful head of Hellsing, he was not an adequate replacement for Integra, he was not a warrior, he knew nothing of monsters or vampires. He was a desk solider with no field experience that should have stayed in the army. One thing Sir Hellsing did know, however: he knew how Walter felt, no matter how much the butler smiled and bowed and swore otherwise and the old man soon found himself passed by.
So Walter had tended his Integra carefully instead and when he realised that she would never wake, never move or speak of her own accord, he had taken the little needles and slipped them into her wrists and gave her the blood. He'd stroked the soft fuzz on her head and he told her something that he had never told anyone else, ever. He'd stroked the gold and white that covered her suture scars and told her that he loved her even as Alucard had covered her naked breasts with kisses.
Eventually, she had woken up, but it had not gone as planned. But no one had ever accused Walter of being a quitter.
Sir Hellsing insisted on daily reports on the health and welfare of his cousin, and always hid his disappointment well when Walter told him that she was fine, just fine.
"How is she going?" asked Sir Hellsing, waving Walter to the armchair across from his own.
"As well as might be expected," said Walter, sitting rather gingerly.
Sir Hellsing believed in 'connecting with employees' and 'being approachable'. Walter believed that Sir Hellsing's brains were just as addled as Integra's, but at least Integra had an excuse. Gone were the days of standing to attention, the big wooden desk between his commander and himself. Instead he took tea and had chats. Walter, in his heart of hearts, was an old-school conservative and all this touchy-feely bullshit made him want to spit. To make matters worse, Sir Hellsing would cheerfully tell anyone who listened that he was an atheist.
"So no further improvement, then? The neurosurgeons said that they'd never seen a recovery quite like hers before. I suppose hoping for a full return to the way she used to be would be a bit too much. We've already had our miracle."
"Sir," said Walter.
Sir Hellsing looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for further comment. None was forthcoming. "We've lost another carer, or so I've been told," he said eventually. "We just can't seem to keep them."
"Yes sir, I know."
"Alucard?"
"Alucard."
The vampire was an ongoing problem for Sir Hellsing.
"He doesn't seem to bother you."
"Well, no, sir, but he has known me for over fifty years. He's had a lot of time to get used to me."
"And you to him, I should imagine." Sir Hellsing gave Walter a tight-lipped smile. "Why, if I didn't know better I'd say you were friends. Well, as friendly as anyone can be with an insanely powerful insane monster."
Walter went to smile back and then thought better of it. Instead he said, "If I may hazard a guess, sir, I'd say it was because he knows that the care staff, to each and every one of their number, are unimaginative, dull, unsuperstitious and determinedly practical. They may present something of a challenge for him."
The younger man tapped his fingers on his knee, something he regularly did while he was thinking. An unconscious habit and one that Walter despised. He never could abide one who fidgeted. "Whatever his reasons we're running out of staff. We're being blacklisted at an alarming rate. Word does tend to get around about this sort of thing."
"Sir Hellsing, I am more than capable of providing Integra with all the care that she needs-"
"I've no doubt of your capabilities, Walter," interrupted Sir Hellsing. "But she is a handful for three people, let alone one." He held up his hand when Walter tried to speak. "For my own peace of mind, I've engaged a new carer: Chris Pickman, his name is. He was registered nurse before he joined the army. He was injured and unable to rejoin active service. As he'd proved reliable, he was retained to look after sensitive patients." He smiled. "He is used to unusual situations. I'm sure he'll cope admirably."
"I am quite certain that this is unnecessary, sir."
"Unnecessary or not, it's not your decision to make. He arrives at eight tomorrow morning. Right!" said Sir Hellsing cheerfully, changing the subject. "That's sorted. Now, one last thing. Why are you limping?"
"Sir?"
"You've been limping for the past two days. Your right foot isn't flexing the way it should."
"A slight touch of rheumatism, I'd say." Walter gave a self-depreciating smile. "I am getting on a bit, you know."
"I know," Sir Hellsing said. "But I would like you to have it examined nevertheless. I want you to report to Doctor Trevallyn sometime tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? But Integra has MRI scans tomorrow with the neurosurgeon. I can't possibly-"
"You can and you will," interrupted Hellsing a touch impatiently. "Pickman is arriving later this afternoon. He'll be able to look after her during that time."
"Yes, sir," said Walter through his teeth.
"Excellent! Well, that's that sorted then." Sir Hellsing reached over and grabbed a folder from the table next to him. He opened it, then looked up and frowned. "Why are you still- oh. That's right. Sorry. You can go. Dismissed."
"Sir."
Walter left.